lost over 3000 men, either killed or taken prisoner. The Vandal retreat became a complete rout.
The Roman army now overran the abandoned Vandal camp, a vast ring formed up with country wagons, protected by nothing better than a flimsy palisade. These wagons yielded a staggering booty, for they were loaded with treasures plundered over many years by the Vandals, which Gelimer’s slaves had hastily carted away from Carthage when they realised that Belisarius was about to win the battle. This booty will vastly improve the scope of the royal coffers when Belisarius brings it home.
“Gelimer only needed to maintain his fighting spirit,” said Theodora. “His army drastically outnumbered ours, didn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, by far. But we had Belisarius,” said Narses. “The man’s a military genius, no doubt about it.”
“Where is Gelimer now? Do we know?”
“He has not surrendered. He fled into a mountain eyrie in Numidia where, according to Procopius, he is being sheltered by the Moors.”
“He could hold out for a long time, then?”
Narses smiled austerely. “One is inclined to doubt that. My spies on the ground report that the Vandals have grown soft, and have become accustomed to luxurious living. In Carthage, they have grand villas with splendid gardens.”
“Doesn’t sound like Barbarians.”
“And,” said Narses, “they have grown accustomed to daily baths. It seems that the Moors who are protecting Gelimer are a wild, impoverished and unhygienic lot. They live, I’m told, in underground huts that are stifling in summer and dank in winter.”
“Must be a sore contrast to Carthage, then.”
“Indeed. Belisarius has detailed a Roman force under Pharas to besiege the mountain stronghold. Gelimer will find it intolerable. Soon the Imperial army will have totally vanquished the Vandals. Mark my words.”
The month of December in the year 533 provided balm for the injured spirit of the Emperor, pained as he had been by the violent rebellion against his authority. The war in Africa seemed to have been sanctioned by God. And then Tribonian delivered a precious parcel: a substantial set of codices, which he piled on Justinian’s table where he sat working night after night while most other people slept.
“Depotes, I have the honour to present the Digesta,” he announced. “Doubtless we shall have a grand public ceremony to inaugurate it together with the Codex Constitutionem. But I have brought it to you, personally, first.”
“The Digesta,” said Justinian. He caressed the embossed covers lovingly, as if they could feel his touch and might be seduced. Turning to Theodora, he said, “My dearest, you know how I have dreamed of this! Even before I took the purple, I dreamed of this!”
“I believe I have won our wager,” said Tribonian, his hawk-nosed patrician face weary but bright with pride. “All completed, within a decade.”
Justinian grinned. “You’ve won the bet. I’ve won the Codex and the Digesta.”
“And the Institutiones, which I delivered last month,” Tribonian added.
“I understand,” said Theodora, “that the Codex listed, clarified and edited all the laws. But the Digesta … ?”
“Despoina, it is about the application and interpretation of laws in specific situations,” explained Tribonian. “You see, this is what practising jurists do: they consider the law and the situation and then they provide opinions as to how the law should be applied. But of course, they can differ and often do.”
“Legal fellows being naturally disputatious,” remarked Theodora.
“So they are. There was a complete confusion of contradictory jurists’ opinions on record, and we have sorted and evaluated them.”
“Now we have a collection of the best to help us administer the laws consistently,” said Justinian. “And we have the Institutiones, which is a manual for students of law.”
“I am delighted, my love,” said Theodora. “It is a singular achievement. We are most grateful for your labours, Tribonian.”
“The Emperor’s mind encompassed all that was needful,” said Tribonian suavely, pocketing his bag of winnings. Doubtless, thought Theodora, there would be more than that: properties, most likely.
“And now all that remains is to overhaul the system of legal training,” said Justinian after Tribonian had bowed himself out.
“I might have known you wouldn’t be completely satisfied. There’ll always be something more you need to do,” said Theodora. Standing behind his chair, she put her arms around his shoulders, leaned down and planted a kiss on his wiry hair.
The siege of Gelimer’s mountain refuge by Pharas continued for three months, reported Procopius:
Then even the barley began to give out, and the Romans blocked fresh supplies of any kind from being brought in. Long denied any luxuries, the Vandals now lacked mere basic necessities and Pharas looked set to starve Gelimer out. At this stage, Pharas sent the Vandal king a letter, promising that if he surrendered, Belisarius would spare his life and Justinian would allow him and his family to live a life of comfort in Constantinople.
Gelimer replied that honour prevented him from yielding, for the war against his people was unjust. He prayed, he wrote, that God would punish Belisarius for the suffering he had brought upon the Vandals. He ended his letter thus: “As for me, I can write no more, so cast down am I by my misfortunes. Goodhearted Pharas, of your charity, send me a sponge and a single loaf of white bread.”
“Not much longer now,” Narses prophesied confidently when he heard this, and indeed, within a few weeks Gelimer had sent another letter, surrendering according to the terms previously proposed, providing Belisarius gave him an undertaking in writing. This Belisarius supplied, and so the Vandal king descended from the mountain and bowed at last to his Roman conqueror.
“I have received a denunciation of Belisarius,” Justinian told Theodora.
“What! Who would denounce the conqueror of the Vandals? The hero of Carthage? The paragon of Nature?”
“Cappadocian John.”
“Ah. Of course, he is jealous. What accusations has he thought up?”
“He claims to have dependable intelligence, from his secret agents in Africa.”
“Claiming what?”
“First, that Belisarius sits on the throne of Gelimer in Carthage, like a king, and seems determined to hold it for himself and his descendants in perpetuity; second, that after conquering the Vandals, he reviled his soldiers in a public denunciation; third, that he is making a secret treaty with the savage Moors; fourth, that he is treating his Vandal captives with suspicious leniency.”
“Serious accusations,” said Theodora. “This military triumph could become a political triumph also – for the conquering hero. He has tremendous support.”
“I know he does. We should test him. If he is deeply ambitious, he’ll probably be anxious to remain and rule in Africa, at least for now, to consolidate his power base.”
“And then, perhaps, turn on us. Yes, we should test him. See where his loyalty lies.”
Justinian sent a missive to Belisarius, commending him and his troops for the highly successful campaign. He did not order the general to come back to the capital, but told him he could either send the spoils and the Vandal prisoners to Constantinople under a suitable escort, while he remained in Africa, or he could bring them back himself. The choice was entirely up to him. Belisarius swiftly replied that he would definitely return. He would leave behind sufficient men to maintain order, with a levy of Roman Africans as garrison infantry headed by the eunuch Solomon, and set sail for home.
Within weeks the victorious General Belisarius and his wife sailed into harbour, accompanied