Destiny's Shield

"Yes," he said, nodding. "It's happened. More than once. Myself, for instance. I was born into the clarissimate—as low as it gets in the nobility, outside of equestrians. After Justinian promoted me into his bodyguard, he— Never mind. It's a long story. Today, of course—since my stepson was acclaimed Emperor—I'm ranked at the very top of the senatorial illustres." He smiled crookedly. "A gloriosissimi I am now, no less."

Agathius did not return the smile. Belisarius realized that he was treading on very sensitive soil. "And yourself, Agathius? I've never asked." A little, dismissive gesture. "I don't care about such things, mind you, in my officers. Only their ability. But tell me—what is your own class origin?"

Agathius stared at the general.

"My father was a baker," he replied. His voice was very soft; but his tone, hard as a rock.

Belisarius nodded, understanding.

In the eastern Roman Empire, unlike the western, men had never been forced by law to remain in their father's trades. Still, the trades tended to be hereditary. All tradesmen were organized into guilds, and were considered freemen. Yet, while some of those trades carried genuine prestige—metalworkers, for instance—none of them were acceptable occupations for members of the nobility.

And certainly not bakers, who were considered among the lowest of men, outside of those in outright slavery or servitude.

So. Agathius, like many before him, had sought escape from his father's wretched status through the principal avenue in the Roman Empire which was, relatively speaking, democratic and open to talent: the army.

Yet—Belisarius was still puzzled. He had encountered men—any number of them—who were obsessed with their official class ranking. But Agathius had never seemed to care, one way or another.

The general thrust speculation aside. Whatever might be the man's motives or past state of mind, the question seemed to be of importance to him now.

"This matters to you?" he asked.

Agathius nodded. "Yes, sir. It does. It didn't used to, but—" His lips tightened. "It does now," he finished, softly. Almost through clenched teeth.

Belisarius abandoned his relaxed stance. He sat up straight in his chair.

"You understand that any rank I give you must be confirmed by the Emperor? And by the Senate, in the case of a senatorial rank?"

Agathius nodded. Finally, his rigid countenance seemed to break, just a bit.

"I don't need to be in any senatorial class, sir. Just—something."

Belisarius nodded.

"In that case, I see no problem." His crooked smile appeared. "Certainly not with the Emperor!"

Agathius managed a little smile himself, now.

Belisarius scratched his chin. "Let's keep it military, then, if the Senate doesn't matter to you. It is well within my authority to give you the rank of comes. How is that—Count Agathius?"

Agathius bowed his head stiffly.

"Thank you, sir." Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked, "How does that compare to a Persian dehgan?"

"Depends how you look at it. Formally speaking, a Roman count is actually a higher rank than a dehgan. Equivalent"—he wobbled his hand back and forth—"to one of the lower grades of their vurzurgan class, more or less."

Belisarius shrugged.

"But that's the way we Romans look at it. Officially, the Persians will accept the equivalence. In practice—in private—?" Again, he shrugged.

"They view our habit of connecting rank in the nobility with official position rather dimly. Bloodlines are far more important, to their way of thinking."

Suddenly, to the general's surprise, Agathius' stiffness disappeared. The burly officer actually grinned.

"Not a problem, that. Not with—"

He fell silent. The grin faded. Agathius squared his shoulders.

"I thank you again, sir. It means much to me. But I would like to impose on you again, if I might."

"Yes?"

"Would you do me the honor of joining me tomorrow afternoon? On a social occasion?"

Belisarius' eyes widened, just a bit. To the best of his knowledge, Agathius' idea of a "social occasion" was a cheerful drinking session at a tavern. But he did not think—

Agathius rushed on.

"Lord Baresmanas will escort you, sir. I've already spoken to him and he agreed. The occasion is taking place at the governor's palace in the city."

By now, Belisarius was quite bewildered. What in the world did Baresmanas have to do with—?

Enough, he told himself firmly. This is important to the man, whatever it is.

"I will be there, Agathius."

The Greek officer nodded again, thanked him again, and left.

Odd. Very odd.

Baresmanas arrived early in the afternoon of the next day. Kurush was with him, as were all of the top commanders of his household troops with the exception of Merena.

None of the men wore armor, and only two were even carrying swords. Seeing the finery of their raiment, Belisarius congratulated himself for having decided to wear his own best clothing. Like the Persians, he was unarmored, carrying no weapon beyond a dagger.