The horseman arrived at full gallop. As the man dismounted and looked around the camp, the badly lathered horse sought water from a nearby stream. The man spied what looked like officer’s quarters and ran toward them.

Soldiers within the camp looked up with surprise, some reaching for their weapon. This was not the usual messenger from the palace. Perhaps a renegade Persian come to kill Belisarius?

A quick thinking guard intercepted him before he could reach Belisarius’ tent. He drew his blade and held it to the man’s throat. “Identify yourself or you die a slow death.”

“I come from the palace of Justinian with an urgent message for Belisarius.”

”I know you not. Where is the usual messenger?”

“That I can not say. My orders are to speak with Belisarius directly. I have an imperial decree in my pouch.”

The guard loosened his hold allowing the man to access the pouch and pull out a document with the imperial wax seal.

The man held it out to the guard. “If you will give this to Belisarius.”

The guard looked at what seemed to be a genuine imperial seal and took the document from the man. “You will wait here. There is ample company to assure you do not move.”

Several other soldiers had gathered round, blades drawn. They eyed the man with suspicion as they formed a circle around him with all blades pointed inward.

The guard took the document and walked toward Belisarius’ tent.

Belisarius himself appeared at the entrance. “What is the ruckus out here?”

The guard saluted. “My general, a man claims to be from Justinian’s palace. He is not the usual messenger. But he has this document and he has come hurriedly, horse worn out from rapid passage.” He handed the document to Belisarius.

Belisarius broke the imperial seal. He stepped to one side so that only he could see the contents. He immediately recognized the script of Justinian himself, not his scribe. He read:

The bearer of this document has a request of you. My friend, please do not reveal the content to anyone except the person requested. Not even Procopius. The bearer has the necessary information and is a trusted subject.

Strange, indeed. Normal communication from the palace was written. Procopius recorded battle progress, requests for provisions or reinforcements. And the inclusion of “My friend”. This was personal.

“Bring the messenger to me.” Belisarius instructed the guard. To his curious officers discretely listening to every word, he said, “This requires my individual attention. We will resume battle plans after I have completed this task.”

The officers walked out and gathered nearby whispering under their breaths about what might be happening.

Belisarius, looked at Procopius sitting at his writing desk and nodded that he should also leave the tent. A questioning look on his face, he cautiously rose and proceeded to stand outside near the tent, as if to survey the surrounding countryside.

The guard brought the man into the tent.

Belisarius gave measure and noted that in spite of the simple tunic and shoes, this man was muscular and strong. If attired in soldier’s garb he would make a formidable image.

Belisarius could hear the whisperings of his officers and see the not-too-distant Procopius milling about. He said to the guard. “See that no one stands within hearing distance of the tent.”

The guard left to relay the requests.

“Now, pray tell, what is this urgency?”

“Most glorious general, there is one other who should hear this message.”

“Oh?”

“Marus.”

“Marus? My cook?”

“Yes, it is unusual, I know. The purpose will become clear.”

“Hmmp.” The astonished Belisarius summoned the guard. “Bring Marus here.”

The guard blinked. “Marus? Your cook?”

“Yes, I believe he can be found around the cook tent.”

The guard briskly strode to the cook tent and returned with the equally astonished Marus.

When the three were finally out of earshot Belisarius bade the messenger and Marus to sit around the eating table. “Is everything as needed?”

“Yes, most glorious general.” The messenger paused, gathering his thoughts. “The message I bring is straight from the mouth of Justinian. He asks that you do not tell anyone the truth of the situation.” Another pause. “The most beloved Augusta, Theodora ails. The imperial physician can offer no treatment. Our most glorious Caesar, Justinian requests that Marus be brought forth with his herbs to devise a cure.”

Belisarius was silent. Theodora was never sick. She had a healthy constitution, ate the best foods in the country, and had never complained of pain. Yet, here was a message in Justinian’s hand. And a messenger requesting secrecy. He looked at Marus and sighed. Marus not only cooked, but aided the wounded during battles. There were others, but Marus was the most skilled. His absence would be noticed. He addressed the messenger. “Of course. You will escort Marus to the palace?”

“Those are my orders. If you can provide me with a fresh horse, we can leave immediately.”

“Yes, that can be done.” He thought for a moment. “There are many who will be curious as to your mission. They will be told that Theodora is planning a lavish gala and requires Marus and his expert use of herbs to please the guests. Nothing else need be said.”

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