Eight for Eternity Page 13

  “I’m just going by what I’ve seen since I arrived. Riots, fires, the factions rising up together. It’s not like this in the city all the time is it?”

  John laughed, without humor. “It is usually much more restful, although hardly bucolic.” He put his wine cup down. “I need to get some sleep, my friend. As far as I know Justinian is still the emperor and I am still under orders to investigate the murders of those two faction members.”

  “Have you learned anything useful?”

  “I may have, but if so, I haven’t recognized it yet. Maybe Porphyrius will know something helpful. After that exhibition of his at the races, I want to talk to him.”

  Haik frowned. “Talk to Porphyrius? Surely you don’t suspect him of anything? He was just trying to be even-handed, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Is that all? I hope so. Nevertheless, I want to know if he’s been approached by anyone from the factions. He’s a highly respected man and very influential, when he wants to be.”

  Haik stared at the guttering flame of the lamp. “John, if you’re going to be asking Porphyrius about his visitors, I know of one he will probably mention. Myself.”

  John looked at his friend in surprise.

  “You traveled here to see Porphyrius?”

  Haik shook his head. “No. Not at all. I have business in the city, as I said. But Porphyrius spent years racing in Antioch. I knew him in passing. I just wanted to pay my respects.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, I hardly spoke to him. We were interrupted by a visitor.”

  “You did speak, however.”

  “Yes. I’m thinking of expanding my business. I won’t bore you with the details. Nothing was settled anyway. I didn’t think to visit him until the day before those botched executions. You know the state the city’s been in since then. He hasn’t been able to see me again.”

  “You say the meeting was about business.”

  “It’s a new venture. And, Porphyrius is respected in Antioch too. I thought he might put in a good word for me. I see you disapprove. You’re thinking your old military friend has turned into just another conniving businessman. What can I say? Once a mercenary, always a mercenary.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The woman peered over the low brick parapet. From the tenement roof she could see into the Augustaion. Tongues of fire outlined the Great Church. The leaping, flickering red light revealed dozens of men and women howling and dancing in obscene drunken delight. Shrill screams resounded across the square, littered with broken and spoilt goods from nearby shops which had been forced open and pillaged.

  She had seen thieves dart into the burning church and emerge, coughing and retching, clutching treasures which flashed in the firelight. They vanished into the warren of alleys beyond, to whatever life gold and silver would buy in a world that seemed to be coming to an end.

  The woman behind the parapet was more interested in the group of men clustered in the alley below. They had pursued her. She had managed to escape their forceful attentions, but for how much longer?

  As if in reply came a hoarse shout from above. She looked up toward the roof of the adjoining building which leaned crazily over her temporary sanctuary, nearly touching the timbers she stood on. She saw the dark outline of a figure against the night sky.

  “They will not harm any green thing!” cried the figure.

  The woman wept with fear and crouched lower, shrinking into the shadow of the parapet.

  The hoarse-voiced man continued to shout over the background noise—screams of pain, and the dull roar of men drunk on stolen wine and violence.

  “I tell you they won’t harm any of them! Success is assured! Why are not the armies of the righteous storming the gates of the palace?”

  There was a brief pause and then a lower pitched voice, still strong enough to carry to the woman, replied. “Greens, Blues, what does it matter who they are? They just need a strong leader. Someone not afraid to confront the demon emperor!”

  She could not see the other man.

  “I am here to do that! And I see—” The first speaker moved suddenly. The woman flinched. She thought he was leaping down toward her. Instead he lurched sideways, landed at the very corner of the building and tottered on the edge. “I see necklaces of fire cleansing the city of its filth! Hear the sinners scream!”

  “Is it as foretold?” asked the other.

  The reply was uttered in a weary tone. “No. The horsemen, the four horsemen are overdue. Ah, but did you ever see Porphyrius race? Now there’s a man who’s won me many a wager. How the women love him! I’ve often wished I were a charioteer.”

  Fearful as she was, the woman continued to stare upwards, intrigued. Who were these men, conversing as if they were at a social gathering while the city burnt round them?

  Now they appeared to be discussing horses.

  “The Greens raced several chestnut horses last week,” one observed. “Red horses…it was an omen of peace departing. I said so at the time. Porphyrius just laughed, the great fool. There’s always strife, he said, and especially when we Greens are winning. Why, he even said I should contribute a bag of silver coins toward his expenses, as if I hadn’t contributed more than most of the faction to ensure the team’s victory!”

  A quieter voice answered, pointing out that a greater victory hung in the balance.

  “The horsemen are late! Where is the black horse carrying the man with the scales?” The speaker’s voice rose into a shriek. “Where is death, riding a pale horse with hell following? Hell is here already! Where—”

  A hand fastened on the woman’s shoulder. She screamed.

  One of the men in the alley must have guessed where she had gone and made his way up the tenement’s staircase while her attention was diverted.

  She jerked away with the strength of desperation, raking the leering face with her nails. She jumped to her feet, ran across the timbers, and clambered up onto the overhanging roof where the two men had been talking.

  She had no way of knowing if they were different than the men who pursued her. They couldn’t be worse.

  The ragged figure perched at the corner of the building took no notice of her. She stumbled and scrambled over to him on her hands and knees. She saw her assailant pulling himself up onto the roof.

  She clutched the ragged man’s leg and begged him for protection.

  “A scarlet woman! An abomination!” the invisible speaker proclaimed.

  “Away with her!” shouted the man whose leg she was holding.

  The woman had time to realize there had been but one person on the roof before the bloody, ragged man grasped her by the waist and threw her over the edge.

  Chapter Twenty

  January 14, 532

  The dull red ember of the mid-morning sun glowed through the smoky haze as John hurried through the gardens to meet the emperor. A light snow of ash fell continuously out of the thick overcast. It had been falling all night. Ash partially covered the marble walkway. Bands of men ran back and forth hauling buckets of water from ornamental ponds and fountain basins, dousing small fires smoldering in the bushes.

  A grim faced silentiary ushered John through a series of antechambers leading into a private meeting room above the Augusteus. John tried to brush ashes from his cloak. His fingers made grey streaks across the dark blue fabric. The imperial couple stood at a high narrow window, the shutters of which had been partially opened despite the cold. Seeing Theodora, John prostrated himself in accordance with court protocol, as enforced by the empress.

  Justinian ordered him to stand, sounding irritated by the necessity of doing so. “Report on my guests.”

  “All three are under guard at my house, Caesar.”

  “We are glad to hear it,” Theodora put in. “Your personal safety depends upon keeping them unharmed.”

  “They have had no visitors?” Justinian asked.

  “No. Do you wish me to bar vi
sitors?”

  “It would be more useful if you reported any immediately,” Justinian said. “We need to find out who, exactly, is behind all this.”

  John followed the direction of the emperor’s gaze. What he saw through the window shocked him. Of the Baths of Zeuxippus, only a single charred wall remained. Where the Chalke gate should have been were mountainous piles of rubble. Chunks of masonry lay scattered like enormous boulders. In places smoke and flames issued from the bleak landscape. Beyond the remains of the Chalke, across the open space of the Augustaion, the timber roof of the Great Church blazed. The walls of the long rectangular building remained standing, but John realized this was a temporary condition. One of the portico’s supporting columns already lay shattered across the square.

  He had glimpsed the destruction earlier when he had set out to continue his investigations. His way had been blocked where a roof had collapsed into a corridor leading toward the Chalke. He had not realized the extent of the damage.

  “A sorry sight indeed,” Justinian remarked, turning to John. Despite the chill in the room, he made no attempt to close the shutters or order them closed. “The Great Church built by Constantius was burnt during a riot at the beginning of the last century. Then the masses were not agitating over a couple of rogues. They wanted the exiled Patriarch to be returned. The result was the same. Strange how the past repeats itself. Do you suppose that is God’s way of teaching us a lesson, or is he punishing us for refusing to learn the lesson the first time? But more pressing matters engage our attention. Have your investigations revealed anything further?”

  “I regret that they have not. I will inform you as soon as—”

  Theodora interrupted him. “It is already too late. Do you propose to wait until the cabal expose themselves by placing the crown on the head of a new ruler? If so, you are going to have a long wait. Before then, you will be executed for failing in your duty.”

  “We are taking steps to quell the riots,” Justinian said quickly. “At his own suggestion, Narses has gone out into the city with a large sum of money in an attempt to persuade the ringleaders to see reason.”

  “It might work, Caesar,” John said. “We still have no proof that these riots were planned. I think we can be sure that someone has by now tried to take control of them. Can Narses find the ringleaders?”

  “He says they will rise to the surface to take a few coins like fish in a pond coming up for bread crumbs.”

  Theodora gave a cawing laugh. “Narses is a good judge of men. All are attracted to gold.”

  “Does that not include Narses himself?” John asked.

  Theodora curled her lips unpleasantly. “Are you often tempted, John? I mean in the handling of imperial property rather than women?”

  John’s cheekbones reddened but he kept his voice steady. “I have never placed my own interests above those of the empire.”

  “There are many who would praise you for that,” Theodora observed, “and in particular those with strong religious convictions.”

  “We are also attempting to appeal to men’s better natures,” Justinian said. “I have suggested to the Patriarch that a procession of holy men carrying icons might serve to calm the mood of the factions.”

  “Whereas I am inclined to send Belisarius and Mundus out to teach the rabble a lesson it will not forget.” Theodora spoke as lightly as if considering whether she wanted a dessert of fruit or sweet cakes.

  John felt a chill which had nothing to do with the cold air coming in through the open window.

  Was Haik right? Would a prudent man leave Constantinople?

  Perhaps Narses wouldn’t return. At this very moment he might be riding through the Golden Gate, out of the city, the bribe money jingling merrily in the pouch at his belt, more than enough to set him up for life on an estate in his far off homeland of Persarmenia.

  He wished it were so. Narses’ leaving would make John’s staying considerably more tenable.

  Justinian had turned his attention back to the scene outside. From John’s vantage point, the emperor’s face displayed no sign of emotion. Whereas Theodora’s eyes now burned with a demoniac fire, her husband’s visage might have been an expressionless mask concealing some inhuman creature beneath.

  “John,” the emperor said, his lips barely moving, his voice toneless, “it appears that the situation in the city is changing, and not for the better. I have been forced by circumstances to take another step which you should know about.”

  ***

  “Captain Gallio, as soon as I heard I decided to report back. You’ll need all the fighters you can get.”

  Felix’s urgent words caused the portly excubitor captain to look up from his meal, annoyance obvious in his florid features. Gallio swallowed, stuffed another piece of cheese into his mouth, chewed and swallowed again before speaking. “What are you talking about?” He stuck his knife into one of the boiled eggs on his plate.

  “The rebellion, sir. I’ve been told the emperor is facing a full scale rebellion. No longer just disorganized rioting.”

  Gallio sat and blinked up at the younger soldier. His watery eyed gaze seemed to stray to the egg impaled on the knife then back to Felix.

  “Who told you this?”

  “I…I heard it…on good authority.”

  Felix found his captain’s unconcern somehow ominous. He thought he had better not mention that John had arrived back at his house and recounted a private conversation with Justinian. A conversation which both John and Felix had found disturbing.

  Gallio nibbled at the boiled egg. He wasn’t wearing his armor, Felix noticed, nor was any weapon in evidence, unless Gallio planned to fight the mobs with his table knife.

  The long barracks room beyond the door to Gallio’s private quarters was noisy and crowded, due to the fact that one of the barracks had burnt to the ground during the night. The excubitors appeared to be mostly arguing over how to share the limited space. No preparations for battle were evident.

  Gallio waved his knife. “Why have you deserted your post, Felix? What is it you’ve heard?”

  “At some point early this morning the factions stopped demanding the release of the two prisoners. They wanted the heads of Justinian’s closest advisors instead.”

  “Yes. And he obliged them. Figuratively. He removed his legal advisor Tribonian and the tax man, John the Cappadocian, as well as the Urban Prefect Eudaemon. He’s also sacrificed some underlings. Why should that be of concern to you?”

  “It’s everyone’s concern when the mob starts calling for the emperor’s head as well. They’re openly agitating to return the family of Anastasius to power. They went looking for his nephew Probus, and when they discovered he’d fled the city, they burned his house down.”

  “This has all been communicated to me.”

  “Yet you sit there eating.”

  “Of course. Why else do you think I’m having breakfast so late? I was delayed listening to reports. If the factions are looking for the nephews of Anastasius that’s all the more reason you should be at your post guarding them.”

  “You expect me and a handful of men to defend a house against a mob? The rioters must be dispersed. If they manage to become organized and break into the palace it will be too late.”

  “That’s enough, Felix. Return to your post immediately.”

  “Sir, as a military man who has fought on the frontiers, I know that trained men can easily attack and defeat a—”

  Gallio banged his knife down on his plate. “You think I’m not a military man? How do you suppose I got this post? I’ve fought in Scythia and Thrace. I was defending the borders against Cabades while you were still learning to get your tunic over your head.”

  “I’m sure that years ago—”

  “Besides, I would think that a military man would not be so eager to come to the defense of one who capitulates to the rabble the same hour he hears their demands. Who do you suppose is in charge in th
is city? Outside the palace walls there is a badly armed but very angry army, led by…who? Disgruntled senators, some wealthy patrician? An unknown palace official? And inside are two renowned generals with their personal troops. And, of course, an emperor who takes orders from a mob.”

  “It isn’t for us to question Justinian’s decisions,” Felix knew his words lacked conviction. Gallio was right. The emperor was not a fighter. Felix would have preferred to take orders from Belisarius or Mundus.

  “I am not questioning our emperor’s wisdom or his authority, so long as he possesses any authority,” Gallio said. “In fact, the excubitors will continue to carry out their assigned task faithfully. I have already sent word to Justinian that we will staunchly defend the palace grounds, which has always been our mission. Nothing will move us from our entrenched position. Nothing!” He glanced out into the tumult in the barracks. “You see, our forces are settling in for the siege right now.”

  Felix realized what Gallio was saying. “You told the emperor you weren’t moving from this barracks.”

  “Not all of us are stationed in this barracks.”

  “You won’t fight.”

  “We’ll fight when we know who is in charge.”

  “You’re a traitor!”

  Gallio sprang to his feet. “I’m your commander! And I am ordering you to resume your duties. Were you a less capable man, one I could replace easily, I would have you executed on the spot. Under the circumstances, I will give you the chance to save your thick German skull by resuming your watch over the imperial guests.”

  Felix stared at the captain, nearly blind with fury. It was all he could do to keep from drawing his sword.

  To Felix’s surprise Gallio smiled grimly. “I know you fancy yourself a fighter. You’d rather be taking orders from Belisarius than from me or Justinian. If you won’t take my orders, then take my advice. Do your job. Have patience. Before long you might find yourself serving an emperor more to your liking.”

  “Belisarius isn’t a traitor!”

  “He isn’t a traitor to the empire. Sometimes serving the empire entails making difficult choices.” Gallio sat down and pulled his plate toward himself. “As for me, I choose to wait.”