Mary Reed - Eight for Eternity

The attacker rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Rather than taking to his heels he stood with clenched fists and shouted imprecations. He was a short, well-built child. His face looked fiery red, whether from the beating he’d taken or simply from fury, John couldn’t tell. The other three replied in kind. They looked older than the lone boy, more gangly, but a head taller.

“Constantinople is a violent place,” Haik remarked. “No one even takes notice.”

It was true, the few passersby simply skirted the area around the dispute.

“I got in more than a few scrapes when I was a youngster,” John remarked.

“And when you weren’t so young too. Remember when we had the dispute with that-”

Haik’s reminiscence was cut short as the younger boy gave a blood curdling shriek and flung himself at the others again, flailing his fists madly. The three stepped back, dodging the blows. One kneed the attacker. Another belted the back of his head with a fist. The attacker continued to lash out. Blood sprayed from the nose of the tallest boy.

Then John was sprinting toward the group.

He caught the tall boy’s thin wrist before he could make use of the glistening blade he had suddenly produced.

John twisted until the blade clattered onto the pavement. He kicked it away.

He addressed the three older combatants. “All of you, return to your homes. Immediately.”

When he let go of the wrist the boy sneered at him but backed away. The three walked off slowly, shuffling their feet, casting dark looks back over their shoulders.

Haik had retrieved the knife and squatted in front of the boy John had saved. “Such valor deserves a reward.”

The boy took the proffered knife with one hand, while wiping blood off his face with the other.

“What was that all about?” Haik asked.

“They was Blues.” The boy ran a short finger along the knife blade. “I’ll cut their throats when they’re asleep. They won’t be able to sleep any more. I know where they live. They’ll go to sleep and not wake up.”

“The emperor hangs murderers,” John said.

The boy didn’t look at John. His eyes narrowed. “They deserve to be killed. I’ll cut their throats.”

“Because they’re Blues?” Haik wondered. “You hate them so much because they’re Blues?”

The boy gave Haik the same dead-eyed, uncomprehending expression he might have got if he’d asked a buzzard why it was ripping the entrails from a rotting dog.

“This boy is a Green,” John explained.

“And my brother, too,” the boy said. “That yellow bellied bastard who pulled the knife on me…his brother said something to my brother.”

“It must have been very bad,” Haik remarked.

“Something you daren’t let anyone say and keep living,” the boy said solemnly, “if he’s a Blue.”

“But why do you hate Blues so much?” Haik persisted.

“Well, they’re just bad, is all. Just plain bad. Everyone knows that. My father told me so.” The boy glanced at John and his eyes widened slightly. Had he noticed the dark blue tones of John’s cloak? He quickly tucked the knife away inside his tunic.

“Go home,” John told him sternly. “Don’t murder anyone on the way.” He added under his breath.

The boy whirled and ran off.

Haik straightened up. “The factions seem to be even worse here than in Antioch.”

“Yes, and Justinian has been trying to keep order ever since I arrived in the city. He’s passed laws against street violence and tried to mete justice out evenly. The Greens still claim he favors the Blues and the Blues insist he’s abandoned them for the Greens.”

“Does he favor one side or the other?”

“If you’re a faction member, it depends on your point of view. There’s no satisfying them.”

Haik looked puzzled. “It can’t be sheer hatred, can it? I’ve heard it said that the Blues support the wealthy and the Greens see themselves as champions of the masses.”

“If that were the case there would be incomparably more Greens than Blues. Do you think any of those boys we saw fighting came from wealthy families?”

“But it is true that the Blues are orthodox, whereas the Greens are heretics, monophysites?”

“When it suits them. Which is to say when it makes a pretext for a good fight. They’ll support any cause that gives them an excuse to wreck havoc. Remember, we were going to have a drink.”

The tavern was nearly deserted. Recently, residents went about their business and then hurried to the safety of their homes. They could feel the great beast of the city stirring within its brick and marble carapace. The hard-eyed youths who usually loitered in groups of three or four now congregated half a dozen together. Their stares lingered on passersby for longer than usual. The beggar who always sat beside the baker’s doorway was not in his accustomed place. A line of guards had rushed through the Forum Constantine for no apparent reason. The air smelled faintly of smoke. The fights between the street urchins had become more ferocious.

John and Haik went past the waist-high counter at the front of the tavern. Large pots were sunk into the mortar, some filled with wine, others with porridge and lentils, steaming fragrantly. Only after they sat down at the round wooden table in the back of the room did John notice that the wall mosaic at his shoulder depicted a race in the Hippodrome and a charioteer holding a trophy. It might well have been a portrait of Porphyrius. He couldn’t help smiling ruefully to himself.

Haik raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing,” John said.

The tavern keeper rushed over, wiping his big red hands on the greasy tunic billowing over his belly. “Good day to you, sirs. How can I help you, sirs?”

He bowed and beamed when he addressed them and returned speedily with what they had ordered.

John and Haik were dressed too well for a place like this. Provincials with mud on their boots gaped at them while a couple of laborers in leather breeches glanced in their direction and whispered to each other. A young man in filthy clothing embroidered in gold thread sat hunched with his head in his hands. A long braid of hair dangled down into the puddle of wine on his able. He took furtive looks at John and Haik.

John saw Haik’s gaze move to the drunken Blue, then away. “I hope none of our young combatants end up like him.” Haik pushed a lank strand of black hair off his forehead. “You’ll have to direct me to a tonsor, John. I’ll be mistaken for a ruffian or a chickpea.”

He had always been vain, John thought. “There is a fellow at the baths who won’t nick your skin with a razor or nick your ears with too much gossip.”

“It’s lucky I met you.” Haik stuck his knife into one of the sausages on his plate.“Imagine us running into one another in a city this size.”

“If you had stayed around the palace for long we would surely have seen one another. I am surprised I didn’t see you earlier since you arrived with Belisarius. You have been here a week already.”

“Yes. But I have been very busy. It doesn’t seem that long.” Haik chewed thoughtfully. “Imagine you, my old military friend, with a house next door to the emperor.”

“You told me you owned an estate, Haik. That’s a large step up.” John took a sip of his wine. He had not ordered anything to eat. He had no appetite. When he found himself engaged in a project he did not like to eat. Food was a distraction.

“My holdings aren’t enormous. I grow pistachios mostly. Do your remember we camped for a few weeks near Telanissos?”

“Northeast of Antioch.”

“That’s right. That’s where my land is. You can see my orchards from Saint Simeon’s Church on the hill overlooking the town. The column Simeon lived on for decades is located inside the church.”