Mary Reed - Eight for Eternity

“They don’t seem to have confined themselves to interfering with the races,” John remarked.

The hawker made a show of pouring what he claimed was holy water over the scroll. By the time he climbed back onto the cart the crowd was laughing and interested again. “Now, who has the courage to race?”

“Why don’t you try?” Junius said to John. “See if Fortuna is on your side or not?”

“I’d rather not put Fortuna to the test for matters of no consequence.”

He noticed that the Blue he had spoken to earlier was standing on the cart.

“And which team do you support?” the hawker asked.

“The Blues. The emperor’s team!”

There was general muttering.

“And who amongst us would disagree with that,” the hawker said loudly, handing the Blue four colored balls.

“Fortuna!” someone yelled in answer.

“The demons,” suggested another.

The Blue dropped the balls into the top hole. They flashed down through the maze-like track, popping in and out of sight. When the winner burst out of the machine the hawker looked startled. The ball skidded out of his hand, hit the bottom of the cart, and bounced away.

Several shouts joined each other. “Red again!”

When John stepped into the atrium of his house, four excubitors were clustered around the central fountain, struggling to drag a body out of the basin at the feet of the marble Aphrodite. John’s foot slipped. Looking down he saw a pink trickle running back across the black and white tiles from the fountain.

The excubitors cursed.“Grab the arm. Heave now. Harder. Harder.”

They had hold of an enormously fat man. The body was in a sitting position. The head with its pasty white face lolled on the multiple chins hiding the neck. The man looked vaguely familiar, John thought.

The excubitors pulled, the man slid. Water sloshed over the rim of the basin and washed away the pink trickle at John’s feet. John noticed fragments from a broken wine jug scattered on the tiles.

The body in the basin groaned. Its tiny eyes blinked.

“Pull now. Pull,” ordered a broad backed excubitor. “All together. On the count of three. One. Two….”

The fat man came up out of the water and toppled forward, nearly pushing two of the excubitors to the floor. They staggered backwards like over-laden brick carriers, and dragged him out of the basin. Not dead, but still a dead weight. One yellow slipper caught on the rim. The other foot was bare.

Then the man was upright, supported by two of the excubitors. A swaying, shivering, mountain of sodden, tangled robes. The atrium was cold in January.

“Mithra!” growled the biggest of the excubitors.

John recognized the voice. “Felix.”

The bear-like man turned around. “My apologies, John. Our esteemed guest Pompeius was contemplating the goddess, sat down in the water by mistake, and couldn’t get up. Or so he says.”

One of the excubitors snickered. “He was wrapped around her like she was a whore in an alley.”

Pompeius’ thick and now decidedly bluish lips moved and finally words spluttered out. “I was merely attempting to get to my…my…feet.”

“Had a good hand hold,” the excubitor remarked.

“Trying to pull myself up….” His words slurred together. The little eyes were noticeably red in the colorless face.

Felix glared. “Get him back to his room. See he doesn’t injure himself further.”

The excubitors assisted Pompeius out of the atrium, half carrying him into the hall leading past the chapel and to the back of the house. The man’s swollen feet-one slippered, one bare-moved, but hardly touched the tiles.

John walked over to the basin and looked in. He expected to see the missing slipper. It had apparently been lost somewhere else. He didn’t much like the thought of the fat man’s yellow slipper at large in his house waiting to surprise him. Aphrodite, undisturbed, continued to spill water serenely from the shell in her upraised hand.

“That was Pompeius, wasn’t it?” John said. “One of the nephews of old emperor Anastasius. I’ve seen him around the palace occasionally. What did you mean by calling him ‘our guest’? And what are you doing here, my friend?”

Felix tugged at his beard. “Emperor’s orders. I got them straight from Narses, unfortunately.”

Before he could explain further another man whom John knew by sight edged slowly into the atrium. The man looked around nervously. Had he been standing near the entrance to the hall, watching, the whole time?

“Is it all right then? At first I was afraid rioters had got in.” Hypatius presented a stark contrast to Pompeius. An older man but without even a middle age paunch, immaculately dressed, his face would not have looked out of place on a gold coin. Only on close examination might one notice that the deep-set eyes had pouches beneath them, the square chin was rather weak, and the aquiline nose overly large. “My family and I appreciate your hospitality, John. Even if my brother has made himself a bit too comfortable already.”

“Your family?”

Hypatius glanced around again. “Pompeius and myself and my daughter, Julianna. The emperor suggested we stay with you, until the danger of rioting has passed.”

“And your wife? You are married I believe?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Mary’s well guarded at the house. I’d prefer to be home. But Julianna’s safer here. She’s an impetuous girl. She’d be out fighting in the streets. For Justinian. Caution is always the best policy.”

“That’s why my excubitors and I are here,” Felix put in. “To guard the guests, just in case.”

Hypatius nodded gravely. “Exactly. You never know. The factions might have designs on us. If you don’t object, I had better go and look after my brother.”

John didn’t speak until Hypatius had vanished down the hall. Then he sighed. “So my house is to be a prison? Why my house, I wonder?”

“Justinian knows you barely use it. I wouldn’t say Justinian is imprisoning them, though. They came to the palace as soon as the factions got restless and refused to leave.”

“Since they are the closest relatives of the late Emperor Anastasius, they must be less worried about rioters than about appearing disloyal to Justinian.”

“That’s right. They want to stick by his side so he doesn’t get the idea they’re plotting against him. Not that they’ve allayed his suspicions entirely. I was told to keep an eye on them, and make sure they don’t leave.”

John could hear the disgust in his friend’s voice. He knew it wasn’t the kind of job Felix would enjoy. For his part, John wasn’t unhappy to host the excubitor. The two men had worked together in the past but lately their official duties had kept their paths from crossing very often. Between Felix’s increasing responsibilities in the imperial guards and John’s attendance on the emperor there was barely spare time for the occasional brief conversation at a tavern.

“As far as I can tell, Hypatius isn’t the sort to venture out into the streets until he considers them perfectly safe,” John observed. “And Pompeius is lucky if he can stand up.”

“I can’t say I blame him resorting to the grape. He must feel like a grape being crushed between the emperor and the factions. The third nephew, Probus, abandoned his mansion and fled the city. Talk has it that some in the factions want to replace Justinian with one of the Anastasius line. But then, I’m sure you know more about it all than I do. The family suspects they’d be more likely to end wearing a noose than a diadem.”

“Very perceptive of them.”

John scanned the atrium. He still didn’t see the yellow slipper. What he did see were puddles of wine and water on the floor and shards from the jug. He also saw two of his female servants peering in from the hall leading to the back of the house. Another servant, an older man, stood in the opposite doorway, staring uncertainly, a bucket in one hand and a rag in the other.