Mary Reed - Eight for Eternity

Justinian’s voice was far from thunderous and easily drowned out in a fresh outburst of shouts.

“Where are their heads?”

“Show us the Cappadocian’s head!”

“Bring Tribonian out and throw him down to us!”

Justinian raised the gospels again. John noticed that although the emperor’s face was deathly pale, his expression was as emotionless as ever. “Hear the rest of the Lord’s message! He told me that as you forgive my oversights, so too shall I accept your repentance for the violence you have done. Therefore I grant a general amnesty. No man shall suffer at the hand of law no matter what crimes he may have committed. Now go in peace and pray for forgiveness.”

Before the emperor had finished speaking raucous screams echoed around the Hippodrome.

“Liar!”

“Betrayer!”

“Fool!”

“You murdered the Blue and the Green!”

Then a voice cried out, “Long live Hypatius!”

Almost instantly the mob erupted, “Long live Hypatius! Long live the heir of Anastasius!”

A wave of people surged up the seating tiers directly below the kathisma. Justinian turned and walked toward its door. As he passed John caught his eye.

“You are, of course, relieved of your duties here,” Justinian told him. “I will need you at the palace in a short while.” He was holding the jeweled gospel. He glanced down at it and then back over his shoulder. “The Lord may speak in a vision. Perhaps he speaks in the voice of the mob as well.”

Then he went out, closely accompanied by a handful of silentiaries and scholarae.

Felix spat on the floor. “What a useless crew! Gallio won’t let the real guards do their duty. Those carpet soldiers won’t be of any use in a fight. All they know about active duty is surrendering their pay to Justinian to avoid it.”

The shouts from the multitudes had become almost deafening. The imperial box overhung the seats in such a way as to make entry from below difficult. Before retreating back down the stairs to the palace, John strode to the balustrade, to risk assessing the situation. He was surprised to see that the incipient attack on the kathisma had been abandoned. The crowd had started to flow toward the Hippodrome’s main gate.

“Off to burn something else,” remarked Felix from his side. “Soon there’ll be nothing left.”

“I don’t think that’s it. Listen.”

Clearly the babble of shouts had now coalesced into a booming chant. “Long live Hypatius! Long live Hypatius!”

Felix cursed. “They’re off to seize their new emperor, aren’t they? Do you think Hypatius has had the sense to flee the city?”

“I have no idea what his plans were. If he’s still here we might be able to get to his house before the mob arrives and warn him.” John turned and left the box.

Felix was at his heels. “Does he want to be warned?”

“Do you mean would he prefer to be crowned? He told me he’s been avoiding the possibility his whole life.”

“Was he telling the truth? He’s been a soldier. A general. He personally commanded the army of the east, however poorly, which is more than Justinian can say.”

There was no reply to that. It was impossible to be certain what Hypatius really thought.

Rather than taking the stairs back to the palace, John veered into a narrow, descending corridor. “There is an entrance on the western side of the Hippodrome, mostly used to bring in supplies. It comes out near the Mese.”

The two men broke into a run. The corridor ended in a hallway just off the concourse at the front of the stadium. The noise of the throng moving toward the entrance was the roar of a flooded river. They found themselves behind the curved line of the starting boxes. Over the top of the stalls and their double gates they could see the spina. He was surprised to see that horses occupied most of the boxes. They snorted and whinnied as John and Felix rushed past.

Then a group of men armed with lances stepped out of a stall into their path. Felix drew his sword, but he and John were surrounded and outnumbered.

“Lower your weapons,” came the order. “They aren’t horse thieves.”

John recognized the young charioteer who strode forward. “Junius. I’m surprised anyone’s here. I expected you would all want to join in the coronation of the new emperor.”

“We race for the Blues. Why would we favor a member of Anastasius’ family? He supported the Reds. We’d be persecuted again.”

“Most of the Blues in the city don’t seem to agree.”

“No. They’re deranged with hatred for Justinian. All they can think of is ridding themselves of the imperial demon. They’ll come to their senses soon enough.”

“What about Porphyrius? What does he think?”

“Ask him yourself.” Junius nodded toward a storeroom, from which Porphyrius was emerging.

The charioteer immediately spotted John. “Chamberlain! What are you doing here?”

“I’m being detained from urgent business.” He gestured at the armed men who still blocked his path.

“It’s far too dangerous to be out.”

“You’re here,” John observed.

“We started to lead the horses to the gates, in case the track could be cleared.”

“You’re not leading the factions into the streets? And it was you who united them?”

“You overestimate my influence.”

John began to reply but was cut off by a high pitched voice. “And you, Porphyrius, are much too modest.”

Narses stepped out of the storeroom Porphyrius had come from, carrying with him a miasma of perfume, weirdly out of place in the earthy atmosphere inside the Hippodrome.

“What business do you have here?” John snapped, realizing immediately that he had no authority to question Narses.

“The emperor’s business, obviously. Preserving the empire. Avoiding violence.”

John shot a questioning look at Porphyrius.

“I don’t have time to talk,” he said.

John felt Felix’s hand on his shoulder. “Neither do we, John.”

“You’re right,” John muttered. “You’ll allow us to pass, Porphyrius.”

The charioteer silently gestured to the armed men who stepped aside.

Outside the Hippodrome, the Mese was eerily lifeless without even a beggar or stray dog to disrupt the stillness.

“We’re too late,” Felix growled.

The mangled iron gate swinging open in the archway leading to Hypatius’ courtyard confirmed his words.

The two men ran across the gravel to the mansion’s portico.

A woman dressed in dark blue silks sat on the steps, head in her hands, shaking with sobs. John guessed it was Hypatius’ wife, Mary. Two of her attendants tried to comfort her.

John spoke without preamble. “Has Hypatius gone?”

Mary looked up at him with reddened eyes. Grey, disheveled hair hung around her face. She looked older than her husband. “They came for him. Dragged him away. I begged him not to go, to barricade himself inside the house. He was afraid they’d hurt me, or burn the house or seek out that drunken fool of a brother instead.”

She ran a silken sleeve across her tear streaked face.

“Do you have any idea where they went?”

“To Forum Constantine. He’s to be crowned emperor.” She pushed stray hairs out of her face.”

“Where is Pompeius? Is he here?”

Mary shook her head. “No. When they had carried Hypatius off he went rushing after them. What did he suppose he was going to do? He’d had so much wine he could barely stay upright. Hypatius should have let them take Pompeius. He sacrificed himself for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. You’re still safe, and your daughter Julianna is safe as well. Hypatius must have told you she’s with Antonina.”

The woman nodded and loose hair fell across her face. She pushed it away. “One of the rogues stole the gold chain from my hair. He said they had no diadem so a gold circlet would have to do. Perhaps already I am the wife of an emperor. Is this what it feels like? I do not envy Theodora.” She began to weep again.