Mary Reed - Eight for Eternity

The Mese had been empty when John and Felix made their way to Hypatius’ house. By the time they returned to the street it was jammed with humanity. The whole population of Constantinople seemed to be funneled into the main thoroughfare.

“Like sausage meat into a length of pig’s gut,” Felix remarked.

“What’s happening?” John called out to a youth who trotted along at the edge of the throng.

When the young man ignored the question Felix grabbed him by the arm. The youth gaped in terror at the big, bearded soldier who held him. “It’s the new emperor, sirs,” he stammered. “Hypatius. We’re taking him to the Hippodrome. He’s going to vanquish the tyrant.”

Felix pushed the youth away. “More likely the poor man is going to end up dead, as his wife knows only too well.”

“If the populace considers Hypatius to be emperor, it should be ready to take orders from him,” John pointed out. “He can order them to abandon the revolt. Or at least put off attacking the palace. I might be able to convince him that he could save his head.”

“I suppose anything is worth a try. If you can get to him to talk.” Felix surveyed the crowd which continued to stream past. “We’ll never get to the kathisma through the Hippodrome.”

“We’ll go in by the entrance inside the palace.”

“And we can use the back alleys to get to the palace, once we cross the street.” Felix smiled grimly, unsheathed his sword, and began displaying it to the passersby blocking the way.

It didn’t take long to re-enter the palace. The would-be rioters were eager to see the great mass of their companions but much less enthusiastic about facing a sharp blade themselves. The torrent rushing along the Mese had sucked the alleys dry of humanity. The excubitors at the obscure southern entrance to the palace allowed the two familiar men in without hesitation, but those blocking the passageway to the kathisma from the Daphne Palace were under orders that no one should pass.

John demanded to speak to the commander. He and Felix waited by one of the monumental columns supporting the towering arch at the head of the passageway. Finally Captain Gallio strolled out and sneered at Felix’s request to enter. “You expect to be allowed to join the rioters? Deserting wasn’t enough? Well, I suppose you can only hang once, or so I would have imagined until recently. The excubitors have their duty and we intend to carry it out.”

“You want to be close at hand to serve Hypatius,” Felix snarled.

John stepped between Felix and the captain. “Felix is under my command right now, Gallio. And I am serving Emperor Justinian. As you can see from my official orders.”

He stuck them under the captain’s face. Days of use had wrinkled the parchment, frayed the cord around it and flattened the embossing on the lead seal. The condition of the orders did not render them less impressive, although Justinian’s precarious situation did.

Gallio brushed the orders aside. “From what I hear Justinian will be halfway across the Marmara by the time you get to the top of the stairs. And Emperor Hypatius will not appreciate being disturbed.”

John tucked the parchment back into his tunic. “It may be that Justinian and Hypatius can come to an agreement. A great deal of blood might be spared. Emperor Hypatius will not look kindly on the man who stopped the former emperor’s emissary from saving him trouble.”

Gallio’s lips tightened. “I would not want to cause any emperor trouble.” He glared at Felix. “I cannot allow an armed soldier into the imperial box. You, Chamberlain, may go.”

“Very well. Felix, please wait here for me.”

Felix obeyed, scowling ferociously.

John followed Gallio down a short passageway lined with armed men, through a double set of barred doorways, to the base of a white marble stairway. Since he had risen to the position of chamberlain, John had climbed these stairs every time Justinian presided over a race or ceremony in the Hippodrome, more times than he could count. Unlike most of the palace architecture, they were less than aesthetically pleasing, and far from grand. They were steep and narrow and dimly lit. A few armed men could defend them from an army.

At the top of the stairs a number of rooms, including a small dining hall, opened off the corridor leading to the imperial box itself. The place was crowded with a noisy conglomeration of citizens-faction members clothed in their colors, wealthy aristocrats wearing rich robes, other men whose ripped and stained clothing made it clear they had been fighting in the streets. There was even a beggar with a cup. Whether he’d come in for the warmth, or with the idea of earning extra coins, or simply found himself swept up there by accident, John couldn’t say. The man had, however, sat down beside a doorway, as was his custom outside.

More men milled around the cold imperial box, but here John recognized several senators and palace officials. They looked startled and quickly turned their backs to him.

Hypatius sat on the elevated throne, looking out over the packed Hippodrome. It was peculiar, seeing him there rather than Justinian. He looked much more an emperor.

From far below the masses they would see the noble profile, the square chin and aquiline nose, the very image of his uncle Anastasius. They would see the purple drapery around his shoulders and be able to make out the sparkle of sunlight off the gold encircling his head. They would not be able to make out the pouches under his eyes, or the way his lips trembled. They would not see that the sparkling diadem was a woman’s gold hair chain and the purple drapery a torn piece of a silk gown.

John made his way to the throne and spoke quietly. “Hypatius.”

The would-be emperor looked down. “Chamberlain, if you have come to save me, you are too late.”

The crowd roared his name and Hypatius raised his hand tentatively and the roar grew louder. “Long live Hypatius! Long live Hypatius!”

The trembling of his lips subsided and he waved his hand again, more confidently.

“There’s still time, Hypatius. I am told you were taken from your house against your will. You can hardly be blamed for that. Advise the rioters to return to their homes.”

“I doubt they would love me so well if I did.”

“Then simply leave with me.”

“I am afraid I am outnumbered.” He gestured at the ranks below who broke into cheers again.

“You don’t have to fight your way through them. The stairs to the palace aren’t far away, and I spotted more than a few men who would be happy to let you go in return for my forgetting to tell Justinian that they were here.”

“Does anyone still fear Justinian? I heard he had already sailed.” Hypatius caught the eye of a nearby man dressed in a green tunic. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” said the Green. “Justinian fled to Trebizond this morning.”

“Porphyrius said so,” confirmed his companion.

“No, it came straight from Narses,” someone else said.

A dissenting voice chimed in. “Narses only saw the ship in the harbor. It was one of Justinian’s officials said it had sailed. A chamberlain I think.”

“You see,” Hypatius said. “If Justinian has ceded his position to me than I have nothing to fear except the wrath of the crowd. It would be foolish to betray them. Besides, it is my duty. The empire should not go rudderless because the coward who was at the helm has chosen to flee.” He raised both hands and smiled as the tumult rolled across the stadium and crashed in waves across those in the imperial box.

John realized there was no point in arguing. He swept the box with his gaze and saw Pompeius. He had wedged his bulky figure into a far corner from where he stared dolefully at the back of the throne.