Eight for Eternity

by Mary Reed

  Narses bowed. “It is imperative that yourself and our dear empress be kept safe, and therefore it would be prudent—”

  Theodora’s face flushed with anger. Her enormous eyes had the demoniacal glow of fiery pits. “We will have nothing of such cowardice! Eunuchs may scream and scuttle and hide, but our beloved emperor has an iron will and refuses to be intimated by the cries of a horde of fools.”

  Several servants were picking up chests from behind the throne. The emperor’s waiting ship must be well packed by now, John thought. One of the servants, bowing repeatedly, took a step toward Justinian. “Caesar, if I may ask, is it your wish that we take these thrones—”

  “Traitor!” shrieked Theodora. “Guards! Execute this man! Guards! Guards!”

  John noticed the silentiaries were no longer in sight. The servant retreated hastily. The unfortunate courtier, still lying on his face, moaned in terror.

  Theodora gave him a vicious kick to the ear. A droplet of blood spattered onto the hem of Justinian’s tunic. “Who dares to suggest our brave ruler would run away, frightened by a crew of unwashed beggars! Traitors! Ingrates! Vipers!” With each exclamation she administered a kick to the prone man’s ribs.

  Then she whirled, sending a gust of exotic perfume and sweat in John’s direction, and stabbed a bejeweled finger at Narses. “And you! Have you been bribed that you would even contemplate advising such a retreat? The imperial torturers will find out the truth of that!”

  Narses paled. Before he could reply, one of the few onlookers left in the room—one who was at a safe distance—called out in a quavering voice. “We will stay and defend our ruler to the last man if that is his wish.”

  Theodora emitted a cawing laugh. “And who would say nay to the emperor? But I say this is not a time to flee, never to be safe, always looking over our shoulders, afraid of being hunted down like common criminals. We are of the purple and all bow down before us.”

  Narses managed to speak. “You will not be abandoning the right to rule if you leave the city, highness. I suggest we sail to Heraclea. You will be able to summon the army of the west. They and the eastern army will be on the march as soon as orders reach them.”

  Theodora’s eyes widened, her nostrils flared. Her beringed hand shot out and grasped the front of Narses’ garment, ripping halfway down his sunken chest. The reception hall was silent. The rumble from the Hippodrome could be heard clearly.

  Theodora looked Narses up and down. “It seems I was wrong, Narses.” Her voice was a hiss. “I thought you would have breasts, for you speak like a woman.” Her gaze swept past John and settled on Justinian. “Are these the only advisors you have left, this pair of poor unmanly creatures?”

  “It would appear so,” Justinian replied. “What do think, John? Is it worth standing and fighting if losing is a certainty?”

  John bowed slightly. “Nothing is a certainty. However, even if it were, what one may lose by fighting is not necessarily the same as what one may lose by fleeing. The question is what you most fear to lose.”

  Theodora laughed. “This one speaks some sense, if doubtless only to further his scheming ends. You should have listened to Belisarius. Crush the traitors immediately. ”

  Even now Justinian’s features betrayed nothing. John had always considered the emperor a marvel of self control. Was he in fact a demon, as was whispered across the city, or did he suffer from some ailment which rendered him incapable of displaying normal human emotions?

  “I prefer to believe John is playing the oracle,” Justinian said. “He wants me to decide that he means what I want to hear. Prudence is always the best course. We will not be without resources once we leave the capital.”

  “You don’t expect the armies to rally to a coward who takes flight, do you?” Theodora’s voice shook with fury. “My father was a bear keeper. I come from the dung in the stables and the filth in the streets. No one can imagine what I have suffered to reach this place. I will die before I am dragged away from it. Haven’t you poured out gold for the masses? Provided for the poor and weak? Why should you fly from those who should love you? We are of the purple. That is all that is necessary to know.”

  “Stay here, highness, and I fear you’ll be buried in purple,” Narses observed.

  “Purple makes the best shroud.” Theodora put her hand on Justinian’s arm. “If the empire’s existence depends upon the safety of our beloved ruler, then by all means let him leave, and leave now. But I wish to remain.”

  “I cannot allow that,” Justinian replied. “Let us go. We can discuss our next actions once we are safely at sea.”

  ***

  A covered walkway connecting a series of stairways between the terraces on which the palace gardens were built led to the imperial docks. John accompanied the emperor and empress, along with several silentiaries recruited in the halls. As the small party started down the first stairway Justinian gave John instructions. “Once we’re safely on board, return and assist Narses. I want as many ships as possible loaded with our belongings. Don’t forget the imperial plate.”

  John noted that neither he nor Narses, ordered to remain in the Daphne Palace to make final arrangements, were invited to flee with them. “And Belisarius and Mundus?” he asked.

  “They are to leave for Heraclea as soon as possible. The contingents they brought with them are not large enough to subdue the city. In Heraclea the generals will be able to take control of both armies and return to put down the riots. Once on board, I will issue written orders for you to take to them.”

  “I am not a soldier,” said Theodora. “I am barred by my sex from that profession. Yet it seems to this woman that a thousand trained men should be able to crush any number of rabble, if they are ordered to do so.”

  “And how can you be certain my generals wouldn’t be as likely to cut my throat as follow my order?” Justinian replied mildly.

  Were Justinian’s fears well founded, John wondered.

  As he descended the stairs he felt he was once again in the strange dream garden where he had met Haik’s shade. The stairways felt unfamiliar now that they were leading not just to the docks, but to another world. A world where Justinian no longer occupied the palace. Where would that leave John?

  The thought occurred to him that his investigation was finished. He would never discover what had happened to the mysterious adoption document Haik brought to the city. It was hardly worth mulling over at this point, but John couldn’t help thinking about the document. Was it the reason he was helping usher Justinian into exile? Had it, in some manner, sealed the emperor’s fate? Had it convinced Porphyrius to rally the populace to Hypatius? Why not? Porphyrius once rallied the crowds to Hypatius’ uncle, Emperor Anastasius. It might not have taken much to convince the charioteer to side with the family again. He changed racing colors like rich men changed tunics.

  Had the document also, perhaps, convinced Belisarius to abandon Justinian, or given him a pretext to do so? How much pretext would an ambitious man need? Who could argue that conspiring to make a Persian heir to the Empire was not traitorous? Porphyrius might have approached Belisarius with the damning agreement and offered his own support at the same time.

  It was all speculation and would remain so now.

  The party reached the next terrace, another step down toward exile. Behind them loomed a high masonry wall, overhung with greenery and lined at its base with trees and shrubbery. The gardens narrowed here and before long they could see the waist high parapet marking the edge of the terrace.

  The path to the stairway led through an arbor surrounded by ornamental bushes and shrouded by thick ropes of leafless vines.

  As they passed into the semi-shadow John thought he heard a rustling sound. He turned his head. There was no one following them aside from the trailing guard.

  He heard a sort of crunch nearby. John peered over the shoulders of the imperial couple. The path ahead was as clear as that behind.

 
A tiny bit of bark drifted down onto his sleeve. John looked up. The thickly entwined vines overhead were trembling almost imperceptibly.

  Someone was moving stealthily along the top of the arbor.

  Justinian and Theodora had reached the end of the arbor.

  There was no time for a warning. John sprang forward, past the imperial couple, and as he did so, the toe of a boot appeared at the edge of roof. John leapt, caught the intruder’s foot, and brought him crashing to the ground.

  The intruder rolled and sprang to his feet. John saw a dark, hunched creature in rags. The demon he had pursued along the spina in the Hippodrome.

  “I crave an audience!” cried the demon.

  John drew his blade. Justinian laughed and waved him and the guards back. “How could I refuse such an ingenious petitioner?” He smiled at his unexpected visitor. “Speak before you are put to death.”

  The demon took a few lurching steps. The rags it wore appeared to be half burnt and ashes speckled its wild hair. It carried with it the sharp odor of smoke. “I have already conquered death and I shall do so again, and therefore I have no fear of dying! But you, my emperor, I see have a great fear of death. Surely you realize that wherever you go, no matter how far across the seas, you will find death waiting.”

  “True enough, but your death is much closer at hand. Why do you desire an audience?”

  “To tell you how you may be saved.”

  An expression of interest crossed Justinian’s face. “Are you here on behalf of your fellow rioters?”

  “I bring a message from heaven.”

  Theodora laughed contemptuously. “From heaven? You’re the first angel I’ve ever encountered who smells like he’s been smoldering in hell!”

  “Not so!” responded the visitor. “For I have seen demons roaming the streets of Constantinople! They are leading loyal subjects astray, whispering lies about our rulers! Encouraging them to kill the old and crown the new!”

  John thought it strange that such a demonic creature should be speaking against demons. Yet, peering closely, he could almost make out the features of the young man the thing had once been.

  The creature turned its bloodshot gaze to Justinian. “Peace will return, excellency, but to achieve that you must banish the demons.”

  “Do you mean by magick?” Theodora asked with obvious interest.

  “Not just common magick. Magick far more powerful!” The creature reached into the tattered fabric at its chest and drew out a length of splintered wood with a ribbon dangling from it. “This is a piece of the True Cross! What miracles can be wrought with such a relic! It will banish evil and heal the sick and raise the dead! Am I not a living example?”

  Justinian regarded him with an even gaze. “You say you’ve been dead?”

  “Oh yes. I was foully murdered. But in heaven we forgive our enemies, so I bring you this….” The creature bent, laid the splintered piece of wood at Justinian’s red boots, and backed slowly away.

  Justinian gestured to John to pick up the object. It was cylindrical, with a piece of shredded ribbon from which hung an embossed lead disk.

  “A broken spoke from a wheel, probably a chariot wheel,” John said, turning the object around. “And there’s an imperial seal attached to it.”

  Theodora leaned over to examine the seal. “Anastasius!” she cried. “It’s one of Anastasius’ seals!” She glared at the ragged creature now slowly creeping backwards. “You’re from the conspirators! You’re one of the traitors!”

  Justinian had taken the peculiar talisman from John and was regarding it pensively. “The Lord is free to send whatever sort of messenger he wants. What could be more persuasive than a message authenticated with an imperial seal? In simpler times a burning bush might have sufficed. It may be this is what a miracle looks like in our present age. A spoke from a wheel…or perhaps a piece of the True Cross? Is not our empire being crucified on a cross made by the racing factions? Clearly, the Lord has spoken. We shall stay. Victory will not be given to the mob. It will be ours!”

  A hoarse cry drew John’s attention back to the tattered messenger. “His will is done,” the creature shouted.

  He scuttled to the parapet at the edge of the terrace. “Now I may fly back whence I came.”

  He spread his arms wide and flung himself into space.

  ***

  Rusticus lifted his head to look up from the crumpled body half buried in the thorn bush at the base of the terrace wall. “He’s dead,” he announced, remarking to John in an undertone “but then that’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  Justinian had ordered John to send for Rusticus. Was it simply one of the emperor’s strange humors? Did he expect the dead man to rise again? Or was it more a case of wanting reassurance he would not?

  Now Justinian’s face was as unreadable as his image stamped into the gold face of a coin. Was he reconsidering his decision to remain in the city, John wondered?

  “Apparently our sooty angel was deluded,” Theodora remarked. “He didn’t have wings after all.”

  Rusticus turned his attention back to the corpse and pointed out two grooves in the neck. “It looks as if he was half strangled, doesn’t it? In a way he was as I happen to know he was hung.”

  “It’s Hippolytus, isn’t it?” John asked.

  Rusticus got to his feet with a grunt. “Yes. The Green I saw who was supposed to be executed. He’s finished the job himself.”

  “Caesar,” John addressed the emperor. “The fact that this man was alive all the time we considered him dead solves the mystery. Hippolytus was the murderer. He strangled the other condemned man from the rival faction, while they were imprisoned at Saint Laurentius. There was never any plot to kill those two. The opposition is not as organized as—”

  Justinian interrupted. “Yes. I see that. Explain later. There isn’t time now. We will return to the palace at once.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  The noise from the Hippodrome was different this time. Before, heard from the palace grounds, it had been a roar, the voice of the city, inarticulate and monstrous. Now it was a wail, the death cry of some incredible beast.

  When John reached his house Felix was standing outside and it was clear from his grim expression that he also was listening to the dreadful sound.

  “I’ve just come from Justinian,” John said. “He’s ordered Belisarius and Mundus to the Hippodrome to confront the mob.”

  “I wish I were out in that battle. They were fools to assemble in one place. So much easier to kill the lot.”

  “It isn’t a battle. That’s the sound of a slaughter,” John said. “Have you seen Julianna? She was supposed to come here for her belongings.”

  “She isn’t here.” Felix did not have to add what he feared, that she had gone out into the city again and been caught in the bloodshed.

  “It occurred to me that Julianna might be able to talk her father into ordering the rioters to make peace with Justinian. Perhaps she had the same thought.”

  “It’s as good a guess as any, John.”

  They set off without further discussion. John explained how he had been detained, described Hippolytus’ interview with Justinian on the terrace and his own conclusions about the murder of the Blue. The murder no longer seemed important.

  “At least Justinian can’t accuse you of having failed in your investigation, even if it turned out to be of little consequence,” Felix remarked. “We’re fortunate he finally allowed Belisarius and Mundus to fight. But for such a strange reason. Only a Christian would ignore generals and heed a madman.”

  They picked their way around the huge boulders of masonry where the Chalke had stood. Ribbons of smoke rose from the rubble. A scrawny dog worried what might have been an arm protruding from a pile of scorched bricks.

  By the time they reached the Mese the terrible wailing had begun to die away and up and down the thoroughfare individual voices could be made out. The loud words of a
dispute. Laughter.

  Knots of people clustered under part of a colonnade that had survived the fires. The Hunnish hair-styles many sported marked them as Blues. A man with a long braid wandered in circles in the middle of the street. Seeing him, John could feel the wet rope of the braid by which he had pulled the drowned man from the cistern. A chill ran down his back.

  “Dancing with Bacchus,” Felix muttered.

  A burst of raucous merriment drifted from a nearby tavern which was apparently still in business, if somewhat smoke stained. A figure lurched out, staggered over to them, and put a hand on John’s shoulder to steady himself. Felix drew his sword.

  John removed the hand from his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Felix. I know this man. What is it, Junius?”

  The young charioteer swayed but managed to remain upright. “Good thing I saw you. Need to warn you. Stay away from the Hippodrome. Too dangerous.”

  He exhaled a fog of wine along with his slurred words.

  “You are telling us this because…?”

  “So you’ll put in a good word for me with Porphyrius, for saving your life,” the other replied with what probably struck him as impeccable logic in his inebriated state. “Just been celebrating the triumph of Justinian, thanks to a benefactor of the Blues.”

  Felix grabbed Junius by the arm and yanked him around so he could glare into the charioteer’s suddenly panic-stricken face. “Better to ask what all these Blues are doing out here drinking themselves into the gutter when people are being killed in the Hippodrome.”

  “All of us were ordered to get out,” Junius stammered. “By Porphyrius. And I heard Narses was making money available out in the street, or at any rate the taverns would be serving free wine. I had to leave. All the Blues were leaving.”

  Felix pushed Junius away. “So the Blues were paid to leave the Greens to their fate.”

  He and John finished their journey to the Hippodrome at a run. The clatter of hooves greeted them on the concourse. A bleeding man stumbled across the open space. His mounted pursuer overtook him, ran a spear through his neck, yanked it free in a gout of blood, and rode back into the stadium. From its depths echoed isolated shouts, screams, and hoof beats.