Eight for Eternity (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

January 15, 532

Felix picked Eros up by his gilded wings and shook him.

“Don’t kill me,” screeched the costumed boy. “I’ll tell you how to get to Antonina’s apartments.”

Felix dropped the little godlet. One of the wings crunched against the tiled floor. A cloud of powder shaken off the boy’s clothing and face hung in the corridor.

Felix struggled not to cough.

The boy scrambled to his knees, the broken wing dangling pathetically from his narrow back. He was one of the court pages who decorated certain inner sanctums at the great palace. Only now he was not so decorative. Tears ran down his face and the rosy makeup on his cheeks was blotched. “Just turn right at the next hallway.” The boy snuffled. “Then right again. Not that you’ll be admitted.”

“I’m sure I’ll be admitted.” Felix felt for the sword at his belt.

The page got to his feet and wiped at his eyes. “You’re not going to put your sword into her, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m a friend of hers.”

“But not so good a friend as to put your sword into her?” The smeared lip coloring accentuated the boy’s leer. He started to back away.

Felix reached out and grabbed a scrawny arm. “I’m not letting you run off and alert the guards. Show me the way.”

He pushed the boy in front of him and drew his sword.

Suddenly the floor seemed to lurch beneath his boots, nearly throwing him backwards. He was almost overcome by dizziness. Why he could not say. He put his free hand out to the wall, steadying himself.

How had he managed to make his way so far inside the Daphne Palace? He couldn’t quite recall. A fog kept swallowing up the immediate past, as it had two nights ago, when he had been running around the gardens attacking statuary. Apparently the trained excubitors who usually watched these precincts had been sent to secure the palace walls against the rioters. It might also be that the emperor didn’t want the excubitors so close to him, given Captain Gallio’s practically treasonous stance. Whatever the reason, the usual guards had been replaced with doddering old silentiaries used to posing ornamentally at doorways and scholarae who normally paraded on horseback when the emperor required spectacle.

So far they had all been willing to let Felix pass on the basis of the orders from Gallio—orders intended to allow him to move freely enough to carry out his duties toward the Anastasius family. They didn’t give him the right to wander around the Daphne Palace, but Felix’s blade and demeanor discouraged any of the hangers-on from daring to actually read what was on the parchment beyond identifying Gallio’s official signature.

“Go on,” Felix told the boy gruffly. “Don’t try running away. My blade will move faster than you do.”

The boy went slowly down the corridor and turned left.

“I thought you told me to turn right?” Felix said.

“I didn’t, did I? You scared me so. I don’t know what I was saying.”

“No tricks, Eros. No one will care much about a dead page. They’ll be more concerned about the bloodstains on the floor.”

The boy emitted a faint whimper and continued on, his broken wing dragging on the floor.

Felix followed warily. It was all very strange. It occurred to him that he should be at his post at John’s house, particularly since John’s friend had been murdered a few hours ago. Possibly by an intruder. Poisoned? Had Felix been poisoned too? Had the intruder found his way into the kitchen? Was that why Felix felt so peculiar? What exactly had he eaten at John’s house most recently? He couldn’t recall. Oddly enough, it all seemed unimportant.

He may as well have been lying in bed, dreaming. How foolhardy could someone be, not only to abandon their post at a time of peril, but to do so to visit the imperial quarters to pay a surprise call on a woman friend of Theodora’s? It must be a dream and since it was only a dream—and a most entertaining one—he did not want to wake himself. Besides, he felt a compulsion that overrode reason. Just as he had in the gardens the other night.

After all, Antonina had invited him to meet her in secret. Now it was he who was arranging the meeting. She would surely be delighted and it would be as it had been in the Hall of the Nineteen Couches. However it had been there. He could not remember anything about it, except that it had been very, very good, until he woke up hacking at Emperor Constantine. That hadn’t been so good.

Another wave of dizziness hit him.

How odd. He had felt fine since John had hauled him out of the gardens after his tryst with Antonina. Until he woke up this morning. Then he had felt almost drunk, although he had not been drinking. It wasn’t surprising that he felt peculiar, though, since clearly he hadn’t really awakened yet.

The boy vanished around a corner and Felix lurched after him.

“Stop! Don’t go any further!”

Felix blinked. He had fallen into a daze. He swung his sword. The figure blocking in his path leapt out of harm’s way.

“You stupid man! Can’t you see? It’s me, Julianna.”

Felix gaped in horror at the slight girl dressed in blue, dark hair coiled on either side of her face.

Julianna’s eyes blazed with fury. “Not only did I just save myself, I saved you from a horrible death in the dungeons. What’s the matter with you? What are you doing here?”

“I need to see Antonina,” Felix stammered.

“Did she send for you?”

“Yes. Or, rather…not exactly.”

“Look at me, Felix.” Julianna stared into his eyes and gave a sniff of disgust. “I can see what the problem is. I should have guessed.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“No. You’re not. You’re…well…never mind.”

The haze that kept closing in on Felix dissipated a bit. He could suddenly see his surroundings more clearly. “Where’s the boy? He’s run off. He’ll fetch the guards.”

“Don’t worry,” Julianna said. “I’m appointing you to be my bodyguard. In case anyone questions why you’re here. Which means you use that sword on anyone who comes after me. Not on me. Put it away.”

Felix slipped his blade back into its scabbard. “But what are you doing here?”

“I’ve been to see Antonina. She’s a good friend.”

“Then you can take me to her.”

“I hardly think so. Belisarius’ men are protecting her, as they are the imperial couple and a few others. They aren’t traitors like the excubitors or incompetent cowards like the court fops who’ve taken their places.”

“But…I’m your bodyguard.”

“Believe me, Felix, Antonina doesn’t want to see you right now.”

Felix shook his head, trying to clear it. His ears buzzed. His surroundings were beginning to seem more solid, less dream-like. “But I am your bodyguard. I’m supposed to be guarding you, at John’s house. You shouldn’t be here. How did you get out?”

Julianna stepped past him and grabbed his sleeve. “Let’s worry about getting you out safely.”

“Have my guards been sleeping at their posts? Did you bribe them?”

She tugged his sleeve. “Follow me. It would be best if we weren’t seen.”

She hurried back in the direction from which Felix had come and pushed through some heavy purple draperies, which Felix had taken for wall hangings, revealing an arched doorway. Warm air issued from the narrow hallway beyond.

Felix followed. The hallway curved gradually. The air grew warmer and droplets appeared on the walls.

Abruptly they emerged into an enormous room whose high ceiling was obscured with mist. The air felt as hot and moist as that in the baths. Enormous potted plants with exotic-shaped and colorful leaves hid the walls. Shafts of light fell through the mists from windows far above. Felix could hear water gurgling and birds singing. As he gazed upwards there was a flash of yellow as two birds rose from the fronds of a tree unlike any Felix had ever seen.

The flash of yellow was followed immediately by a flash of red, the predominant color of the long tunic and loose trousers of the man who stepped from behind the tree. The man’s black hair hung to his shoulders in glossy ringlets. A pointed beard accentuated the length and angularity of his face. Ear rings dangled from both ears.

The stranger regarded Felix and Julianna with the eyes of a hawk, then walked straight past them and went out into the corridor without a word.

Felix stared after him in amazement.

“It’s the Persian emissary,” Julianna said. “Antonina told me he traveled here with Belisarius. Something to do with the peace treaty Justinian is negotiating. He’s staying somewhere at the Daphne and is always wandering about. I keep running into him. Gives me chills every time.”

“I’m not surprised,” Felix said. What other wonders might they encounter in this strange and secret place?

“Come on,” Julianna told him. “There isn’t any time to waste.” Her voice echoed in the huge space.

Then they plunged into another, colder, hallway. A door of intricately carved wood opened on a long room illuminated by a single lamp. The meager light glimmered on busts arrayed on pedestals all around the walls. An enormous central table receded into the darkness, more like the highway outside the Golden Gate than a mere piece of furniture.

Purple silk billowed from the walls and ceiling of the passageway beyond. The silk rippled constantly, like the windblown sea. Felix felt his giddiness returning.

He stumbled. Closed his eyes for an instant trying to regain his equilibrium. When he opened his eyes again he saw he was standing in a gilded alcove, in front of an archway guarded by a shining metal statue. Neptune, he supposed, judging from the trident the stern, bearded figure held upright. Beyond the archway a wide marble staircase curved upwards. Curious, Felix took a step toward the stairway.

There was a click, followed by a loud squeak and the trident came crashing down into a horizontal position, blocking his path. He recoiled in surprise and the trident sprang back into its original position.

Julianna giggled. “That stairway leads to the emperor’s private chambers.” She put her foot out and lightly tapped the floor in front of the archway. The trident came down again and then went back up. “It amuses him to have a pagan god guarding his door. Or maybe it was Theodora’s idea. The armed men at the top of the stairs are not mechanical.”

Felix shook his head in amazement. He knew that no one was admitted to Justinian’s private quarters, apart from a clergyman or physician. Not even high officials were allowed inside. No doubt a common excubitor should not even venture this close.

Without any urging, he followed Julianna away down another corridor. Before long vivid wall mosaics depicting classical myths gave way to painted scenes of the countryside and finally to plain, whitewashed walls on which hung the occasional silver cross.

Then they emerged into the crisp sunlit air beneath the portico in front of the Daphne Palace.

Felix took a deep breath. His head felt clear. He could hardly believe he had actually tried to see Antonina in her private rooms. His memory of it all seemed less substantial than the memory of a dream.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get any further,” Julianna said. “Do you feel yourself now? Can you get back to the house without deciding you want to drop in on Theodora?”

Felix grunted. He felt his cheeks reddening. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Julianna’s eyes narrowed. “Only what you were told to think, I suspect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that Antonina can be very persuasive. I will have to leave you now.” She started toward the steps of the portico.

Felix took hold of her arm. “Wait. You’re not supposed to leave John’s house. I’ll forget I saw you here, since you assisted me, but I can’t let you roam around. You’ll have to come back with me.”

She tried to pull her arm away but Felix held tight. She glared and pursed her lips. He was afraid she was going to spit at him, but she didn’t. “Do you really want to see Antonina again?” she asked him. “I can arrange it.”

“No. I have orders to guard you and your family. Besides, it’s for your own safety.”

“All right. You’re hurting my arm. Please let go. Or do you think a girl can outrun you?”

Felix released his grip.

Instantly Julianna grabbed at his sword. He placed his hand on the hilt, to block her. But her hand never arrived. Instead she spun around and raced back into the Daphne Palace.

Felix cursed under his breath and went after her. She had already vanished down one of the hallways opening off the bare, marble atrium. He heard receding footsteps. From what direction?

He headed down what he thought was the right hallway.

A scholare wearing a ridiculous plumed helmet and holding a nasty looking curved sword stepped in front of him.

“Excubitor!” Felix barked. “Emergency. Here on orders of Captain Gallio.” He reached for the order tucked in his belt.

It was gone. Julianna hadn’t been trying to grab his sword. She’d stolen his orders, and with them his access to the Daphne!

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Porphyrius isn’t at the Hippodrome today.” The young charioteer eyed John suspiciously. The tall stranger in the dirty tunic and threadbare cloak did not look the sort of visitor Porphyrius would deign to see.

“He is at his home?”

“So they say. Packing up his gold and silver in case the fires come any closer. Not that it’s any of your business.”

John returned to the Mese. He had dressed in plain clothing before setting out for the Hippodrome and taken the precaution of dirtying it and his face and hands. Any person caught on the streets even suspected to be from the palace was not likely to survive the fury of the mob. Already several courtiers who had attempted to flee the capital had been killed in sight of the guards at the Golden Gate. Under orders not to interfere, they had watched the slaughter. It would have been a better plan, John thought, to depart by sea but for the fact the only two vessels lying in the palace harbor were already loaded with furniture, silk, gold and silver plate, and other valuable items on the order of the emperor.

Most of the shops he passed were charred ruins. Rubble blocked the colonnades in places, forcing him to move out into the street. The fires had jumped some buildings, however, particularly those not constructed primarily of wood.

The air smelled as if it were itself singed. In one spot there hung an unpleasant odor of charred meat. John could not recall whether a butcher’s shop had occupied the gutted shell.

He thought not.

As he walked he couldn’t help thinking about Haik. What had been on his friend’s mind as he hurried to his meeting with Porphyrius?

After speaking with Hypatius and Pompeius John had returned to the room where his friend’s body lay, decently covered with a linen sheet. He and Felix had searched every bit of the room, seeking a clue to the murder but had found nothing. They would have found the adoption documents Hypatius had spoken of, had they been there.

They had not, however, searched the body.

John had done so.

Haik had not been carrying the documents. Or, at least they had not been anywhere on the corpse.

John did not like to think about it. He was relieved to reach Porphyrius’ mansion, so he could turn his mind to something else.

The building could barely be glimpsed through the nondescript barred gate in the archway under the colonnade. Only when John had satisfied the guards that he was truly on business from the emperor, had walked down the alley between the brick walls of several surviving shops and stepped into the graveled courtyard, did he see what hundreds of racing victories could buy.

The facade of the house reproduced almost exactly that of the emperor’s box in the Hippodrome, right down to the carved images of Pegasus on the capitals of the towering columns supporting the portico. Inside, frescoes in the entrance hall depicted Hercules cleaning the Augean Stables. A waterfall poured down the far wall of the atrium beyond. Heroic sized statuary occupied massive pedestals strewn around the enormous space. John waited in front of a gilded quadriga which would have accommodated a cyclops.

Porphyrius came to meet him. At home, in contrast to the peasant’s tunic he wore at the stables, he had outfitted himself in a jeweled blue dalmatic. The straps wrapped around his muscular calves in charioteer style appeared to be woven with golden threads.

“You have an impressive house,” John remarked. “The four bronze horses in front are particularly fine. You might have spirited them out of the Hippodrome. They look identical.”

Porphyrius smiled. “Mine of course are copies, whereas the emperor’s are the originals, cast by Lysippos himself, or so it is claimed. The old Greek created beautiful equine portraits, even if he didn’t get the ears quite right.”

“Some of the many equine ears in the stables must have heard things I would like to know. If only horses could speak. They might be more forthcoming than the people I talk to.”

“I hope you aren’t implying that I wasn’t honest with you. A horse will obey the whip. I’m not a horse.”

“A man will look out for his own welfare. A few days ago you spoke to the Syrian traveler Haik. Your patron Hippolytus was present. Now both are dead.”

John studied the charioteer’s homely features as he told him how Hippolytus had been hung, rescued, and subsequently killed and how Haik had been poisoned. Did the nostrils in the squashed nose flare slightly? Did the lips tighten all but imperceptibly? Was Porphyrius trying to remain impassive?

“When you’ve been around the track as many times as I have, nothing surprises you. One instant you’re headed to the finish line. The next, you’re being dragged to death, tangled up in your own reins.”

“Under the circumstances, are you sure you aren’t tangled up in your own reins, or something equally deadly, right now?”

Porphyrius reached into his dalmatic, pulled out a vicious-looking curved knife, and waved it in John’s direction.

John stepped back quickly.

Porphyrius chuckled. “I’ve found myself caught in the reins more than once and used this to cut myself loose every time. I admit on one occasion I owed as much to my physician as to my blade.” He put the knife back in its sheath. “I carry it even when I’m not racing. It makes me feel safer.”

“Whoever killed Hippolytus and Haik might not be afraid of a charioteer’s knife. And whoever it is may be exceptionally adept at getting into places where one would feel safe.”

“But there is no connection between Hippolytus and Haik. Haik simply happened to be present when Hippolytus arrived, unexpectedly. I never saw your friend in my life. I’m positive Hippolytus never met him before. Haik had just come from Syria.”

“And you insist that you didn’t know Hippolytus was among the condemned faction members or any of what followed?”

“Not until you told me just now. If I’d known I would have said so the first time we spoke.”

“It is hard to believe no one thought to inform you that one of your wealthy patrons had been murdered.”

Porphyrius shrugged. “I have more wealthy patrons than I can count. Hippolytus wasn’t a major supporter. He was trying to convince me to return to the Greens. I belong to the Blues. If the Greens knew he was dead they’d have no reason to give the news to a Blue.”

“My impression is that both the factions respect you.”

“I’m the enemy of the Greens.”

“We can respect our enemies.”

Porphyrius crossed his arms. He didn’t raise his voice when he spoke but John could see the sinews in his huge forearms tighten. “What else can I say? The city’s in turmoil. Many people have died already. I’m sorry to hear about Hippolytus and your friend Haik. But the deaths have nothing to do with me. Do you think I spend my time collecting gossip? I’ve been exceptionally busy the past few days preparing for the races. And thanks to the commotion in the streets, I’ve had no new callers, aside from yourself.”

“I might be able to accept that you did not withhold from me knowledge of Hippolytus’ death. However, my friend informed me that he came to see you about a document. You never mentioned that.”

“He wanted me to put in a good word for him respecting a business venture. There weren’t any documents involved.”

“This was not a commercial document. It was a written undertaking by which Emperor Justin agreed to adopt the Persian Chosroes.”

Porphyrius was silent. John felt the charioteer staring at him, as if trying to gauge how much he knew. He was deciding what course to take. Did he dare drive his horses toward the inside of the track? Would his opponent give him room or precipitate a collision? Or should he cut between the chariots ahead? If they continued to draw apart there might be room. “Yes, I admit,” he said after no more than an instant. “Haik did mention such a document. It was idle gossip. Small talk. He thought the foolish rumor he’d heard back in Antioch would interest me, since I spent so many years in the area. I didn’t think it worth mentioning. As I explained just now I am not one for gossip.”

“I cannot believe a man would spout idle gossip with his dying words.”

Porphyrius shook his head. “Men say strange things in their last breaths, when their senses are deserting them. Long ago I knelt in the sand of a racetrack cradling the head of a colleague who had been crushed by his horses. I could feel his blood pooling around my knees. He told me to look at the waves, how they sparkled, and to observe the whale. The whale was coming. What a magnificent sight. Now what do you suppose that meant except that the poor fellow’s skull had been cracked wide open?”

“I hope you are right, Porphyrius, that it was just a rumor. But if so, why was Haik murdered?”

Porphyrius uncrossed his arms and sighed. “Life is full of mysteries, isn’t it?”

***

John walked slowly back down the Mese.

As far as he could see, the problem before him was growing more complicated rather than less.

Haik had been found dead in John’s well-guarded house, inside the palace grounds. The Blue and the Green had been found murdered in a guarded room in the Church of Saint Laurentius. Had the same person managed to find a way to the victims? A person who could go wherever he wanted, at will, gaining access to guarded rooms? A person seemingly adept at magick?

On the other hand, there was no proof Haik had been poisoned at John’s house. It was more likely he had been poisoned elsewhere simply because it was so unlikely that a murderer could have managed to get into both the palace grounds and a guarded house within. Haik had died in his room, but he could have been poisoned anywhere in the city, or the palace. John had no idea where his friend had gone, aside from the Hippodrome.

And what about the mysterious visitor who had discovered the murders at Saint Laurentius? The old commander, Sebastian, claimed the man had an official seal. He could have been mistaken. Documents can be forged. Or Sebastian might have lied to cover his incompetence.

Then again, the visitor might have been sent by Justinian for purposes the emperor did not care to reveal. It was impossible to be certain what the emperor thought, or what his aims really were.

As John neared the palace he saw a sullen crowd gathered at the end of the Mese in front of the ruins of the Chalke gate. He stopped and surveyed the remaining length of the street. It was difficult to determine if the bodies slumped here and there in ruined porticoes were rioters who had quarrelled, intoxicated looters, or merchants killed defending their wares. Wisps of smoke rose from the shells of destroyed shops, swirling around a group of men breaking open amphorae of wine beside a blazing pile of broken furniture. Several women danced around the fire, yelling obscene songs and offering their services without cost to passersby. A small church that had escaped the general conflagration was now burning briskly, its door missing.

It would be better for him to take to the alleyways to reach the unobtrusive door by which he had left the palace.

Scattered shouts caught his attention. And another sound. Rising and falling in a measured cadence. Chanting.

A procession of priests entered the Mese from the direction of the Augustaion. They wore rich vestments and carried painted icons. Some of the flat, wooden panels had been attached to long poles, others were simply held, by one or two priests, depending on the size. The haloed, gaunt holy men in the icons stared out at the sinful world through enormous, dark eyes like those of the starving children only too common in the streets.

The procession moved slowly, picking its way around the debris strewn along the thoroughfare. As the priests shook the poles or thrust the panels at the people in the street the golden details in the icons flashed.

Evidently the priests hoped the display would bring calm to the streets. A foolhardy gesture, John thought, but a brave one.

The procession reached the burning church and mounted the few steps to its narrow portico. Tongues of flame ran along the building’s roofline.

One of the priests brandished his icon above his head and began to admonish the throng in booming tones. “Brothers and sisters! Go home and repent your sins!”

John recognized the short, stout figure silhouetted in front of the red glow emanating from the doorway as Leonardis, the man he had spoken to at the Church of Saint Laurentius, who had appeared so fascinated by the fiery torment of his church’s martyr.

Many of the crowd, their attention drawn to the spectacle of the icons, moved toward the church.

“Return to your homes!” Leonardis thundered. “I command you, in the name of our Lord!” He moved the icon from side to side. The stern gaze of the Christian saint swept over the entire assembly. “Pray for the emperor’s mercy and justice!”

“What justice is there on earth, much less heaven?” A man who looked like a beggar pushed his way to the front of the rabble. He emphasized his words with flourishes of a splintered piece of wood stained in sinister fashion. “What justice was there for the Blues and Greens?”

A full throated roar of approval drowned the priest’s attempt at a reply. A dark object came flying out of the crowd. Leonardis raised his icon like a shield. The clot of dung splattered across the holy image.

The priest’s outraged words were drowned out by a roar of laughter.

The ragged man who had addressed Leonardis lurched forward with shocking suddenness, knocked the soiled icon from his hands, and spat on it. “Saints! Relics! Prayers! Do they fill our bellies or keep us warm?”

“No!” came the crowd’s response.

The man’s laugh sounded more like the wild cry of a gull than any sound formed in a human throat. “They’d keep us warm if we burnt them!” He grabbed the icon and tossed it through the open doorway. Flames spurted out.

John tried to move closer to the church but his way was blocked by the packed bodies. The priests on the portico huddled closer together, muttering terrified prayers as children began to throw stones and broken bricks at them. A filthy-faced girl dressed in an obviously stolen, lavishly embroidered tunic too large for her, approached the holy men and lifted up her garment to expose her dirty nakedness. “I’ll keep the lot of you warm!” she shouted. “Who’s going to be first?”