Eight for Eternity (18 page)

“Certainly I have heard of this Porphyrius,” the other admitted.

“In Constantinople,” continued John, “who has not? And his name is known even further afield. If you happened to speak to Haik, a fellow traveler on your journey here, you would have heard a great deal about Porphyrius.”

Still, John could see nothing but puzzlement in the Persian’s long, angular face.

“I do not recall speaking with anyone named Haik.”

“He accompanied Belisarius, as you did. I know him from my time in that part of the world. A hearty, hawk nosed fellow. A pistachio grower.”

Bozorgmehr betrayed no awareness that Haik had ever lived, let alone that he was dead. “General Belisarius escorted a large number of people to Constantinople. I stayed with my own retinue.”

“Ah. Then I should strike Haik off the guest list. I wondered how he would know such a high official as yourself. No doubt he was playing his own game—to win an invitation to an imperial banquet. It is a good thing I came to speak to you.”

The emissary laughed. “I see. That would explain it. Why don’t you invite him anyway? Allow him to win.”

John wondered whether he could risk questioning Bozorgmehr further. He gave no evidence of knowing either Haik or Porphyrius, but then Chosroes would doubtless have sent as his representative a man highly skilled in diplomacy, which invariably required more than a little expertise in duplicity.

Their conversation was ended, however, before he could decide which way to turn it.

Narses walked into the room.

Was it possible the treasurer was having John followed and had decided to purposely break up his talk with the emissary?

“John,” said Narses. “I am surprised to find you here. I am sure you will excuse us.”

Narse’s expression made it clear that he was ordering John to leave.

“I hope you have come to take me up on my offer to teach you this game of mine,” said Bozorgmehr. He thanked John for his efforts.

John went out. It was hard for him to imagine Narses taking any interest in a game played on a wooden board with inanimate pieces, considering the games to be played at court with real people. There was one advantage such games had over the great game of life, however. You knew in a short while who had won or lost, and then could play again. You had only a single chance to win or lose at life, and you could not be certain what the outcome was until the very end, which could be a knife to your back.

Chapter Thirty-One

Deep in thought, John walked toward the southern end of the Hippodrome. Was it possible that the Persians supported the insurrection? He had no proof of it. But there was the coincidence of Haik having traveled to Constantinople with Bozorgmehr. Perhaps they were working together. Was it the Persian emissary who had brought the potentially dangerous imperial adoption papers Haik had revealed with his last breath?

Why would the Persians wish to see Justinian removed? They had arranged for an Eternal Peace with him, hadn’t they? Realistically, whatever the peace was called, Chosroes could hardly depend on eternity in this case to extend beyond Justinian’s death or exile.

Did the Persians want to see a weak emperor on the throne? A man less shrewd than Justinian? A bungler like Hypatius?

Or were they looking to place the empire into the hands of a man who had, perhaps, agreed to be an ally, or even a vassal, of the heir under the document, Chosroes? General Belisarius?

The millennium-long thread that lead back to the beginnings of Rome would then be cut. The Roman Empire would become nothing more than a part of the Persian empire.

There was no evidence for that. Should he question Porphyrius about the document again? He would certainly not betray a plot of such magnitude, but he might reveal a bit more, to see if it might satisfy John, provided he knew more. And then there was the new path of inquiry he had glimpsed during Rusticus’ most recent visit to treat Julianna.

There was one solution to it all, he was sure, no matter from what direction he finally reached it.

By the time John reached the stables beneath the Hippodrome he was blinking and wiping his stinging eyes. Smoke filled the air. New conflagrations had broken out somewhere to the north. From the street he had been able to make out gray plumes in the distance but there was no way to tell what exactly was burning. The winds driving the fires south swirled around the Hippodrome and carried the smoke deep into the stadium corridors. Trapped in the huge vaults under the track, it hung like a thick fog against the high ceilings.

Panicked horses plunged back and forth in their stalls.

He spotted a familiar face. Junius, the young charioteer he had encountered inspecting the quadriga, ran out of the haze.

John put out a hand to detain him.

Junius came to a halt. He was breathing hard. “You’re back? I don’t have time to talk.”

“Whatever errand you’re on is less important than the emperor’s business.”

Junius ran a hand across his sweaty forehead leaving a streak of grime. He looked ready to bolt.

“I wish to speak to you,” John said. “Do I have to show you my imperial orders?”

Several men rushed past to join others trying to control a horse rearing up in its stall. A hoof crashed into the side and sent shattered boards flying.

“Let’s get out of the way.” Junius led John through the chaotic stables into an enormous curved passage. Through a stone archway wider than four chariots abreast John could see the concrete ramp which ran up to the far end of the racetrack.

“I’m surprised the teams haven’t transported the horses out of the city.”

“Porphyrius still thinks we might race. Besides, trying to move all the horses through the streets under the circumstances….” Junius shrugged. “If we’d realized in advance what was going to happen…but no one expected the whole city to go up in flames. When the factions fight it’s usually blood in the gutters and an extra body or two to fish out the sea. Rats don’t set fire to their own holes.”

John thought that what was true for rats might not apply to humans. He coughed as thicker smoke eddied through the passage. Conditions were less than ideal for an interview. He decided to get to the point immediately. “There are women who take a special interest in charioteers, aren’t there?”

“You mean the whores who hang around the entrances to the Hippodrome?”

“No, I mean women who don’t call themselves whores.”

“Ah, well, charioteers do have their admirers, if that’s what you’re asking about.”

“Despite the fact they are not allowed to view the races?”

“Everyone in the city knows the names of the winning drivers, whether they sit in the stands or not. Brothers and husbands and fathers talk about the exploits of their favorite teams over dinner.” Junius ran a hand through his dark hair. “Not that women don’t ever get into the Hippodrome. It’s not a monastery.”

“You mean they come to watch the races?”

“To see the races and…to see those they admire.”

“Do you have admirers?”

Junius grinned. “Oh, yes. Even the stable lads. Anyone with any connection with racing can have their pick of women.” The charioteer’s expression darkened suddenly. “You didn’t risk coming here to ask about women. Unless you’re looking for a woman for yourself.”

“No. I’m looking for information. How about Porphyrius, does he have women callers?”

“Naturally. He’s the most popular, old as he is. The most successful always have the best choice. Why, even the youngest girls want to explore the ancient ruins. I suppose they can picture they’re lying with one of the statues of him along the spina.”

John smiled. “Even as a youth Porphyrius could never have matched the idealized bronze and marble images of himself.”

Junius laughed. “Porphyrius rarely takes advantage of the girls anyway. His taste runs to high born women. There was one senator’s wife, Fortuna smiled on her all right! I brought a friend down here one night, to show her what goes into putting on a race, you see, and the racket coming from Zephyrius’ stall was enough to frighten the rest of the horses. Frightened my friend off too.”

“You suspect it was Porphyrius?”

“I suspected nothing. Next day Porphyrius bragged about it to me. He said it amused him to think of her husband orating about the glory of the Blues in the Senate House while he—”

“What about the wealthy patrons like that senator? Does their support buy them access to the charioteers?”

Junius sniffed. “I’ve known a few drivers who weren’t averse to being driven by men.”

“I was referring to the fact that patrons come and go as they please.”

“That’s true. They’re always under foot. But without them…well…bowing and scraping to rich fools and weaklings is part of the job, like shovelling manure.”

“Are you bowing and scraping now?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

Their conversation was interrupted by the clatter of hooves. Stable hands led a procession of horses past. The animals tossed their heads and whickered in distress.

When the passage was quiet again John asked, “One of the faction members who was murdered at Saint Laurentius—the Green—he visited Porphyrius, didn’t he?”

Junius looked genuinely puzzled. “I can’t say. Why would a Green visit Porphyrius?”

John paused. He was afraid he had already said too much, without eliciting any useful information either. No doubt everything he’d asked would soon get back to Porphyrius. “I take it that it isn’t difficult to sneak women in here when the races aren’t going on?”

“Couldn’t be easier. It’s a huge place, with all sorts of back doors, and deserted most of the time.”

“What if a woman wanted to watch the races?”

“It’s still not that hard to get in, if you know where the merchants bring their wares in or the entrances the laborers use. With thousands of people packed into the stands, intent on the chariots, no one’s paying much attention to whether there’s a woman on the next bench. Especially if she’s wearing men’s clothing.”

“Have you seen a girl disguised like that recently?”

Junius stiffened. “Some aristocrat’s daughter’s run off. Is that what this is about? You don’t suspect me, do you? I only wish I had some sweet, wealthy creatures like that thronging to me. Maybe when I’ve won enough races. I’m happy with a baker’s daughter right now.”

John refrained from asking him how he could be certain a baker’s daughter who’d disguised herself as a man to creep into the Hippodrome wasn’t really a female cousin to Justinian, pretending to be a baker’s daughter pretending to be a man. “You’re free to go now, Junius. Where can I find Porphyrius?”

“He’s out on the track.” Junius waved a hand toward the ramp ascending from the archway. “He’s convinced all the trouble in the city is due to curse tablets, so he’s out there digging for them.”

“Junius!” someone shouted. “The weapons are here!” The rattle of cart wheels echoed in the passage.

John saw a donkey cart piled high with sacks and a variety of lances, swords, and armor. It might have trundled straight from the imperial armory.

Junius must have noticed John questioning gaze. “We’re not joining the insurrection,” he blurted. “Some of our supporters—senators—have arranged to send weapons to guard the horses. The Greens might decide to cripple them….though there’s also the fact that horse meat makes a good meal, and there’s little food in the city. And, well…Porphyrius thinks they’re needed. It’s not for me to question him.”

“No, it isn’t,” John agreed. “It’s up to me. You had best attend to your business.”

***

“Those weapons will allow us to protect the horses and equipment, not to mention ourselves and the Hippodrome.” Porphyrius stood, muscular arms crossed, beside the wall of the spina at the far turn of the sandy track, overseeing several men who were up to their waists in the holes they were digging. “You can’t fault people for trying to preserve their livelihood. We’re taking every precaution, not only against the rioters, but against supernatural threats like curse tablets and natural dangers as well.” He nodded toward the stands.

John saw workers with buckets moving along the tiers damping down the wooden seats to prevent the structure from catching fire. The scattered flakes of ash that swirled down into the arena were black and cold, but they might be replaced by sparks at any moment.

“Don’t you trust the urban watch?”

“They didn’t manage to protect the Great Church did they? Or their own Praetorium, or those two poor wretches at Saint Laurentius. I hope we never have to use those weapons. I’m a charioteer, not a soldier.”

“You led an attack in Antioch many years ago, and you rallied the populace to Emperor Anastasius during the insurrection by Vitalian.”

“Once a man becomes famous they say all sorts of things about him. A man is skilled at one thing and suddenly he is considered skilled at everything.”

“You deny your role in those events?”

“My role has been exaggerated.”

“So you plan to hang back and wait for an attack? Then defend yourself? That isn’t your racing style.”

“I am a great charioteer, not a great general. This is the third day in a row you’ve visited me,” he added with obvious annoyance. “Am I under surveillance?”

John made no reply.

Porphyrius strode over to the nearest excavation. One of the workers stopped and leaned on his spade. “You see we’ve gone right through the lime and crushed brick,” the digger said in querulous tones. “Shall we try somewhere else or do you expect us to continue on to Hades?”

Porphyrius planted a boot in the complainer’s back and shoved his face into the hole he had dug. “Keep going until Cerberus bites off your nose, you fool! How many times do I have to explain? The riots are getting worse, but they began here and that means curse tablets are buried here somewhere! And the turn is one of the favorite spots for them.”

One of the spade wielders working further along the track called out to them. “Found one!” He waved a grayish cylinder hardly as big as a finger.

Porphyrius trotted over, took the rolled lead artifact, and pulled it open. He began reading the words inscribed on the tablet aloud. “Demons of night and wandering untimely dead, you who go by the powerful names of Hecate of the crossroads and Resheph, bringer of plague, bind the horse Servitor, steed of the Blue, Gentius. Hobble his feet and make him fall at the turn with his driver—”

Porphyrius broke off, grunted, and balled the tablet up in his fist.

“It isn’t what you’re looking for?”

Porphyrius gave a snort of disgust. “This must’ve been lurking under the track since Anastasius ruled. Gentius was killed in an accident years ago.”

“On the turn?”

“Fell out the third floor window of a whore house.”

He instructed the worker to keep digging and made a circuit of the rest of the excavations, none of which revealed anything of interest.

After squatting down beside the final hole Porphyrius straightened up, moving with the fluidity of a man decades younger, and smiled at John. “You believe it’s all superstition, don’t you? You’re bemused that I would take such nonsense seriously.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a diplomat. But I can see that’s what you think. Charioteers have a different way of looking at things. Every time I step into my chariot I’m putting one foot in the Styx. We are all aware of how close the other world is to this one. Close enough that we are never more than a step, or a shove, from leaving this world. But what did you come here to ask me this time?”

“I’ve been pondering your meeting with my friend Haik. You admitted he hinted at the existence of a document by which Justin agreed to adopt Chosroes.”

“It was a rumor he thought I would find interesting.”

“Didn’t you think he might have been judging your interest in such a document? He couldn’t be sure how loyal you are to Justinian. There was no way of telling how you might react. Had he made it plain that he had actually brought such a document to the city, you might have reported him to the emperor for fomenting an insurrection.”

Porphyrius turned his attention to the track, tested the surface with the toe of his boot. Finally he said, “Haik did say that a document like that would be worth an enormous sum…to a collector of historic documents. If there were such a document.”

“Did he offer to sell it to you?”

“There wasn’t any document, so far as I know. It was simply speculation. I suspect he was trying to make conversation, to get me on his side, so I would endorse his business plans.”

John thought Porphyrius might be telling the truth. It would have been prudent to approach potential buyers cautiously. For all John knew Haik might have tried to to sell it to others—senators or wealthy aristocrats—or might have intended to do so. He preferrred to think that Haik was not involved in any plot but had simply been looking for monetary gain from an artefact he’d stumbled across. He’d admitted he was still a mercenary. Is that what he’d meant by the remark? Had Haik even believed that the document could be employed to any great effect? John hoped not.