He felt the executioner’s warm breath, stinking of garlic and cheap wine, on his cheek as he leaned forward to adjust the rope with shaking hands.
The spectators surged forward. It seemed almost that they might overwhelm the guards and carry the condemned to safety. The Prefect’s men managed to establish a cordon at the very base of the scaffolds.
“Hurry up!” one of the guards yelled. “What’s taking so long?”
I am still alive, the young man told himself. There is still time. Death has not arrived. Not yet. Something glinted above the mists across the water. He recognized the statue of Constantine atop its high column. The emperor, crowned with a halo of seven rays, gazed toward the rising sun.
A hand hit him between his shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, toward the hole, unable to balance himself. He could see the ground below. The abyss opened.
Then he was lying on his back.
He blinked. Confused, paralyzed. Why could he not move his hands?
He remembered nothing. Where was he? In his bed?
No. On the ground. It was cold. There was a fiery pain in his side. He could not cry out. Something was wrapped round his throat.
Now he remembered.
He lay there looking up, past the dangling rope, at a square of lightening sky where a gull circled.
He was engulfed in a deafening rush of voices.
“Still alive,” he heard someone say. “We’ll have to do it again.”
Chapter One
“The prisoners have escaped, excellency. My men are searching for them.”
The lamp light trembling in the corners of the vestibule of the Church of Saint Laurentius made the speaker look old, accentuating his white hair and deepening the shadows in the furrows in his long, doleful face. He still held the parchments John had presented. One identified John as an imperial official. The other was a direct order from the emperor. An order that had become impossible for him to carry out. Sebastian’s finger nervously traced and retraced the embossed lead of the imperial seal that had secured a cord around the parchments.
“As you can plainly see, I was sent here to take custody of the prisoners on behalf of the emperor,” John said. “The guards here were supposed to assist me in returning them to the palace. But you tell me the two men are gone! You are…?”
“Sebastian. Commander of this detachment of the urban watch, excellency. I am under orders from the Urban Prefect Eudaemon.”
“And I am a member of Justinian’s privy council. From your stare I see you are doubtful. You are welcome to argue the point with my superior, Narses, provided the imperial treasurer will speak with you. How did two half-dead men manage to escape from your custody? The emperor will doubtless also wish to interview you about it.”
The tall, slender man in the long, dark blue cloak towered over the stooped commander who looked up with a horrified expression. It was no secret that interviews with Justinian could end in painful visits to certain cramped rooms beneath the Great Palace, well equipped with arcane devices and sharp-edged instruments. “I cannot say how it was accomplished. Certainly the prisoners were far from dead…they may have come close to death on the gallows…but to have raced off like they did. The young fellow with the imperial seal said the two were wanted at the palace immediately and my men were to escort them.”
“Imperial seal?”
“Yes, excellency. I looked at it closely. It was genuine. It was the same as this one.” He nodded at the oval of stamped lead in his shaking hand. “That’s why I’m confused. It isn’t often one receives imperial orders and rarely twice in the same evening.” His voice trailed off. He didn’t have to add that it was even less often that such orders turned out to be conflicting.
“A young fellow, you say?”
“Even younger than you.”
“Did anyone see them escape?”
“No, excellency, I-
“Then how do you know they raced off?”
“They must have, to have got away, to have eluded my guards…so far. If they had still been in the vicinity of the church-”
“Is there any indication which direction they went?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I sent the young man down the stairs and remained here at my post. Someone raised the alarm when the guards discovered the vault was empty. I sent them out immediately in pursuit.”
“This was when?”
“Not long ago. I’m not certain. Events have been happening so fast….”
John studied his surroundings. Even at this late hour worshipers streamed in and out of the church. Perhaps they had all come to pray to Saint Laurentius for safety from the unrest breaking out across the capital. As a Mithran, John found it strange how Christians despised those who refused to worship the one true god, while constantly imploring the aid of their own lesser deities which they termed saints.
“I will need to speak to your guards when they return, Sebastian. Let us hope they bring those prisoners back with them. Wait here.”
John pushed open the heavy church door and went out into the dark street. He needed to organize his thoughts.
The odor of burning hung heavily on the air. The church sat halfway up the side of one of Constantinople’s seven hills. Smoke coiled upwards from the foot of the slope where darting tongues of flame illuminated an irregular pile of ruins. Figures moved about, attempting to extinguish the remains of the blaze.
Two prisoners whom the emperor needed very badly were now at large in the troubled city. One was a Blue, the other a Green, members of the two main factions who supported the opposing chariot teams at the races in the Hippodrome. The factions loved mayhem as much as racing. Bound together by nothing more than the color of their charioteers’ tunics, they ran in packs like wild dogs, fighting, robbing, and killing for the sheer joy of it.
They hated each other and frequently turned whole streets into battlefields because a charioteer’s whip had strayed to his opponent’s horses during a race or a supporter of the wrong team had joked about the poor embroidery in a colleague’s cloak. But their anger was readily turned on any target that caught their attention-magistrates, Jews, Isaurians.
At present their target was the emperor.
Certain unspecified injustices perpetrated by Justinian had been the excuse for a public disturbance. Several of the participants were ordered executed but two survived their hangings, were rescued, and brought to the Church of Saint Laurentius.
Justinian wanted those two men. That they were beyond his reach would be a vexation to the emperor and even more of a problem for John, his chamberlain.
John took a deep breath of the cold air.
How long could he afford to wait for Sebastian’s guards to return?
He remembered something. He walked a few paces to a stairway leading up an alley alongside the church. Streets with stairs were not uncommon given the city’s terrain.
A beggar huddled in the dark at the foot of the stairs, barely visible.
John smelled his presence before he could see him, the sort of odor that emananted from the cages in the menagerie Empress Theodora kept on the place grounds.
“You were sitting here when I arrived,” John addressed the man. “Did you see anyone running away before that?”
The beggar lifted a bristly face. His eyes were faint patches of fog.
“I am blind, good sir.”
“Your name?”
“Maxentius, good sir.”
“Is this your usual place?”
“On cold nights the good priest allows me to sleep inside the church, but tonight my way was barred by guards. They’d as soon see a poor creature freeze to death as let him inside. I live on charity…” A hopeful note entered his quavering voice. “Charity, yes. Those who attend this church are always generous. Perhaps….”
John ignored his entreaty. “Despite your lack of sight, can you observe much?”
“Indeed, I am aware of all the comings and goings from the church, which is why I sit here. Also, I am safe from those fools who dash about knocking down innocent passersby in their hurry to get to the wine shop or brothel. It is a good place to ask for charity, being so near the church. Charity, good sir, is all too often overlooked by busy citizens and-”