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.”