Then a group of men armed with lances stepped out of a stall into their path. Felix drew his sword, but he and John were surrounded and outnumbered.
“Lower your weapons,” came the order. “They aren’t horse thieves.”
John recognized the young charioteer who strode forward. “Junius. I’m surprised anyone’s here. I expected you would all want to join in the coronation of the new emperor.”
“We race for the Blues. Why would we favor a member of Anastasius’ family? He supported the Reds. We’d be persecuted again.”
“Most of the Blues in the city don’t seem to agree.”
“No. They’re deranged with hatred for Justinian. All they can think of is ridding themselves of the imperial demon. They’ll come to their senses soon enough.”
“What about Porphyrius? What does he think?”
“Ask him yourself.” Junius nodded toward a storeroom, from which Porphyrius was emerging.
The charioteer immediately spotted John. “Chamberlain! What are you doing here?”
“I’m being detained from urgent business.” He gestured at the armed men who still blocked his path.
“It’s far too dangerous to be out.”
“You’re here,” John observed.
“We started to lead the horses to the gates, in case the track could be cleared.”
“You’re not leading the factions into the streets? And it was you who united them?”
“You overestimate my influence.”
John began to reply but was cut off by a high pitched voice. “And you, Porphyrius, are much too modest.”
Narses stepped out of the storeroom Porphyrius had come from, carrying with him a miasma of perfume, weirdly out of place in the earthy atmosphere inside the Hippodrome.
“What business do you have here?” John snapped, realizing immediately that he had no authority to question Narses.
“The emperor’s business, obviously. Preserving the empire. Avoiding violence.”
John shot a questioning look at Porphyrius.
“I don’t have time to talk,” he said.
John felt Felix’s hand on his shoulder. “Neither do we, John.”
“You’re right,” John muttered. “You’ll allow us to pass, Porphyrius.”
The charioteer silently gestured to the armed men who stepped aside.
Outside the Hippodrome, the Mese was eerily lifeless without even a beggar or stray dog to disrupt the stillness.
“We’re too late,” Felix growled.
The mangled iron gate swinging open in the archway leading to Hypatius’ courtyard confirmed his words.
The two men ran across the gravel to the mansion’s portico.
A woman dressed in dark blue silks sat on the steps, head in her hands, shaking with sobs. John guessed it was Hypatius’ wife, Mary. Two of her attendants tried to comfort her.
John spoke without preamble. “Has Hypatius gone?”
Mary looked up at him with reddened eyes. Grey, disheveled hair hung around her face. She looked older than her husband. “They came for him. Dragged him away. I begged him not to go, to barricade himself inside the house. He was afraid they’d hurt me, or burn the house or seek out that drunken fool of a brother instead.”
She ran a silken sleeve across her tear streaked face.
“Do you have any idea where they went?”
“To Forum Constantine. He’s to be crowned emperor.” She pushed stray hairs out of her face.”
“Where is Pompeius? Is he here?”
Mary shook her head. “No. When they had carried Hypatius off he went rushing after them. What did he suppose he was going to do? He’d had so much wine he could barely stay upright. Hypatius should have let them take Pompeius. He sacrificed himself for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. You’re still safe, and your daughter Julianna is safe as well. Hypatius must have told you she’s with Antonina.”
The woman nodded and loose hair fell across her face. She pushed it away. “One of the rogues stole the gold chain from my hair. He said they had no diadem so a gold circlet would have to do. Perhaps already I am the wife of an emperor. Is this what it feels like? I do not envy Theodora.” She began to weep again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Mese had been empty when John and Felix made their way to Hypatius’ house. By the time they returned to the street it was jammed with humanity. The whole population of Constantinople seemed to be funneled into the main thoroughfare.
“Like sausage meat into a length of pig’s gut,” Felix remarked.
“What’s happening?” John called out to a youth who trotted along at the edge of the throng.
When the young man ignored the question Felix grabbed him by the arm. The youth gaped in terror at the big, bearded soldier who held him. “It’s the new emperor, sirs,” he stammered. “Hypatius. We’re taking him to the Hippodrome. He’s going to vanquish the tyrant.”
Felix pushed the youth away. “More likely the poor man is going to end up dead, as his wife knows only too well.”
“If the populace considers Hypatius to be emperor, it should be ready to take orders from him,” John pointed out. “He can order them to abandon the revolt. Or at least put off attacking the palace. I might be able to convince him that he could save his head.”
“I suppose anything is worth a try. If you can get to him to talk.” Felix surveyed the crowd which continued to stream past. “We’ll never get to the kathisma through the Hippodrome.”
“We’ll go in by the entrance inside the palace.”
“And we can use the back alleys to get to the palace, once we cross the street.” Felix smiled grimly, unsheathed his sword, and began displaying it to the passersby blocking the way.
It didn’t take long to re-enter the palace. The would-be rioters were eager to see the great mass of their companions but much less enthusiastic about facing a sharp blade themselves. The torrent rushing along the Mese had sucked the alleys dry of humanity. The excubitors at the obscure southern entrance to the palace allowed the two familiar men in without hesitation, but those blocking the passageway to the kathisma from the Daphne Palace were under orders that no one should pass.
John demanded to speak to the commander. He and Felix waited by one of the monumental columns supporting the towering arch at the head of the passageway. Finally Captain Gallio strolled out and sneered at Felix’s request to enter. “You expect to be allowed to join the rioters? Deserting wasn’t enough? Well, I suppose you can only hang once, or so I would have imagined until recently. The excubitors have their duty and we intend to carry it out.”
“You want to be close at hand to serve Hypatius,” Felix snarled.
John stepped between Felix and the captain. “Felix is under my command right now, Gallio. And I am serving Emperor Justinian. As you can see from my official orders.”
He stuck them under the captain’s face. Days of use had wrinkled the parchment, frayed the cord around it and flattened the embossing on the lead seal. The condition of the orders did not render them less impressive, although Justinian’s precarious situation did.
Gallio brushed the orders aside. “From what I hear Justinian will be halfway across the Marmara by the time you get to the top of the stairs. And Emperor Hypatius will not appreciate being disturbed.”
John tucked the parchment back into his tunic. “It may be that Justinian and Hypatius can come to an agreement. A great deal of blood might be spared. Emperor Hypatius will not look kindly on the man who stopped the former emperor’s emissary from saving him trouble.”
Gallio’s lips tightened. “I would not want to cause any emperor trouble.” He glared at Felix. “I cannot allow an armed soldier into the imperial box. You, Chamberlain, may go.”
“Very well. Felix, please wait here for me.”
Felix obeyed, scowling ferociously.
John followed Gallio down a short passageway lined with armed men, through a double set of barred doorways, to the base of a white marble stairway. Since he had risen to the position of chamberlain, John had climbed these stairs every time Justinian presided over a race or ceremony in the Hippodrome, more times than he could count. Unlike most of the palace architecture, they were less than aesthetically pleasing, and far from grand. They were steep and narrow and dimly lit. A few armed men could defend them from an army.