“An inspiring sight, Felix,” came a voice from behind him. “It’s enough to make a man want to leave the excubitors and sign on with him!”
The voice belonged to Gallio, captain of the excubitors.
Felix detected sarcasm in his superior officer’s tone. He suspected Gallio hadn’t fought with anything but his tongue for years. Reluctantly, he turned his attention away from the procession. “I’d certainly see more military action than I do keeping an eye on drunken courtiers.”
The old captain gazed dourly at the horsemen streaming by. “Asking for trouble in my opinion, having two generals in one city. It’s like having two women in one kitchen.”
Judging from the size of his gut, Gallio knew more about kitchens than battlefields. Felix kept the thought to himself. “Considering what we’ve been hearing about the mood of the factions, Justinian is fortunate to have two generals close to hand if trouble breaks out.”
“Fortunate? Perhaps. If they really are here by chance. Some whisper it is not the case. New orders for you, Felix. Choose several men you can trust. You’ll be keeping watch on certain parties at the palace, though officially of course you are on duty guarding them from harm. Apparently Justinian has his suspicions.”
Felix immediately forgot the show put on by Belisarius. Dealing with dangerous turncoats was a task that appealed to him. “You mean there are traitors in the palace? Who does the emperor suspect?”
Gallio shook his head. “You will hear when you report back.” He looked after the armed force vanishing from sight on the heels of Mundus and his men. “Justinian’s young commander has many admirers. But he has been sparring with armies in the deserts. The great Belisarius may find that battling angry gangs in narrow streets is a different proposition.”
Chapter Five
John stood impatiently outside the Chalke gate and waited for General Belisarius to pass. He had already been stopped on his way out of the palace by the arrival of Mundus. The previous day, including his mission to the church, had been a long one. Then he barely slept. As soon as he dozed, the darkness closed in over him like inky water. Finally he lit a lamp and was able to drift off, only to come awake coughing up imaginary water, drenched in real sweat. Now the two boiled eggs hurriedly gulped down for breakfast sat in his stomach like stones at the bottom of a cistern.
He did not look forward to investigating the murders of the Blue and the Green. He didn’t know where to start, except at the Hippodrome, the center of everything to do with the factions. And the Hippodrome was a very big place.
As John debated whether he should try to push through the crush which had cleared the street to make way for the mounted force, he saw Belisarius pause. His eye was drawn to a stocky, dark haired man, with whom the general exchanged a few words before continuing on into the palace grounds.
John knew the man. He had grown a slight paunch in the fifteen years since John had last seen him, but aside from that he looked no different than when they had served together as mercenaries outside Antioch.
“Haik,” John called, as he strode through the crowd.
The man turned at the sound of his name. His face was long and sun browned, his hair and eyes glistening black. He had a great, triangular beak of a nose. More than once, his companions had remarked in coarse jest that if Haik were slain on the battlefield the vultures might be reluctant to feast on one of their own.
“Is it John?” Haik flashed the wide grin John recalled well. The teeth were large and even, but half of a front tooth was missing. Haik looked John up and down and his dark eyebrows rose. “Imagine running into you in the capital. And you’re not dressed like a soldier either.”
“Neither are you, my old friend. That cloak you’re wearing is worth several months of a mercenary’s pay. But you seem to have an acquaintance with at least one prominent soldier.”
“Yes. Only in passing. Belisarius allowed me to travel from Antioch with his troops. I have business here.”
The two men stood facing each other. They did not embrace as colleagues often do upon meeting. It was not John’s way.
“Business, you say? Then you are no longer a military man?”
“No. I’m a pistachio farmer. I own a small estate.”
“And what are you doing in Constantinople?”
“Right now, I’m looking for lodgings. I’ve been staying with Belisarius’ retinue this past week and I don’t want to strain his generosity.”
“Stay with me, Haik. I have a big house all to myself. It isn’t in the most salubrious part of the palace grounds, but right behind the stables.”
“You have a house in the palace grounds? You are no longer a soldier yourself then?”
“We’ll talk later. I have an urgent assignment. Ask anyone at the stables. They’ll direct you to my house. I’ll see you this evening.”
***
The narrow and hilly peninsula where Emperor Constantine built his new Rome two hundred years earlier had not offered an area of flat land large enough for a race track close to the palace grounds. At the Hippodrome’s southern extremity, where the land sloped abruptly down toward the Sea of Marmara, a series of massive vaults supported the curved end of the track. From the base of the towering back wall, higher than most of the city’s buildings, a series of archways opened directly into a vast substructure.
John stepped through one of the archways out of sunlight and into subterranean gloom. He waited until his eyes had adjusted, glanced around, then proceeded across an empty chamber to a wide corridor. Lit by torches even in daytime, the corridor mirrored the curve of the track above. It gave access to storerooms for chariots and other racing equipment, stables, offices, supplies for the maintenance of the Hippodrome, temporary barracks for guards, makeshift jail cells, tiny chapels-all the appurtenances of a small city. When filled with 80,000 spectators the Hippodrome’s population rivalled that of most of the empire’s cities.
The secluded environs also served the needs of both trysting lovers and street women. Down here, during racing season, a prostitute could earn in a single day as much as she could make in a week in a dark alley, and while staying in out of the rain.
It was a place where criminals could work in private. More than one corpse had been found in the shadowy maze. John used caution upon entering.
A few paces down the corridor he met a man carrying a looped pile of reins. The chubby, dirty faced fellow glared at John with obvious suspicion. “You don’t belong here. What are you up to, lurking about?”
“Looking for advice. I hear the Blues have a new charioteer.”
“Word gets round faster than our best team. How did you hear about him?”
John waved a hand. “It’s the talk of the taverns.”
The other shifted his grip on his burden, and dropped several reins. “Can’t keep anything quiet in this city,” he grumbled. “But let them Greens try anything and they’ll be sorry. Just so you know, we’ve men guarding the horses day and night and if anyone can sneak past our grooms to bury a curse tablet in the track they’ll be demons indeed.” He spat on the ground.
“I wouldn’t put my money on a few lines of gibberish scratched on a piece of rolled-up lead. I’ll wager on a driver with skill and brains. I was going to wager on this new man to win next time out but I hear he had an accident?”
“That’s right. A bad accident. Some Greens caught him a couple of nights ago and broke his legs. Those kinds of accidents are happening all the time. Last week someone tried to poison Porphyrius.”
“I’d like to meet one of your charioteers.”
The chubby worker looked dubious. “It might be arranged….” His dirty fingers closed over the coins John handed him. “Yes, you’ll want to talk to Junius. He’s checking chariots to make certain nobody has tampered with them. If you hurry, you’ll just catch him. You never know but what some Green has managed to bribe someone to do a little damage.”