‘They may all align behind one,’ Justinus suggested, though without much conviction: as he said before, he had seen too much of them and their rivalry to reckon that possible but plainly the whole subject concerned him. ‘What do I do if they begin to murder each other? Do I stand aside or interfere?’
‘Be concerned about your own skin not theirs,’ Petrus ventured, before his head canted to one side. ‘Truly it would be a tragedy if the imperial succession was dragged into another bloodbath.’
‘If Anatastius had chosen it would have been clear.’
‘You wish he had anointed a successor?’
‘I do, and I say that even if I think his nephews to be poor candidates. The empire can withstand a fool but not a weakling. If matters are as you say, is the whole thing to be decided in the Hippodrome?’
‘It has happened before, Uncle.’
‘And rarely has it given us good governance. An emperor created by acclamation of the mob is ever in fear of being deposed by the same creatures that forced his elevation.’
Flavius felt he lacked real knowledge of what was being discussed, though he was as aware as anyone on the number of successions that had been mob-inspired, either by acclamation of a favoured candidate or the repudiation of one put forward by the powerful. Justinus and Petrus had talked of it at table in a way that saw succession problems as normal. There was a certain level of conversation regarding the fickleness of the mob in the officers’ quarters based on the very real threat that out of control at a time of imperial interruption they were a danger to everyone, Excubitors included.
Even well-armed, you could not hold off a fired-up mob of thousands intent on imposing their will, so a massacre of the military was far from impossible. Yet it was raised there too in such a way that it seemed to be accepted as a feature of life in the imperial capital, which to him bordered on the absurd. He wondered if it might take years to understand the ramifications of the various polities that vied for supremacy in what should be a stable state but was not.
If the Emperor had supreme power it was held on to only by his ability to balance the many conflicting interests of the citizens of empire and nowhere was that more manifest than in Constantinople itself. It was hard enough for a young man who had spent little time in the city to get a grip on even the most basic rivalries that excluded those of a religious hue, that between the factions known as the Blues and the Greens. Originally split by competition over chariot racing they had mutated into groupings more intent on the protection of their rights than watching their teams compete in the Hippodrome.
At its very simplest the supporters of the Blues tended to come from the old patrician families and the Equestrians while the Greens had their enthusiasts among the mercantile classes but these were, as definitions, too loose. What was true and disturbing was the ability of either faction to bring onto the streets or into the seating of the chariot arena a multitude of supporters too fevered by some cause or other to easily control.
‘Then you would see that as undesirable, Uncle?’
That question brought Flavius back to the present, as did the reply of Justinus that lamented the way the military units based in the city often stood aside when the Blues or the Greens rioted, they too being split by the same conflicts over allegiance. He accepted that having been chosen, a new emperor needed the support of the people and that was, by tradition, granted to them in the Hippodrome. But the person being acclaimed should be presented to them as the choice of the higher officers of state, not someone who merely appealed to their most base passions.
‘Then we must do what we can to ensure that such an outcome is avoided.’
‘You’ll need more than an ear under the ground to foresee that, Petrus, perhaps a celestial presence might suit the need.’
‘Excellency.’ Justinus swung round to face the messenger, a man whose doleful expression gave notice of what he had come to impart. ‘The physicians attending upon His Imperial Highness fear the end cannot be far off, having heard the rattle.’
‘I will come at once.’
Justinus gave both Petrus and Flavius a searching look then grabbed his helmet and placed it under his arm; he would need to be properly dressed to attend upon his dying master, a man he had esteemed even if he had thought his religious policies misguided. Anastasius and he shared an Illyrian place of birth and could, when the need arose, converse in their local language so the Excubitor commander had acted as something of a confidante. If there was a difference in age it was not so great that memories could not be shared of a life vastly more simple and rustic than that to which they had both risen.
‘Uncle, take your sword too.’
That stopped Justinus; he had the right, unlike others, as the head of the imperial bodyguard, to bear arms in his master’s presence. Was it fitting to do so now when he would be attending upon a soul parting from its corporeal body?
‘Indulge me,’ Petrus insisted, ‘and if not for yourself take the precaution for your family.’
The hesitation was brief, before Justinus nodded and strapped on his weapon. Then he was gone. As soon as he had disappeared Petrus moved to key open a casket and produce a scroll, which he immediately held out.
‘Flavius, please go to barracks and alert the officers listed here to take up their places at the entrances to the palace. See them carried out then come back here and rejoin your own decharchia.’
‘Did Justinus prearrange this?’
‘No, Flavius, I did.’
‘And the instructions regarding Amantius, or rather his candidate?’
The look that got was one of a man wondering if the person he could see before him could be so dense. ‘There are none.’
‘Why?’
‘Amantius is the Emperor’s chief eunuch and will be where his station demands at such a time, by the bedside as a witness to his demise.’
‘But the man he has chosen-’
‘May hanker till he draws his last breath. Do as I ask, Flavius, and if you have questions save them till later.’ Seeing the younger man still hesitate, Petrus was firm. ‘I say to you what I said to my uncle. Our fate depends upon this and I add that it would not be unbecoming at such a time for an Excubitor officer to be seen running.’
Too confused to argue, Flavius left the room, not running but walking fast. The officers’ quarters of the Excubitors lay within the main gate that led out to the Triumphal Way and as he entered it was clear that some form of alarm had already been disseminated: there was no one lounging about as per normal, no sound of clicking dice or general banter.
Many were deep in conversation and some were, without haste, donning their armour, Flavius soon to realise they to be the very names he had listed on Petrus’s scroll. The sight of him was telling; each nodded silently, hastened their preparations and without a word to anyone, departed. These were the fellows who were the boon companions of Petrus, men often to be found in his company in the low dens he loved to frequent and into which he had introduced Flavius. The next sound he heard, as he departed to join Petrus and his own body of ten spears, was of those same officers rousing out their men.
‘Splendid,’ was the response when he reported, spoken by a man agitated but seemingly relieved. ‘If all do their duty the palace is sealed off as are the necessary apartments.’
‘I would deem it a favour, Petrus, to be told what it is you are up to?’
‘Sit.’ Flavius looked at the doorway, really to what was going on well beyond it. ‘Anastasius has not yet left us.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I have not heard his servants wailing.’
‘Which they will do?’
‘Of course.’
Flavius nodded. ‘For the loss of their master, it is fitting.’
‘For the loss of their places and the weight of their purse,’ Petrus scoffed, ‘and the privileges that go with it, not least the right to pilfer. A new emperor means a clean-out of slaves and attendants.’