Justinian had a look on his face that seemed to imply he wished the decision be made by anyone but himself, so Flavius, for the lack of anyone else proposing any action, took up the baton.
‘Mundus, you take the outer gates in case they try to smuggle Hypatius out. I will try to get into the Hippodrome and find him.’
‘He will not come willingly if you do.’
‘If I find him he will come. I think him no more willing than Probus to be in the situation he now finds himself.’
‘And if he refuses?’
‘Then his reign will be brief. Solomon, place our men to cover the inner gates.’
Narses was quick to object. ‘There will still be Blues there who wish to leave. They must be allowed to do so.’
Flavius had no time for such considerations. He raced along the corridor that led to the imperial box, which as usual had Excubitor guards at the gate. His demand that they stand aside was refused and so the door to the imperial box remained locked. Frustrated but determined Flavius gathered up his comitatus and headed for another and lesser known way in. This took them through the still-smoking ruins of the Baths of Zeuxippus to a point just beyond one of the entrances, to a postern gate and a small staircase that led to a service door which opened on to the imperial box.
There he was faced by another set of armed men and they were vocal in their loyalty to Hypatius. The option to attack them was there but in such a confined space it was full of risk. If the crowd got wind of their presence and exited through the nearby gangway, he and his men could be trapped in the passageway, a too confined space in which to fight. Yet the presence of those guards told him Hypatius was where he expected him to be, on the podium where he had very likely been crowned.
‘Find Solomon. Tell him to bring the bucellarii to this gate.’
That took time but Flavius had no intention of going into the stadium with only a hundred men at his back. Once Solomon and his six hundred bucellarii had arrived he had only one order to give.
‘Weapons out,’ he commanded, ‘we will have to fight our way through the crowd to get Hypatius.’
‘And if they oppose us?’ asked Solomon.
‘Then they pay whatever price is demanded.’
The noise within the stadium was so loud that, even with studded boots striking the stone staircase, no one heard Flavius and his men until they were almost upon them. One or two turned from their cheering to see the proximity of these men in armour, weapons drawn, and they panicked, seeking safety by pushing forward and that impacted on those on the terraces before them, causing the whole crowd to surge.
Even with that there was no space to give quarter; once in amongst these rioters Flavius and the bucellarii would be massively outnumbered and that was seen by those who were the first to face them. Their screams of fear drowned out the cheers of others and soon the ripple of dread filled the stadium as Mundus, on the other side of the Hippodrome, entering by what was to become known as the Gate of Death, sent his German mercenaries into action.
Unbeknown to Flavius, Narses had gathered up enough armed men to seal the gates to the stadium, including the one he had just employed, trapping inside the entire audience who had been so recently cheering the crowning of their new emperor. Once the killing started it became impossible to stop for those seeking to flee were trapped. The men Flavius led were fresh from bloody battle in the east, and hardened by what they had done they were not about to extend mercy.
Mundus and his huge and bloodthirsty Germans, armed with long swords and axes, were soon in the element they so loved, slashing left, right and centre at whatever stood in their way and nothing was going to stop them once their bloodlust was kindled.
Even if Flavius, having captured Hypatius as well as his brother Pompeius, had wanted to call a halt he would have been shouting at deaf ears. All he could do was lead his two captives out of the Hippodrome, through the now open door to the private corridor, through which were now pouring Excubitors to join in the slaughter, they having seen which way matters were going.
There was not enough sand on the racing track to soak up so much blood and given there were no open exits — the men Narses had put on the gates killed those who tried — the slaughter went on for hours until the stone tiers of seating were littered with dead bodies and slippery with gore, men mostly, but also some women and the occasional child.
When the citizens of Constantinople were dragooned into clearing the stadium, the body count was established as the capacity of the Hippodrome: thirty thousand were dead. Also, executed on the orders of Justinian, were the two nephews of Anastasius taken by Flavius, even though they had been given no choice but to go along with what the mob demanded. Several senators and former officials were likewise executed even if nothing could be proved against them; suspicion was enough.
A pall now hung over the city and it was not only made up of smoke. For a long time emperors had been obliged to placate the mob in the Hippodrome, often called to plead with them to be allowed to continue their rule. The charioteer factions had become too powerful, sure even as they competed with each other that they had a divine right to approve or disapprove the actions of the wearer of the purple. That was now gone, though there was no certainty it would not resurface.
That so many had died was a cause for repentance, but underneath the display of that lay the knowledge that the present incumbent had achieved a level of personal and unbridled power that had not existed since the days of the early Caesars. If he had not done the deed or even set it in motion, Justinian garnered as much credit for the actions of others as he had previously attracted blame.
He would never be loved — he was not gifted that way, regardless — but he was feared, which suited him. Theodora was held in even more dread, for it was soon common knowledge — she made sure the tale was disseminated — of how she had refused to flee and how she had sworn to revenge herself on the population of the city.
To those who supported the imperial couple she was seen as the real person who saved the empire as well as a co-ruler and she delighted in the caution with which even the most patrician senator now treated her. There was no more condescension directed at her lowly birth, while she made no attempt to hide her contempt for their pretensions.
One person not exposed to any of her malevolence was Flavius Belisarius; it seemed as if her attitude to him had swung round and he was now cosseted by her, invited into her circle of friends, many women and men who formed a sort of court separate to that of her husband. A loose lot, they reminded Flavius of the company he had enjoyed with Petrus in those dockside taverns-cum-brothels for, involved as he was with court matters, it was good to relax among people who seemed not to care one whit for the progress of the empire.
Even dining with Theodora and Justinian together was rarely overly formal and it was on such occasions that he really began to understand the nature of their political relationship, which really came down to a sort of joint rule in which Theodora was free to say as much as she wished about the future actions needing to be taken, advice Justinian either took or ignored.
Her abiding cause was that people from the lower classes should be advanced in official circles for the very good reason that they were less greedy than the senators who thought they owned these highly rewarded sinecures by right.
‘Only until they learn how to steal, Flavius, and then they will be as greedy as their predecessors.’
The woman who whispered this to him — Theodora was off on her hobby horse and did not notice — was Antonina, one of the Empress’s oldest friends and not for the first time sat next to him. Flavius had first met her years before at a gathering in the Sabbatius villa, taken over by Justinian not long after his accession as a place where he could escape the dull protocol of palace life, his father having been given the province of Illyricum to run, a sop to the sister of Justin who hankered to rule the part of the world from which she had sprung.