Eight for Eternity

Chapter Twenty-Two

So far as those inside the palace could ascertain the violence of the previous night had tapered off. Now, as the Great Church, the senate house, and the baths smoldered, the angry masses congregated behind the ruins of the Chalke chanted slogans and shouted out demands. John left the palace grounds by an obscure southern gate.

Not everyone had taken to the streets. At the stables beneath the Hippodrome the regular business of the factions continued. John sought Porphyrius and had no trouble finding him. He was in a stall where a knot of young men had gathered, easily identifiable as charioteers by the leather wrappings around their legs. The great man was partly hidden by the flicking tail of a powerful bay whose hoof he had stooped down to examine. He straightened up and spoke to a worried groom. “He’ll be fine. He’s got hard hoofs, like me.”

The onlookers nodded and murmured to each other at this revelation.

Porphyrius had the arms of a dock laborer. His receding hairline made him look older than his fifty odd years. He had a broad, flattened nose, perhaps the result of a racetrack accident. His square-cut unbleached tunic would have been more suitable for a slave than a man of wealth and fame.

“A good looking animal,” John remarked. “One of your funales.”

Porphyrius’ gaze located the speaker. “You know something about racing then. You can tell an outside horse from an inside one.” The charioteer’s half mocking smile indicated that he wasn’t impressed. A few of the young charioteers chuckled appreciatively.

“It’s easy enough to see he is bred for speed more than strength,” John said.

Porphyrius ran his hand over the horse’s back. “Zephyrius has served me well for many years.” He directed his words toward his admirers as well as John. “I’ve lost track of the palms he’s won. He’s an African, as I am. We both plan to retire to some place where the sun is hot all year, if our opponents ever convince us it is time to retire.”

“Never!” shouted several of the charioteers.

“I must speak to you in private,” John said.

Porphyrius gave his insolent visitor an appraising look. “Half the population of the empire wants to speak with me. I can probably see you later in the week, if the Hippodrome hasn’t burned to the ground by then.”

John handed him his orders. Porphyrius glanced at the scroll bearing an imperial seal. “So it’s the emperor wishes my assistance,” he said loudly. “That’s different.”

The charioteers buzzed excitedly as Porphyrius led John away, along a corridor and then up a wide ramp. They emerged into sunlight at the far end of the deserted race track.

“We won’t be overheard here. There are many ears but only stone and metal ones.” Porphyrius nodded toward the statuary lining the spina, a motley collection including ancient gods and goddesses, emperors and heroes, animals real and imagined.

“You have a large following,” John remarked.

“It makes it difficult to work sometimes. Wherever I go, someone passes the word. The great Porphyrius walks among us. He is visiting the stables. He is inspecting the starting gates. He is using the latrine. Then they swarm and I am knocking people over with my elbows just to relieve myself. A man arrives home and orders his wife never to clean his boots again for the famous Porphyrius has pissed on them.”

“You are both admired and influential. The crowds pay attention to your every word and even to the colors painted on your palms.”

“I hope Justinian appreciates that my intended message at the Hippodrome was one of reconciliation between the factions. Since I have raced for both, they both respect me.”

“But they have united to oppose the emperor.”

“An unfortunate event and totally unexpected. Usually it is the clashes between the more unruly faction members which develop into riots. That is what I sought to prevent. This constant animosity between the supporters of our teams is burdensome to those of us who only wish to race.”

“The Blues and the Greens seem to be bred to hate one another.”

“It is because there are really only two teams these days. When the Reds and the Whites were equally prominent all four teams competed against each other. It wasn’t simply the same rivalry, endlessly repeated, every race, year after year. One didn’t see rioters at the Circus Maximus in Rome.”

Porphyrius began walking down the sandy track and John followed.

“I race for the Blues, the emperor’s favorites,” Porphyrius said. “He can’t suspect me of trying to undermine him.”

“You used to represent the Greens.”

“When Anastasius ruled. In fact, I may have headed the Green team when our empress was born to a bear keeper who belonged to the Greens. Anastasius actually preferred the Reds.”

“Who were allied with the Greens and have now joined them, as everyone knows. However, it seems now that all the factions want the family of Anastasius returned to the throne. It’s well remembered how you helped rally the people against Vitalian when he staged his revolt against Anastasius. They may be looking to you for leadership, to aid the family again.”

“That was an eternity ago.”

“Seventeen years. Have Christian or heretical beliefs changed since then? Vitalian was a defender of orthodoxy, like Justinian. You were a supporter of a monophysite emperor then. Am I supposed to believe you truly support an orthodox emperor now?”

The cries of gulls echoed around the stadium. Its tiers of wooden seats were empty except for gulls searching for scraps that had been left behind.

“I am a Blue,” Porphyrius said.

“Do you change religious beliefs as easily as racing colors?”

“Matters are hardly that simple. Remember that one of the old emperor’s nephews-Pompeius, I believe-shares Justinian’s faith. And the populace would happily elevate him if Hypatius wasn’t willing. Or so I’ve heard. You don’t think this unrest is due to religious differences do you?”

“I am just wondering how you are connected with it, Porphyrius.”

“As I explained, I was hoping to stave off the usual bloodletting between the factions. I thought it might help if I suggested impartiality.”

“Not unlike the emperor’s decision to execute an equal number of Blue and Green troublemakers earlier this week. Did you know any of the condemned men?”

“I don’t mingle with common criminals.”

“My understanding is these were faction members who went on a rampage. Racing supporters.”

Porphyrius came to a halt. He scanned the empty seats reflectively then looked upwards. Over the rim of the Hippodrome smoke rose in ghostly columns. “We’re preparing to race. Some say we should be preparing for the end of the world. What do you think?”

“If the world is going to end then preparations will come to nothing. However, like you, I intend to pursue my work. It usually happens that the world doesn’t end after all.”

“A good answer. I’ll ask if anyone can tell me the name of the condemned men. More than likely they are the sort who only hang around the fringes but like to call themselves Blues or Greens when it suits them. Which is mostly when they’re looking for a fight.”

“Justinian will appreciate your cooperation. I am told, by the way, that you were visited recently by a man from Syria. An estate owner named Haik.”

If the question surprised Porphyrius his expression didn’t show it.“That’s so. Normally I would tell you it was a private matter, but since the emperor has ordered you to speak to me I will reveal that Haik wanted assistance in some business ventures. To be specific, he asked me to put in a good word with several petty officials who have been blocking his acquisition of a bit of prime orchard land. As you mentioned, I am a man of some influence, even in places where I haven’t raced for years.”

John wondered whether the request might have been accompanied by gold then reminded himself that a couple of local officials could no doubt be bribed far more cheaply than a famous charioteer. “Did you discuss anything else?”

“Do you suspect this Haik of wrongdoing?”

“Not in the least. He’s a friend of mine. He mentioned in passing that he’d spoken to you. He told me you were interrupted by a visitor. Do you remember who?”

“It’s rare that I don’t have a visitor. Let’s see. Hippolytus, I believe. Yes. Hippolytus. A wealthy young fellow. A Green. I am telling you because I know very well that you will find out anyway and then you will become suspicious of me, as if you aren’t already.”

John concealed his surprise. It seemed hardly credible that Porphyrius hadn’t learned that a man who had so recently visited him was one of the two who had escaped execution. But what did he have to gain by such a transparent lie? Perhaps he really hadn’t heard. How well known had Hippolytus been among the charioteers? Prefect Eudaemon was not likely to have been spreading around details of the execution. On the other hand, it might be that Porphyrius was depending on the audacity of his lie to make it more believable.

Porphyrius did not appear perturbed. “You are wondering what Haik might have been up to aren’t you?” he continued. “You want to compare our stories.”

Perhaps the charioteer feared that Haik knew, or had found out, who Hippolytus was and had already told John. It might be better, John decided, not to challenge Porphyrius on the matter yet. Let him think John was missing that piece of information. “Why would a Green be visiting the head of the Blue team?” John asked instead.

“The Greens think they can coax me to return to them. There’s another statue in the works, I’m told. Or was it Glabrio who was here when your friend came by? Another young man, Glabrio. Extremely tiresome but his father is a generous patron. No, I’m sure it was Hippolytus. I don’t expect I’ll be seeing either of them until this trouble dies down.”

John noticed they were standing in front of one of the monuments erected to honor the man with whom he spoke. The bronze figure astride the decorative plinth depicted a classically handsome youth, a paragon of Greek beauty. Nothing like the pugnacious, middle-aged man beside him. Perhaps the idealized statue was how the masses actually saw their hero, particularly those who never glimpsed him up close but only from the stands, if at all. Perhaps the statue was, literally, all they ever saw of him. Why strain to see the tiny figure in the chariot when an enormous gleaming image towered above the swirling dust of the track?

Was it Porphyrius who was rallying the factions against Justinian?

John’s gaze fell on the epigram inscribed on the base of the monument. “…Selene loved Endymion and now Victory loves with Porphyrius….”

Victory. Nika. The word the rioters chanted.

John thanked Porphyrius and took his leave. He did not believe in messages from gods, ancient or Christian, let alone from an anonymous poet.

***

“Haik!” John pounded on the door to his friend’s room.

As he walked back from his interview with Porphyrius he had become increasingly annoyed. Not only the charioteer, but Haik also, had seemed reluctant to speak about their meeting. John got the impression that both had tried to see how little they could get away with saying, offering just enough to allay his suspicion. Revealing only what they felt was necessary to avoid being caught out in a lie.

John pounded harder. Was Haik there? According to the servants he’d been in his room most of the day.

He gave the door a shove and it moved, then stopped, as if impeded. He gave the door another push.

It opened further, enough for him to see what was in the way. A body lying on the floor.

“Haik! What happened?” John managed to squeeze into the room and knelt beside the supine form. Haik was still alive, but his face was a ghastly red mask. His pupils were hugely dilated. He looked as if he’d been all but scared to death. He stared wordlessly at John. His bloodless lips trembled but no sound emerged.

John glanced down over the rumpled garments. No blood that he could see. A convulsion ran through Haik’s body.

“Were you attacked? Did you fall ill?” John raised his friend’s head. It didn’t seem to help his shallow breathing.

Haik managed a strangled wheeze. “The document…Chosroes…missing…ask Hypatius….”

The final word trailed away in a fading hiss of breath.