Ten for Dying

Chapter Twenty-five

As Felix walked into the Hippodrome he hoped this interview would be more successful than the last one.

He didn’t bother to see if anyone had taken down the hanged man. Surely the corpse would have been noticed and removed hours before. Instead he took a ramp behind the starting gates and descended into the maze of stables and storage rooms under the racetrack. The sound of his boots hitting the concrete echoed back into the corridor. He smelled horses, hay, and dust despite a strong draught blowing from the direction of the great arena.

He was almost certain Porphyrius was the man who had threatened him. The aging charioteer wanted the relic for one reason or another, so why not start with him?

Felix did not find him in the stables. Try the track, he was told. He returned the way he had come, hurting with every step as if he were filled with shards of broken glass.

The great charioteer was sitting in the stands overlooking the track, the sole spectator in an arena designed for tens of thousands. He was instructing a younger man driving a chariot, shouting a mixture of praise and lurid oaths.

As Felix clattered up the marble benches Porphyrius leapt to his feet and bellowed “You’ll never win a race like that. Stick as close to the inside of the track as you can instead of wandering all over it like a child in the market! It’s a sure way to end up crippled or worse!”

The young charioteer grinned, flourished his whip, and came racing by, leaving his teacher coughing, choking, and cursing in a cloud of dust.

Porphyrius had been a wonder in his day, admired and feted. Statues had been raised to him and he had made a fortune, wresting it from the sweat and fear of racing, somehow avoiding serious injury. Considering the number of years he had raced and given he had raced for both Blues and Greens at one time or another, it was a miracle he had survived not only racing but had also escaped a blade in the back from a supporter of one of the competing factions, intended to even the odds in the next contest.

“Ah, the captain of the excubitors,” Porphyrius remarked as Felix approached. “A little early for the racing, are you not?”

“It’s not racing I’m here for.” Felix sat down next to him. The sun had made the marble hot.

“So then…?”

Felix glanced at the man at his side. He was squat and powerfully built with a broad face and a laborer’s arms. Despite the gray in his hair, he looked like the sort of man you wanted on your side in a fight, the sort you didn’t want to oppose. And his booming voice was unmistakable. Felix was certain now that Porphyrius had been present on the spina the night before.

Felix looked back toward the center of the track. No sign of the hanging remained. Having confirmed to his satisfaction the identity of one of his assailants, Felix was unsure what to do next. “There was a man found hanging on the spina this morning,” he finally said.

Porphyrius looked away from Felix toward the far side of the track where his student’s chariot moved slowly, engaged in some exercise. “Is that so? The urban watch must have got out of bed earlier than usual this morning.” There was a sneer in his voice.

“A murder on the racetrack could hardly have escaped your attention.”

“I did hear some such tale when I arrived about an hour ago to put our latest recruit through his paces.”

“Is the dead man’s identity known?”

“Not to me. I didn’t even see the man.”

“No? I’m surprised. Granted, from where I was lying on the track I didn’t have a good view. And the boots in my face didn’t help.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain.”

Without being aware of it, Felix rubbed nervously at the sore spot on his neck. “If you suspect the poor fellow was involved in robbing the courier you should have allowed him to live. He might have had a better idea what happened to the relic than I do.”

“Relic?”

“The shroud of the Virgin stolen from the Church of the Holy Apostles.”

“I don’t know anything about it beyond the fact it was stolen,” came the curt reply. “What good are relics anyhow, apart from enticing the ignorant geese to visit the city, the better to be plucked at the races?” Porphyrius broke off to shout another mouthful of abuse at the young charioteer now passing below them.

It seemed to Felix that inexperienced charioteers were trained less kindly than their horses. “I’m surprised to hear you have no interest in relics. Charioteers are a superstitious lot, aren’t they? What about curse tablets? They’ve been found buried under the track and I remember members of both teams were more than upset. Why, there were fist fights in the stables over whose supporters were responsible.”

Porphyrius shrugged his massive shoulders. “Indeed, fist fights are the least of it. But if I were attempting to ensure my team won I would do it in a more practical way. Tampering with the other faction’s chariot, say. Not that it’s easy to get at them, given we all keep them well guarded. But what of it?”

“It would be highly valuable for many reasons, such a relic,” Felix plunged on. He was developing a headache and jagged glass inside him kept shifting in agonizing fashion. He couldn’t seem to get his thoughts to march in proper order. “What was your role, Porphyrius? Were you involved in stealing it for someone for a considerable sum? Is that why you want it back? This is official business. I am investigating the incident on behalf of Justinian.”

“Should I be impressed? Justinian is one of my greatest admirers. Why would you think I knew anything about this relic?”

“You were here in the Hippodrome with several Blues last night and we had a conversation about it. A rather one-sided conversation.”

“The sun has affected your humors, captain. You really don’t look well at all. I was nowhere near this place. I was visiting a lady friend, as a matter of fact.”

“What you forget is your voice is very distinctive. You were just shouting at that young charioteer and sounded very like the man who shouted in my ears not so long ago, questioning me about that missing relic and what I had done with it.”

“Perhaps it isn’t the sun affecting you. Have you gone back to drinking again? Spending your nights in the taverns? I see from your condition you’ve been brawling. The physicians say a blow to the head can cause all manner of strange results. Why, after one crash a few years back the Blue charioteer insisted he saw strange billowing curtains of color in the sky over the Great Church.”

Felix glared at him. At least his companion now knew he had been identified as in some way involved in the theft. Although whether that made Felix safer or put him in even greater jeopardy was hard to say.

The young charioteer drew to a halt in front of where they were seated and Porphyrius motioned him he could leave, then stood up. “If you are so concerned about this matter, shouldn’t you be seeking it, rather than talking to me? After all, time flies.”

Felix rose painfully. “If I knew the identity of the man you had hanged last night it might be helpful. Despite what you may imagine I was not associated with him, though he probably had accomplices, if he was in fact involved in the theft. And they might know where it’s gone. Think about it.”

“I will. You may be hearing from me later.” Porphyrius grinned in an unpleasant fashion. “By the way, I would see to it that puncture on your neck was well cleaned. More men have died from human bites than dog bites.”