Ten for Dying

Chapter Forty-three

The primary objective in a battle was to outlive your opponent. At a given moment you might not be able to press the attack, might be forced into retreat, but as long as you stayed alive the fight could be renewed and won later. Which was why, Felix told himself, he had again taken orders from a woman.

That was the trouble with serving at the palace. You were always taking orders from women and perfumed courtiers and cowardly bureaucrats.

Moving like a sleepwalker, Felix shivered as he passed from the glaring sunlight into the shadowed concourse at the front of the Hippodrome. Not that the heat was much diminished inside, but rather he immediately saw in his imagination the hanged man by the spina, slowly twisting at the end of the rope, and then the man with the demolished face became the Jingler, his magickal charms chinking mournfully.

Then he saw Porphyrius the great charioteer looming above him, staring down, whip in hand.

This was not a mirage. It was the larger-than-life bronze statue that lorded it over the concourse.

His hand went to the chains around his neck. Were his own protective tokens as useless as the Jingler’s had proved to be?

He opened his other hand to see the crude ring he carried, it being too small to fit his thick fingers. He was to entrust his safety to a bear-keeper’s widow? A total stranger? A disreputable associate of circus performers?

“Look where you’re going!” The man Felix had blundered into, a stable worker to judge by the stains on his tunic and his general air, gave him a shove.

The stable worker’s companion made a disgusted noise. “He’s not even looking where he’s going. Must be demented!”

Yes, Felix thought, he was demented if he was thinking about consigning his life to this Maria. Already Narses might have grown tired of waiting and begun to detail men to scour the city. Knowing Felix’s proclivity for racing, the Hippodrome would be the first place he’d search, wouldn’t it?

Men ever fly for comfort to what they love.

What did he know about the woman who had sent him here anyway? Nothing, except she was Theodora’s sister and she had lied to him about that by not revealing the relationship. Naturally he had taken her for an attendant to some great lady of the court. What else was she lying about? She was a friend of Antonina, the husband of Belisarius and thus the enemy of Felix’s patron Germanus. His patron, provided that Felix would regain Germanus’ good opinion after this crisis passed.

How did Felix know Antonina had not persuaded Anastasia to spy on him to discover what Germanus was planning? Was that the real explanation for her strange interest in the captain of the excubitors?

For all he knew Anastasia might be sending him into a trap.

Did he truly distrust her, or was his vanity inured at the prospect of her rescuing him once again?

But where could he go?

Germanus was angry with him. John was gone. Anatolius?

Anatolius had no real affection for Felix, did he? Besides, should a soldier throw himself on the mercy of a poet, even if the poet was masquerading as a lawyer?

But what had Anatolius advised him? To visit Isis, as he had in the old days although this time for a different purpose.

And why not? How long had Felix known Isis? Years. She would help.

While he was coming to a decision the armed men he had been fearing arrived.

Only his long ingrained military instincts saved him from detection. A murmur in the crowd, turning heads, caught his attention in time for him to dart through an archway leading to stairs just as the contingent tramped into the concourse, peering this way and that, swords at the ready.

They hadn’t spotted him. He started down the stairs to the stables beneath the race track.

Five Blues climbed toward him.

Narses’ men weren’t the only ones Felix had to fear.

The husky, extravagantly attired young men didn’t look familiar. There was no reason to think these particular faction members were being employed by Porphyrius. Holding his breath, Felix continued down. If it came to it he’d sooner be beaten to death inartfully by Blues than dragged to the palace by Narse’s men to suffer at the skilled hands of Justinian’s torturers.

The pack went by him without incident, although purposely refusing to give way, forcing him to plaster himself against the wall.

He continued on, as relieved as it was possible to be considering he had descended into the very lair of Porphyrius.

Felix took a zig-zag route through what amounted to a vast, underground horse farm, complete with stables, storerooms for equipment and feed, and offices for various levels of estate managers, before emerging at the far end of the Hippodrome. From there he worked his way through alleys and side streets to Isis’ establishment not far from the Mese.

The courtyard in front of the building was open to the public. A few women, dressed in the chaste robes common to holy orders, were seeking relief from the heat in the shadow of the peristyle. Quite a contrast to the women Felix had seen here on visits in the past.

Although they were probably mostly the same women, Felix reflected, since Isis had simply changed the nature of her establishment. He knocked at the door and let his gaze wander over the women, looking for familiar faces, nothing else being uncovered under this new regime.

One, a stranger, appeared to be staring at him. A plump, painfully plain-faced woman dressed in what looked like her own shroud.

She smiled.

He gaped at the woman, removed a little weight, painted her face, and suddenly, shockingly, recognized the beautiful young prostitute with whom he had been enchanted before Isis’ regrettable conversion.

“Well, what is it?” came a perturbed voice from the open doorway. Felix swiveled around to see a tall, stout woman holding what looked like a staff-the nearest Isis could find to a proper doorkeeper.

“I have business with madam-that is to say-your…uh…mistress.”

Isis, it turned out, was not pleased to see him.

The plump former brothel owner, now clad like the other women Felix had seen in the plain white linen robes fit for the head of what she called her refuge, planted herself in front of her office door. He had hardly finished blurting out his story to her before she ordered him to leave, immediately.

“But Isis, I don’t have anywhere to go. I’ve explained-”

“-far too much. Suspected of smuggling relics indeed. Only suspected? Would you have half the city after you, as you claim? I’ve changed my ways, Felix. You should have changed your own sinful ways long ago.”

“I never thought I would hear the word ‘sinful’ from your lips, Isis. But what of this Christian charity I am told about?”

“Ah, Felix…you must realize I formed this refuge under the protection of Theodora and now she is gone, who can say what is store for us? I must think of my girls. If it were just me, it would be different.”

“Yes, I understand. But-”

“I’m sorry, Felix. I will pray for you.” She smiled sadly, as if she knew, despite her professed beliefs, how much good a prayer was likely to do.

He remembered the cross he was wearing and for an instant considered showing it to her and averring he had converted. Anastasia had advised him that faith could stand one in good stead, hadn’t she? On the other hand should he risk offending either or both gods?

If he’d thought things through he would never have come here. He was still stuck in the past. He left. He had no desire to cause his old friend trouble, even if she was no longer his friend. But where could he go next? No one at the palace would welcome him. Would he have to rent a room?

Crossing the courtyard he stopped and glanced back at the women, lounging in the shade. He did not see the familiar yet unfamiliar face that had caught his eye. He walked over to the nearest of the women.

“Do you know where Lallis is? I’d like to speak to her.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously. “Men are not allowed inside any further than the atrium.”

“I don’t need to speak to her inside. Out here would do. I’m an…an old acquaintance.”

“I see.” She looked him up and down and smiled coquettishly. Old habits die hard.

She left and soon returned with Lallis in tow. The woman-still a girl really-approached him almost shyly.

“I never thought I would see you again Felix. I hope you realize-”

“Don’t worry, I am not here for any…um…well…”

“What is it then? Are you looking for spiritual comfort now?”

He stared at her without being able to tell whether she was joking. “No. I’m in trouble. I was hoping Isis would hide me but-”

“She is a stickler for the rules. But if you really need a place to stay I can help, for old times sake. We might renounce the pleasures of the flesh but we can never forget them.”

She took hold of his wrist in a delicate hand. “Come with me. There’s a back door where no one will see us go inside.”