Eight for Eternity

Chapter Seventeen

John wiped flecks of ash from the short, wide leaf-shaped blade that was always at his side.

“You need to get yourself a better defensive weapon,” said Felix. “That’s nothing more than a cheese chopper.”

“I thought you called it an onion chopper. I got used to it-or rather one just like it-years ago.”

“Yes. It looks like an antique. Seeing it reminds me that Narses is still sharpening his blade on your spine. And his blade is deadlier than that turnip sticker.” He helped himself to more wine. “I expect he’ll blame you if anything happens to your house guests and he’s had Justinian’s ear longer than you have. My advice is avoid the worst shadows, know who cooked your swordfish, and-”

“-get a better weapon.” John had listened in silence, his wine cup untouched, as Felix recounted the conversation in the pavilion.

The two men were sitting in the private chapel of John’s house, safely away from the ears and ministrations of the servants.

Felix took another gulp of wine and coughed. “This is foul. Have the imperial cellars run out of a drink a man can offer friends without apologizing?”

“You won’t get an apology from me. That’s Egyptian. I ordered it specially. It reminds me of happier times. Like my blade.” He turned the dagger over in his hand, inspecting it, then slipped it back into the sheath concealed inside his tunic. “Besides, it’s an acquired taste so Pompeius has left it alone. Not that he hasn’t found sufficient drink that’s more to his liking.”

“He does seem to enjoy the grape.” Felix gazed dolefully into his cup. “So do I…usually. Perhaps you could direct me to the stores Pompeius is drinking.”

John looked at him thoughtfully. “It isn’t just my wine that’s making you morose, is it?”

Felix’s jaw clenched and his cheeks reddened. He told John what he had overheard Theodora saying.

“You sound jealous,” John said. “Why should you be concerned if Theodora has arranged for Antonina to meet Belisarius? You’ve only met Antonina once and after last night I would have thought you’d be happy to never set eyes on her again.”

Felix set his cup down. “My friend, it is as if I have been enchanted. I wish I knew what sort of wine we drank together last night.” He stared up in the direction of the cross on the ceiling. Since Felix was a fellow Mithran, John doubted he was appealing to the Christian god for guidance.

“You don’t want anything to do with any friend of Theodora’s.” John spoke sharply. “Antonina is every bit as dangerous as Narses. You said he was sharpening his blade on my spine. Well, you can be sure Antonina is sharpening her blade as well, although not perhaps on your spine.”

John looked around suddenly, stood up, and pulled open the door. Pompeius stood in the corridor. Corpulent, rumpled, and surprised.

“I…I…was just about to knock….”

“You were taking your time about it. You’ve been there for quite a while, breathing rather more heavily than most. Loud enough to be heard.”

“It’s all that exercise Pompeius gets lifting heavy jugs of good wine,” Felix put in.

“Sit down,” John ordered his visitor, and almost immediately regretted it. Although there was a stool available, the tiny chapel was barely large enough to contain two men let alone a third who was practically a crowd all by himself. John sighed as the legs of the seat creaked and threatened to give way under Pompeius’ weight. “Why did you wish to see me?”

“To…to…ask if….you know when my brother and I will be permitted to return home.”

“Immediately. I will have my servants escort you to the gates.”

Pompeius’ eyes opened wide within their nests of folded flesh. He drew in a wheezing, whistling breath. “Oh? Do you think that’s wise? I mean-”

John smiled thinly. “That’s not what you wanted to ask me, is it? Don’t worry. I won’t throw you out on the street. Now why were you lurking outside the door?”

The fat man squirmed on the inadequate stool. He seemed to be exuding a vinous miasma from his pores. The cramped space was filled with the smell of wine and sweat.

“Ah. Well….” Pompeius paused. “I happened to be going by and I couldn’t help overhearing…um…the conversation about Antonina…”

“You have very acute hearing, Pompeius.”

“Yes. Thank you, excellency. I…uh…I thought it prudent to hear what was being said. I agree with your advice. It is widely known that Antonina dabbles in magick and I would not be surprised if she were merely trying out a new potion on your excubitor friend. They say magicians will sometimes poison a cat, as a test…and…well…”

Felix looked murderous but remained silent.

John glared at Pompeius. “And you were about to knock on the door and impart this information to us?”

Pompeius waggled his multiple chins in a nod. “If that woman has decided on Belisarius he does not have much chance of escape. Besides her ability to gain assistance by means of strange potions and such, he is young and naive.”

“He may be young but he is a great general!” Felix declared. “I am sure he can beat back the wiles of a woman.” He frowned suddenly. “If he wants to, that is.”

“You call him a great general,” Pompeius said, “but he was nothing but a common commander making forays into Persarmenia five years ago. And not for military purposes either. No, your general was there to capture slaves for the empire.”

John’s expression darkened. “Is that so?”

“Anyway, bored courtiers make up all sorts of nonsense,” Felix said. “A lady of the court wouldn’t be practicing magick.”

Pompeius waved a chubby finger and shook his head. “I would not be so certain, young man. I happen to know Antonina once wanted to assist a certain charioteer to win his race, not to mention her favors. After all, to the winner goes the spoils, do they not? And so to ensure he triumphed she boiled up several gulls and a couple of crows and gave the resulting gruel to his horses after they exercised in that field near the lighthouse.”

Felix glared. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

Pompeius ignored the interruption. “Now, I know a crow from a crowbar and I’d have wagered the only possible result was the horses would be sickened and useless, but the horses immediately tried to fly off the sea wall!”

“It does not sound likely to me,” Felix replied. “But supposing it is true-”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about it. I heard it from a most reliable person, who had the story from a man whose brother cleans out the stables at the palace, who saw it happen with his own eyes! His own eyes, mind you! But that’s not the most interesting story about Antonina and her magick. No. There was the time when-”

John stood abruptly, squeezed past Pompeius, and looked down the corridor toward the semi-darkness of the atrium where a lone wall torch flickered.

Yes, he had heard footsteps. A man trotted through the shadows, his face bone white with fear.

It was Pompeius’ brother, Hypatius.

“The rabble are attacking the palace,” he shouted in panic. “The barracks are on fire and the senate house. We have to get out before the blaze reaches us!”

Pompeius wobbled to his feet and banged into the table.

John strode to Hypatius’ side. He could see the man was trembling. The square jaw worked, as if he were trying to speak and couldn’t.

“I went for some air,” he finally managed to blurt. “At first I thought the glow was merely part of the city burning. Just some more of those wretched wooden tenements. Then I realized it was closer. I could see the flames and sparks in the sky.”

“Does Julianna know?” John asked.

“Julianna? Oh, yes, yes. Julianna. Of course! Someone save my daughter!”

Felix and Pompeius joined them. Felix cursed softly. Pompeius carried the cup of wine John had left unfinished.

There was a hiss and a pop. A bright speck arced briefly through the dimness.

“We’re on fire already!” Hypatius cried.

“It’s just a torch,” John said. “I’ll see what’s happening.”

There was no need. Before he could move the house door flew open, revealing Haik. “The Chalke’s on fire,” he reported.

“Where’s Julianna?” John demanded of the two brothers. Pompeius gaped at him and Hypatius began to stammer something.

“I’ll find her,” Felix said. “I’ll send some of my men to help with the blaze.” He pivoted and went pounding along the corridor toward the back of the house.

John glared at his aristocratic guests with ill-concealed contempt. “We’d better get out in case the place catches fire.” Neither Hypatius nor Pompeius protested.

Haik gave John a grim smile.

Several servants had appeared in the atrium, looking apprehensive. John ordered them to find their colleagues and leave the house, then he left himself.

As soon as he was outside he could see flames leaping skyward above the roof tops. He made his way through the knots of people who had emerged from nearby residences to stare toward the approaching conflagration. Once he passed the stables he felt heat beating against his face.

He saw immediately that the Chalke was lost.

Men carrying buckets and ladders raced out of the massive, blocky structure in which the bronze gate was set, pursued by roiling clouds of smoke. Anyone caught inside would be dead.

A man perched atop a ladder just outside the gateway hacked at a burning roof spar that threatened to fall across the entrance, apparently oblivious to the fact that his dangerous task was now pointless.

The roof of the barracks next to the Chalke was already ablaze, sending cascades of sparks into the air.

Grooms were leading horses from the stables.

John wiped his smarting, watering eyes. He instructed his servants to help dowse the fires springing up all over the open courtyard, thanks to the steady rain of sparks and burning debris borne by a gusty, scorching breeze. His nose and throat burned painfully.

Then he grabbed a shovel and joined those engaged in filling leather buckets with earth, which others carted off to smother the flames that ran along the dried grass in front of the stables in scarlet and gold lines.

It wasn’t work a chamberlain to the emperor should be doing, and a single pair of hands could make little real difference but it wasn’t in his nature to simply stand by and give orders.

John saw that Haik shared his feelings. His old military colleague had joined a chain of water carriers running back and forth between the palace gate and a watering trough.

It was not unlike being on a battlefield again with the clamor, the confusion, the crush of men working frantically, half hidden in smoke and darkness, shouting, cursing. Horses whickered and snorted, terrified by the fire and noise.

John’s shovel might have been a sword. He wielded it until his muscles were on fire and his breath came in searing gasps.

At last, despite all efforts, the roof of the Chalke caved in, sending a fountain of embers swirling upwards.

As a pillar of smoke rose into the sky, John could hear the roar of mob outside, exulting in the destruction. Above the shouts of the fire fighters and the crackling and popping of flames he could make out words.

“Nika! Burn them all! Heaven’s will shall be done!”

He shivered. The moment his shovel was still he was cold. Sweat poured down his sides. He realized the wind had shifted. Now it carried the chill from the sea rather than the heat from the burning city.

The multitude continued to chant but the rising wind blew their anger back at them and blew the fire away from the palace.

John leaned, exhausted, on his shovel. “Thank Mithra,” he muttered to himself.