“What’s it like elsewhere in the city?” John demanded.
“Just like it is here. The Blues and Greens are fighting together. I saw three churches on fire. They hung our patrol leader from the neck of the bronze bull in the Forum Bovis. I must report to the Urban Prefect.”
The man started to mount the low stairs and staggered.
“Forget that. Save yourself,” John told him.
The man gaped at John, one white eye staring unblinkingly out of the blackened ruins of his face.
“You are relieved of your duties by order of the emperor’s chamberlain,” John went on.
The man tottered away.
Felix grunted. “If only you could relieve the two of us-”
A deafening roar cut short his words. Pieces of masonry and glass rattled across the pavement around them. Glancing back at the Praetorium, John saw that a section of the wall had collapsed inward. Flames licked out of a jagged gap. Figures flooded from the main entranceway to the building. Some were on fire. Many ran straight into the dangling corpses. One unfortunate dislodged a dead man and became entangled in the rope. The two rolled down the steps in a gruesome embrace.
John stepped aside to avoid being knocked over. He glanced down the crowded, chaotic street in front of them again. “I’d prefer not to fight my way along the Mese,” he said. “I know a better way.”
He broke into a run, leading Felix to what was little more than a crevice between the walls of the Praetorium and a neighboring church. He squeezed through the gap. He might have entered an inferno. The heat was unbearable. He touched the rough bricks and yanked his hand away as if from a glowing brazier.
“Careful,” he yelled to Felix. “There’s fire behind the wall.”
Felix cursed. “Are you trying to cook us?”
John squirmed forward as fast as possible. The burning building might collapse completely at any moment. Sweat poured down his face, blurred his vision. The heat radiating from the wall felt intense enough to blister his skin.
The crevasse between the buildings narrowed further. John forced his way sideways and stuck.
No, it was only his cloak caught on a nail.
He yanked the fabric loose, kept moving.
Then he was in an alleyway that ran behind the Mese. There was nothing here but the backs of buildings. No inviting targets for arson or looting.
Felix emerged, grunting and cursing.
The two men ran.
Here and there the alley turned to accommodate a larger building. Mostly they passed behind shops. More than a few were ablaze. Although the shops presented marble facades to the Mese, by imperial decree, the structures themselves were wood.
In one place the exotic scents of a perfumer’s mingled with the smell of burning. In another, they skirted rivulets of wax from a candle shop. A fine rain of ash continually fell from the sky, greying John’s dark, cropped hair and his short blue cloak and Felix’s beard.
Suddenly fire blocked their way. Flames leapt into the alley as if from the open door of a furnace. The air was alive with a deep, almost palpable rumble. The thick clouds of smoke accompanying the flames made it impossible to judge the extent of the inferno.
Without pausing, John flung himself into the flames.
Almost instantly he found himself in a semi-circular plaza where the Mese’s roofed colonnade curved inward. Felix was beside him, brushing sparks from his beard. John slapped out a glowing patch on his sleeve.
An obelisk, the height of two men, bore carving identifying the place as a sculptor’s workshop. Emperors and gods and goddesses, surrounded them-the artist’s wares, mostly copies of classical works.
On any normal day wealthy patrons would be strolling around, making their selections. Today a man had been hung up by his foot from the raised arm of a bronze Julius Caesar. The man had been set alight, a still living torch. He screamed as a several ruffians prodded him with lances. Concentrated on their amusement, the victim’s tormentors did not notice the two new arrivals.
John raised his own short spear.
Felix put his hand on John’s shoulder. “No,” he said in a whisper. “It’s impossible. There are only two of us. The poor man is beyond saving anyway. If those thugs spot us we won’t be able to save ourselves. I have an idea.”
They were standing next to a marble depiction of a stern, bearded old man on a throne, a much reduced copy of the mighty Olympian Zeus.
Felix stepped up on Zeus’ foot, pulled himself into the pagan god’s lap, then onto his shoulder. From there he was able to climb to the back of the throne, grab the edge of the colonnade’s tiled roof, and haul himself up.
John followed. He could see they had nearly reached the Chalke. The roof on which they stood led straight toward it, an elevated walkway. They soon would be back inside the palace walls.
Evening had fallen. The lurid glows of raging fires could be seen in all directions. Their yellowish red glare twinkled through the darkness of a city where decent people cowered behind locked doors and shuttered windows. Underneath the frantic screams of the burning man, John could hear a low, rhythmic roar like the beating of waves. The crackling of countless fires, perhaps, mixed with the shouted rage of thousands of rioters.
Movement caught his eye. Was the huge cross on the nearby roof toppling over?
No. There was a hunched figure perched on an arm of the cross, gesturing wildly, a silhouette against distant fires, ragged and demoniac.
“A fire fit to warm the demon emperor’s haunches!” cried the figure. Then it dropped and scuttled away.
The two men watched the strange creature vanish into the night. Then Felix started along the colonnade roof in the direction of the palace. John went after him.
Now he could pick words out from the roar of the city. The same words repeated again and again.
“Nika! Nika! Victory! Victory!”
Chapter Sixteen
From a distance the four figures gathered in the latticed pavilion in the middle of the dark palace gardens suggested conspirators meeting to plot harm to the empire. On the contrary, the meeting had been arranged by Justinian in a location where the discussion could not be overheard except by the chubby, gilded Eros perched on the edge of the pavilion roof.
Felix considered it an unnecessary precaution. Weren’t the private meeting rooms and reception areas deep within the Daphne Palace secure enough? Justinian had been unnerved by the growing anarchy outside the palace walls. He was starting to sense enemies lurking around every corner and he was a man given to whims.
This particular whim was chilling Felix to the bone. He stood in the arched doorway to the summer retreat and shivered. Captain Gallio had spotted him as soon as he and John had reached the safety of the Chalke after their flight from the burning Praetorium.
“You’ve been out in the streets,” Gallio said. “Good. The emperor wants a report on conditions.”
Felix wondered why Gallio hadn’t sent patrols out. Perhaps the patrols had been sent but had not returned.
He was still sweating as he described the chaos to the emperor. He supposed he smelled of smoke but by now there was no place in the city that didn’t smell of it. Justinian made no comment. Nor did he order Felix to return to his post at John’s house. So Felix waited. The sweat had long since dried. Now he was cold and uncomfortably aware of the Eros squatting just above his head and glittering in the torchlight.
Justinian paced back and forth across the circular space, staring at the pavilion’s tessellated flooring, while Narses and Belisarius looked on. The three men made an odd picture, the common-looking man who was nevertheless emperor, the handsome Belisarius, the dwarfish Narses.
Felix switched his gaze back and forth between the emperor and the general. Of the two he was more interested in Belisarius. How young he was for a general! Despite his youth he seemed unperturbed by the crisis. His sharp, patrician features betrayed no anxiety. Felix wondered if he should trim his own unruly beard. The closely clipped black beard Belisarius wore gave him a more disciplined look. More suited to a military man. The great general had offered a curt nod in his direction after Felix concluded reporting. Felix took the gesture as a compliment but pleasure died when he saw the dark expression that briefly flowered on Narses’ face.