Felix realized what Gallio was saying. “You told the emperor you weren’t moving from this barracks.”
“Not all of us are stationed in this barracks.”
“You won’t fight.”
“We’ll fight when we know who is in charge.”
“You’re a traitor!”
Gallio sprang to his feet. “I’m your commander! And I am ordering you to resume your duties. Were you a less capable man, one I could replace easily, I would have you executed on the spot. Under the circumstances, I will give you the chance to save your thick German skull by resuming your watch over the imperial guests.”
Felix stared at the captain, nearly blind with fury. It was all he could do to keep from drawing his sword.
To Felix’s surprise Gallio smiled grimly. “I know you fancy yourself a fighter. You’d rather be taking orders from Belisarius than from me or Justinian. If you won’t take my orders, then take my advice. Do your job. Have patience. Before long you might find yourself serving an emperor more to your liking.”
“Belisarius isn’t a traitor!”
“He isn’t a traitor to the empire. Sometimes serving the empire entails making difficult choices.” Gallio sat down and pulled his plate toward himself. “As for me, I choose to wait.”
Chapter Twenty-One
His meeting with the emperor convinced John that he needed to talk with Hypatius and Pompeius. He could not drive from his thoughts Theodora’s remark that his personal safety depended on him keeping his guests safe. It reminded him of a bit of history he had read once. In the days when Rome was still the capital of the empire, Juno’s shrine was graced with a bronze of a hound licking at a wound. The figure was considered priceless and such was its worth that those into whose custody it was given insured it under the threat of losing their lives should it come to harm.
John feared he was in a similar position to the custodians of that remarkable statue, except that a bronze hound would not be likely to get itself into any trouble. The same could not be said for a pair of aristocratic brothers and a headstrong young girl.
He found the brothers in his dining room. Pompeius lay on a couch, drinking. His flaccid bulk reminded John of half decayed remains he had seen washed up on the shore. Hypatius was trying to string a bow. His hand shook too badly to manage the task.
John wondered if Justinian would still consider the pair a threat if he could see them.
A brazier warmed the air. The screens were closed but enough light fell through the windows overlooking the garden to dispel the gloom. Assorted strings and arrows littered the marble tabletop.
“If you’re afraid the palace will be stormed, I’ll ask Felix to provide you with more suitable weaponry,” John said.
Pompeius emitted a sound somewhere between a burp and a laugh. “Aren’t you afraid my brother will fight his way out of the house?”
Hypatius slapped the bow down on the table. He half turned in his chair, eyes wide with alarm. “I wasn’t thinking of fighting. Can the rioters overwhelm the guards at the walls? Wouldn’t Justinian leave the city first? Certainly there are enough ships available to transport the whole court.”
“The palace isn’t in danger,” John replied. “If you weren’t thinking of fighting why were you stringing the bow?”
“I love to hunt. I’d planned to spend the week at one of my estates. There’s nothing like stalking partridge, pheasant, and hares when the weather’s crisp.”
“I keep telling him he should keep a few wild boars in his preserve,” Pompeius put in. “But he wants nothing to do with boars.”
“There’s no sport in boar hunting,” Hypatius said. “The hounds corner the beast and you spear it. Now flushing out a pheasant and hitting it with an arrow in mid-flight, there’s a challenge for you.”
“Also, pheasants do not have long, sharp…tuss…tuss…tusks.” Pompeius struggled to get the words out.
“You must excuse my brother,” Hypatius told John. “It’s the wine talking. He used to hunt himself, before he became too fat to climb onto a horse.”
Pompeius made a rude noise.
“It’s much more pleasant to be riding around a forest than cooped up in the city like this,” John observed.
“You understand. The ancients said that hunting and hounds were invented by the gods Artemis and Apollo, and yet a Christian may pursue the sport, don’t you think? Many fine warriors have honed their skills during the hunt.”
John had done a lot of hunting during his mercenary days, simply out of the necessity to eat. However, knowing how to spear a deer properly was not very useful when it came to hand to hand fighting on a battlefield.
“It’s been a favorite sport of many emperors,” he said. “There are those in the city who want you to take up more than an emperor’s pastimes. I just came from the Augusteus. As I passed by the walls near the Hippodrome I could hear the populace chanting your name.”
Hypatius’ face turned the color of the ash that littered the palace grounds. “Surely not!”
“You are the nearest relative to Anastasius left in the city.” John pointed out. “The old emperor is recalled fondly by many, especially those who share his religious beliefs or feel they have been wronged in one way or another by Justinian and Theodora.”
“The whole city, in other words,” put in Pompeius.
Hypatius ignored the remark. “The reign of Anastasius is long past. It’s been fourteen years since he died.”
“Dead emperors are always wiser and more benevolent than living ones. You are the nearest embodiment of him. You have his face.”
“So I’ve been told. A strong family resemblance. Does Justinian think I want my face on the empire’s coinage? That I would incite the throngs? Is that why he’s locked us in here?”
“He questions your loyalty.”
“But Pompeius and I came to the palace for safety’s sake as soon as this unrest began! We were afraid the ruffians would drag us out of our houses and demand we betray the emperor. That must be clear to Justinian?”
“Being inside the palace would also serve a traitor well.”
“But what could we possibly do, confined to your house like this?”
John studied Hypatius’ face with its noble, overly long nose, the square, small chin. The man appeared to be terrified. Perhaps too terrified for someone who had commanded of the armies in the east, however poorly. “Have you had any visitors?”
“Of course not. Who would dare to visit? The emperor suspects we’re spies. Isn’t that so?”
“You could have followed Probus when he fled to the countryside. You would be hunting right now.”
“We considered it more loyal to stay by the emperor’s side!”
“Is that true? Or did you want to insure you were giving an appearance of loyalty by remaining in the capital?”
Hypatius looked away from John, toward the hunting equipment spread out on the table. “Do you think I wanted to place myself under arrest at the palace? And make no mistake, we all realize that is exactly what it is. I may have sought sanctuary but it is in a prison. Do you recall Vitalian?”
“I was fighting in Bretania two decades ago. I am aware, though, that Vitalian challenged Emperor Anastasius. He claimed that he wanted to force the emperor to accept orthodoxy.”
“So he claimed. But everyone knew that although Anastasius was a monophysite he was not averse to listening to those whose beliefs differed slightly from his own. In that case I led the fight against the traitor. By ill fortune I fell into his hands. I spent a year in captivity before the emperor paid my ransom.”
“Our uncle was always parsimonious,” put in Pompeius.
Hypatius glared at his brother but continued. “Can you imagine how difficult it was for me to allow myself to become a captive once again? When I discovered you don’t use your dining room I decided to spend more time here. It feels less confining than our rooms.”