“This is the indestructible hand that reaches into the darkest alleys to choke the life from the murderous bastards who lurk there! Why do you think they whisper my name with such dread? They know my powers. They fear me. And rightly so!” He glared at his guests.
Theodora jumped to her feet. “You have amazed me!” she said in excitement, her face flushed. “I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes! You must visit Justinian when he has recovered and perform this amazing piece of magick for him.”
John had no time to ponder what he had just seen because Felix was suddenly at his side.
“Trouble,” the excubitor loudly announced without preamble. “A messenger’s just arrived. Says there’s a riot brewing.”
Chapter Five
The iron-banded door of the Prefect’s house crashed open. Torchlit smoke spilled into the street along with Theodotus and the noisy crowd of excited guests, accompanied by a number of confused and frightened servants.
Theodotus and the messenger galloped off. Many of his guests followed in close pursuit although a few, more cautious, took their opportunity to depart in the opposite direction.
Felix cursed. “The fools! They’ve drunk so much wine they probably think this is part of the entertainment. There’s nothing courtiers enjoy more than seeing blood spilled. Until a drop of it gets on their clothing. We’re supposed to be working for the Gourd. Remember? We’d better follow him and be quick about it.”
Felix took off at a run. John followed.
As he loped along, it occurred to John how easy it would be to slip away down an alley and make a dash for freedom. He had considered flight more than once. But the very idea was impossible. Educated and capable slaves of John’s sort were too valuable. The Keeper of the Plate would be as determined to recover John as a charioteer would be to retrieve a champion horse.
John and Felix arrived at the crest of a steep street. Several of the Gourd’s men blocked further progress. Felix conferred quickly with one and then returned to John’s side without offering an explanation.
John stared down the sloping, colonnaded street into the Strategion. Indistinct figures moved around the Egyptian obelisk where blunt finger pointed heavenward. More of the Gourd’s men, no doubt. Beyond the seawall where warehouses clustered like conspirators, a slight glow was cast upward by the lights of ships in the Prosphorion harbor. Away from the water, torches set outside shops embroidered the city with glittering lines of fire that did little to dispel its darkness.
“What a beautiful night for a riot,” remarked the man who had appeared at John’s shoulder. It was Trenico.
“Theodotus’ guests are going to be disappointed,” Felix told him. “I’ve learned that the Blues are already surrounded in that small forum off the Strategion.”
“I heard they intended to set fire to the oil warehouses. Sheer lunacy, of course,” Trenico replied. “Who can say where the wind would take a conflagration like that?”
The forum where the Blues had gathered could not be seen from where they stood, but above its location a faintly luminescent cloud of mist, like steam rising from penned cattle at a winter market, hung in the clear, cold sky.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if our host has more tricks up his peasant’s sleeves.” Trenico turned at the clatter of hooves and the creak of heavy wheels. A carriage ornamented with bronze and ivory and drawn by four horses rumbled through the throng. It stopped near their vantage point. Heavy curtains obscured its passenger. John noted the flash of jeweled rings on the delicate hand that parted the rich fabrics just enough for its occupant to peer out.
Trenico chuckled. “Trust Theodora to want the best view possible! Now the Gourd has no choice but to come up with further entertainment.”
“Take your seat then,” Felix growled. “We’re supposed to be actors in this performance.” He started down the street toward the Strategion.
The wide square was nearly deserted.
“It’s one thing to meet the enemy on a battlefield, but riots, well, you can’t depend on skill or strategy in those.” Felix might have been muttering to himself. He snapped at John, “We’d better make certain we’re seen to be here. Be careful, though. Don’t do anything you’re not given a direct order to do.”
Felix trotted past the decorative obelisk and hailed a man he apparently knew, stationed with others near the archway leading to the adjacent forum. John looked through the pillared opening. He could see a crowd of Blues clustered in the space beyond. It struck him that they were milling about like bewildered market visitors rather than organizing themselves for arson and rioting.
Theodotus burst into sight. He bellowed at his brawny companion, evidently one of his captains. John caught the barked words.
“All the escape routes sealed off? Good! I gather their plan was to put the oil warehouses to the torch? A pretty scene that would be! The whole city’d be ablaze before dawn. Yes, I shall certainly have to make an example of them.”
He lumbered past. From a distance John saw him gesture emphatically as he spoke to the leader of a large armed company that had just clattered into view.
A look of incredulity crossed Felix’ face. “The Gourd’s called out half the army of the East to fight a handful of trouble makers!”
There was no time for a reply.
Several stones came flying out of the darkness. John glimpsed one tumbling down, half illuminated in torchlight.
“They’re attacking!” someone shouted.
Then orders were given and the Prefect’s men advanced swiftly under the archway, into the forum, and toward the Blues.
“It’s started,” Felix observed grimly. “It wasn’t a Blue who tossed those stones, I’ll wager, but one of the Gourd’s men. It’s always best to have even a miserable excuse when you intend to murder the innocent.”
Felix’s fingers dug into John’s arm. The excubitor’s shaggy hair brushed his face as he shouted into John’s ear, in order to be heard above the din now rending the air with the thunderous clatter of hoofs and nail-studded boot soles and echoing screams of terror and agony.
“Come with me!” Felix ordered. “I’m not going to see you killed and be blamed for not protecting you. We’ll lie low in a shop until things quiet down. The Gourd doesn’t need my assistance in a slaughterhouse, anyway.” The disgust in his tone was withering.
They quickly slipped into the small forum, where men were already dying, ducked under the nearest portico, and leapt into the first alcove of a shop. Peering from its shield of darkness, they could pick out little detail from the frenzy of shadows and struggling men. Already, here and there, dark shapes lay crumpled.
A running figure erupted from the melee. From its dress and hairstyle it was obviously a Blue. Three men gave chase. The first to catch up with the fleeing man grabbed the victim’s long hair, yanked his head back, and cut his throat. The second completed the job by putting his sword into their victim’s back. The straggler had to content himself with kicking a corpse.
The massacre was soon over. The tumult faded. Finally there was only an occasional high-pitched shriek as the wounded were dispatched to oblivion. The Gourd was nothing if not thorough, John acknowledged to himself.
He stepped back from the doorway and was suddenly prodded on his shoulder from behind. He whirled, startled, as Felix stifled a bitter laugh.
Then John saw the cause of his companion’s strange humor.
What had nudged his back dangled from a iron hook in the ceiling. It was the skinned carcass of a monstrous pig, the biggest John had ever seen. They had taken refuge in a butcher’s shop. He pushed the corpse away. It swung ponderously to and fro from its hook.