“A common slander,” Trenico broke in uncomfortably. “And if it comes to it, anyone can find someone selling poison if they’re really determined. So they say-I have no personal experience of it myself.”
“Fortuna has certainly smiled on you then, since you spend so much time at court. Luckily, there are usually antidotes if one acts swiftly enough. On the other hand, there’s no antidote to a well-placed sharp blade, is there?”
Trenico had grown visibly angrier during her comments and now threw caution to the winds. “Anna, it would be best if you were more cautious in your speech. Rumors swirl around the court like seagulls at the fish seller’s stall. I worry sometimes that someone will put a nasty word or two about your father into Justinian’s ear. You don’t want to inadvertently help bring official disfavor on him, or even official attention.”
“Nonsense, Trenico. My father has no grievance with Justinian.”
“Look upon it as good advice, Anna. And let me add that for his sake it might also be wise for you to become more, shall we say, inclined to consider my petitions.”
“If I wanted your advice, I would ask for it,” Anna snapped. “As to your last remark, kindly explain what you mean or leave. Blackmail is despicable, however you disguise it.”
“Anna, please. Consider what I have said of my affection for you.” He offered the necklace again. “I’m not influenced by your love charm, Trenico, but you need not take it as a personal affront. As I explained, I am one who will never marry. Perhaps
I’m like that stork I saw in the fountain, destined not to follow the flock.”
Trenico closed his fist over his spurned gift. “Destined to freeze to death alone, you mean.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I’ve kept watch at the ends of the empire, in forests and deserts. I’ve never been as uncomfortable as I am right now,” Felix grumbled.
He and John squatted just inside the mouth of an alley not far from the Augustaion in accordance with the City Prefect’s instructions. They had found a place of concealment behind a heap of broken statuary spilling out into the street. In the darkness, their own shadowy forms merged with broken limbs and disembodied heads jutting from the marble debris.
John shivered. He knew if there were sufficient light he would see his fingers to be as pallid as those of the marble hand partially blocking his view of the Mese. Felix was right. The foul smelling manmade ravine they had chosen for their watch was more unpleasant than any outpost he’d known as a mercenary.
Out on the Mese, little stirred but the flames of torches set in front of businesses, their flickering light a feeble competitor to the sharp-edged moonlight flooding the wide thoroughfare. An occasional wail of a baby or the howl of a dog cut through the night air. Now and then a cart rumbled by, but otherwise the street was deserted.
A hideous yowl startled both men. They leapt to their feet, blades out.
It was merely a couple of feral cats confronting each other. A large, flabby, black cat enthroned on a marble head raised its paw menacingly at a scrawny, striped adversary before launching itself to the attack. The cats rolled down the marble pile in a mewling ball of fury before abandoning the argument and racing away in opposite directions.
Felix muttered an oath or two as he took a few paces up and down the alley. “Were those the rioters we’re expecting? Perhaps the real ones have suddenly found their senses and decided to stay home to drink wine and plan glorious feats of arms instead.”
“That’s a notion that holds a great deal of attraction right now.” John shifted his position to one less punishing to his lean flanks and found himself staring momentarily into the empty eyes of a discarded philosopher.
Felix peered out into the moonlit thoroughfare. “I don’t like this. It makes the hair on my neck feel strange. Something peculiar is going on.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pile of shattered marble bodies. “This hiding place doesn’t help much either. They say that the Gourd can conjure up demons.”
It wasn’t the first time Felix had mentioned demons. “The Gourd’s demons are no more real than that fraudulent boiling pitch, and I’ve explained the trick behind that.” John slapped the hilt of the sword he had been given for the night’s watch. “If any so-called demons appear this will prove the lie, you’ll see.”
“Big words from a-” Felix hesitated “-a tutor. I wish I could be as confident as you are in the military skills you claim.”
A window creaked open above them and an irate voice demanded to know why they were disturbing honest workers at that time of night.
John remained silent. Felix’s talk of demons was nonsense, yet he had to admit to himself he could not quite shake off the feeling that they were being observed. Perhaps one of the denizens of the tenement building towering above them was peering down through a cracked shutter.
The night passed, as sleepless nights do, in stretches of dark tedium when it was impossible to gauge whether time was flying or crawling by. Then, when it seemed dawn must still be hours away, the sky suddenly lit to gray and John wondered if he had dozed at his post.
As the city began to stir, ox carts rumbled down the Mese. The shouts of their drivers echoed loudly enough to wake late sleepers. Shop owners unshuttered their premises and swept their porticoes, adding to drifts of refuse already in evidence in the gutters. Beggars, whose arrival always preceded shoppers, searched for their breakfasts among the scraps.
“It looks as if the Gourd’s demons decided to stay home after all. So have the Blues.” Felix rubbed tired eyes. “Or else his informants are singularly ill informed. This must have been the quietest night we’ve had for weeks. Let’s turn our report in and then get something to eat. After that, I think I’ll visit the baths and soak some warmth back into my bones.”
They emerged into growing daylight.
And were confronted by two men with drawn swords.
Their clothing and hairstyles proclaimed their affiliation with the Blues. But why, John wondered, would Blues choose to attack men carrying weapons in a street filled with shopkeepers wielding brooms? He glanced at Felix and the excubitor gave a slight nod. Both men leapt forward and sideways.
The tallest of their assailants pivoted on his heel as he brought his weapon up sharply, slicing through John’s cloak and drawing blood. A splotch of red blossomed on John’s tunic. He stepped inside the other man’s reach, stabbing straight forward.
The tall Blue was taken by surprise. He must have expected his victim to draw back. A man who isn’t used to fighting will always recoil at the first appearance of blood.
John’s blade sank into flesh. The man shrieked.
Several beggars crowded in a nearby doorway shouted gleeful encouragement. This was entertainment superior to any ordinary street-players’ antics.
John heard one of the beggars shout, “My boots on the Blue!”
Drawing on a well of black rage, John stabbed again. This time he was careless. This time his opponent recognized he was up against a fighter and counter-attacked. Fire blazed across John’s chest once more. Now he could feel blood running down over his stomach in hot rivulets. He welcomed the pain, as he welcomed the fight. This was something with which he could come to grips.
His opponent stepped backward to gain more room to maneuver. The move brought him too close to the beggars. One of the ragged wagerers reached out a skinny arm and gave the Blue a shove in the back. Caught off guard, the man stumbled forward. John kicked his feet out from beneath him.