by Alan Gordon
“Under the Hippodrome, of course. This room was sealed off during renovation some thirty years ago. I figured out where it was, and broke through from the drainage tunnel. Thought it would be a useful little hidey-hole in emergencies. Then I made a very useful discovery. So useful that this became my home for most of the last three decades. Cheese?”
“No, thank you,” I said. “The dead fools? Did they know about this place?”
“Tiberius knew I had a place, but didn’t know exactly where or how to get here. It wasn’t important to him. He respected my privacy, and I liked him for that. Probably my only real friend in this city. He’s the one I went to.”
“With what?” I prompted, trying not to be impatient.
He led us to the exit and pointed into the darkness.
“This stadium is very ingeniously constructed,” he said. “There are drains in all the tiers. Makes it easier to get the place ready after a rainstorm. There are tunnels under every tier to carry the water off, large enough for a man to crawl through if he had a mind to. And then, all he has to do is sit and listen, and remarkable things will come down through the drains.”
“You’ve been overhearing conversations,” I marveled. “You’ve been crawling through drains and spying on people!”
“Oh, the things that people say when they think they’re alone in a stadium box. I’ve exposed a hundred scandals to the delight of rich and less rich, embarrassed not a few high dignitaries and bureaucrats, and have aimed barbed couplets at more than one emperor. It’s a sin, of course, and a terrible addiction. Even when I began preaching, I still would come here seeking the choicest tidbits, for the preacher may use them as well as the fool. But then I learned something that was too big for me, so I brought it to Tiberius. I assume that he told the others, and that whatever actions they took led to their deaths.”
He looked at me, the rapture of the storyteller gradually subsumed by the horror of what he had to say. Suddenly, he was an old man, sagging in body and spirit.
“Go on,” I said.
He shook his head abruptly.
“I told them, and now they’re dead,” he said. “That’s on me. If I tell you, it’s because you wanted to know, and that will be on you. I’m warning you, this may get you and your little friend killed.”
“I came here to find out,” I said. “I’ll accept the responsibility for my death if that’s what you want me to do. I’ll be better armed knowing.”
He nodded, then sat on his bed, cross-legged, and resumed speaking.
“The voices came through one day. Two of them, both men. ‘He’s gone. It’s safe to speak,’ said the first. I perked up immediately and moved toward the voice. ‘The timing is crucial,’ he said. ‘You have to be ready on a moment’s notice.’ ‘Fine,’ said the second man. ‘You just make sure that once I get in, I can get out again.’ ‘That’s my lookout,’ said the first. ‘That’s why I am where I am. You’ll have the passwords to get past the guards. Once it is done, you’ll be safely out of the city before the cock crows.’ ”
He paused, mopping his brow.
“Then the second man laughed,” he continued. “A soft, evil sound. ‘This will be interesting,’ he said. ‘I’ve never killed an emperor before.’ ”
SEVEN
The wise man’s eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness.
ECCLESIASTES I:14
There was no sound other than the sputtering of the torches and, somewhere in the distance on the other side of the concrete wall, a hammer hitting an anvil. Zintziphitzes sat on his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes closed.
“But the Emperor still lives,” said Claudius finally.
“I suppose the appropriate time has not yet arrived,” replied Zintziphitzes.
“Did they say what they were waiting for?” I asked.
“The conversation ended there,” he said. “I didn’t recognize the voices. The first spoke unaccented Greek. The second I would guess was from somewhere north, but he didn’t speak enough for me to pin it down. Nor have I heard him since then.
“I brought this to Tiberius, figuring it was more his business than mine. I’m not particularly concerned with who runs the ever-dwindling empire.
“Tiberius was interested, of course. He thanked me and said he’d let the others know. I told him to keep me out of it, and he promised he would. About two weeks later, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him or Demetrios in the area. I dropped by the stables and chatted with Samuel, and I learned during the course of casual conversation that they hadn’t been at the Hippodrome in a week. I went by their places, but they had vanished. Demetrios’s landlady was busy selling his belongings.
“Now, I was well and truly worried. I decided to change my appearance by shaving off everything that could be shaved. I’m much colder now, by the way. Then I hobbled up to Blachernae, but no trace of Thalia, Niko, or Piko. And that was that. Your troubadour showed up, apparently got wind of something, and took off like a bat out of hell, which was smart. But then he returned, and no more troubadour.”
“Why didn’t you warn the Emperor?” asked Claudius.
He looked at her with scorn.
“An apprentice, right, Theo?” he spat, and I saw her head snap back with the sting of the remark. “Because the Emperor is shielded from rabble-rousers like me. He’s surrounded by an outer layer of guards and walls, a middle layer of courtiers and courtesans, and an inner layer of boneheadedness that no helm rivals for protection.”
“Is there no one close to the Emperor who you could trust?” I asked.
“Theo . . . I mean Feste,” he said hurriedly as I raised a finger in warning. “I don’t think you understand what’s happening. Where do you think I was when I heard this?”
“You said already. Under the tiers.”
“But under which tier, Feste? I was just outside the Kathisma, the imperial box. Only those of great privilege—either by wealth, position, or power—sit that close to the Emperor. They lie back on silk cushions, surrounded by the Imperial Guard and wined and fed by servants, and watch the games while they play their own. The plot against the Emperor is coming from someone very close to him, which is usually the case. And if I go traipsing in, bellowing about an assassination, they’ll look at me and laugh, saying, ‘Isn’t it that old fool, Zintziphitzes? I thought he was dead. What a funny fellow!’ And then one of them will arrange to have me quietly snuffed out after the show is over.”
“You’re the boy who cried wolf,” I said.
“Isn’t it the truth?” he replied, chuckling. “Just when I need them to take me seriously.”
“Was there any talk about the fools all disappearing like that?” asked Claudius.
“Less than you might suspect,” he replied. “The Emperor apparently whined for a day or two about missing his pet dwarves, but found solace in old wine and a very fetching young flutist from Alexandria. The Empress and he rarely consort, so no one was particularly aware of Thalia vanishing at the same time. The other two worked this part of the city. It may be that the only person who noticed it was me.”
“What has to happen before they go ahead and kill the Emperor?” I wondered.
“That’s what has me puzzled,” he said. “There’s been ample opportunity, especially if he has the passwords to get past the Imperial Guard. The Emperor has not been reticent about being seen in public. He hunts, he feasts, he makes the requisite appearances in the Hagia Sophia, does his ceremonial distributions for charity. Hell, I could probably kill him if I had a mind to.”
“I’d like to get into Blachernae. How would a fool get admitted there?”
“I’d start by performing here,” he said. “Are you in the Hippodrome yet?”
“Playing the games in three days,” I replied. “After the entrance fee is paid.”
“What’s Samuel charging nowadays?” he asked curiously.
“A piece of gold and a tithe.”
“Really? I must have gotte
n the old-timer’s rate. Just as well I got out when I did.”
“For many reasons,” I said.
He pulled a blanket over his frail body.
“I’m tired,” he announced. “Can you find your way back?”
“I think so,” I said. “Lend us a candle.”
He waved to one on the table. I lit it, and we cautiously picked our way down the pile of rocks to the tunnel.
“He must . . . .” began Claudius, but I hushed her.
We continued on for some distance before I spoke softly.
“Sound travels here,” I said. “I don’t know how well Zintziphitzes can hear, but I don’t want to take any chances. What were you going to say?”
“He must get trapped in that room when there’s a heavy rain,” she said, looking back into the darkness. “I think that I would go mad under those circumstances.”
“ ‘The prophet is a fool, the spiritual man is mad,’ ” I said. “He may have been mad from the start. That’s why it’s difficult to know if this is how it all started. But it certainly has the ring of truth.”
“Do you think the event that will lead to the assassination is the coming of the Venetian fleet?”
“Good girl. That’s my best guess. And thanks for not bringing that up in front of him. We don’t know who he gossips with.”
“But why wait so long?”
“Because the way things are going, Alexios is an invader’s best friend. He’s completely mismanaged the defenses of the city. The Crusaders lay siege, the population realizes there’s no navy to drive them away, and before you know it, they’re rioting against the throne. And then our unknown killer sneaks in and eliminates him just when his usefulness has come to an end. The Crusaders march in to the cheers of the liberated populace, take the traditional three days of rape, sack, and pillage, and then install their puppet on the throne.”
“It sounds plausible,” she conceded. “But what did the fools have to do with it? I thought the Guild didn’t care who was on the throne here.”
“That’s true up to a point. But we’d favor whichever outcome produced the least amount of slaughter. The fools here had to operate on their own most of the time because it took so long for instructions to go back and forth from the Guildhall. Niko and Piko generally were in charge of the others. Tiberius sounded the alarm, and they must have decided that this was something that had to be stopped. But the something stopped them first.”
We came to Zintziphitzes’ tunnel. She stopped me before I went in.
“Before we go back up, there’s something I want to do,” she said, and she hauled me down into a fierce kiss. “It’s been a while,” she said when we finally came up for air. “I’m getting a bit tired of being a man.”
“Agreed,” I said. “But this is not exactly the place for anything further.”
“True enough,” she said, looking around. “I prefer to make love without rats watching. It’s a peculiarity of mine.”
I lifted the flagstone a crack and peered out. The alley was deserted. I clambered out.
“Come, Eurydice,” I said, holding out my hand. “Your Orpheus has brought you safely from the underworld.”
“Don’t say that,” she said hurriedly. “That was an ill-fated match. And you’re looking back before I’m out. It’s bad luck.”
She climbed out quickly and covered the entrance. We merged easily into the stream of commerce in the street.
We came back to the Rooster with no apparent tail, had a quiet dinner for a change, and retired for the evening.
“I’ll take first watch,” I said, settling into position.
“I’ll let you,” she said sleepily. “So, now we know what we’re up against. I should be terrified. But I think I’m more nervous about our performance at the Hippodrome. How many people will be watching us?”
“If it’s full, about a hundred thousand.”
“Oh, is that all? Silly me to be nervous. Why, I’ve played to literally dozens of people at a time.”
“Just make your gestures grand, Duchess. Otherwise, it’s exactly the same.”
“Who says I married beneath myself?” she sighed. “A few months with you, and I’m a Grand Duchess.”
“Keep that one,” I said, and she smiled as she fell asleep.
I often found myself up at this hour. Normal for a jester returning from an evening of entertaining. Too tightly strung to fall asleep, yet too exhausted to move. My mind loosened by wine. I did my stretches silently in the moonlight, while my beloved breathed deep nearby. I watched her, wanting her to be a woman again, to be Viola, my wife, and wondering when we would have time for each other.
So we had the why of it at last. Someone had killed six of my colleagues. Friends. Lover, briefly, in one case. Bad idea, getting involved like that, but I had returned from the last Crusade Beyond-the-Sea only slightly scathed, and in the full flush of my survival had wanted her embrace. I never knew why she wanted mine. But then the lesser king who was my assignment ended his own dalliance in the city, and off I went. I couldn’t say goodbye—she was a street performer back then, and we’d only find each other at sunset. I left a hurried note for her, and that was the last contact I had with her. I trusted that she would understand. Now, I would never know if she had.
Those were fine times for fools back then. Isaakios was Emperor, always one for entertaining. He had deposed Andronikos, who was a true horror, so Constantinople was beholden to him no matter how badly he ran the place. He had married a Hungarian princess for the political alliance, which was not unusual. She was nine at the time, which unfortunately also was not unusual. By the time she grew to womanhood, he had long given way to licentious parties with all manner and combinations of women, which was the least unusual for a Byzantine emperor. It could have been worse. Andronikos would have had no compunction about taking a child-bride into his bed.
Niko and Piko came to the city then, and there was a witty fool named Chalivoures to whom we reported. He indulged himself in the Emperor’s leavings, which probably led to his own early demise a year or two later. It was one long party, was old Constantinople, and now the century’s passed, the city’s falling apart, Isaakios is a comfortable but blind prisoner, and all the fools are dead.
Except for me, my bearded duchess, and an old man who lives in a drain.
Now, I had to find my way into the Emperor’s chambers, sort out the powers surrounding him, figure out which one was organizing the assassination, and then . . .
Well, then what? Did the failed efforts of my colleagues mean that I had to follow the same course and succeed? Maybe the assassination of the Emperor would be in the Guild’s interest, depending on who would ascend to the throne.
Which would mean that the deaths of my colleagues would go unavenged.
But vengeance was not part of my mission. I was hoping that it would be a gratifying corollary, but the Guild’s goals came before any personal ones.
And if that meant that six of us had died in vain, then so be it. That’s the way of the world sometimes.
I was getting ready to wake Claudius when I heard a faint noise in the hallway. I held my knife up, waiting. In the streak of moonlight coming through the window, I saw a hand reach through the lower part of the doorway and feel around until it encountered the twine stretched across. Then a foot came in, stepping carefully over it.
I held the knife in the moonlight so that the blade reflected it into the face of Asan. He blinked once when it hit his eyes, then several more times when he saw the source of the reflection.
“Good evening,” I said.
“Um, just checking to see everything’s all right,” he said quickly.
“Very considerate of you,” I said. “Everything’s fine here. I trust that it will remain so.”
“Certainly,” he said. “Well, I’ll be off to bed, then.”
“Good night,” I said politely.
“Can’t blame a fellow for trying,” he muttered as he left.
“Keep the day job,” I called after him.
Claudius stirred. “Is everything all right?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Another nocturnal visit from Asan. Your turn to watch. Good night.”
I wanted to finish checking out the residences of my late colleagues, so in the late morning we crossed the Lycos and walked north. We crossed the northwestern branch of the Mese, picking our way through the fast-moving carts and wains with some difficulty. As we reached the other side, there was a sudden commotion nearby.
Dozens of Imperial Guards fanned onto the street, using their bronze shields to force the pedestrians to the sides of the road. I pulled Claudius into the shelter of a doorway, and we watched as the guards then halted the equestrian traffic, driving back the riders with whips and clubs. In a remarkably short time, they had cleared a wide space leading to a bronze statue of some ancient emperor whose name had long been forgotten, standing in full armor, his left hand beckoning beyond the walls to the north.
“Take my advice and start cheering,” called a captain. “You don’t want her angry.”
A reluctant huzzah poured from the crowd, which became more enthusiastic as the guards began poking the quieter ones with clubs. Soon we heard the clopping of several horses, and murmurs of, “There she is! The Empress approaches!”
A team of four matched white mares trotted around the corner, pulling a white chariot covered with intricate gold decorations. The charioteer was garbed in a garish getup that combined red leather with all manner of dyed feathers, yet the sword he carried was huge, and his arms looked perfectly capable of swinging it through anyone who chose to ridicule it. I chose not to. You have to pick your moments.
The Empress Euphrosyne lay back on a seat covered with red silk cushions. She had introduced the scandalous custom of appearing unveiled in public, and she now flaunted her still potent charms to the world. She wore a gold tunic with fitted sleeves covered with raised embroidery and uncut gems. Her collar was wide, made of several rows of beads of faience. Over it she wore a necklace that looked to be a string of pierced gold coins. Her hair was braided in a complicated pattern and covered with a golden crown shaped as a two-tiered skullcap with a small golden cross on top, a lattice of hanging drop pearls dangling from either side. Still more gems swung from her ears, encircled her waist, and gleamed from her golden shoes. Even the falcon resting on her left wrist was adorned, its leather hood encrusted with the precious stones.