by Mary Reed
“The Blues and the Greens seem to be bred to hate one another.”
“It is because there are really only two teams these days. When the Reds and the Whites were equally prominent all four teams competed against each other. It wasn’t simply the same rivalry, endlessly repeated, every race, year after year. One didn’t see rioters at the Circus Maximus in Rome.”
Porphyrius began walking down the sandy track and John followed.
“I race for the Blues, the emperor’s favorites,” Porphyrius said. “He can’t suspect me of trying to undermine him.”
“You used to represent the Greens.”
“When Anastasius ruled. In fact, I may have headed the Green team when our empress was born to a bear keeper who belonged to the Greens. Anastasius actually preferred the Reds.”
“Who were allied with the Greens and have now joined them, as everyone knows. However, it seems now that all the factions want the family of Anastasius returned to the throne. It’s well remembered how you helped rally the people against Vitalian when he staged his revolt against Anastasius. They may be looking to you for leadership, to aid the family again.”
“That was an eternity ago.”
“Seventeen years. Have Christian or heretical beliefs changed since then? Vitalian was a defender of orthodoxy, like Justinian. You were a supporter of a monophysite emperor then. Am I supposed to believe you truly support an orthodox emperor now?”
The cries of gulls echoed around the stadium. Its tiers of wooden seats were empty except for gulls searching for scraps that had been left behind.
“I am a Blue,” Porphyrius said.
“Do you change religious beliefs as easily as racing colors?”
“Matters are hardly that simple. Remember that one of the old emperor’s nephews—Pompeius, I believe—shares Justinian’s faith. And the populace would happily elevate him if Hypatius wasn’t willing. Or so I’ve heard. You don’t think this unrest is due to religious differences do you?”
“I am just wondering how you are connected with it, Porphyrius.”
“As I explained, I was hoping to stave off the usual bloodletting between the factions. I thought it might help if I suggested impartiality.”
“Not unlike the emperor’s decision to execute an equal number of Blue and Green troublemakers earlier this week. Did you know any of the condemned men?”
“I don’t mingle with common criminals.”
“My understanding is these were faction members who went on a rampage. Racing supporters.”
Porphyrius came to a halt. He scanned the empty seats reflectively then looked upwards. Over the rim of the Hippodrome smoke rose in ghostly columns. “We’re preparing to race. Some say we should be preparing for the end of the world. What do you think?”
“If the world is going to end then preparations will come to nothing. However, like you, I intend to pursue my work. It usually happens that the world doesn’t end after all.”
“A good answer. I’ll ask if anyone can tell me the name of the condemned men. More than likely they are the sort who only hang around the fringes but like to call themselves Blues or Greens when it suits them. Which is mostly when they’re looking for a fight.”
“Justinian will appreciate your cooperation. I am told, by the way, that you were visited recently by a man from Syria. An estate owner named Haik.”
If the question surprised Porphyrius his expression didn’t show it.“That’s so. Normally I would tell you it was a private matter, but since the emperor has ordered you to speak to me I will reveal that Haik wanted assistance in some business ventures. To be specific, he asked me to put in a good word with several petty officials who have been blocking his acquisition of a bit of prime orchard land. As you mentioned, I am a man of some influence, even in places where I haven’t raced for years.”
John wondered whether the request might have been accompanied by gold then reminded himself that a couple of local officials could no doubt be bribed far more cheaply than a famous charioteer. “Did you discuss anything else?”
“Do you suspect this Haik of wrongdoing?”
“Not in the least. He’s a friend of mine. He mentioned in passing that he’d spoken to you. He told me you were interrupted by a visitor. Do you remember who?”
“It’s rare that I don’t have a visitor. Let’s see. Hippolytus, I believe. Yes. Hippolytus. A wealthy young fellow. A Green. I am telling you because I know very well that you will find out anyway and then you will become suspicious of me, as if you aren’t already.”
John concealed his surprise. It seemed hardly credible that Porphyrius hadn’t learned that a man who had so recently visited him was one of the two who had escaped execution. But what did he have to gain by such a transparent lie? Perhaps he really hadn’t heard. How well known had Hippolytus been among the charioteers? Prefect Eudaemon was not likely to have been spreading around details of the execution. On the other hand, it might be that Porphyrius was depending on the audacity of his lie to make it more believable.
Porphyrius did not appear perturbed. “You are wondering what Haik might have been up to aren’t you?” he continued. “You want to compare our stories.”
Perhaps the charioteer feared that Haik knew, or had found out, who Hippolytus was and had already told John. It might be better, John decided, not to challenge Porphyrius on the matter yet. Let him think John was missing that piece of information. “Why would a Green be visiting the head of the Blue team?” John asked instead.
“The Greens think they can coax me to return to them. There’s another statue in the works, I’m told. Or was it Glabrio who was here when your friend came by? Another young man, Glabrio. Extremely tiresome but his father is a generous patron. No, I’m sure it was Hippolytus. I don’t expect I’ll be seeing either of them until this trouble dies down.”
John noticed they were standing in front of one of the monuments erected to honor the man with whom he spoke. The bronze figure astride the decorative plinth depicted a classically handsome youth, a paragon of Greek beauty. Nothing like the pugnacious, middle-aged man beside him. Perhaps the idealized statue was how the masses actually saw their hero, particularly those who never glimpsed him up close but only from the stands, if at all. Perhaps the statue was, literally, all they ever saw of him. Why strain to see the tiny figure in the chariot when an enormous gleaming image towered above the swirling dust of the track?
Was it Porphyrius who was rallying the factions against Justinian?
John’s gaze fell on the epigram inscribed on the base of the monument. “…Selene loved Endymion and now Victory loves with Porphyrius….”
Victory. Nika. The word the rioters chanted.
John thanked Porphyrius and took his leave. He did not believe in messages from gods, ancient or Christian, let alone from an anonymous poet.
***
“Haik!” John pounded on the door to his friend’s room.
As he walked back from his interview with Porphyrius he had become increasingly annoyed. Not only the charioteer, but Haik also, had seemed reluctant to speak about their meeting. John got the impression that both had tried to see how little they could get away with saying, offering just enough to allay his suspicion. Revealing only what they felt was necessary to avoid being caught out in a lie.
John pounded harder. Was Haik there? According to the servants he’d been in his room most of the day.
He gave the door a shove and it moved, then stopped, as if impeded. He gave the door another push.
It opened further, enough for him to see what was in the way. A body lying on the floor.
“Haik! What happened?” John managed to squeeze into the room and knelt beside the supine form. Haik was still alive, but his face was a ghastly red mask. His pupils were hugely dilated. He looked as if he’d been all but scared to death. He stared wordlessly at John. His bloodless lips trembled but no sound emerged.
John glanced down over the
rumpled garments. No blood that he could see. A convulsion ran through Haik’s body.
“Were you attacked? Did you fall ill?” John raised his friend’s head. It didn’t seem to help his shallow breathing.
Haik managed a strangled wheeze. “The document…Chosroes…missing…ask Hypatius….”
The final word trailed away in a fading hiss of breath.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Poisoned!” Rusticus gave a grunt of pain as he straightened up slowly from the bed to which Haik had been moved. The elderly physician’s tunic bore the marks of a day’s calls on patients. He pushed a spray of white hair away from his watery eyes and turned to face John.
“Are you certain?” John demanded.
Felix, stationed in the doorway, shook his head vehemently. “Impossible. No one’s been in the house who doesn’t belong here.”
“There’s no doubt about it,” Rusticus insisted in grave tones. “Considering the convulsions you described and the dilated eyes, it was belladonna. Ladies of the court use it to make their eyes look larger. Some call it Atropos’ plant. Enough taken and she cuts the thread of a man’s life. Not that it matters what it was at this point. If only I’d arrived earlier.”
“You might have saved him?”
“I can’t see how. But I would have been able to identify the poison more positively. As it is I have to go on what you tell me. I should have liked to be sure. Poisonings are most interesting. Tending to the court as I do, I could tell you about more than one poisoning. Oh, yes. Not as many as you’d think. Especially lately. Back in Emperor Zeno’s day things were handled more subtly. Now it’s just a knife in the back. And often enough, not in the back. All brute force and no guile.”
Felix gave an audible grunt. “Easier to guard against.”
John was almost relieved to hear that Haik could not have been saved. Although he had acted quickly it felt like a long time before the physician arrived. As soon as John shouted for a servant the whole household came on the run, along with Felix and a couple of his excubitors.
It was Hypatius who suggested sending for Rusticus. The physician had long treated the family. Once Haik was placed on the bed John ordered everyone but Felix out of the room.
He knelt by the bed speaking to Haik, listening to his breathing become shallower. The man did speak again before giving a few stentorian gasps and lapsing into utter stillness.
John looked down at Haik. The man’s great beak of a nose jutted up like a small peak from the dead face. He bent over and pulled the sheet over the corpse. “You can treat a knife wound more easily than a poisoning?”
“That depends on the kind of poison and which rib you put the knife between and at what angle. Now if—”
“Who would use belladonna?”
“An aristocrat, I’d say. It’s a very refined poison. Or else a gutter bred scoundrel who wanted to make it look like an aristocrat’s work. On the other hand, it’s easily derived from nightshade, so it might be used by someone from the countryside, or by a city dweller who purchased it at a shop, or from—”
“I see. Just about anyone might have decided to use belladonna.”
“Anyone who wanted to kill someone.” Rusticus wiped at his watering eyes. “These days I’m seeing more of the dead than the living. If it’s not the result of beatings and stab wounds from the riots, it’s certifying condemned men are definitely dead after their executions. Some of the deaths I’ve seen, no one would want to see. Oh, I could tell you things you wouldn’t want to hear.”
“I’m glad you can restrain yourself.”
Rusticus shuffled over to the room’s table, picked up the jug there, saw it was empty. He made a noise of disgust. “If the wine was poisoned there’s none left to tell the tale. Was there any food left lying about?”
“No. Not even an empty plate,” said Felix. “John and I searched the room while we waited for you.”
“That’s too bad. Years ago a senator was found dead in his garden. There was half a sausage left on a plate on the bench beside his body. I mixed it with chicken liver and fed it to a cat. When the beast promptly died we knew there was no doubt that the senator had been poisoned.”
“Did that enable you to identify the poison?” John wondered.
“Hardly, but the beast’s reaction was fascinating. One would never guess that muscles could spasm to that extent. By the time I see poisoning victims, they’re usually dead or nearly so.”
“What a shame,” Felix remarked.
“Yes, confirming that a man’s dead isn’t physician’s work. Not usually. Now, just the other day, there were those two faction members who survived hanging. You wouldn’t think a physician would be needed to certify that a man who’s been hung is dead, would you? But when you’ve lived as long as me you see a lot of strange things.”
“Are you referring to the Blue and the Green who were rescued and taken to Saint Laurentius?”
“That’s right. Now there was something I had never seen before although I have a large charioteering clientele who are always injuring themselves, keeping me busy setting dislocated shoulders and limbs broken in collisions or when the men are dragged by their horses halfway round the track before they can cut the reins, spectators crushed in the stands, that sort of injury.”
“You mean the condemned men were charioteers?”
“One of them was a team patron. And the strangest aspect of the affair is that I knew him.”
“Which one?” John asked quickly.
“The Green. Fellow named Hippolytus. He consulted me about a little problem he had with his waterworks. He had a lot bigger problem with the other end once the hangman got hold of him! I’m surprised Pompeius didn’t tell you all about it. I went straight from the execution to his house. Pompeius is a regular patient mostly because he keeps half the wine merchants in the city solvent single-handed. He had over-indulged the night before and there I was, trying to tell him about the executions, and all he could do was groan and order his servants to bring him more wine. Why, the tale I was telling would have gathered me invitations to dine for weeks!”
John thought again of how Porphyrius had denied knowing the identities of either of the men who had survived their hangings. If even Rusticus knew—especially if the loose lipped physician knew—what were the chances Porphyrius didn’t? “Did you know Hippolytus well?” John asked.
“Not at all. I only saw him once, recently, which is why I remembered. I think one of the charioteers I treat sent him to me. He seemed well acquainted with racing. We didn’t talk for long. I gave him a remedy and sent him away. I had no remedy for what ailed him the next time I saw him. There’s no cure for the condemnation of the emperor.”
“Perhaps the botched hanging was intended as a cure,” put in Felix.
“It’s true he was not properly hung. But things were getting chaotic. The spectators were pressing in and making threats. Even the guards were frightened. The hangman was in a panic so far as I could tell. He probably wasn’t thinking clearly and didn’t adjust the ropes properly. There’s no excuse for that. It could have resulted in a very cruel death.”
It wasn’t surprising that Kosmas had not mentioned making such an error, John thought. If, indeed, he had been responsible. The Urban Prefect Eudaemon hadn’t mentioned any unruliness amongst the spectators either. It was possible his guards had tried to protect themselves by not reporting their failure to keep the crowd in check. Or Eudaemon had said nothing in order to protect himself. His men had already failed to protect the two at Saint Laurentius. It would have been understandable if he had not wanted to admit to yet another fiasco.
John turned his thoughts back to Haik. “But as for my friend, is there anything else you can tell me, that might be helpful in finding out who did this?”
The physician glanced at the covered form on the bed. “I fear not. And nothing to be done for him. Considering the horses are out of the barn, and jumped the fences,
and vanished into the woods, and died of old age, there’s no point in locking the stable door, is there? Whoever is responsible is long gone.”
“My guards were stationed at every door,” Felix said, his voice rising. “I was at the front entrance myself. No one could have got by us.”
“Guards can fall sleep, or neglect their duties,” John said.
“I picked these men myself, John. I know them. I trust them. Can you say the same of all the servants living in this house?”
“You have a point, my friend. But I see no reason why any of my servants would want to kill a complete stranger.”
“Maybe he made unwanted advances to one of the women. Who knows. I only know that your house has been well guarded.”
Felix was speaking too loudly. John thought he probably realized it could as easily been one of his aristocratic charges who was killed. And, besides, if someone could get into the house to murder Haik, he could return.
It was possible one of Hypatius’ family had been the real target. It was too obvious to need saying.
Chapter Twenty-Four
How are we going to endure staying here, knowing a man’s been murdered down the hall?” Pompeius selected an olive from the plate on the dining room table and popped it into his mouth. The corpulent man was as sober as John had seen him. Possibly the shock of Haik’s death had temporarily cleared his mind.
Hypatius sat across the table, warily eyeing the assortment of snacks but not sampling any. “You’re a fool to eat any of that, brother. How do you know it isn’t poisoned?”
Pompeius spat an olive pit onto the floor. “I’ll find out soon enough. If it’s poisoned my troubles will finally be over.”
“Someone must be after us.” Hypatius’ voice quavered with alarm. “Why would anyone creep into this house to murder a business traveler from Syria? We need more guards. Different guards. I don’t trust that big, bearded German.”