“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
“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
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