Two for Joy (26 page)

She shifted her grip on the basket. Two large cabbages, several shiny green apples and small bundles of herbs made it heavier than usual, but she felt some satisfaction in having completed her marketing by beating the herb seller down to a more acceptable price for the fennel she’d purchased for Gaius, who lately seemed to be treating a higher than usual number of patients suffering from gastric disturbances.

She found the men’s appraising looks less disturbing than the scraps of conversation overheard as she strolled around the crowded market. The beggars limping through the throng, the gossips sitting on the worn stone steps of the baths or clustered along the sea wall, all had their opinions and did not hesitate to voice them.

Yes, surely the cowardly villains who had ambushed those peaceful pilgrims would also be smitten down, a purveyor of onions was informing his customer as Hypatia passed by. And punishment would not stop at boiling away the waters was the considered opinion of his neighbor, shouted across a fine array of ducks whose limp feet dangled pathetically over the end of his rickety wooden table. It would consume the entire city and everyone in it, chimed in the maker of lamps, who went on at some length, claiming himself to be more an expert on fire by virtue of his trade than sellers of ducks or onions.

A dandy sporting the long hair of a Blue, his finely worked leather belt displaying a conspicuous blade, padded past Hypatia, addressing his equally fashionable companion loudly. “If those treacherous demons in the Great Palace are still alive when the sun rises tomorrow,” he declared, “we shall just have to see to the matter ourselves.”

His companion gave a laugh that was more of a snarl as he roughly pushed aside a beggar who had had the temerity to appeal to their charity. The elegant pair swaggered away, laughing.

The man’s mention of the palace reminded Hypatia of the question John had recently posed to her. Would she wish to come to live at his house to assist her old friend Peter? On a temporary basis, of course. But then, she wondered, could a Lord Chamberlain’s offer be regarded as anything other than an order?

She did not want to leave her work among the fragrant groves, the lush flower beds and shaded walkways of the imperial gardens, but winter was almost upon them and then there would be less work for her to do anyway. And if her stay was to be only until Peter regained his usual health, then she would doubtless be back at her accustomed job before it was time to begin the spring plantings.

But there was also the question of the potions she had agreed to supply to Gaius. Peter would not appreciate such concoctions bubbling in his kitchen, that she knew. Not to mention his detestation of anyone else being present while he cooked. If she accepted the temporary job, she would need all her diplomacy and tact. Still, Peter was not well and they had been friends for quite some time.

Someone bumped roughly against her.

The man was saying “Pardon, lady,” even as his hand was slipping, like that of a stealthy lover, along her belt. Hypatia sank her fingernails into his wrist.

“I’m not stupid enough to carry my purse at my waist,” she snapped, infuriated at his gall. “Shall we go and find the Prefect to discuss the matter?”

The young man pulled his hand away. He had the straw blonde hair and pale skin of one from the northern part of the empire. “I should think he’d have better things to do right now,” he said quickly. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be out on the street by yourself, you know. It isn’t safe.” He rubbed his wounded wrist, looking at her reproachfully.

“And I suppose you were seeking payment in advance for acting as my bodyguard?”

“I didn’t intend to rob you,” the man denied half-heartedly. “But as for being your bodyguard—well, I wouldn’t require even half a nummus to accompany a lady such as yourself. Though I might accept an apple, for the temporary rental of my blade just in case it’s needed.”

Hypatia laughed and handed him an apple. “You are hired, then. What is your name, in case I have to scream for help?”

The man looked down at the fruit in his hand. “My parents, as good Christians, gave me a good Christian name,” he said, hesitantly. “It’s Michael.”

Hypatia managed to keep a straight face. “Well then, I shall feel very safe indeed with you guarding me. Now, help me find a good place to look over the sea,” she said. “If the world is indeed going to end I want a good view of its departure.”

Her new companion did not seem particularly adept at clearing her way, but the stares she attracted, with a man at her side, did not linger as long. When they reached the sea wall she leaned against it, admiring the view afresh. It looked very different from the one she had seen so often in daylight.

The breeze blowing gently on her face carried a hint of coolness and the sharp smell of the sea. Below, dozens of torches burned along the docks. Their twins on the ships riding at anchor were doubled in the black mirror of the water. Further away, the scattered lights marking other ships floated star-like in a dark void. A cluster to the northwest, glittering like the empress’ jeweled mantle, marked inhabited areas lying peaceful and unknowing across the Golden Horn.

“It’s like looking downwards into the night sky on a cold desert night,” Hypatia remarked appreciatively. “Yet the god Ra himself never glimpses such a sight.”

Her companion took a quick bite from his apple. “I would have thought that a god could see whatever he liked,” he observed, chewing the crisp flesh of the fruit.

“True enough, but you see, each night Ra is guiding the sun’s barque through the underworld. So he does not see the stars.”

“I wonder if these are the last stars I will see, if this apple will be the last I ever taste?” It was obvious from his tone that he did not believe there would be anything worth seeing, at least of a supernatural nature, no matter how long they lingered at the sea wall. “But there again, water doesn’t burn, so we should be quite safe.” He took another crunching bite of his apple.

Hypatia leaned further out over the wall, enjoying the freshening breeze. As they both fell silent, she became aware of the press of the crowd behind them, the acrid tang of fear in the air, their tense voices.

Her companion finished his apple and tossed the core over the sea wall.

The fiery hand of God descended to the waters.

There was a brilliant flash that hurt their eyes, followed by a line of crackling, leaping flames, snaking out of the mouth of the Bosporos and into the Golden Horn. A spitting, fizzling roar, the sound of a jug of water thrown onto a hot brazier, accompanied it but so loud that it echoed back off the dome of heaven.

The fire leapt greedily upwards, taller than the height of two men. Ships floating at anchor and the cluttered docks at which they rode were suddenly alive with running figures starkly illuminated by the advancing wall of flames.

The roar of the approaching conflagration formed a terrible duet with the screams from the crowd and the men below.

Heat slapped Hypatia’s face. She blinked, her eyes dazzled. Steam gouted from the water, swirling in wild, hellish shapes as if a demon army were pouring up out of the underworld. Ships caught fire as the inferno spread its deadly tendrils along the shoreline. A sail burst into flames, ripped loose from its blazing mast and came spinning upward, a wayward spark in the maelstrom.

A choking cloud of thick smoke rolled into their faces, mercifully obscuring the carnage below, but the screaming could still be heard.

A man pushed by them and climbed onto the sea wall.

“Look,” he screamed. “It’s coming for us. It’s coming for us!”

He flung himself over the edge, his thin wail trailing away as he disappeared into the fiery hell below.

Behind them the crowd was running, screaming, pushing to get away. Belatedly aware of her dangerous position, Hypatia struggled to move back from the sea wall before she fell or was pushed over it. A heavyset man knocked her sideways as he fled. She went down to her knees, dropping her basket. Another man kicked her back down as she struggled to get up, shouting obscenities at her. She screamed, afraid she would be trampled in the general panic.

A muscular hand latched firmly onto one wrist and she was pulled upright, sobbing.

“When you get home tonight, lady,” her blonde bodyguard informed her, shouting to be heard above the noise of the panicked crowd, “tell your family that your life was saved at the cost of but one apple. I think they’ll agree that a better bargain could not be found in the entire city.”

Chapter Nineteen

Anatolius burst out of the study, disheveled and
as pale as a demon. The young servant half
asleep on the floor by the doorway scrambled to his feet in alarm.

“Simon,” Anatolius said rapidly, “I am going out shortly. Ensure that a watch is kept every hour of the day. Under no circumstances is anyone to be admitted until I return except John or Felix.” His voice was hoarse, his eyelids red.

“Master,” Simon stammered, “the streets were filled with rioting all night.” He looked around in sleepy confusion. “It is still night.”

“I have business that can’t wait on the sun.”

“But…”

“You have your orders. Besides, we’re still alive and the house isn’t a smoking ruin yet, so it would seem the Prefect’s men are containing the worst of it.”

“But your father?”

“His rites can wait! I’ll see him avenged before they are held, for now I know the murderer. I intend to take care of this matter myself. Even if the authorities caught up with the cowardly bastard…well, justice is a fickle thing. Besides, I’m looking forward to blessing my blade with his blood.”

“Justice is the Prefect’s work, master. Shall I fetch him?”

“No, Simon. This is something that I must attend to myself. My father’s shade will be proud of me!”

***

The sun had barely risen above the rooftops as Peter hastened to open the heavy nail-studded door. Had John finally returned home or did the thunderous knocking echoing up the stairs announce some terrible explanation for his master’s absence?

He was shocked to find Madam Isis standing outside. A bloodied Darius loomed over her with a large sack dangling from one huge hand.

“Let us in,” Isis begged. “We’re not expected but we’ve had no time to arrange better quarters.”

Peter admitted them, pity for their state overtaking his umbrage at Isis’ unwitting insult to his master’s house. After all, she was acquainted with his master in a perfectly chaste manner. And he could hardly refuse refuge to one of the master’s friends. Still…

Isis looked very different than she had when he’d seen her passing by Senator Aurelius’ kitchen on the night of the fatal banquet. Then she had been perfumed and dressed in fine silks. Now her clothing was ripped and her unpinned hair fell in a tangle over plump shoulders.

“There’s violence everywhere,” Darius muttered. He limped as he crossed the hall.

“And the master has been away for two nights now,” Peter replied heavily, ushering them upstairs to the kitchen.

Darius uttered an oath to some deity whose name Peter did not recognize. He pretended not to hear.

“The master’s guest was up half the night, looking out the windows,” Peter went on, “trying to guess from the smoke and glare where the worst rioting was breaking out. What’s been happening? How are the streets?”

Darius shoved the sack under the kitchen table as he sat down. “Yesterday,” he began, “we heard some confused tales about an attack on the Michaelites. First Michael was supposed to be dead. Then the attackers had been driven off by heavenly hosts. Nobody knows exactly what happened except that much blood was spilled.”

Peter made the sign of his religion. “This is dreadful, dreadful,” he said in a shaking voice.

“Not as dreadful as what happened next,” Darius told him. “The Prefect had been managing to keep things more or less under control, with assistance from the military, that is. But last night the Bosporos caught fire, just as predicted. It was the hand of God, so they say. Naturally the streets immediately went up in flames, except of course that was the work of a thousand human hands.”

Isis wiped her eyes. Kohl had streaked darkly down her cheeks. Despite his disapproval of her profession, Peter found himself asking about the safety of her employees.

“My girls?” Isis said. “They’ve all gone to their special friends. They’re safe enough for now.”

“All but one. All but Adula,” added Darius mournfully.

Peter noticed the bruise rising in imperial purple on Isis’ cheekbone. Her ears were bloodied. Intercepting his stare, she fingered one ear gingerly. “Darius suffered worse. If it wasn’t for him, we’d never have escaped with our lives. He’s a hero.”

Slumped on his stool, Darius grunted disagreement. “A hero? My job is to guard your door, not to flee for my life with you.”

Isis reached across the table to lay her small hand across Darius’ bloodied knuckles. “No one could have done more than you did, Darius. These zealots have opened a Pandora’s box with their damnable threats and holy fires.”

“But surely they would not engage in violence?” Peter was genuinely shocked.

“Perhaps not,” admitted Darius, “but there are always scum ready to take advantage, skulking about the back ways and waiting in the shadows. Too cowardly to fight but brave enough to rob and steal the weak while others are engaged upon matters of war.”

“And unfortunately that sort always survives to go back to its lair and see another day,” Isis put in gloomily, straightening her torn clothing.

Peter thought about John again, gone for two days. He tried to direct his attention to other concerns. “What of your house?” he asked.

Isis rubbed her face, smearing kohl further. “Just after I sent the last of my girls away, Darius and I were discussing where we could find sanctuary for the next few days. We should have decided that already, of course, but I had arranged for my house to be guarded by some Blues.” She shook her head. “Well, Peter—it is Peter, isn’t it?—you may wonder at that, for it’s true their faction may lose its running battle with the Greens, but you have even odds that they won’t. So your property has a good chance of being safe, at least.”