this was where Michael’s promised fire would consume the waters.
The Egyptian gardener often shopped here, having found that the daily market in front of the Baths of Actaeon was unusually well stocked with those herbs she could not grow but needed for cooking or for preparing potions for Gaius. And she enjoyed the view, a spectacular panorama sweeping from near the tip of the seven-hilled peninsula on which Constantine had built his capital to the junction of the Bosporos and the Golden Horn.
Her tawny, dark-eyed face with its frame of black hair attracted bold stares from men passing by. Of course, no respectable Roman woman would be seen in the streets unaccompanied during the day, let alone at night, but the young woman cared little for the customs of a city that was foreign to her. Now, however, she almost regretted succumbing to her curiosity. Perhaps she would have been wiser to go home after her customary haggling with various sellers of this and that. Instead she had lingered until after night fell, curious to see if the event the hawkers of herbs and vendors of vegetables and chickens were all talking about would actually come to pass, if the water really would be set afire.
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.
