“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.”
Peter said that that seemed a reasonable assumption, given the circumstances.
“At any rate,” Isis went on, “I was collecting up a few things to take with me as we discussed where to go, but a gang of ruffians broke in and surprised us.”
“We shouldn’t have sent the other guards away before the Blues arrived, madam,” Darius pointed out.
“Perhaps not, but I was thinking of their safety rather than mine,” Isis replied. “But Darius kept the bastards busy while I fled out the back door. After they had finished beating him, they threw him out after me. I crept back, and found to my relief-not to mention my surprise-that he was still alive. So we took to our heels. Fortunately, the guards at the Chalke had seen me often enough under happier circumstances. They let us into the palace grounds and so, here we are. Now you see why I say Darius is a hero.”
Darius smiled wanly. “Yes, Peter, I was extremely heroic while being beaten, just as madam said.”
“You must have been outnumbered ten to one,” Isis said. “And, Peter, it seems by the time they’d finished with him, they’d had enough fun for the time being and I’d apparently been quite forgotten. And lucky that was for me, since you could easily have run away and left me to their mercy, or what there was of it.” The woman shuddered.
