The Silken Slit of the Empress Ch. 06

The race begins! Our Leontius returns to the Hippodrome in time for the hotly anticipated chariot race.

I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter. Completing it definitely took longer than planned. Although, I mostly have my own poor time management skills to blame for that.

In any case, I hope that you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you all think.

........

The Grand Hippodrome; a monument of pale stone, adorned with golden statues. It was at the center of Constantinople. At the heart of an Empire whose borders had once stretched to the very end of the world.

The Empress and I emerged from the palace and into the Imperial Box. We stopped, her grip loose on my arm. Together, we watched as four charioteers come out onto the sands below us.

Byzantine chariots were small, just large enough for a single man to stand within. They were light; an open basket of wood that was designed for speed rather than war. And pulled as it was by four, well-fed young horses, that speed could be terrifying.

The charioteers began a slow lap of the track; holding their arms out to the crowd and the summer sun. The mob roared; the sound hitting me like a spear to the guts.

There would be near a dozen races today. The Blues, Greens and various other factions of wealthy men and women had sponsored dozens of charioteers and their teams. It would be a day of food, drink and excitement. Though, it was this first race that was the most anticipated.

The mob was screaming, pounding on drums and waving strips of blue or green cloth into the air. They made a field and sky; the line where they met, as sharp as any horizon.

Their champions had taken to the sands.

Maleinos and Velanis; elite charioteers and the veterans of a hundred races. Maleinos, his hair streaked with gray, waved towards where the Blue supporters chanted his name. Velanis, a younger man with an easy smile, did the same for the Greens. Both of their chariots were painted in the colors of their factions. Meleinos even led a team of horses so dark they appeared almost blue in the light of the summer sun.

I didn't recognize the other two men; their chariots painted in colors who's meaning I did not know. They did not appear intimidated by the Hippodrome's crowds; experienced racers, then.

"Nika!" I heard voices bellow. "Nika!"

The word was on the edge of my hearing, nearly lost amidst the rest of the cacophony. But as the charioteers' lap came to its halfway point, I heard it again. And then, again, growing louder and louder as more of the mob joined their voices to it.

"Nika! Nika! Nika!"

It was an old word; a call to unify. It meant victory; it meant winning before your rivals. But its meaning was older. It had been used by armies once; a word hammered on by generals in their speeches. The legions had loved that word; had once chanted it to the rhythm of their crashing feet.

For nika, was to conquer.

The Empress' grip shifted. She pulled herself up my arm, shouting into my ear. I was to bring her to her seat. We moved down towards the front of the box; senators, bishops and merchant lords scattering from our path. She smiled her thanks, lowering herself down between her husband and Antonina.

I returned to my post beside Helena. The charioteers were coming to the end of their slow lap. The crowd's thunder intensified.

"Nika!" They chanted, ripping the air with their flags. "Nika! Nika!"

It was like the rhythmic hammer of the surf. Wave after wave; a rolling storm of frenzied excitement. I felt myself caught up in the roar of that human ocean; a rip-tide dragging me inexorably into its depths. There was a current there; down beneath that roiling sea.

I could see its might; watched how it pulled and shaped. Waves gathered; crashing and swirling into each other. The ocean ebbed and flowed. It seethed and boiled; raged and calm. It was chaos, unless one saw the tide that ran beneath it all.

And like the sea that surrounded my island home; I wondered what would happen here, if that tide ever rose. Would we float away? Or would it drown us all.

I shook myself, pulling my thoughts back from where they'd wandered. I forced some steel into my spine. I'd been to the races before; I knew what the crowds of the Grand Hippodrome were. Though, admittedly, before I'd been just another drop in that ocean. Now...

I snuck a glance towards Helena. She stood to attention; alert, though comfortable beneath the shade of the sheltering awning. I remembered our conversation; the flicker of that vastness I'd seen at the center of her.

Honeyed figs? I thought, feeling a curl of that earlier warmth within me.

Below us, the charioteers were lining up to begin the race. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Maleinos of the Blues wrapping the reins of his horses around both forearms, his body taut. Velanis of the Greens did the same, though he was loose enough to keep bobbing his head towards the crowd.

Sensing my gaze, Helena tilted her head towards me. She arched an eyebrow. I smiled suddenly, the crowd still roared too loudly to speak, so I mouthed the words.

'Seven nummi on the Green.'

Helena's eyes glittered, and I arched my eyebrow in a silent question. Seven nummi was the daily wage of a soldier in the Empire's legions. Those small bronze coins used to buy what comforts could be found in a traveling legion camp.

She nodded, and I felt my grin widen.

I watched the racers prepare with more attention. I liked the way Velanis looked; the younger man more relaxed than any of the others.

And then, with a nod from the Emperor and the peel of a trumpet, the race began.

Sand flew as sixteen sets of hooves tore forward. The charioteers shouted, whipping their reins, their muscles bunching as they leaned their bodies into their vehicles. The mob roared; drowning the racers in their exaltation.

Maleinos of the Blues was quick to take the inside track. The canny old charioteer fending off the others with sharp maneuvers of his chariot. His team was eager; the horses straining against their harnesses. The muscles of their legs were thick beneath their glossy coats.

Velanis slid into the second position; to the side of the plume of dust kicked up by the blue team. He was a handful of horse-lengths back, body low in his chariot.

They ripped around the first curve; the horses flashing by in a rolling mass of thunder. I watched in awe, hardly able to blink as they careened back towards the finish line. The iron and bronze of their wheels and buckles sparkled in the sun; making them look like glittering Persian spirits in the growing cloud of dust.

"Nika!" The crowd chanted. "Nika! Nika!"

Maleinos tore across the finish line; the first of seven laps completed. Helena turned towards me. Her grin was wild; eyes alight with the arena's thunder. I returned her grin, my chest thudding with the same sort of excitement.

If the Grand Hippodrome was indeed the Empire's heart; than the pounding of hooves and the roaring of the mob was its heartbeat. And it was the charioteers that were its blood.

The crowd screamed as Velanis narrowly avoided a collision. He slipped back into third place, giving way to the man that had nearly crashed into him. This third charioteer was aggressive, lunging forward to where the Blue driver still held the lead.

My eyes flicked back to the Green. The muscles on his arms and shoulders bulged beneath the winding leather of his reins. He pulled his horses towards the track's center, urging a fraction more speed out of them. My grin widened, heart beating faster. He was bidding his time, slowly putting himself into a position to pass.

The horses seemed tireless; thundering around turn after turn as the number of remaining laps ticked downward.

I felt something shove into my arm. I looked over, finding one of Helena's hands closed around my forearm. Her auburn hair was dancing in the wind of the passing chariots, the skin of her cheeks flushed.

She leaned towards me, shouting in my ear; "last lap!"

I laughed as she waggled her eyebrows, my own face alight with the same eager flush. Her Blue was still in the lead, having kept his place along the track's interior by blocking his rival's every move. The unknown charioteer was still the nearest to him, having finally managed to get his team of horses parallel to the wheels of Maleinos' chariot.

Velanis was further out, closing in from the direction of the wall. He'd put on a burst of speed as they'd crossed the finish line for the sixth time, managing to line Maleinos' horses with his own. Though the Blue driver still held the inside lane.

The Green began to close in on the final straight away. Along with the third charioteer, they made a sort of reverse triangle. Velanis angled his team in towards Maleinos, trying to slip his nose ahead of the Blue right before the final curve.

I felt myself bounce up and down, Helena's grip tightening on my arm. He was doing it! Velanis was pulling ahead! Maleinos would have to pull back! Or they'd--

And that's when it happened.

Seeing his chance at victory slipping away, the third charioteer, trapped between the Blue and the Green, pulled back on his reins. I'm not sure what he was thinking, perhaps hoping to slip out from behind Velanis and try to race around them on the outside. In any case, it didn't work. He pulled his team to the side too quickly; his horses clipping the edge of Velanis' chariot.

The Green was thrown to the side, his body yanking his own team sharply towards the track's center. And directly into Maleinos. Horses screamed and wood splintered as the two chariots smashed into each other. The Blue vehicle crashed into the dividing wall, skipping off of it and throwing its driver high.

Horse's and chariots rolled, Velanis disappearing into the tumbling wreckage. Behind them, the third chariot was too close. The shattered pieces of the other vehicles speared into his team, tripping them and sending them crashing to the sand with bone cracking force.

The fourth racer, who'd lagged behind the entire race, was far enough away to avoid the wreckage. He steered his team around the debris. His gaze flashed backwards, but he didn't stop.

The blood roared in my ears. Helena's grip on me didn't loosen. The exuberance that had so permeated the Hippodrome evaporated. Everyone gained their feet. In the Imperial Box, bishops pushed past senators, crowding the railing's edge; searching. Slowly, the dust started to clear.

I don't remember who shouted first; who was the first to see and point their fingers. But soon, as the dust cloud broke apart, we all saw them. Maleinos and Velanis; both men lying still.

The crowd's roar turned into a wordless groan; fading into a quiet disbelief as neither champion rose from the puddles of blood that were spreading below each of them.

The men were dead; a sight that was not uncommon on these sands. My breath was coming faster, for though the men and mob were silent, the horses were not.

Their bodies had been broken by the crash. Their legs were shattered, jagged spears of bone ripping through once glossy coats. They thrashed and kicked, their lifeblood pumping from their torn bodies.

And they screamed. God, how those horses screamed.

Their high-pitched, dying shrieks of agony filled the Grand Hippodrome. I felt my fingernails dig into my palms. I added my own blood, to that which was already beneath them.

This was the chorus of war; the sound that followed victory or defeat. The sound brought be back to the fields of Callinicum. I remember the charge of our cavalry and theirs; how they'd broken each other on the spears of our armies.

The third charioteer was still alive, I saw. Beneath the eyes of thousands, he pushed himself to his knees. He crawled over to where one of his horses bucked and screamed, digging bloody trenches in the sand. The man had a knife at his belt. He drew it, giving the poor animal the only mercy he could. His frame shook with sobs, though he did not hesitate in moving to where another of his team lay.

At the track's end, the sole remained charioteer crossed the finish line.

He did not celebrate, did not raise his arms or pump his fists in triumph. He led his team towards the arena's exit with his head bowed. The crowd's silence turned to anger.

They started to hiss and murmur, the water starting to boil. Someone threw a clay jug, dozens and dozens more tossed after it within a breath.

"Fuck," I heard Helena say, her hand finally slipping from me.

Her voice, her scent, and the lingering warmth of her touch bringing me back from where I'd been. I glanced over, met her eyes and felt myself loosen. I let out a shaky breath.

"Yeah."

Fights were starting to break out along the line of fans. Blues blamed Greens for the death of their champion, and Greens blamed anyone but their own Velanis.

"Think that will get out of hand?" Helena asked.

I shifted my shoulders into a shrug. I didn't think so. The few fights there were, were already breaking up; devolving back into insults and shaking fists. The deluge of thrown garbage slowed. The Hippodrome's master sending out a flood of slaves to clear the wreckage.

The mob seemed to settle down; a calm that I did not trust.

"I don't know," I said. "For now, I don't think anyone is quite drunk enough yet."

Helena snorted, shifting her weight. "Thats probably true."

Within the Imperial Box, among Constantinople's great and good, the mood was subdued. Most of them had gotten up while the slaves worked, mingling and speaking to each other with worried faces and shaking heads. The air simmered with the same anxious, confused anger as everyone else.

Alexius of the Blues and Diocles of the Greens were in each others faces. They wailed about their lost fortunes; screaming their accusations into the other's throats. Excubitors were closing in, watching to make sure that nobody came to blows in the Emperor's presence.

"Let's go to the Empress," Helena said. "I don't like this."

I grunted, approving of her caution. Theodora was with her husband, speaking with a group that included Belisarius and Antonina, as well as a man dressed in the robes of a priest.

"You're going to have to speak," the Empress was telling Justinian. "Announce the next race. Speak about this loss. Show them that their Emperor is with them."

Justinian let out a breath, scratching at his beard. "I suppose you're right. Damned shamed about Maleinos, too."

"Empathize with them, my love," Theodora continued. "Show them you feel this loss as they do. Although, you must make sure that the Greens feel included as well. We cannot afford to favor one over the other in this moment."

Beside them, the general nodded his approval. Antonina hung off his arm, whispering something into his ear. Belisarius spoke a few moments later.

"I will send some of my soldiers to patrol the streets."

The Emperor shook his head. "That won't be necessary."

"Listen to him, my love," Theodora said. "The general knows his business. There will be fires tonight."

"Fires? Come now, Theodora. The people have settled down."

"Indeed, they have, your Majesty," another voice added. "You are wise to say so."

A man approached us. He was older, though his dark hair remained mostly free of gray. His face was handsome, confident; and he was dressed in the finery of a senator. An armored Excubitor trailed behind him. This man was younger, his eyes an inflated mass of purple bruises.

His gaze fell on me and I bristled at the naked hostility I saw there. I recognized him a heartbeat later. He was the pretty, loud-mouthed idiot who's face I'd smashed in the first time Helena and I had begun to train together.

"Senator Hypatius," the Empress said. "A pleasure." Her tone had dropped into one of polite civility.

"Augusta," the senator answered, bowing low. "As always, your beauty makes my tongue feel awkward."

The Empress smiled slightly. "It that why you don't agree with my words, senator? Because, I can assure you that the people will not forget this. And after the races, when the city's winehouses start to overflow..."

"Of course, you are correct," Hypatius said. His voice was smooth; practiced in a way that only a trained orator could be.

"They will not forget. But, your Majesties, you must understand that the people are angry. Much has changed in the past five years. The people are getting used to your reforms; and the cost of foreign wars have been difficult for many to bear."

"My new taxes have only targeted those with wealth to spare, senator," Justinian said. "Besides, is the expansion of our Empire not worth the cost?"

"Indeed, Augustus," Hypatius said. "And I myself gladly pay what is required of me. However, I fear that in your zeal, you may have misjudged. Your reforms have stripped the wealth and influence of us senators; as well as that of the Blues and the Greens."

"Those with wealth to spare," the Emperor repeated.

"Perhaps," the senator said. "But are we senators not the representatives of the people? Are the Blues and Greens not comprised of thousands of citizens? In most ways, Augustus, we are the people."

The Emperor folded his arms. "So, what do you suggest?"

"A more restrained response," he said. "Let the Blues and Greens mourn their champions as they see fit."

"Your advice is to do nothing?" The Empress cut in. "What then, when fires are started by drunken faction-men butchering each other in the streets? Your villa will not protect you from the mob, Hypatius."

"Nothing? Of course not, Augusta. Indeed, some of my fellow senators and I have great many ideas. If you recall my last proposal before the senate, I--"

"Oh please, Hypatius." It was Antonina that interrupted him. The blonde-woman waving his words away with a dismissive gesture. "We all know that you parrot Diocles' words. Its a step backwards. As if the Greens do not control enough of this city already."

"Control?" Hypatius said. "This is about survival. With these new reforms; the Greens are barely holding on. Is it a wonder that the people seek to return to more traditional laws."

Antonina snorted. "'Tradition' is a pretty word for thuggery and the whoring of children. I was raised by the Blues, senator. I know what values the factions hold too."

"Be silent!" The bruised guard shouted. He stepped towards Antonina, hand on his sword, his face was molten with rage. "Your betters are speaking, whore!"

Belisarius stepped forward at once, his dark eyes murderous. But it was Hypatius that acted first. His hand flashed, slapping the younger man across the face.

"Shut your mouth, fool boy!"

My mouth fell open. The Excubitor fell back, crying out in pain. Confusion clouded his features. "Father, I--"

"Enough!" Hypatius shouted. "You will be silent." He turned and bowed deeply to Antonina. "Forgive my son, Mistress. Please. He is a young man, and I fear that the heat of the day has fried what little brain he has."

The Empress made a small sound, everyone's attention shifting over to her. "Antonina and I performed together in those days, senator. Is your son insulting me as well?"

The guard's face went white, his eyes flashing to his father. The older man hurriedly bowed again. "Of course not, Augusta. He wasn't thinking. Apologize, boy. To everyone here."

The Excubitor did so, bowing jerkily to everyone in turn. His father led him away a few minutes later, the young-man's face burning with fresh humiliation.

The Emperor let out a breath once they had left. "I think you're right about needed the soldiers, my love."