Terror of Constantinople (31 page)

    ‘Keep looking for transport,’ I said. ‘But we’ll be here a few days yet. There may be trouble before we leave. Get Authari to arm the other slaves. If things do turn nasty within the City, we’ll bar the gates of the Legation. But he and I need to agree a reserve plan.’

    Martin turned thoughtful again. But I went happily to bed where I dreamed of home and Gretel. I even found time for a vision of the Dispensator’s face when I told him of all that had happened.

    Even Martin would not have denied that things had turned out better than they might have done.

31

The Great Circus is about a quarter of a mile from the Legation, and is set amid the main public buildings of the city. To its north is the Great Church. To the west, connected by Middle Street, is the Forum of Constantine and the legal district. To the east is the main Imperial Palace, with which it is joined.

    Indeed, the Imperial Box is a branch of the palace, joining the main structure by a spiral staircase that can be shut off in emergencies. Though called a ‘box’, it is in fact more than a raised viewing platform. It has an audience hall, a dining room, and even a small office for use between races. A staircase leads down to a covered terrace where the Senators and other dignitaries of the Empire sit within sight of the Emperor.

    Seen from the southern, semicircular extremity of the Circus, the Box is on the right-hand side, and sits about two-thirds of the way towards the flattened northern extremity. It is built over the stalls for the horses and chariots and the storehouses for all the machinery of the races and spectacles. Because of the sloping ground, the southern extremity is suspended on massive brick vaults. These ensure a perfect level for the Circus and provide additional accommodation for the officials of the various financial ministries.

    The Circus itself is about six hundred feet long by about three hundred feet wide. The racecourse is divided by a long low wall – the
spina
– at the ends of which are the points round which the chariots have to turn. At one of these points are seven golden dolphins, at the other seven golden eggs. The normal length of a race is seven circuits, and dolphins and eggs are removed at the appropriate moments to remind spectators how far advanced the races are.

    Between these points are various works of ancient art. At the exact centre of the
spina
is an Egyptian obelisk of the most incredible antiquity. Someone told me once that this dates from before the Flood. Since no one can read the picture writing that covers the thing, and since there was probably no Flood – where, after all, could the waters come from to cover the whole world? – I take this as one of those fanciful guesses by which people cover their ignorance. But the obelisk must be old.

    I am on firmer ground with other works. For me, the most illustrious of these is the serpentine column of bronze erected in ancient days at Delphi to commemorate the final defeat of the Persians. This came to the city when the Great Constantine ransacked the world for monuments to adorn his new capital. You can read on it the names of the city states that took part in this unquestionably miraculous deliverance.

    Martin and I arrived with Authari soon after dawn, and joined a long queue of chattering citizens dressed in their finest to gain admittance. As we filed in through the Great Entrance, I saw that slaves were stretching canopies high over the seating areas in the Circus to keep off the drizzle that had continued through the night. With successive, rippling cracks that reminded me of the sails on a ship, the slaves had the canopies neatly unfurled. They were stretched from poles set into the perimeter walls, reminding me of the teeth of a comb. The racecourse itself was uncovered, but the retaining cords of the covering connected to each other far above the course. The whole was then steadied with a network of other cords that held it rigid in the shifting winds and kept off both sun and rain.

    We were met inside by Alypius. He led us through the gathering crowds to the semicircular end of the Circus. Our seats were right at the front on the lowest row. On our left, stretching all the way up to the highest row of seats, was a line of armed guards. A few yards before us, blocked by more armed guards, was a staircase leading down to the racecourse.

    From here, we had a fine view of the whole Circus. I noticed the Senators filling up their terrace. On the plainer robes I could make out the bordering flashes of purple. Conspicuous in his black was what I guessed to be the Greek Patriarch. Among the men, I saw a few veiled ladies.

    Most remarkable, however, were the humbler spectators. Around us were seated crowds in no particular style of clothing. These were the unaffiliated citizens. But on my right – that is, on the side of the Imperial Box – sat the Green Faction. On the other side of the Circus sat the Blue Faction.

    There are, you see, two teams in every race – one blue, one green – and these have their fans among the spectators. These two factions are separately seated because of the riots that often attend races. They have always had some official recognition, their leaders being held responsible to the Urban Prefect. They have their own social life, providing insurance and support for their members. Since the first big siege by the Persians, they have been armed and drilled, and now form part of the regular City defences.

    The Factions flocked together in their accustomed seas of blue and green robes, each facing the other across the racecourse. As the Circus filled up, and the rain left off and the sun began to peep from behind the grey clouds, the unofficial festivities got under way.

    By custom, the first insults traded between the two Factions are generally accusations of heresy or treason, and curses that go back to before the establishment of the Faith. This is the only place left where you can hear public venerations of Isis and Serapis and others of the dethroned Ancient Gods. Often, the phrases used are so old and garbled that most are unaware of the blasphemy.

    Then, as the teams enter and go one lap about the Circus, the abuse becomes more tailored to the alleged faults of the chariot eers. The first team that day to enter was the Green. Through the internal gateway beneath the Imperial Box the team entered to thunderous cheers and groans, the charioteers in green robes, the two horses to each chariot also dressed in green. As they passed by the Green section, the charioteers dismounted and took the plaudits of their faction.

    With neatly trimmed beards and gravely impassive faces, they stood by their chariots – these stripped back to the absolute minimum needed for a riding platform. They stood beneath a shower of rose petals, and were treated to an elaborate choral ode in their honour.

    Then, from across the Circus, came the first sustained mass of abuse. Directed at the team leader, Paul, and in a rolling chant, carried by perhaps ten thousand voices, it went something like this:

 Ye Nymphs lament, Ye Cupids too,

 And every man of feelings true

 And decent. For, such her meanness,

 Fate has robbed Paul of his penis –

 His penis that he loved so well;

 His penis that could often swell

 From one to maybe two or more

 Full inches, if not quite to four.

 It never felt the warm embrace

 Of any vulva, nor in place

 The firm grasp – by law denied us –

 Of a playful young cinaedus.

 But his left hand as well it knew

 As a foot its favourite shoe.

 And limp now, nor more to present,

 There will it rest, all passion spent.

 Ah Savage Fate – cruel to devour

 His solace of a silent hour –

 Behold the product of thy power:

 Tucked in bed, lies Paul unsleeping,

 Ever red his eyes from weeping.

As the last measure ended, the chanting dissolved into screams of laughter and individual abuse. There was a volley of green dildoes from the Blue Faction, and a less organised repetition of the final lines.

    His face creasing into a smile, Paul took the assault in good spirit. Indeed, it was hard not to. Someone among the Blues had a good ear for the Latin classics and had done a fine job of parodying Catullus in the fixed syllabic lines of modern Greek. Paul took up one of the dildoes and waved it derisively back at the crowd. Then he pulled up his robe to show the whole Circus what the truth was regarding his manhood.

    I was too far away to see the details, but they pleased the Greens. The approving roar must have been heard outside the City walls.

    Matthias, leader of the Blue team, got the same treatment. His epigram went as follows:

 Beside Matthias, have no fear,

 Your wives and daughters may sit near;

 And lustful glances, if he cast,

 Can bring to them no harm at last.

 Nor for your sons you need take fright:

 Matthias is no sodomite –

 Or, much as he’d love to insert

 Himself, he’d never dare assert

 Himself sufficient to succeed:

 A timid little man indeed!

 And he, to complete your data,

 Is neither a lewd fellator,

 Nor some other fornicator.

 You’ll find his pleasures are very,

 Very, very solitary:

 For every other vice unfit,

 Matt eats and masturbates in shit!

Well, that got everyone going nicely. I thought the chaotic shouting that followed this recitation would never end. So far, though, it was all good-humoured fun. Even Matthias had to smother a laugh at the inventiveness of the epigram someone had taken the trouble to compose against him. He knew that if the verse made it into one of the anthologies, it might be good advertising throughout the Empire.

    Martin sat beside me like a frozen block of his lemon water. He was never one for big crowds, except at a good church service. Authari was impressed by the spectacle, without understanding much of it. But I joined in the cheering and laughing as if I’d been going to the Circus all my life.

    Rome had nothing to match this.

    At a burst of louder cheering and catcalls, I turned round to see Philip and some of the other students. Dressed in wonderful clothes – Philip himself was wearing shoes all of woven gold thread – and sprawled along one of the higher rows, they had a fine view of the racecourse and over the Imperial Box to the palace and the City beyond. They had brought food and drink and were sharing a jolly breakfast. Philip beckoned me up to join them but Alypius pounced before I could move.

    ‘You stay in your allotted place,’ he breathed from beside me.

    Even so, they did send down a jug of reasonably unwatered wine to keep me going through the remainder of the festivities. Alypius brought it, concealed in the folds of his robe. Most welcome, this. Martin for some reason had got Authari to pack only fruit juice in our hamper.

    The Factions now burst again into chanting – yet more celebration of the qualities of their champions. So long as they don’t turn ugly, proceedings in the Circus follow a ritual as set in its essentials as in a church.

    At last, however, the teams began to move towards the far end of the racecourse and the shouting diminished in volume. There was a flurry of movement on the Senatorial Terrace. Everyone there was on his feet and facing away from the racecourse, looking up. Even the Patriarch was standing.

    On each side of the Imperial Box above them, seven men in golden robes had appeared. They stood looking around and waiting for reasonable silence. Then they raised their golden trumpets. A peal of bright sound rang out across the Circus.

    There was silence.

    A herald stood forward in the Imperial Box. He raised his arms to maintain the silence.

    ‘We unite’, he cried in a slow, clear voice that reached to the topmost rows behind me, pausing at each phrase to draw breath, ‘in greeting our Lord and Master, the Most Holy and Orthodox and Ever-Victorious Flavius Phocas – Caesar Augustus, Autocrator,
Dominus et Imperator
, appointed by God Almighty Himself, Ruler of the Universe.’