The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) (44 page)

The three remaining teams made it around the final curve and were all straining to reach the point where they had started. The green chariot was in front, but only barely, the red almost directly beside it, and the white chariot was edging closer. The crowd seemed to be one screaming beast, thousands of voices converging into a single roar. The horses put on one final burst of effort, dust rising high all around them as they passed the finish line. A man on the side of the track furiously waved a red flag and the crowd’s scream changed. Some spectators jumped up and down, others slumped on their benches. In front of Javor, the man who had said “twenty on the green” handed coins to the man next to him, shaking his head.

Then Javor noticed people all around him exchanging coins. “What’s going on?” he asked Flaccus.

“
They bet on the races,” said Flaccus, and then had to spend five minutes explaining the idea of betting to Javor.

Another group of chariots and teams came out to the stadium, again wearing red, white, blue or green. Again, the spectators wagered, cheered, chanted and booed, screamed as the horses thundered past, shouted in triumph, groaned as they lost, traded purses. Javor saw that the sizes of the wagers increased with each race.

Then he noticed a section of the stadium that was fenced off from the rest by waist-high wooden walls; posts at the corners of the fence held up an awning that blocked Javor’s view of part of the race. Under the awning, a small group of very wealthy-looking  men and women in long, beautiful robes, all decorated in colourful, thick patterns, sat on thick cushions. Slaves brought them wine in golden cups and delicacies to eat on polished trays. Unlike the crowds around them, they didn’t seem to get very excited at the races; they watched attentively, clapped their hands delicately when a team they favoured won, shook their heads when their favourite lost, politely exchanged purses when they won or lost bets, as if the money didn’t matter. They would sit back on their cushions, sip wine, point at something on the track or in the stands, call to their slaves for more to eat or drink. They smiled and chatted, sipped and nibbled, waved their fingers, laughed delicately. Against all the noise of the stadium, Javor couldn’t hear a sound coming from under the awning. They didn’t raise their voices or their hands, but seemed to conduct their lives with as little effort or passion as they could.

“
Flaccus? I thought you said women did not come to the races,” Javor asked.

Flaccus shrugged. “Those are some rich people. Maybe some senators and their concubines.”

Concubines?
Javor figured out what the word meant, himself.
Tbese Romans really over-complicate sex.

The behaviour of the rich people fascinated Javor more than the races. He watched as two men in long white robes, trimmed with wide patterns in blue, red and yellow, and partly covered by another garment he would later learn was called a
chlamys
, debated the races with amused detachment, while young women fed them cakes.

The women never spoke to the men, but occasionally among themselves. They wore richly-patterned robes and transparent scarves over their heads, and glittering gold jewels around their wrists and hanging from their ears. They laughed almost silently, holding their hands delicately in front of their mouths, they tilted their heads, they took dainty sips of wine. Javor realized that the women never ate anything, and said as much to Flaccus.

“
Oh, no, women never eat in public for fear of getting food on their clothes or fingers,” Flaccus answered. “Especially
that
kind of woman.”

One of the women appeared much younger than the others, much younger than the man she attended.
She’s the prettiest, too. Beautiful.
“Stop staring at her!” Flaccus warned.

The crowds became more and more excited, rising to their feet at the end of every race. They screamed at the race judges when their favourites lost. The group chants grew louder and angrier as the wagers grew. Winners did little dances as they accepted purses, losers tore their hair and clothing. A group dressed in green started to fight a group in blue. Soldiers waded into the fray and brought heavy clubs down on heads until the fighting stopped, then dragged limp bodies away as the crowds screamed louder than ever.

Javor noticed movement at the Emperor’s lodge at the far end of the stadium: the Emperor had stood. Soldiers in shining uniforms stood up smartly, picked up their spears, and marched in a formation surrounding the Emperor as he walked the steps, then disappeared into a door in the side of the stadium.

“
The Emperor has a special walk-way to the Imperial Palace that only he can use,” Flaccus explained.

The rich men and their concubines took the Emperor’s departure as their cue. As another group of chariots gathered on the sand below, slaves picked up the rich people’s cushions and put wine jugs into wooden crates. A group of soldiers gathered round them—not as glorious as the Emperor’s guard, but big and menacing with clubs in their hands and swords hanging from their belts. They formed a ring around their patrons and as they walked down the steps toward the gate, the soldiers roughly pushed spectators who hadn’t the sense to get out of the way. A number got kicked, and once a soldier raised his club, but he only had to threaten to clear a path. Their slaves carrying cushions and crates followed, pushing through the crowd as best they could.

“
We should leave, too,” Flaccus said. “The crowd is really getting wild.” Getting out wasn’t easy. Two groups, red and green, held a screaming match. Some started shoving. Flaccus led the way along the wall of the stadium. Just outside the gate, a group of bored-looking legionnaires slowly donned their gear, tightened their straps and buckled their swords. A centurion quietly urged them on; they were getting ready to quell the crowd, but it seemed routine.

The four friends walked as quickly as they could up the broad avenue back to Chalkoprateia. As they went, men and women poured in from the smaller streets, the colonnaded buildings and the tenements. The richer people hurried away from the Hippodrome, many carried on chairs by slaves or in chariots pulled by horses. “It’s going to be a riot!” Flaccus said; Javor derived the word’s meaning from the growing excitement, the sense of hatred and anger that filled the street, the fear of the rich, the old, the very young, the way shopkeepers closed their stalls and pulled heavy shutters across their windows.

Off the main street, the crowds were smaller. Javor, Flaccus, Sandulf and Ammon were almost at the Abbey when they heard a noise from behind, toward the Hippodrome, then something like thunder. Looking back, they saw a huge crowd of mostly young men running along the avenue they had just left, all wearing blue scarves, all yelling. From the other direction came more young men, dressed in green tunics, all carrying sticks, clubs or tools. The two groups clashed with a shock that Javor could feel. Men fell to the ground, blood spurted. The four novices were transfixed, watching with horror as young men bludgeoned and butchered each other over a chariot race.

A steady beat came from one side, and mounted soldiers rode slowly and steadily into the midst of the riot, swinging heavy clubs or chains attached to metal rods. They struck indiscriminately, knocking men down, spilling more blood. The rioters tried to run, but were blocked or attacked by other rioters.

The knights got closer. Some of the rioters fled toward the four novices, and Flaccus took off, running away from them into a tangle of narrow alleys. The others followed. “That’s the wrong way, Flaccus!” Sandulf called, but they followed anyway.

They ran until they could not run any farther, then flopped onto the ground under a colonnade. “Why did you come this way, Flaccus?” Sandulf puffed. His face was red.

Flaccus wheezed. Javor thought his friend, who was sickly at the best of times, looked on the point of collapse. His breath shuddered his frame, he hung his head between his knees. When he had regained his breath, he leaned forward and vomited a thin stream between his feet.  Gradually, he regained control over his breathing and his face returned to a slightly more normal colour.

“
Because the avenue to the Abbey was full of soldiers,” he panted. He took a few more breaths and then spat to clear his mouth.

Ammon struggled to his feet, then pulled Sandulf up. Javor helped Flaccus to stand. They stood quietly, listening: the sounds of rioting and of soldiers beating and killing civilians faded. Flaccus staggered a few steps until Javor held him up. Slowly, they made their way through narrow alleys and minor streets toward the Abbey and safety.

Chapter 28
: Fire and glass

Where are we?
The sun had set. There was almost no light except for dim reflections of fires. The noise from the main streets was deafening. The four novices wandered for what felt like hours until they found a broad avenue that none of them recognized. Javor felt his amulet warn him of danger. He turned and almost immediately was confronted by six men in brown tunics with flaring sleeves. Four carried flaming torches, and one had a drawn sword. In the flickering torchlight, Javor could see that they were wearing leather helmets, but their hair hung over their shoulders. They each had a green scarf tied in a triangle around their necks.

Their leader was big, almost as tall as Javor, and he carried a heavy cudgel.
Oh, no
.

“
And what are you doing here?” demanded the leader, who had a silver star on his green scarf.

“
Sorry, we’re just kind of lost,” Flaccus whined. “If you could tell us how to get to the Chalkoprateia—”

“
Are you Blue or Green?” he demanded. He raised the cudgel and stepped toward Flaccus.

“
Neither!” Javor protested, stepping between Flaccus and the guard. “We’re novices from the Abbey of St. Mary.”

The leader turned toward Javor. “Barbarian. Not a Green, for sure,” he sneered.

“
St. Mary’s is an Orthodox church, Stavros,” said one of his companions.

“
You talk like an idiot,” Stavros said, stepping very close to Javor. “So, the Blues are recruiting barbarians, is that it?”

Javor’s amulet vibrated madly. “We didn’t mean to come here—we were at the Hippodrome, and then this big fight started…” Stavros took another step closer and the amulet vibrated so hard, it was hot.

Javor heard a
whoosh
above him and a strange gust blasted them all with dust and grit. At the same time, every bell in every church-tower in Constantinople started ringing. Between the peals, they could hear doors slamming and feet running. Men yelled and horses clattered on the cobblestones. “Stavros!” one of the guards yelled over the din. “It’s the call for general stations!” Javor’s amulet felt like it would catch fire.

“
Wait a minute!” Stavros answered.

His second-in-command took Stavros’s arm. “Remember our duty, Stavros! We have to report in!”

Stavros wrenched his arm free and glared at Javor. He raised his arm again, but this time just to point down the street. “That way to the second corner, then turn left, and the Chalkoprateia’s a half-mile away. Now get out of here and don’t come back!” The guards hustled the other way, disappearing into the growing panic.

Javor felt like he knew the way, and ran down the avenue. His friends followed. All around them, men pulled on their Blue and Green uniforms, strapped on armour, loosened swords and hoisted spears. Women banged doors and shutters closed, screaming for their children. Torches flared alight. Horses clattered down the roads, hauling men and barrels of water. Javor could smell smoke, saw it billow up over the rooftops on his left. A glow: something big was burning. And on his chest, the amulet burned almost as hot.

“
What’s going on?” Javor shouted above the noise. St. Mary’s bell was tolling almost continuously. Along  with the silent shrieking of his amulet, he felt like they were going to drive him insane.

“
It’s the general alarm! The city is under attack!” Flaccus shouted at his heels. They banged on the gates of the Abbey of St. Mary and were surprised when Father Peter answered.

“
Let us in, Father, there’s a riot!” Sandulf pleaded.

Father Peter looked at the four boys with his little smile. Behind him were some of the senior boys. “And what were you boys doing outside today? Where were you during prayers? And Mass?”

None of the four wanted to say anything. Father Peter just looked at them, smiling, and the monks behind him scowled as the noise from the street got closer and louder.

“
Please, just let us in before we get trampled!” Sandulf whined.

“
Just tell me what you four have been doing all day.”

Javor had no idea how much trouble they were in, but he didn’t want to be caught in a riot, either. “We just went to see the Hippodrome, Father, and a riot started, but we had nothing to do with it. We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Father Peter’s eyebrows went up so high, Javor thought he would lose them. “Nothing wrong?” His voice rose as high as his eyebrows. “Nothing wrong? What about disobeying the Order? What about shirking your chores and responsibilities to your fellow novices and the rest of the Order? And horse-racing, gambling—and I know there are wanton women who attend such activities! How I wish the Emperor would banish these pagan spectacles as the heresy they are! Nothing good comes from horse-racing, and if you boys had been as observant and obedient as you have vowed to be, then you would never have gone near that den of evil, licentiousness and heresy, the Hippodrome!”

Peter’s face was red. Froth appeared at the corners of his mouth. “You boys get into your cells and stay there until I call you! And no supper today or breakfast tomorrow, either, until we can devise a suitable punishment for you!” The four entered the Abbey just as five men in green tunics chased one in a blue scarf down the street.

Father Peter smacked Flaccus on the side of the head. “You really ought to know better, Brother Flaccus! What would your family say?”

“
My family was there,” Flaccus muttered, and Father Peter would have hit him, but Javor grabbed his wrist.

“
How
dare
you?” Father Peter hissed. He wrenched his hand away and would have slapped Javor, but at that moment Javor heard a familiar voice call his name across the yard.

“
Peter! Enough nonsense! Javor, to the armoury immediately!”

Malleus was crossing the yard, beckoning.
What is he doing here?
Javor had never seen Malleus outdoors before.

“
Don’t you speak to me that way, Malleus!” Peter shrieked.

“
Shut up, Peter! Javor—we need you, now!”

Javor ran after Malleus, leaving the rest to stare after him, mouths open.

Austinus waited at the Armoury’s door. “Javor! The barbarians are at the city walls! Come to the council chamber with me!”

“
I want my dagger!” he shouted. Inside the armoury, Philip and Theodor fussed over equipment. Javor’s dagger still protruded from the shield, set up on a wooden frame near the big window.

The bells ceased but Javor still heard ringing in his ears. He couldn’t understand what the others were saying to him and realized they were all still shouting.

How can I get the dagger out of the shield?
But before he could take a step toward it, the big window, the whole height of the wall itself, exploded toward them. Shards of glass flew all around, slicing Photius’ blue robe and Austinus’ arm. They all threw up their hands to shield their faces, but even so Javor felt shards scratch his face.

They all blinked as the glass settled, then blinked again.
The dragon! My dragon!

It was bigger than before, long and sleek and shining in the torch-light. It narrow, triangular head was as long as Javor’s arm and its neck curved like a snake’s. Its front left foot, with terrible curved claws, was now almost the same colour as the rest of its leg.

The dragon swivelled its head, looking at each of them in turn. “Don’t look into its eyes!” Javor yelled and ran for his dagger.

But the dragon was far faster. In a blink, it was between Javor and the shield. Casually, it took the dagger’s handle in its claw and effortlessly removed it from the shield.

“
My dagger!” Javor tried to pull the dragon’s front leg to free his dagger, but he couldn’t get a grip: the scales were too hard, too smooth.

Javor. I am not your enemy.
The voice was calm, even, deep.

“
You know my name?”

The dragon lowered its head to Javor’s level.
I am Sarbox. We have no quarrel, you and I.

“
You killed my parents!”

No, not I. It was Ghastog, the … the troll. The ogre. I do not know all your terms
.

“
You’re stealing my dagger!”

It is not yours. It comes from my ... race.

“
It comes from the earth!”

Yes. As I said. Human languages cannot describe ...

“
Javor! Don’t talk to it! Don’t fall into its spell!” Austinus yelled. But Javor realized he was looking into its yellow, cat-like eyes. So like the other dragon’s, yet … yet he wasn’t falling into a spell. He could look away, he could see—

He could see Malleus throw a net over the dragon’s back to Theodor, who quickly secured the rope to a beam. At the same time, Philip charged forward, screaming, and drove a spear into the dragon’s chest.

The dragon stumbled back into the net. A swinging front leg knocked Javor to one side, its flailing tail knocked shields and other gear skittering across the stone floor. Philip pushed the spear harder.

The dragon opened its mouth, revealing terrible, long, pointy white teeth. It spat a green liquid toward Philip that hissed and steamed where it hit the stone floor. Some of the spit hit Philip’s forearm, and he fell screaming to his knees. His skin bubbled, smoked, cracked and blackened, then began to melt and drip off. The bubbling spread, down toward his fingers, which shrivelled, dissolved and fell off. The bubbling spread upwards toward his elbow, dissolving more and more of the arm.

Malleus swung a long sword, neatly severing Philip’s arm at the elbow, then fell on the stump to staunch the spurting blood. Philip’s screaming stopped with a horrible choking sound.

The dragon pulled the spear out of its belly scales.
I have no quarrel with you,
it repeated, and Javor only then realized its voice made no sound. It moved fluidly, like a snake, toward the opening it had smashed through the wall.

“
Wait! Give me back my dagger!”

No. It must return to where it belongs. I do not wish to harm you or any of your people. But I must go now.

Clear of the building, it spread its immense black wings, flapped, jumped and was gone.

How can anything that big disappear so fast?
The sky was filled with smoke and the glow of fires. The whole city seemed to burn, filled with screams, the clash of metal and the sound of running feet.

Behind Javor, Philip moaned. Theodor and Malleus pushed rubble and scattered gear to try to help him, Austinus bellowed. “Bring Brother Thalos immediately! You—buckets of water, lots of them, hurry!” The dragon’s spit smoked and stank on the floor, and Philip’s severed arm slowly dissolved into a sickening puddle.

Javor looked back out the shattered window at the night sky, which was still filling with smoke. He felt sick and empty.
I’ll never get my dagger back. What do I do now?