Marus arrived at the Hippodrome after the third race to find Sophia seated with other seamstresses. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and went to sit with him a couple of rows down. Their seating was far from the Emperor’s box and so had to rely on the official shouters to relay anything he said to his subjects. The Hippodrome could hold practically the entire city and today it approached capacity.

The lull after each race allowed workers to clean up the track, removing debris thrown from the stands to impede the opposing team. Four horses pulled each chariot in a frenzied seven laps around the oval track. There had been six chariots in the third race; three representing the Blues and three the Greens. One horse had stumbled, careening into the wall and causing the chariot to lose a wheel. The chariot smashed to pieces. The horses, still reined together floundered when one fell. Workers ran onto the track to lead the horses off the track before the other chariots smashed into them. A Blue eventually won the race.

The duration of any given race may only move the shadow of the sundial a short distance, but it would move to the next digit or more to clean up and get ready for the next. Marus glanced at the track. It would still be a while before the next race.

“I brought you something,” he said as he folded back a cloth revealing a piece of freshly baked honey cake. “

“Oh, thank you. Even the crumbs from a table of the wealthy are delicious.” Sophia broke off a bite and popped it in her mouth. “You certainly know how to ply a mouth with good food. What news from the table of the wife of Belisarius?”

“I have little to tell. Theodora arrived with a flourish, her attendants made to wait outside. Antonia had instructed me to prepare a light meal: eggs, bread, cheeses, and, of course, wine. They spoke of Belisarius’ return from Persia and his conquests there. They brag on their husband’s accomplishments.” Marus rolled his eyes. “Theodora is excited about Justinian’s review of laws. He has assembled many scholars to discuss law and ethics.”

“The intellectual and the general. Justinian and Belisarius make a formidable pair. So, no gossip of the men hiding in St. Conon? No speculation of what is to be done?”

“No, my love. Only pleasant conversation. I surprised them with the honey cake and they were both quite pleased. They seem oblivious to the tension in the streets.”

“Marus, you do not wear the green.” Peter said as he approached and sat beside Marus.

“Not today. I think everyone knows who I support, especially since I sit in the middle of the Green section.”

Peter looked around. “There is a tension in the air. At times people whisper to trusted friends while making furtive glances to see who might be listening.”

Marus glanced around. It was true. Small groups spoke in whispers, looking over their shoulders to see who might overhear. Common words could be heard among the conversations – act of God, sanctuary, full pardon.

Peter added to the din. “So many rumors are traveling around the city. Many say the two were lifted off the scaffold by angels and floated over the heads of the crowd to St. Conon church.”

“That would have been quite a sight. Not quite what I remember.”

“Well, the truth is not as exciting as having them float overhead.”

“There are rumors that some attending the races today will ask the Emperor to pardon the prisoners because it is God’s will.”

“God’s will? Still that?”

“Don’t be so cynical, Marus. This might be a chance for real justice. After all, one man is a Green and the other is a Blue. It would demonstrate fairness if Justinian pardoned them both.”

“I don’t know. Justinian supports the Blues. Most of the wealthy of Constantinople do. But the prisoners, both the Green and the Blue, are common men, just supporting their favorite chariot team. Not a chance Justinian will pardon them.”

A trumpet blare cut off the conversation and announced the start of the race. Six chariots pulled up to the starting line.

“Hey, Marus,” a local bookmaker shouted. “And Peter. And the lovely Sophia.”

The trio smiled back.

He had been taking bets from Marus for years. “Your usual wager? Your favorite charioteer is running for the Greens today.”

“A small amount then. Perhaps twenty nummus,” Marus replied. “There are more important issues today. What odds give you on a pardon by Justinian?”

“Oh ho, my friend. You speak the truth. Everyone wonders what Justinian will do. Let us see what the day brings.”

People in the surrounding seats nodded in agreement. More eyes were focused on the imperial box awaiting the arrival of Justinian than on the charioteers preparing for the race.

>>>>><<<<< 

The races continued. Teams of horses traveled around the track.  Spectators cheered. A winner was declared. The track made ready and the whole process started again. But there was something not quite usual, not quite right. The charioteers were not as zealous in their quest to the finish line. Fewer confrontations. Fewer crashes and heated rivalries. Patrons cheered, but not as enthusiastically. After each race, the winning side would send up a cry of “Nika!” signaling victory for their color. When a team was nearing the finish line, eyes gravitated upward to the Imperial Box to see if Justinian was cheering for a Blue team to win.

Throughout the day the crowd, both Blues and Greens hurled insults at Justinian, calling him unjust or immoral or simply unliked. Various Senators, those who supported Justinian and his philosophies, sitting near the imperial box in the elite section of the Blues at the finish line, received like rebukes. The Green section at the other end of the track voiced their disapproval of Justinian’s handling of the men sequestered in St. Conon.

Cries of “Mercy to men God has pardoned,” sporadically filled the air. “Justinian, show mercy!” or “God’s will be done!” interspersed with cries of victory. Twenty-two races were completed with relative civility of all concerned. The cries for mercy grew louder and more insistent. Marus, Peter and Sophia strained to see anything happening in the imperial box. The Green section united in a shout to “Be merciful to the Greens.” The Blue section likewise sent up a collective shout to “Be merciful to the Blues.” The words rang round the hippodrome until they merged into “Long live the merciful Blues and Greens!” The entire patronage of the hippodrome spoke with one voice to one man.

Justinian came out of the shadows and stood to be seen by all. A collective cheer filled the air. Then all fell silent. The shouters turned their rapt attention to be able to relay his words. Such a relay took time. Justinian spoke in short sentences that could easily be repeated and understood by all in assemblage.

“I hear your cries and value their worth.” Justinian paused as the shouters closest to his box repeated them so the next shouters and everyone in their section had heard his words, if not his voice. That was repeated down each side of the Hippodrome until the very last section where Marus, Peter and Sophia sat had heard.

The silence that followed allowed Justinian to continue. “I will commute their sentence of death to life imprisonment, so they may live.” As the message was carried around the arena, grumblings began in the sections where the message was first repeated. Shouts of “No! No! No!” filled the air. By the time the message was shouted to Marus’ section, everyone was on their feel shouting.

A Blue supporter, sitting close to the imperial box was able to make himself heard individually by Justinian. He implored the Emperor to take away the Imperial guard from the church of St. Conon and allow the prisoners to return to their homes as free men once more. Shouters attempted to relay what was said, but the result was not accurate. All eyes looked toward Justinian. He was shaking his head. He did not get another chance to speak.

The Blues were on their feet. Several left their seats and headed toward Justinian. More followed as if pulled by the force of those leading. The Greens joined in. Justinian quickly retreated through a secret passageway that would take him to the safety of the palace. When the crowd could not follow they headed out the doors of the Hippodrome.

Marus watched as the seats were suddenly vacant. It reminded him of grains flowing quickly through a funnel.

“Should we follow?” Sophia asked.

“The sun is low in the sky. I fear there will be trouble in the streets tonight. Let us be prudent and not get involved,” came Marus’ sensible reply.

“I think you are right, Marus,” Peter said.

Marus took Sophia’s hand. “I will see you safely to your apartment.”

The three left the almost vacant Hippodrome and ventured into the street. Voices echoed through the city with no discernable source of origin. Sophia’s apartment was not far away. Both Marus and Peter escorted Sophia. By now the sun had set and shadows loomed large along the streets. Usually this was the time when the wealthy retreated into their homes for fear of being robbed and those citizens of moderate means also retreated lest they be mistaken for someone with wealth.

Marus left Sophia’s door with her promise that she would secure herself within and not come out until morning. He and Peter then headed in the direction of the unrest. Their ears guided them through the twists and turns of the city. Ears were soon aided by noses, as acrid smoke assaulted the senses. Streets were blocked by mobs of people who seemed to be going in every possible direction.

Marus grabbed the arm of a man wearing the Green going in the opposite direction. “Pray tell. What has happened?’

“The Praetorium is ablaze. The first to arrive demanded that all prisoners be released. The prefect refused and was overpowered. The crowd freed the  prisoners and set the building on fire. I do not know the fate of the prefect.”

“It seems that the mob still rages.” Marus could hear shouting and the feet of many moving about. “Thank you. Maybe justice will yet prevail.”

The man continued on his way, joining several others headed in the same direction. “Justice needs a nudge now and then.”

Marus and Peter wandered the streets well into the night witnessing the total destruction of the Praetorium.

“Perhaps the loss will awaken Justinian to justice.” Marus said to Peter.  “When he sees how fervently the citizens believe in God’s pardoning of the accused, he may yet relent.”

Marus was wrong.

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