Daybreak. Marus opened his eyes. His hand clutched Sophia’s sleeping gown. He reached across the bed. Emptiness. “Sophia?” No answer. Had he had a terrible dream? He wiped away the wet from his eyes. He rose and looked out the window. Not the usual movement of the city awakening. Not even the rats were about. The previous day’s horrors came flooding back. Maybe today Sophia would come rushing into the apartment with Peter. They would have a story of how they hid out in a friend’s apartment and avoided the horror at the Hippodrome. No, that would not happen.

Marus went to the cupboard where Sophia kept food from the market. Half a loaf of bread and some cheese. Still fresh. Marus broke off a bit of each and ate. He would need all his energy this day. He left the apartment and walked toward the Hippodrome.

He was not the only one in the street in that direction. An old woman came up to him. “Have you seen my son? He did not return last night.”

“What? No, I am sorry. I search for someone also.”

A child approached from the direction of the hippodrome. He walked slowly and tears streamed down his face. “Everyone is dead. I can not find my father. Everyone is dead.”

“Who is dead?” Marus stopped the boy.

As if in a trance the boy turned and pointed. “Everyone.”

The Hippodrome echoed the silence of death. Death has its own essence. It was everywhere. Buzzards circled high above and created a cyclone down. Rats discovered an easy meal. Flies and insects of all types invaded.

A sword can easily rip off an arm, a head, cut through a torso. Body parts were everywhere. The carnage was unrecognizable. Survivors attempted to find loved ones. It was impossible. The soldiers returned, this time for the gristly task of removing the bodies or what was left of them. Remains were thrown in the Bosphorus.

Marus made his way to the usual seats in the Hippodrome. He had to step over several bodies and unrecognizable body parts. The soldiers were back. Carrying bodies and body parts to carts. The carts of street vendors and farmers alike, along with the horses and mules, had been brought into service to carry the dead. Magnificent horses of the charioteers were put to work hauling bodies.

There was no time for proper funerals, proper burials. No mourning and remembering life. The dead were taken to the banks of the Bosporus and unceremoniously thrown in. Food for the fishes. There were others, like Marus, searching for loved ones. Recoiling from the growing stench. Surveying the scene in both hope and horror. Hopeful for finding a loved one alive amid the carnage. Horrified at the scene and hoping the loved one is not among the dead.

A creature more vile than the vultures overhead or the rats up from the sewers prowled. Street urchins, thieves of the city came to prey on the dead. Even the most humble citizen had a few things of value. A copper ring. A bonze belt. A necklace with a beautiful stone. The fish in the Bosporus had no use for such things. The living would pay for such trinkets. A few coins. Coins to buy food for another day. There was no one to stop them. They swarmed over the bodies taking what caught their eye. Blood could be washed off. But even they could not look in the eyes of the dead as they removed necklaces, pulled rings off fingers, untangled belts from bloody torsos.

The sections closest to the Imperial Box were looted first. The well-to-do, the wealthy, the rich would be in these sections. There is a pecking order even among thieves. The more brutal, more experienced thieves descended on these areas. The younger, less experienced were kept out and went to the more modest sections. They all had to work fast, as the soldiers took no notice of baubles and merely wanted to complete their gristly task as soon as possible.

That is not to say the soldiers did not take souvenirs. They did. They searched for weapons. Most male citizens carried a weapon of some sort. A blade. Something to ward off attackers in the street. For the wealthy this could mean finely wrought blades with jewel encrusted handles. The more common man would have a blade with a utilitarian purpose. These also had value to the right buyer.

A soldier called out to Marus, “Lend a hand. There is much work to be done.”

Marus recoiled. It was one thing to kill an animal, a chicken or a pig. And butcher it for food. It was quite another to see humans butchered for no reason at all. Marus vomited. The soldier laughed. “Your stomach is delicate,” he called. “Return to the kitchen with the women.”

The soldier was right. Marus had no stomach for such slaughter. He had found no trace of Sophia or Peter and that gave him hope.

© Copyright 2025 Writing_Cheri. All rights reserved.