Chapter 93
The world receded to the quarrel in its groove. Through Cyn’s keen eye, he traced the trajectory of the bolt - from the feathers, down the shaft, to the envenomed head - threading through the air past the Egyptian obelisk on the , heading straight for Andronikos Komnenos, the target of his vendetta for the past three years. All he had to do was press the lever. The world around him thundered with hooves, cheers, screams, and the sounds of falling, cracking stone. His only minor distraction was the ache of judgment teeth in the back of his jaw, beneath the steady pulse filling his ears.
Andronikos grabbed Mariapitkee as she fell. The Emperor's son seized his other arm, and for a moment, he was spread-eagled - the perfect target.
“Shoot!”
For Mariapitkee, the drop would be crippling, if not fatal.
Cyn raised his crossbow.
With a flex of Andronikos’ solid left arm, Mariapitkee was retrieved, and the Imperial party retreated to the palace.
Pons fumed, “You had him! Even I could have shot him.”
“He would have dropped her.” Cyn carefully removed the bolt and re-wrapped his weapon.
“Our entire purpose is to avenge our Lord. Nothing else.”
“I love her.”
“We have lost the chance.”
“You let an opportunity pass over water drops a few months ago. Do not seek to lecture me, you superstitious old man.” He stormed down the stairs, not waiting to see if Pons would follow or how the race would end.
* * *
After Cyn stormed off, the race turned. The Blues swept the day - no Greens crossed the finish line. An immense ‘shipwreck’ obliterated two teams simultaneously, while the last managed only a further length before a cracked axle ended his run.
The crowd around Pons erupted, many clapping him on the back and celebrating. He smiled and nodded, but his thoughts were far away. He exited the stadium slowly, keeping pace with Zinth’s clubfoot. Once outside and clear of the jubilant throng, he pulled the hunchback aside.
“Here is a silver coin. You have been of good service today, but do me one more favor. Go to the and tell Cyn… Tell him he is not the stone-hearted mercenary I thought him to be, and I think him the better man for that. Tell him he made the right decision. We will get Andronikos while he plays hide-and-seek on a picnic like we first planned. I will spend the night elsewhere to give him time to cool off.”
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Pons went to the baths for a long soak, after which he set up to collect a few obols, as he often did, barbering on the edge of the hot pool. Local fathers liked to bring their rambunctious sons to him, for he brooked no foolishness or head bobbing. They sat petrified while Pons placed a bowl on their heads and trimmed around the edges.
The routine clipping, the stropping of the razor, the rasp against the stubble, and the small talk cleared his mind. Were he to give it all up, he could have a comfortable life as a barber-surgeon and raconteur at his favorite tiled baths - this one with the consistent hypocaust would suit him well.
After the day’s bathers faded to their homes, he had lentil soup at a late-night street stall and spent the evening praying at the Hagia Sophia. He must have dozed on his knees, for the great basilica was dark, save for a few candles that had not gone out at some shrines. The air was clear of smoke from incense so early in the morning. He was not completely alone, however, as a few sad souls - homeless beggars or those so ill they had collapsed at the altars they had been praying before - also littered the vast space. A flock of pigeons that had made their way inside circled the dome as the pink dawn broke, drawing his gaze to the heavens above the stone. One bird fluttered down to perch on the right shoulder of the statue of the Madonna before which Pons knelt.
No. Not a pigeon. A dove. As white as newly fallen snow.
Pons looked directly into the dove’s eye, and it winked at him.
No? That was my imagination.
It winked again, quite clearly.
A third wink left no doubt at all, then it flapped its wings and ascended in a spiral out one of the arched apertures beneath the dome, bringing in the light of the new day.
Filled with hope, he half-skipped among the early traffic down the Great to the forum of Arcadius, where he climbed the spiral stairs to discuss the meaning of the dove with Brother Daniel.
They spoke at length but could agree on little - other than the meaning was significant, propitious, and vague. Descending the stairs at the column’s base, Pons curled up and dozed the warm September morning away.
Pons never spoke directly to Mariapitkee at the daily fountain meetings; however, he liked to be present in the background. Sometimes he browsed the market, seeking a bargain among the wares. Other times, he would watch with Brother Daniel at the top of the column or lunch with Zinth and Nestor at its base. (Nestor, forgive me. Entertain the angels with your stories, old friend.) If Mariapitkee saw him, she never let on with word or glance.
He was aware of the forum’s comings and goings. A lifetime of sleeping rough allowed him to rest with enough semi-consciousness to perceive the little girls' sing-song begging by the fountain and Mariapitkee’s eventual arrival. Rousing himself, he watched as she combed Maria and Anna’s hair and whispered. All seemed normal; she was not followed and appeared none the worse for her near fall.
After she left, Pons went to the fountain for a cool dipperful and to wash his face. The heat of the day was peaking. “Well?”
“She says the Emperor was wrothful with the ‘keeper of public buildings’ and he is to be fined an enormous amount, with repairs to be completed immediately,” little Maria began.
“Not fed to a lion? He is a lucky man. Anything else?” He pretended to steal Anna’s nose, causing her to look to her own reflection in the basin.
“The noseless one comes for the Angelos brothers tonight. Isn’t widow Angelos the lady who went on a picnic with us last year? Is she your sweetheart, Ser Pons?”
“You are a nosey child.” Pons handed the daily obol to Maria and Anna. He paused and then gave them two more each. The dove had winked three times. Superstitious old man?
Pons doubled his pace back down the Great to the .
“Cyn, my boy, how would you like to set up an ambush for the ‘Bringer of the Anti-Christ?’”
