Chapter 47
Of Churches and Races
After Renier’s funeral Cyn found the days passed with little happening. The upstairs loft was completed and they settled in for a long stay. For places of worship, Pons and Cyn had their choice. Pons preferred Forty Martyrs Church. It was close by the Eel and the priests and congregation had a soldierly bent. Also the church was getting cleaned up and new art added. He would have preferred St. John’s of the Hospital in the Latin Quarter, but it had been sacked along with the rest. To the mercenaries a church was a church. Pons had to remind Cyn to cross himself in the Eastern style. They could not understand the liturgy, be it Latin or Greek.
Cyn had no preference and would spend hours wandering the streets in awe of the stone work, the grandeur, the opulence of it all. Overall he liked the music better here. If he had nothing better to do he would enter a church should a choir be practicing. No one minded if he stood quite-like and respectful. Sometimes Nestor would accompany him - running on about how such and such an emperor built the church. Cyn would snort, “Truly? Constantine the what’s his number? Did he build it? Or was it a guild of masons?”
Church doors were open - never barred. Meager alms were distributed to the destitute. In each one Cyn noticed the lovely decorations. Golden candelabra in the Church of Christ Pantocrator, reliquaries inlaid with pearls in the Church of Christ Euergetes, the silver incense thurible in the Church of St. Mokios, the icons of the saints and Holy Family decorated with lapis lazuli, jasper, and amber in every church everywhere. Such wealth.
Attending the Hippodrome occupied part of most afternoons. The first time they returned, Pons made a point of greeting Kosmas at the betting stands on the way in - inquiring if he and George had found time to make it to church yet. Cyn sniggered at the scowls from Kosmas and the other betters.
In the stands Pons chose to sit opposite the kasthima, rather than adjacent to it. Cyn wanted to see the girl again, but she was not present. A buxom one was there instead - still pretty, but no Mariapitkee. Also in attendance this time was young Emperor Alexios along with Andronikos and some other gray beards. There was no sign of the slit-nose swindler who had run out on the bet.
Nestor came accompanied by a friend and gaggle of urchins who were there to pick pickets and see the show. His first trip to the races with Pons and Cyn had produced three silver byzants, the best meal of his life, a head reeling with wine, and a rub with olive oil on his sore leg from a beauty less than half his age. He was their man for life. Pons shooed the brats away from their seats down to the railing by scattering some copper coins for them to chase.
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Nestor’s friend was a witty hunchback with a clubfoot. If Nestor was the elder statesman of Constantinople’s beggars, Zinthziphitees was the emperor. That name again? Zinth - ziff - it - eeze? Madonna bless you did you sneeze?
“Zinth.” Pons said. “We shall call you ‘Zinth.’”
Cyn found Zinth spoke too quickly and wanted to charge them to rub his back for luck. As far as Cyn could tell this was how the man made his living. For an obol Zinth would let a gambler rub his back for luck, and he would also provide a witty rhyme, insult, or heckle for them to use on the opposing team, a mother-in-law, or whomever was irritating them. Cyn could not follow the Greek jests, but they brought laughter from the crowd.
There were no executions on that day. With the junior Emperor so recently bereaved, it was felt executions might be upsetting. Instead more soft hearted and gentle entertainment was arranged. After the first race, tumblers took to the track somersaulting and cartwheeling. Tall wooden poles were quickly erected with a rope tightly strung between the tops. An acrobat scaled one pole and began to dance on the rope high in the air. Horses with smooth gaits trotted around the oval of the track while nimble contortionists did flips, headstands, and graceful balancing acts on their backs. A lion on a leash was led out. It gave a mighty roar before prostrating himself before the Emperors in the kasthima. The King of Beasts paying homage.
Before the final race fifty brown hares in green collars and decorated with dyed ribbons were released from a hutch at the carceres end of the track, while at the same time fifty blue festooned white rabbits which had been trundled to the far end of the spina were released from their hutch. To the delight of the children in the crowd, Nestor’s horde among them, the bunnies began to explore among the statuary. To the knowing amusement of the fathers in the stands five sleek hunting hounds, one brown, one black, one gray, one spotted, and one mostly white, were then walked in a slow snarling circle around the track. Bets were shouted: Which dog would get the most? Which group would last longest? (Green hares obviously, but Cyn could find no nearby Blue supporter who would make a bet against him.) When the hounds were released, not one of them even paused to bark, everyone in the crowd, however, shrieked in unison - albeit for different reasons.
Just as well no one had taken his bet (though Cyn felt sure he would have won), since with no one to referee the ensuing mayhem, each dog’s kill count was left to the opinion of each better. When the spotted hound and the brown hound ripped a rabbit in half, fists began to fly in the stands as to which one should be awarded the credit. As the melee spread Cyn added a few kicks and punches to the havoc for fun. Nestor’s kids dried their tears and entered the fray to snatch purses from the distracted crowd. Yes, Cyn could come to the circuses everyday and enjoy himself. There was even chariot racing.
As they were leaving Pons pressed a silver bezant into Zilth’s hand.
“Do you know of Stephen HagioAnticharistophrites, Emperor Andronikos’s henchman?”
“The noseless one?”
“The same. Can you make me a smart little rhyme about him?”
“For certes.”
“Take your time. Think about it. I want something pithy.”