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one of their own.
    “Is it John?” Haik flashed the wide grin John recalled well. The teeth were large and even, but half of a front tooth was missing. Haik looked John up and down and his dark eyebrows rose. “Imagine running into you in the capital. And you’re not dressed like a soldier either.”
    “Neither are you, my old friend. That cloak you’re wearing is worth several months of a mercenary’s pay. But you seem to have an acquaintance with at least one prominent soldier.”
    “Yes. Only in passing. Belisarius allowed me to travel from Antioch with his troops. I have business here.”
    The two men stood facing each other. They did not embrace as colleagues often do upon meeting. It was not John’s way.
    “Business, you say? Then you are no longer a military man?”
    “No. I’m a pistachio farmer. I own a small estate.”
    “And what are you doing in Constantinople?”
    “Right now, I’m looking for lodgings. I’ve been staying with Belisarius’ retinue this past week and I don’t want to strain his generosity.”
    “Stay with me, Haik. I have a big house all to myself. It isn’t in the most salubrious part of the palace grounds, but right behind the stables.”
    “You have a house in the palace grounds? You are no longer a soldier yourself then?”
    “We’ll talk later. I have an urgent assignment. Ask anyone at the stables. They’ll direct you to my house. I’ll see you this evening.”
    ***
    The narrow and hilly peninsula where Emperor Constantine built his new Rome two hundred years earlier had not offered an area of flat land large enough for a race track close to the palace grounds. At the Hippodrome’s southern extremity, where the land sloped abruptly down toward the Sea of Marmara, a series of massive vaults supported the curved end of the track. From the base of the towering back wall, higher than most of the city’s buildings, a series of archways opened directly into a vast substructure.
    John stepped through one of the archways out of sunlight and into subterranean gloom. He waited until his eyes had adjusted, glanced around, then proceeded across an empty chamber to a wide corridor. Lit by torches even in daytime, the corridor mirrored the curve of the track above. It gave access to storerooms for chariots and other racing equipment, stables, offices, supplies for the maintenance of the Hippodrome, temporary barracks for guards, makeshift jail cells, tiny chapels—all the appurtenances of a small city. When filled with 80,000 spectators the Hippodrome’s population rivalled that of most of the empire’s cities.
    The secluded environs also served the needs of both trysting lovers and street women. Down here, during racing season, a prostitute could earn in a single day as much as she could make in a week in a dark alley, and while staying in out of the rain.
    It was a place where criminals could work in private. More than one corpse had been found in the shadowy maze. John used caution upon entering.
    A few paces down the corridor he met a man carrying a looped pile of reins. The chubby, dirty faced fellow glared at John with obvious suspicion. “You don’t belong here. What are you up to, lurking about?”
    “Looking for advice. I hear the Blues have a new charioteer.”
    “Word gets round faster than our best team. How did you hear about him?”
    John waved a hand. “It’s the talk of the taverns.”
    The other shifted his grip on his burden, and dropped several reins. “Can’t keep anything quiet in this city,” he grumbled. “But let them Greens try anything and they’ll be sorry. Just so you know, we’ve men guarding the horses day and night and if anyone can sneak past our grooms to bury a curse tablet in the track they’ll be demons indeed.” He spat on the ground.
    “I wouldn’t put my money on a few lines of gibberish scratched on a piece of rolled-up lead. I’ll wager on a driver with skill and brains. I was going to wager on this new man to win next