The attack started in the middle of the next morning. It was a fine day. A good south wind was blowing away the broken cloud above the City. We’d not be fighting in rain or cold. Nor, though, would it be too hot for action.
Bathed and oiled with unusual care, I stood in my fine armour on the dome of the Great Church. From here, I had an unbroken view of the whole City and of the seas and the countryside that lay beyond.
The smoke signals I’d arranged went up from four places at once along the land walls. They went up, and then vanished in the wind.
‘The Second and Fourth Military Gates,’ Martin said, pointing due west. ‘Plus, I think, the Saint Anna and Charisian Gates.’
I doubted if there had been any military resistance at all. What surprised me was that anyone had bothered to follow my orders to signal that the gates were open. Perhaps every gate had opened.
All that mattered was that Heraclius was now inside the City. His forces would be marching up along those straight, wide streets, and they’d be on us in due course.
As we joined the crowds gathered outside the church I was met by the aged guard who’d stopped me all that time ago outside the Senatorial Dock.
‘If it may please you, sir,’ he gasped, out of breath from running, ‘the Green Faction has betrayed the Main Harbour. They’ve declared for Heraclius and turned on the Blues.’
I looked at the Aged Guard. He looked steadily back.
‘Is it worth fighting at all?’ I asked uncertainly. Was this the excuse I’d been hoping for to call the whole thing off?
He smiled and drew himself more stiffly to attention. ‘Duty is duty, sir,’ he said. ‘So long as you lead us, we’ll fight for you.’ He touched the blue cloth that covered part of his breastplate. ‘In any event, sir,’ he added, ‘it’s too late for any of us to back out. Our enemy now isn’t Heraclius. It’s them shitbag Greens. If we try dispersing, they’ll pick us off in the streets. Those of us what escape won’t never hear the end of it in the Circus.’
A younger and less military man spoke up from behind me:
‘Too right, My Lord. It’s battle or death for all on these barricades. It’s already bloody murder down in the docks. We fight until Heraclius draws off the Greens and sends in his regulars. We go on fighting until he gives us terms.’
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd that had gathered to hear the exchange. For the first time, I realised that everyone around me – and everyone I’d seen manning the barricades – was wearing something blue. The only ones not in blue were my students. I knew Priscus had recruited the Circus Factions. I’d been too wrapped up in my own business, and I was still too fresh to Circus politics, to realise that he’d recruited them as members of existing armies rather than of a citizen militia.
‘Another thing, sir,’ the Aged Guard added confidentially. ‘Orders is that if you won’t lead us, we’re to hang you from the torch bracket nearest the doorway of the Great Church. You could, of course, countermand the order, was we to put you up for Emperor. You couldn’t be worse than the last few we’ve had.’
I smiled and shook my head. I looked out over the sea of faces. Some were troubled. Most were expectant.
‘Then we fight,’ I said. I ignored the threat. I had no duty to Phocas. I had none to any of the Circus Factions. But I was their leader, and that surely meant something in this world of multiple betrayals.
As I spoke, a cheer went up. It began close by me, and spread backwards through the crowd. It was taken up by groups beyond the main crowd, and cheering rang back from the barricades in the streets beyond the square.
Women and children and very old men began pouring out of the Great Church. ‘Is it victory?’ I heard one calling. ‘Is it victory?’
I realised with a shock they also were all wearing blue.
Now it was no longer a matter of Phocas against Heraclius, the priests in the Great Church abandoned all neutrality. To still greater cheers, blue banners streamed from the windows fringing the upper dome. Priests emerged from another doorway in the church with blue ribands tied to their crucifixes.
I didn’t like the inattention to the approaching enemy. If the regulars still had a long way to go before they hit the centre, the Greens would surely be upon us at any moment. But the impromptu service and blessing of weapons put a fighting spirit into my men that I hadn’t expected ever to see.
With Martin beside me, I crossed the square. Now the ceremonial part of the battle was over, non-combatants were struggling like mad things to squeeze into the still open doorways in the Great Church. One despairing old Senator who’d come late with his wife waved a bag of gold to buy his way in. He was ignored.
My student band let up a cheer as I came in sight. In an almost passable imitation of the Palace Guard, they raised their weapons in salute.
‘Martin,’ I said, ‘go back and stand by the Great Church. It’s too late to get you into the main area, but the priests will let you back up to the dome if need be.’
I turned from him. ‘Right, my boys.’ I shouted. ‘Are we going to clear those fucking Heraclians out of this city? Or are we just going to show them how to fight?’
I tried to think of some battle cry that was both literary and relevant.
I was beaten to it.
‘Blue – Blue – Blue – Blue,’ chanted the true racing fans around me.
I’d expected the exit into Middle Street from the Forum of Constantine would be the weakest point in the defence. Though we had a stout wooden wall built across the street, there was a wide-open space beyond for an attacking force to gather. If you think of it in terms of a battering ram against a door, there was room here for a good, hard run.
The first attack on the wall came from the Greens. They poured into the Forum from the direction of the Main Harbour. I watched them from the platform that ran along the upper part of the wall and let us see over at breast height. There was no appearance of discipline among them. Their weapons and armour were as makeshift as those of my own men. Their big advantage was in numbers. We were strung out along a line that had to be held at all times. They could stay together in larger groups and make their attack at any point.
The Greens filled the wide expanse of the Forum. As they slowly came forward, they struck up one of their Circus chants. That low, rhythmical grunting a few days earlier had seemed part of the good-humoured badinage before the races. Now, it was in earnest. It had a sound about it of blood and death. At the back of the crowd, I saw pikes with heads stuck on them. It wasn’t hard to guess, from the imprecations that began around me, that these were the decapitated heads of Blues picked off after the sudden change of side at the Main Harbour.
The Greens marked every downbeat of their chant by striking their weapons on the pavement.
The Blues around me began a chant of their own. Then – just like at the races, though now with malevolence – the ritual insults and curses flew back and forth.
As the Greens came within striking distance, my Blues took up their slingshots and let fly with volley after volley of the excrement they’d taken the trouble to collect from around the Great Church. The smell was overpowering. The Greens let out a howl of rage as it splattered all over them. Their fine green banners turned brown. Some slipped on the splashes of shit littering the ground in front of them and fell heavily down.
The Blues screamed with laughter. Some of my more vulgar men even took to pelting each other. Their betters called them to order with canes, and turned their attention back to the advancing enemy.
The Greens were now coming on fast. Then, with a last and terrible scream of hatred, they broke into a run for the last twenty yards of the advance. As their twisted faces grew clearer, I heard the panted aftersound of their war chant and the scuffing of leather on pavement as the massed attack of the Greens came closer and closer.
With a sudden shock, they crashed into the wall. The wooden planks shook horribly at the impact of so many hundreds of bodies. I clutched at the inner frame of the wall to hold myself steady. I thought at first it would tumble down, and we’d be into open combat.
But the wall held. Now into another of their Circus chants, the Green attackers grabbed hold of the walls where they could and rocked backwards and forwards. I thought to jump down before I was pitched off, but the Blues beside me now went into action. They poked the attackers with sharpened stakes and poured cauldrons of boiling water over their heads.
It was very light work to break the force of the Green attack. After taking a few dozen casualties, they drew back. They stood about ten yards from the wall, throwing stones and chanting more factional insults. The occasional severed head bumped against the outer planks. Shaking their weapons, the Blues chanted back. No one seemed inclined to engage in more bloodshed.
I climbed down from the wall. ‘This all seems to be under control,’ I said briefly to one of my students.
At that moment a message was delivered from the barricade by the Saint Julian Church. This was one of the strongpoints, but now it was under attack by regular troops.