To Love Again - Bertrice Small [125]
John Andronicus, the ivory carver, and Arcadius, the sculptor, arrived almost simultaneously. The former was a shy man, but sweet-natured. He greeted his host and hostess politely. The latter was his opposite, a bold fellow with a bolder eye. “Casia I recognize, so it must be this ethereal beauty you want me to immortalize, my lord.” Arcadius stared hard at Cailin. “The body, I can see,” he continued, mentally stripping her clothes away, “is obviously every bit as beautiful as the face. You will make my summer a joy, lady, for there is nothing I love better than sculpting a lovely woman.”
Aspar smiled, amused, as Cailin blushed again. “I thought her a perfect subject for your classical hands, Arcadius. She is Venus reborn,” he said.
“I shall certainly gain more pleasure from the work you have commissioned me to do, my lord, than all the saints I have been sculpting as of late,” the sculptor admitted.
Suddenly the crowd roared noisily, and the inhabitants of Aspar’s box turned to see the emperor and his party entering their box. Leo had a severe yet serene face, but even in his elegant rich robes, one could not have called him distinguished or regal. It was Cailin’s first glimpse of Byzantium’s ruler, and she had to remember that Aspar had chosen this former member of his household staff for greatness because of his other qualities. The empress, however, was a different matter. She was a blazing star to her husband’s calm moon. The rest of the royal party were made up of men and women among whom only Basilicus’s face was familiar. The clergy in their black robes had already taken their place before the imperial party arrived, but Cailin had been too busy with her own guests to notice them before now.
After a few minutes’ time Aspar said to Cailin, “Watch!”
Standing on a marble step placed at the front of his box, Emperor Leo raised a fold of his gold and purple robes and made the sign of the cross three times; facing first the center tier of seats, and then those to the right, and finally to the left, he blessed all those in the Hippodrome. Then reaching into his robes, he drew forth a white handkerchief which, Aspar whispered to Cailin, was called a mappa. Dropping the white silk square would signal the beginning of the games. The mappa fluttered from Leo’s fingers.
The stable doors of the Hippodrome wall were pulled open, and the first of the four chariots to race drove out onto the course. The audience exploded into cheers. The charioteers, each controlling four spirited horses, were dressed in short, sleeveless leather tunics, which were held firmly in place by crossed leather belts. Around their calves were leather puttees. All were physically well-formed, and many handsome. The women called out to them, waving the colored ribbons of their favorite teams, and the charioteers, laughing with exuberance, grinned and waved back.
“Women should not be allowed at the games,” the patriarch was heard to mutter darkly in his box. “It is immodest of them to be here.”
“Women attended the games in Rome,” a young priest rashly said.
“And look what has happened to Rome,” the patriarch replied grimly, while around him the other clerics nodded and agreed.
“Has either of you ever been to the races before?” Arcadius asked Cailin and Casia, and when they replied in the negative, he said, “Then I will explain all to you. In which order the chariots line up is chosen by lot the day before. Each driver must circle the course seven times. See the stand down by the spina where the prefect in the old-fashioned toga is standing? Do you see the seven ostrich eggs