by Marié Heese
Part 5: Becoming royal AD 520-527
Chapter 17: Home at last
Theodora slipped into Constantinople with Eric, unremarked. They found furnished rooms, but she made no move to contact her family. First, she had a task to perform.
Her record as a spy had preceded her and she was quickly given an appointment to see one of Justinian’s several paymasters, the Demarch of the Blues. He received her in an office beneath the Hippodrome. Wrapped to the eyes in a woollen shawl, she moved swiftly along the vaulted passages, still lit by smoking torches, still bustling and clamorous. All the familiar sounds and smells of her childhood enfolded her. But she could not yet feel glad.
The Demarch was dressed in all the Hunnish finery of the partisan gangs: fancy waistcoat, flowing sleeves. Shaven forehead, long back hair. Sharp, suspicious eyes. He closed the heavy door firmly.
Theodora stood, her arms tightly folded across her chest, trying to still an inner trembling. In a few short sentences she told him about Eric. “He has come to Constantinople to murder Justinian,” she said.
“Indeed,” he said. “And why do you believe this to be true?”
“He trusts me,” said Theodora. “He told me.”
“He does not suspect you at all? You are sure? Otherwise I wouldn’t give a denarius for your life.”
“He suspects nothing. Soon he will seek an audience with Justinian, probably claiming to bear an important message from the Demarch of the Blues in Antioch or something similar. I would suggest that Justinian agree to see him at once. He may have one or two companions.”
“His name is Eric? He is a soldier? A Goth?”
“Yes. A spear-bearer to Vitalian.”
“Ah,” said the Demarch.
“Able and ruthless. But if he is received in a place where Justinian appears to be alone, he could be taken by surprise.”
“Justinian might be seated on a garden bench, perhaps. Where thick bushes can hide half a dozen armed guards.”
“Exactly,” said Theodora. “You should note that Eric will probably arrive unarmed. The garrotte is his speciality.”
He nodded. “If this happens as you say, it will bring a good bonus.”
“I am happy to serve Justinian,” she said. “But still, some money will be welcome.”
As she walked away from the office, her nose identified the rank and feral scent of bear.
Within days Eric and one fellow-Goth were cut down by Imperial Guards in a garden below the Hormisdas Palace. It was reported that they had tried to set upon Justinian, but the ever-vigilant guards had protected him. Both Goths had their throats cut. Vitalian repudiated them; he had dismissed them for insubordination, he claimed, a year ago.
Theodora received a substantial bonus. So, at last, she could officially be home in Constantinople. She could afford to rent a modest villa, in a decent part of town. It was not a governor’s palace presiding on a hill-top with a view across the sea, with a church and a library, swathed in brocades and dignity, richly furnished and peopled with deferential servants and polite guests. But it was also not a shoddily built tenement that had to elbow for a spot to stand on, with mingy rooms, weeping ceilings, crooked stairs, feuding neighbours and an entrance guarded by buckets of bleaching pee.
It was her home, and it shone. It was spotless; it was orderly; it was quiet; it was, above all, fragrant. And it was safe.
Juliana had toddled straight into the waiting arms of her grand-mother, who swore that there never had been such a delightful child. Anastasia did not look well; she had grown thin in Theodora’s absence, and her skin had a sallow cast. She was glad to be able to leave the old tenement building and come to live in a decent villa to help with her grandchild.
“Can you have Stasie too?” asked Anastasia anxiously. “She has a protector now, but he’s stingy, and I think he’s horrid to her at times.”
Stasie, grown tall and rather heavyset, withdrawn and taciturn, joined the small household. They still needed some help from Comito’s Marcus to survive, but Stasie would be able to earn something if she learned to spin, Theodora thought hopefully. They would manage.
“Girl,” said Antonina, hugging Theodora fiercely, “you’re back among friends.”
Theodora was surprised to find how much she was saddened by news of Fat Rosa’s death.
“It was very sudden,” said Anastasia. “She suffered a seizure or something, fell over head first into a soapy vat of soaking clothes. Her cousin runs the laundry now. Even fatter, but not so kind.”
Theodora settled down, and made a steady if small income from spinning wool. Only now did she fully realise how cut off and lonely had been the life she had led since leaving Constantinople. She felt like a tree that had been transplanted into alien soil, but was now rerooted, restored to a familiar place, drawing sustenance from the sun, watered and sheltered and ready to put forth green shoots. Several peaceful months went by.
Antonina came often, bearing gifts and gossip. One morning she arrived in an ecstasy of excitement. “Theodora! Such news! Vitalian and his men were slaughtered at a banquet in the Imperial Palace last night!”
“Gracious heavens! Vitalian?” Theodora said. “The First Consul? A military man, I thought. How could he have been slaughtered?”
“Exactly what happened, nobody knows. But here’s what I’ve heard.” Antonina hitched her chair closer and whispered: “Vitalian was invited to the palace, to attend a formal dinner, along with his secretary and a domesticus. Justinian shared the sacraments with him. Holy pledges. Blood brothers, and so on. Complete amity.”
“And?”
“And right after the dinner, blood there was, a great deal of it. I know a lady’s maid to the Empress, and she had it from the slaves who had to clean up. Complete shambles, they said. All three men stabbed to death. Blood all over the place. They say,” she added, “that Vitalian’s body bore seventeen stab wounds.”
“But … who … do they think … ?”
“Whoever gave the order, and someone high up must have done, won’t have done the dread deed himself. It will have been done by loyal henchmen, probably excubitors.”
“But who?”
“Various possibilities have been mooted. Could have been some kind of feud, I suppose. Might have been the Emperor himself, old Justin. My source says there’s a rumour that Vitalian was plotting against him.”
“How is it that Vitalian was made Consul? Didn’t he lead a rebellion when old Odd-eyes was Emperor?”
“Yes, he did. Marched on the city at the head of fifty thousand Goths,” said Antonina. “And then he attacked the fleet, but Marinus saw him off. With Greek fire. But Justin made peace with him. Of course, Vitalian is … was Dyophysite, as Justin is.”
“What other possibility is there? Justinian?”
“We’ll never know. Look, whoever knows where the order originated will keep a still tongue in his head, or he’d likely lose it. Point is, Vitalian was a contender for the throne after Justin dies, and now he’s been removed. Justinian benefits.”
“I can’t believe he would break such solemn oaths,” said Theodora, “or be so utterly … cold-blooded. Surely, it was the Emperor. Fearing Vitalian. Man was a rebel once, might have been up to his old tricks again.”
“Very likely,” agreed Antonina. “He tried to unseat one emperor, didn’t succeed, why not the next one?”
“Makes the most sense,” said Theodora.
The Emperor Justin appointed Justinian as First Consul in Vitalian’s place. Justinian announced that he would celebrate his inauguration with feasts and banquets, gifts to the populace, surprises and games; there would be a grand procession. Theodora had an excellent seat to view the consular progress, on a balcony overlooking the Mesê, at the invitation of an admirer of Antonina’s. They were well wrapped, since the brilliance of the January sun was belied by a wintry chill. Slaves brought hot, spiced wine and they sipped while watching the serpentine procession winding by. Trumpets blared, cymbals clashe
d, pipes shrilled and cheers resounded. Acrobats and jugglers and dancing girls were followed by divisions of soldiers marching in perfect unison, sunlight sparkling on the tips of their spears and their polished shields. Horses richly caparisoned in crimson and gold pranced along the broad avenue, white plumes nodding, drawing gaudily decorated chariots whose drivers hauled on the reins in an effort to maintain an even pace.
“Good heavens, one would swear it was a military triumph,” said Antonina. “All it needs is booty – and prisoners.”
“Surely the most magnificent parade this city has ever seen,” marvelled Theodora.
“Well, he’s bound and determined to outdo Vitalian,” said Antonina. “Whose consular festivities were something to behold.”
“So I have been told,” said Theodora. “I was in Alexandria at the time.”
A loud roar from the crowd lining the Mesê announced the approach of a particularly impressive chariot trimmed with silver, drawn by four perfectly matched black horses, gleaming in the wintry sun. Its driver held the reins in one hand, acknowledging the applause with the other. Theodora leaned forward. She saw a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, with a plaited wreath on his thick dark hair. His round face was flushed and beaming. He bowed slightly, first left, then right. The roar intensified.
“That,” said Antonina, “is Justinian. Already the manner royal, as you see.”
“Yes,” said Theodora.
Theodora found Comito still living comfortably with Marcus Anicius. “So,” he said, “may we expect a return to the stage?”
“Never again,” vowed Theodora. “I’m a spinner of wool now. I have a proper occupation.”
“Ah, yes. Profitable also, it seems,” observed Marcus, his shrewd eyes looking amused.
He knows, thought Theodora, trying to maintain an innocent front. He knows what else I do. “There’s a considerable demand for my skills,” she said.
“No doubt there is,” he agreed. He said nothing further in front of Comito, but later he drew Theodora aside, ostensibly to show her some interesting new codices he had acquired. In a confidential tone he told her, “Your reports from Alexandria made a great impression on our new consul. He’s an unusual man. Look, I have his diptych, a gift to all senators.” He pointed to a shelf on which a collection of these traditional consular mementoes was exhibited. Justinian’s version, two flat ivory rectangles linked by a hinge like a little codex, decorated with a wreath and small floral studs, bore his impressive titles and an inscription.
“Flavius Petrus Sabbatius Justinianus,” read Theodora. “Illustrius, Count, Master of Cavalry and of Infantry, Consul. Very impressive.”
“Yes. You may not know this, having been away, but in effect Justinian has been ruling for several years. Justin is growing old, some say senile.”
“Ah. So he’s the chosen successor?”
“It would so seem.”
Theodora took the diptych down carefully. “No portrait?” she asked, surprised. “The others all seem to bear portraits.”
“This one’s different. Either a modest person, or …”
“Or a supremely arrogant one.”
He nodded. “Did you return in time to see the celebrations?”
“Yes,” said Theodora. “They were impressive.”
“Indeed. A huge success,” said Marcus. “Not surprising. He dished out staggering quantities of solidi in largesse. Not to mention the feasts and banquets. Old Anastasius would have been horrified.”
“I saw some of the animal games, too,” said Theodora. “So many lions, so many leopards! One wonders if there are any left out in the wilds.”
“And the races were unbelievable,” said Marcus. “I won rather a large bet on the second last one. Were you there?”
“No. But I heard they had to cancel the last race.”
“They did, more’s the pity, or I’d have made even more. There was a fool betting on the Greens. But the crowd was getting completely out of hand. So he ordered an end to it.”
Theodora returned the diptych to its shelf. “As you say, an unusual man.”
“He wants to meet you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. He knows of my … connection, through your sister. He wants you to come to the palace.”
“No,” said Theodora.
“No? No! One does not refuse such an invitation. It is virtually a royal command.”
“I can’t be seen to go there,” said Theodora. “It would … compromise me. Look, you know I … um … have served the crown in gathering information.”
He nodded. “I do know. It is greatly valued.”
“So you should tell him if I’m seen to meet the Consul, nobody will ever say anything indiscreet in my hearing again,” said Theodora. “I must be … independent.”
He looked thoughtful. “That might be true. Very well, then. A plan must be made.”
“You did what?” Antonina was horrified. “Refused to go to the palace? Girl, are you out of your mind?”
“No,” said Theodora. “I thought about it carefully. He’s already impressed with the information I’ve been able to pass on. This will get his attention. I shouldn’t think any woman has ever said no to him. It will intrigue him.”
“Hope you haven’t passed up the chance of a lifetime,” said Antonina, shaking her head.
“If I go to the palace, I’ll probably be one among many. This way, it’ll just be me and Juliana. You’ll have my mother and Stasie over, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
The gamble paid off. Justinian sent word, through Marcus, that he would pay Theodora a visit at her villa. “He’ll come to dinner,” said the Senator, looking disbelieving, “if it suits you. He’ll pretend to be a wool merchant, and he’ll come on his own. Tomorrow night?”
“Certainly,” said Theodora.
By the following evening, everything had been prepared with the utmost care in the small villa. A beautifully cooked meal was ready to be served. A delicate wine was cooling in its fine flask. Flower arrangements scented the air. Juliana had been bathed, and fed, and dressed in a new white nightgown that pleased her greatly. Her dark curls had been brushed to a shining frame for her prettily flushed face. She was happy to settle on her mother’s lap just before the important visitor was due.
Theodora was nervous, and paler than usual, but she had used no make-up except for some sooty oil to darken her huge eyes. She wore a snow-white pleated tunic, golden sandals and no jewellery, only a gilded pin that skewered her coil of ebony hair, drawn up on top of her neat, poised head. Her two slaves had been well drilled in what was expected of them. The younger one, a small peasant girl from Thrace, was to usher the gentleman in.
Theodora took her seat on a couch with blue cushions, with Juliana on her lap. “Turn up the lamp,” she told the slave. She should present the visitor with a picture of innocence, she thought. To counteract the nasty reputation she knew she still had in the city.
“Yes, Kyria.” The golden glow shimmered more brightly.
Theodora leaned her cheek against her sleepy daughter’s warm, sweet-smelling head. She hummed the lullaby that Denderis used to sing in Apollonia. Juliana put a plump arm around her mother’s neck and sucked her thumb.
The doorbell, a large one with a rope to pull on, ding-donged twice. He had arrived.
The little slave trotted off to welcome him, and led him into the room where Theodora sat. “The gentleman’s come, Kyria,” she said unnecessarily, bobbing, and scuttled off to the kitchen as instructed. There stood Justinian, garbed in a plain wool tunic with a short cloak. He stood quite still in the entrance, saying nothing. Stood, and looked.
“Welcome,” said Theodora, smiling up at him. “I’m sorry, I can’t rise to greet you.”
“No, no, please sit,” he said, staring. “I am … Justinian.”
“… Patribus ista meis offero consul ego,” quoted Theodora.
His face lit up. “You’ve seen my diptych! My offer to t
he elders!”
“Yes,” said Theodora.
Still he stared. “What a beautiful … beautiful … child. How … how old is she?”
“Going on four,” said Theodora. “Please, come in. Take a seat. The slave will bring some wine.”
“So?” Antonina was agog. “How did it go?”
“It was a huge success,” said Theodora. “I like him very much, and I think he liked me. We talked and talked. He’s a very interesting person to talk to. He’s read so much!”
“So what’s next?”
“Next, I’m invited to the palace,” said Theodora. She hesitated. “And perhaps, this time, I should go …”
“Well, I should think so!” exclaimed Antonina. “Of course you should go! No doubt about it!”
Chapter 18: The Hormisdas Palace
Once again, Theodora was carried up a hill to a palace in a stately litter, this one sent by Justinian and grand enough for a lady invited by the Emperor’s nephew, who was also First Consul and probable successor to the Imperial throne: padded in crimson velvet, curtained in gold brocade, and carried by ten members of the Imperial Guard resplendent in their palace livery. They paced smartly along the Mesê and skirted the Forum of Constantine. Past warehouses and mansions with solid doors, each one with a tall cross on its roof, past the colonnades fronting shops, topped by busts of emperors and actresses, the litter swaying slightly to the rhythm of their steps. Across the Augusteum. Past the Baths of Zeuxippus.
Cushioned as she was in softness, curtained off from the outside world, she could not detect the usual odours that greeted pedestrians: the dung trampled and baked hard underfoot, the tantalising odours from the spice merchant’s shop, the hints of jasmine and roses from the perfumier – none of these reached her nose. No slaves or stable-boys, soldiers on leave, shoppers, peasants come to the market or ladies’ maids on errands could jostle her or cause her to step aside. No roving gangs, beggars or pickpockets could bother her. Nobody, in fact, could see her unless she purposely leaned forward and looked out. She was completely protected and contained.
