by Marié Heese
“I’ll order the monasteries to set up soup kitchens,” said Theodora. “Narses? Are you well? I can’t be doing without you.”
“Oh, I’m tough, Despoina. As are you.”
“Well, my friend, we’re it. The Emperor does not stir. We are Byzantium.”
Though much diminished, the intricate network of spies and informers that Narses and the Empress controlled still delivered reports, even if only sporadically. But no more dispatches arrived from the Persian front, where an unofficial armistice reigned due to the pestilence. Then a startling message was brought in person.
“Despoina, General John the Sanguinary has arrived,” announced Narses. “He has come posthaste from the camp of Belisarius. He wishes to have an audience as a matter of urgency.”
“Oh, Bloody John! You should be present,” said Theodora. “You know him from the war in Italy, don’t you?”
“Yes, Despoina.”
Bloody John strode into the Triclinium boldly and made a full prostration.
“Yes, yes. Get up. Speak,” said Theodora, whose stock of patience had diminished considerably as the Emperor’s illness wore on. “Do you have word from Belisarius?”
He rose smartly. “Yes, Despoina. Not exactly a message, but I bring a report of a meeting that was held, where significant decisions were taken.”
“Tell us.”
“The rumour reached the army that the Emperor had passed away from the pestilence,” said John, keeping his eyes on his dusty boots and his shaggy head lowered.
“And it was believed?”
“There seemed to be no doubt that the Emperor had contracted the plague,” said John. “We heard that Masses were being said. And most people who get the disease, die from it very quickly. So yes, Despoina, it was believed. I am happy that it is untrue.”
“And then?”
“The General Belisarius held a meeting of all the senior army officers, at Europos. There is a pause in the war, Despoina, since the Persians also have been stricken.”
“We know that. So, what was decided?”
Now he looked up, his bold stare meeting the Empress’s level gaze. “Belisarius and the General Bouzes, his second-in-command, made statements, which were generally agreed upon. First, that they would not accept a woman as sole ruler of Byzantium. Second, that they would not accept another ruler like Justinian, who had been simultaneously tyrannical and weak.”
Theodora drew in a gasping breath. “They used those words?”
“Those exact words, Despoina. And about you … about you, they said … With respect, Despoina, I merely wish to give a complete rendition, you understand?”
“I do. What did they say?”
His eyes dropped back to his boots, and he wriggled his shoulders. “That you are … you are …”
“Speak, I order you!”
“Depraved and vicious, and the Empire would be well rid of you.”
“Indeed? And? Is there more?”
“And they would not accept any candidate put forward in Constantinople. They would insist on their own preferred candidate.”
“And who might that be?”
“Certainly Belisarius, Despoina. He is an able man, and hugely popular. The army would back him to a man.” He raised his eyes again. His chin jutted out.
“You give your word on the truth of this?”
“I was there, Despoina.”
She nodded. Her small hands gripped each other tightly in her silken lap. “You did well to come to us at once.”
The royal command went out: Belisarius and Bouzes, his second-in-command, were recalled. Effective immediately.
Theodora sat quietly next to Justinian’s bed, waiting and watching, as she had done for several hours every day for weeks. Every day she was terrified that she would find that his shallow, barely perceptible breathing had stopped. Yet every day he still held on to life. He had become skeletally thin. His sunken eyes were shadowed with mauve. Slight twitches of his eyelids indicated that they did not hide the eyes of a dead man, that somewhere his indomitable spirit still remained alive, still strove to overcome the onslaught of the dire disease that had decimated his kingdom.
“Holy Mother,” Theodora prayed, “if it is God’s will, bring him back to life.” She recalled the prayer that St Samson had spoken over Justinian when he lay seriously ill shortly before they had been married. Now she repeated those words: “Thou, Holy Father, doctor of souls and bodies, who sent thy only begotten Son Jesus Christ to cure every sickness and to free us from death, heal also thy servant from … from … the infirmity of body and spirit that afflicts him.”
A tremor shook the patient, stirring the silk brocade coverlet. Theodora looked at him closely. There were drops of perspiration on his forehead. His eyelids were fluttering.
“Father, bring him out of his distresses,” pleaded Theodora. She moved from the chair and fell to her knees beside the bed. “Look upon his affliction and his pain, and forgive all his sins. Teach us, Holy Father, to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom, that we may … that we may …” Grief almost took her voice away. “That we may … serve … thy kingdom.”
Justinian’s body jerked.
“Please, God,” she whispered, abandoning the formal words. “Please God. Please God, make him better. Please God.”
Justinian sighed. His eyes opened. He blinked at his wife in wonderment.
She leaned forward, uncertain whether he would even recognise her. “Are you awake, my love?” she asked gently. “Do you … do you know me?” She waited anxiously.
He stared. Took a deep, wavering breath. “Theodora,” he said. “Theodora. My … gift from God.”
“Call the physician at once,” said Theodora to one of the hovering eunuchs. “At once, do you hear me? The Emperor is awake! He knows me!” She took his hand in both of hers, and kissed it.
Justinian struggled to sit up, gasped and retched. Another eunuch hastily brought the royal chamber pot, and held it under the Emperor’s chin. A thin stream of vomit spewed into the solid silver utensil with its ornate handle. Justinian groaned. The eunuch wiped his mouth and chin.
Aetios strode into the room. Like Narses, the Grand Chamberlain, he was allowed into the royal presence without having to be announced or make a prostration. They were the only two exceptions among all the Emperor’s subjects, other than his wife.
“Despotes!” exclaimed Aetios. “You are awake! Excellent, excellent!”
“He is nauseous,” said Theodora.
“To be expected,” Aetios assured her. “It is due to the reduction of the opium. His body will rebel. So, Majesty, are you able to speak?”
“Hurts,” said Justinian.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It hu … hurts,” repeated Justinian irritably. “My body hu … hurts. Is sore all o … over.”
Theodora burst into tears.
“Ah. Yes. I understand. A herbal infusion will be made at once that should bring some relief,” said Aetios. “Both for the nausea and the pain.”
“Who you? Don’t kn … know you!”
“I am your physician, Despotes.”
“This is Aetios of Amida, my love,” said Theodora, controllling her sobs. “You know him, we made him head of Saint Panteleimon.” She wiped her eyes.
“Stranger.” Justinian’s dark eyes swivelled suspiciously from the doctor to his wife. “Don’t re … remem … ber. Don’t kn … know him.”
“But he will help you.”
The patient let his head drop back onto the pillow, exhausted. His eyes were closed again.
“The Emperor has turned the corner,” said Aetios. “He will be tired and he has a speech impediment, as you no doubt noticed, but it will probably pass.”
“But he has forgotten that he ever met you,” she said.
“You should expect him to forget recent events. And to be irritable and anxious. But now we can begin to build up his strength. I shall give instructions to the cooks.”
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“Thank you,” said Theodora. “Thank you so much.” She rose from her kneeling position and left the sickroom, stepping more lightly than she had for a long time. In the corridor she met the Grand Chamberlain.
“Narses,” she said, “the Emperor was awake, he knew me, he spoke to me!”
“The best news, Despoina!”
“We should remember that there is now much he does not know. The state of his kingdom will be a great shock to him.”
“Indeed. He has lost almost half of his subjects, by some estimates. We must not tell him too much, too soon.”
“No. And Narses …”
“Despoina?”
“He must never know … he must not be told …” She swallowed, and looked away. “Don’t ever tell him what he … what he said to me, when he was hallucinating.”
“He has forgotten it?”
“Clearly.”
“Not a word of it, Despoina.”
“The Chief Physician heard it, but he has been retired. No one else would repeat it, I believe.”
“No one will. He never meant it, he was very ill. You should not brood on it.”
“I know he was not himself,” she said, her eyes wet, her voice uneven. “I know he was not in his right mind. But to have looked at me … and to have taken me for the Satan … I have since thought, there might have been some … some association …”
“He did not see you at all, Despoina. He saw a phantasm, conjured by his sickness. Not you at all. You may be sure of that.”
“Thank you, Narses. I do … depend on you.” She wiped her eyes once more.
“I know, Despoina.”
“I must speak to the cooks. We must make broth.” She gathered herself, regained her customary poise and walked away to the kitchens.
Belisarius returned to the capital, accompanied by his wife, their godson Theodosius, General Bouzes, and his household regiment, numbering some seven thousand men.
A formal inquest was held with Theodora presiding, Narses in attendance and an audience of senators. Bouzes was the first to be called upon to defend himself against the accusation of high treason. The small, dark, belligerent man was intransigent. “Despoina, yes, we did agree that a female ruler would not be acceptable,” he said. “Not on our own part, but truly no Goth, no Vandal would bow to a woman. That is a fact, and if it is hard to stomach, I cannot answer for it.”
“Did you, or anyone, say that I am, and I quote, ‘depraved and vicious’?”
“No such thing, Despoina! Never was said!”
“And the reference to the Emperor Justinian? That you would not accept another such as he? That he was both ‘weak’ and ‘tyrannical’?”
“I have no such recollection,” said Bouzes.
“It was not said?”
“Not to my recollection. No.”
“What about the statement that the army would only recognise its own candidate?”
“The army has always had the right to acknowledge a new emperor,” said Bouzes indignantly. “It is the custom, has been for … for … centuries! No emperor could reign if he had not the support of the army!”
“You mean he would be overthrown?” asked an elderly senator, his wattled chin quivering.
“Well, of course he would! No urban militia or Imperial guard could stand against the army!”
“And the army would support the General Belisarius?” asked the senator.
“Yes, it would. Of course. He is greatly revered,” said Bouzes, not understanding the quicksand he had allowed himself to stray into.
“Take him away,” said Narses. “He condemns himself out of his own mouth.”
Loudly protesting, Bouzes was led away by two excubitors.
Next to appear as the accused was Belisarius. He was dressed as a common soldier with a cloak pinned on his left shoulder. Still a handsome man with natural dignity, he looked weighed down by weariness.
Theodora looked at him accusingly. “What have you to say?” she asked. “We have heard the statement made by General John. Do you dispute it?”
“You should understand, Despoina, that John the Sanguinary has a long-standing grudge against me,” said Belisarius. “He disobeyed an explicit command in the war in Italy. It is an offence normally punishable by death. I ordered him to attack Auximum, but he decided rather to move north and attack Ariminum. He took the town, but he was subsequently besieged there, and he and his men would have starved had not the Grand Chamberlain, then General Narses, convinced me to go to his aid. He is not a reliable witness.”
“You agreed to accept the crown of the Western Roman Empire when it was offered to you,” said Theodora, obdurately suspicious. “That is a known fact.”
“A mere stratagem of war. I abjured it immediately. It saved many Roman lives.” He stood patiently to attention, his blond head slightly bowed. “I have only served the Emperor to the best of my ability, all my life. I have never had an ambition to take the throne of Byzantium. I had no such ambition now, even when we believed the Emperor had succumbed to the plague. I made that plain during the discussion.”
“You say General John lied?”
“I say I never put myself forward as a candidate, nor did I agree that any man should do so. If he says I did, he may be mistaken, but it is not true.”
“You will swear to that?”
“Bring a codex of the Holy Gospels,” said Belisarius, straightening up. “I will swear upon it. I am not a traitor to the throne! All that was said, Despoina, was that the army would insist on its traditional right to accept whoever might be put forward as successor. No more than that, and it is an ancient right.”
“It is, Despoina,” said Narses. “If that was all, it was not traitorous.”
“You did not describe the Emperor as weak and tyrannical?”
“I did not.” His tone was flat but there was anger in his eyes.
“And as to the insulting reference to myself? ‘Depraved and vicious’? Was that not said, by you or anyone else?”
“Despoina,” said Belisarius, “It was not said. I would swear to that also. Ask yourself whose vocabulary that is, mine or Bloody John’s.”
Theodora’s head was spinning with tension and weariness. “Very well, then. We have heard you,” she said. “We have two opposing reports before us. If we were to believe General John’s version, you would be convicted of treason.”
The audience stirred and whispered. Belisarius stood impassively.
She went on: “How you have behaved towards us, my good sir, only you can truly know. But I personally owe so much to your wife that for her sake I shall dismiss all charges brought against you, making her a present of your life. So from now on you need have no further fear.”
Belisarius bowed.
“Now hear this. You cannot keep your comitatus. Such a large host of private soldiers, seven thousand, we are told, in the current circumstances is not appropriate. We have lost many men, there are huge gaps in the Imperial army. They will have to fill the empty places. At the present time, we need the military to carry out civil duties.”
“If you say so, Despoina.”
“I do say so. Also, our Imperial coffers have been denuded by these late calamities. You have amassed a vast fortune from the spoils of war, with an army financed from Constantinople. We’ll have to make some demands on your personal treasure.”
“It is at your disposal, Despoina. As am I. As I have always been.”
“At the moment,” said Theodora, “not even the Persians are up to making war. You will remain in Constantinople, to wait upon the Emperor’s pleasure. He is recovering.”
“I am much relieved to know that, Despoina.”
“You are dismissed.”
Afterwards, when the Triclineum had emptied, Narses remained behind. “Despoina, if I may have a word.”
“Of course.”
“Keep Bouzes imprisoned,” said Narses. “He need not be executed. But don’t set him free.”
“I wa
s not convinced that he was guilty of anything either,” said Theodora.
“Possibly not. Yet it would not be advisable to create an impression of being weak. Especially since the Emperor has not regained his full strength, and you reign alone.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I take your point. We need an example. Very well. Bouzes remains in jail.”
As she left the Triclineum, she encountered Antonina, standing squarely and aggressively in her way. “I hope you don’t expect gratitude for that,” said Antonina, in a low, angry mutter. “Made me a present of his life! Oh, thank you, gracious Empress! Why didn’t you just have him executed, and be done! Then you’d be rid of the dangerous fellow for ever!”
Furious tears stood in her eyes, while she maintained, outwardly, for the public eye, an attitude of deference. “Belisarius did nothing to deserve being publicly arraigned!”
“My husband was dying, I was ruling alone and I received a report from a senior general that your husband was aiming to take his place. What would you expect?”
“Bloody John is hostile and underhand and you should have taken that into consideration.”
“I don’t have information about all the internecine feuds among the military,” said Theodora. “I did my best for you. I don’t have time for putting up with tantrums. If you don’t like it, frankly, I don’t care.” She swept past Antonina down the corridor.
The plague raged throughout the summer, but as the year moved toward autumn, the numbers of victims began to diminish. The immediate danger was passing, but everything had been touched and changed by the dread disease.
“It’s like the aftermath of a siege,” said Narses. “Those who were besieged are vastly relieved, one is not dead, and one can move about again, but the environment is stripped. Nothing is normal, not inside the city nor around it. It takes time.”
“We must have Masses, for thanksgiving,” said Theodora. “We can come together again, we can give praise. Justinian is growing stronger by the day. Thank heavens for Aetios.”
“And Majesty’s relatives have all been spared.”
“Oh yes. Comito’s well, and Sophia, and Stasie. And Zeno has brought Juliana and Anastasius back from Hieron, they’ve come home safe and sound.”
