by Marié Heese
“Indeed, Despoina. The winter has been cruel. I’ll bring a cloak.”
“I want to be alone.”
“But, Despoina …”
“You may send Narses to me,” said Theodora. “No one else. The guards can wait at the entrance.” She allowed the usual retinue to escort her through the passages, but walked out onto the terrace by herself. She took a deep breath of salty air. The Sea of Marmara sparkled like her sapphires, merging imperceptibly into the equally blue sky. A few circling gulls floated on updrafts. Two comfortable chairs had been put in place near the outer stone wall, in a shady corner with an awning.
The drone of prayer from the religious refugees inside the palace sounded like bees. Indaro and Chrysomallo would not come out unless she invited them. But she didn’t want them today.
Narses arrived promptly. “You called for me, Despoina?”
“Yes. Sit here with me.”
He hesitated. It was not customary.
“Go on, sit.”
He obeyed.
What small, neat feet he has, she thought. For a while they sat in silence.
“What do you hear of Jacob?” she asked. Reports were beginning to filter in about the ministry of Jacob, the roving Bishop of Edessa whose see was, effectively, the entire Empire. Only she and Narses and Z’ura knew how his ministry had begun. “I understand the Orthodox authorities in Rome have put a price on his head.”
“They’ll never catch him. His disguise as a beggar is too good. They’re calling him Jacob Baradaeus, Jacob Ragbag, And no one will betray him, Despoina. You may be sure of that. He is greatly revered,” said Narses.
“I have heard that he has healing powers,” said Theodora. “That he has cured lepers and made the blind to see.”
“And he has ordained a good number of priests,” said Narses. “This one man that you sent forth, Despoina, is building a Monophysite Christian Church from the ground up. His ministry is extraordinary.”
“Well, I seem to have had one success,” said Theodora, her voice trembling.
“Despoina, you have had many successes,” said Narses. “Your almshouses, your hospices, your homes for the aged, your monasteries … And you have inspired the Emperor to promulgate far better laws relating to the rights of women.”
“We have not altogether stopped the sale of girl children. We have not eradicated prostitution.”
“You have made inroads, Despoina.”
“With some things. But above all, we have not healed the schism,” said Theodora. “Justinian’s Edict of the Three Chapters has only caused more strife. I was astounded when I heard Vigilius had refused to accept it.” She coughed.
“Singularly disloyal, one could say, since Vigilius is only Pope by the intervention of the Crown. And truly, Despoina, one did think that excommunicating Patriarch Menas for supporting the Emperor was extreme.”
“Justinian was absolutely furious. And,” said Theodora, continuing her litany of disappointments, “I’m not managing to get my church built. Justinian finished the Hagia Sophia in less than six years, but my Holy Apostles still lacks the main cupola. Not to mention all the interior finishing, and that will cost almost more than the building. I’ll never get it done, there’s just not enough in the treasury.” Tears were slipping down her cheeks. “I can’t sell all my possessions. Oh, dear, I’m sorry, Narses.”
“You should not weep, Despoina. You were so strong, all through the plague, and since.”
She wiped her cheeks. “I just feel so … weak, and hopeless, this morning.” She coughed. “And I miss my daughter. I understand that Justinian needs a dependable official in Alexandria, given the importance of grain exports, and of course Zeno’s rock solid, but it’s so very far away.” She coughed again.
“Are you ill, Despoina?”
“No. No, just tired.”
“Do not despair, Despoina. I am sure God will provide the means to complete His church. The structure of stone as well as the structure of faith.”
“You always make me feel better,” she said, collecting herself. “Thank you. I am happy about Jacob Baradaeus. One way I have managed to serve God. One good thing I have done.”
In the early summer, Bloody John arrived in Constantinople. He swaggered into the Triclineum, to abase himself before his sovereigns.
“Have you brought us good news from the Italian front?” demanded Justinian.
“I fear not, Despotes,” said John, getting to his feet with the ease of a man who often squatted beside a campfire at night. “I am come on furlough, there are pressing family matters. The General Belisarius has been training the recruits that he collected on his way through Thrace and Illyria. They were untrained, and raw. But he has not ventured into battle for some time now.”
“You brought no reports? Nothing from Procopius?”
“Nothing much to report,” said John nonchalantly.
He proceeded to take his ease in Constantinople, being seen at the Hippodrome and at dinner tables and less salubrious venues all over the city.
“I am disappointed in Belisarius,” said Justinian. “I expected more decisive action by this time.”
“I can’t abide Bloody John,” said Theodora. “Truly, John appears to be an unfortunate name. If it’s not the Cappadocian, it’s the Sanguinary, and both are dreadful.”
Soon the visiting general had announced his betrothal to the daughter of Germanus: Justina, a girl, the gossips said unkindly, who should be glad to get a man even so uncouth, since she was already eighteen without a single prospect heretofore.
“One hears a splendid wedding feast is planned,” said Narses.
Theodora frowned. “I don’t like it. I don’t trust him. Do you think it’s possible that the man has ambitions beyond the military?”
“He probably sees himself in line for the throne,” said Narses. “Marrying into the family of Germanus gives him a leg up. Father’s the Emperor’s cousin, girl’s late mother was a patrician.”
“Not good at all. We must watch him.”
“Closely,” agreed Narses. “Very closely indeed. Patricians and the military can be a dangerous combination.”
The nuptial celebration duly took place, almost rivalling Cappadocian John’s consular festivities in grandeur and vulgarity.
Soon afterwards a dispatch rider brought letters from Belisarius and Antonina.
“Bloody John had a letter for the Emperor from Belisarius all the time,” said Theodora indignantly, “but he never delivered it. When we taxed him with it, he apologised profusely and pretended to have forgotten, being so excited about his pending nuptials. A bare-faced liar, that’s what he is.”
“Definitely a man to scrutinise,” said Narses. “As one thought.”
Belisarius wrote:
July 545 – Greetings and salutations to the Emperor!
We have received no response to our letter to Your Majesty dated 2 May, entrusted to General John. Surely either the letter or Your Majesty’s response has been lost. It is my unhappy duty to inform Your Majesty that, given the drastic lack of funding and personnel with which I have had to struggle, I cannot execute the task entrusted to me regarding the war in Italy.
On arrival at the theatre of war, we discovered that the Imperial troops and militia stationed here are no match for the Goths – neither in number nor in military capability. The recruits that I was able to muster on my march through Thrace and Illyria are untrained and ill-equipped. It seems inevitable that Totila will now march on Rome, still the ultimate prize. But if I am to go to the defence of Rome itself, I must have more men, and they should be able. If at all possible, I request that my comitatus may be restored to me, in addition to more mercenaries. Failing such measures, Despotes, this war is doomed.
Belisarius
Count of the Stables in Italy
A letter from Antonina accompanied the letter from her husband.
My dearest Theodora – Salutations to the Empress!
The letter from Belisari
us is his second plea since returning to Italy begging the Emperor for support and funding. The current situation is beyond even his remarkable abilities to make bricks with very little straw. I will tell you what he will not: The reduction in the status of Belisarius from Commander in Chief to Count of the Stables has affected his authority. Personal authority he still has; the men who will not respond to his leadership are very few – I think Bloody John, who clearly failed to deliver the first letter, is the single exception that I have seen. (Besides your funny little eunuch with delusions of valour.) But the men no longer believe that Belisarius will be able to pay or equip them, and consequently they are deserting to Totila.
You should convince the Emperor that there is a simple choice: recall Belisarius and give up all of Italy, or give him the authority and backing that he requires. It is as simple as that.
Ever your loving friend
Antonina
Justinian still had the Persians to contend with in the continuing struggle for territory in the east, a struggle that placed heavy strains on the economy. But in that same year, Khosrau again suggested a truce.
“He’s demanding two thousand pounds in gold,” said Justinian. “Better we should pay it, and then be able to bolster our forces in Italy. We can’t wage war effectively when we are spread so thin.”
“Is that all he wants?” asked Theodora.
“That, and a good physician, to remain at the Persian court for a year.”
“You’ll not send Aetios,” said Theodora, “surely?”
“No, there’s a Greek from Palestine we could spare. Khosrau has a delicate constitution, it seems.”
“Somewhat aggravated by boiling oil,” said Theodora. “No doubt.”
Justinian concluded the truce, and finally decided to reinstate Belisarius.
August 545 – To the General Belisarius, greetings and salutations!
Be it hereby known that it has pleased the Emperor Justinian to restore to the General Belisarius his former title of Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army with full Imperial authority to conduct the war as he sees fit.
Be it also known that General John the Sanguinary, accompanied by Isaac the Armenian, shall bring additional forces to expand the armed forces in Italy forthwith.
Be it also known that the Emperor has given instructions for the mustering of an additional force of mercenaries, i.e. Heruls, to be collected and conveyed to Italy as soon as possible.
By order of the Emperor, Thrice August, by the grace of God, Despotes
Justinian
“Surely now our troops will be sufficient to protect Rome,” said Theodora.
Justinian said: “Fortunately, Ravenna is still safely in our possession. So we hold the current capital of the Western Roman Empire. I have had a thought about that.”
“Tell me?” asked Theodora.
“We hear that the basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna is almost complete. Well, we cannot travel to be present at its inauguration, not with the war situation in Italy as it is. But perhaps we can find a different way to establish our Imperial presence.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Something symbolic,” said Justinian. “The entire interior of the church is to be covered in mosaics. They have a very talented artist, it seems. I have decided that there should be two panels facing each other in the apse, depicting you on the one wall and myself on the opposite side.”
“Do you mean head and shoulder portraits?” asked Theodora.
“No, full-length, each of us the centre of a group.”
“Surely that will be a great expense, my love. Can we afford it, at this time?”
“I have found a co-sponsor, a silver banker. He suggests it would be a good idea to install images of us that emphasise Imperial power as well as religious devotion.”
“Images do make an impact,” said Theodora, “especially on the illiterate.”
“And especially in Ravenna,” said Justinian. “A city that almost defected from Byzantium. The Bishop of Ravenna – what’s his name, Maximianus – should stand by my side, and Belisarius also, to make quite clear that he is under my authority.”
“How will it be done?” asked Theodora. “Seeing that we can’t be there in person?”
“We’ll have drawings made, and the artist responsible for the mosaics in Ravenna can work from those.”
“Who’s to make the drawings?”
“A Syrian slave. Very talented. He’s done some excellent work on manuscripts. We’ll have to pose for a number of sketches.”
Theodora was regally attired in her purple velvet chlamys, a richly jewelled collar and a crown with long ornaments dangling from it. She had to hold a golden chalice, and stand still maintaining the same pose for what seemed hours, while the slave, a tall, dark man with deft hands and piercing eyes, made one quick sketch after another and then created a detailed version, on which he made copious notes about the colours of her jewellery. Little arrows sprang from the details of her outfit, indicating: emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, pearls, gold, jasper, onyx. Eyes: dark. Hair: black.
Suggest add depictions of the Magi bearing gifts on hem of chlamys, wrote the artist, would convey idea that sovereign is offering gifts to the Saviour. Ladies to be clothed in colourful silks, to contrast with dark central figure.
“Are you done?” Theodora felt exhausted. The chalice weighed her arms down as if it had been made of iron and held stones, with more stones added as time went by.
“Just rounding off the face,” said the Syrian, “won’t be a … Majesty! Despoina!”
Theodora had keeled over in a dead faint.
She was put to bed by fussing ladies-in-waiting and slaves. Justinian, aghast, sent for Aetios, and sat anxiously beside Theodora’s bed stroking her hand.
“The Empress does not eat enough,” warned the physician. “And she needs more rest. She should avoid taxing public appearances, especially in heavy regalia and involving long hours on her feet.”
“Of course, Doctor,” said Justinian. “Anything you say.”
“Let her sleep now.”
As soon as Theodora was better, Narses brought excellent news. “Despoina,” he announced, “a miracle has occurred! There will be sufficient funds to complete the Church of the Holy Apostles, without any further demands on the royal treasury!”
“How is that possible?”
“The workmen were digging in the old foundations of the original church, and they discovered a jar filled with gold. They did further excavations, carefully but thoroughly as you may imagine, and they have found a dozen all told!”
“Gold jewellery? Bars?”
“Coins. Gold coins! There will be enough to cover the deficit. You shall complete your church!”
“Oh, praise the Lord! Truly, my gift to Him must be acceptable!” Delighted, Theodora told the Emperor.
He looked at her sardonically. “It is hardly a miracle, my dearest,” he said. “Depend on it, Narses had them buried there himself.”
“Where would he get such riches?”
“He has no family to keep. His salary is substantial. And bear in mind, he has been to war. It would surprise me if he hasn’t stored away some spoils.”
“Why wouldn’t he just offer it to me?”
“He might expect you to refuse. He would feel embarrassed. He adores you, my dear. Let him finance your church if it pleases him.”
Rumours were heard that the coins bore the heads of the three apostles to whom the church was dedicated, and whose skulls the church possessed.
“The heads of the apostles?” enquired Theodora. “Do you have one to show me?”
Narses looked shifty. “That detail is untrue,” he said. “They are old Roman coins. It is merely the common folk embroidering on the miraculous find.”
“Truly miraculous,” said Theodora.
“Probably buried there in the time of Constantine,” said Narses. “To keep them safe, when he introduced the solidus. Which became the royal
currency.”
“That could explain it,” said Theodora. “But to me, it is a miracle.”
The building could continue. She went eagerly to the site, and gave the necessary instructions.
Interlude
It was the autumn of the year of Our Lord 545. Vigilius, Pope of Rome, the Vicar of Christ, sat in his office in the Lateran Palace on the Caelian Hill with his head in his hands. On his desk lay a letter from the Empress of Byzantium delivered by a military dispatch rider. He was reluctant to open it. He was sure that once again, as so often over the past decade since he had been installed as Pope in the place of Silverius, the Empress had sent a message urging him to make good his promises to her. He could see the words, he thought. It would say something like: We have been patient. We have been understanding. The times are difficult, the issues are complex, all these things are true. Yet I should not have to remind you that you hold the Throne of St Peter solely due to our support, and that was given on certain conditions, that were clearly stated and agreed upon between us.
She would expect him to come out strongly in support of her beloved Monophysites, he thought. But it was impossible. He couldn’t afford to alienate the Orthodox churchmen, not to mention the old patrician families in Rome who were passionately anti-Monophysite and would remain so to their last breath. It was easy for her to make demands, but it was he who would have to live with the consequences. It was a very difficult situation, very difficult indeed. He felt as if he was being ground between two rough and adamantine surfaces. He would have to find some way of obfuscating the issue. Make some more promises that he did not intend to keep. Would not be able to keep.
He sat turning the Ring of the Fisherman on his arthritic finger. Depicting St Peter as a fisherman, it was also engraved with his own name, and when his papacy ended, it would be crushed with a hammer, since each new pope received his own particular ring. The guards had removed the pallium from Silverius and it had been pinned to the tunic of his replacement, but they had overlooked his ring. Besides, it would have borne the wrong name. At first, after Silverius had been ejected from Rome, he, Vigilius, had had no ring, but he had ordered one to be made by the goldsmiths of Rome and he wore it as he did the pallium. He held the Throne of St Peter and he could not aggravate the schism in the Church by openly supporting Monophysites. He had desired to be raised to that high office, but he had not anticipated the unrelenting pressures, nor the dire possibility of being imprisoned in the Lateran suffering famine due to a Barbarian siege, which, rumour had it, was imminent.
