by Ross Laidlaw
Delighted to have made such progress, Theodora left the palace (Region I) and returned to her workshop in Region VIII. In the course of the short journey, she recalled something which caused her heart to lift. On parting from the patrician, she had noted that the signs of worry on his face appeared to have lifted somewhat. Her imagination? Or the result of her having provided him with a positive interest to help take him out of himself? That it was an altruistic cause he had taken up convinced her that she was dealing with a good and conscientious man, who would back his words with action.
During the next few weeks, Theodora had regular meetings with the patrician. At first, their discussions were confined to juridical details regarding the legal status of prostitutes. But over time, discovering a mutual interest in theology and certain aspects of philosophy as they impinged on law, these topics were included in debate. When Theodora (thanks to her voracious reading in Timothy’s library in Alexandria) was able to quote Isocrates* in the latter context, Justinian was visibly impressed, and took to consulting her opinion on various matters on a regular basis.
This enabled Theodora to put in a good word for the Monophysites. ‘The people of Syria and Egypt are your loyal subjects, Patricius,’ she pleaded, ‘who wish only to be allowed to worship in their own way. By continuing to persecute them, you run the risk of alienating half the Empire. I ask you — is it worth it? And is it right that brilliant minds like Timothy and Severus, good men and ornaments of Rome, should be made to suffer for their faith?’
‘You’re fast becoming a Seneca to my Nero,’ replied the Patricius with a smile. ‘Hopefully the young Nero — before power went to his head. As always, Theodora, your words give food for thought. You have a point; I daresay in our concern for uniformity my uncle and I may have erred on the side of being overzealous. I’ll mull over what you’ve said.’
Without either being consciously aware that such a thing was happening, a deep friendship began to form between the two — something at last openly acknowledged when the patrician invited her to call him by his name, Justinianus. So it seemed entirely natural and unobtrusive when, one day (during a bout of the depression which visited him periodically), she found herself asking, as a concerned friend would, if anything was troubling him.
Justinian looked up, his face a mask of misery. ‘I’m glad you asked me that,’ he said. ‘For far too long I’ve kept my tribulation to myself. But you, I think, alone of everyone I know, will understand — even perhaps be able to offer me advice.’ He paused, then went on in a whisper, ‘I’m cursed, you see, Theodora. It seems I have the gift of inspiring others to wish to follow me; a fatal gift, I fear, like that vouchsafed to Midas. Only with me, it’s not myself I harm, but others.’ It all came out then, as though gushing from some deep well of sorrow and regret: the deaths of Atawulf and Valerian, the duel with Nearchus in his student days, his near-fatal hesitation before recommending Roderic for emperor to the Senate. In each case, cowardly irresolution on his part had prevented or nearly prevented him from acting, leaving his conscience permanently scarred.
‘In my dreams I still see that helmet on the cliff!’ he cried, ‘ — still hear Atawulf ’s despairing calls for help, still see my dearest friend Valerian spitted by a Galla spear, still feel the blow I inflicted on myself in the Cistern of Nomus. Look — I yet bear the mark!’ And he pointed to a faint, star-shaped scar on his forehead. ‘The truth is, Theodora, I’m bad for those I allow to become close to me.’ He shot Theodora an anguished glance. ‘I’ll probably turn out to be bad for you as well — something I would not have happen for the world. Perhaps it’s best we don’t see each other any more.’
Instinctively, Theodora rushed over to him, took him in her arms. She felt an overwhelming surge of pity and affection. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she murmured, cradling his head against her breast, ‘there’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be put right. I think I understand what the root of your problem is. In the past, you’ve seen yourself — as many Romans think they ought to see themselves — as a man of Mars: strong, courageous, displaying active leadership. But perhaps you’re not a man of action,’ she continued gently. ‘And there’s no shame in admitting that. Inspiring and directing men need not consist in leading from the front. Let others do that for you. Don’t you think that that’s where your true genius may lie, Justinian — in choosing the right men to carry out your plans?’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ breathed the other, wonderingly. He paused, then went on, ‘Yes — I believe you are right. Why could I not have seen that for myself?’
‘Sometimes it takes another to see in us what we can’t ourselves perceive. Isn’t there a verse in Scripture somewhere about motes and beams?’
‘“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”’ quoted Justinian with a smile. ‘Luke 6, verse 41.’
From that moment Justinian’s mind began to heal. Freed from the burden of past guilt, he began to form plans — schemes that suddenly now blossomed (from what had previously been vague aspirations) into designs for ambitious projects. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he found himself eagerly discussing these with Theodora: reform of Roman Law; great buildings which would incorporate exciting new design ideas, enabling, for example, the construction of stupendous domes of a size never before conceived; and — something he had hardly yet dared to think about, so mind-blowing in its boldness was the concept — the recovery of the Western Empire from the barbarians who had overrun it. ‘Together, we shall make Rome greater than she’s ever been before,’ he enthused.
‘Together?’ Theodora smiled indulgently. ‘You flatter me, Justinian. You make us sound like partners.’
A silence followed, a silence in which both came to realize that an invisible boundary had somehow been crossed. ‘We could be partners, Theodora,’ Justinian said at last. ‘In every way.’ He smiled gravely. ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you, you know — something I’ve never felt before for any woman. Theodora — I’m asking if you’ll marry me.’
Theodora’s mind reeled as she tried to analyze her reactions. She liked Justinian enormously, and, as a result of helping to restore him to himself, felt (mingled with a Pygmalion-like concern for her ‘creation’) a fierce protectiveness towards him that was almost maternal in its tenderness. But did this amount to love? She thought perhaps it did — a kind of loving, anyway. But, admittedly, as different from the love she had for Macedonia as a quiet stream is from a raging flood. To become the wife of Justinian! — that opened up unimagined possibilities. After Hecebolus, she had promised herself that never again would she become dependent on a man. But to the spouse of the emperor-designate that condition scarcely applied. She herself would hold patrician rank, and thus be entitled to a palace and income of her own, in perpetuity. However, since Macedonia had shown Theodora her true nature to herself, would she not be living a lie if she married? Whatever she decided, nothing would be gained, she told herself, by being anything but honest with this fine, good man.
And there were considerations beyond the strictly personal to be taken into account — factors which seemed to tilt the scales in favour of accepting Justinian’s proposal. Her efforts to alleviate the plight of prostitutes would be immeasurably strengthened. Why limit that to prostitutes? The status of all women throughout the Roman world was circumscribed by laws which favoured men. As Justinian’s consort, she would be in a position to change that for the better. Then there was her family — her two sisters and her mother; at a stroke, their lives could be lifted out of poverty into security and comfort. And what about the Monophysites, especially her dear friends Timothy and Severus, at present suffering under unjust persecution? She had made a good beginning there, in getting Justinian to see the benefits of toleration. But think how much more she could achieve, as his wife.
‘May I dare to hope?’ asked Justinian softly, with a gentle smile.
‘I must be frank with
you, my dear,’ replied Theodora, taking him by the hand and looking fondly into his face. ‘I cannot love you in the way that is usual between a woman and a man, for such is not my nature. But I love you, or at least I think I do, in the sense that Plato means when he says, “The true lover loves the beauty of the soul rather than the beauty of the body”. If you can accept me on those terms, Justinian, then I will gladly marry you.’
Was it relief that she saw in his eyes — relief that was more than the joy of the accepted suitor, hinting that his love for her was of the same kind that she felt for him? If so, theirs should be a happy union indeed, their kind of love the strongest bond of all — agap, the pure love that blossoms between soul-mates.
During the weeks when she was getting to know Justinian, one incident occurred which marred, momentarily, Theodora’s serenity of mood.
Reporting one day for her regular meeting in the palace, she found, instead of Justinian, a smooth and self-possessed young man who introduced himself as, ‘Procopius of Caesarea, lawyer, man of letters, and world-citizen.’ Today, he explained, Justinian was unable to be present and had asked Procopius to take his place. They were to discuss the business of compensation for brothel-owners, in the event of legislation being passed that would outlaw prostitution.
‘I have here a list of samples, taken from every province in the Empire, of the various rates paid for girls by brothel-owners. As you will see when you peruse it, they vary widely. The best solution is to work out a mean rate as the basis for a standard payment, one that will satisfy all brothel-owners.’
At the conclusion of the session (with the task barely half-completed) after tying up his codices, Procopius seemed inclined to linger. ‘If you’re hoping to become his mistress,’ he said with a conniving wink, ‘then you’re in for a long wait. Justinian’s a cold fish. He wouldn’t be interested, even if you offered it to him on a plate.’
‘The thought never occurred to me,’ replied Theodora icily. ‘You’ve got a filthy mind, Procopius. I think you’d better go.’
‘Come on, don’t give me that,’ sneered the other. ‘I know your sort, Theodora. Proper little prick-teaser, aren’t you? Don’t imagine I haven’t heard that you once trod the boards. Everyone knows that actresses are always ready to turn a trick. Well, let me enlighten you, my dear. You’re wasting your time where Justinian’s concerned. Instead, why not share my bed? You’re quite a looker, I’ll give you that. I’d pay good money.’
‘You disgust me,’ Theodora retorted. ‘Just get out.’
‘Playing hard to get, are we? Well, I don’t mind; it adds a little spice to the proceedings.’ And with a lascivious grin, Procopius slid an arm around her waist, and with his free hand gripped her chin.
Reacting instantly, Theodora jerked her head free and bit the offending hand on the fleshy part below the thumb.
‘Bitch!’ yelled Procopius, whipping his hand away. He stared at a row of tooth-marks in his skin, some already welling blood. ‘I’ll pay you back for that,’* he snarled, and stormed away.
Following the wedding, the transfer of power from Justin to Justinian — a process whose pace had been steady rather than rapid, began swiftly to accelerate. With the old emperor’s health — mental as well as physical — now failing fast, Justinian found himself managing affairs of state virtually alone. Accordingly, eighteen months after his marriage, Justinian was made co-emperor (with Theodora as empress). Then, four months later Justin died,** and was succeeded by his nephew as sole ruler of the Roman world.
Mindful of Theodora’s advice, Justinian, having abandoned the idea of leading any project personally, had already (following his instinct, which proved invariably sound) delegated the implementing of his plans to men of his choice. Selected first and foremost for efficiency and loyalty, and (as a matter of priority) not from any of the great Roman families who sullenly resented the upstart from Tauresium, they made a formidable team. With a view to consolidating his power, Justinian intended these to be long-term or even permanent appointments (depending of course on performance), thus breaking with the age-old tradition of very short tenures of office. Among several generals (one of whom, Sittas, was honoured by being allowed to marry Comito, Theodora’s elder sister), pre-eminent were two very different men: Belisarius, a dashing young cavalry officer and a veteran (at twenty-one!) of a campaign against the Persians; and a much older man, Narses, a eunuch from Persian Armenia. Slight and frail-looking, a Monophysite — hence attracting Theodora’s support, Narses (belying popular beliefs regarding eunuchs) was extremely courageous, honourable, and energetic. With a view to implementing his long-cherished plan of reforming Roman Law, Justinian selected one Tribonian, a lawyer supremely gifted as an organizer and collator. And to carry out his building schemes, he was to choose the brilliant engineer and architect, Anthemius of Tralles. Finally, to streamline and reform the civil service, he appointed one who had already impressed him under Justin — John the Cappadocian.
With the Blues behind him to ‘discourage’ any who might challenge his authority, Justinian now felt himself the undisputed master of the realm he had inherited. But, unwittingly, in making one of his appointments, he had sown the seed of something that would shake his grip on power and almost bring about his downfall.
* Procopius is here referring to ex-prostitutes rehabilitated in the Convent of Repentance, following the ban against brothel-keepers..
* Tenant farmers/peasants.
* A brilliant orator and rhetorician, Isocrates, 436–338 BC, devoted his talents to producing written models on how to win legal cases. (See Notes.)
* Which he duly did — ‘in spades’, as they say. (See Notes.)
** On 1 August 527.
TEN
Cappadocians are always bad, worse in office, worst where money is concerned,
and worse than worst when set up in a grand official chariot
Popular saying (quoted against John the Cappadocian), fifth or sixth century
With confidence renewed, and buoyed up by the support of a loyal and devoted helpmeet, Justinian contemplated with relish the prospect of carrying out his Grand Plan — the reconquest of the Western Empire, and the establishment of religious uniformity throughout his realm.
There were other projects, almost as exciting but perhaps less pressing: the reform of Roman Law; an accommodation with the Monophysites, whose erroneous views were based on a simple misunderstanding, which could surely be resolved in synod by reasoned argument; the amelioration of women’s legal status in general, and that of prostitutes in particular (both of these causes dear to Theodora’s heart); an ambitious building programme which would truly reflect the glory of what Justinian intended would prove a glittering new chapter in the history of Rome; diplomatic missions to the Persians and the barbarians beyond the frontiers, in order to ensure peace — an essential precondition for the implementing of his cherished Plan.
For all these projects (especially the reconquest of the West) to become reality, one thing above all was essential — cash. Unfortunately, the surplus built up in the Treasury during the reign of the careful Anastasius had become exhausted under Justin, thanks largely to frequent lapses of the truce with Persia. This had caused fortifications on a massive scale to be erected along the eastern frontier — in particular the building of a colossal (and colossally expensive) fortress at Dara in Mesopotamia. However, Justinian had every faith that his newly appointed praetorian prefect, John of Cappadocia, could be depended on to provide a solution. .
‘Never fear, Serenity, I’ll get you all the cash you need,’ declared the prefect to the emperor, ensconced within the latter’s private study in the palace. ‘The Empire’s wealthy, just needs squeezing in the right places to give you what you want — like an actress from the Hippodrome.’ He chuckled, and tapped the side of his nose. ‘For starters, the civil service is top-heavy with jobsworths holding down sinecures, or operating private rackets and fiddles. Plenty of dead wood there we can clear out, and ma
lpractices we can put a stop to. Then there’s the privileged classes — the big landowners, and the wealthy merchants and traders. In the past, they’ve got away with evading taxes by knowing just how to fiddle the books. Consequently, it’s always been the peasants and the urban poor who’ve had to shoulder an unfair proportion of the tax burden. Time we put an end to that, wouldn’t you say, Serenity? Unlike prefects in the past, I’m not afraid to take on the toffs. In fact I’ll enjoy it — squeeze ’em till the pips squeak. I’m guessing you won’t mind too much either, Serenity.’ And he gave a conspiratorial wink.
What the prefect was saying, Justinian knew, was that both of them, as parvenus looked down on by their social superiors, would relish any opportunity to even the score. The man was taking an outrageous liberty, thought the emperor indignantly, but no doubt secure in the knowledge that he was indispensable to Justinian’s plans, felt that he could exploit his position with impunity.
‘I’ll put the points you’ve raised to the Senate and the Council,’ responded Justinian, swallowing his irritation. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll find anything to disagree with.’
‘Who the hell cares if they do?’ chuckled the other. He belched, eased his gross bulk on its stool, and scratched his bottom. ‘That’s better,’ he went on, with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Wake up, Serenity. The Senate and the Council? — redundant anachronisms, whose only purpose is to allow the aristocracy to hang on to the comforting illusion that they need to be consulted. They’ve no longer any place in the running of a modern Empire. The only power that matters is held by you, the emperor. Best you tell ’em that and end the current farce of discussions in the House.’
