by S. C. Daiko
Hilda has set out my favourite breakfast: honey cakes, peaches and warm goats’ milk. I eat my fill, send her to the kitchens with my leftovers and go to my room, my heart thudding.
What to take? Only the clothes I brought with me, of course. I reach into the chest at the foot of the bed and lift out my old dresses.
‘What are you doing?’
I practically jump out of my skin. ‘Justinian! I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘What are you doing?’ he repeats, his voice stern.
‘Packing.’
‘Might I ask why?’
‘I can’t stay here.’ I shake my head. ‘That poor old man. He’s desolate. How could you do that to him? Your own uncle?’
‘What on earth are you taking about?’
‘You know full well. Haven’t you told me you always get what you want? Euphemia’s death is just too, too convenient to be an accident.’
He sits down heavily on the bed. ‘You cannot think this of me, Theodora. You’re accusing me of murder. I thought you loved me, trusted me.’ The corners of his mouth drag down.
‘I did. I do.’ My chest tightens and I swallow, hard.
‘My darling,’ he caresses my cheek, and I catch the pain in his eyes, ‘I swear to you that I had nothing to do with my aunt’s death.’
I gulp and wrap my arms around myself. A flush creeps up my neck. My tears are flowing freely now. This man, this wonderful man means the world to me. I thought I could trust him. But can I really do that? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know…
Justinian tilts my chin. ‘I’ll leave you to recover your composure, Theodora. You’re tired after being up half the night. Try and get some sleep. I’ll be back to check on you momentarily.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have a state funeral to arrange.’
‘Oh. Right.’
I watch him stride out of the room, his broad shoulders firmly set. Part of me wants to rush up to him and throw my arms around him. But I stay where I am, unsure of myself.
***
Hilda announces the arrival of Narses. I’ve stretched out on my bed and I’m crying: it’s as if a floodgate has opened and I can’t stop the rivers of tears. I look up at him, bleary-eyed.
Narses folds his arms. ‘Pull yourself together, Theodora. You’re behaving like a child.’
His tone reminds me of my old dance-master, Menander. I sit up.
‘Oh, Narses, I’m so confused.’
‘I do understand,’ he says in a softer voice. ‘It’s all so new to you, this life.’
‘I’m not sure I like it anymore. How can I possibly adapt?’
‘You’ll need to. And fast. There are rumours it was you who arranged the death of the Empress.’
My tummy squeezes and a bitter taste fills my throat. ‘Oh my God! Who would say such a thing?’
‘Kyria, the Palace is a small and intense world of its own. As time goes by and as your status rises, you’ll find it does you no harm to have people afraid of you.’
‘You mean you won’t staunch the rumours? I had nothing whatsoever to do with Euphemia’s death.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’
I clutch at my hands. ‘Was Justinian behind it?’
‘No. I know for a fact it wasn’t him.’
Oh, such a blessed relief. ‘Then who…?’
‘Theodora, this is not about you. And it isn’t about Justinian, either. It’s about the Empire. And that’s all I shall say on the matter.’
I nod, comprehension dawning. The eunuch serves the Empire, doesn’t he? And the Empire needs a strong Emperor. How well does Justinian know Narses? I wish I didn’t know him so well myself…
***
‘I don’t want to lose you, Theodora.’ Justinian kisses my forehead as we stand facing each other in my room, and the touch of his lips on my skin sends tingles through my body.
He’s holding me close. I breathe in his heavenly scent and my heartrate quickens. ‘Do you think Narses had something to do with your aunt’s death?’
‘Theo, you shock me. As far as I’m concerned, Euphemia died of natural causes. And, until it is proven otherwise, it’s what I shall always believe. Can’t you find it within yourself to believe that too?’
I look into his eyes and shake my head. Is he being deliberately obtuse? ‘I’m not sure.’
‘My darling, there’s much you have to learn. Absolute power is not something that comes without cost. But ultimately, if it leads to the greater good of the people, their security and wellbeing, then all personal sacrifice on our part is worthwhile.’
‘Is it?’
‘You know that it is.’
‘I suppose so. I just wish this world wasn’t so cruel.’
‘These are brutal times, my love. The barbarians are snapping at our heels.’
‘That’s what it all boils down to, then? A strong arm at the helm of the Empire to keep invaders at bay?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I know you’ll revive the Empire’s greatness, Justinian. I know you’re the man for the job. And I want to be by your side. I really do. But please, no more sudden deaths at Court. I require you to keep the old man safe. For, I swear to you, if the Emperor should suddenly expire then you won’t see me for the dust of my departure.’
‘And you’ll stay if I make this promise?’
‘I will.’
‘Then you have my word, Theo.’
‘Thank you.’ I put my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. ‘And also, I ask that you leave it to me to convince Justin to change the marriage law. A woman’s persuasive skills can be more effective sometimes than a man’s sword.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know so.’ I take his mouth in a deep, heart-binding kiss. ‘I love you, Justinian.’
‘Never stop telling me that, Theodora.’ His hands find their way around my waist, and he kisses the hollow of my throat. Deliciously warm tingles spread through me. ‘I love you more than this life, beyond this life, and into the next,’ he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. He reaches down and pulls off his undergarment, then works at the knot of mine while he kisses me, his tongue thrusting between my lips and his huge erection hard against my stomach.
My thighs are wet I want him so. He tears his mouth from mine, and I take a loud, gasping breath. ‘Oh, Justinian.’
He takes my hand in his and moves it down to his hardness. I curl my fingers around his shaft, a heavy throbbing between my legs. He lifts my tunic and, still kissing me, fingers my quim. My cunny muscles clench around him. ‘Please, Justinian. Please!’
‘For you, Theo. Everything for you.’ He rubs the head of his prick against my clit. My hips jerk once, twice. And he’s thrusting into me, impaling me on his shaft and, holding me under my arms, he manoeuvres me up against the wall. My sheath is filled with his wonderful cock. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I let out a deep moan and wrap my legs around him, pulling him into me.
‘Feel me, Theodora! Feel me! Feel my love for you!’
‘I do, Justinian. I do feel you. I do.’ Deep inside me, the pressure builds. His hands, around my buttocks now, tighten as he pushes up into me. I writhe against him, my quim sucking hungrily. Such joy! My body is opening for him, taking him in, all of him. And then I’m cresting, a torrential wash of juice gushes out of me.
He groans and pumps his hips, thrusting faster and faster. His cock lifts me. My fingers twist in the hair at his nape. With a deep groan his hot seed spurts into me in shuddering spasms. ‘God, how I love you, Theo. God, how I love you.’
‘I love you too, Justinian. I love you so, so much.’
I slide down his body, breathing him in. From now onwards, my life will be on a fixed course. Daughter of a bear tamer, formerly actress and acrobat of the Kynêgion, famed for a goose pecking her quim, a courtesan who gave her body to many, abused by Hecebolus, sometime “insatiable whore”, I will stand by the side of the next Emperor. He will be Thrice Au
gust, and I will be Augusta. Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord my God. For this is His will. And I have submitted to it.
***
Justinian is waiting for Theodora at the altar, shrouded in the flickering light of hundreds of tiny oil lamps, dressed in a black tunic woven with gold and silver thread. Their marriage is taking place quietly, as the Palace is still in mourning for the Empress.
Standing next to him, dressed in cloth of gold, a glimmering veil around her face, Theo looks so, so beautiful. Her head is bowed as she prays. Theodora’s beliefs are strong and he’ll respect them. Of course he will. And he’ll turn a blind eye to her helping members of her Church. All in return for her love and her wonderful, wonderful submission.
He squeezes her hand as Patriarch Epiphanios recites from 1 Corinthians 13 in Greek.
Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; love does not behave rudely,
does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil;
love does not rejoice in iniquity,
but rejoices in the truth;
love bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.
Love never fails. His love won’t fail Theodora. And hers won’t fail him. She’s done so much to help him already. After Euphemia’s state funeral, through which Justin moved in a daze, limping from his old battle wound, reduced by shock and sorrow to a bewildered old man, she’s spent every afternoon with him, reading to him, talking to him. At times, Justin has thought Theo was Euphemia, and Theo has let him think so. He’s harmless enough, she said. And it’s true, the old man hasn’t got the strength to lift a finger and try and seduce her.
Justinian retrieves two thick gold rings from his pocket. Each is stamped with figures of saints, but Justinian’s name flashes on the inside of Theodora’s before he slips it on her finger. A quick glance reveals her insignia on the inside of his ring as well. She will wear his name and he hers until one of them is called to God.
The new law, passed by the Emperor in a moment of clarity, will benefit society in general. Retired actresses, suitably contrite, can now make good marriages rather than becoming nuns or a burden on the state if they didn’t have a calling or aptitude for the religious life. Justinian knows it’s thanks to Theo that the Emperor changed his mind. And he’s praised her for it. It wouldn’t have happened if Euphemia had still been alive, however. He won’t think about that now. Not on the happiest day of his life…
He blinks back tears of joy. This would have been impossible only a few months ago; yet here Theodora stands, red sandals on her feet, hand clasped with his. The brush of her fingers on his hip and the love burning in her eyes sends sparks of pleasure through him. They’re husband and wife. At last.
XI
There have been thirty imperial wives since Constantine; but none has been given the purple with her husband, and only nine have gone on to become Empress with the title of Augusta. I don’t deserve such an honour, really I don’t, but Justinian has insisted. Anointed by the Patriarch, chosen by God, the Augusta is untouchable. Regardless of her sins. I feel humbled my husband wants this for me.
Too ill and senile to attend, Justin isn’t present at our coronation as associate Emperor and Empress, but the entire Senate and council stand in attendance, dressed in stiffly pressed white tunics, their hair pomaded. I do not believe Justin is long for this world, but at least he’ll die a natural death and not a violent one.
I’m standing in the shadows of the narthex, every bone in my body trembling with nerves. A table set before the altar holds seven candles, a terracotta jug of holy oil, and a plain basket of seven loaves of bread to symbolize the prosperity of Justinian’s future reign and the seven sacraments.
Patriarch Epiphanios opens his gilded codex of the Gospels and recites Psalms, ending with an entreaty to Justinian. I don’t hear a word over the blood drumming in my ears. The seven priests anoint Justinian with the sign of the cross in seven places – the backs of his hands, his palms, heart, lips, cheeks, eyes, and finally, his forehead. When they finish, Justinian kisses the priests’ hands, the Gospel, and finally the ruby-encrusted cross on the altar.
Epiphanios places the Eastern diadem on Justinian’s head and sweeps a thick purple robe over his shoulders to complete the transformation from man to Emperor. Shouts of ‘Flavius Petrus Sabbatius Justinianus Augustus’ shake the plaster from the domes, but then the nave falls silent, and the faces of hundreds of senators and patricians swivel toward the narthex. It’s my turn. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
The double lines of the Emperor’s honour guard form two walls to guide me into the nave. Justinian waits at the altar with Epiphanios, a second crown in his hands. My crown. Sweet Jesus, I can hardly believe this is happening to me. I walk slowly past Constantinople’s nobility to allow them their first glimpse of their new Augusta, and to avoid tripping over the hem of my dress with its dainty clusters of shimmering seed pearls.
‘May God Almighty bless this woman, Theodora, wife of Justinian Augustus, with benevolence and wisdom while ruling this great Empire,’ Epiphanios says. ‘May her reign be just and fruitful. Amen.’
Justinian places the crown on my head. His fingers thread through mine, and my heart thuds with love for him. Constantinople’s nobility fall before us like a wave, all heads bent in obedience. I am Empress. Augusta Theodora. There’s a breath of silence, and I catch Justinian’s smouldering gaze as we steal a moment alone while all other eyes are downcast.
The moment breaks as we step from the altar, and the crowd’s deafening cheers chase us down the middle of the Hagia Sophia and into the clean spring air. Our first official act is to distribute newly minted coins to the poor outside the church and then make an appearance at the Kathisma gallery, the Emperor’s box in the Hippodrome arena.
Justinian squeezes my hand as we step from the dark passageway into the giant amphitheatre, open to the afternoon sky and filled with one hundred thousand of our subjects. They roar at the sight of us. We make the sign of the cross over them and raise our arms for the games to begin.
***
Finally the banquet that followed the chariot races is over and we return to the Hormisdas Palace. I grab Justinian’s hand and pull him towards our bedroom. Oil lamps light the corridors where sentries stand stern-faced. Their looks of disapproval have disappeared long-since.
Hilda waits to help me disrobe, but I send her away. After all the fuss, the attention, the crowds, I want to be alone with my husband. I hop on one foot, trying to unlace one of my sandals.
‘Here, let me do that.’ Justinian steadies me, and kneels to take off both of my shoes. He licks my calves, behind my knees, and the outside of my thighs, making my juices flow. I run my fingers through his hair. ‘Please, help me to undress!’ I pull him to his feet.
He lifts off both his and my crown, unclips my earrings and rolls off my bracelets, setting them on the table in the corner. Reaching down, he pulls up my dress and lifts it over my head. I step out of my undergarment and it pools at my feet. He’s breathing fast and deep, and I catch the scent of cinnamon from his breath.
‘Disrobe now,’ I tell him. It is how things have developed between us that we often start off our lovemaking with me in charge. Justinian says he likes it that way, and I do too.
He removes his clothes and I go to stand behind him. I run my hands down his back, trailing all the way from his spine to his buttocks. His head falls forward and I rub my breasts against him. Wrapping my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, I pull his head back. ‘Don’t move!’ His arms fall to his side and he stands still.
‘Walk to the bed,’ I prod him and he steps forward. ‘To the middle and lie down on your front.’ He obeys my orders. ‘Spread your arms wide.’ I go to the table and pick up a length of soft rope, then wrap it around his wrists, weaving it around and in betw
een, leaving the ends dangling. He turns his head and watches me attentively.
I tie the loose ends to the bedposts, securing his arms. I reach around and run my thumb across his lips, and he licks it, drawing it into his mouth, making my quim throb. Lowering my head to his buttocks, I nip and suck on each one. He writhes and moans. ‘Oh God, Theo. That feels good. So fucking good.’
I reach beneath him and find his prick. He’s hard, as I knew he would be. ‘Is this for me?’ I spread the moisture that has leaked from the tip with my finger and he moans some more. ‘Oh, yes, Theo. Oh, yes. For you, everything for you, my beautiful Empress.’
I go to stand at the foot of the bed. His feet are dangling just off the end, and I spread them wide. His toned back rises and falls with each shallow breath he’s taking. I kneel between his legs, caressing his thighs with soft strokes before scraping at his flesh with my nails. His muscles tense; his breath hitches.
‘Do you want me to fuck you, husband?’
His breathing quickens.
‘Answer me! Do you want me to fuck you?’
He shakes his head from side to side and his body shudders. ‘Yes. Yes,’ he pants. ‘I want my wife to fuck me.’
I go to the table, pour olive oil into the cup of my hand, and return to kneeling between Justinian’s legs. He moans when I rub the oil into his arsehole and I stroke my fingers against his entrance. I reach under him to fondle his balls, taking a deep breath before tugging at his tight sac. My tongue is inside him now, wriggling. I swirl it round and round and he lets out a ragged moan. I spread more oil, sensuously running my fingers back and forth over his arse crack.
He bucks against my hand. ‘Oh God, Theo. Oh God!’
I push a finger inside and his muscles contract around it. Slowly, I finger-fuck him, first with one finger, and, when I sense him relaxing, with two, twisting them in and out in slow, intense movements.
He gives a shuddering groan and pushes onto my fingers as they slide into him. ‘Oh, Theo, untie me, please, I want to touch you, kiss you, eat you, fuck you … please, Theo,’ he pleads.
