by Stella Duffy
‘Sir, the dinner is my idea. Yes, Antonina suggested it, but I’m sure she’s right, she knows the City wives better than I do these days. She assures me it will do you good, as well as Belisarius, of course – it will show that the two of you have a working relationship.’
‘We do.’
‘Yes, but it needs to be shown. A meal is easy, it need not be lavish, we can keep it simple.’
‘And brief?’
‘If you like. But it is a statement, and the message will get out.’
‘What message is that, Theodora?’
There was a pause. A moment for the gulls to scream outside, for the sounds of the City to drift in over the wall, for Theodora to note the hurrying of feet down a distant corridor, to catch a brief scent of sweet spices, perhaps from the Palace kitchens, where cakes were being prepared for Euphemia’s ladies. Justinian was waiting for an answer and she needed to pick her words well. She liked this job, loved having her own rooms in the Palace, but there was no need for Justinian to keep her if she had nothing to do and, mindful also of Timothy’s desire for her to stay put, Theodora didn’t want to screw it up. She knew as well as Justinian that while the Emperor himself often spoke of his nephew following him in the purple, it could be dangerous for anyone else to suggest the possibility.
‘The message that you can converse with anyone, sir.’ She smiled, the distant feet came closer, ran past the door and away, quieter again. ‘That you can tear yourself from your books every now and then to dine with friends, just as the ordinary people do.’
‘I’m a farmer’s son from Illyricum, what could be more ordinary?’
‘And it doesn’t hurt to show that the stars of our military find it easy to trust the farmer’s son who has become a man of books and letters.’
Justinian shook his head, giving in. ‘A simple meal, Theodora. And keep Antonina at the other end of the table. You and she might want to pass on all the comings and goings of the Palace to the eminent wives of the City. I’d rather everyone didn’t know that I prefer meat to fish.’
‘It’s the abundance, sir. Proximity to the water. The fish are so easily caught, and fresh, our chefs get lazy. I’ll make sure there is flesh on the menu.’
Theodora bowed, and left the room smiling. Even a small dinner needed a couple of weeks to plan properly. She was staying for now.
Justinian watched the door close behind her, waiting for his servants, idly dropping a heavy glass paperweight from one hand to the other. The weight was locally made, stamped with a bust of his uncle, the dark green of the laurel in late summer, he liked its smoothed edges, ran his thumb over the Imperial inscription. He would order a pile of papers to be brought from the library, there were several old folios he was keen to read. He liked the outlook of this room, not over the gardens or down to the water, but close to the wall; the noise and scents from the City assured him that the Palace wasn’t entirely cut off from the people. He also liked that Theodora had been sitting here with him all morning, would come back later with plans and ideas, returning with the street passion she could not contain no matter how hard she tried – and he did enjoy watching her try. Justinian didn’t want Theodora to leave the Palace any more than she did, there was something about her, a zeal he’d missed since he’d been under his uncle’s protection, she was much more like the assertive women he’d grown up with back home in his town of Tauresium than the tamer delights he’d been offered since he’d come to the Palace.
He asked a servant to bring him the folios he required, and to send Narses to him later in the day: there were disturbing reports from his spies among the Goths in Italy, and Narses would be able to advise him so he would be fully informed when he presented the matter to his uncle. There was also an annoying Green leader in the east of the City who, a more local source reported, had been suggesting a little too forcefully that Germanus, not Justinian, might make a better successor to the purple one day. Narses could help him deal with that problem too.
Thirty
The silver platters were cleared, wine goblets removed, cushions stacked in the store room, wooden mixing bowls and copper pans washed and piled in cool dark cupboards, in careful rows. In the corner of a side galley, off the main kitchen, a young man from Damascus and a girl from Bithynia were kissing among the leftovers, their kitchen duties finally completed, they had crept into the little room to pick over an unfinished leg of mutton, sticky with cinnamon and wine, sweet with slow roasting on a low fire. The carcass finished, they found their hands touching, the slip of animal grease, the rich stink of roasted meat, a sliver of succulent marrow still to be sucked from the bone, and their mouths moved from the famine of food to the feasting of flesh.
There was no such pleasure upstairs in Justinian’s study.
‘She’s an ill-bred slave.’
‘I hardly think it’s your place to criticise the upbringing of the Emperor’s wife.’
Theodora would not be swayed. ‘She wasn’t invited.’
‘She didn’t need to be invited, this is her home.’
‘And yours.’
‘Yes, but I am here at the sufferance of my uncle – and my aunt.’
‘Not so. Justin needs you. He knows how old he is, and he knows what they all say about her, they both do.’
Justinian’s eyes could not have been wider. ‘And what do you think they all say about you, Theodora?’
‘I don’t care what they say about me. That’s the point. I have never – unlike the Empress – pretended to be anything but what I am. I know what I am, what I have been, and so does everyone else. She, though, she behaves like she was born into this life, when she started out as his concubine.’
‘And became his wife. That isn’t unusual.’
‘Yes, I know it’s normal, but I tell you, the next time she dares to look down on me or Antonina or any other woman I know – “dancing girls” for fuck’s sake – she’ll get a mouthful from me.’
‘Because that would show her how well-bred you are?’
‘Because that would show her what I think about women like her. Euphemia never worked a day in her life.’
Justinian’s voice was quiet. ‘The Empress was born into slavery.’
‘Fine, a day in her adult life – maybe she worked as child, but now she takes her name from him, her role from him, everything from him.’
‘As do all women, I don’t know what your problem is. Yes, my aunt can be abrasive, but she does have position, she has status. The role deserves recognition, if not the person occupying it. Don’t you have respect for her place?’
Theodora shook her head, she wanted to scream in fury, instead lowered her voice still further, ‘Most women I know have been working since we were girls, earning our own way, taking care of ourselves. Those wives of the great and the good, daughters of the great and the good, they do nothing but lie in the bed of their husbands – their masters – and treat providing an heir as if it were their vocation. Then they dare to look down on me, when I’ve worked my entire life, made my penance, done it all on my own – how can I not be angry? That woman is no better than me. At least I gave up work as a whore.’
There was silence. Theodora stood, waiting for the thunderbolt of Justinian’s anger, for the doors to fly open, guards to grab her, a hand to stifle the breath in her throat. She wanted to stifle the breath in her own throat. It was too late, though. As always, she’d said too much, too loud. Too late her teeth clamped shut, her jaw set, she could not have spoken now if Justinian had begged her to. He didn’t.
Justinian turned away, speaking quietly. ‘I think you should leave.’
Theodora didn’t wait for a second command. She bowed and left the room.
Less than an hour later her old bag was packed and she was again wearing a simple dark shift; the soft, clean clothes she had acquired since she’d come to the Palace were neatly folded in a small pile at the end of her bed, the red slippers she’d worn in the quiet corridors were by the door and her own dust
y sandals were back on her feet, one ankle tie looking as if it would snap within the week, she’d have to be careful as she walked away. The emerald, her sole possession of value, was strapped back in place beneath her breast, strapped a little too tightly, digging into her ribs, no doubt marking her skin. If this was the least punishment Theodora earned she thought she would be lucky.
It was late, only a few servants were awake at this time of night, some to attend on Justinian who slept so little, and lightly when he did, a few others to stay alert in case the Emperor or Empress needed them, a couple to make sure the fires were kept stoked through the night for the early baking that would begin soon enough. It was time to go.
Theodora was grateful that no one had yet arrived to throw her out, that she’d been allowed time to gather her things, time to work out a plan. She would go immediately to Comito, ask for money and clothes, and then down to the docks to see who could take her with them. If she were not stopped on her way, if the silence that came from Justinian’s rooms meant he intended to let her escape punishment, then she might get away from Constantinople by midday. She would return to Antioch perhaps, or Alexandria even, if there was a ship going so far, she could beg Timothy’s forgiveness, ask to be taken in, give herself over to a nunnery, to prayer and peace and the blessed silence of once and for all shutting her treacherous mouth. There wasn’t time now for self-accusation, but Theodora was well past the accusing stage anyway. She had tried and judged herself the minute the damning words were said. Not that she didn’t believe them, just that she didn’t believe she’d been so stupid as to say them. She didn’t deserve Timothy’s trust or Justinian’s work – she wouldn’t have employed a chorus girl who didn’t know when to shut her mouth and, more than anything, she hated the fact that all those years since Menander last told her that her mouth would get her hanged she still hadn’t learned when to shut up.
When Narses walked into her room, without knocking, it was as though she had conjured up her dead teacher’s presence – even more so when the living lover of the dead eunuch slapped her across the face. Clearly not trusting himself to say anything beyond the absolute minimum, Narses dragged her out of the room with him, spitting, ‘Justinian wants you. Now.’
He stopped as they turned the corner to the covered pathway leading to Justinian’s rooms: evidently she was going on alone. It was still before dawn, she could hear market traders setting up their stalls in the street beyond the walls; they were the fruit and vegetable and flower sellers, many of whom had harvested their goods yesterday and travelled all night to bring them into the City. In an hour or so the meats would arrive, live chickens ready to kill at home, fresh carcasses of sheep and goats and even cows, slaughtered and bled, hung for inspection by calculating housewives and tougher household servants. Down at the harbour the fishing boats were long gone, out on the last of the night tide, ready to make their day’s first catch with the breaking sun. Theodora felt as if everyone was beginning a new day but her. Her day was still firmly stuck in the consequences of last night. She really should have packed sooner, run faster. Now it was too late. Another lesson to learn. Theodora was sick of learning lessons.
A servant let her into Justinian’s study, backed out and left them alone. Justinian’s desk was piled even higher with papers than usual, there were half-rolled scrolls everywhere, slivers of paper marking places in larger piles squashed between folios that were larger still, threatening to topple any moment.
Theodora took four steps to the centre of the small room, put down her bag, and immediately prostrated herself. Even now it was killing her pride to do so, but whether Justinian had asked her here to give her a last chance, or called her to gloat over whatever punishment he had in store, either way, it was worth a try. She lay on the floor for a moment, and then another, then more, waiting for a reaction. When it came, the reaction was not what she’d expected.
Justinian’s voice was quiet and softer than she’d heard before, exasperated and almost laughing. ‘Get up, you stupid girl.’
Theodora looked up. He gestured, she stood, slowly
Justinian was smiling, grinning. She hadn’t seen him smile like this before, wide and open. He sighed, shook his head, lifted his hands and then let them fall again to his lap. Opened and closed his mouth. She didn’t understand the look on his face, it didn’t make sense. It was in the wrong place, on the wrong face, at the wrong time. He looked as if he were pleased to see her.
‘Sir?’
Theodora had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, it didn’t feel as if she was about to discover the truth of those stories Menander always used to frighten them with as little girls, stories about the Palace dungeons and secret torture chambers, and the long passageways deep underground with steps leading only down, where the tide came in to slowly drown badly behaved little girls.
Justinian waved his hand over the papers on his desk, still grinning. ‘I’ve been working.’
She waited.
‘And I think I’ve worked it out.’
‘Worked what out … sir?’
‘How we can fix it.’
The day was brighter now, reflecting white off the old stone walls opposite, a man in the market was shouting at his son to get the damn oranges out, the housewives would be arriving soon. The room smelt of dry parchment, and Justinian. It smelt of the sweat of a man who had been thinking hard for many hours.
‘Fix what?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Theodora, don’t be so dense. You. Me. I want to marry you.’
She looked from Justinian to the gardeners below. They were cutting back miniature lemon trees. She was listening and not understanding.
Justinian was speaking. ‘Which would be fine if you weren’t – as Euphemia so aptly put it and managed to upset you so much, when after all, she was only speaking the truth – well, if you weren’t one of those brothel girls, but you are. An actress. Your father’s daughter. Bear-keeper, wasn’t he?’
Theodora was five, wearing white, flowers in her hair, standing in the Hippodrome begging the Greens to take them on, rejected. She nodded.
He nodded back. ‘Yes, right, and so I can’t marry you, not yet, according to the law, because of the theatre, you having worked in the theatre. But look, I think we can fix it. We’ve been talking for a while now – I have, with some of the advisers – about a few legal changes, things I’d like to do, if … when … you know,’ he waved his hand again, the impossibility of mentioning the possibility of purple. ‘Anyway, there’s a lot to do, but this would be a start. It’s a small law change really, it wouldn’t affect all that many people, and it looks generous, kind. The people like a kind law, I think? We can see how they take it, if there’s not too much fuss, then it’s a good tester, you see? I can move on with bigger things later. Of course, if they’re not happy, we’ll just sit tight for a bit, keep quiet. You can do that, do you think? Keep quiet?’
Theodora nodded.
‘Yes. Narses says you can. He seems to think you can do anything you set your mind to. Very fond of you, Narses is.’
‘Odd way of showing it.’ Theodora’s hand went to her cheek as she found her voice. ‘Sir, I know you understand the law better than I, but we can’t – I can’t marry, it’s illegal.’
‘Yes, it is at the moment. You’ll be my case in point. I’ll change the law for you.’
Theodora didn’t answer, looking at Justinian as if he were mad. Perhaps he was. Perhaps that’s why he barely slept and spent night after night with his books instead. Perhaps he really was the farmer’s son from God knows where with too many ideas and plans above his station that his cousin believed him to be, a words and ideas man, no action beyond the inane, the insane.
Only mildly disturbed by her lack of response – even in his fervour he did realise this must all come as a bit of a shock – Justinian explained, ‘I have been looking into it for a while.’ And then, when she still looked confused, he tried another tack, ‘Timothy thinks it’s a good
idea.’
‘The Patriarch?’
‘Of Alexandria, yes. Haven’t mentioned it to the Constantinople one, not yet. Or Rome, well, who knows what’s going on over there. Anyway, Timothy thinks it’ll help.’
‘Help what?’
Justinian explained. That Theodora’s coming to the Palace was Timothy’s idea – as she knew. What she hadn’t known was that Justinian had always known she was there as Timothy’s agent and advocate. Did Theodora really think Narses would have agreed to anything without getting Justinian’s permission first? Narses had been playing the Patriarch as much as the Patriarch thought he was playing Justinian. The threat of schism was quite evident to all of them, and Justinian agreed it was a good idea to stop a split in its tracks. One Church, one Empire, one people – admittedly, not necessarily in that order. He understood it was impossible to change the mind of either the Church or the faithful simply by force of will. And, whatever Timothy’s take on Chalcedon, the man was still a churchman of great power, great influence, it had been useful to let his group think they had the upper hand. More recently, once Justinian had realised how useful Theodora might be – and that he enjoyed her company, of course – there had been an exchange of letters, a coming clean all round. Timothy would be delighted with this marriage idea: if they could force it, he might even shut up some of his complaining about the treatment of his followers.
‘Right. So the Patriarch sent me to befriend you, and you already knew that was his plan, and you’ve been keeping me around to keep him happy, and now you want to marry me because that will make a liaison between both sides?’
‘On the divinity question, yes,’ Justinian agreed. ‘Naturally we can’t be seen to be condoning their beliefs outright. On the other hand, if they feel we are privately finding a way … well then, all might be well. We really do have enough to worry about with the Goths in the west without taking on the Church in the east too.’
