by Stella Duffy
‘Speak for yourself.’ Sophia sat up, looking every inch the child-woman temptress.
‘How well we paint ourselves is another matter,’ Antonina was not fazed, ‘but you do need to ensure you get him through the ceremony …’ She smiled now, more coyly than Theodora would have expected. ‘I did not, unlike our sisters here,’ indicating the two women on the divans, ‘have the pleasure of seeing your finest work in the theatre, or elsewhere. But I have heard the stories …’ She leaned in, away from the hungry eyes and ears of the servant. ‘Isn’t there a trick or two you learned back then? Something to make sure he’s yours now and into the future? It’s not as if the Consul has a reputation himself, it wouldn’t take much, would it, to convince him that your marriage can be more than just a strategic move? Maybe you can do some business of your own? You are, you were, after all, highly celebrated in that arena, weren’t you?’
The sister, the old friend, and the new friend were agreed. The celibacy between Theodora and Justinian must end. If she wanted to hold on to him, at least until the wedding, then she was going to have to hold him with more than just her suitability as a regal consort. A world-shattering bedding for the man who seemed to prefer paperwork to people was needed. And soon.
Theodora broached the subject the next day. Sitting with Justinian, quietly together, the two of them on her now-favourite balcony, in a room high on the southern edge of the Palace, away from the bustle of the Imperial buildings, the noise of the City behind them as they looked out to the Sea of Marmara, the eastern world turning yellow then orange then dark red as the sun set behind them. Her speech was shy at first, totally unlike the Theodora he was used to, and Justinian thought something was wrong, that he had failed in some way, behaved badly.
‘I’m sorry, is there a problem?’
‘No. No, not at all … I just, we should … maybe we should …’
Theodora shy and Justinian questioning, it was a first for both of them. Eventually he understood. Eventually, she did too.
As with so many things between Theodora and Justinian, his reaction wasn’t what she’d expected when she carefully rehearsed her words in her own rooms. Justinian was kind, and appreciative, slightly dismissive at first of her suggestion that they should, perhaps, consider spending some more time together, some more time alone together and then, once she clarified what exactly she was offering, he understood her meaning completely and agreed that she should come to his room that night. He would send his servants away. She was right, he said, it was about time.
Theodora dressed carefully, took care to choose the perfect robe that would elegantly acknowledge her past as well as emphasise her present, and her future with him. She did not want to look like a wife yet, nor could she risk reminding him too much of her previous careers. Then again, anything that smacked too much of the reformed Theodora might make it impossible for her to deliver the sexual promise that was meant to tie the quiet, serious Consul to his wedding day promises, at least for a couple of years. Theodora was used to the concept of men straying – before Hecebolus she had often been the woman they strayed to; she agreed with Comito and Sophia that it would be wise to let Justinian know exactly what he was getting with their marriage. An insurance policy of sorts. She chose a green dress to reflect the colour of her eyes, opted for simple jewellery because it would be easier to remove – and because being unadorned now would offer a striking contrast with the highly decorated woman he would meet on their wedding day. She wore soft, thin slippers, her hair was barely tied, caught up with a fine ivory needle piercing a narrow band of plain leather. When the moment came, her hair would fall just as it should, covering her naked shoulders, reaching to her nearly naked breasts. Her own hair as prop, as symbol, as image. Menander had always dismissed the girls who preferred hair-acting to the real thing. Theodora knew it could come in handy on occasion.
They sat together on the divan for a few minutes, the room cool now the sun had fully set, the cushions soft. Justinian poured her a glass of wine and she noted his lovely hands, the fine long fingers of a scholar, not the farmer he might have been, more the Emperor he could be. He passed her drink, offered her food – tiny chunks of sweet chicken in an almond-paste crust, shredded lamb ripped from the bone and wrapped in fine flatbread, a vine leaf stuffed with spiced grains, another with smoked fish, water, then more wine, then pastry dripping honey and scented with rose oil. He was attentive and she readily ate from his hand, ate what he offered, but Theodora was not thinking about the food, she was thinking about how best to place herself, how best to get this started.
She needn’t have bothered. Justinian knew exactly what he was doing when he kissed her, knew what he was doing when he held her in the places she suddenly realised she wanted to be held, knew what he was doing when a touch across her back sent a tremor into her lower belly. He knew what he was doing when he stopped her letting her hair loose and said he didn’t want her hair hiding her lovely face. In all the years that people and audiences, teachers and lovers had praised her, no one had ever told Theodora she had a lovely face. A brilliant mind certainly, a wicked sense of humour, a disgusting laugh, a skilled body, a startling malleability of both heart and frame, but now, one of his hands on her neck, the other low on her back, Justinian said she had a lovely face. And Theodora was amazed to find herself believing him, her inner cynic silenced for once, because he looked as if he really meant it – that she had a lovely face.
Then he was leaning over her and lifting her and holding her, and it was useful that she was so narrow, so small really, had always been so small, not Sophia small, but that she never quite had the height to be a real dancer, the frame to be a singer, what she did have, what she had always had, was the perfect body to do this. Her robe was removed and she could not work out how he did it, but he did, he opened the clasp holding the cloth together; the clasp she had meant to undo in two simple actions, Justinian removed in just one. He lifted her to the windowsill, there was soft night air and it was scented with a hundred different trees and the perfumes of the garden and the sea and the City, always the City, and then, close to her face, close to her mouth, to her nose, the air was scented with him. Justinian did not smell of old papers and tired scrolls and warm ink, he smelt like the man she would have him be, like the man she had no idea he could be, and then there was a reason, many reasons, for his hands working her, readying her, preparing her, and then they were fucking, not on the divan where the food was carefully laid out, not on the bed where the sheets were clean and fresh, not even against the far wall where it would be politic and careful, where it would be sensible just in case someone was outside, just in case someone could see beyond the walls to this window, but here they were fucking and rutting, laughing, both of them, in amazed joy at the union, framed in the window, lit by the candles all along the far wall, they were here together. And the part of Theodora’s mind that was still watching, the piece of her that could not believe this was her Justinian, the same man she had chatted to and sat with and whose sensible, knowledgeable, wise company she had calmly enjoyed for the past months – the part of her mind that was still above her own body, only just hovering above her own skin and bone and blood and flesh – was amazed by his strength, but more stunned by his brazen attitude, it was as if he did not care who might see them. Justinian did not care who might see them. And then there was none of Theodora floating above her own flesh, and then all of her was only her own flesh. His flesh and hers. And then he gave in. And then she gave in. Though perhaps not quite in the way the priest Thomas had intended.
‘Definitely about time.’ Justinian was smiling, they had found the bed, Theodora was staring at him. He had the grace to shrug as he said, ‘There was a woman.’
Theodora could feel her body cooling now, gentle against the soft sheet, against his warmer body, her heartbeat approaching normal, she felt the room begin to pull them apart, he the nephew of the Emperor, she the woman who had been brought in to make the perfect consort. She
didn’t want that separation, not yet; right now she wanted the joining they’d had by the window, against the wall, in this bed, wanted the union to continue, for a few minutes at least before she was dismissed, before he sent her back to her own rooms, returned to his desk and his papers. Keeping the conversation going was a way to stay close, though it separated them, highlighted their different lives, even while it gave her a reason to stay.
She questioned, he talked, she stayed.
‘Just one woman?’
‘One who really mattered. Some time ago. I hadn’t long been in the City, my uncle arranged for various tutors to take care of my education …’
She laughed, ‘Your uncle was very generous in his provision of tutors.’
‘Not like that. She was the daughter of a man who taught intellectual discourse.’
‘People teach intellectual discourse?’
‘Not well, according to my detractors.’
‘Your discourse is fine, Justinian.’
‘Yours is better.’
‘I was better trained, and certainly not in intellectual discourse. Tell me about this girl.’
‘She wasn’t a girl.’
‘No?’
‘I was fifteen, she was nearing thirty.’
‘Ah, the spinster daughter of your intellectual discourse teacher. What was wrong with her?’
‘Nothing at all. She had never wanted to marry, and I loved her, and it was impossible.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘A convent. She didn’t want any of the men her father could find for her. A teacher, he couldn’t offer much in the way of dowry anyway. When she was young it might have been possible, but she said there were no good offers … she was a strong woman.’
‘You like strong women?’
Justinian turned on his back, one arm behind his head. With the other he pulled Theodora closer. ‘I do.’ He could feel her smiling and added quietly, ‘In their place.’
‘Of course,’ she replied, neither entirely sure if the other was serious or not. There would be time to find out.
‘As she grew older it became impossible. Her father died, she had no skills, she was too old for a conventional marriage, even if she had wanted one. I had Narses find her a place. I believe she is happy.’
‘You don’t see her?’
‘It’s a convent, Theodora.’
‘So?’
‘I don’t see her. She wouldn’t see me anyway.’
‘You tried?’
‘I asked before she went in. She said if she was going to do it at all, she would do it well.’
‘Not many do.’
‘No. But she has always done what she wants, and done it wholeheartedly.’
Theodora shifted against him, toes on her left foot cramping as she did so. ‘It would seem so.’
‘How?’
‘Teaching you. Wholeheartedly.’
Justinian was puzzled, ‘Teaching me?’
‘This, sex, love-making. Your skill.’
‘Oh no, she didn’t teach me that, she taught me passion. Love, certainly, but she didn’t teach me that.’
‘Then who did?’
‘There was another girl. At home.’
‘You left Illyricum at twelve!’
‘Almost thirteen. We grow up fast in the West.’
When they laughed it was easy, when they slept it was quiet, and when the servant called to wake Justinian in the morning, Justinian did not pretend Theodora was not in his bed, but asked that washing water be brought for her too. He helped her dress, tidy her hair, fit her slippers before she walked from his rooms. He thanked her for spending the night with him. It was the first time any man had ever thanked her for sleeping with him, and it brought Theodora to tears – but only once she was safely in the privacy of her own room. Justinian might be willing to tell his secrets, and she was delighted to hear them, but Theodora needed to keep hers. She was marrying in a fortnight. Her stories, and the emerald, would be all she had left of her own. It would take more than a night of great sex and easy friendship to make her give them up.
Thirty-Four
Three years after her return to the City, fourteen months after Euphemia’s death, six months after the law allowing her marriage was passed, Theodora entered the Church of Hagia Sophia a single woman, and emerged married to the man who would in time, Justin had promised, be Emperor. She went in through the heavy front doors, past dark wood and warm stone, was lit by sunshine through windows of translucent alabaster, while candlelight refracted from gold mosaic tiles, glinting off her own jewels and the cloth of gold that Esther had made for her. She followed the procession as they had rehearsed, and then, for the first time in her life she stood – with permission – in the body of the hundred and twenty year old church. Her church, the place she had felt safest as a child, the cool marble that had given solace to her aching flesh, the chanting and praying and liturgy that had provided the background for her dreams of escape, were now the foreground of her very real wedding ceremony.
Up in the gallery the women were watching. Her mother, aware that she was no closer to this Theodora than to any of her daughter’s previous incarnations; Theodora’s much-vaunted rise in status could only increase that discomfort. Ana, amazed that this creature in gold silk could be her mother, the woman she barely remembered from her childhood, the mother she had slowly, haltingly, come to know a little more since her return, the mother who had already begun making arrangements for her own betrothal in a few years. Comito watched too, a little envious, she could not deny this marriage was the greatest thing either of them had ever achieved, but much more relieved. She would use Theodora’s rise in rank to help herself, the law change that had benefited Theodora would also be valuable to her as an ex-actress. Theodora had found a husband inside the Palace walls, there might be another man there for Comito; certainly she would be more attractive to those men now that her sister was Justinian’s wife. At twenty-six, Comito had been earning her own living, and helping to provide for their extended family, for over fifteen years. She would not relinquish the title of elder sister, but she was very happy to let Theodora take on the responsibility. The middle sister had greater rank now, let her use it for all their good.
Beside the women of the family, stood Sophia, higher than usual on a raised box. Of all those watching, her joy was possibly the purest. Sophia could never have been there in Theodora’s place, her body made it impossible, it was easy for her to feel simple joy for her friend’s good fortune. As friend rather than family, her pleasure in the day was far less complicated than that experienced by the mother or the sister beside her, and so she held Ana’s hand to make her feel safer. Sophia was sorry for the girl by her side. Theodora had done well to keep Ana out of the theatre, the girl was no performer, was shy in company, quieter still in public, but now as Justinian’s stepdaughter, they could no longer keep her in the shadows. It was time someone helped her find her voice, and if Theodora did not care to help the child, then Sophia would take it on herself. It was a while since she’d had a special project, and Ana would definitely be a challenge.
There was a brief pause in the ceremony below, in the droning voice of the Patriarch Epiphanius, and, infinitely briefly, Theodora looked up and back. It was barely a move, something Menander had taught them long ago, a way to check what was going on at the side of the stage, or the highest tier of the audience, to move without moving, look without being seen to do so. She was looking for Sophia. Their eyes met for no time at all and then Theodora was back in the perfect placing for a nearly wed woman, eyes downcast, listening, waiting, not speaking, while the man she was marrying and the priests made the statements necessary on her behalf.
The presence of her women made all the difference to Theodora, Sophia in particular. A month earlier, when they were planning who would be present, where they would stand, in what order of precedence and priority, Theodora had fought solidly with Narses for more than a day, and, astonishingly, had won in t
he end. She thought it was because he had finally realised, despite so many years in the institution of the Palace, that it was right the women she cared for should be there to support her. The truth was that Justinian had eventually stepped in and told Narses to agree, he was bored with the argument and there were more important things to worry about, among them Justin’s health and mutterings of Germanus’ unhappiness. Justinian was a little surprised that his wife-to-be was behaving quite so much like a traditional bride, overly concerned with position and rank and clothes, things he thought irrelevant, but he also took her point that the wedding was an important opportunity for them to show themselves to the people as a couple. Theodora believed the people would expect to see her favouring her own family and friends, that it would look odd, and unkind, if she did not. Justinian was persuaded, Narses was commanded, Theodora had her way.
So now Hypatia, Comito, Ana, Indaro and Sophia stood at the front of the gallery, even if Juliana Anicia and her old cronies, five places along, had glared from the moment they began to climb the women’s stairs, and glared still from behind hands composed in pious prayer. The women of Theodora’s family could, with her help, make themselves look just like all the other wealthy women of the City arranged around the gallery, all the women who were now craning their necks – and trying to look as if they weren’t – to get a look at the theatre slut who had taken the place they’d wanted for their own daughters or granddaughters. Her family could dress just like the women who so despised them, they could, mostly, pass as ladies; Hypatia and Comito in particular were doing a very good job of it today, but Sophia never would, and that delighted Theodora. Sophia looked beautiful in the dark red silk Esther had made for her, slippers to match, and Theodora’s gift of the pearls she now wore, tiny black pearls at her ears and throat, perfectly formed in miniature. Theodora had no doubt that same dress would be flung to the floor before the day was out, the new slippers would certainly rip on whatever uneven floor or table Sophia found herself dancing upon, but she knew, too, that the pearls would be kept safe, in case they were needed to keep Sophia safe. She had left her friend behind once before, she would not do so again.
