B009KUWVHG EBOK

by Thornton, Stephanie

  “Justinian.” The old man held out his hand as his rheumy eyes focused on me. “Theodora.”

  I bowed as Justinian kissed his uncle’s ring. “We’ve come to offer our condolences.”

  “It was all so sudden. I keep expecting Lupicina to walk through the door and yell at me for being late for a meeting with my ministers. Or missing my bath.” The old man’s lower lip trembled. “I’m lost without her.”

  We spent the afternoon in the throne room, the movement of the patches of thin sunlight telling time as the Emperor regaled us with tales of his Empress. His voice grew younger when he recalled seeing her for the first time, and watching her win a tussle with another taverna maid for the pleasure of attending to an up-and-coming young general. It was easier to like this version of Lupicina, especially now that the glowering old version was being prepared for her imperial sarcophagus.

  Justinian called for wool blankets and a fire in the brazier as the room grew chill. He played the attentive nephew, but I still wondered if he had been the instrument of his uncle’s grief.

  Finally, the horizon swallowed the sun, and the Emperor unfolded his ancient limbs to stand. “Thank you for listening to the rambles of an old man.” He laid his hand first on my head and then on Justinian’s. “I know we haven’t all seen eye to eye lately.”

  “About that, Uncle.” Justinian pulled a tiny codex from the folds of his robe. “I hoped you might be willing to sign this, to allow me a taste of the happiness you shared all these years.”

  The Emperor squinted to make out the text inside the leather covers. “I assume this seeks to abolish the old law forbidding you from marrying an actress?”

  “You assume correctly.”

  “And if I won’t sign?”

  Justinian shrugged. “I can’t be held responsible for what the Blues do next.”

  His uncle’s lips almost disappeared, but then he looked to me. “Your betrothed doesn’t fight fair.”

  Justinian cleared his throat. “Now might also be a good time to discuss our sharing the throne, Uncle.”

  The Emperor blew a puff of air between chapped lips. “You won’t wear the purple until I’m moldering in my grave. Maybe not even then. This foolishness with the Blues—”

  “Do you really want to follow in Anastasius’ footsteps when you have the power to secure our dynasty right now?”

  “I won’t name you as my heir until I’m sure you’re the best choice to succeed me. This recent—unpleasantness—has made me doubt your capabilities as ruler. Perhaps Germanus—”

  “Germanus is a fool, and you well know it.” Justinian’s fingers thrummed against his knee. “I’m the best choice. My last impediment to the throne will be removed once Theodora and I are married.”

  I stared at Justinian.

  Without a wife, Justinian would be seen as a risk to the Senate and the people, a man who didn’t value family and without the potential for a legal heir. And as he’d said before, I’d already proven I was fertile.

  I thought the man loved me. Wanted me. Instead, I was only a means to an end. Doubt pressed into my mind and made it difficult to think. Perhaps it might be best if we weren’t allowed to marry—

  “Give it to me.” The Emperor waggled his fingers, and Justinian produced a wooden stylus and tiny bottle of ink. His uncle painstakingly scrawled four letters on the parchment. I recognized the single word from long ago. LEGI.

  I had thought to feel overjoyed at realizing I could now marry Justinian, but I felt only a heavy numbness instead. Justinian wasn’t the man I’d believed him to be this morning.

  “I’m tired.” The Emperor handed the stylus to Justinian and waved him away before beckoning to me. “Walk me to my bed, child.”

  “It would be an honor.”

  He glanced back at Justinian and pulled a sour face. “It’s unfortunate I can’t trade you for that nephew of mine.” He shuffled along beside me, a decided drag to his left foot.

  “Is your leg all right, Augustus?”

  “You may as well call me Uncle.” He harrumphed and patted my arm, his hand mottled with thick blue veins. “An old wound.”

  The smell of myrrh wafted from the chamber next to his—presumably Lupicina’s. Her state funeral would be tomorrow morning, as quickly as possible to avoid decay.

  “Augustus, may I ask how the Empress passed?”

  His eyes snapped open and looked as if they might fill again.

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t very well tell him my suspicions, but I needed to set my mind at ease about Justinian’s involvement. “I was just curious.”

  “It was at dinner. Her stomach was upset, and she was tired. Halfway through the leek soup, she vomited. Then she couldn’t breathe.” He looked up at the bed hangings but closed his eyes. “She died in my arms.”

  Such symptoms might have been from an illness. Or poison. At least she wasn’t alone when she passed. Not even Lupicina deserved to die alone.

  I dared to lay my hand on his. “I’m sure having you there was a great comfort to her.”

  Eunuchs formed a circle around Justin so he could disrobe, and then I helped the Emperor into his massive bed and tucked thick cotton sheets under his legs. A eunuch pressed a steaming mug into his hands—poppy tea from the sweet smell of it.

  “May God bless you with a restful sleep,” I said.

  “And may He bless you with many fruitful years.” The Emperor’s eyes had a hard time focusing. “I hope you know what you’re getting into with my nephew. Justinian has always been fiercely loyal to those he loves, at least until he feels betrayed.”

  Justinian had used me as a stepping-stone to the throne, and I now suspected him of murdering the aunt who’d betrayed him. It seemed I didn’t really know the man I thought to marry. Nor did I know how he’d react when he realized that I, too, had betrayed him.

  “A man must be forgiving,” the Emperor continued, “especially to those he loves. I wish he’d found it in him to forgive his aunt before she—” Justin choked, and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye.

  I dared touch the Emperor’s cheek. “You should rest. The Empress wouldn’t want you to mourn her passing.”

  Justin gave a wry chuckle. “Of course she would. Lupicina was nothing if not vain.” Slaves released the silk bed curtains and doffed most of the oil lamps. Justin heaved a deep sigh and settled into his pillows. “Think about what I’ve said, Theodora. Great things may await you with Justinian. But so might great heartache.”

  Perhaps I should heed Justin’s warning, before it was too late.

  Chapter 21

  Justinian didn’t waste any time making good on his uncle’s word—he planned to marry after the winter solstice, only a few weeks away. Our palace was overrun by day with milliners, bakers, and jewelers. I briefly toyed with the idea of taking his uncle’s advice, of getting out with my heart mostly intact, to take the road to safety for the first time in my life.

  But Justinian continued to dote on me, not to mention Tasia. Not only that, but I wanted to one day see my face on the bronze weights in the market, to feel the purple chalmys draped over my shoulders. I wanted to be Empress.

  Then, one night Justinian didn’t come to me.

  I was alone in my apartments, the Gospels that Severus had given me forgotten in my lap as I dozed at my window. There was a terrible crick in my neck, and my oil lamp had burned out; yet a faint yellow glow bled from Justinian’s window into the dark night.

  I padded to the door between our chambers and listened. There was silence, and then I heard Justinian. And another voice. I’d learned my lesson from Hecebolus and could tolerate much from Justinian until I wore his wedding belt around my waist. Yet the thought of him with someone else gave me the urge to throw something terribly expensive. I promised myself not to light another bed on fire—that hadn’t worked in my favor last time.

  I pushed the door open, prepared for the worst. Justinian sat in his bed, unshaven and bare-chested with Narses and
a bearded man in black robes at his side. None of the men looked happy to see me.

  “Darling,” Justinian said, “what are you still doing up?”

  “I might ask you the same thing.”

  Narses gave me a minute shake of his head, then passed a finger before his lips in a gesture for my silence. “I’ll help Theodora back to her rooms.”

  “It’s all right,” Justinian said. “She can stay. You should get some sleep, Narses. It’s been a long night.”

  “I’m happy to stay until you no longer require my assistance,” Narses said.

  Justinian smiled. “I no longer require your assistance. Get some sleep.”

  Narses looked about to protest, then clamped his lips shut and bowed to Justinian. He paused as he swept past me. “Be nice,” he growled.

  “I’m always nice,” I hissed.

  He rolled his eyes and quietly shut the door.

  “Saint Samson was seeing to my humors,” Justinian told me. “It seems I have an imbalance of blood and yellow bile.”

  This I hadn’t expected. I’d heard of Samson, Constantinople’s legendary healer, but the fact that he’d been called for Justinian was more troubling than reassuring. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  He shrugged. “One of my few faults.”

  The saint tucked his wooly brown beard over his shoulder and packed up his trunk, but he paused to murmur to Justinian. I strained my ears and caught the words “blood in the seed.”

  The door closed, but the antiseptic scent of thyme and burdock remained. I perched next to Justinian on the bed. Even in this light he looked pale under the stubble on his jaw, his eyes glassy with fever. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’ll be fine with the help of Saint Samson’s herbs. Although I’m only allowed to eat chickpeas, dates, and pine kernels for the next two days.” He grimaced and managed a weak smile, but then his face cracked and he sighed. “There’s something else, Theodora.”

  I waited, trying not to wring my hands. I sat on them.

  “My uncle had this same illness before he met Lupicina,” Justinian said. “And I had it as a boy.”

  I stared at him blankly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Justinian sighed and shifted in his bed. “As we all know, my aunt and uncle’s union never bore fruit.” He ran his hands through his hair, mussing the dark curls so they stuck out in all directions. The corner of his mouth quirked. “I was no saint before you, Theodora. There weren’t many women, but there were enough.”

  Suddenly I understood and found myself desperately wishing I didn’t. “But no children,” I said.

  “But no children. Samson claims it’s a common pattern he’s noticed with this illness.”

  “He told you that?”

  “He told Narses,” Justinian said. “Narses told me.”

  He covered my hands with his, his bronzed from the sun and stained with ink, mine pale as a summer flower and weighted down with his gold ring. “The fact of the matter, Theodora, is that I may never be able to give you a child.”

  The world grew dark, but I managed not to let terror overtake me. What use could Justinian have for me if not to conceive his heir?

  “Can you still—” I withdrew my hands and made a little motion.

  He gave a wry chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be chasing you around the bedchamber when you’re seventy.”

  I laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Then it doesn’t matter.”

  He sobered. “It matters to me.”

  Of course it did—he had to have an heir. The Sacred Palace contained a special room decorated in porphyry and hung with purple silk reserved specifically for imperial births. I wanted children born in the purple. “Is there any chance at all?”

  His face clouded over. “I suppose it’s possible.”

  But not likely. I almost wished he hadn’t told me.

  “Are you sure you still wish to marry me if—”

  He grunted and tucked me into his arms, smelling of an herb garden. “You foolish little imp. What do I have to do to convince you that I love you?” He kissed my hair and tipped my chin up so I had to look at him. “Perhaps this is God’s way of telling us the world is ill-prepared for the offspring from the likes of us.”

  I chuckled, although the sound came out strangled. “There might be something I can do to help.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “There are ways to prevent pregnancies—I’m sure there are ways to encourage your seed to take root.”

  “Ways?”

  “Herbs, potions.” I said the last word slowly. Justinian had publicly condemned the black arts as consul, but I suspected he might be willing to indulge in them privately if it gave him a chance at a son. I smiled. “And, of course, different positions.”

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned so the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I like the sound of that last one.”

  “I thought you might.” My tongue teased his in a long kiss. “Care to try one right now?”

  He groaned, then winced. “I want to, I do, but—”

  I pulled back. “When you’re ready.”

  He crushed me to him. “God, but I love you, Theodora.”

  I still wasn’t sure I believed him, but for this man, I was willing to take the chance. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

  “And I love you.”

  …

  I took the fertility tinctures Narses procured for me in the market—evening primrose and flaxseed oil, rabbit blood and goose fat. At first they made me gag, but I learned to hold my breath and gulp them down. More enjoyable were the variety of ways Justinian found to make love to me—each more creative than the next.

  As a final effort, I traveled across the Bosphorus to visit a different saint in the hopes he might bless my womb. Saint Alypius was an ancient ascetic who had stood the past thirty years atop a lonely column, exposed to the elements amid the ruins of an old church. He was in the midst of prayers as I approached, arms outstretched like a cross of flesh and blood as the wind whipped the long white banners of his hair and beard. Behind him, the Bosphorus shone through a row of bleached and broken columns. Pilgrims claimed the sweet smell of paradise wafted from the saint, but the scent reminded me more of years of accumulated filth.

  My attendants stood in the shade of a laurel tree as I waited for Alypius to finish his prayers, the wind and sun beating upon me. His voice was startling, smooth and rich with the cadence of youth: “Women are not allowed to approach the pillar. If we are worthy, we shall meet in the life to come.”

  Alypius had forbidden his own mother to visit him—the poor woman had died without seeing her son for almost three decades. I wasn’t about to be repulsed by a monk in need of a bath. “I come to beg your help.”

  “Let me guess—you’ve come to beg Alypius to bless your womb.” He eyed me as if I were vermin.

  “Consul Justinian needs an heir.”

  A boy with scabbed knees and a wooden pail of frothy goat milk scampered up Alypius’ pillar, presenting the ascetic with the milk and a piece of flat bread retrieved from his pocket. The little monkey clambered down, but I stopped him before he could disappear. Alypius stared down at us, crumbs falling from his mouth as a pigeon landed at his feet. “The One True God shall tend to this unworthy Empire.”

  That was all well and good, but not what I’d asked for. “It is imperative I give the consul an heir.”

  “Almighty God shall watch the Empire in victory and defeat.”

  The man was as helpful as a granite wall. “So you will not pray for us?”

  “I have not prayed for a Monophysite in all my years on this earth,” Alypius said. “I shall not endanger my soul by starting now, especially for one who sells the holy vessel of her body.”

  Anger pulsed at my temples, but I couldn’t very well rage against a saint. I could, but I doubted Justin
ian or God would look kindly upon me—they were the only two men I cared about.

  I pressed a silk pouch into the boy’s hand. “Please give this to Saint Alypius.” I’d asked Justinian for the gift before I’d left, thinking the saint might require some persuasion.

  Alypius opened the bag and stared at me, then spilled the contents into his gnarled hand and looked at me as if I’d just offered him a bag of asps. Gold coins rained upon my head. “May your gift be damned as you are!”

  I turned on my heel, walking over the tiny gold cobbles. “Keep the coins,” I called over my shoulder. “Found a monastery or the like.”

  Cursed by a holy man. Yet another item to add to my list of accomplishments.

  …

  The morning of our marriage dawned clear and cold, and I awoke to find my monthly courses upon me. Not the most auspicious sign.

  I spent the first moments of daylight writing a letter to Severus, something I hadn’t done since Justinian began courting me, telling him of my marriage and asking for his blessing. Severus was the closest thing I had to a father, and I wished he could be at my wedding today. I set aside the letter and my morose thoughts as an army of giggling slave girls entered my chambers, armed with glistening silks, glittering jewels, and jars of pomade and perfumes.