B009KUWVHG EBOK

by Thornton, Stephanie

  Macedonia picked up my orange—I hadn’t realized I’d dropped it. “Is that Antonina and Belisarius’ child?” she asked.

  “Yes.” This wasn’t a dream. The boy picked up a stick and threw it to the dog, his peals of laughter sending a black crow squawking into the sky. I took a deep breath, wishing for something to hold on to. I must have stumbled, because Macedonia grabbed me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I said, thinking fast. “Perhaps the heat is getting to me.”

  She arched an eyebrow. The spring sunlight was still soft as a kiss, not yet the scorching glare of summer. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  “No chance of that.”

  “Well, you’re white as milk. Maybe you should go inside?”

  “I think I’ll sit, for a moment,” I said, unable to tear my eyes from the boy. “Perhaps you could get me a cup of barley water?”

  “Of course.” She led me to a patch of shade under an orange tree. “And maybe some sweet melon.”

  She could serve me wolfsbane and hemlock for all I cared. I just needed her to go.

  Antonina waved to Macedonia and shooed the dog away, then walked toward me with my son at her side. John’s hair curled at his temples, still damp from a recent bath, and almost entirely obscured the moon-shaped scar there. I saw myself in the point of his chin and the shape of his eyes.

  John glanced up at Antonina, and she nodded her head. He bowed, a stiff little bend that made my eyes fill.

  “Hello, John,” I said. “I’ve heard much about you.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m pleased to be introduced to Your Imperial Majesty.”

  Introduced. Imperial Majesty. My heart splintered as I thought of all the nights I’d cuddled his warm body to me in Egypt, the times he’d woken and I’d nursed him back to sleep, his little fingers curling into my breast.

  Antonina took her daughter from her godson’s arms. “I thought perhaps you might like to spend the evening with the Augusta?”

  John’s pale face and wide eyes spoke for him. My own son was terrified of me.

  “Have you seen the traveling menagerie?” I didn’t tell him he was the reason I’d plucked the beasts from their roles in the Kynêgion. “The giraffe has a penchant for raisin rolls dipped in honey. She’s positively fat. And the elephant has a giant saddle if you’d like to ride him.”

  John smiled and let me thread my arm through his. That simple touch made me want to draw him into my arms and never let go. I looked back to Antonina and mouthed my thanks as she bowed.

  The afternoon was a stolen moment of bliss I would treasure in the dark days ahead. I helped John feed carrots and turnips to the elephant and raisin bread to the giraffe, then watched him clamber onto the elephant’s gilded saddle. In only a few years he’d be a man, but for now he was still a boy. I’d missed so much of his life—I didn’t plan to miss any more.

  When he finished tromping through the orange grove, I slipped Severus’ cross from my neck as a slave helped him from the elephant. “I’d like you to have this,” I said. “A reminder that you always have a friend in me.”

  His eyes widened. “Thank you, Augusta.”

  John shared my couch at the evening meal, and I served my son myself. I had no idea a boy could eat so much grilled goat with garos sauce.

  A troupe from the capital performed Ichneutae by Sophocles, prancing about the monastery courtyard to act out baby Hermes inventing music. John’s eyes drooped partway through, his head following so I felt the warm flutter of his breath on my skin. I let him linger until the play ended and almost objected when a slave woke him and helped him stumble to the empty monk’s cell set up for Antonina’s brood.

  It had been a perfect day, but I was greedy for more. I would tell Justinian about my son when we returned to Constantinople. I’d saved his crown; he couldn’t forsake me now.

  A monk doffing the olive oil lamps pointed the way to Antonina’s room across the courtyard, one with a mosaic of the Adoration of the Magi above the door. Onions dried on the porch and an old woman lay on the pallet outside, but she scrambled to her feet at my approach.

  “Is your mistress within?”

  “She’s”—the slave avoided my eyes—“engaged at the moment.”

  “I need to speak with her.”

  The woman’s gaze skittered back and forth, but she finally rapped on the door. There was a grunt followed by Antonina’s muffled shout. “I told you I’m not to be disturbed.”

  “Kyria, the Augusta is here,” the slave said. There were curses on the other side of the olive wood door before a young man emerged, his tunica hastily pinned and black hair rumpled from sleep—or from something else.

  The tips of his ears flushed scarlet and he dropped to a bow, but not before I recognized him. Antonina had outdone herself this time, sleeping with her godson. “Get on with you, Theodosius,” I said. “And don’t let anyone else see you.”

  I shut the door behind me. The sheets on the monk’s narrow bed were twisted, and the smell of sex filled the tiny cell. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  Antonina was naked, the dark curls on her head matching those between her legs. She still possessed more curves than I did, but time had marked her with puckered white lines across her hips and the soft swell of her belly. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, darling.”

  I kicked toward her the silk stola crumpled at my feet, but she ignored it. “I’m not jealous,” I said. “I’m appalled. He’s your godson!”

  “Isn’t it delicious? He has the stamina of an elephant.”

  I folded my arms in front of me, the better not to throttle her. “Need I remind you that you’re married?”

  “It wouldn’t be as enjoyable if Belisarius knew.” She sobered at the look on my face. “My husband is more demon than man. I gave him a daughter—I’ve more than done my duty.” She pulled the stola over her head and smoothed the silk. “There were other pregnancies, too, but I lost them.” She gave me a sideways glance. “Not on purpose.”

  All while I’d struggled to conceive Justinian’s heir. A flood and a drought of blessings, all in the wrong places.

  I crossed myself. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”

  She shrugged. “Life is short. I intend to enjoy myself.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Antonina laughed. “Theodora, darling, you can’t stop me.” She slipped her feet into red leather sandals, shoes she could wear only because I’d introduced her to Belisarius. She could take her chances, and I’d take mine.

  “I’m going to tell Justinian the truth about John.”

  Antonina stopped, the laughter gone from her face. “You’re willing to put our”—she at least had the decency to look chagrined at the slip—“your son in danger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Justinian have had plenty of time to have a son, but there’s been no hint of a child.”

  I nodded, not liking to hear the truth spoken aloud.

  “Claim John now and you’ll throw him into the ring with all the other men who believe Justinian might name them his heir. Like Belisarius.”

  “Belisarius aspires to be the next Emperor?”

  “Belisarius is loyal to Justinian, barring the extra gold he siphons from his campaigns into his own accounts. And yes, he believes your husband might one day leave him the crown.”

  “But he wouldn’t harm John.”

  Antonina shrugged. “I doubt it, but do you know Belisarius well enough to know for sure? I don’t, and I’m married to him.” She clasped my hands. “Please, Theodora. John is still a boy. I love him like my own—I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to him.”

  Antonina’s logic made me want to throw things at the stone wall of her cell, but I wasn’t willing to put my son in danger. I desperately wanted John to come live in the Sacred Palace so I could watch him grow into a man instead of spying on him from afar. Had I known I might lose my
son forever, I wondered if I might have chosen differently that day I’d left him with Antonina. But it was too late for second guesses.

  …

  Antonina, Macedonia, and I were enjoying the warm waters of Pythium’s hot springs despite the sulfurous stench. The waters had wrought miraculous cures for many pilgrims in the past, and Saint Samson hoped they might help me conceive. I was under no such illusions.

  I’d walked out to a startling blue sky to find Antonina and Macedonia already in the springs, one copper and one crow-black head bent together over cups of wine. My two closest friends had found an affinity for each other during our procession, and the three of us often stayed up too late into the night, reminiscing on our similar pasts and marveling at how far we’d come in life. They both looked up as I approached, and Antonina flushed into her cup.

  “You two look like you’re up to no good,” I said, shedding my robe and stepping into the springs.

  “Is there any other way to be?” Macedonia floated on her back, her still-glorious breasts bobbing like ripe melons above the surface. “We were just discussing my love life. Antonina thinks I should find a husband.”

  Antonina set down her cup. “I’d hate to see your bed stay empty.”

  “Who says it’s empty?” Macedonia gave a sly smile. “The line to my bed may not be as long as it once was, but there are still men eager for my tricks. And I couldn’t bear being tied to any one man for the rest of my life—how dull.”

  “Unless you really were tied.” Antonina grinned. “That might be fun.”

  I splashed water at Antonina as a slave girl interrupted our swim to deliver a parchment bearing Belisarius’ seal. The water from Antonina’s fingers spread up the paper before she finished reading, and she bit her lower lip. “Belisarius is headed to Carthage before the harvest.”

  “I know. I had a letter from Justinian yesterday.” It had been a letter full of praise for Belisarius, which I minded only a little, and also for John the Cappadocian and his ingenius tax reforms. The imperial coffers were filling even as Justinian emptied them to rebuild the city. I minded that quite a bit more.

  Antonina frowned. “Belisarius doesn’t sound too thrilled that Justinian is making him finance much of the excursion with his own funds.”

  “Funds pilfered from the Imperial Treasury.” I might have let that slip to Justinian in my last letter.

  Antonina laid the parchment on the water. The ink evaporated and floated in a murky cloud on the surface. “Belisarius recalled Theodosius to join him.”

  I waved the slaves away. “I thought you were going to be discreet.”

  “He couldn’t possibly know—not even my slaves know.” She bit her lip. “Not most of them anyway.”

  “Know about what?” Macedonia wrung out her hair, thin wisps of gray now woven into the bronze.

  I looked to Antonina, but she only grinned. “I’m sleeping with my godson.”

  Macedonia lifted a brow. “Good for you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You two are going to burn for eternity.”

  Antonina grinned. “We’ll save you a spot, darling.”

  “Does Belisarius have any other reason to recall only Theodosius?” Macedonia asked.

  “I don’t know.” Antonina stood, water pearling down her pale skin, following the trail of luminous blue veins down her hips and thighs. “I’m going with them.”

  “What?” I whirled on her as I wrapped a towel around my breasts. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “It’s the only way to keep my eye on both of them.”

  “You can’t carry on with him in Carthage, not under Belisarius’ nose.”

  “Of course she can,” Macedonia said, perching on a rock like some sort of water nymph. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Antonina said, her grin showing off the tiny gap in her teeth, “this trip sounds absolutely delightful.”

  I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes heavenward—it was no use arguing with them. “Don’t come crying to me when your wicked little web gets ripped to shreds.”

  “Said one spider to another. Everyone has a talent, Theodora. Mine is getting people to do what I want.” She grinned. “A talent we share, come to think of it.”

  She was right—better to be the puppeteer than the puppet. Although in this situation I felt more and more as if my strings were being pulled.

  …

  I’d been gone from Constantinople for only a few months, but it felt more like a year.

  The Greyhound carried us across the Bosphorus, her sails pregnant with the late-summer breeze. Unsure when I’d see my son again, I swallowed hard as John was hustled into a litter with Antonina’s other children. I waved away the imperial litter with its silk curtains to commandeer Antonina’s ebony chariot, grimacing as she and Theodosius snapped shut the curtains of my litter behind them. I envied my friend’s flush of romance, but I knew it would amount to little. Antonina was like a crow, easily distracted by anything shiny. Especially a pair of oiled biceps.

  I was glad to be home. I’d missed my baths and codices, but most of all, I missed Justinian. My husband hadn’t squandered time in my absence—it had been a year and a half since Nika, but the new walls of the Hagia Sophia already soared to a height to match the sky, looking down upon the rest of the city. We passed a new bronze statue of Justinian in the square of the Augusteum, tall enough to rival Constantine’s. My husband looked like Achilles in his Persian military dress, sitting astride a giant warhorse. He held a globe topped with a cross in one hand while the other stretched out before him to the east as if to command some marauding horde of Persians to halt or the sun to rise. I expected Justinian would wait for me at the palace, but chips of pine and dried rosemary littered the cobbles and an imperial procession snaked its way to meet us, a man on a giant black horse at its front. I resisted the urge to spur the chariot to meet him—I’d let Justinian come to me instead.

  It seemed to take an eternity before he reached us. Wordlessly, he pulled me from my borrowed chariot and onto the saddle in front of him. Tongues would wag, but I didn’t care.

  “God, but I missed you.” He crushed me to him as the crowd cheered. “I forbid you to ever leave me for so long again.”

  “And I always obey my Emperor.” I gave him a smile to rival Saint Pulcheria, although my impulses right then were far from virginal.

  He gestured to the colossal statue. “What do you think of my latest project?”

  I craned my neck. “It’s a little small, don’t you think?”

  Justinian laughed and kept his arm around my waist as we started the slow procession home. “It’s an ingenious invention. Wine actually flows from my feet on feast days.”

  “Of course it does,” I said. “Because every Emperor should have a statue that pours wine from his boots.”

  “Probably not, but I don’t care.” He kissed my nose. “I’ve emptied my schedule for the entire day. This afternoon we can discuss your trip and my progress rebuilding the city.”

  “I cleared my afternoon, too.” I gave him an impish grin. “But I don’t plan to spend that time discussing much of anything.”

  The gold flecks in his eyes turned molten, and I felt the hardness of his desire. It had been a long summer apart—I’d have hiked up my stola and let him take me on that horse if I thought I could get away with it. He held me closer, and his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. “I knew you were a smart woman the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “The smartest.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the golden sound filling the square and making the crowds cheer even louder. “And the least humble.”

  I joined his laughter as he spurred his horse faster. It was good to be home.

  Of course, that didn’t last long.

  Chapter 27

  SEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF JUSTINIAN

  Ardent prayers and swinging censers had accompanied Belisarius’ campaign to retake Africa from the V
andals. I watched until the last of the ninety-two dromons sailed from the Sea of Marmara and out of sight. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

  There was no word for months. We were riding through the imperial hunting park one April morning, having already bagged a wild ass and two gazelles to serve to the visiting governor of Tarsus that night, when Narses delivered the first letters from Antonina. Delicate sunlight filtered through the budding leaves overhead, casting a puzzle of shadows on the three messages; one was a water-stained parchment, the second a crisp piece of vellum, and the third a thicker letter for Justinian bearing Belisarius’ seal.

  A hint of rose wafted from the parchment as I broke the seal of the first bedraggled message.

  Most Serene Augusta,

  I’m sure you’ve already heard about the great biscuit debacle. That wretched Cappadocian sent us to Carthage with biscuits already rancid with mold and water green with algae. By the time we discovered the spoiled bread, almost five hundred men had gone to meet their Maker. I had to load new supplies myself in Sicily, all while that filthy volcano belched smoke and threatened to kill us all. My nails will never be the same.

  On a brighter note, my godson looks quite dashing in just his greaves and breastplate.

  Your humble servant,

  Antonina

  Not for the first time, I wished John the Cappadocian had died at Nika. The first letter must have been waylaid for some time, but the second was already several months old.

  Most Serene and Illustrious Augusta,

  The men laid low by moldy biscuits and spoiled water shall not have died in vain.

  My esteemed husband has routed the Vandals at the battle of Tricamarum. Gelimer, the imposter king, froze on the battlefield when he came upon the bloody body of his brother. Belisarius went on to take the city of Hippo, but Gelimer, a true coward, fled into the mountains. He didn’t last long—Belisarius tracked down the heathen and, once surrounded, Gelimer asked for a lyre and a sponge to wash his eyes and beard when the soldiers took him. If it had been me, I’d have asked for a sword and fallen on it. But then, I’m only a foolish woman. Perhaps he’ll enjoy being paraded on the streets of Constantinople and spat upon by our citizens.