“No.” The word turned into a moan, followed by sobs so strong I could scarcely pull air into my lungs. “No!”
An ocean grave. I couldn’t hope to visit him, even in death. I beat my head into the dirt and grass, keening in the fresh spring air as birds chirped and butterflies danced overhead.
My son was dead. He had forgotten me, and now he was forever lost to me. Because of me. First my sister Anastasia, and now I was responsible for the death of another child. My child. Stains on my soul.
I don’t know how I got to my apartments, but Justinian came that night through the doors that led straight from his rooms to my bedchamber. Dirt was still caked under my nails, crushed blades of fresh green grass clutched in my hands. I’d stopped crying to stare at the wall from under the thick blankets on my bed.
“What’s wrong, my little imp?” He brushed hair from my clammy brows and touched my damp feather pillow. “Are you ill?”
I closed my eyes. “Only a headache.”
“I’ll send Saint Samson to you.” His lips grazed the place where his fingers had touched my brow. “Rest and feel better.”
I had caused my son’s death. I would never feel better again.
…
John is dead.
Three words had changed my world.
I wanted to set up a shrine to my son, but there was nothing I could even hold in my hands that he had once touched. Nothing but memories, and those weren’t enough. He was gone from this earth, transient as a gust of wind.
I dismissed the slaves who came to dress me several mornings later, letting grief and guilt take turns pummeling me until my tears might have been wrung from the pillows. Narses entered and held the door open for the slave departing with my untouched dinner tray from the night before.
His eyes flickered with surprise to see me abed, still dressed in the same purple stola I’d worn on Palm Sunday. “You need to get up.”
“Leave me alone.” My voice sounded rusty, cracked with disuse.
Instead, he opened the curtains, making me wince to see the happy sunlight. “I thought you might wish to know Queen Amalasuntha has requested an audience with the Emperor.”
I rolled over, giving him my back. “I’m sure she has.”
“A private audience. In his chambers.”
That made me sit up. “When?”
“An hour ago.”
I stuffed my feet into slippers and shoved the hair from my swollen eyes. “And you’re only telling me this now?”
“She was only just admitted into Justinian’s chambers.” He frowned. “Are you all right, Augusta?”
“Fine,” I lied.
I tried the doors that led from my room to Justinian’s. Locked.
Two Scholarii brandished shields and spears outside my husband’s private apartments. I opened my mouth to berate them to move aside, but the doors swung open and Amalasuntha tumbled out, cheeks flushed and hair becomingly mussed. Her eyes flicked over my loose hair and the rumpled stola I’d worn since the day she arrived. Her lips curved up in a cunning smile. “Well, hello, Theodora.”
I stepped so close she stumbled back. “What in God’s name were you doing in my husband’s chambers, Amalasuntha?”
Fear flickered in her eyes, but then her fingers fluttered to the neckline of her stola. “Whatever are you insinuating?”
“Don’t play stupid. You know exactly what I’m insinuating.”
Her smile deepened. “I had a proposal for your husband. One he couldn’t refuse.”
“Stay away from my husband, you filthy tramp.”
“Tramp?” Her sneer revealed those perfect white teeth. I wanted to punch them out of her mouth. “This, coming from a known whore rumored to have hidden an illegitimate son from the Emperor all these years?”
That deflated my anger. My voice was smaller this time. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’ll see about that.” She sidestepped me but turned back after only a few steps. “In case you were curious, your husband was very amenable to my suggestions. Justinian is quite a man.”
White-hot fury surged over me again, but I remained rooted to the spot as she smoothed her hair and sauntered down the corridor. The doors opened for a second time.
“Theodora?” Justinian’s tunica was open at the chest, and his hair was wilder than normal. I imagined that foul woman running her fingers through his dark curls, her lips kissing the thin trail of black hair that tapered to his navel. My knees threatened to buckle. “I thought I heard your voice,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”
I swayed on my feet. I’d always had Justinian’s love and trust, had known he’d always been faithful. Until now.
Justinian led me to a polished ebony chair inside, and he set about rearranging papers on his desk. Over his shoulder in the next room, the silk hangings of his bed were drawn to reveal a tangle of sheets. “I’ve agreed to send Belisarius to assist Amalasuntha in Rome. She’s a very persuasive woman.”
I was numb but managed a nod. “I’m sure she is.”
He set down his papers. “You look terrible, Theodora. I want you to rest. Amalasuntha can take your place at the Easter festivities this week.”
“No, I—”
“I insist.” He ushered me toward the little side door, kissed my forehead, and unlocked the door. “Don’t worry about anything. Rest and get better.”
I didn’t have a chance to protest before the door shut behind me. A key turned in the lock.
I’d lost everything.
Chapter 29
“Y ou look like hell, Theodora.”
I didn’t argue with Antonina—my mirror had obliged me with the ugly truth this morning. She didn’t look too well herself, her loose hair whipping in the sea breeze and dressed in black for the public mourning of her son.
Our son.
We had just come from a banquet in the Sacred Palace’s Hall of Nineteen Couches. The ceiling had opened, and mechanical cranks lowered gilded trays of honeyed fruit and other delicacies onto the tables, eliciting childlike gasps of pleasure from Amalasuntha. I gritted my teeth as she grasped Justinian’s hand while an acrobat balanced a ribboned pole on his forehead and two young men clambered up to perform tricks on the top. All this had been ordered for the Ostrogoth queen, a celebration to see her off to Rome. I hoped her ship would sink along the way.
“Justinian’s sleeping with her,” I said now, watching Justinian talk to Amalasuntha on the docks, their heads almost touching. Two ships floated behind them, one to carry Amalasuntha to Rome and another to carry Belisarius and all the accoutrements of war.
“No.” Antonina surveyed my husband and shook her head. “I’ve never seen a man dote on a woman like Justinian does you.”
“I caught her leaving his chambers.”
“That’s it?”
I thought of Amalasuntha’s tousled hair and Justinian’s bare chest. The knot of sheets on his bed. “There was more.”
She waited for me to continue, but forcing myself to say what I’d seen out loud would make it far too real. “Well, I doubt it’s what you thought it was,” she said. “Although you really couldn’t blame Justinian for straying, given the way you look.”
“I don’t care how I look. Our son is dead.”
“I’m so sorry, Theodora.” Antonina’s voice was so quiet I’d barely heard her.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, too.”
The words felt hollow. Antonina squeezed my hand, her rose perfume mixing with the salty sea breeze. “You have to keep on living, even when all you want to do is die.”
Over on the dock, Amalasuntha surveyed the parting gifts Justinian had given her, including chests of gold and several purple cloaks. She squealed with excitement at a ruby-studded chalice of sardonyx and enamel decorated with representations of the twelve apostles. It was the chalice Justinian and I had drunk from at our wedding.
I’d always thought death a single event, but over the past weeks I’d
discovered it was possible to die a thousand little deaths. Soon there would be nothing left of me for the angels—or the devil—to claim.
Amalasuntha kissed Justinian’s cheeks, her hands lingering over his as the breeze played with her cloak. She whispered something in his ear and blinked hard, despite the gray clouds shrouding the sun.
Belisarius saluted Justinian. “Next time we meet, I shall bring you Rome.” His voice was loud enough for everyone on the docks to hear. The little man next to him yelled at a slave carrying a crate of parchment and pens. He was Procopius, the historian sent along again to record Belisarius’ triumphant campaign for all posterity. I still thought the man resembled a monkey.
Justinian clapped Belisarius on the arm and Amalasuntha boarded her ship, trailed by her entourage.
“Are you sure you want to go with him again?” I asked Antonina, nodding toward Belisarius.
“I couldn’t possibly let him sail all the way to Rome with that harlot.” Antonina scowled, but then I saw the true reason she wished to travel with the army. Her golden godson emerged from the crowd and took his place beside Belisarius, taller and more handsome than I remembered. She at least had the decency to blush. “Belisarius asked Theodosius to accompany him.”
“Don’t let him find out about the two of you.” The old advice was a feeble attempt to ward off the possible coup I feared from Belisarius. I found I no longer cared much what happened to Justinian’s crown.
I saw Antonina’s son Photius then, looking very much like his mother, but dressed in a fierce scowl along with his new military uniform. “Photius is joining you?”
“He’s not pleased about it either. He’d rather apprentice himself to a fresco artist. Or a sculptor, if he had to,” Antonina said. “He’ll get over it soon enough.”
The rest of the officers were filing onto the waiting ship. “Write to me?” I asked her. The days ahead promised to be bleak—I hoped Antonina’s letters and news of her intrigues would keep me sane.
“I’ll send you all the latest gossip.” She kissed me on the cheek, but I stiffened to see Justinian striding toward us. “Talk to him, Theodora. Your husband is a good man.”
Instead, I turned on my heel and walked away.
…
“A letter from Antonina.” Narses offered me the parchment as if it were a dead rat.
I let it dangle there for a moment, then swiped it with a roll of my eyes. “I’ve never understood your low opinion of Antonina. I’d have thought she’d have grown on you by now.”
His upper lip curled, and he brushed his hands as if to rid them of contagion. “Antonina is the lowborn daughter of a whore and a charioteer who has managed to hoodwink a line of men using her sexual wiles. She’s a crass and filthy pagan with a sharp tongue, hardly company fit for the likes of the Augusti.”
“Well, if that’s all.” I borrowed the knife from his belt and used it to slice Antonina’s seal from the letter. “It almost sounds like you’ve just described me.”
He crossed his arms. “You are not a pagan, and you have managed to rise above your birth because you have an uncommon mind. And, despite my best intentions, I’ve grown accustomed to your sharp tongue.” He cleared his throat, and his features softened. “That said, Augusta, you haven’t been yourself lately. If there’s anything I can do to help—”
He dared squeeze my shoulder, and for a moment I almost told him everything, wanting to unburden myself. But I was Empress.
I handed back his knife. “Thank you, Narses.” I managed a wan smile. “This will pass. And then you’ll have to deal with my sharp tongue once again.”
“I look forward to it, Augusta.” Narses bowed and walked off, all business once again.
My smile fell as I read Antonina’s letter.
Dearest Augusta,
I write bearing the best of news. Amalasuntha is dead. She betrayed us by arriving first in Rome and persuading her cousin to offer her a joint rule. To celebrate their new relationship, he gave her a lovely amethyst and pearl necklace, and she gifted him a sardonyx chalice decorated with the twelve apostles. Their new arrangement would have put Belisarius in a bit of a quandary, but fortunately the cousin quickly remedied his grievous error and used the amethyst necklace to strangle the dear girl in her sleep. I really think you and Justinian should consider nominating him for some sort of award.
The path for conquest is wide open. Your husband will soon be the sole ruler of Rome—he couldn’t have planned it better himself.
—Antonina
I wanted answers and I wanted them now, no matter how they might kill me. I shoved open the doors to Justinian’s chambers and kicked them shut behind me, both relieved and terrified to see my husband at his desk.
“Did you have a hand in this?” I stormed to Justinian and shook the paper in front of him, but he barely glanced up from the schematics of the Hagia Sophia’s colossal dome to scan the letter. We’d scarcely spoken since Amalasuntha’s entourage had departed, not for lack of trying on his part, but because I could barely stand to look at him. To make matters worse, Justinian had invited John the Cappadocian back to the capital, although I had yet to see him. Eventually, Justinian had given up until we acted like charged magnets, one of us pushing the other away so we never shared the same room.
Justinian gave me a wary look. “Actually, some people think you may have had a hand in Amalasuntha’s death.”
“Me? That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Justinian’s eyes were hooded. “You certainly made it plain that you didn’t care for her while she was here.”
Of course I didn’t care for her. And while I almost entertained Antonina’s idea of rewarding Amalasuntha’s cousin, I hadn’t ordered her murder. At least not yet.
Justinian sighed. “Do you honestly think I’d send Amalasuntha back to Rome, knowing her cousin would offer her the crown and then kill her?”
“I don’t know what to think. Did you send your lover with Belisarius to help you conquer Rome, or did you have her killed?”
He set down the plans. “My lover? Is that why you’ve been acting this way?”
“I practically caught you in the act.”
He exhaled and tipped his chair back, running hands through his hair. “That day in my chambers—that’s what you thought?”
“What was I supposed to think? That you two looked like you’d just tumbled out of bed because you’d been arguing?”
“Actually, that’s not far from the truth.” He stood up and paced before his desk. “Amalasuntha did propose we, er…further our relationship.” His cheeks flushed. “She was quite convinced that I’d be lucky to have her, and she was rather put out when I refused.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?” And yet I wanted to so badly.
He clasped my hands. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, Theodora. I moved heaven and earth to marry you. What do I have to do to prove that love?”
I sniffed and blinked, pulling my hands back. “So you didn’t have her murdered?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I love you, Theodora,” he said, “but you do test my limits. I did not have Amalasuntha murdered. Nor did I have my aunt murdered as you once believed. I have never plotted anyone’s murder.”
I searched his eyes, but they were bare. I’d never felt more alone than these past few weeks without Justinian. I needed him like I needed air in my lungs and blood in my veins.
“I believe you.”
“Good,” he said, his hand cupping my face. “I’ve missed you, Theodora.”
“I missed you, too.” I buried my face in his shoulder, my dry eyes managing to find the last of their tears. “I love you.”
I was broken, but perhaps my love for Justinian would heal me.
…
Dawn raised her rosy head over the Queen of Cities when a scrawny messenger was ushered into the royal box at the imperial tzykanion grounds a few months later. The sport had been imported from the Persians decades ago, o
ne of the only useful contributions the fire-eaters had made to civilization.
Justinian cantered over on his black horse, the net at the end of his stick trembling over his head like a war pennant. The courtiers watched the leather ball as they waited for the Emperor, their horses eyeing the tufts of grass at the edge of the field. “What is it, boy?”
The runner fell to one knee and bowed his head. “The Goths in Ravenna have offered General Belisarius peace to end the siege on their city and all of Italy.” He glanced at Justinian and a tremor traveled up his thin frame. “They’ve offered him their crown.”
Justinian’s fist tightened on the horn of his saddle. “And what did he say?”
The youth swallowed again, his eyes on the grass. “I don’t know, Augustus. That was the entire message relayed by the last herald.”
By now Belisarius might have traded his silver general’s belt for a king’s crown of gold. Justinian bellowed a curse, and the messenger scuttled from sight. I called him back, forcing him to wait until I’d written a hasty letter to Antonina, commanding her to explain what had happened.
Word spread about the debacle in Italy—Narses’ spies reported many in Constantinople believed the calamity was related to the bearded star that had recently streaked the sky. Yet it remained to be seen whether Belisarius would betray us and we’d soon have to send another force to conquer the conqueror. Finally a response came from Antonina.
Most August Augusta,
Thank the gods I wasn’t around when the runner brought you the news that the Goths offered Belisarius their crown. I certainly hope you didn’t run the poor messenger through.
I’ve warned you Belisarius is nothing if not devious. He pretended to accept (I won’t say he wasn’t sorely tempted by the offer), and the Goths threw open the gates of Ravenna, conveniently allowing him to arrest Vitiges and the Gothic patricians waiting inside. Then my husband made a public proclamation that he followed only Emperor Justinian, leaving the women of Ravenna to spit and hurl obscenities at their idiot men.
Now you and Justinian can cease plotting creative ways to destroy Belisarius. (I know you too well—don’t try to deny it!)
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