The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (30 page)

The dried-up hag thought me
old.
I was only nineteen.

“You promised your support of whomever I chose to marry,” Justinian said.

Lupicina snorted. “I had no idea you’d choose a washed-up theater tart.”

Justinian’s eyes narrowed. “Theodora has already proven herself capable of bearing my children. Her daughter lives in my palace.”

“Her daughter by another man!” Lupicina’s spittle dotted Justinian’s brown silk tunica. “She’s a whore!”

Justinian flew to his feet, his shadow cloaking his aunt. “Theodora has maintained her grace and dignity despite her past misfortunes. God has blessed her.”

Lupicina sniffed. “God’s blessing or not, you shan’t marry her and sully our family’s good name.”

“Our good name?” Justinian laughed. “You were a whore, and my uncle herded swine!”

The Emperor rose and cleared his throat. “I fear I’ve come down with a case of indigestion,” he said, threading his wife’s arm through his. “A shame as I was rather looking forward to the goat’s cream with orchid pollen. We’ll have to continue this lovely dinner another time.”

Justinian, Vigilantia, and I bowed as etiquette demanded. Lupicina’s
purple hem sailed past, and I barely resisted the urge to stick my foot out. I was surprised when the Emperor paused to clasp my hand. “It was lovely to meet you again, my dear.” I glanced up to see him watching Lupicina stalk away. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’ll have to bow to the Empress’ wishes. It’s safer for all of us that way.”

He followed after his wife, but my skin prickled at Justinian’s next words.

“She’ll pay for that.”

A
nest of goldfinches hatched, fledged, and finally abandoned their perch outside my window as Justinian pressured his uncle to repeal the law, but to no avail. Winter etched a pale layer of lacy frost over the clutch of lonely twigs, and a single downy feather trembled in the chilly breeze. Behind the tree, a pillar of black smoke climbed into the blue sky, somewhere near Marcian’s Column. The same direction as Antonina’s flat. Another black snake of smoke emerged from its den in Blachernae and writhed upward.

I rushed my morning prayers and hurried to find Justinian, but I found Narses first. “What’s burning?” I asked.

He beckoned me past several crates of chickens to the kitchen. His voice was almost drowned out by the crackle of the cooking fire and the squawks of the birds waiting for a slave to snap their necks. “The city burns. For you.”

The way he said it made it sound almost poetic. Almost, but not quite.

“What?”

“Justinian has ordered the Blues to be—” He seemed to search for the right word. “Disorderly.”

“Where is he?”

“On the roof.”

Narses called after me, but I ignored him. The cold air braced me as I burst onto the roof terrace. Men swarmed Justinian. The color of their tunicas branded them as Blues, but they might have marched straight from the barbarian frontiers—unkempt beards hung to their chests in the Persian fashion, and their long cloaks, baggy trousers, and knee-high boots were positively Hunnic. All wore lethal-looking swords tucked into their belts.

Justinian saw me and dismissed the men—some gazes lingered too long in my direction, but I looked down my nose at them.

“Narses tells me you’re up to no good,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the smoke. The plumes continued to grow—I only wondered what the fires consumed.

“Putting pressure on my uncle.”

So Narses was right. This was for me.

“By giving the Blues your blessing to wreak havoc?”

Justinian looked out toward his handiwork. The smoke continued to curl like flags of death across the sky. “We’ve been patient long enough.”

I had to know my son was safe. And Antonina and her children. “What are they burning?”

“Empty storehouses.” Justinian caught my grimace. “No one will be hurt. This is only enough chaos for my uncle to relent.” He tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “Are you offended at such violence?”

I watched the black columns eat the sky. “Will this get us what we want?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Then I’m not offended.”

Justinian chuckled. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be.”

.   .   .

The riots continued for days, gaining momentum as it became apparent no punishment would be meted out—the Emperor and the
Sacred Palace were both strangely silent. Citizens barred their doors and markets closed as protection against the marauders. Not to be outdone by their sworn enemies, the Greens joined pillaging, so flags of smoke unfurled like goal markers on a
tzykanion
field each time one of the factions made a point.

“This has to stop,” I told Justinian from my hands and knees, peering up from the blades of brown grass and dormant rosebushes. I’d lost Severus’ silver and amber cross and was furious at myself for being so careless, but even more troubled at the possible omen of losing God’s favor as the city around me burned. “If your uncle hasn’t given in by now—”

“These things take time.” He looked at the hazy sky as if divining a message from God.

“I heard talk of a woman who died yesterday.” Another bad omen. “You said no one would die.”

“She was traveling from Chrysopolis to the mainland with her husband when the partisans intercepted them. They boarded the ship and asked the wife to join them. She jumped into the Bosphorus instead.”

“Because she thought the Blues would attack her.”

Justinian’s mouth was set in a firm line as he nodded.

I brushed the dirt from my hands. “I’d have slit their throats instead.” Still, I felt a twinge of guilt. I wanted to marry Justinian, but the cost was high enough already.

“I don’t doubt it.” He helped me to my feet. “I have something for you.” He pulled a delicate silver chain from his pocket, thin as a thread of silk. Hanging from the bottom was my amber cross.

“Where did you find it?” I moved to grab it, but he dangled it out of reach.

“Hanging from a rose branch.” He held up his battered hands. “I had to comb through half the bushes before I found it.”

I caught the familiar inscription as Justinian clasped the necklace around my neck.

Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.

I loved this man, and I would be faithful to him until the end of my days. Despite my best intentions, he’d captured my heart.

“I don’t deserve you,” I said.

His fingers traced the silver chain, then dipped lower as his lips grazed my throat. My stola slipped from my shoulder just as Narses burst into the garden.

“Narses.” Justinian’s growl could have stopped a lion at twenty paces, but the eunuch only gave him a perfunctory bow.

“Empress Lupicina is dead,” he said, straightening and crossing himself.

A flock of sparrows swarming a bare apricot tree took flight, leaving a blanket of cold silence over the garden.

“May God rest her soul.” A look of triumph flickered over Justinian’s face, so quick I doubted its existence. I shivered as I straightened my stola.

“How did the Empress die?” I asked.

Narses glanced at Justinian and back to me. “She was seized with a fit at dinner.”

Neither of us spoke as Narses’ steps echoed down the stairs, but then Justinian cleared his throat. “I must go to my uncle, offer my condolences.”

“Of course.” I’d half expected him to admit he’d had Lupicina strangled at the table or arranged a dash of wolfsbane to spice her dinner. I almost dared ask but swallowed the question.

“Be ready to leave within the hour,” he said, his
paludamentum
billowing in the breeze.

I contemplated assuming the full regalia of grief—plucking out my hair and wearing a black stola torn by my own hands—but decided a black wool tunica and wearing my hair loose were sufficient. I made
sure the tunica wasn’t quite long enough to hide my red sandals Lupicina had so vehemently protested.

My teeth jarred as broad-shouldered slaves carried Justinian’s sedan through the streets, the people parting like the Red Sea before Moses to let us through.

I’d envisioned my first visit to the Sacred Palace amongst some sort of celebration or feast day, perhaps even my wedding. Instead, a heavy silence enfolded the white marble like a tomb for the living, its colossal porphyry pillars swathed in black silk. At the Chalke, the huge main gate topped with a gilded domed chapel, massive bronze doors engraved with giant crosses swung open. Guards fell into line behind us as we trod over more gold than King Herod might have possessed. The exquisite mosaics depicted an elephant impaling a lion, a plebian mother breastfeeding her infant, and a trained monkey knocking figs from a tree with a stick. Stern-faced statues lined the reception halls, some reputedly able to predict the future. We passed a library of silent scribes laboring over manuscripts, likely copies of treaties and missives from foreign rulers, before stopping outside the throne room. The ebony doors were open, and inside under a canopy of leafy golden trees with birds of hammered gold sat the Emperor, two gilded lion statues at his feet. I knew from Justinian that the creatures were mechanical, brought to life through the power of hidden water wheels, but today the beasts were cold and lifeless despite the winter sunlight streaming through the clerestory windows. The Emperor glanced up at our approach, his cheeks streaked with dried riverbeds of tears. I felt no grief for Lupicina, but my eyes filled for Justin. We can’t help whom we love.

“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.”