The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (32 page)

Hours passed before they finally let me see myself in the mirror. My stola was a deep red, only one step from the imperial purple, embroidered with the letters of my
tablion
, and a thin hemp rope knotted at my waist for luck. The brooches on my shoulders glittered with rubies, and pearl earrings dripped from my ears to graze my shoulders. A saffron veil covered my hair, thin as a cobweb and dotted with tiny seed pearls like morning dew.

Imperial messengers had brought word of droughts in Palestine and floods in Ephesus, so we’d decided to curtail the extravagant wedding ceremony. Despite my elevation to the nobility, a number of patricians had voiced their concerns at the repeal of the old law. They’d looked down their long Roman noses and called me a leech, an opportunist, and a harlot. I’d heard worse. Narses had provided me with a list of their names—they’d soon find their taxes went up in direct proportion to their insults.

The people on the streets paused as my litter passed—Justinian had gone ahead of me, and quite a crowd had braved the chill of the morning. A fishwife with a swarm of filthy children stopped her brood and barked at them to bow, but one of the boys raised his grimy fist and yelled,
“Nika!”

Victory.

No matter what color my sandals, I was a pleb like them, and one day I’d wear the purple. God did indeed work in strange ways.

I passed the twelve stone sheep outside the Hagia Sophia, one for each of the apostles, and spared a moment to pray to the Virgin.

“Bless this union,” I whispered. “Let Justinian be faithful, and
help me serve and obey him.” I smiled into the clouds. “Although I won’t fault you if that last request proves impossible.”

Justinian waited for me at the altar, shrouded in the flickering light of hundreds of tiny oil lamps, and strikingly handsome in a black tunica woven with gold and silver thread. A gold mosaic of the Virgin and the Christ Child looked down on us with placid gazes as a handful of Justinian’s friends and advisers looked on. Belisarius and Tribonium stood to the side of the altar with several of Justinian’s other advisers, but I felt a pang of sadness to realize I had no family save Tasia to witness this happy day. Most of my family was buried outside the city walls, John was with Antonina, and Comito had chosen to ignore my presence in the city.

Justinian squeezed my hand as Patriarch Epiphanios—a new prelate chosen by the Emperor and not the corrupt windbag who’d once arrested me—recited Corinthians in flawless Greek.

“‘Love suffers long and is kind. Love does not parade itself, is not arrogant or rude, does not seek its own, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

“‘Love does not fail.’”

Love does not fail.

I shoved away my doubts and worries about our marriage, of Emperor Justin’s warning. My love would not fail Justinian. And he wouldn’t fail me.

The Patriarch joined our hands together with a benevolent smile. “May God Almighty bless the love these two have found.” He passed Justinian a gold and sardonyx chalice rimmed with depictions of Jesus and the twelve apostles and studded with rubies enough to feed the imperial army for a month. Justinian took a long draft and passed the wine to me. I touched my lips to the ghost of his, drinking the Sacrament as Justinian retrieved two thick gold rings from his pocket. Each was stamped with figures of saints, but Justinian’s
tablion
flashed on the inside of mine before he slipped it on my finger. A quick glance
revealed my insignia on the inside of his ring as well. I would wear his name and he mine until one of us was called to God.

Not for the first time that day, I blinked back the tears that stung my eyes. This day would have been impossible only a few short years ago; yet here I stood, red sandals on my feet, hands clasped with the man I couldn’t help but love. Perhaps God had been watching over me after all.

We broke a loaf of crusty bread still warm from the oven and circled the altar together three times. Finally, Justinian traveled around me, reverently, draping my waist with a heavy gold wedding chain bearing traditional images of the Greek goddess of unity, Homonoia, with Christ blessing a marriage. The brush of his fingers on my hips and the burn in his eyes made me shiver with pleasure.

We were husband and wife. Now all that remained was for us to become Emperor and Empress.

.   .   .

We had two days and two nights of uninterrupted bliss. No business, although there wasn’t much sleep either.

A slave laden with the imperial post was the first to pull us from our wedding bed. Most of the folded parchments were for Justinian, but three letters bore my name. I recognized the handwriting on all of them and scuttled to the window’s ledge, as far from Justinian as I could manage.

I could almost hear Severus’ voice in my head as I reread the letter, like a warm blanket I could tuck myself into. I glanced at Justinian before opening the second message.

“A letter from a friend?”

I dashed the tears from my eyes and folded Antonina’s message, slipping it between the other letters. “My sister,” I lied.

Justinian set down his parchment. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Two, actually.” I slipped both letters into my pocket. “My younger sister died when I was thirteen, and I’ve been estranged from my older sister, Comito, since I left Constantinople. She missed our wedding.”

“I’m sorry.” Justinian seemed about to say something else, but I looked away; I heard him break the seal on another parchment.

“There’s been an earthquake in Antioch,” he said. “The city is in
rubble.” He stared at the letter before him and ran his hands through his hair. “Macedonia reports thousands dead, including hundreds of penitents worshipping in a church that collapsed.”

I crossed myself and sent a prayer to the Virgin to protect their souls. “The timing couldn’t be worse.”

Justinian sighed. “I know. I have to meet with the Emperor today.”

“People already whisper that the drought and floods have been sent by God to punish the Empire.” I took a deep breath. “Your uncle is too infirm to handle this.”

“I can’t push him too hard.” Justinian paced the floor, Macedonia’s letter forgotten on his desk. “But he needs to make me co-Emperor. Surely he must see that.”

“Of course he does. He simply doesn’t want to admit it.” And he wasn’t likely to listen to Justinian. I blocked Justinian’s path, my hands akimbo. “I’ll come with you.”

Justinian shook his head, then stopped and looked at me as if with new eyes. “Perhaps you could make him see reason.”

“He does like me.”

Justinian chuckled. “Sometimes I think perhaps more than he likes me.”

I shrugged. “I’m far more charming than you.”

“You most certainly are, my little imp.” He kissed my nose. “You could charm the devil straight out of Gehenna.”

He threaded my arm through his, and we walked to our sedan, discussing possibilities for the rebuilding of Antioch, including a temporary remission of taxes and the construction of several hospitals, all while increasing Egyptian grain shipments to Palestine.

The last letter in my pocket would have to wait.

.   .   .

The stench from the Emperor’s bedchamber almost doubled me over. Justin lay on his bed, his elephant ears empty of their usual earrings
and his head bereft of its crown. A heavy wool blanket obscured his chest and arms. But not his foot.

The toes were black, the skin rotting into white bone. Pale blisters climbed up his leg, mottling the unnatural red of his flesh. Gray pus oozed from the wounds onto the silk sheets.

I almost heaved my morning meal into a Persian vase.

My fingernails bit into my palms as Justinian and I bowed. The stench clung to my nostrils and filled my mouth.

I didn’t ask permission to throw the shutters open. The Emperor didn’t object, but he turned away from the light, eyes screwed shut. It was no wonder he’d done nothing to help his Empire; soon our Emperor would join the souls of those who had perished in Antioch’s quake.

Justinian stepped closer to the bed. “Uncle, how long have you been ill?”

Old Justin rolled over, his eyes still closed. “A few days. The rot in my foot spread quicker than anyone expected.”

“What have your physicians recommended?”

“Poultices, but they’re worthless as tits on a boar.” The Emperor shivered. “And a fire in the brazier all the time—I can’t seem to get warm.”

I pulled a woolen blanket from a chest and covered him. His face was waxy, the mask of a man already dead.

“I fear God is punishing me for the bribes I used to take my throne,” he said. “And my realm.”

“I think God has more important things to worry about.” I tucked the blanket over his feet. “But I’ll pray to the Virgin for your recovery. Easter is coming—a time for new beginnings.”

Justinian took the cue. “You need to focus on your recovery, Uncle.”

The Emperor scowled and tried to sit up, but the effort was too much. “I am eighty years old—one does not recover at this age.” I helped him lean forward to rearrange his pillows and smoothed the
few hairs left on his head. His scalp burned with fever. “And so the vultures descend.”

He was right—Justinian and I were vultures. But things might go awry if we didn’t act now.

Justin sighed. “But I shall not be known as a feckless ruler who couldn’t be troubled to settle the succession before I died. That’s precisely why I adopted Justinian so many years ago.” He grimaced. “It’s difficult to swallow the idea that others are waiting for me to die.”

Such a price seemed worth the purple mantle.

The Emperor took my hand in his—the bones felt like those of a frail bird—and laid it over Justinian’s. “You shall rule when I’m gone.”

I stared down at my hand atop Justinian’s, wondering if he meant only his nephew or the two of us together. The very thought sent my heart pounding. Regardless, I’d be the most powerful woman in the world when my husband became Emperor.

“For now you must be content to share the purple with an old man.” The Augustus sighed and shifted beneath the blankets. “I don’t know how long I have before God calls me to him—your coronation should take place on Easter.” He gave me a watery smile. “The time of new beginnings.”

Less than two weeks.

Justinian cleared his throat. “With your blessing I’d like to assemble the Senate to approve measures to ease the hardships in Antioch and elsewhere. The Empire can’t wait two weeks.”

The Emperor fluttered his fingers in approval. Justinian waited for me by the door, but I waved him on. “You don’t need my help to knock senators’ heads together. I’ll stay a while longer. If your uncle doesn’t mind.”

“Of course not, dear.” Justin pursed his lips. “It’s not as if you plan to poison me.”

He spoke as if commenting about something as mundane as the
weather; yet I wondered if the Emperor shared my suspicions about Lupicina, suspicions I had yet to discount.

I ordered a juniper bath for the Emperor and wrapped his foot in honey poultices before seeing him to bed.

The Emperor muttered something after a few moments, but his chest rose and fell with the calm only sleep could bring. There was a stiff rustle in my pocket when I stood to leave. The third letter.

The cheap parchment was a water-stained page from the scriptures on one side, but a letter rife with misspellings on the other.

I wanted to recall her, to pluck her from the misery I knew all too well; yet something stalled my hand even as I set about writing the letter.

I was still unsure of Macedonia’s relationship with Justinian before she moved to Antioch, and even barring that, she knew too much about me, about my son. I owed everything to her; yet I couldn’t jeopardize my position now, not so close to Justinian’s coronation.

I would recall her myself, but not until I saw the purple
chalmys
draped over Justinian’s shoulders and the eagle scepter in his hands.

I had no choice. Macedonia would have to wait until after Easter.