The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (31 page)

‘What if I could prove the Cappadocian can’t be trusted?’

Justinian sighed as her words were rounded off by the chimes from his water clock. It was time to meet with his military advisers: there were spies with reports from Totila’s progress in Italy, others with word from inside the Persian border. ‘Of course, if you can find any evidence against him, then he’ll have to go. Again.’

The Emperor picked up an armful of scrolls, shrugged on a fine cloak with a heavy purple hem, and put his free arm around his wife, walking her to the door. He kissed her as the door was opened for them, and then walked off down the
long corridor, smiling as he went. He was coming up to sixty, Theodora had recently turned forty-one, and she still had the same fire she had when they first took the purple almost fifteen years earlier. Her passion, often excessive, occasionally irritating, always heartfelt, might not have been the reason Narses and Timothy brought her to him twenty years ago, but it was one of the reasons he loved her. And her energy made him feel younger, for a while at least, until he faced his next meeting, his next room full of worried men.

That summer, for the first time in her married life, Antonina did not travel with her husband and his troops, who were heading for the Persian-held area of Mesopotamia. She stayed in Constantinople, ostensibly to take care of her daughter Joannina, but actually to safeguard her affair with Theodosius. Even Antonina realised that maintaining the secrecy of their relationship through a third campaign was too risky, and so she remained in the City, visiting Theodosius in camp when she could, and sending lengthy love letters the rest of the time. But she quickly became bored, eager for distraction, and John the Cappadocian was the perfect object for her excess energy. Theodora despised the man, both for his behaviour to her in the past and for the ambition she still saw in him, and Antonina was always happy to dispatch anyone who posed a threat to the long-term hopes she had for Belisarius. Between them, they decided to help Justinian see the truth of his treasurer.

The Cappadocian’s daughter Euphemia was a sweet girl, ruled over by a father who held her on a too-tight rein and had therefore taught her none of the useful sophistries needed for life in the Palace. Antonina began visiting Euphemia at home when she knew her father would be away. She sent little gifts of jewellery and fine silks, telling her to keep them
for her private use, saying that had her mother lived, a woman Antonina barely knew, she would have wanted her child to have only the best. Once the girl was won over, Antonina brought her to meet the Empress.

Theodora was surprised the child was so pretty, and horrified at her naivety. She poured Euphemia a second glass of barely watered wine, which the girl again downed in two big gulps, offered her the plate of rich pastries, dripping with honey and more sweet wine, and asked her to explain what she meant when she said her father had promised her a lovely room when they moved to the Palace.

‘He said you have all the best rooms,’ the girl said, nodding at Theodora, ‘but when we move in, I can have them instead.’

The girl was slurring a little but, for all his faults, Theodora had to admit the Cappadocian had trained her well. She still sat elegantly, and despite moving on to her third glass of wine in less than an hour, not a curl was out of place, nor had a drop of honey fallen between greedy fingers and chattering mouth to spoil the lovely silk robe Antonina had insisted she wear on this momentous visit with the Empress.

‘And did he say when he thought this move might happen?’ she asked, smiling.

‘No.’ Euphemia shook her head, the tightly wound curls shaking with her as she leaned across the divan to whisper to Theodora, ‘but it will be before I’m married. He wants the best husband for me.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ Antonina interrupted, ‘and you’d want that too, of course. But I’m curious, why will you need to live in the Palace?’

Euphemia took the fourth glass of wine from Theodora and this time a small drop fell on to her gown. ‘Oh no. Papa hates me to make a mess, please don’t tell him, will you?’

Theodora saw real fear in the girl’s face and promised she would give her a new robe to wear home – her father was away, he would never find out. It would be their little secret, especially if Euphemia kept this meeting a secret too.

‘But I want to tell him I’ve met you and you’re much prettier and nicer than he says.’ Euphemia pouted, this time taking care of the drips as she finished her glass and held it out for more.

‘Let’s not tell him, this time,’ Theodora said. ‘If we’re to prepare for the move to the Palace, it’ll be better to keep it a secret, don’t you think?’

‘Of course,’ Euphemia said solemnly.

‘You were explaining why you’ll be living in the Palace?’ Antonina prodded.

‘So Papa won’t have to travel so far for his work.’

‘His work as?’ Theodora asked.

‘I don’t know, how does it go? There’s a list, he has to rise through the ranks of course, they can’t just appoint him Emperor right off – you’d know that.’

Euphemia was talking into her own chest now, half slumped on the divan.

Theodora nodded without replying. Anyone else would have fled the room at that point; even Antonina was wondering if she had gone too far, bringing the child to Theodora.

‘Go on,’ said Theodora.

‘Something like … Treasurer, Councillor, Consul, ah … then something else, I can’t remember … another title, anyway, it ends up with Emperor. When they make him Emperor. And then I get to have this room, which is lovely, for me. Sorry, you’ll have to move, won’t you? But I will like it a lot. Yes. I will.’

Euphemia was asleep.

‘What if she tells the Cappadocian she was here?’ Antonina asked.

Theodora shook her head. ‘She won’t, she doesn’t want to risk a beating.’ She waved for a slave to pick the girl up. ‘Give her some of Mariam’s old clothes, take her home, then have these cleaned and returned to her,’ she ordered.

The slave left with the slumped and lightly snoring girl, and Theodora sat in silence.

Eventually Antonina asked, ‘Mistress?’

Theodora turned to her friend. ‘Right. Let’s get rid of the bastard.’

First Theodora shared what she had learned with Justinian and Narses.

Her husband shook his head. ‘I can’t dismiss my minister because his drunken daughter suggests he has ambition. This is just a frightened girl saying that her father wishes to better himself. He has no wife, no knowledge of how to raise a daughter, it may be simple boasting on his part.’

‘Treasonous boasting, August,’ Narses said quietly.

‘Do you think it’s true?’ Justinian asked his Chief of Staff.

‘I’d take a cohort of men and find out.’

Justinian stared at his two most trusted advisers, wife and eunuch; he bit his lip and finally spoke: ‘Go ahead, but keep me informed.’

Antonina spoke again with Euphemia, telling her now was the time for the Cappadocian to begin his rise to the purple. She asked Euphemia to set up a meeting to discuss how they could help him. The meeting was duly arranged at Antonina and Belisarius’ home by the sea, where it was easy for Narses to hide himself behind a screen, his men stationed close by in the grounds.

For a long hour Narses listened to Antonina lead the Cappadocian along, with stories of how she and Belisarius felt
they were owed more by the Empire, how the Cappadocian himself must surely be feeling the same. Antonina was careful not to complain too vociferously about Justinian – it wouldn’t do either her or Belisarius any good for Narses to think she meant what she said – but the Cappadocian had no such qualms. Narses waited until he heard the thin man express his treasonous ambition for the second time, and then called his men out of hiding.

They stepped forward into the room, and immediately the Cappadocian, clearly smarter than Antonia had imagined, called his own men out of hiding too. They came over the walls, up through the grounds and in through the open patio doors. The fight began immediately, no time wasted surveying opponents, considering action. The house was full of noise, shouts of surprise and anger and bloody pain. One of Narses’ men had his leg broken by an iron bar snapped across his knee, another had his face gashed down both sides, the Cappadocian’s men adept with a weapon in either hand. The sharp scrape of clashing knives, the yelps and groans at sliced flesh, crunching bone, brought Joannina and a dozen servants and slaves running into the room. Narses rounded on the Cappadocian, his own knife drawn, and the treasurer grabbed Joannina by the hair, pulling her to himself. Antonina screamed, Narses stepped back and called his men to stop.

‘I’m leaving, with my men,’ said the Cappadocian. ‘We won’t harm the girl if you let us go.’

Narses shook his head. ‘Don’t be stupid, you’re adding kidnap to treason.’

Narses motioned his men to step back, put his own knife down, and began to walk towards the Cappadocian. The treasurer pulled Joannina closer, close enough for her to smell the mint leaves on his breath, and brought his knife right to her throat.

Narses continued, speaking slowly and carefully the whole time, ‘You have a daughter of your own.’

The Cappadocian spat on the tiled floor, ‘A daughter this bitch made drunk, took advantage of, fed lies.’ He nodded towards Antonina, now white with shock and fear: ‘Along with her mistress, the whore in the Palace.’

Narses was within a wide arm’s reach of him now; the Cappadocian’s knife tight against Joannina’s throat. ‘Whatever’s been done, John, it’s your own words that have condemned you today. Don’t make the girl pay for her mother’s faults,’ she said.

Narses could have reached out and knocked the knife from the Cappadocian’s hand, but his own words brought Antonina out of her fear into anger.

‘My faults?’ she shouted. ‘My faults? Here’s your thief, the bastard who dares to stand with a knife at my child’s throat. My faults? Damn you, eunuch!’

Antonina lunged between Narses and the treasurer, grabbing her daughter, the Cappadocian’s knife cut into the child’s skin, and the sudden sight of red at the girl’s throat startled everyone. Joannina screamed, the treasurer pushed back and away towards the only door that was clear of horrified staff and slaves, and Narses found his way blocked by the furious mother and her terrified daughter, hemmed in by his own men fighting the Cappadocian’s men. In the mess he had created, John the Cappadocian sprinted away.

Two days later the bedraggled treasurer claimed sanctuary in the church of the Stondios Monastery, close to the Golden Gate, where he waited until Justinian imposed sentence. Despite Antonina’s rage that her daughter had been dragged into the violence, Justinian still felt uneasy that the Cappadocian had been tricked into revealing his ambition.

‘You and Antonina used his daughter, just as he used Joannina,’ he said in response to Theodora’s furious glare.

‘We didn’t have a knife at Euphemia’s throat.’

‘No, but none of you come out of it all that well, do you?’

Theodora shrugged. The Cappadocian had signed his own death warrant as far as she was concerned, but she knew Justinian was determined to be lenient in this case: he still had gratitude for the treasurer’s financial acumen, as well as his willingness to be the government’s scapegoat. The eventual sentence was exile to Cyzicus in the east, part of his estate to be held in trust for his daughter and the rest confiscated by the crown.

‘Happy now?’ Justinian asked Theodora when his ex-treasurer was finally led away to begin his exile.

Theodora shook her head. ‘No. I don’t believe that’s the last we’ll hear of him and I don’t believe we’re truly safe while men like him are alive.’

‘We can’t put all our foes to death.’

‘It’s my job to protect you, you’re too trusting.’

‘Perhaps I have more reason to be trusting than you do; more people have shown themselves trustworthy to me.’

‘Long may it continue.’

‘Amen to that.’

When they went to their own beds, Theodora knelt to her emerald Virgin and prayed that her husband was right to trust, and that she was right to give in to Justinian’s leniency, allowing the Cappadocian to keep his head.

When the anti-Chalcedonian Bishop of Cyzicus was found murdered several months later, the local magistrate reported that the Cappadocian and the Bishop were known enemies, but lack of evidence meant all the city of Cyzicus could do was enforce an even greater exile on their unwelcome guest.
Theodora was glad to hear he had been sent further away and Justinian acknowledged there could be no rehabilitation for the Cappadocian now. It was time to appoint a new minister in his place; Peter Barsymes was delighted to accept the job.

Theodora and Antonina had no opportunity to revel in their triumph over the Cappadocian. Within weeks a message came that Belisarius had halted his campaign and was demanding that his wife join him immediately.

Theodora joined Narses and Justinian in the Emperor’s office.

‘It appears the general has stopped short of the Persian border because his stepson is concerned about his inheritance,’ said Narses.

‘Photius? I don’t understand.’

Justinian growled under his breath, ‘You didn’t know Antonina was having an affair with her godson, or you didn’t realise her own son by birth might find it disturbing?’

‘None of us know the truth of these rumours.’ Theodora stopped to glare at Narses, who had laughed at her words. ‘None of us know the truth of any marriage.’

‘True,’ Justinian said, ‘but your friend is well known for her interests.’

Theodora agreed. ‘And your general is well known for his ambition – but that doesn’t stop you promoting him. I’m sure this is simply a case of Photius’ jealousy, given his own status.’

‘As her first son?’ Justinian asked.

‘As the son of a too-early marriage, to a husband who was an irrelevance, yes,’ Theodora answered. ‘Photius should be grateful his mother’s rise in fortune has benefited him.’

‘His mother is having an affair with the adopted brother who’s half his age. Of course he’s concerned about his inheritance and of course he’s jealous,’ Narses said.