The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (37 page)

The only movement was the white puffs of air billowing from the slaves’ lips. Then the men began to stomp, filling the air with the rumble of their feet. Would God be so easily fooled when we stood before him one day?

We walked back to the palace with red noses and pink cheeks while eunuchs followed behind with our litters. My husband raved about the gold mosaics of the Virgin and Christ Child that would fill the domes of the new Hagia Sophia, the porphyry columns he’d import from Egypt, and the relics he’d transfer to the city. My feet were stiff and cold through my leather slippers as we passed through the courtyard of the Baths of Zeuxippus, now a cemetery of statues,
their broken limbs and naked torsos scattered through the trampled grasses. I picked up the sheared-off face of Julius Caesar, the same I’d admired the afternoon Comito and I had begged before the Greens. Lifetimes ago.

Another face lay nearby, that of Hypatia, the famed scholar murdered by a mob in Alexandria. I shuddered to think I might have shared her fate.

The wind whipped through my cloak, and I shivered. “We’ll have to replace these.”

“I intend to,” Justinian said. “And I intend to do something else.”

“What?”

“Actually, I’ve already done it.” Justinian took the marble fragment from me. “I renamed the city of Anasartha today. It shall hereafter be known as Theodorias, in your honor.”

I couldn’t speak. The ashes of thirty thousand people floated in the air, and Justinian was naming cities after me.

He traced my cheek, eyes searching my face. “I’d have littered the map with Theodorias by now if I’d known that was the way to tame your tongue.”

“I don’t deserve anything.”

He pulled me to him so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on the crown of my head. “Those people were traitors, Theodora.”

“But their blood is on my hands.”

“They made their choice. No one forced them to revolt.”

I looked up at him. “Have you ever killed anyone? Before last night?”

His face clouded over. “What do you think?”

I didn’t dare duck my eyes. “I once thought you ordered Lupicina’s death.”

There was silence. His heart seemed to have missed a beat. “And do you still believe that?”

“No.” Only I wasn’t sure that was true.

“Good.” He stepped back, and I dared not flinch under his scrutiny. “I think some time outside the city might do you good. Perhaps a procession in Bithynia.”

I didn’t want Justinian to think I was fragile, that I couldn’t face what we’d done, but the idea of leaving the city for a while held a certain appeal. An idea unfolded in my mind even as I spoke.

“Not right now,” I said. It was too soon to flaunt ourselves, like throwing a party after a funeral. “But perhaps after Tasia’s marriage.”

“You want her married soon, don’t you?”

I nodded. I needed to know my daughter was safe, especially with what I had planned.

“The procession will have to be extravagant,” I said. “With elephants.”

“I didn’t realize you had an affinity for the beasts.” Justinian’s laughter startled the guards. “I promise it will be horrendously lavish.”

“Good.” I snuggled into his arm. “Won’t the Cappadocian protest the expense?” I hoped he would.

“John won’t object. He owes you his life.”

I rather liked the idea that John was beholden to me. I could use that against him in the future.

“You’ll come with me to Bithynia, won’t you?”

I knew the answer before he spoke. There was no way he could leave the city anytime soon.

Justinian sighed. “Belisarius will be campaigning in Carthage—”

“And you have all your building projects to oversee.” I sighed. “I’ll miss you.” It was true, but what I had planned couldn’t happen if Justinian joined the procession. “I’ll order Antonina to accompany me.”

Justinian kissed the tip of my red nose. “Do as you like—you always do.”

He had no idea.

M
acedonia walked with me among the orange groves of the monastery of Chalcedon, her musk perfume mingling with the citrus. This was our first stop since we’d left the Golden Gate, and I missed Tasia desperately; but I could hardly expect a married girl heavy with her first child to go on a royal procession through Bithynia. True to his word, Justinian had arranged Tasia’s marriage to Flavius Anastasius Paulus, a distant relation of Emperor Anastasius’ through his nephew Probus, the same man who’d fled the city in the face of the Nika riots. I’d cried tears of happiness at the wedding. Paulus was a soft-spoken consul, almost twice as old as Tasia’s sixteen years, but kind and pleasant on the eyes. We all hoped for a boy, a grandson of my own blood who might one day sit upon the throne. I enjoyed the idea of my bloodline founding a new dynasty.

Shaggy-haired goats bleated as a tonsured monk herded them across the dusty path and away from a grove of brilliant sunflowers stretching their faces to the sun. White and brown wool that had not yet been woven into cloth hung in ropes between the trees to dry, and more of it lay in mounds on the dirt.

I plucked an orange from a tree as we walked downhill and peeled the rind in a single curled strip as the cicadas bickered around us. A child’s laughter rang out, and I looked down the sun-spattered path to see Antonina strolling toward us, a tall young man I recognized as her godson Theodosius behind her balancing a chubby-cheeked infant with her mother’s dark curls. Darting between them was a gangly boy, chasing a motley dog missing patches of fur.

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.