The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (38 page)

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Antonina, Macedonia, and I were enjoying the warm waters of Pythium’s hot springs despite the sulfurous stench. The waters had wrought miraculous cures for many pilgrims in the past, and Saint Samson hoped they might help me conceive. I was under no such illusions.

I’d walked out to a startling blue sky to find Antonina and Macedonia already in the springs, one copper and one crow-black head bent together over cups of wine. My two closest friends had found an affinity for each other during our procession, and the three of us often stayed up too late into the night, reminiscing on our similar pasts and marveling at how far we’d come in life. They both looked up as I approached, and Antonina flushed into her cup.

“You two look like you’re up to no good,” I said, shedding my robe and stepping into the springs.

“Is there any other way to be?” Macedonia floated on her back, her still-glorious
breasts bobbing like ripe melons above the surface. “We were just discussing my love life. Antonina thinks I should find a husband.”

Antonina set down her cup. “I’d hate to see your bed stay empty.”

“Who says it’s empty?” Macedonia gave a sly smile. “The line to my bed may not be as long as it once was, but there are still men eager for my tricks. And I couldn’t bear being tied to any one man for the rest of my life—how dull.”

“Unless you really were tied.” Antonina grinned. “That might be fun.”

I splashed water at Antonina as a slave girl interrupted our swim to deliver a parchment bearing Belisarius’ seal. The water from Antonina’s fingers spread up the paper before she finished reading, and she bit her lower lip. “Belisarius is headed to Carthage before the harvest.”

“I know. I had a letter from Justinian yesterday.” It had been a letter full of praise for Belisarius, which I minded only a little, and also for John the Cappadocian and his ingenius tax reforms. The imperial coffers were filling even as Justinian emptied them to rebuild the city. I minded that quite a bit more.

Antonina frowned. “Belisarius doesn’t sound too thrilled that Justinian is making him finance much of the excursion with his own funds.”

“Funds pilfered from the Imperial Treasury.” I might have let that slip to Justinian in my last letter.

Antonina laid the parchment on the water. The ink evaporated and floated in a murky cloud on the surface. “Belisarius recalled Theodosius to join him.”

I waved the slaves away. “I thought you were going to be discreet.”

“He couldn’t possibly know—not even my slaves know.” She bit her lip. “Not most of them anyway.”

“Know about what?” Macedonia wrung out her hair, thin wisps of gray now woven into the bronze.

I looked to Antonina, but she only grinned. “I’m sleeping with my godson.”

Macedonia lifted a brow. “Good for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You two are going to burn for eternity.”

Antonina grinned. “We’ll save you a spot, darling.”

“Does Belisarius have any other reason to recall only Theodosius?” Macedonia asked.

“I don’t know.” Antonina stood, water pearling down her pale skin, following the trail of luminous blue veins down her hips and thighs. “I’m going with them.”

“What?” I whirled on her as I wrapped a towel around my breasts. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s the only way to keep my eye on both of them.”

“You can’t carry on with him in Carthage, not under Belisarius’ nose.”

“Of course she can,” Macedonia said, perching on a rock like some sort of water nymph. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

“Now that you mention it,” Antonina said, her grin showing off the tiny gap in her teeth, “this trip sounds absolutely delightful.”

I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes heavenward—it was no use arguing with them. “Don’t come crying to me when your wicked little web gets ripped to shreds.”

“Said one spider to another. Everyone has a talent, Theodora. Mine is getting people to do what I want.” She grinned. “A talent we share, come to think of it.”

She was right—better to be the puppeteer than the puppet. Although in this situation I felt more and more as if my strings were being pulled.

.   .   .

I’d been gone from Constantinople for only a few months, but it felt more like a year.

The
Greyhound
carried us across the Bosphorus, her sails pregnant with
the late-summer breeze. Unsure when I’d see my son again, I swallowed hard as John was hustled into a litter with Antonina’s other children. I waved away the imperial litter with its silk curtains to commandeer Antonina’s ebony chariot, grimacing as she and Theodosius snapped shut the curtains of my litter behind them. I envied my friend’s flush of romance, but I knew it would amount to little. Antonina was like a crow, easily distracted by anything shiny. Especially a pair of oiled biceps.

I was glad to be home. I’d missed my baths and codices, but most of all, I missed Justinian. My husband hadn’t squandered time in my absence—it had been a year and a half since Nika, but the new walls of the Hagia Sophia already soared to a height to match the sky, looking down upon the rest of the city. We passed a new bronze statue of Justinian in the square of the Augusteum, tall enough to rival Constantine’s. My husband looked like Achilles in his Persian military dress, sitting astride a giant warhorse. He held a globe topped with a cross in one hand while the other stretched out before him to the east as if to command some marauding horde of Persians to halt or the sun to rise. I expected Justinian would wait for me at the palace, but chips of pine and dried rosemary littered the cobbles and an imperial procession snaked its way to meet us, a man on a giant black horse at its front. I resisted the urge to spur the chariot to meet him—I’d let Justinian come to me instead.

It seemed to take an eternity before he reached us. Wordlessly, he pulled me from my borrowed chariot and onto the saddle in front of him. Tongues would wag, but I didn’t care.

“God, but I missed you.” He crushed me to him as the crowd cheered. “I forbid you to ever leave me for so long again.”

“And I always obey my Emperor.” I gave him a smile to rival Saint Pulcheria, although my impulses right then were far from virginal.

He gestured to the colossal statue. “What do you think of my latest project?”

I craned my neck. “It’s a little small, don’t you think?”

Justinian laughed and kept his arm around my waist as we started the slow procession home. “It’s an ingenious invention. Wine actually flows from my feet on feast days.”

“Of course it does,” I said. “Because every Emperor should have a statue that pours wine from his boots.”

“Probably not, but I don’t care.” He kissed my nose. “I’ve emptied my schedule for the entire day. This afternoon we can discuss your trip and my progress rebuilding the city.”

“I cleared my afternoon, too.” I gave him an impish grin. “But I don’t plan to spend that time discussing much of anything.”

The gold flecks in his eyes turned molten, and I felt the hardness of his desire. It had been a long summer apart—I’d have hiked up my stola and let him take me on that horse if I thought I could get away with it. He held me closer, and his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. “I knew you were a smart woman the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“The smartest.”

He threw back his head and laughed, the golden sound filling the square and making the crowds cheer even louder. “And the least humble.”

I joined his laughter as he spurred his horse faster. It was good to be home.

Of course, that didn’t last long.

A
rdent prayers and swinging censers had accompanied Belisarius’ campaign to retake Africa from the Vandals. I watched until the last of the ninety-two
dromons
sailed from the Sea of Marmara and out of sight. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

There was no word for months. We were riding through the imperial hunting park one April morning, having already bagged a wild ass and two gazelles to serve to the visiting governor of Tarsus that night, when Narses delivered the first letters from Antonina. Delicate sunlight filtered through the budding leaves overhead, casting a puzzle of shadows on the three messages; one was a water-stained parchment, the second a crisp piece of vellum, and the third a thicker letter for Justinian bearing Belisarius’ seal.

A hint of rose wafted from the parchment as I broke the seal of the first bedraggled message.

Not for the first time, I wished John the Cappadocian had died at Nika. The first letter must have been waylaid for some time, but the second was already several months old.

I set the letter upon my lap. It was so old that Antonina and Belisarius might appear in our harbor any day. “I suppose it’s a good thing you added Conqueror of Africa to your list of titles months ago,” I told my husband.

Justinian rolled up the parchment from Belisarius and grinned. “I am nothing if not efficient.”

“And yet John the Cappadocian almost sabotaged the entire campaign.”

“He made a mistake. A huge one, but a mistake nonetheless.”

“The man is a miser, except when it comes to his wine and women.”

Justinian rubbed his temple with one hand, the other still on his reins. “I know. Yet, without him, I could never finance the rebuilding. The Hagia Sophia alone cost an Emperor’s ransom.”

“Justinian.” I practically growled his name.

“I’ll deal with John.”

“I’ll send for him.”

“That’s not necess—”

Not giving Justinian a chance to defend the miserable excuse for a man, I motioned for Narses, who was patiently waiting near a cluster of blossoming purple Judas trees. “I don’t care if the Cappadocian is in bed with ten of his whores. Truss him like a hog and drag him here if you have to.”

I’d swear Narses smiled at the thought. “You’ll have him before the sun sets.”

“I’m not sure what John did to earn your spite,” Justinian said on our way back. The slaves had already hauled away the gazelle and wild ass, so we let our horses walk as we retraced our path toward the city.

“The man is incompetent,” I said. “He almost cost you your crown, yet you coddle him like a lapdog.”

“This was not his finest hour.” Justinian ran one hand through his hair, still thick even now that he was nearing fifty. “But Belisarius still
carried the day. He’s a damn fine general. I plan to reward him upon his return.”

“Aren’t the spoils of war reward enough?” Belisarius was quickly becoming the most popular man in the Empire, and he commanded the entire military of the Empire. One only had to look to Rome’s history to see how that story often ended.

Justinian scratched his chin as if he hadn’t heard me. “Perhaps something akin to the triumphs of the Golden Age.”

I snorted. “There hasn’t been a Roman triumph for a general in more than five hundred years.”

“Not since Octavian gave one to Balbus for his campaign in Africa.” Justinian’s eyes lit. “Another opportunity for history to remember us.”

It was almost tempting. “Except Belisarius will be the star of the show.”

Justinian frowned. “Belisarius can parade through the streets with Gelimer and the Vandal treasures, but he’ll bow to me in the end. I sent him to Carthage—this is
my
victory.” He crossed his arms. “This triumph will be remembered to eternity.”

Eternity was a long time—I’d settle for here and now.

.   .   .

Later that night, Narses announced a rather disheveled John the Cappadocian into our throne room. His sandy hair was thinner, and a web of tiny red lines radiated from every direction over his nose and the pores of his cheeks, the mask of a man who enjoyed his wine too much. He gave a perfunctory bow. “I seek to serve the Augusti.”