The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (40 page)

“Hardly lies when I have proof of the living, breathing son you never mentioned to your husband, our illustrious Emperor.”

Ice coursed through my veins. I had to continue to test him, to find out how much he knew. “You are mistaken, Prefect. God has seen fit to bless me with a daughter, but no living sons.”

He pretended to inspect a column. “Yet I know you had a son after you took up with Hecebolus.”

“And he died while he was still a child.”

“Don’t lie, Theodora—it doesn’t become you. The boy’s been hidden under Antonina’s roof all these years. She’s such a slut, no one would notice an addition to her herd of brats.” His lips curled in a slow smile. “Everyone saw you leave with me that night at Justin’s.” I moved to escape, but his fingers closed around my arm. “I’m sure the
Emperor would be thrilled to know that you and I shared a rather spectacular night together that resulted in your illegitimate son.”

I wanted to punch the smug look off his face. “You already tried to tell him those lies. He doesn’t believe you.”

“Will Justinian believe me after I describe every freckle on your magnificent body?” His fingers brushed the ribs under my breast. “About the mole under your left breast? How you screamed my name and begged me for more?”

I clenched my fists to keep my hands from shaking. I’d let John kiss me that night at Justin’s, allowed him to almost undress me before Hecebolus interrupted us. Justinian would think I’d lied to him about my relationship with the Cappadocian. John’s lies would transform his love into hate.

“Why didn’t you just tell him all that in the throne room?”

John rubbed the cleft in his chin. “There is a price for my silence. I could probably be persuaded to keep our little secret in return for the revenues of your lands in Bithynia.”

Even though I was dressed in purple with a golden crown on my head and red sandals on my feet, men still extorted me. It felt like being back in the tiny cabin on board the
Naiad
, Wart leering over me.

“You’d blackmail your Empress?”

“You could have had me, but your choices have brought us to this point, Augusta, not mine. I have a daughter to care for, to ensure she has a proper dowry.”

“You have plenty of money.”

John shrugged. “Easily gained, easily lost.”

I glared at him. “I should have made sure you dangled from the gallows with Hypatius.”

He reached out to touch my cheek, but I slapped his hand away. He chuckled. “Still a hellcat, even when cornered. You decide how much this secret is worth.” He walked past me toward the dim light of
the entrance but turned before he got too close to the guards. “And don’t think of sending one of your nasty little eunuchs after me. I have a nice bundle of proof of your transgressions that would quickly be found if my body washed up in the Bosphorus.”

Frozen with rage and terror, I watched him disappear up the stairs. I didn’t know if he spoke the truth about the proof, but I couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

I’d find a way to destroy John the Cappadocian if it was the last thing I did.

.   .   .

I was glad Justinian was still in his offices when I returned to the palace. I sent a yawning eunuch for Narses, but one of his guards told me he’d left court and might not return for several weeks. I needed Antonina to keep an eye on Belisarius, and her disappearance from Constantinople would alert John the Cappadocian of my plan. There was only one other person I could trust with this mission. I wrote a letter while I waited, the first of several.

Macedonia bowed as a eunuch announced her, but I didn’t have time for such niceties. “I need you to take my son to Alexandria.”

“Your son? With Hecebolus?” She blinked. “I thought your son died after you left Antioch.”

“That’s what I told you, and Justinian,” I said, still writing, “but Antonina’s been hiding him all this time.”

“So Justinian would put you on the throne?” Her tone was soft, not accusatory.

“That, and for John’s protection. For my daughter.” There had been so many reasons at the time, but now they all bled together.

She gave a great exhale and sat down hard. “So I’m to take your son to Alexandria?” I was ordering her to the ends of the earth.

“John the Cappadocian knows about him. He threatened me at the Sunken Palace tonight.”

“So your son isn’t safe.” She perched on the edge of the carved olive wood stool. “Neither are you, for that matter.”

“I’ll worry about that later.” I was already working on a way to tell Justinian without his banishing me to a rock in the Mediterranean. “I don’t know if the Cappadocian would try anything with the boy, but I can’t chance it.”

“I’ll leave immediately.”

I handed her a folded piece of vellum, fine in quality but lacking my imperial seal. “Give this to Antonina.”

“May I?”

I nodded—Macedonia should know what she was getting into.

She raised her brows as she read. “So the boy is to study with Severus of Alexandria.”

I nodded. “I’ve already sent another letter ahead to warn Severus.” In actuality, I’d asked him to bear witness to the true date of John’s birth so I could tell Justinian the truth. I’d kept up correspondence with Severus since my marriage—I was reasonably sure he’d help me. I handed a second letter to Macedonia. “This will explain everything to the Patriarch. Make sure John wears my silver cross—it will prove your claim to Severus.”

Macedonia stood and smoothed her stola. “I hope this works, for your sake.”

“It will.”

It had to.

D
arkness cloaked me behind an ebony screen, a clutch of guards and the secret passageway to the palace’s Horse Courtyard at my back. It was the dead of night, yet the sound of hammers and chisels filled the air of the Hagia Sophia.

I pressed my hand to my eyelid to stop its incessant twitching. I’d seen Saint Samson about the problem a few days ago, but he believed I only needed more rest. That might be true—I doubted I’d pulled together more than a few hours of sleep since Macedonia had left. There had been no word from her, and Justinian had sent John the Cappadocian to Antioch to deal with the tax collection, but I’d been steadily funneling money into his accounts and would continue to do so until I received confirmation of my story from Severus. Then I could go after the Cappadocian.

I peered through a gap in the screen, watching laborers struggle to raise one of the columns from Ephesus’ famed Temple of Artemis. Justinian had reached out to all corners of the Empire to gather a meadow of colored columns: Greek powdered white marble, Egyptian porphyry, and green marble from Thessaly, all to beautify what would become God’s most
glorious church. Even more impressive, he’d also twisted arms and spent a fortune on bribes to bring together a host of holy relics for the new Hagia Sophia including the Virgin’s cloak, the table from the Last Supper, and fragments of the Golgotha cross.

My husband handed out coins to the workmen, their smiles glinting in the lamplight almost as brightly as the gold they slipped into their pockets. Justinian often came here to watch the progress of this, the crown jewel of his rebuilding. He would hide behind the screen and then emerge to pass out generous rewards to the hardest workers, but since the laborers never knew when they were being observed, the men were always soaked with sweat. This time he beckoned me out from behind the screen. I ignored the workers’ furtive glances as he pressed a sack of coins into my hands.

“Is there no gold left for them to excavate from the foundations?” I divided the newly minted
solidi
amongst the workers’ callused hands. Justinian’s first trick had been to hide gold amongst the rubble of the old church to encourage them to dig faster.

He chuckled. “That ran out long ago. But it served its purpose—we’re already ahead of schedule.”

“Your church will be magnificent.”

His hand caressed the small of my back. “God has also answered my prayers to retake Rome. The Mediterranean shall soon be a Roman lake once more.”

It was a stain on Justinian’s reign—on all Byzantine Emperors since Odoacer deposed Romulus Augustulus—that the city of Rome wasn’t ruled by Rome, but instead by an Ostrogoth king who posed as a Roman viceroy. Justinian had long awaited an excuse to invade, especially since the hand of the Ostrogoth king was light upon Roman backs. The Roman people might not mind being reabsorbed into the Empire, but they weren’t interested in paying our heavier taxes. It would be less than ideal to reconquer our people only to have them revolt against John the Cappadocian’s taxes.

“What is this miracle?” I asked.

“Queen Amalasuntha has asked for my help retaking her throne.”

“That didn’t take long.” Amalasuntha’s husband, the Ostrogoth king, had recently died and left his lovely young queen a widow. “I was under the impression Amalasuntha was content to act as regent until her son comes of age.”

Justinian shook his head, his face dark. “The patricians killed her son, and her cousin seized the throne.”

We crossed ourselves, my mood suddenly dark. Amalasuntha’s son would have been close to John’s age. “So our imperial army marches again,” I said.

Justinian nodded. “Just as soon as I can convince the Sardinians to revolt against the Ostrogoths.”

“A diversionary tactic.” I touched his toe with my sandal. “You sneaky devil.”

“Always.” He smiled, then strummed his fingers against his arm—the man couldn’t think if he was sitting still. “I can’t trust this campaign to anyone but Belisarius.”

“So he can have another triumph?” I pursed my lips. “Antonina tells me of the company he keeps these days—senators, consuls, the Patriarch. Do you want to share the purple with your general?”

“Belisarius is a soldier. He prefers his armor to the purple.”

“So he’ll politely decline when the widowed queen offers him the Ostrogoth throne?” Justinian might not realize it, but Belisarius would have ample reason to divorce Antonina if he discovered her affair with Theodosius. Then he could march into Rome and accept Amalasuntha’s hand and kingdom on a golden platter.

Justinian turned his back to me, pretending to survey a column inscribed with his monogram. “It will be difficult for him to take Amalasuntha’s throne when she’s under my protection.”

“An ocean away.”

“No,” he said slowly. “She’ll be here.”

“What?” I stopped dead. “Amalasuntha is coming here?”

Justinian glanced back at me. “Amalasuntha is a fugitive. I have offered her asylum.”

Amalasuntha was rumored to be as cunning as Julius Caesar and as mercurial as Caligula. And as beautiful as Cleopatra. I didn’t want her within a hundred miles of my court, or my husband. I had John the Cappadocian to deal with—I couldn’t fight wars on two fronts.

I gave Justinian my most glittering smile. “I look forward to greeting the great Ostrogoth queen.”

And sending her back to Rome fast enough to make her lovely little head spin.

.   .   .

Crosses of palm fronds decorated the throne room the Sunday before Easter, the pillars draped with gold and green silk banners and the mosaics strewn with violet petals. Justinian had walked to the Church of the Holy Apostles at dawn, leading the donkey on which the Patriarch rode. I was glad he was gone when a messenger appeared with a letter for me from Alexandria. I expected Severus’ familiar script, but I opened the parchment to find it blotted with ink and blurred with what may have been tears.

I wept for Severus, wishing I’d been able to see my old friend again, but I shed more than a few tears for myself. With Severus gone, no one knew the truth of John’s birth, and Sister Mary hadn’t mentioned the arrival of Macedonia and my son. They might have been blown off course along the journey, or lost in a storm. Or worse. Even if they’d arrived after Severus’ death, I now had no proof to verify my claims against those of the Cappadocian.

Slaves had applied cool lavender cream to my face to erase the signs of my grief, and now I stood in the throne room with Justinian to begin the annual payment of our court officials, forcing myself not to dwell on this morning’s bad news. My stomach rumbled—we’d feasted two days ago, but Lazarus Saturday began a new fast, and we still had the Holy Week before we’d truly be able to eat again. Everyone might have been on edge had it not been for the tables laden with bags of coins surrounding us.

Justinian faced the court but glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. “You look stunning today.”

I’d dressed carefully before receiving the letter from Alexandria, choosing a deep purple stola edged with red flowers and a crimson
paludamentum.
A net of rubies and amethysts covered my veil and matched the gems in Justinian’s crown. I marveled for a moment at the man by my side. Lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, and strands of gray whispered at his temples, but he was still as hale and handsome as the day I’d met him.