The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (4 page)

Armeneus headed for the outer door to let the appeals staff know the Augusta was on her way.

‘Armeneus?’ whispered Theodora.

‘Yes, Mistress?’ Armeneus leaned in.

‘Tell Narses he owes me.’

‘Of course, Mistress.’

The Empress and her entourage of ladies and maids made the long walk through to the Petitioners’ Hall and Theodora made a decision as she walked.

‘I would like a Petitioners’ Room in our own part of the Palace,’ she said to Armeneus.

‘In the women’s quarters, Mistress?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not usual to invite strangers – and some of the petitioners will always be men – to the women’s quarters.’

‘It’s not usual for an Empress to hear the petitioners instead of the Emperor. It’s not usual for the Empress to be attended by an acrobat dwarf who still has a sideline as a madam…’

Sophia interrupted her, ‘If you’re referring to me, you might at least use my name.’

Theodora nodded at her old friend. A vital part of her entourage since she had moved to the Palace, Sophia was one of the few people who knew Theodora from her former life who still had the courage to speak up to the Empress.

‘Sophia,’ Theodora said.

‘Mistress.’ The dwarf grinned from her place a few paces
behind Theodora and added, ‘And I need that sideline, as you call it – you think the pittance you pay me keeps me in comfort?’

Theodora smiled coolly. ‘You understand it’s believed to be an honour to work for the Augusta?’

‘Apparently so. And you’ll understand you’re not meant to know about my sideline.’

‘Regardless,’ said Theodora, turning back to Armeneus, ‘if the Emperor’s staff are happy for me to take on my husband’s work when it suits them, we can at least see that it suits me too.’

‘I’ll speak to Narses, Mistress.’

‘No, I’ll speak to Narses, you’d end up agreeing some halfway idea with him that neither solves my problem nor creates a new solution.’

‘As you wish.’

They swept on through Theodora’s favourite courtyard, where the old Empress Euphemia’s intricate mosaic fountains poured cool water against gold and blue. Theodora’s pleasure in their beauty dimmed as she remembered the malice of the old woman who had baited her for so long. Lovely though they were, she was planning to have these fountains made over, hoping to remove the pain of the old woman’s disdain as she did so.

‘As I wish, yes,’ she answered Armeneus, ‘but when it comes to getting funds for my own projects, it’s hardly as I wish, is it? The Cappadocian keeps the purse tight shut when it’s to do with anything I want.’

Armeneus stopped himself saying there had already been an enormous list of changes, in particular the elevation of her position to enable the Empress to make any demands at all. He knew his mistress and he also knew that despite her hatred of her husband’s new treasurer, and she wasn’t alone in that feeling,
much of her complaint was for show. Like many who worked in the Palace, Theodora was proud of the petitioners’ system. Those who came to court to plead their case might have a long wait, or need to come back several times before they were seen, but most were seen eventually, and their concerns given attention. Not that they always received an impartial hearing.

Among that day’s claimants were the usual round of widows asking for support, refugees begging asylum, and several divorced women trying to reclaim dowries from ex-husbands. All were delighted to find Theodora was hearing them, given her reputation for clemency towards women in distress.

Then a much more assertive petitioner pushed forward to state his case.

The patrician asking for financial aid was fat, sweating, and furious at having to wait on a long line of women before he was required to bow and kiss the Empress’s foot. Theodora had learned the old form of obeisance from Menander when she was a child in his classes, and had instituted it as Palace protocol as soon as she and Justinian came to power. She also insisted they were called Master and Mistress; the new term of address had caused concern in the Senate, and was obviously something this patrician was not comfortable with either.

He barely touched her proffered foot with his lips and then heaved his bulk to stand unsteadily in front of Theodora. ‘Augusta…’ he began.

Theodora frowned and, not hearing the correct term, turned to Antonina, ignoring the man. ‘Would your husband prefer meat to fish this evening, do you think?’

Antonina smiled and played along, ‘Belisarius is fond of both fish and meat, though our fishermen have been landing abundant catches recently. Big, big catches.’

The petitioner tried again, ‘Lady…’

At this Sophia whistled softly and Theodora said, to no one in particular, ‘Yes, the last time we had lamb it seemed particularly lardy.’

‘Mistress.’ The patrician eventually forced himself to use the correct term and Theodora, looking at him properly for the first time, felt she recognised him.

‘Have we met?’

‘No, Mistress. If I could just explain my problem to you – I have come to a difficult…a problem, there is…’

The man stopped as Theodora leaned forward, the chlamys dragging on her shoulders and neck as she moved.

‘I think we have met.’

Theodora remembered a night, a lifetime earlier. Part of Menander’s company of girls, dancing for a group of wealthy men, a sumptuous dinner in a private house, her sister Anastasia grabbed by a man in the front row and pulled on to his lap. Theodora felt again her little sister’s fear, saw herself coming to Anastasia’s rescue, fighting off the man and then turning that fight into a joke, a comedy routine, saving the evening from ruin and earning a beating from Menander for her pains. Anastasia had died young and in childbirth, her memory was precious to Theodora, and if this fat man before her was not the patrician who had lunged at her sister, then he looked very like him. Which was enough.

The patrician was still explaining his petition: ‘I have a hole, Mistress, in my finances. I made a loan, to a member of your own staff and I hope that the Palace might reimburse me? For a patrician to be in need reflects badly on Rome. I am not one of those,’ he waved at the group of widows standing to one side, ‘used to begging for my living. This hole…it is not right…’

Theodora raised her hand and the man stopped, believing his case heard. She stood and Sophia leaned forward to enjoy what was coming. Antonina darted a look at Armeneus, who moved closer, his job always to tread the fine line between acknowledging his mistress’s status and reining her in when the famous temper looked as if it might get the better of her.

Theodora stood a few paces from the patrician, a good head and a half shorter than him, impressive in her held anger. Small and fine, the wiry strength that had stood her in good stead when she had trained daily as an acrobat and a dancer was present now in her poise, her bearing.

She smiled round at her women, at the staff attending them, the petitioners still waiting, and then, speaking quite deliberately, and slowly, she asked him, ‘A hole, you said?’

The patrician was confused. ‘Yes, Mistress, a hole in my—’

‘You have come to the Imperial Palace to tell us you have a hole?’

‘Perhaps not exactly a hole…’

He tried again, and was again silenced by Theodora simply lifting her forefinger.

‘We have seen widows begging for their children’s stomachs, refugees petitioning the generosity of Rome, and you mock these cases of genuine need by declaring your hole?’

Her voice was still quiet, still low, but perfectly pitched so that everyone in the deep chamber heard each carefully articulated word.

‘I don’t…I’m not…’ he blustered.

Now Theodora responded with a chant, repeating herself and gesturing for the ladies to accompany her, ‘Showing your hole in the Palace? Showing your hole?’

It took no time for Antonina and Sophia to join in, half a moment more for Comito’s daughter Indaro, always a bright point in the Empress’s entourage, to take up the chant and
turn it into a song. Even Theodora’s daughter, the shy Ana, quietly sang along. Armeneus sighed, well aware this story would be all over the City before nightfall and that the higher-ranking members of society needed no encouragement to shake their heads at Theodora’s behaviour.

The chant grew louder and the fat man realised it was an impossible situation. Careful to bow first, he kissed the Empress’s foot, although she skipped every time his lips came near her toe, and then he backed out of the chamber, sweating, mumbling, hurrying from the Palace. The ladies and their attendant eunuchs laughed, many of the remaining petitioners applauded, and Theodora went back to her seat on the raised dais, the ceremonial robes a little less heavy.

‘Good. Who’s next?’

Two more refugees were granted leave to stay in the City, and then a young man came forward, not much older than Theodora; his face weather-beaten, he looked like a sailor or a pilgrim. He bowed and kissed Theodora’s foot with no fuss. When he stood up he was smiling.

‘I’m pleased to see you looking so well, Mistress.’

‘Really?’

Theodora was wary. Since her elevation in status many claimed to have seen her naked on stage or cavorting in a private house. Most had embellished or completely invented their tales – certainly she had not been quite so busy or as wild as many of the storytellers suggested.

Armeneus stepped forward. ‘Your petition? The Augusta is busy.’

‘I’ll tell it,’ the man answered, the Italian accent clearer now in his stilted Greek.

‘Would you prefer to speak Latin?’ Theodora asked in Latin.

The man shook his head. ‘No, Mistress. My Greek is ugly, I hear it especially in this court, but it offers more choice for conversation, more room for thought. As an artist I find it elegant.’

‘I’ve always found Greek useful, especially when discussing faith…or love.’ She smiled and the young man smiled back. ‘But as you can see, my staff become nervous when I chat, they’re worried I’ll enjoy myself too much – yes, Armeneus?’

Armeneus said nothing. If Theodora was in a good mood having attacked a patrician, and chose to spend the rest of the day charming Italian peasants, he was not going to complain. The more they got through here, the happier Narses would be.

‘You may remember me, Mistress, if I tell you my name is Stephen and I am a mosaic artist.’

Theodora stood up, and again her entourage stood to attention with her.

‘Come closer.’

The man approached, and Theodora stared at him.

After a long while she spoke again, ‘Alexandria?’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘You were there when I met the Patriarch Timothy, before I went into the desert. You told me I should not give up.’

The man agreed. ‘I’d seen plenty of lost souls in my own pilgrimage.’

‘You thought I was lost?’

‘It was no special knowing. You were tired, another traveller waiting on the religious; I’d seen the same in the Holy Land, the Church dealing with us in its own time. I wanted to cheer you up. And I had once seen you on stage, I could see the difference from the girl you had been…’ he stopped himself. ‘Is it all right to say that here?’

‘Very many have, and much more,’ Theodora sighed and Sophia grinned. ‘So, you knew nothing, but encouraged me to stay anyway, to wait for Timothy, who became my mentor.’

‘You looked like you needed encouragement.’

‘I did. And are you here because you think I owe you?’

‘No, Mistress, I’m here because I want a job.’

‘I have a household chief who’s irritating me today, any interest in taking over from him?’ she asked, looking at Armeneus, who glanced up from his notes and nodded, the image of passive courtly protocol.

‘Thank you, no. I want to create the mosaics for the new church in Ravenna.’

Theodora frowned. ‘We’ve only just agreed the building work there, it’ll be years before the foundations are laid; with all this fuss from the Goths, it’s bound to be a slow build. You’ll wait a decade or more before the internal decoration begins.’

‘And I’ll be a better artist by then.’

‘You think highly of yourself.’

The artist shook his head. ‘I think highly of my aims for myself.’

‘Good answer. And what will you mosaic?’

‘You, Mistress, and the August.’

Theodora laughed. ‘You don’t even try flattery? Shouldn’t you tell me I’m so beautiful I must be immortalised? That it’s vital I’m seen across the Empire; a symbol of womanly obedience for the fiery wives of Ravenna?’

All her entourage laughed at that, as she intended them to, and the artist continued, ‘Mistress, I am highly skilled now. By the time the church is ready for the mosaic work, I mean to be great. And so will you.’

‘You’re brave – am I not great already?’ Theodora was enjoying this.

‘As young as we are, Mistress, you and I still have much to accomplish, to build on. I with my talent, you with your…’

‘Gold?’

‘And power,’ he agreed. ‘I need the Imperial seal to prove my workshop has the commission for the completed church. Many things may happen between now and then. I need to know I’m promised the work.’

‘Where I can command, I hardly need pay as well.’

Stephen evenly returned her look and said, ‘Where you can pay, the work will be better.’

Antonina burst out laughing at this and Sophia applauded. The artist was too rugged for Antonina’s tastes and probably too earnest for Sophia, but Theodora knew her friends enjoyed having new men about the place, especially men as interesting as this one.

‘Eat with us tonight,’ said Theodora. ‘You may begin your sketches if you like, or I could ask one of my friends to show you the Palace, you can study the mosaics we have here. Sophia probably has something to show that will inspire you?’ She was pleased to see the artist suddenly lose his bravado. ‘What? You’re scared of my friend’s hunger? It’s true her appetites are larger than her half-size frame.’

Stephen held up his hands and spoke more quietly now, ‘Mistress, I have no clothes for an evening in the Palace.’

Theodora nodded. ‘I travelled like that, it is freeing – and frightening. Armeneus, find the artist a room and clothing, enough for a few days, he’ll need time to make his sketches. Sophia can give him a tour later. We’ll see you this evening.’