The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (42 page)

The more senior members of the Palace staff, those who’d grown up behind its walls, born into civil servant families and progressing within them, looked on in surprise as Narses took charge. He ordered two market stalls to be brought over, laid them end to end, then he and Armeneus knelt, each on one knee, making steps of their thighs for Comito who, as if she had never stopped performing, never left the City’s lead company, ascended their steps and took her place on the makeshift stage. She bowed low, impossibly impressive from that height and on those rickety stalls, first to the Emperor and then to the Empress and, with a smile for Sophia, began to sing. It was an old song, one she and Theodora and Anastasia had learned
from their father, the man who had famously trained the last of the great bears, a song he and the other animal trainers used to sing, before the Emperor Anastasius outlawed animal fights. It was a song that probably dated back before Constantine, before the very reason for today’s feast. And it was a song anyone who had been raised in the City knew, everyone who had ever been cared for by a grandmother, looked after by a neighbour’s old aunt. To children, unaware of the meaning behind the words it was a lullaby; later in life young girls recognised in shock that it was also a love song, a song of desire, and old men had always enjoyed it as a drinking anthem. It was a song of the City and it had once been sung by both factions, in competition and in harmony. Tonight it was led by Comito, she of the golden voice, and was sung by everyone present and by those who had heard the rumours and were struggling to hurry up the Mese, to the place where they had heard Theodora-from-the-Brothel was about to perform once more.

Theodora did not perform. Comito sang just the one song and was helped down again. The priests took up their relics and the monks resumed chanting, Theodora was half sleeping long before they reached the end of the Mese, but managed to open her eyes just long enough as they processed past the Hippodrome, to look up and see, or imagine she saw, above the high bank of top seats, the owl engraved on the obelisk, the owl her father had told her to look out for, the owl that would guide her back to him if she was ever lost.

In the Augusta’s rooms, Mariam undressed Theodora and laid her in her bed. She was dousing the lights when Theodora stirred.

The Empress hauled herself up in bed, every action an agony, she shook her head. ‘Get me some wine, with warm water.’

‘Mistress?’ Mariam asked as she waved the servant off to fetch hot water.

‘My stomach. Damn street food, and on a festival day at that. I should know better, never ate it in the old days, always kept to bar meals only.’

‘But you said …?’

‘I said what the people wanted to hear and were happy to believe. But there were no fishing boats out today, that was yesterday’s fish and no amount of herbs or spices or burning on an open fire can make it any fresher. Why do you think I barely ate a bite of each?’

‘I thought … because you were ill. Are ill. That’s why …?’

‘Yes, that too,’ Theodora said, settling back against her pillows and accepting the cup of warm, watered wine from the servant, stirring in the honey she also offered. ‘But I knew better than to eat all they were offering, you need a strong stomach for that stuff, and I’ve been far too long in the Palace to risk it.’

Mariam smiled and then she laughed. ‘But the priests, and the monks, all the civil servants, the Palace staff, you encouraged them to eat!’

‘I think, if you paid attention,’ Theodora paused for a moment to cough, a cough that racked her body and made tears stream down her face, ‘you’ll remember I only encouraged the more annoying of the Palace staff to eat, the most pedantic of our civil servants. Belisarius must have the stomach of a dog anyway, after his years of service, all the generals will. But some of those very annoying priests? Especially the fat one who glared at me last week when I needed to sit in the gallery? And that man who assists in the Treasury, the one with the heavy brow who thinks he’s too good for the rest of us?’ Mariam named the man and Theodora laughed, mucus roiling through her breath as she did so. ‘That’s the one. I
don’t imagine his night will be any more comfortable than mine.’

‘Poor man.’

‘Good.’

Mariam helped Theodora back beneath her covers, soft silk and light wool to ease the cloth against her thin skin, her sharp bone.

‘Will you ask the Emperor to come to me tonight?’

‘He comes every night, Mistress.’

Mariam answered honestly. Justinian had not slept in his own bed for weeks, nor had he slept in Theodora’s bed, too scared to hurt her by turning or moving near her.

‘I know,’ the Empress said, ‘I know he sits here every night. But tell him I want him to sleep beside me. He can’t hurt me now, and I need his warmth.’

‘I will.’

Mariam sat beside her mistress, her foster-mother, and held the Empress’s thin, fine hand, until the woman who had saved her from a life of sex slavery, who had only ever been kind to her, who had given her a future and a husband, slipped into the half-sleep in which she now spent much of her time. A semi-stupor brought on by the combination of the herbs Alexander provided and Theodora’s own ability to will herself into a state where the pain was less bitter. Justinian had finally been able to persuade her that Alexander would be able to treat her better precisely because he knew her better, and the physician was the only person outside her immediate circle she had allowed to see how ill she really was. Menander had trained all his girls in total control of their bodies; the illness that was eating away at her had eroded much of that control, but with effort Theodora could still command her mind, if not her flesh or the bones that were now splintering from
within. She knew this power would leave her soon, that her body, the body she had subdued and worked and controlled for so long, would take over, that the growths inside her would have their way and her mind and heart would have no say. For now, she still had some power, and chose to use it to sleep as much as possible. Theodora knew the time was coming when she would need every measure of energy she had, simply to open her eyes, to swallow the herbal draughts, to pray.

Mariam sang a little of Comito’s lullaby and in Theodora’s half-dream state the younger woman’s singing sounded like the owl beyond her window. Theodora wanted it to sound like the owl beyond her window.

T
he Empress retired to her rooms, while outside spring became summer and the bright gold of the early morning sun turned the Sea of Marmara beyond her window an even richer green, the green of the emerald Virgin she now held constantly in her hand.

Business matters were brought to and from her room and for a few weeks the Empress tried to contribute to the City and the state as she always had. It soon became obvious she was too weak to continue.

Armeneus ushered out the last petitioner of the day, shaking his head at the grey of Theodora’s face, lined still more deeply with exhaustion and pain.

‘You have to stop this, Mistress.’

‘These people come to me for help.’

‘Yes, and they leave regretting it, sorry they bothered you when you’re too ill to think straight.’

‘That girl just now, begging me to release her from the marriage her family want for her, who else can she go to?’

‘You sent her to Metanoia, she could go there herself,’ he said.

‘But they would have taken longer to give her a place without my consent, she needs help today. Those two old whores, they needed help today.’

‘And you gave them each a gold ring. Don’t you think they’re going to spend it on wine tonight?’

‘I don’t care how they spend it, they asked for help now, I gave them help now.’

‘Fine, but that’s enough. You have Peter Barsymes and Macedonia waiting to see you, I’m telling them both to come back tomorrow.’

Theodora’s face broke into a smile broad enough to cut through Armeneus’ concern, even if she was now so thin it was the smile of a skull rather than his Mistress.

‘Show them in.’

‘But you’re exhausted …’

‘Damn you, eunuch, I’ll send you back to Africa yet. Call them in.’

Peter Barsymes and Macedonia entered the room, and before they had even had a chance to bow, Theodora spoke: ‘Well?’

Barsymes the trader, the dealer, the spy, the master of secrets, reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a fine skein of silk thread. Macedonia took it to her Mistress.

‘You insisted on staying awake for this? For them to bring you some thread?’ Armeneus was horrified.

Theodora was holding the silk, turning it over in her hands, trying not to cough, trying to draw breath through laughter that was half tears. ‘Not some thread, Armeneus. Silk.’

‘Yes, silk,’ Armeneus said.

‘Our silk.’

‘Which you could buy any day you wanted.’

‘Peter didn’t buy this silk. They grew it, made it, here, in the City. This is our silk.’

And then Armeneus realised what his Mistress was holding.

*

Over a year earlier, Barsymes’ men, bedraggled, exhausted, and half the number that had set out, returned to the City with a few moths in a bamboo rod. Looking at the men’s drawn faces, no one asked what they had been through to steal the moths, nor would they have told. Barsymes paid their fee, far more to the trader-spies than the monks, and they parted, the spies to a new engagement under Macedonia’s leadership, the monks to the peace of their monastery across the water, taking the moths with them. The precious moths were cared for, as were their eggs, becoming moths in turn themselves, and in time, they bred. In spring, while Theodora and the rest of the City celebrated Constantinople’s feast day, the moths laid new eggs. The priests had paid highly for the instructions that brought the eggs from worms, to feeding, to cocoons that were taken and finally, finely, unravelled and re-spun, into silk. The silk Theodora was now holding. The first silk made in the City.

Two hours later the celebrations were still going on in Theodora’s rooms and Armeneus was threatening to lift the Empress bodily out of her chair and take her to sleep in his own room if she didn’t send them all away. The fact that the Emperor himself was part of the general carousing didn’t help his case. Eventually the room was cleared, Mariam helped her Mistress to bed, and Theodora and Justinian both slept well that night, delighted with themselves, delighted with their achievement.

The next morning Theodora had her staff set up a loom in the corner of her room, and Esther came in to supervise Sophia’s weaving of the precious thread. There was only a little thread so far, but it worked, and under Esther’s careful eye, Sophia began to turn it into a fine silk.

‘You’ll make me a beautiful cloth,’ Theodora said to
Sophia, ‘then Esther’s brother will colour it with the purple dye he keeps for the Palace, all the way from Tyre. I’ll wear your work.’

Theodora was happy then, listening to the regular soft thud of Sophia’s shuttle, to the rhythmic clicking of the small spindle Esther always carried, to the quiet murmurs between her women, Comito lying beside her on her bed and singing softly. Ana, who had never really known how to talk to Theodora, at least took solace in the fact that, now there were no words to be spoken, she was finally comfortable in the presence of her mother, of the Empress.

In that long room, the balcony doors thrown open to let in light and warmth, the women organised Sophia’s marriage to Justinian’s nephew Justin, decided which robes would be worn, sorted through Theodora’s jewels so the young Sophia would be stunningly adorned, sewed her marriage gown and beaded her headdress with fine pearls taken from the necklace Theodora had given Sophia-the-half-size to wear at her own marriage to Justinian. Theodora had hoped to finalise arrangements for Anastasius and Joannina’s marriage too, but Antonina continued to stall, and the Empress now knew her grandson would never marry the general’s daughter.

‘She’s not doing anything I wouldn’t do for my own family,’ Theodora said, late one night when Justinian joined her.

‘Antonina thinks the grandson of the Empress isn’t good enough for her daughter?’

‘She doesn’t think …’ Theodora stopped to cough, each spasm racking her body further, so ferociously Justinian thought she might break her ribs with the effort. Eventually the coughing subsided and Theodora continued, ‘She doesn’t think the Empress’s grandson from her bastard daughter is good enough for Joannina. I’m sure she’s not the only one.
She’ll find some wealthy senator’s boy for the girl, she probably already has. Ana and Comito will have to take care of Anastasius.’

Justinian didn’t contradict his wife, tell her she would be around to do the match-making herself; neither of them pretended she wasn’t dying, they wanted only truth now.

He shook his head. ‘It’s a shame – Narses tells me those two are truly in love.’

‘Narses does?’ Theodora was smiling.

‘What is it?’

‘I just can’t picture that tough old eunuch deigning to notice something as frivolous as young love.’

‘He noticed you, brought you to me.’

‘Yes, he did.’

The Emperor and the Empress held hands then, through the night as always, Theodora slipping in and out of consciousness and Justinian beside her for when she woke, hoping she would wake.

When she did wake, late in the morning, it was to beg Armeneus to make Alexander give her stronger medicine for her pain. She greedily sucked down the thick liquid he brought for her and began immediately, gratefully, to feel the drowsiness spilling through her body. She whispered to Armeneus that she wanted to speak to a priest, a specific priest. She wanted Thomas, the young man who had tested her penitence before she was deemed ready to marry Justinian.

‘Mistress, he was preaching in Jerusalem, and then we heard Antioch, perhaps. That was some time ago. I don’t know if we’ll be able to find him …’

‘Of course you will.’ She was speaking slowly, quietly, all her effort on taking the painkilling medicine deep into her
body. ‘The Bishops will know, they keep records of everything, every appointment. They’ll know.’