The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (41 page)

I bumped my hip to his, the tiny movement hidden from prying eyes by the table before us. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

A slave struggled to lift one of the largest moneybags, and Justinian pretended to read the name stamped on the burlap. “Narses! One thousand
solidi.
”

Narses had only just returned from his long trip away from court. He stepped out of the crowd and onto the dais, hefting the sack onto
his shoulder. I draped four cloaks of honor over his free arm, all silk woven with glittering samite. “Not bad for an ill-tempered eunuch from Armenia,” I said, giving him a cheeky grin.

He inclined his head toward me, a smile in his eyes. “I believe I’ve earned twice this for serving a stubborn chit from the stage of the Kynêgion.”

“I don’t know how you’ve managed all this time.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be sure to put in a recommendation for your raise.”

He chuckled and somehow managed a bow. “Augusta.”

Justinian called Belisarius next, but the bronze doors swung open before he could award the general’s massive sack of coins. A harried-looking slave cleared his throat and banged his eagle staff on the ground. “Amalasuntha, Queen of the Ostrogoths!”

Rumor of the woman’s beauty didn’t do her justice. Amalasuntha’s cheekbones were chiseled to perfection, her lips full and red as an open rose. Stunning in a green and gold stola, she strode into the throne room, the crowd of courtiers parting before her like the Red Sea. The gauzy silk veil made the thick blond braids coiled around her ears sparkle, and a heavy gold crown studded with emeralds matched the earrings hanging to her shoulders.

Justinian stepped forward to greet her, and I forced myself to do the same. She halted before us but did not bow.

“Augustus.” Her full lips curved into a smile to reveal white and perfectly straight teeth. She stepped up onto the dais and clasped my hands. “Theodora.”

The move caught me by surprise, but her smile didn’t extend to her eyes; it was more the cold stare of a lioness stalking its prey.

“Amalasuntha.” My voice dripped with honey. “We didn’t expect you until after Easter.”

“The seas were obliging, especially for this time of year,” she said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your festivities, but I simply couldn’t wait.”

“We were seeing to the annual payment of our officials.” Justinian gestured to an ebony chair next to his throne. “Perhaps you might join us?”

He may as well have offered her my throne. I scarcely managed to keep my smile as she settled in near my husband, feeling her eyes on my back as the assembled courtiers ogled the famous beauty. We were halfway done when a familiar face surfaced in the crowd, one I hadn’t seen in months.

Macedonia inclined her head toward the bronze doors and wove her way out of the throne room. I thanked God to see her safe, grateful my earlier worries had been unfounded. It would be some time before we finished here, but this couldn’t wait.

I moaned and swayed on my feet. Justinian looked up from the grinning
illustris
he was clapping on the back. “Are you all right?”

I pressed fingertips to my temples. “A little light-headed.”

The line of patricians squirmed to see what had slowed the payments. Justinian’s brows knit together. “No wonder, with standing so long on an empty stomach. You need to eat.”

My hand fluttered. “I’m fine. I think I might take a walk—some fresh air might help.”

I’d barely made it a step when Amalasuntha’s voice purred behind me. “Might I take the Augusta’s place? I’ve never had a head for figures, but surely I could help. I may even learn something from you, Brother.”

I froze to see the Ostrogoth queen’s rather large breasts brush Justinian’s arm.
Brother
, indeed. Yet Macedonia waited for me, with news of my son.

I forced myself to keep walking. I’d deal with the Ostrogoth tramp later.

Macedonia stood against the wall outside the throne room, but I led her to a little courtyard garden with a large lion fountain that
would mask our voices. I gestured her to a red marble bench littered with apple blossom petals. She didn’t sit.

“How is John?”

She bit her lip, fingers plucking her sleeve. “It was a difficult crossing, Augusta.”

“It’s been longer than I expected. I worried you might have run into bad weather—”

“The weather was fine.”

But something wasn’t fine. The numb taste of fear filled my mouth, but I prattled on. “How did John settle in with Severus? Does he miss Antonina and his siblings?”

“John is dead.”

I couldn’t move, but then my legs collapsed beneath me.

“No.” My pearl eardrops slapped my neck. “That’s not possible.”

Macedonia sank to the ground at my side and touched my hand. “It was the pox. He fell ill at sea and took to his bed with the rash, but there was nothing we could do.” Her eyes shone with tears. “He was buried at sea off the coast of Pelusium. I wanted to save the amber cross to bring back to you, but the captain insisted we bury everything he’d touched to stop the contagion from spreading.”

“No.” The word turned into a moan, followed by sobs so strong I could scarcely pull air into my lungs. “No!”

An ocean grave. I couldn’t hope to visit him, even in death. I beat my head into the dirt and grass, keening in the fresh spring air as birds chirped and butterflies danced overhead.

My son was dead. He had forgotten me, and now he was forever lost to me. Because of me. First my sister Anastasia, and now I was responsible for the death of another child. My child. Stains on my soul.

I don’t know how I got to my apartments, but Justinian came that night through the doors that led straight from his rooms to my bedchamber. Dirt was still caked under my nails, crushed blades of fresh
green grass clutched in my hands. I’d stopped crying to stare at the wall from under the thick blankets on my bed.

“What’s wrong, my little imp?” He brushed hair from my clammy brows and touched my damp feather pillow. “Are you ill?”

I closed my eyes. “Only a headache.”

“I’ll send Saint Samson to you.” His lips grazed the place where his fingers had touched my brow. “Rest and feel better.”

I had caused my son’s death. I would never feel better again.

.   .   .

John is dead.

Three words had changed my world.

I wanted to set up a shrine to my son, but there was nothing I could even hold in my hands that he had once touched. Nothing but memories, and those weren’t enough. He was gone from this earth, transient as a gust of wind.

I dismissed the slaves who came to dress me several mornings later, letting grief and guilt take turns pummeling me until my tears might have been wrung from the pillows. Narses entered and held the door open for the slave departing with my untouched dinner tray from the night before.

His eyes flickered with surprise to see me abed, still dressed in the same purple stola I’d worn on Palm Sunday. “You need to get up.”

“Leave me alone.” My voice sounded rusty, cracked with disuse.

Instead, he opened the curtains, making me wince to see the happy sunlight. “I thought you might wish to know Queen Amalasuntha has requested an audience with the Emperor.”

I rolled over, giving him my back. “I’m sure she has.”

“A private audience. In his chambers.”

That made me sit up. “When?”

“An hour ago.”

I stuffed my feet into slippers and shoved the hair from my swollen eyes. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

“She was only just admitted into Justinian’s chambers.” He frowned. “Are you all right, Augusta?”

“Fine,” I lied.

I tried the doors that led from my room to Justinian’s. Locked.

Two Scholarii brandished shields and spears outside my husband’s private apartments. I opened my mouth to berate them to move aside, but the doors swung open and Amalasuntha tumbled out, cheeks flushed and hair becomingly mussed. Her eyes flicked over my loose hair and the rumpled stola I’d worn since the day she arrived. Her lips curved up in a cunning smile. “Well, hello, Theodora.”

I stepped so close she stumbled back. “What in God’s name were you doing in my husband’s chambers, Amalasuntha?”

Fear flickered in her eyes, but then her fingers fluttered to the neckline of her stola. “Whatever are you insinuating?”

“Don’t play stupid. You know exactly what I’m insinuating.”

Her smile deepened. “I had a proposal for your husband. One he couldn’t refuse.”

“Stay away from my husband, you filthy tramp.”

“Tramp?” Her sneer revealed those perfect white teeth. I wanted to punch them out of her mouth. “This, coming from a known whore rumored to have hidden an illegitimate son from the Emperor all these years?”

That deflated my anger. My voice was smaller this time. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’ll see about that.” She sidestepped me but turned back after only a few steps. “In case you were curious, your husband was very amenable to my suggestions. Justinian is quite a man.”

White-hot fury surged over me again, but I remained rooted to the spot as she smoothed her hair and sauntered down the corridor. The doors opened for a second time.

“Theodora?” Justinian’s tunica was open at the chest, and his hair was wilder than normal. I imagined that foul woman running her
fingers through his dark curls, her lips kissing the thin trail of black hair that tapered to his navel. My knees threatened to buckle. “I thought I heard your voice,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

I swayed on my feet. I’d always had Justinian’s love and trust, had known he’d always been faithful. Until now.

Justinian led me to a polished ebony chair inside, and he set about rearranging papers on his desk. Over his shoulder in the next room, the silk hangings of his bed were drawn to reveal a tangle of sheets. “I’ve agreed to send Belisarius to assist Amalasuntha in Rome. She’s a very persuasive woman.”

I was numb but managed a nod. “I’m sure she is.”

He set down his papers. “You look terrible, Theodora. I want you to rest. Amalasuntha can take your place at the Easter festivities this week.”

“No, I—”

“I insist.” He ushered me toward the little side door, kissed my forehead, and unlocked the door. “Don’t worry about anything. Rest and get better.”

I didn’t have a chance to protest before the door shut behind me. A key turned in the lock.

I’d lost everything.

“Y
ou look like hell, Theodora.”

I didn’t argue with Antonina—my mirror had obliged me with the ugly truth this morning. She didn’t look too well herself, her loose hair whipping in the sea breeze and dressed in black for the public mourning of her son.

Our son.

We had just come from a banquet in the Sacred Palace’s Hall of Nineteen Couches. The ceiling had opened, and mechanical cranks lowered gilded trays of honeyed fruit and other delicacies onto the tables, eliciting childlike gasps of pleasure from Amalasuntha. I gritted my teeth as she grasped Justinian’s hand while an acrobat balanced a ribboned pole on his forehead and two young men clambered up to perform tricks on the top. All this had been ordered for the Ostrogoth queen, a celebration to see her off to Rome. I hoped her ship would sink along the way.

“Justinian’s sleeping with her,” I said now, watching Justinian talk to Amalasuntha on the docks, their heads almost touching. Two ships
floated behind them, one to carry Amalasuntha to Rome and another to carry Belisarius and all the accoutrements of war.

“No.” Antonina surveyed my husband and shook her head. “I’ve never seen a man dote on a woman like Justinian does you.”

“I caught her leaving his chambers.”

“That’s it?”

I thought of Amalasuntha’s tousled hair and Justinian’s bare chest. The knot of sheets on his bed. “There was more.”

She waited for me to continue, but forcing myself to say what I’d seen out loud would make it far too real. “Well, I doubt it’s what you thought it was,” she said. “Although you really couldn’t blame Justinian for straying, given the way you look.”

“I don’t care how I look. Our son is dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Theodora.” Antonina’s voice was so quiet I’d barely heard her.

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, too.”

The words felt hollow. Antonina squeezed my hand, her rose perfume mixing with the salty sea breeze. “You have to keep on living, even when all you want to do is die.”

Over on the dock, Amalasuntha surveyed the parting gifts Justinian had given her, including chests of gold and several purple cloaks. She squealed with excitement at a ruby-studded chalice of sardonyx and enamel decorated with representations of the twelve apostles. It was the chalice Justinian and I had drunk from at our wedding.

I’d always thought death a single event, but over the past weeks I’d discovered it was possible to die a thousand little deaths. Soon there would be nothing left of me for the angels—or the devil—to claim.

Amalasuntha kissed Justinian’s cheeks, her hands lingering over his as the breeze played with her cloak. She whispered something in his ear and blinked hard, despite the gray clouds shrouding the sun.