Theodora (28 page)

In reality he was shorter than she had expected, solid, serious-looking. Eighteen years her senior, he was certainly a man, not a boy, definitely a statesman rather than a soldier. While his uncle had the bearing of his many years in the military, Justinian already showed signs of the stoop and the heavy eyelids of a book-bound lawyer, with ink-splattered fingers to match. Long, lovely fingers, Theodora was surprised to find herself noticing. He held out a hand to both welcome her in
and send his servant to wait for his next call, and she bowed low in honour of his status, which was soon to become even higher. The low bow allowed her to let slip the veil that covered her shoulders and collarbones. She wasn’t entirely sure about Timothy’s reasons for sending her to this man, but she knew that if the Patriarch’s aims were to be met she needed to make Justinian like her, want to use her. So she presented herself in the way she knew any man of the Palace would appreciate.

Any man except Justinian, apparently. Instead of studying Theodora’s charms, he took the fallen veil and rubbed it between his fingers.

‘Not silk?’

‘No, sir.’

‘It’s good, though?’

‘Yes. It’s a fake silk, made of wool, in an extremely fine weave.’

‘As a deception?’

‘Not at all. To offer something when the buyer wants good work but can’t afford the best.’

Justinian nodded his approval. ‘I have a dream that we might one day manufacture silk here, in the City. The amount we’re paying these traders, it’s beyond reason. Especially when other fabrics might do as well. There’s no accounting for taste, is there, the choice of one fabric over another? Once something is a commodity, all we can do is try to make sure our people aren’t being cheated too badly. Yes?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Good. Now then, Narses tells me you were a performer? In the Hippodrome.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And successful? Famous, he says?’

‘I had a certain following.’

‘You were a dancer?’

‘Yes,’ Theodora answered more slowly this time, wondering where he was going with this, hoping she wouldn’t be kicked out before she’d even tried to do the Patriarch’s will, ‘But not for a long time … I have been away.’

‘Narses said.’ Justinian stared at her, then shook his head. ‘Well, I trust him, if he thinks you’ll do, then you will. So, I know you’ve been away, but you can hardly have failed to hear the stories – the Emperor’s strange nephew who doesn’t eat and doesn’t sleep and wouldn’t know one end of the rank and file from the other, what’s the old man doing making him Consul? Am I right? Yes?’

Theodora decided honesty was the better option in the presence of this strangely enthusiastic dark-eyed man with the heavy brows and the solid figure, and the surprisingly lovely hands, hands he now beckoned with, urging an answer, ‘Well?’

‘I have.’

Justinian nodded at her bravery. ‘Good. As have I. So, we’ll give them a story they do like, something good about me instead. We’ll make a show. Yes? They like that, don’t they? The people?’

‘I think they do, sir.’

‘Fine, fine. Let’s get to work.’

They worked all that afternoon and into the early evening on plans for the Consul’s ceremonials. Theodora talked him through every available option and some she imagined might be available for the right fee. She explained her view of the difference between a ceremonial for a figure of state, like Justinian, and that for a member of the military – someone the public, for perfectly understandable reasons, felt was one of them. She explained that Justinian himself fitted into neither category. She was not coy about the rumours, he had brought them up after
all, nor did she fail to mention that both he and his uncle were, despite their grand status, still Slav foreigners to the many who were born and bred in the City. Even when Justinian launched into a rant about the nature of the Empire and his desire to bring all together, so that no Roman could ever feel a foreigner, no matter what part of the Empire they were born in, she brought him back to reality by reminding him that the accent he used in speaking to his servant was entirely different to the one that came out of his mouth now, in his excitement. In the five hours they were together Justinian neither ate nor drank, though he was solicitous in requesting food and drink for Theodora – which she, despite her own appetite, refused. He noted her refusal and nodded his approval; she was clearly working at it and he liked that. He paced the room, threw his arms around to make his points, constantly returned to the windows that looked out over the wall and into the City. He was never still except when he was saying yes or no to an idea. Then, once it was decided, he was off again on a new thought.

By the time she left that evening Theodora was convinced of two things. One, that almost all of the rumours about Justinian were probably right – he was both calm and crazy, wise and foolhardy, incredibly learned and almost childish in his enthusiasms. And two, that she really wanted this job. Working in the Palace, working with and somehow influencing Justinian – though she wasn’t sure how much she could possibly influence that force of energy contained in such an oddly stolid, serious body – was what Timothy wanted from her. Now that she had met the man herself, it was definitely what she wanted as well. She hadn’t had such an entertaining day in years. Fortunately, Justinian thought the same.

Two weeks later, Justinian had given her a small suite of rooms in the Palace; within the month she was producing the
theatrical elements of his consular celebrations with a team of her own friends creating the entertainment, and even Sophia had managed to hold her tongue long enough to simply say thank you and get on with the work. With no interest whatsoever in the military component of the celebration, Theodora passed that section of the planning on to Narses who knew far more than she did about men in uniform – a fact she couldn’t deny, given how unattractive soldiers had always seemed to her, even those of the higher ranks.

A month after her rise in fortune, she was so swamped with work that she was given two ladies to attend her. Narses had decided that Theodora needed help and she agreed, but stipulated that whoever was sent to help was as plain as possible. She’d been caught out once by Chrysomallo, it wasn’t going to happen again. She put the society girls who arrived – too plain to marry money, too silly to marry well – to work sewing costumes for the private show Justinian would give his staff on the night of the celebration, a generous gesture from his own purse to thank them for their support. Theodora had no intention of letting the giggling girls dress her, no matter that Narses clearly felt she’d fit in better in the pretty pinks and warm reds they wore themselves. She was here as Timothy’s envoy, not to party: she’d stay with sober grey and black. Besides, even if Justinian and those she was working with in the Palace guessed at the full truth of her past before her present incarnation as weaver and celebration adviser, it was important that the Emperor and Empress believed her cover story for a while at least, and they’d be more likely to do so if she didn’t draw attention to her dress. Narses shrugged when he saw that his gift of virtual ladies-in-waiting was rejected; privately, though, he was impressed. Perhaps the Patriarch did know what he was doing after all, sending this girl to Justinian. At the very least, she worked hard – but then she would,
Menander had trained her well. Menander trained them all well.

On her forty-third day in the Palace, the consular celebrations took place. If no one truly believed the title meant a great deal any longer – certainly it was not the commanding role it had been in the glory days of the first Rome – it did at least indicate even more clearly to the people, and to the Palace, where Justin intended the succession to fall. Like any big royal event, it was a cause for public celebration, a chance for ordinary people to join in the festivities. Early in the morning there was a simple procession to Hagia Sophia, where Justinian was blessed, then everyone slowly marched back to the state rooms where Justin conferred the title of Consul on his nephew – while those four who had directly missed out, despite having their own familial claims on status – Germanus, Probus, Pompeius and Hypatius – did their best to smile on the scene, each one playing the role of less-favoured heir with varying degrees of success.

The City was a choreographed mess of joy and colour, song, dance and plenty of food. Theodora had insisted Justinian give pivotal roles to people from both Blue and Green factions, whatever the preferences of the Emperor and Empress, and whatever her own allegiances, this was the best way to ensure that no part of the celebrations, from the games in the Hippodrome to the street fair in the Mese, to the new performance on the Kynegion stage, would be interrupted by drunken youths from one faction provoking or attacking the other. Comito sang a new solo written for the occasion; Sophia sang another, decidedly less elegant version, and Constantinople partied for an entire day and night, praising the new Consul, appreciative of the Emperor’s role in choosing him and, if anyone outside the Palace was aware of Theodora’s role in the
proceedings, it was merely with a grateful nod in the haze of hangover. The new regime of Justin and Justinian had created a whole army of advisers for this and that under the eunuch in charge; appointing the reformed Theodora to advise on today’s show had been one of his smarter decisions. Justinian would do well to hold on to that one, as a worker if not the lover most people assumed she already was.

‘No, really, we’re not.’

‘Bollocks.’ Sophia was leaning over the windowsill, looking down to the Palace gardens, the lawns laid out in symmetrical patterns, the raised beds and deep fountains sloping gently down to the wall, the sea beyond. ‘Is it just because he’s so boring you don’t want to say?’

‘I’m not. And he’s not.’

‘What?’

‘Boring.’

‘If you say so. Can we go out? That fountain’s enormous. I could do with a swim, I’m shattered after last night.’

‘You shouldn’t have got quite so drunk after your performance, should you? Then you wouldn’t have spent most of the night dancing with young men half your age.’

‘And twice my size,’ Sophia laughed. ‘So go on, come for a swim?’

‘Sophia, of course you can’t dive into the fountain, we can’t even go out there, that’s the Empress’ private garden, and she’s angry enough that they’ve given me a room with a view of her lawn as it is, without you making it worse.’

‘Yeah, but that’s not the main reason she hates you, is it? Extart comes knocking at the door of the would-be ruler? You really thought they’d buy that weaver story?’

‘They did for a while – long enough for me to organise the celebration anyway.’

‘Yeah, and long enough for Lupicina to feel even more duped when someone told her your real history.’

‘I was introduced as a penitent, that is no lie. And she’s the Empress Euphemia to you. The woman was a slave, you could show her some pity.’

‘I would if she wasn’t such an arrogant cow. I heard she was his concubine.’

‘Justin’s? Some say. But she was never a—’

‘Dancer?’

‘Actress.’

‘Hah, not with a face like that, no.’

Both women laughed then, Theodora more carefully than

Sophia, uncomfortably aware that these walls had far too many ways to siphon secrets.

‘Really though, I’m not sleeping with the Consul.’

Sophia sat back down on the couch, picking through the bowl of nuts for the sugared almonds she preferred. ‘What’s stopping you?’

Theodora shook her head. ‘I don’t know … he likes me.’

‘Plenty of men have liked you before.’

‘He likes me for who I am, what I can do.’

‘You made a nice job of the celebration, I’ll give you that.’

‘Thank you. And I enjoy talking to him.’

‘He likes men?’

‘No.’

‘You sure? That Narses is his best boy, isn’t he?’

Theodora winced. ‘I don’t think you’d call Narses his boy if you’d met him. And no, he’s not sexual in that way, the way of men when they are lovers. Justinian listens to me, he thinks I have good ideas.’

‘You do. When they involve giving me work. Though I’d have been happier with a paid job.’

‘It’s a prestigious appointment to sing for the Consul.’

‘So you said. Go on.’

Theodora shook her head. She’d been trying to analyse it herself in the long nights when she’d been working out routes for street entertainers, and staying up with Narses to plot how best to keep both Blues and Greens mollified; in the few moments she’d had between work and exhausted sleep, she’d thought about little else other than what was growing between her and Justinian, what it was she felt.

‘He acts as if he believes I know what I’m talking about.’

‘You do as far as theatre is concerned. Less successful at picking your men, though.’

‘I’m not picking this one, he’s my friend, we talk.’

‘About what?’

‘About … everything, nothing.’

‘Oh good, nice he’s so specific.’

The call for evening mass rang out then, Sophia’s cue to leave for her late rehearsal, and Theodora was glad to be spared explaining exactly what she and Justinian talked about when they sat together, as both the candle and his officials acting as unofficial chaperones burned out and the two of them continued on late into the night. In their discussions – first about the form of the celebration, then about how best to please the people, leading neatly into celebrations they both remembered, times they’d been happy to be party to big events – Theodora and Justinian had talked about memories, fleeting images caught as children and now recalled in this planning. Talking around past pleasures, remembered celebrations, meant they spoke more often in Greek. Even for Justinian, born into a Latin-speaking part of the Empire, Greek was an easier language for the nuance of nostalgia and remembrance. The Greek led them to discover their joint passion for language, for languages, a shared interest in the muscularity of Latin, the
poetry of Greek, the faith of Aramaic and Hebrew and Syriac, the secrets of Egyptian and the other African tongues Theodora had heard; Justinian’s passion for his homeland’s native languages, long superseded by the Latin of the conquerors, had never quite been lost. They taught each other new words from languages they barely knew, shared stories based on the foreign phrases they understood together, played word games around false translations. Between them they fed a desire to share words, play in words.