Theodora (34 page)

‘Definitely about time.’ Justinian was smiling, they had found the bed, Theodora was staring at him. He had the grace to shrug as he said, ‘There was a woman.’

Theodora could feel her body cooling now, gentle against the soft sheet, against his warmer body, her heartbeat approaching normal, she felt the room begin to pull them apart, he the nephew of the Emperor, she the woman who had been brought in to make the perfect consort. She didn’t want that separation, not yet; right now she wanted the joining they’d had by the window, against the wall, in this bed, wanted the union to continue, for a few minutes at least before she was dismissed, before he sent her back to her own rooms, returned to his desk and his papers. Keeping the conversation going was a way to stay close, though it separated them, highlighted their different lives, even while it gave her a reason to stay.

She questioned, he talked, she stayed.

‘Just one woman?’

‘One who really mattered. Some time ago. I hadn’t long been in the City, my uncle arranged for various tutors to take care of my education …’

She laughed, ‘Your uncle was very generous in his provision of tutors.’

‘Not like that. She was the daughter of a man who taught intellectual discourse.’

‘People teach intellectual discourse?’

‘Not well, according to my detractors.’

‘Your discourse is fine, Justinian.’

‘Yours is better.’

‘I was better trained, and certainly not in intellectual discourse. Tell me about this girl.’

‘She wasn’t a girl.’

‘No?’

‘I was fifteen, she was nearing thirty.’

‘Ah, the spinster daughter of your intellectual discourse teacher. What was wrong with her?’

‘Nothing at all. She had never wanted to marry, and I loved her, and it was impossible.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘A convent. She didn’t want any of the men her father could find for her. A teacher, he couldn’t offer much in the way of dowry anyway. When she was young it might have been possible, but she said there were no good offers … she was a strong woman.’

‘You like strong women?’

Justinian turned on his back, one arm behind his head. With the other he pulled Theodora closer. ‘I do.’ He could feel her smiling and added quietly, ‘In their place.’

‘Of course,’ she replied, neither entirely sure if the other was serious or not. There would be time to find out.

‘As she grew older it became impossible. Her father died, she had no skills, she was too old for a conventional marriage, even if she had wanted one. I had Narses find her a place. I believe she is happy.’

‘You don’t see her?’

‘It’s a convent, Theodora.’

‘So?’

‘I don’t see her. She wouldn’t see me anyway.’

‘You tried?’

‘I asked before she went in. She said if she was going to do it at all, she would do it well.’

‘Not many do.’

‘No. But she has always done what she wants, and done it wholeheartedly.’

Theodora shifted against him, toes on her left foot cramping as she did so. ‘It would seem so.’

‘How?’

‘Teaching you. Wholeheartedly.’

Justinian was puzzled, ‘Teaching me?’

‘This, sex, love-making. Your skill.’

‘Oh no, she didn’t teach me that, she taught me passion. Love, certainly, but she didn’t teach me that.’

‘Then who did?’

‘There was another girl. At home.’

‘You left Illyricum at twelve!’

‘Almost thirteen. We grow up fast in the West.’

When they laughed it was easy, when they slept it was quiet, and when the servant called to wake Justinian in the morning, Justinian did not pretend Theodora was not in his bed, but asked that washing water be brought for her too. He helped her dress, tidy her hair, fit her slippers before she walked from his rooms. He thanked her for spending the night with him. It was the first time any man had ever thanked her for sleeping with him, and it brought Theodora to tears – but only once she was safely in the privacy of her own room. Justinian might be willing to tell his secrets, and she was
delighted to hear them, but Theodora needed to keep hers. She was marrying in a fortnight. Her stories, and the emerald, would be all she had left of her own. It would take more than a night of great sex and easy friendship to make her give them up.

Thirty-Four

Three years after her return to the City, fourteen months after Euphemia’s death, six months after the law allowing her marriage was passed, Theodora entered the Church of Hagia Sophia a single woman, and emerged married to the man who would in time, Justin had promised, be Emperor. She went in through the heavy front doors, past dark wood and warm stone, was lit by sunshine through windows of translucent alabaster, while candlelight refracted from gold mosaic tiles, glinting off her own jewels and the cloth of gold that Esther had made for her. She followed the procession as they had rehearsed, and then, for the first time in her life she stood – with permission – in the body of the hundred and twenty year old church. Her church, the place she had felt safest as a child, the cool marble that had given solace to her aching flesh, the chanting and praying and liturgy that had provided the background for her dreams of escape, were now the foreground of her very real wedding ceremony.

Up in the gallery the women were watching. Her mother, aware that she was no closer to this Theodora than to any of her daughter’s previous incarnations; Theodora’s much-vaunted rise in status could only increase that discomfort. Ana, amazed that this creature in gold silk could be her mother, the woman she barely remembered from her childhood, the mother she had slowly, haltingly, come to know a little more since her return, the mother who had already begun making arrangements for
her own betrothal in a few years. Comito watched too, a little envious, she could not deny this marriage was the greatest thing either of them had ever achieved, but much more relieved. She would use Theodora’s rise in rank to help herself, the law change that had benefited Theodora would also be valuable to her as an ex-actress. Theodora had found a husband inside the Palace walls, there might be another man there for Comito; certainly she would be more attractive to those men now that her sister was Justinian’s wife. At twenty-six, Comito had been earning her own living, and helping to provide for their extended family, for over fifteen years. She would not relinquish the title of elder sister, but she was very happy to let Theodora take on the responsibility. The middle sister had greater rank now, let her use it for all their good.

Beside the women of the family, stood Sophia, higher than usual on a raised box. Of all those watching, her joy was possibly the purest. Sophia could never have been there in Theodora’s place, her body made it impossible, it was easy for her to feel simple joy for her friend’s good fortune. As friend rather than family, her pleasure in the day was far less complicated than that experienced by the mother or the sister beside her, and so she held Ana’s hand to make her feel safer. Sophia was sorry for the girl by her side. Theodora had done well to keep Ana out of the theatre, the girl was no performer, was shy in company, quieter still in public, but now as Justinian’s stepdaughter, they could no longer keep her in the shadows. It was time someone helped her find her voice, and if Theodora did not care to help the child, then Sophia would take it on herself. It was a while since she’d had a special project, and Ana would definitely be a challenge.

There was a brief pause in the ceremony below, in the droning voice of the Patriarch Epiphanius, and, infinitely briefly, Theodora looked up and back. It was barely a move, something
Menander had taught them long ago, a way to check what was going on at the side of the stage, or the highest tier of the audience, to move without moving, look without being seen to do so. She was looking for Sophia. Their eyes met for no time at all and then Theodora was back in the perfect placing for a nearly wed woman, eyes downcast, listening, waiting, not speaking, while the man she was marrying and the priests made the statements necessary on her behalf.

The presence of her women made all the difference to Theodora, Sophia in particular. A month earlier, when they were planning who would be present, where they would stand, in what order of precedence and priority, Theodora had fought solidly with Narses for more than a day, and, astonishingly, had won in the end. She thought it was because he had finally realised, despite so many years in the institution of the Palace, that it was right the women she cared for should be there to support her. The truth was that Justinian had eventually stepped in and told Narses to agree, he was bored with the argument and there were more important things to worry about, among them Justin’s health and mutterings of Germanus’ unhappiness. Justinian was a little surprised that his wife-to-be was behaving quite so much like a traditional bride, overly concerned with position and rank and clothes, things he thought irrelevant, but he also took her point that the wedding was an important opportunity for them to show themselves to the people as a couple. Theodora believed the people would expect to see her favouring her own family and friends, that it would look odd, and unkind, if she did not. Justinian was persuaded, Narses was commanded, Theodora had her way.

So now Hypatia, Comito, Ana, Indaro and Sophia stood at the front of the gallery, even if Juliana Anicia and her old cronies, five places along, had glared from the moment they
began to climb the women’s stairs, and glared still from behind hands composed in pious prayer. The women of Theodora’s family could, with her help, make themselves look just like all the other wealthy women of the City arranged around the gallery, all the women who were now craning their necks – and trying to look as if they weren’t – to get a look at the theatre slut who had taken the place they’d wanted for their own daughters or granddaughters. Her family could dress just like the women who so despised them, they could, mostly, pass as ladies; Hypatia and Comito in particular were doing a very good job of it today, but Sophia never would, and that delighted Theodora. Sophia looked beautiful in the dark red silk Esther had made for her, slippers to match, and Theodora’s gift of the pearls she now wore, tiny black pearls at her ears and throat, perfectly formed in miniature. Theodora had no doubt that same dress would be flung to the floor before the day was out, the new slippers would certainly rip on whatever uneven floor or table Sophia found herself dancing upon, but she knew, too, that the pearls would be kept safe, in case they were needed to keep Sophia safe. She had left her friend behind once before, she would not do so again.

There was someone else she would not leave again. He stood slightly apart, downstairs, in the place of the men, but not. Armeneus had arrived at the Chalke Gate three days earlier, demanding entry: he had a precious gift from the Governor of the Pentapolis, a wedding tribute for the blessed couple. Theodora would probably never have been told he’d even arrived if he hadn’t somehow managed to convince the guards to at least let him speak to Narses. Apparently the older eunuch found the younger one very persuasive and Armeneus, exhausted from his long journey and with a smile as wide as the Bosphorus, was finally shown into Theodora’s rooms.

‘Took you long enough, I thought you’d be waiting for me
when I got off the boat,’ Theodora said, dismissing her servants with a nod and wrapping her arms around the young man.

Armeneus hugged her back and then stepped away, looking around the room at the hangings, the mosaic floor, the sparkling glass and gold, more sumptuous than anything he’d ever seen in Africa or on his journey to the City.

‘They said you’d done well for yourself.’

‘They?’

‘People on the ship.’

‘Ah, bitter gossip.’

‘No, not at all. They like you, and they like that you’ve done well. You’re them.’

‘Yes, I am.’

They smiled at each other again then, both very aware of all that had passed since Theodora had run out into the night five years earlier, the enormous difference in their status.

‘Should I have bowed?’ Armeneus asked.

‘Not yet. After the wedding maybe, and certainly in front of the servants. You are staying for the wedding?’

‘If I may. That’s why I’m here. They sent me.’

‘You’re the envoy from the Pentapolis?’

‘You thought I was going to remain a houseboy all my life?’

‘Not at all. I’m just a little surprised you stayed working for that bastard for quite so long.’

‘It wasn’t as easy to get away as I thought. She …’

‘Chrysomallo?’

Armeneus nodded. ‘Yes, things weren’t easy for her.’

‘Oh. Good.’

‘She had a hard time in the birth.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘And he …’

‘Treated her badly?’

‘Eventually, yes.’

‘So you stayed to be her friend? I thought you had more ambition.’

‘So did I.’

Theodora frowned. ‘She doesn’t need your friendship now? What changed?’

‘The Governor has a new woman.’

‘A wife?’

‘No.’

‘Just another slut then. So where has she gone? Did he keep the child?’

‘He threw them both out, six months ago. We had heard about you and the Consul.’

‘News travels slowly across the sea.’

‘Good news, yes.’

‘I told her to come and ask for your mercy, that you might help. But she said she didn’t want to trouble you more, she took the child to Alexandria.’

‘There’s plenty of work for whores in Egypt, she’ll be fine.’ Theodora had no intention of talking further about Chrysomallo. ‘So what about you? I assume you have a gift for us or a tribute from the Five Cities?’

‘I do.’

‘Good. I’ll get someone to destroy it.’

Armeneus shook his head. ‘You don’t even want to know what it is?’ Theodora shrugged and he produced a small ivory pyxis, beautifully carved, barely the size of his hand. ‘A jewellery box.’

‘How appropriate. Seeing as he wouldn’t give me a ring.’

‘I think she chose it.’

‘Yes, she would.’

‘It has the Holy Menas on it, see?’