Theodora (35 page)

‘To remind me of the wonderful time I had in Africa and Egypt? Tasteful.’

‘And there’s an owl here, on the lid, she thought you might like it—’

Theodora stopped him. ‘Armeneus, I don’t care. Really. You keep it. Or sell it.’

‘You don’t want it?’

‘No. And nor do I want you to ever mention either of them again. The Governor will be losing his job soon enough, it sounds as if she’s already living her punishment, I don’t need to think about them more. Now, let’s get you a bath and some new clothes and then see what we can find for you to do. I assume you’re not desperate to get back to the armpit of Africa? I’m sure Narses can find something useful for you to do – he seemed to approve of you.’

Armeneus grinned, ‘I try. And yes, please, I would love a bath. And a job. And anything else you’ve got to offer.’

‘Good. I like a willing man.’

‘So you haven’t changed that much.’

‘Some would say I haven’t changed at all, Armeneus.’

Theodora quietly acknowledged her friends in the church, the Patriarch chanted on, the chorus intoned, prayers were offered, a litany was sung, more prayers, then the liturgy, then the sacraments, the incense and the heat of the church pressing them all in – all those bodies close together, all the candles, the warm alabaster-filtered sunlight adding to the slow ceremonial of the occasion. Everyone in the building, as well as those outside, waiting in the Augusteum and out in the Forum of Constantine to see the newlywed couple, ready to raise a cheer for this union of state and people, everyone knew the form and the content of the service, any of them could have followed it without thought, and yet today, in the body of the church and in the squares of the City, there was a sense that something important was about to happen. Partly this feeling had been fanned
by the leaders of the Blues, two of their own, from very different ends of the spectrum, who were about to stand together as man and wife; it was a good time to be a Blue. Partly it was the myth of Theodora that the theatre people were now pumping up. The brothel-to-bride story was too exciting for any of them to let pass without taking a piece for themselves: anyone who was anyone in theatre had now once danced with Theodora or sung with Theodora, held her arm in an acrobatic display, passed her a mask for her mime, inherited a cast-off cloak for a new show when Theodora was done with it. The number of men who recalled moment for moment her triumphs on stage, in particular the comedy of her farewell show with the geese, were at least double the audience who had actually attended that performance. There was a thrill to be had from just being in the City on the day, something to tell the grandchildren years later, the day that Theodora-from-the-Brothel married the Emperor’s nephew. When Justinian took the throne, as was now so generally assumed as to have become an expectation, then there would be an even greater celebration, more exaggerated stories to tell. For now, this was the biggest party Constantinople had seen in a while. It would suffice and, for once, the nuptial mass would be given its due attention.

Rings were exchanged, blessings given, more prayers, more chants intoned, someone cried – not Theodora, she had cried enough in this church – someone else fainted, and finally the nuptial crowns were placed on their heads and the happy couple, the new couple, turned and walked hand in hand from the church. Now Theodora did look up, directly, intentionally, wanting to be seen blowing a kiss to her mother, her daughter, her sister, her friends, waving openly from the body of the church, nodding too, to Juliana Anicia who did not dare refuse to nod back. Then Justinian squeezed her other hand, and Theodora, the good wife, publicly good wife, returned her
gaze to the priests and prelates waiting on them, to the men before her.

With Justinian she bowed to the Emperor, the man who was now also her uncle, the old man who was ill and sincere and kind to her and who had also driven thousands of people who believed as she did from the City, had put some of them to death, had exiled Severus. Theodora bowed and blessed both of her spiritual mentors and Macedonia as she did so. Then they walked out into the Augusteum and from there to the main streets in public procession. Theodora thought the man beside her, the husband beside her, did very well, nodding to the crowd, waving as she had taught him for the consular celebrations, looking directly at individuals and smiling as if each one mattered, not so briefly that the targeted individual realised it was part of the act, not so long they thought it meant something more, taking each one in for a moment and no longer, so that within five minutes he had seemingly greeted every second person ranged around them to his side, and she had done the same to hers. They made a good team.

The people were cheering and waving, Justinian’s men were doing a fine job of handing out alms to the poor, nice and fast with no messy tears or gratitude holding up the giving. The early evening sky was a high, clear blue, the gentle wind from the sea a welcome change from the high heat inside, and Theodora breathed in the welcome rapture of the assembled crowd. Someone at the back started to clap and the applause quickly rippled forward through to the front rows; for one wild moment she thought she might just get away with a fast flick-flack, a swift cartwheel, really give them something to cheer about, and then she remembered where she was and who she now was and that she would never again be that performer. A different kind of performance might be needed, but never again one of leaping and flying from solid ground. She stilled herself,
made her tense muscles ease, forced herself to walk slowly, breathe calmly. She did not need the spring in her step now, but it was hard to hold it down. Theodora had to admit, she had missed the theatre, but at least she wouldn’t have to give this costume back at the end of the night, and while Justinian was, in many ways, in every way, now paying her to be his companion, she was happy for that to be the case. Theodora and the girls she had grown up with, trained with, worked with, had always understood marriage to be a sanctified prostitution. Despite her friendship with Justinian, her pleasure in their passion, this view had not changed: she knew herself now to be his.

That night, after she had been bathed again and her skin oiled with precious perfume, and she had been led through underground passages and hidden staircases to their new marriage chamber, dressed in even finer silks, and offered up to her husband as the virgin bride neither believed in, as she lay awake beside him and listened to the regular rhythm of her husband’s breathing, in the few hours of sleep he allowed himself before starting work again, Theodora knew she belonged to her husband, not emotionally, but literally. She was pleasantly surprised at how content she felt about the trade-off. She hadn’t stopped being a businesswoman and after all, it wasn’t as if she’d just married some actor.

Thirty-Five

Justinian’s life after the wedding went on very much as before. He still spent hours locked away in his study with his papers, working both alone and with his advisers on his grand new idea for the legal system, the project just in the planning stages and none of it especially interesting to Theodora. He still worked on budgets and ideas for new building schemes, made himself available to Justin several times a day as an adviser and, more often than not, though Justin did not make it obvious, their discussions were a way for Justin to educate Justinian in the intricacies of higher-echelon politics. In the first months after the wedding, much of their talk was about how best to deal with unrest between the two factions, the more often reported presence of knives in the fighting, as they questioned whether now was the time to be seen to be enforcing the law, or to sit back and trust the people. Justinian, supported by Narses and Belisarius, counselled taking their time, speaking to the Blue and Green elders, not making a fuss, not until it was really necessary. The Emperor, in almost constant pain now and understandably less patient was, along with Germanus and Hypatius, all for sending in the military to quell the excesses of the young men once and for all. The argument for restraint was won, though possibly this was less to do with the power of Justinian’s reasoned thought, than with the fact that Germanus was as much in awe of Belisarius as every other military man. There were private and public audiences with the Patriarch of Constantinople, balanced
against long missives from Timothy in Alexandria, and occasional more secret letters from Macedonia to Narses, shared with both his bosses. Justinian and Theodora both hoped that in time and with a further elevation in status, they might be able to effect greater communion between the two sides of the religious divide. In public though, Theodora could not admit her more Eastern leanings, and the old Emperor was still vehemently opposed to any suggestion that the Church might accommodate both views, no matter how keenly Justinian feared the possibility of schism. With Justin openly readying himself, and his advisers, for his death, it was business as usual, and Justinian working even longer hours than before.

Theodora’s daily life was more obviously changed. The more blatant Justin became about his desire to have Justinian succeed him – and the rumours that the old man was ready to name her husband as Caesar were becoming more pronounced – the more there was for Theodora to learn. Narses, though busy with his own work for both Justin and Justinian, undertook to arrange a series of master-classes for Theodora. While she was very happy to support her husband, she was slightly less keen to find that her mornings were now to be given over to tutorials in everything from international geography to Imperial history.

‘Narses, I know the shape of the world. I can’t go into Justinian’s study without seeing the maps he has pinned up all over.’

‘Good, then those tutors will be dispensed with quickly and we can spend more time on your knowledge of history, both state and Church.’

‘I’m his wife, not his adviser. I don’t need to know these things.’

Narses let out a snort that turned into a cough. Since their marriage and Theodora’s elevation in status, he’d been trying to
be more polite to the young woman, but it was clear he found it hard.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Theodora – Madam – you and I both know very well that no matter what protocol demands, the Consul will speak to you of his work. He will engage you in discussions about territories and dominions, there is every chance that he will do so even more in future. He already asks your opinion …’

‘And I give it.’

‘It has been noted. So you will understand, therefore, that both the Emperor himself and the Patriarch—’

‘Which one?’

‘Timothy, Madam, of Alexandria, though I would not say so outside this room.’

‘Go on.’

‘Both learned men are concerned that you should be able to offer the best advice. Not simply now, but in the future. They would have you—’

‘Trained? So I can best force their own views on my husband?’

Narses shrugged. ‘Both wise gentlemen, they disagree on several important points of theology, as you well know. I don’t imagine they are of one voice on all matters. They would, however, have you as well informed as possible, the better to be … useful.’

‘Oh yes, I only want to be useful.’

Narses tried again. ‘It is clear the Consul respects your views.’

‘Shame everyone else doesn’t.’

His smile was closer to a grimace now but he didn’t bite. Clearly the effort of maintaining a polite demeanour when he wanted to shake her was wearing him down – wearing his teeth down too, Theodora guessed from the set of his jaw – and she
was rather enjoying forcing him to dispense with the strained politeness he’d taken on since her marriage and get back to his old self, the one Menander would no doubt have preferred, the one she’d heard Armeneus now preferred – if Palace rumour was to be trusted, and it usually was.

‘For God’s sake, Narses, spit it out. I have no actual learning. Other than Menander and the relatively brief time with Severus and Timothy, I never had a real teacher, not one I listened to anyway. What little I do know I gained from my own life, from my travels. We both know that. You civil servants and military would have me know what you know, believe what you believe, so you can use me to influence my husband when he is beyond your reach and yet still within mine. Am I right?’ Narses did not reply, so she went on, ‘I’ll take that as a yes. You’ve all finally realised that Justinian takes me seriously, and you’re also only too aware of what will come when the old man, when the Emperor, well … so now you want me to think what you think so that I can make Justinian also think what you think. That is how power works, isn’t it?’

Narses looked at her, long and hard. He rubbed his face and went to the window. From his office he could see down to the Hippodrome, catch a glimpse of the markets and the Mese beyond. He called Theodora to the window and waited while she crossed the floor, her reluctance to come too close shown by the drag of her feet, by the way she stood slightly behind him. He was not Menander but, having pushed him this far, Theodora was not sure he might not lash out at her in the way his old lover all too often had.

‘Power has very little to do with how the people behave towards you, Theodora, and everything to do with what you know. You can’t understand that yet, not fully, but you will.’ Narses spoke quietly and forced her to come to him. When she was beside him, he asked, ‘What do you see out there?’

‘The City.’

‘Specifically?’

‘The Hippodrome, obelisk, church roofs, buildings. The people. My people, I know these people, I know what they’re like, I don’t think there’s anything you can tell me about them, Narses.’

‘You know what it’s like to be in them, to be of them.’

‘And that is useful to my husband.’

‘It certainly is, but you have no idea what it is like to lead them, to stand in front of them.’

‘I stood in front of them on stage.’

‘Yes, because they let you. If they had not wanted you there, they’d have made it clear soon enough.’

‘They did, on occasion, until I persuaded them to want me.’