The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (12 page)

Theodora stayed on her knees in vigil all night before her private altar, with Mariam and Ana sitting beside her. Theodora prayed for the rioters’ safety as much as she prayed for those inside the Palace walls, and prayed most fiercely for her City. She knew only too well that for all its stone and marble and golden glory, the City was easily broken. To maintain its place as the jewel of the Empire, it was necessary that the people wanted it to shine: tonight they wanted it in flames. In the early hours of the morning Antonina joined them. She prayed for the baby only she knew she was carrying and for her husband’s safety. The command had not yet been given, but surely would, and then Belisarius would go out into the streets, determined to bring order to chaos, and she knew he’d be glad to do so. Antonina had given her body up to this child for her husband’s sake; she hoped he was not about to give his up for the state.

As Theodora prayed she heard the constant drum of feet
running through corridors and echoing in passageways, urgent messages brought in from beyond the walls. Every now and then she turned from the emerald Virgin in her hand so that a servant could whisper the latest development. Just before dawn she was told the flames had taken hold in the Senate and then the Mese; what must burn next was inevitable – child of the City, she knew the geography of her home only too well and had to see it for herself. She left the women and went alone outside. The night air was thick with smoke and the screaming laughter of the rioters.

Theodora walked through courtyards of the Palace that were now deep orange with reflected flame. Close to the north wall there was an old pear tree; she hadn’t known she was heading for it as she walked, but some part of her realised she needed to climb, to be up high, to see better, just as she had as a child, as an acrobat, climbing trees, walls and aqueducts, craving the best vantage point. Now she climbed the tree that must have been here since Emperor Anastasius’ time or longer, knowing it would show her what she did not want to see.

Theodora did not cry as the Church of Hagia Sophia burned. She did not cry as she heard the crowd yelling and whooping in joy when the heavy wooden doors began to scorch and warp. She did not cry when the flame-heated alabaster windows finally cracked and then shattered. She cried only when she heard, above the roaring flame, a breaking and then a falling, when she heard – or imagined she heard – the women’s gallery crash down to the centre of the church below. She shed her tears then, not for the church that was falling, not for the building itself, or even for the souls of those who had set the fire, damned as they certainly were, but for the only place of safety she had known as a child, for the only
place, other than centre-stage, she had ever felt able to be truly herself. She cried for the child Theodora and the girl Theodora and the young woman Theodora. High up in this tree which she had climbed like a fearless child, she sobbed for the City she loved and the people she now hated. Shocking herself, having never imagined she could be anything but one of them, with them, Theodora despised the people who laid low her City. That hate confirmed her home was now inside the Palace walls, and then she cried even harder.

E
arly on Wednesday morning, after a night of fear and fury, Justinian again met with Theodora and his advisers. This time there was no disagreement about what to do; there was no other option – they would follow form. They would go to the games, again, as usual. The races would be held. Theodora suggested that more entertainments between events might be useful. She would speak to Sophia, ask the performers for their suggestions. If the crowd were in the mood for some crown-mocking, then perhaps a short and sweet piece in praise of misrule would be useful. It wasn’t certain that this would assuage the mob, but they must be exhausted, and, perhaps, regretful of last night’s actions now they could see the state of the central City in the cold, smoky daylight. Narses was about to detail the night’s losses when he saw Theodora’s face and put away his list. There would be time to deal with this later: for now they had to present a united front to the people. The Emperor and Empress must show themselves with all their staff and the strength of the Palace backing them. Narses did not add, or need to, that many of those staff would be fully armed and all would be constantly watchful.

*

Justinian and Theodora walked to the Kathisma, both shaky from worry and lack of sleep. Theodora had sent out a messenger to find Sophia and he returned saying she was neither in her apartment nor in the rehearsal rooms beneath the Hippodrome. Theodora knew Sophia had many friends who could hide her if her public friendship with the Empress caused any trouble, as well as plenty of rich old men with huge estates outside the City if things became too dangerous on the street.

Justinian leaned towards his wife and said, ‘Sophia will send word from Bithynia or Chalcedon tomorrow, I’m sure. She’s probably been over the water since last night, watching the flames and just as concerned for you.’

Theodora kissed her husband’s hand. They both knew he might be right, or not. Just as they both knew that when she assured him the crowd would be quieter today, tired after last night, she was voicing a hope rather than a truth. The doors were opened again and they walked out to discover exactly what the day would bring.

More of the same, and worse. The races were abandoned before they’d even begun: the performers Theodora had directed when Sophia was not to be found were booed off before they started. This time the Green and Blue leaders stood together, speaking in formal Latin; both were native Greek speakers and had clearly worked hard on their speech. They called for the release of the two men who had survived hanging, and then added to their demands: Eudaemon must go, and Tribonian, and the Cappadocian. A massive cheer rose up from the crowd at the last demand. Throughout it all, even the crowd’s insistence that John the Cappadocian be sacked, Theodora stood monumentally still and patient beside her husband, who was himself stoic and silent. Mannequins in
purple, they remained impassive until the first of the wooden seats were set on fire. The crowd cheered the August’s retreat and then surged back into the streets, setting fire to the Baths of Zeuxippus as they went. No senators were inside; any still keen on discussing the City’s business were doing so in hillside homes far from the action. The mob weren’t in the mood for murder yet. This was just an attack on the City’s structure, its form. Exactly what the Palace was afraid of.

Narses joined them and Theodora led the way back into the Palace, pleading with Justinian, her voice a furious whisper. ‘This can’t go on, they’ll bring the City down – their City.’

‘You think I should give in?’

‘On this occasion, yes,’ she replied. ‘It’s gone too far, God knows where those prisoners are now anyway.’

‘We have information…’ Narses spoke up.

Theodora dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand as she turned down the last corridor to the council chamber, practically running to get there. ‘It doesn’t matter, they don’t matter. The City is burning. Freeing the prisoners – assuming they are still in the church…’

‘They aren’t,’ Narses interrupted.

‘Even if,’ Theodora continued, one arm out to stop the slave already opening the doors for her, the other hand raised to silence Narses as she hissed out the rest of her warning, ‘even if they were raised high in the Hippodrome so all could see they were safe and free, it’s too late. This is not about those men any more, it’s about us, about the Palace. It has always been about the Palace.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Justinian spoke quietly now.

‘Good. So do what they ask, get rid of Eudaemon, Tribonian and the Cappadocian.’ Theodora was angry and upset, still in shock from the response of the crowd a few
moments earlier, and keen to get into the chamber to begin making the changes demanded. Even so, a sly smile began at the corners of her mouth, her eyes glinting in the corridor’s half-light. ‘I’ll tell the Cappadocian myself, if you like?’

‘Thank you, no. I’ll do my job, you do yours.’

Theodora smiled more openly now, and answered, ‘With pleasure.’

Then Narses leaned over her shoulder to add, ‘Mistress? That means getting out of the August’s way so he can enter the room first.’

The slaves opened the doors. Justinian led the way, his wife a pace behind, befitting her rank. Not that anyone waiting for them noticed. As soon as Justinian entered the room, the shouting began. After a very peremptory falling to the ground, the feet-kissing was dispensed with in a single gesture by Belisarius, which Theodora saw as ostentatious and Justinian considered quite thoughtful given the current state of affairs.

This choice August. Sack the Cappadocian. Don’t fire Tribonian. Fire Tribonian, but keep the Cappadocian. Use Eudaemon as your speaker, let the people regain their faith in the Prefect. Get rid of the Prefect, keep the others. Keep them all. Fire them all.

‘Fire them all.’

This last from Theodora, when the counsellors had finally stopped shouting, seemingly realising, as one, that it was inappropriate to yell their demands at the August. She waited until Narses had given up trying to take notes. She waited until Belisarius had retired to the back of the room, furious and trying not to show his anger when Justinian dismissed his suggestion that he and Mundus take their troops out to pick off the ringleaders, make an example of them,
summary and bloody justice being Belisarius’ preferred option for stopping the riot in its tracks. She waited until the room was silent.

‘Dismiss them. All three,’ Theodora repeated, adding the number to make sure everyone knew what she meant.

Tribonian and the Cappadocian were in the room. The former looked up at the Empress, horrified. He knew she could be irritated when he took her husband from her, but he’d thought she agreed with their work, not least because she had personally benefited from legal changes, many of which he’d had a hand in drafting.

He put his hand to his mouth almost immediately, but his surprise found its way into the silent room anyway. ‘Mistress?’

‘The people want scapegoats, Tribonian. You and the Prefect are ideal for the job, the Cappadocian too.’

Theodora did not look at the treasurer, who was glaring at her from the other end of the room.

‘Of course the Empress must say as she believes,’ John the Cappadocian said, ‘and she knows the people better than most of us here, but I urge—’

Theodora stopped him with a look. ‘Shut up, Cappadocian, I may well be saving your life.’ She turned to Justinian as several of the advisers found a way to cough or stutter away their laughter: ‘Sack all three, make a public announcement, from the Kathisma. They’re exhausted out there, they’ll want to stop this, I’m sure. Many will be as heartbroken as we are over the loss of the church and the Baths. The seats from the stands, generations of boys who’ve taken knives to carve their names on the underside, all burned away – it’s their history they’re destroying and they know it. They’ve been awake for three days and nights. Give them what they want. It will give you time to take back what you need – the City as well as the people.’

Justinian watched his wife, considering. Belisarius was already with her, as was Narses.

‘And then?’ Justinian asked.

‘If we’re lucky…’ Theodora shrugged and said no more, her palms open, silently begging her husband.

‘They’ll go home.’ Belisarius finished for his mistress, just a little irritated that her plan meant he had no reason to call out the full force of his men.

‘And August,’ Narses added, ‘once things are calm again, you can quietly reinstate your servants. The Cappadocian, Tribonian—’

‘Not the Prefect, they won’t allow that,’ Theodora interrupted.

‘No, Mistress, they won’t. But in time, with a peaceful City, they will allow the Emperor’s most trusted and experienced advisers to re-take their places. That is what you meant, I believe, Augusta?’

Narses looked at Theodora. She knew he had her best interests at heart, had warned her often enough of the danger of opening her mouth in front of those she didn’t trust, men exactly like the Cappadocian.

She nodded. ‘That’s right, Narses. The Emperor fires them, and then he hires them. After a time.’

Belisarius and Mundus counselled caution. They were happier to put their faith in action than in words, but agreed this plan would work for the moment – they could charge out with their men later if needed. Tribonian accepted the judgement calmly; he would continue with his work on the Emperor’s legal reforms, and would simply do so from a smaller and unofficial office. A message was sent to Eudaemon, hiding in Bithynia, that he should consider heading even further east. And the Cappadocian eventually knelt before the Emperor
and agreed to do as he was asked. It was noted he did not kneel directly to Theodora.

Two other men added their agreement: the brothers Hypatius and Pompeius, grand-nephews of the old Emperor Anastasius, the August of Theodora’s childhood. It was likely the people would soon start calling more forcefully for a new Emperor. Ana’s father-in-law Probus, concerned about this himself, had left the City two days earlier; if he wasn’t around to be chosen by the people, he couldn’t be condemned for treason either. Hypatius and Pompeius had stayed on, they had roles in government and any absence would be easily noted. Justinian had taken care of Hypatius and Pompeius, given them good jobs as he had done with all those who might threaten his claim to the purple, and both men understood that safety lay in supporting whoever was in charge. Right now Justinian was law, barely. They gave their full backing to the plan.

With everyone agreed, a messenger was sent to the Blue and Green leaders, telling them Justinian would again appear before the people, this time to grant their wish; he would sack all three of the ministers the people blamed for their unhappiness. It was not necessary to spell out that everyone in the council chamber hoped it would stop the people blaming the Emperor.

J
ustinian returned to the Kathisma late that evening. Blues and Greens stood together as if they had never done anything else, and greeted his declaration with cheers and catcalls. The jeers that rang out from the back of the crowd weren’t for the Emperor, though Justinian didn’t stay in the Kathisma long enough to make sure, they were for the faction leaders, and they came from those who saw this as their chance to demand still more, take more than had been offered.