The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (17 page)

‘But?’

‘He’ll say no. So I want you to at least make the arrangement without his knowledge.’

‘I’m sure I can do that. What is it you want me to fetch?’

‘It’s more of a who.’

‘Oh.’

She stretched and rubbed her face. ‘I want you to bring Macedonia here.’

‘The woman from Antioch?’

‘The spy, yes. The woman Narses and Timothy employed to bring me to Justinian, to bring Church and state happily together.’

Armeneus shook his head. ‘Narses doesn’t keep a list of his spies hanging up in his office, and I’m sure, since you came to power and she was known to be associated with you, she’ll have long since left Antioch.’

‘No doubt. There’s nothing to blow a spy’s cover like her lover becoming Empress.’

Armeneus stared at Theodora, taking in what she’d just said.

Theodora smiled. ‘Did Narses not tell you?’

‘Ah…’ Armeneus shook his head, ‘I’m not sure he knew.’

Theodora laughed, ‘There’s nothing he doesn’t know. And it was a very long time ago. I am Augusta, devoted to my Master, my faith, and the purple. I’m not asking you to fetch me a lover, Armeneus. After everything we’ve just been through, I need a spy.’

T
he task Theodora had given Armeneus was not an easy one. Even more difficult without consulting Narses, that oracle of all things to do with the Palace and state, from protocol to policy, and especially of matters so well hidden that even Justinian didn’t know of them. Or claimed not to. Armeneus sent out his own people and, many weeks later, word came back that Macedonia had been living in a convent near Damascus. As ordered by her Empress, she was now on her way to Constantinople. She would travel quietly so as not to draw attention to herself, they were neither to expect her nor look for her, she would send a message when she arrived in the City. There was no equivocation, no suggestion that what was being asked was an imposition. It was almost as if she had been waiting for the summons.

When the excessive heat of that long summer finally broke, another relief came with the cooler days and easier nights; the protracted negotiations with the Persians were done and the Endless Peace was announced. Khusro and Justinian’s men met in the grand ceremonial chamber to put their signatures to the document that had taken years to agree and now pledged
peace between their nations. Later that evening, the public areas of the Palace were filled with celebration. The best singers and dancers from the City’s companies were hurriedly brought in to entertain the dozens of civil servants and military personnel involved in drafting the many phases of the agreement. There were also celebrations in the City. Almost nine months since the uprising, the vast cleared spaces that had been the Hagia Sophia, the Chalke Gate and the Baths were a daily reminder of the riots and the dead. For the people, weary of their sons dying on the Persian border or coming home maimed, tired of paying for wars they did not understand, this was a chance to turn their back on destruction and celebrate. Anyone looking at the history of such treaties would have known that peace on the eastern border inevitably meant escalated fighting in western and African territories, but the people were keener to party than to analyse and, at least for the moment, it suited the Palace to provide for everyone’s pleasure.

Theodora stood in a raised walkway running close to the Palace wall; on either side were windows with shutters thrown wide. To her left were the celebrations of the City, to her right those of the Palace, behind were her own rooms, ahead her husband’s. She watched Justinian in the courtyard below, making his way among the military men of both sides, accepting their congratulations and generously passing them on to his less conspicuous aides. She saw Comito and Antonina sitting with the other military wives. Protocol forbade them to sit with the men, but neither was prepared to forgo being seen as the wife of a great general on a night like this, and so, with the other wives, they edged as close to the centre of the event as possible. Theodora watched Antonina vainly waving at Belisarius, indicating he should bring the Persian ambassador to meet her. She smiled at her friend’s naked ambition, and
frowned at those circling Belisarius, keen to speak to him, to see him, to be seen by him. Theodora wished she could have Sophia with her now, mocking the politicking below. Instead she stood alone and missed her friend. Seeing Belisarius with his arm around Germanus’ shoulder one time too many, she shook herself and called for her ladies; it was no good standing here feeling lonely. She made her way down to the main entrance to the central courtyard, telling Mariam and the other women to wait on her command, wait until her entrance was announced.

Theodora knew that this evening, as much as the levelled space where the Church of Hagia Sophia had stood, as much as Sophia’s death, was a direct effect of the rebellion. Such lavish hospitality for the Persians, so constantly, so recently, their enemy, could never have happened a decade or even a year earlier. The whole Imperial compound shimmered with hope and excitement: no expense had been spared to accentuate the idea that, although the peace deal exchanged border security for a large sum of Roman gold, the Empire had plenty more where that came from. Both sides knew this wasn’t strictly true, but they also understood the peace was as much a mask as those the actors wore, and the clauses assuring Persian peace on the borders were more a hope than a promise. Tonight was about celebration, calculated to show the August fully in control, easy with his newly confirmed power, and happy to share the bounty that power granted him.

Local priests chanted in one corner of the central courtyard, a backdrop of fountains splashing on the glittering mosaic tiles of gold and lapis, the water an obvious symbol of new life in the Christ. In the opposite corner, granted permission just this once, Zoroastrian acolytes addressed their prayer song to the flames of their god. Torches were lit all along the walls and in every alcove. On a raised patio in one
of the outer courtyards adult acrobats juggled child acrobats and Theodora grimaced watching them, she had performed the same routine as a girl. That child currently being thrown in the air with apparent joy would no doubt be counting every bruise tomorrow. Theodora lived with constant pain from many of the routines of her childhood. Daily she was forced to remember the time she’d been thrown too high to land properly and had finished the performance with an audible crunch as her kneecap met the jawbone of the man meant to catch her. Closer by there was a group of dancers, singers backing them, a dozen girls in all, and none of them too young to be taken as a whore by a drunken member of their illustrious audience, several of whom were watching a little too intently for her liking. She would arrange for Armeneus to send a couple of eunuchs with the party when they returned to the City; the girls might not plan on earning more before the night was out, but she wasn’t sure she could trust their teachers not to sell them.

Standing in the shadow of the doors to the Great Hall, Theodora looked out, confirming her route. Carefully she loosened the heavy purple silk around her neck, not quite revealing her shoulders, showing a collarbone still as sharply defined as when it was praised on the stage, skin made up to seem equally youthful and smooth, the barest of shading on her eyelids to highlight the green of the eyes her husband loved so well. She cleared her throat, straightened her back, the full headdress of precious stones interspersed with the glistening eyes of peacock feathers gave her a good hand’s width more height than usual – well worth the pain of wearing it. Then she walked out into the people.

The Empress did not turn to any who called her name as she cut a slow and determined swathe through the crowd, she did
not acknowledge those who bowed as she walked, or the foreigners who, finally glimpsing the famed Theodora, stared with undisguised interest. She walked on from the outer courtyard to the central patio, leaving behind in her wake prostrate Romans and curious Persians. When one woman, tall, fair, paused for a moment before her bow, waiting to catch her eye, Theodora almost lost her poise, almost reached out. Then Macedonia bowed low before her Empress, Theodora took a deep breath, and walked on, forcing her face and hands to a still calm. She swept past the woman she had not seen for eleven years, grateful that she had come as promised, grateful that no one else was paying any attention to her ally in the crowd. Armeneus had not mentioned Macedonia’s arrival, perhaps he didn’t know. All to the good.

Theodora brought her attention to the task in hand. The assembled Persian scribes and merchants, civil servants and traders, had less training in the protocols of this new Rome and now they half-stood, half-knelt as the Empress passed by. None of them wanted to appear rude to these Romans who already believed them barbarians, but nor were they keen to bow too low to one who had officially been their enemy just three days ago. Theodora kept her pace constant, her gaze directly ahead, and walked carefully on to where she knew Justinian was seated with his advisers, surrounded by Khusro’s chiefs, all of them men, all of them proud – and most of them men who preferred not to deal with women.

She rounded the corner to the seating area and prostrated herself, the precious gems of the headdress and heavy necklaces of pearls fell into the wide pool of her gowns, several shades of purple silk laid low before the Emperor. The men surrounding Justinian gasped. Some of the Persians stood uneasily, several Romans exchanged uncertain looks, not sure what their Empress was doing – and then, as first Sittas, then
Belisarius, Germanus and all the others close by sank to the ground and prostrated themselves in order to be lower than the Augusta, her intention became obvious. Theodora remained prostrate until every one of the men, high-ranking Persians included, men far too schooled in courtly protocol to contemplate snubbing the Empress, were also flat on the ground. Only then did she accept Justinian’s hand to raise herself.

‘Sir,’ she greeted him with a smile.

‘Theou doron,’ Justinian replied, bowing deeply himself.

By the time their guests looked up, August and Augusta were seated together, the finest generals of Rome, and the most senior negotiators of all Persia, on the intricately paved ground before them.

Narses, neither bowing nor kneeling, watched from across the courtyard. He caught Theodora’s eye and nodded, bringing his hands together to silently applaud his mistress. She had, as always, played her part well; only she knew how well. Although the Endless Peace proposed just that, and returned a good deal of borderland to Rome, it had cost Rome an enormous sum of gold, and Narses needed to ensure the negotiators understood exactly what was expected for the price tag. There were new routes across Persia still to be confirmed, as well as dozens of spice, gold, and silk dealers who had requested meetings. That was the easy part of his evening’s work, they could always rely on the traders to find a way to communicate. Other introductions would be far trickier. Just months ago the generals who now stood together in apparent amity had been fighting each other in the bloody mountains outside Dara. Rome had paid for peace, and Narses had to ensure that the military men on both sides kept to the bargain when the Persians went home and his own
people turned their attention to Africa and the west. He noted who was fully prostrate and who merely knelt into a low bow. He watched those who rose first, and especially the Persians who did so smiling, acknowledging and approving Theodora’s status-play. Narses respected a good tactician, and it was these men he now moved to, to make sure they understood him as well as he understood them. He did not see Macedonia move quietly from the courtyard, leaving the Palace as unobtrusively as she had arrived.

Soon after, Justinian stood at the centre of a group of local silk traders, each pleading with the Emperor, each man louder than the last.

‘Master, the peace is all very well, but silk is still more costly than gold.’

‘Far more,’ another agreed, ‘and our trade routes through Persian territories are not yet fully protected.’

‘Yes gentlemen, we understand your plight,’ the Emperor answered, preparing to leave them. ‘You know the Empress has often noted that your difficulties will not be solved until the Empire manufactures its own silk.’

The wealthy traders nodded and loudly blessed the Empress’s wisdom.

‘All the same,’ the Emperor continued, ‘there is nothing we can achieve tonight in the matter of the silk routes. Peace will have to do for now.’

He left the bowing businessmen to their carping and went to find his wife.

Theodora stood with Narses, watching Belisarius hold court at a table of military men. Narses had gathered the most senior officers from both sides, ordered plenty of wine served by pretty boys and girls, and now had them all telling stories
about Vandal military tactics. Not only did this keep them from recalling their triumphs over each other, it also offered useful information to which Rome paid particular attention. Watching Belisarius in action, noting his sharper and more probing questions about training and tactics as the older men became more drunk and less guarded, Theodora grudgingly admitted the golden general’s strategic prowess.

‘Surely you’re not smiling on our general?’ Justinian asked Theodora, pleased and surprised.

‘If Belisarius can complete this African campaign you’re so keen on, if he can do well for us, then it will be the better for Rome.’

‘Of course,’ Justinian agreed.

‘I just hope he really is thinking of Rome and not of himself.’

Narses smiled and moved away to order more wine for the soldiers. ‘As do we all, Mistress.’

Justinian looked at his wife. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘What for?’

‘Your little power play back there.’

Theodora had a moment of shock, thinking he meant Macedonia and then realised he couldn’t possibly have seen her. Even if he had, he had never known what she looked like.

‘Good. I like to be useful.’

‘You are. I’m sure this is dull for you, you’ve seen acrobats a thousand times, attended more parties than most of us could count…’