The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (26 page)

As ever, Pasara took a moment too long to add the Augusta’s address of Mistress, and Theodora found herself smiling despite her customary irritation.

‘Give me my son,’ Pasara asked again and this time her tone was softer.

Theodora brought the child to Pasara’s bedside and looked down at the skeletal woman before her.

‘Your disease may be infectious.’

Pasara blinked, slowly, and a sigh caught in her ravaged throat. ‘This is no infection,’ she said, ‘and I will die anyway. The boy will be fine.’

She lifted her arms for him and Theodora saw the cuts from the physician’s attempts to bleed the illness from Pasara’s veins, red welts slicing her fine patrician skin.

Pasara nestled the child against her and the marked contrast of his healthy colour, his small and warm body, the fresh scent of him, was shocking.

Pasara looked up. ‘The child has done no wrong, Mistress,’ she said, and this time she did not hesitate with the title.

‘No,’ Theodora agreed.

‘And if Germanus finds himself a new wife soon enough, my son may yet have a mother before he grows too old to need one.’

‘Yes.’

‘So you will allow him to stay in the Palace?’

Pasara’s voice was hard, her tone imperious as ever, but the film of tears over her eyes showed she was pleading nonetheless.

Theodora stood and questioned herself. All the slights, real and imagined, from the Anicii family over the years, and from so many like them. The old men she had danced for – danced and given so much more, old men too full of the privilege Pasara exemplified, who breathed the rarefied air of entitlement from their first breath and all too often didn’t notice they had done so until their last, if then. And too, the times Pasara might have made it easier for Theodora when she first came to the Palace, times when a friend would have been so useful, a woman who knew the protocol and appropriate behaviour as well as she knew the lines of the boy now sleepily nuzzling her sunken chest. She stepped back. She could feel her hands itching to grab the child away, to reach
out and shake Pasara who even now was demanding birth rights for this boy, making demands of the Augusta.

Theodora took another step away and now Pasara really was begging.

‘Please? Mistress? I am asking only for the child.’

Then hundreds of instances of anger and rejection slapped down Theodora’s training in faith, in forgiveness, and while her heart moved to answer yes, to reassure the dying woman that her son would be safe, the hurts and losses pulled her lips together, a closed mouth admitting Pasara no hope.

The slaves opened the door silently and with perfect timing as they always did and Theodora left the room without looking back, ignoring prying servants and crying ladies, ignoring both Pasara’s stricken, broken cry and her own desire to lash out. If she could not be good, she would at least be silent.

When Pasara died of her illness, after a final day of fever, shaking, vomiting and purging, the fever too high, her body too weak to fight it, the physicians kept a close watch on the Empress, in fear that the illness might have been contagious, that her generous sickbed visit might be her undoing. There was no return of the sickness, just Germanus bewildered at the sudden loss of a woman he had forgotten how to love and yet had not wanted to lose; left with an inconsolable son who had never learned to be held by another.

Within weeks there was news of another death. Justinian’s messages had not made it to the Goth Queen after all. Amalasuntha was found strangled in her bath, the day before Barsymes’ ship landed. His messenger, sent back to the City immediately, brought no explanation, but it was easy to imagine the Regent Queen murdered by her own people: infighting among the Goth aristocracy was legendary. It was also possible she had been killed because they’d heard
Barsymes was on his way; the Goth generals who were as eager for war as Belisarius may not have wanted their Regent making agreements with the Emperor, preferring a chance to fight for glory. Amalasuntha’s long-distance friendship with Justinian had been a problem for some. A problem now solved.

Narses brought the news to Theodora, who covered her face with her hands, trying to hide both her initial shock and a much greater relief.

‘Is it wicked that I’m not sorry?’ she asked him.

‘You didn’t know the woman, there’s no reason for you to mourn.’

‘I knew Pasara …’ Theodora didn’t need to explain how she felt at her husband’s cousin’s death.

‘Yes, but she was vile. We might feel bad that we don’t feel more sorrow for her, or for Germanus, but that’s not the same as grief at her loss.’

They smiled, guilt and no-guilt together.

‘Will Barsymes return soon?’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ said Narses, ‘the messenger from Italy said he would conclude some business there first and then come back.’

Theodora laughed. ‘I assured the Emperor he’d work well for us. I hope he doesn’t prove me wrong.’

Narses looked out at the grounds, the sea wall, and the water beyond. ‘He’s working very well for us, Augusta. Certainly, as a trader, he knows the shipping lanes better than any. I suspect he’ll be home sooner than we might expect.’

Theodora stared at Narses’ back. ‘So he might also have arrived in Italy sooner than expected, sooner than we were told?’

Narses turned to her. ‘I believe that is a possibility, Augusta,’ he said.

There was a moment of silence between them, longer.

Then Theodora shook her head, understanding. ‘Oh. At least he’ll be able to tell me if she was as beautiful as they said.’

‘Perhaps best not to ask. Still,’ Narses said, picking up his papers, ‘I hear there’s great disarray among the Goth leaders now, each blaming the other for this new turn of events.’

‘Which should make it easier for our troops?’

‘Yes, I imagine if anyone had planned such an event and considered the consequences, he would have hoped it might do just that.’

Narses bowed and headed for the door, the silent slave quickly opening it for him.

‘I thought Barsymes was my friend,’ said Theodora.

Narses turned back. ‘He is, Mistress.’

‘Working for – with me, I mean.’

‘We’re all friends in the Palace, Augusta,’ Narses smiled. ‘It’s to be hoped we can now be friends across all Rome too. I’ll be interested to hear any news he brings of Matasuntha.’

‘Amalasuntha’s daughter?’

‘She’s young, but Germanus will need another wife soon enough, and Matasuntha might well fill the gap left by Pasara’s death.’

Even Theodora was surprised now. ‘Matasuntha is already married to Witigis.’

‘Unhappily, I believe. They say the Goth general’s rough, not what she’s used to. It could all work out very neatly.’

Narses left the room and the sounds of the Palace were muffled as the slave closed the door.

That night Theodora prayed to the emerald Virgin, surprised to find tears coming to her eyes, feeling sympathy
for Pasara for the first time in her life, in her death. Then she prayed for herself, for the woman she was becoming, prayed because although she felt sorry for the two dead women, she felt no remorse. She went to bed tired. She was Empress, taking care of the business of Empire, there was nothing else to be done – or if there had been once, it was too late now.

When Barsymes returned from Italy a month later he was summoned to Theodora’s rooms. He walked in smiling, expecting welcome and praise and was stunned to be greeted with anger when he rose from his bow.

‘How dare you?’

‘Mistress?’

‘I thought you were working for me?’

‘I was … I did … everything I did was for—’

Theodora held up her hand and Barsymes stopped, both of them aware he had almost said too much.

‘I don’t understand, Augusta?’

‘I understand that Narses knew more about your exploits in Italy than I did.’

‘Narses is …’ the trader paused, knowing that anything he said now might anger the Empress even further. ‘Narses is very certain of what’s best for the Palace, Mistress. And for the August. And for you.’

‘Yes. He is also persuasive, I’m sure.’

‘He’s certainly that.’

Theodora turned away, looking out of the window and across the water, to where she knew the women of Metanoia would be praying at this time of day.

After a few moments she turned back and asked quietly, not quite looking at Barsymes, ‘Was she beautiful?’

‘She was. Her daughter Matasuntha is also quite lovely.’

Theodora nodded, wanting to ask how much of this had
been done for her, how much for the wider politics, yet aware that knowing would compromise her even more.

Barsymes spoke up: ‘We can trust, Mistress, that Narses always has the best interests of the August and the Empire in his plans.’

‘That’s true,’ Theodora answered.

‘So there’s no need to feel—’

‘I don’t,’ Theodora interrupted him, annoyed at his presumption, ‘I won’t. I’m relieved the beautiful queen is no longer a concern. I found my faith under Severus, who also taught me that guilt is a luxury. I will not indulge it, it won’t change a thing.’

Barsymes was impressed. ‘They trained you fiercely in the desert, Mistress.’

‘They did,’ she agreed. ‘Now, these monks you’re sending into China, will they bring back our silk?’

Barsymes talked Theodora through his new idea: that a team of monks might be able to pass into the hidden interior of the land, in a way his own dealers and traders had not. The last two traders he had sent were exposed as spies, tortured, and put to death just a week’s journey short of the border, the news of their capture sent back with a nervous Chinese messenger. The monks he had now recruited professed to be willing to die for their faith. Barsymes was not sure they were also willing to die for silk, but he had persuaded them that the revenue from silk production would support their mission and so they had agreed to go, further into the Chinese interior than any had tried before.

‘Will they succeed?’ Theodora asked.

Barsymes shrugged. ‘They’re young, and strong, and they have zeal on their side. It makes them much more likely to succeed than the hope of mere wealth.’

‘And if they’re not successful in converting the Chinese?’

‘The promise of an income from silk at home will encourage them anyway.’

‘You have it all worked out.’

‘I hope so, Mistress.’

‘Good.’ Theodora nodded to the door slaves, the sign for Barsymes to leave. He bowed to do so and as he reached to kiss her foot she stood up, pressing the full force of her small weight down hard on his fingers, twisting to grind them into the sharp edges of the tiled floor.

‘You work for me, trader. Not for Narses, the Palace, or even Rome. Do you understand?’

His teeth clenched against the pain, and more, against the anger he could not show, Barsymes nodded.

‘Good.’ Theodora bent down apparently to push her weight more heavily on to her foot, but also to get closer to Barsymes, to whisper to him without her servants hearing, ‘I wonder, the loss in the Palace, while you were away, was that also your work?’

‘It … was,’ Barsymes confirmed.

Theodora stood up and smiled, lifting her foot. ‘I’ll look forward to what else you can achieve Syrian. For the state.’

He nodded and backed out of the room. ‘Of course, Augusta.’

Theodora shook her head as the door was closed behind him, her hands over her mouth. She was smiling, and shocked at herself. Shocked that she didn’t feel worse, that her overwhelming emotion was relief, and joy in that relief. She had an accomplice, someone on her side.

F
ollowing his triumph over the Vandals, Belisarius was made Consul and soon after, Sittas was made patrician. Both were given honours to acknowledge their achievements, but more, everyone knew, to encourage them to do what was expected of them in the months and years to come. War against the Goths in Italy was part of Justinian’s grand plan to reunite all Rome, and a newly promoted Belisarius was never Theodora’s favourite Palace guest; the sooner he was on his way to Italy and away from the adoring young men of the factions, the happier she would be.

Meanwhile the schism between the faithful dragged on even more painfully than before. Theodora’s mentor Severus had arrived in the City early in the year, making the journey expressly at her request. He’d shown himself amenable to reconciliation even though his strongest supporters in the Levant and North Africa were not, but two weeks after his arrival the news came that the Patriarch Timothy, Severus’ religious ally, had died.

Theodora sat for seven nights in vigil with Severus, praying for her mentor, for the Church, and for Rome.

When she was finally done praying she went to Justinian’s rooms.

‘You’re very thin,’ he said, holding her narrow wrists, seeing the dark rings under her eyes. ‘You’ve been fasting too long. Severus can’t approve of you making yourself ill?’

‘He doesn’t.’ Theodora smiled and accepted her husband’s offer of a seat beside him, and the glass of watered wine he held out to her. ‘Nor does Jacob who has been praying with us.’

‘Jacob Baradaeus is here? I hadn’t heard he was in the City.’

‘He left this morning, you know he prefers to remain unnoticed.’

‘Or hidden.’

‘Jacob has less reason than you or I to trust the Palace’s handling of religious affairs,’ Theodora said. ‘I’ve assured him and Severus that I will not stop working for Timothy’s beliefs, it will be a way for me to honour his memory.’

‘I thought you’d think so.’

She shook her head, tears threatening again. ‘This loss feels so real, more even than when Hypatia died. He and Severus were both new fathers for me.’

‘I know.’

‘I hope it’s not an omen, losing him.’

‘I hope so too.’

Justinian kissed his wife and held her. He looked at the mound of papers on his desk, at the scribes waiting for his attention. Ignoring them, he pulled Theodora even closer to him, then walked her back to her own rooms, where he and Mariam laid her down on her bed.

He turned to one of the maids, who was terrified to see the Emperor at such close quarters: ‘Fetch some food for your mistress. Something light, and make sure she has plenty of water.’ Turning to Mariam he added, ‘Tell Armeneus – tell
him from me – that she is to hear no petitions, do no Palace work, for a few more days. She needs rest, and peace.’