The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (3 page)

T
heodora and Justinian knelt before the massive figure of the monk. He wore a short robe made of the matted fur of a dozen unidentifiable animals in an uneven, undulating mosaic, and the smell of the imperfectly cured skins was strong. The monk’s body was also a patchwork, his heavily muscled back and chest, arms and legs were cross-hatched with tattoos and scars. Mar the Solitary was called the athlete of God by those who worshipped with him, and God’s brute by those who disliked his showman tactics. A star of the preaching circuit, he was not above beating religious sense into his followers, scoring with a knife, branding with fire; he encouraged his disciples to wear their prayer as he did, badges of belief cut into the skin. For twenty years, since his conversion from Zoroastrianism, Mar had travelled the Christian world, from the seminary near Nisibis on the Persian border in the east, to the old city of Rome in the west – he was not one for self-doubt.

When Justinian heard the preacher was passing through the City he requested an audience. Mar replied that if the August wanted his teaching, he could hear it with his staff. According to Armeneus, the giant had spoken rather less politely, but no
one was prepared to carry the full insolence of his actual message back to the August. The preacher’s beliefs on the nature of the Christ were antithetical to those of both the Emperor and the official belief of the state, and Mar the Solitary was one of the few from his side of the schism – Theodora’s side of the schism – still allowed to speak without censure. Some said the Emperor was playing a wise game; allowing Mar to preach made Justinian and the Patriarch of Constantinople appear more even-handed than their current attack on Pagans and Jews might suggest. Others thought the preacher a useful safety valve; with so many angry about John the Cappadocian’s new tax increases from the Treasury, with Blue and Green factions fomenting their rivalry even more than usual, and the droughts of the previous year affecting crop sales, mutterings in the street were at fever pitch.

As Theodora remarked to her husband, ‘Your antecedents in the purple knew the value of a fool at court. I’m sure this one can be of use to us too.’

Mar the Solitary rarely preached in the presence of the establishment, so his appearance inside the Palace and before the full staff – at his request – was of rare interest. As was the way he launched into Justinian and Theodora.

‘You forget your origins at your peril. Theatre tart. Peasant boy.’

An audible intake of breath spread through the crowd, Mar ignored the tremor of scandal and continued, picking on others who were shocked that the preacher knew of them at all; more shocked when he pointed out their truths.

‘Eunuch. Farmer. Baker’s son. Bishop’s bastard. Tax evader. Tax collector.’

The latter two glared at each other, though the tax evader was more scared of John the Cappadocian’s interest in him
than the treasurer was of being named a tax collector. It might have been a term of abuse when St Paul was still Saul of Tarsus, but Justinian’s treasurer believed the Empire was God’s kingdom on earth. He noted the name of his neighbour, and many others thanked a combination of the Christ and their ancient household gods that they hadn’t been singled out instead.

Mar approached Pasara. Married to Justinian’s cousin Germanus, her pride in her illustrious Anicii antecedents meant Pasara believed that she, not Theodora, should be wearing the purple. The preacher looked her up and down, and she shrank back in embarrassment when he poked a heavy finger against her breastbone.

‘Arrogance. Pride is a sin, lady. With your breeding, you should know that – unless breeding is all you have to be proud of?’

Theodora kept her eyes downcast, her hands clasped, and bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her smile from showing.

Mar left Pasara, her face red with shock and anger, and moved on to Armeneus, Theodora’s own household chief.

‘The August says he will restore the glory of the Empire. But on what will he build it? The likes of you, eunuch?’ Mar held the younger man’s whole face in his huge hand and quietly added, ‘Head of the Augusta’s staff is a title of merit, and following your mistress to Constantinople has been good for you. But don’t forget your home. Here they ignore all but the City. You, African, know better – one day, you will live it.’

Mar swept away, his voice booming as he rolled around the courtyard. Where other preachers might praise infants as an example of Christian purity, Mar simply picked up any who tumbled into his path and handed the child to the closest adult, continuing his oration. Palace parents were furious that their little ones received no more attention than a chair left in
his way. Furious, and silent. No one wanted to test the preacher’s temper when Justinian and Theodora were dealing with it so well. So far.

Theodora was worried about her husband. As a dancer she had been drilled in precision and stillness by her master Menander’s voice and the brutal application of his cane. Justinian was not used to this kind of physical stress. The strains he imposed on his own body were to do with the long hours he worked, sleeping little, eating only when it didn’t get in the way of the business of Empire. Theodora saw him sway and knew she needed to take charge. She couldn’t allow Justinian to collapse in public; that would be more dangerous to his reputation than this attack from Mar.

The priest turned back. Arms raised, fists clenched, he ran at the couple, pulling up short just as his right fist turned into an open, blessing palm, half a step from the Emperor. Narses raised a warning finger, holding back two guards who were on the balls of their feet ready to strike, and everyone leaned in to listen as Mar finally knelt with the August and Augusta.

‘So, Emperor – Master, as you would now be called – on what will you rebuild this Empire? The backs of the soldiers, the workers, the farmers? The people who call for freedom from your endless taxes and demands. The backs of the Goths and the Persians you must fight off? Or the Slavs and those wild Herules and the other Barbarians you bring into our community in your quest to make all one? It is only for the Christ you should raise the Empire – none other. Take care; if you forget your debt of charity to the people, they will turn on you and all your Palace.’

Theodora was about to demand that the preacher shut up and let her husband sit, when the Emperor himself stood up, using the huge man as a prop, and turned to Narses.

‘I need a stool, and one for the Empress. Benches, too – many here are tired, and it’s getting cold. I won’t have my people become ill for the desires of an itinerant preacher.’ He turned and smiled at the horrified Mar. ‘No matter how celebrated. Those of you with children, take them inside, keep them warm. They are the Empire’s future, after all.’

Mar glared at the Emperor, a silent gasp spiralled around the courtyard, all eyes wide. Eventually the priest found his voice again. ‘August?’ he said.

‘Teacher,’ Justinian replied, draining the glass of watered wine a nervous servant brought him. He held out the glass for a refill, and drained that too before continuing, ‘We appreciate your visit, such an audience is rare and valuable. We agree that all too often we fail the Christ, and also that the new Rome will be restored with the strength of all our people. You are right, the people are at their greatest strength when they are comfortable, yes? Our Empire reaches wide, but here in the City we are also civilised, I would not have the Augusta bruise her knees merely for a show of piety. You and I both know that show is not the same as truth.’

Justinian emphasised the word show, raising his arms a little, his fists lightly clenched, and the quiet imitation of Mar’s signature action was not lost on any of their attentive audience, many of whom held their hands to their mouths to stifle shocked laughter.

He went on, ‘I would not have my slaves overworked because you prefer a large audience for your preaching and they will now be hours behind in the tasks they must do. As you say, preacher, we must care for the people or risk their rejection. I am also of the people, as is our Empress. And so, we ask your blessing. There’s much to be done.’

Theodora couldn’t keep the grin from her face and even
Narses’ eyebrows were raised. The Imperial couple knelt again, were formally blessed and, together, they walked away.

Much later that night, after Justinian had worked through a dozen arcane laws with his legal adviser Tribonian, editing them down to three simple concepts for the great Codex where he meant to bring all Roman law into one, several hours after Theodora had actually gone to sleep, Justinian came to her rooms. She woke from a dream of her favourite bird, an owl, with dead and bloody carcasses in its beak, and was glad to welcome Justinian to her bed.

Their bodies had become well tuned to each other in the ten years since Narses and the Patriarch Timothy contrived to bring them together. In Justinian, Theodora had finally found a lover with whom she was comfortable in love as well as in the physicality of sex, while Justinian himself found that when their bodies were paramount, even he could shut off his mind, just a little, and allow that he was as much flesh as thought. But not on this occasion.

Theodora was sliding back into sleep when she felt her husband carefully move away from her. ‘Stay,’ she said.

Justinian didn’t answer, he leaned across the pillows to push her dark hair from her face, kissing her eyes.

Theodora groaned, reaching for her husband’s hand. ‘You’re not going to your bed, are you?’

‘I can’t. I can’t sleep tonight.’

Fully awake now, she sat up and pulled a woollen wrap around her shoulders. ‘Don’t go yet. I ache myself, so you must be in pain from all that giant put us through today. You need to rest.’

‘No. There’s too much I need to do. The people—’

‘The people love to see a priest silenced,’ she interrupted, ‘they’ll adore you for standing up to Mar.’

‘I really did need to get on with our work.’

‘Of course, but you wanted to shut him up too – yes?’

Justinian laughed, and even in the low-lit room, Theodora was delighted to see the bags under his eyes deepening as the heavy lines on his normally solemn face shifted, showing his pleasure. Her husband rarely laughed aloud.

He agreed. ‘I’d had enough of kneeling. And he was boring. I far prefer a persuasive whisper to a declamatory sermon.’

He crossed the floor to pull back a hanging from the big window. Theodora insisted on a sea view wherever possible, and had chosen a room with an expansive outlook for her bedchamber, not caring that the windows meant her room was always a little chilly, colder still when the heavy curtains were pulled back to let in the sea air and a broad view of the Bosphorus opening into the Sea of Marmara. Small ships already headed out in the pre-dawn, making for the best fishing spots, their tiny lamplights bouncing across the choppy waters of the strait. Closer to home Justinian could hear market traders setting out their stalls in the City, their calls caught on the high winds, bouncing off the Palace walls.

‘I’ve had nearly five years of power, but all the people see is reform with none of the benefits. And now we have to deal with the Persians breaking the promised peace…’

‘Their new king Khusro would say we do the same.’

‘And he might be right, but after six years of warring on and off, I’d hoped his coming to power would make a difference. Perhaps with support from Belisarius and Sittas…’

Theodora frowned. ‘Your generals become dangerous when they are too friendly with each other.’

‘They’re good soldiers, they respect each other, of course they’re close.’

‘Yes,’ Theodora agreed, ‘but wouldn’t it be better to send
them on separate campaigns? It’s bad enough that the people think of Belisarius as their golden warrior, we don’t need Sittas showing he thinks so too.’

‘I believe we have more to worry about from the people than from my own men. I trust my generals.’

‘Then we’ll both pray they keep that trust,’ said Theodora.

‘The problem isn’t inside the Palace, it’s out there. The people are disappointed with our slow progress, even though I’m sure they want to rebuild Rome as much as I do.’ He turned to her. ‘You do want it too, don’t you?’

‘I want things to be better, yes. I despise the Cappadocian, and I think Belisarius is too keen for the glory of battle, but I trust you. I know how hard you work.’

‘How else to show the people I have their best interests at heart?’

Justinian kissed his wife and left her, happy to be heading back to his office, back to his papers. Happy too that she understood his dreams for Rome.

T
heodora was not allowed to sleep for long. Soon after Justinian had left her, Armeneus brought a message from Narses that she would be required in the Petitioners’ Hall, fully robed, in time for the morning hearings.

‘And why?’

Theodora’s tone was light, but Mariam’s shoulders stiffened anyway. The girl had followed the Empress slavishly, and almost silently, since the day Theodora had her rescued from a sex trafficker; there was little about her adopted mistress she did not know, and less that she did not anticipate. Quietly she waited for the next words, be they explosion or acquiescence.

‘Today’s petitioners, Mistress.’

‘I thought Narses was hearing them?’

‘He was, Mistress, but messengers arrived in the night from our spies in northern Syria—’

‘Meaning they’ll now spend the day poring over Persian maps and border lines in preference to listening to a bunch of patricians complaining about taxes.’

Theodora turned to the window. Larger ships were making their way out now, to the Holy Land, south to Africa, or all the way round to Italy and even Mauretania. She unclenched
her hands, calmed her breathing, each action an intention. She belonged to the Palace routine as much as she had ever belonged to her theatre’s company master – she would not sneak away for a walk along the shore today, or even grab a short moment alone in the colonnaded courtyards.

‘So, we must do as Narses commands.’