The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora (35 page)

As they left the house Theodora shrugged off her Imperial robes for the waiting servants, pulled on the dusty sandals and then sped through the streets, her hands shaking with rage, her words coming in bursts as she reined in her temper with great difficulty.

‘I want you to set up an investigation,’ she said to Narses.

‘Mistress, there’s so much to do—’

‘I want to know,’ Theodora spoke over him, charging on uphill, ‘if they were planning to take over from the August and, if so, who they intended to suggest as Emperor.’

‘The people will never believe Belisarius would plot against the Emperor.’

Theodora pointed at a couple huddled and sobbing over the body of their dead child. ‘Look at them, Narses, the people are sick, dying. They need stability. The August gives us that, anything that takes that stability from them is treason.’

‘Yes, Mistress, but—’

‘With no trade, the markets practically closed, we’ve lost an enormous amount in revenue, in taxes. The people are fond of Belisarius, but I doubt that fondness would include leniency if he was found plotting to depose the August. Some
might even appreciate the income from the confiscation of his wealth. War has made Belisarius a prosperous man.’

‘I know.’

‘Good, then you begin an investigation and we’ll get on with running the state. And have Bouzes arrested,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.

‘Bouzes?’

‘The people may like Belisarius, but no one cares for Bouzes; his own soldiers have always said he’s too harsh. Have him put away. His men will be grateful, and the people will know we mean business.’

‘Those who are alive to care.’

‘Those who are alive to care are the only ones that matter.’

Theodora left Narses talking with guards at the Chalke Gate as she ran back into the Palace to check on Justinian. Only when she had assured herself that he was still sleeping, his colour better, his breathing easier, did she go on to her own rooms. She dismissed her servants and, making no sound, careful not to spread rumour even in the semi-deserted Palace, she screamed her fury, open-mouthed and silent.

Then she knelt at her private altar and, holding the emerald Virgin to her breast, she whispered, ‘You will not take this. Not one of you will take this from us. From me.’

T
heodora set herself up in Justinian’s offices, leaving Armeneus in charge of the Palace household while she and Narses were preoccupied with state and City. The drastically reduced number of regular staff were happy to take their orders from the Augusta through Narses. The people and the vast majority of the household staff were told the August was recuperating: only Theodora, Narses and Alexander knew that Justinian was still critically ill, rarely awake for more than a few moments at a time, his breathing constantly laboured, his weight loss terrifying and, on the rare occasions he was fully awake, his speech far from sensible.

Theodora took Justinian’s place, Rome went on as usual, and the Empress prayed beside her husband from the time she quit his office, late at night, until Armeneus bodily carried her to her own room, and left her to Mariam’s care. She rarely slept more than four hours. Her first question on waking was always about Justinian’s health, her first action to kneel and offer thanks that he had made it through another night. Then she washed quickly, dressed simply, and got to work. Theodora knew her every move would be scrutinised by
those looking for an excuse to step in, she meant to give them no opportunity to find her lacking.

Each day she held a council with the chief advisers. Some had been at the meeting with Belisarius, others, like Peter Barsymes, were those she chose herself and then immediately promoted so they were able to work at the highest level. She brought Anthimus out of hiding and made him her personal spiritual adviser.

‘Anyone who’s more worried about the Church than the fact that half their family have died will feel safer, knowing I’ve brought a priest into the Palace.’

‘A priest you’ve protected for years, who probably owes you his life?’ Narses said, a smile already on his lips.

‘That’s right.’

‘And if the Patriarch Menas and Pope Vigilius in Rome wonder why you didn’t appoint one of them as your adviser?’

‘Let them wonder. We have far more to worry about than the politicking of priests.’

Every morning Armeneus reported on household matters and went back to ensure the huge Palace machine ran as best it could on so few staff. Narses called in extra advisers as and when they were needed, as and when they were still alive. Macedonia’s reports from Italy confirmed Belisarius’ belief that Totila’s army was badly affected by disease, and spies along the Persian border said the same. Minor insurrections in both directions had not entirely abated, but the borders were quieter than they had been in many years. Justinian still lay groaning in his sleep, often beating his face and brow with his bony fists whenever his attendants accidentally allowed his hands free, attacking the pain deep inside his head. Narses was busy running a state that was perilously close to starving, and Belisarius was still under investigation. Unlike Bouzes,
Belisarius was at least free to go about his business while the investigation continued and Theodora was relieved she did not have to make any major military decisions. She didn’t trust Belisarius, but she couldn’t fault his military knowledge. Antonina tried just once to speak to Theodora about the investigation, and stopped mid-sentence when the look from her old friend made the present distance between them quite plain.

Even if Theodora had been willing to discuss Belisarius’ behaviour with Antonina, there were simply too many other things to get under control first. The spiralling death count, the senior clerics and civil servants who had died leaving vacant posts, the unrest among the state’s generals – everything had been left to slide during the ten days of Justinian’s crisis. It all needed attention at once, and the urgent need to bury the corpses took precedence. Initially the daily death toll in the City had been in the hundreds, but it had quickly climbed to thousands of deaths every day: some suggested as many as fifteen thousand in one awful night, the true toll impossible to judge while the bodies still lay heaped together. The City graveyards had long overflowed and the mass graves on the Asian side of the Bosphorus now filled more quickly than the gravediggers could work. All too often, when the graves were not ready, the dead were simply dropped from the boats commandeered to ferry them across, waves washing the corpses away, only for them to return as bloated death on the shifting current.

Theodora had sent her own immediate family to stay in the country, along with Mariam, Anthemius and their little son, and as many of the Palace staff and civil servants as could be spared. Her palace at Hieron was now full of those they would need when the sickness finally ended. It would have to end
eventually, Theodora could not allow herself to believe it would not, and she wanted a healthy government when it did. Anthemius was called back to advise on the possibility of building more graveyards, still further out of the City.

It was late afternoon, the much warmer sun setting on a near-silent City. The markets and Mese were deserted except for those who had no choice but to try to find a scrap of meat or grain, and those others carting bodies with nowhere to bury them. Theodora and Anthemius met quietly, with only Armeneus in attendance, and she was pleased to see that Anthemius smiled with genuine pleasure when she reached out to raise him from his bow.

‘You’ve been busy in the country?’ she asked, feeling the calluses on his hands.

‘Your palace at Hieron now has a walled summer courtyard, Mistress. The new planting will allow you to enjoy it next year, when you can rest, when all this is over.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to that. For now, we work.’

Anthemius shook his head when she suggested a huge new graveyard further outside the city walls. ‘Even with both factions working together, there’s no point building further out: all that does is create the extra problem of transporting bodies, finding gravediggers in the less-populated areas. It’d make more sense to bury the bodies in the City.’

‘We’ve used all the space in the City.’

‘We haven’t used all the space inside the spaces in the City.’

Theodora shook her head. ‘We have, that’s the point—’

No,’ he interrupted, ‘there are still the towers, Mistress. The towers along the Theodosian Wall and those in the wall over in Sykae. We throw the bodies into the towers and then block them up.’

‘Make a mausoleum of our own walls?’

‘Better that than a graveyard of our streets.’

Theodora agreed. Narses promised soldiers for the job.

‘Could we use Belisarius’ men?’ asked Theodora.

‘We could, Mistress,’ Narses replied.

‘Good, then he can supervise them, under Anthemius’ orders.’

‘He probably won’t appreciate that,’ said Anthemius. ‘The general’s never had much respect for me, he doesn’t have the August’s interest in design or construction, and there’s …’

He stopped then, there was no need to mention the rumours of their affair in front of the two people who knew it to be fact.

‘Exactly.’ Theodora smiled and a messenger was set to Hieron to tell Mariam not to expect her husband back for some time.

Over the next few days, the City was once again full of the sound of stone-cutting and sawing and men shouting over the dust as Belisarius’ soldiers became builders under Anthemius’ command. Theodora thought Justinian almost smiled once, as she sat with him, listening to the clatter of building work, and she whispered that all was well, failing to say the noise was of death rather than construction.

Anthemius supervised first the dismantling of the tower roofs on both sets of major walls. Soldiers quickly trained in stonemasonry blocked up the tower windows, and then, using a series of cranes, hoisted bodies on pallets into the towers. Isodore returned to the City to work with his partner and supervised the shifting of cranes from one tower to another as the dead filled the now-enclosed spaces. For all that it was
dreadful work in many ways – the cloying stink of quickly rotting corpses had the workers wrapping their faces in rose-oil rags – Anthemius relished the task.

‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ she asked him when the first set of tower-graves was completed.

Anthemius nodded, rubbing sandy grit from his eyes. ‘It’s good work. Necessary, practical, but beautiful too. The simplicity of function, remaking one form for a more urgent use. I enjoy it. Or I will once I get the reek of rotting flesh from my skin.’

Even so, Theodora kept Anthemius in the Palace only as long as it took to train up a team of workmen and soldiers. Once they were working steadily under Belisarius’ supervision, she sent him back to Hieron where his wife and child waited.

‘I don’t want to find myself enjoying your company too much, architect.’

‘Nor I to miss my wife and child, Mistress,’ he replied.

Anthemius left and Theodora returned to Justinian’s side, his hands even smoother in illness, in contrast, than before.

Within a fortnight, the rising heat of early summer and the hot wind that whipped along the Golden Horn had sucked the stink of rotting bodies into every corner of the Palace, and the inhabitants of the City covered their mouths and noses with tightly knotted cloths to keep back the putrid stench that caused them to retch at the slightest crack in a door or a window.

‘Your architect might be asked back to the City to experience this, Mistress,’ said Armeneus, his voice muffled by several layers of rosemary-infused silk.

‘He’s not my architect and I will not call him back. Anthemius helped us keep the bodies from rotting in the
streets and on the shores: this isn’t an ideal solution but it’s the only one we have. My concern now is my husband’s health, the City, and Rome – in that order,’ Theodora replied, in a tone of voice that assured him she had no intention of discussing the matter.

Despite her constant care for Justinian, Anthemius’ presence had been more painful than she had expected and Theodora knew better than to allow any wound to fester in this climate.

In the weeks that followed, as Justinian slowly regained a little strength, Theodora found herself becoming comfortable in his place. With Belisarius still under investigation, military decisions were left to Narses. Peter Barsymes who, like Theodora and Narses had proved immune to the illness, became even more useful as an adviser on trade. Not only did he know all the routes, including the few that remained untouched by disease, he also knew the rare traders who were still working. He advised her which captains she could trust to make it to Egypt and back with a full hold, which street markets they could close against contagion and still allow the people to buy the minimum they needed to survive – not hard, given that only the minimum was available for purchase – and he helped her stockpile a remarkable array of silks.

‘The Chinese have some of the best healers I’ve ever met, but even they haven’t yet divined the secret of eternal life. So far they’ve been less affected than us, but only a little. They too are missing trade. Now’s the time to buy.’

‘Have you heard from the men you sent out?’

‘Not recently, Mistress, but I have reason to believe they’ll bring good news, eventually.’

‘Go on.’

He shook his head. ‘Not until I know more.’

‘I could force you to speak.’

‘You could.’

‘What if you were to become ill and die without telling me?’

‘Then you would lose your finest negotiator in trade, and even the Augusta can’t force me to tell what I don’t yet know.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Theodora. ‘Bouzes has offered up all sorts of information we had no idea he knew.’

‘Since you’ve been keeping him in your hidden torture chambers deep beneath the Palace?’ Barsymes asked, his smile revealing that although he too had heard the rumours of his mistress’s terrifying dungeons, he didn’t fully believe them.

‘Yes, since he’s been chained against the sea wall, having seen no daylight for five weeks, standing always in a hand’s depth of water so the flesh on his feet has begun to rot …’ Theodora shook her head. ‘I have no idea where these stories come from.’