A Triple-headed Serpent: A Story of Theodora, Empress of Byzantium

by Marié Heese

  “Bring him. Of course.”

  When the cooler breezes of autumn relieved the siege of summer, Theodora and her extensive entourage returned to Constantinople. Yet she was not allowed to be at peace.

  “Despoina, my spies have picked up a rumour about the Cappadocian that should deeply concern the Emperor,” said Narses. “But the Despotes will not heed warnings about that man.”

  Since the Nika riots, Theodora and Narses had been united in their constant aim to watch out for danger, like two sentinels standing guard on a defensive rampart, senses alert to the slightest hint of enemy attack.

  “What rumour?”

  “He’s been overheard confidentially reporting that he consulted a soothsayer, soon after the riots, who laid out his future.”

  “Oh, yes? Which soothsayer?”

  “The same woman that you consulted, Despoina. Alicia. She predicted that he would be quickly reinstated in his post.”

  “And so he was,” said Theodora. “And? What else?”

  “She told him that the mantle of Augustus would fall upon his shoulders. Those exact words.”

  “Did she, indeed? And he is fool enough to repeat them in public?”

  “Only once, when very drunk, he told this to a patrician, one who does not love the Emperor. One who supports John and would not bear witness against him. Yet when they have been spoken, such incendiary words can be tracked, like smoke. And I have smelled it.”

  “It won’t be enough to convince Justinian,” said Theodora. “He won’t listen to any criticism of the wretched fellow! He’ll dismiss this as mere trouble-mongering, by someone John has angered, and there are certainly many of those.”

  “Despoina,” said Narses, “There is only one solution. The Cappadocian’s treacherous aims must be revealed. But he must bring about his own demise.”

  “An excellent idea, in principle, but how do we make it happen?”

  “The old saw: give him enough rope and he’ll hang himself. But we must see to it that the rope is carefully woven, and strong enough to strangle the fellow completely.”

  “Again I ask you, how?”

  “Any enemy inevitably has a weakness somewhere. Cappadocian John is vulnerable in one area only as far as I have been able to discover.”

  “And what is that? Greed, ambition, gross vulgarity … But Justinian knows all of that. He tolerates it.”

  “John’s weak point is his daughter.”

  “Ah! The sweet young Euphemia!”

  “Yes, Euphemia. He dotes on her.”

  “True, but how can that help us?”

  “To make the Cappadocian act in such a way that he does himself in, we must set a trap. He must demonstrate treachery. The Emperor will not tolerate a traitor. And we must work through his daughter.”

  “You don’t mean to harm the child, do you?”

  “No, just use her as a go-between. Here’s my plan: we cause the girl to believe that Belisarius and Antonina have laid a plot to overthrow the Emperor, and would value John’s help.”

  “And what might he hope to get from it?”

  “The throne of Byzantium. More precisely, the throne of the Eastern Empire, while Belisarius will reign in the West, as King in Italy.”

  “The very title Witigis offered him, which he refused!”

  “Exactly. The offer must be that they will divide the Empire between them. One will reign in Constantinople and the other in Rome, each with designated territories. Almost like the Triumvirates who reigned in ancient Rome, but this would be a dyarchy.”

  “It would be extremely attractive to the Cappadocian,” said Theodora. “But will he fall for it?”

  “As you have said, he is both greedy and ambitious. He wants power. He wants the prediction to come true. We make him believe that it is about to be realised.”

  “Using his daughter to carry the message?”

  “Yes. He would believe nobody else, but he will credit a report from his daughter. And she will believe whatever she hears, because she is young and naïve, and she will carry the tale to him, because she adores her father.”

  “It bothers me to use an innocent girl in this way,” said Theodora.

  “The question is her father’s innocence, or guilt. If he isn’t a traitor, no harm will have been done. If he is planning the downfall of the Emperor and yourself, it is our duty to prevent that. This is the equivalent of war, Despoina. There are always casualties who do not carry arms.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “I see no alternative. Must we wait until John actually does something, such as assassinating Justinian?’

  “No, no … we can’t do that.” Theodora sighed. “The sibyl predicted this, you know. A showdown between the Cappadocian and me.”

  “Did she predict a winner?”

  “The one with the stronger will.” Theodora jutted her chin. “That would be me.”

  “Well, then. This is how we’ll do it. We get the girl to inform her father of the supposed plan to overthrow the Empire and divide the spoils.”

  “And then?”

  “Then … somehow we must find a way to have John caught out in planning sedition.”

  “Narses,” said Theodora, “you are diabolical. I’m so glad you’re on my side.”

  “One aims to please,” said Narses. “Naturally, the Emperor will then require another tax collector.”

  “You have a candidate in mind, no doubt?”

  “Of course. One less rapacious in lining his own pockets.”

  “Trust you to find such a one. But how do we approach Euphemia? She’s been strictly brought up, and she’s always well escorted. I don’t quite see …”

  “Since the lady Antonina is in town,” said Narses, “she could assist you. I’m sure she will be capable of finding some way to befriend the young lady. You need not be involved with her yourself.”

  “I’ll talk to Antonina, and explain the plan.”

  When asked, Antonina said: “It would be nothing but a pleasure, to help bring the Cappadocian down. When I think of how he tried to sabotage the expedition to Carthage … five hundred men lost! It was absolutely heartrending. I never believed his excuses, did you?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  “D’you know that he often puts on burlesques at his dinner parties with lewd performances by dancing girls who look like you and me?”

  “I know it. He even had the audacity to have them dance once when Justinian and I were present,” said Theodora. “And roared with laughter. But my dear husband was deep in conversation with Tribonian, so he noticed nothing. When I complained about it, he said it was mere nonsense, the girls were common and ugly and it was just John being vulgar as usual.”

  “Well, we’ll see who laughs last,” said Antonina. “We have made a pope. I’m sure we can unmake a praetorian prefect, especially one so deserving of just punishment.”

  “Indeed he is,” agreed Theodora. “No one more so.”

  As autumn gave way to the sharp chill of winter, Antonina could report progress. “Euphemia and I are now great friends,” she announced.

  “How did you manage that?” asked Theodora.

  “I began by getting to know the aunt who brought her up. She’s inclined to disapprove of me, but she admires the great General Belisarius.”

  “There isn’t a woman in Constantinople who doesn’t.”

  “I met the lady at one of the Cappadocian’s dinners, which was less vulgar than usual for his sister’s sake. I was perfectly charming to her. She’s so skinny she might have been living on a pole in the desert like Z’ura.”

  “And about equally lacking in social graces, I’m told.”

  “True,” sighed Antonina. “But I asked her advice. So she became quite talkative.”

  “Advice? About what?”

  “Bringing up girls,” said Antonina. “I told her I’d a little girl, and also had to rely on an aunt to look after her, since I’m duty bound to be with my husband on campaign.
Anyway, she warmed to me, and I offered to teach Euphemia some simple dancing steps.”

  “And the aunt approved?”

  “To improve the girl’s deportment, you see. She’s a pretty thing, but round-shouldered and shy.”

  “So you see her often?”

  “Thrice a week. I’ve been complaining about the Emperor’s lukewarm reception of Belisarius, his lack of gratitude for his general’s extraordinary achievements. She’s very sympathetic.”

  “Indeed.”

  “She’s inclined to think her father is not properly appreciated either.”

  “Can’t imagine why. He’s been made consul, what more does she expect?”

  “A shared dominium, perhaps?”

  “Could be. There’s fertile ground, it seems, for our suggestions. Yet we must not rush.”

  Before the plan to implicate John had quite matured, Theodosius suddenly disappeared. Antonina arrived at the palace shaking with shock.

  “He’s gone!” she said to Theodora. “Theodosius has gone away!”

  “Gone away where?”

  “To Ephesus again. He left a note.” She held out a scrap of vellum with some scrawled sentences in black ink.

  Dear Godmother, read Theodora, I am truly sorry to cause you distress. But such is the hatred and ill will of your son Photius toward me that I must depart the city. I believe it best that I go far away, and the monastery in Ephesus has been kind to me before. I shall become a monk. Rest assured of my lasting devotion and gratitude to you and to my godfather Belisarius. Theodosius, in haste.

  “I knew there would be trouble when Photius came here,” said Antonina. “Theodosius told me yesterday he’d heard Photius was bragging that he’d be the sole heir to our vast fortunes, and the little upstart who’d wormed his way into my affections would get what he deserved. Oh, God, I’ll never see Theodosius again!”

  “Antonina. Calm down. Listen to me. Photius can be sent away again. He’s a soldier, he must obey orders. I’ll help you again, I promise you. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. We’ll get him back.”

  “I love him so much,” said Antonina.

  Throughout the winter months, problems kept coming like several divisions of an army attacking with pincer movements.

  “There is grave trouble on the Persian front,” said Justinian. Insomnia and worry had scored deep lines in his face. “Khosrau is advancing northwards, he seems bound and determined to subdue Syria and Cilicia. He has taken Sura.”

  “I heard his horse predicted that he would be victorious,” said Theodora.

  “I suppose Narses told you. Yes, the horse neighed and stamped on the ground when they reached the gates.”

  “How did he know it meant victory? Does he speak Horse?”

  “His magi interpreted it. And they were correct. Khosrau has plundered all the houses, slain many of the citizens, carried others off as slaves, and burned the city to the ground.”

  “Can Antioch withstand him?”

  “Perhaps not. I have sent Germanus to garrison Antioch with as many men as we could spare – too few, I fear.”

  The siege of Antioch was short; the end catastrophic.

  “The defenders thought up a plan worthy of Belisarius himself,” Narses told Theodora. “They attached wooden platforms along the walls, from one tower to the next, so that a greater number of defenders could fight at once. But the ropes broke, and a number of soldiers fell, some inside and some outside the walls.”

  “What did Germanus do?”

  “By that time, he’d already beaten a retreat with his small force, by a rear gate kindly left open by Khosrau. Who clearly didn’t wish to engage the Romans, even if they were in the minority. The Persians prevailed. Antioch has been destroyed.”

  “Even the cathedral?” Theodora was aghast. “I used to attend services there.”

  “The only building that he did not burn. But he stripped it of all its treasures.”

  Onward through the provinces to the west of the Euphrates marched the King of Kings, causing havoc and devastation, or extorting vast sums in gold to buy immunity. Justinian sent ambassadors to attempt a negotiated peace. But the relentless Khosrau continued his rapacious advance, crossed the river by constructing a bridge of boats, and then proceeded to scourge Mesopotamia with his army, like a plague of huge locusts that consumed not only plants but also walls and castles and churches, men, women and children in savagely masticating jaws that dripped blood for many Roman miles across the countryside.

  “Belisarius will have to go and take command of the Imperial army,” said Justinian. “There is no one else who can stand against the Sassanid.”

  “Send Photius to the Persian front as well,” suggested Theodora. “He seems to be a military commander of some merit.”

  “Indeed he is. Considerable merit. Yes, I agree, in fact I’d already decided that he must go to fight the Persians.”

  Belisarius set off in the spring of 541, with all of the Goths he had brought with him from Italy, excepting only the deposed Goth king. This time, Antonina did not depart with him at once.

  “I have business to attend to,” she told him. “I’ll join you later, dearest one. I promise.”

  While fighting continued in Persia, at home in Constantinople Theodora and Antonina were carrying out their own battle plan. They met to confer at the city villa owned by Belisarius, where there were fewer people around than at the palace and they would be less acutely observed. Antonina sent the servants out of the room.

  “Yesterday, I explained our seditious plan to Euphemia,” said Antonina. “In detail. She is completely convinced, and she’s anxious to have her father support the great general against the tyrannical Emperor.”

  “Strange, that so perfectly awful a man as John should be loved by an innocent daughter.”

  “Daughters and fathers have a special bond,” said Antonina, “normally. Joannina adores Belisarius, seldom though she sees him. It’s hero worship. As with Euphemia.”

  “I feel very guilty about using the girl in this way,” said Theodora. “If he falls into the trap –”

  “If he falls for it, the guilt will be his,” said Antonina. “It’s quite simple. If he’s not a traitor, it won’t work. If he is, the sooner he’s taken out, the better. The throne must be protected.”

  “Exactly what Narses says. I just wish we had other means.”

  “This is what we have. Now, so far I have insisted that Euphemia should say nothing to her father, but I think the time is ripe to draw him in.”

  “Narses says we need to get John to implicate himself by actually saying that he’s willing to be involved in this plot,” said Theodora. “In front of witnesses. We need action, as if on a stage.”

  Public performance, in a variety of ways, had been at the core of her whole life, she thought. Usually the attention had been fully focused on her. Now, though, she would not herself be the foremost performer. Everything depended on her friend.

  “John knows I’m due to join Belisarius on the Persian frontier soon,” said Antonina. “I can suggest a meeting at Rufininae, where Belisarius has another villa. I’ll tell John I’m going to depart from there to the east the following day.”

  “You’re not actually off yet, are you?”

  “No, my aunt will come to fetch Joannina in about a week.”

  “What do you plan to do in Rufininae?”

  “There’s a garden where John and I could meet, with tall clipped hedges, just right to screen observers. I’ll make him say the crucial words. But who will the witnesses be? They must be people who have Justinian’s total trust.”

  “Narses will be there,” said Theodora. “And Marcellus. Justinian trusts them both implicitly.”

  “Oh, yes, the Grand Chamberlain, couldn’t be better,” said Antonina. “And the Commander of the Imperial Guard. The Cappadocian’s days are numbered.”

  “But if he goes down, what will become of Euphemia?”

  “The aunt has her own villa.
And John’s settled plenty of money on the girl. It may break her heart. But with a father like that … it was always inevitable.”

  “Poor child, poor child. Yet we might be mistaken. Perhaps we are.”

  “We might. Let him prove it.”

  “Very well, then. When?”

  “Two nights from now.”

  “I’ll tell Narses.”

  Narses the eunuch: his journal, AD 541

  I have failed the Empress

  April, AD 541

  The Empress and the lady Antonina prepared the stage well. The villa belonging to Belisarius in Rufininae was exactly the right place for such a meeting. Marcellus and I with twelve hand-picked excubitors set out early, so that we could take up our places before dark. The meeting with the Cappadocian was due to take place just after dusk had fallen.

  It is a palatial villa, sitting on the long flank of a low hill amid splendid gardens; when we got there around sunset we could see, in the fading light, that the rolling grounds were dressed in the fresh green of spring. We were let in through huge wrought-iron gates by the major-domo himself, and he showed us the way to a small secluded courtyard where we were to wait for the Cappadocian to arrive. On three sides porticoes fronted onto the courtyard, lined with Corinthian pillars that gleamed with gold leaf. On the fourth side grew a hedge as high as a wall, trimmed into straight lines by the gardeners, and beyond that there was an orchard with apple trees just coming into bloom.

  In the middle of the courtyard an ornate marble fountain splashed into a sunken pool. A marble bench stood in front of the hedge facing the pool. Marcellus and I found good cover directly behind this hedge, and the rest of the excubitors melted into the deepening shade beneath the trees. I could smell the tang of the sea and hear the faint cries of distant gulls. We waited.

  As the sun disappeared, all the colour faded from the garden and the air grew colder. I pulled my grey wool cloak closer around my shoulders. Servants emerged from the villa to light torches in brackets against the walls, plus two planted in the ground near the pool. The acrid smoke tingled in my nose and I pinched it to choke a sneeze. Now the clash of boots on the flagged pathway from a side entrance, which John had been told to use, announced the arrival of the Cappadocian with his bodyguards. Just as they stepped through a stone archway to our left the lady Antonina came out of the villa to greet them. I noticed that her shadow, thrown across the courtyard by the flickering torches behind her, seemed to grow large and dance toward the waiting men.