by Marié Heese
“Narses, we must discover where Photius has hidden Theodosius,” said Theodora. “What can we do?”
“Photius must be apprehended and brought to Constantinople for questioning. I’m certain Belisarius will sign such an order, now that all is clear to him.”
“That can be arranged. You will interrogate him?”
“I will, Despoina.”
Photius was taken into custody, brought to Constantinople on a swift dromon and marched to the dungeons beneath the Imperial Palace. Theodora went to see him herself. There he sat, on a wooden bench in the chill stone-walled cell, oblivious to the clang of the iron door as he was to the discomfort of the shackles that bound his ankles. A hard man, thought Theodora. Hard-muscled from years of warfare, legs strong as posts set into sandals, powerful arms folded across a barrel chest. Close-shaven round hard head, bony protuberant nose, hard dark eyes that stared up at her with the sullen smouldering anger of a tormented animal that would leap and strike out given half a chance.
“We want to know what you’ve done with Theodosius,” said Theodora. “It will benefit you to cooperate with us.”
“Not going to tell you.” He enunciated each word separately with a dull emphasis.
“Don’t you love your mother? Why do you want to do her harm? You understand that there’s been no affair?”
“Not going to tell you,” he repeated with sullen indifference. Hard dark wounded eyes, the eyes of a bear that had been made to dance on a burning plate, to whom music meant nothing but pain.
“How about a reward? Would some gold bars interest you?”
He showed nothing but a hard contempt. “Not going to tell you.”
“Well,” said Theodora, “here you’ll stay until he’s found.”
Conferring with Narses, she said: “We can’t let him loose. No knowing what he might do to the boy. And he’s the only person who knows where he is.”
“One has one’s spies,” said Narses. “And there are several officers at the front who served under me in Italy. We’ll find the young man, Despoina, do not doubt that.”
Orders went out. The hunt was on.
To Belisarius, Commander in Chief of the Imperial Army in Persia
From Justinian, Despotes in Constantinople
You are hereby ordered to release the Lady Antonina from custody. She has committed no crime and has not been heard in court. I remind you of the principle of audi alteram partem. Hear the other side. Under the law she is innocent until proven guilty, and the law applies not only to men. You are further reminded that the lady in question has been declared a Patrician by her Emperor, and we expect you to treat her with the respect due to her rank.
By order of the Emperor, Thrice August, by the grace of God, Despotes
Justinian
All the men who had a bond with Narses from the Italian war and all his paid spies were told to exert every effort in the search for Theodosius. There were a few false reports of sightings. Then, suddenly, good news arrived.
“Despoina, we have found him!”
“Narses, you are a marvel! Where? Is he all right?”
“Theodosius is hale and hearty, praise be to the Virgin Mother, to whom I have been praying for this outcome,” said Narses. “Who but she could better understand a mother’s grieving heart?”
“Where was he? How did you find him?”
“He was a prisoner in a castle in the Taurus mountains, in Cilicia. The father of one of my young officers in the Italian war farms on the mountain slopes. Keeps goats, and his daughters are weavers. The army buys goat-cloth for tents from him.” Narses was looking – justifiably, thought Theodora – extremely smug. “He heard some servants talking about a handsome young man from Constantinople who had been brought to the castle in chains. Thought it interesting enough to mention to the quartermaster, who passed it on to the young officer who’d served under me. He immediately realised who it must be.”
“I think the Holy Mother must indeed have played a role in this,” said Theodora. “You say he’s in good health?”
“A little hungry, I’m told. But uninjured. I am much relieved, Despoina, truth be told. I was afraid that Photius might have done him grievous harm.”
“I thought he’d killed him,” said Theodora. “Perhaps he does have some feeling for his mother, otherwise he might have done away with the boy altogether.”
“I suggest that Photius should be kept in confinement for some while longer,” said Narses. “He is, after all, guilty of kidnapping. And he shouldn’t be allowed to do further harm.”
“I agree,” said Theodora. “I assume Theodosius is on his way to join Antonina and Belisarius again?”
“Yes, Despoina. As we speak.”
My dearest Theodora – Salutations to the Empress!
I bow before you in grateful thanks and homage. You have wrought wonders. All is well between Belisarius and me, and Theodosius is once more restored to the bosom of our small family. I have put off my mourning clothes, and am myself again.
I told Belisarius everything. Including the sorry tale of how Photius came to be born. I could never face telling my husband that I had to suffer repeated rape from the Master of the Horse to save my father’s job as a stable-hand. Why is it, do you think, that a woman feels guilt when she has been the victim of rape? I know that I have always felt, somehow, guilty, and also somehow greatly diminished as a person because there was that episode in my history. When I finally did tell Belisarius, he cried. The greatest soldier the Byzantine Empire has ever seen, perhaps the greatest the world has ever known, cried when he heard the truth about his wife.
The true facts of these events are not generally known, nor need they be, we have agreed. It is no one’s business but our own. Those who observed the anger and sorrow of Belisarius and now see him happily reunited with me and with Theodosius, have been heard to speculate that I am the mistress of arcane magic arts. Let them believe that. It is a useful reputation to have, for everyone then treats one with respect. As a witch one has more power than as a patrician. I have perfected a glare that to superstitious men suggests the evil eye, and on occasion I use it to good effect. It would amuse you to see these hard-bitten soldiers quail.
It is good, now, that we three can be comfortable together, and Belisarius loves Theodosius even more than he did before, now that he understands the bond between us. He is also glad to have the services of Theodosius as a mapmaker once again. The war continues. Danger is all around, and spices every simple meal that we are blessed to share. And yet we are happy. Thanks to your good offices.
God bless you, and keep you from harm.
Ever your loving friend
Antonina
So, thought Theodora, putting the letter aside and leaning her elbows on the table, Antonina has been reunited with her son. But as for myself, I shall never have a son. God does not intend me to have a son. I must face that truth. In a moment of uncommon self-pity, tears sprang into her eyes. She wiped at them with the heels of her hands.
A brisk knock on the door of her office announced the arrival of Narses, alone among her subjects in being excused prostrations. “Despoina!” he exclaimed. “I am so sorry! Are you ill? Shall I call …”
“No,” she said. “No need. Just … sit down for a moment, Narses.”
It was not customary. He perched stiffly on the edge of a chair.
She struggled to regain her composure. But her grief needed shaping in words. This was not a topic she could talk about with Justinian. And Antonina was far away. She took a deep, shaky breath.
“You know that I … that I … was under the impression that I was pregnant,” she said. “When I fell down the steps of the Church of the Apostles.”
“I know it, Despoina.” His simian face was dolorous.
He always knows, she thought. Everything, about me. “If it had been a true pregnancy, this would have been that child’s birth month. Perhaps this very day, my son might have been five years old.”
“I understand, Despoina.”
“It is just … that child became so real to me. I think of it … often … but especially …”
“The loss of a dream is as painful as any other,” he said. “Perhaps even more so.”
“And now I must make my peace with the fact that I’ll never bear a son.”
“It does not seem likely, Despoina. Unfortunately.”
Oh God, she thought, what am I doing, talking about this to a eunuch? She swallowed. “But you were bringing me news,” she said, gathering her strength, sitting up straight. “Or is there some other …”
“I do have news, Despoina,” he said, standing up again smartly. “The Bishop of Cyzicus has been murdered.”
“Cyzicus?” For a moment her mind was sluggish.
“It is where the Cappadocian is serving his exile,” said Narses.
“Ah. Yes, of course. What happened?”
“The Bishop was stabbed to death in the central marketplace of Cyzicus,” said Narses.
“And why were you bringing me this particular item?”
“There was great animosity between the Bishop and Cappadocian John,” said Narses. “They were two powerful, manipulative and unscrupulous men, and they came to hate each other, my spies tell me.”
“Could he have been implicated in this murder?” asked Theodora.
“The deed was done by two members of the Green faction there,” said Narses. “We have eyewitnesses, and the men have been apprehended. John would never be so foolish as to wield a dagger himself, but one strongly suspects he was involved.”
“Have those two Greens brought here,” said Theodora. “We must investigate this matter properly.”
The inquest did not yield incontrovertible proof of the Cappadocian’s guilt; one of the alleged murderers implicated John, stating that they had received orders and a substantial bribe from him, but the other (perhaps in fear of retribution, should he speak, suggested Narses) steadfastly denied this.
“But there is enough evidence to strongly suspect his guilt,” argued Theodora, over lunch with her husband. “And it is unacceptable that a proven traitor such as he is – and that we know without any conceivable doubt – should continue to live a life of debauched luxury. Truly, Justinian, he deserves far greater punishment. Anyone might think treachery pays well!”
“True, true. We’ll exile him to a much more distant place. Mmmm … he can be banished to Antinoopolis in Upper Egypt, on the banks of the Nile. Is that far enough for you?”
“Yes. And he must be stripped of all his wealth. Every ill-gotten bit of it. He shouldn’t have a single denarius left, let alone enough loot to afford a palace built from the ruins of an emperor’s holy place.”
“He shall be denuded of everything.”
John was put onto a ship in rags, so destitute that he had to beg for food at every port of call. In Antinoopolis, a monastery took him in, to work as a lay brother.
“Yet even there, Despoina,” promised Narses, “we’ll keep an eye on him.”
Early in the spring of 542, Khosrau once more crossed the border between Persia and the Byzantine Empire.
Procopius wrote: Our spies inform us that Khosrau has assembled the largest army he has yet managed to bring together, around two hundred thousand men. The White Huns that the Emperor tried to bribe to stand against him have joined him instead, in hope of rich spoils. He intends to invade Palestine and march on Jerusalem.
“Where the plunder would be magnificent,” commented Justinian. “Procopius also writes that a portion of the Roman army is holed up at Hierapolis. Their commander has recommended that Belisarius should join him there.”
“Belisarius will not cower from the Persians,” said Theodora with conviction. “I fully expect that we will hear good news.”
“All in all, Belisarius can have no more than thirteen thousand men,” said Narses. “Even for him, surely a victory will be beyond reach. He will be able to do no more than delay the Persian advance with some stratagem.”
“I am very anxious about Jerusalem,” said Theodora. “I hope and pray that the Persian hordes will not sack the Holy City.”
“We must petition the Mother of God,” said Narses, “on our knees, that she may work a miraculous delivery.”
“We shall order special Masses,” said Justinian.
Remarkable news arrived in dispatches. “Well, this time Belisarius has surpassed himself,” commented Justinian. “Faced by an overwhelmingly numerous foe, he has succeeded in making them turn tail and depart for home, without having lost so much as a single sentry or even scout!”
“How on earth did he do that?” asked Theodora.
“Read this. See what Procopius writes.”
Theodora took the dispatch from him and started reading.
Belisarius made his headquarters at Europos, on the Euphrates. Khosrau was encamped with two hundred thousand men on the opposite side of the river. He was unsure of how many soldiers Belisarius had under his command (there were no more than thirteen thousand). So he sent an official to spy out the situation, under the pretence that the man was an envoy come to discuss possible terms of peace.
Belisarius was not fooled for a moment by this pretext. He made careful preparations to create a particular impression. First, he sent a thousand cavalry to the left bank of the river, to harass the enemy should they attempt to cross. Then he selected six thousand of his strongest and best-looking men, and took them to a place some distance from his headquarters as if on a hunting expedition. He had a pavilion constructed for himself, of sturdy goat-cloth, floored with woven carpets, and furnished with some comfortable couches piled with cushions.
Here he sat at his negligent ease, while around him his men disported themselves as if engaged in games. Not one was in military uniform, nor did they stand still as sentries would. They wore short linen tunics, without cloaks, and each one carried a whip in addition to a bow or an axe, as hunters would. No one took much notice of the envoy when he arrived, but glanced at him indifferently.
Well, the envoy presented his spurious proposal for peace, which Belisarius refused outright. The frustrated envoy departed, greatly amazed that the Romans were so much at ease that they would hunt within a short distance of the Persian army, taking no precautions. Convinced that Belisarius must have an enormous army, he proceeded to convince Khosrau to abandon his intended expedition. A truce was agreed upon and the Persians retreated.
There has been some mention of an outbreak of plague in Persia, which might have had an influence on the decision of Khosrau to return. I do not know if this is true.
“Well, what do you think of that?” Justinian took the dispatch from her and waved it in the air.
“I think,” said Theodora, “that Belisarius must be the only general who fights with sleight of hand.”
Justinian laughed.
Dispatches from Italy brought the news that Ildibad, King of the Goths, had been murdered at a banquet in his palace. (It seems that one should watch one’s back when attending a banquet in a palace, wrote Antonina.) A Goth named Eraric followed Ildibad as king, and at once sent ambassadors to Constantinople to negotiate the surrender of Northern Italy to Justinian.
“He’s demanding a huge sum of money, though,” said Justinian. “And he also demands the right to appoint the Patriarch.”
By September of the same year, Eraric’s demands were irrelevant. He was slain and a militant general known as Totila took his place. Totila declared that he would make it his life’s work to recover Italy from Justinian.
But soon Byzantium would have to face a far deadlier foe.
Chapter 13: The black flood
Narses came to the Daphne Palace with a lugubrious face, bearing bad news. “Despoina,” he said, “there is plague in Pelusium.”
“But … that is on the border of Egypt. It is far away from here. Do we need to be concerned for ourselves?”
“It spreads,” said Narses. “One has heard of a terrible
epidemic in the time of Pericles, in Athens. Pericles died of it. It began in Africa, passed through Egypt and Libya and then to the Greek world. Athens lost one third of its citizens.”
“How does it spread?”
“Nobody knows. But it moves from coastal areas inland.”
“I hope you are being alarmist. It may not travel over so great an area. We must have special Masses, to pray for deliverance.”
This was done. Yet as the months went by, dire reports kept coming: It had spread to Alexandria. It had multiplied throughout Egypt. More and more villages, towns and cities had fallen prey to the Black Death.
Messengers brought terrible tales of the dreadful affliction: The victims, they said, suffered a sudden fever. Some were covered in spots and died almost at once. Others developed buboes – swellings in the groin or armpit, behind the ear or on their thighs, which were excruciatingly painful. These buboes sometimes mortified and turned black, or burst open, exuding pus. Some who became ill fell into a deep sleep, from which they slipped into death, while others were completely unable to sleep and were seized by violent delirium, causing them to run howling into the streets. In either case, thousands died of it, every day. Some few survived, but no one could tell who that might be.
It raged on northward, invading and ransacking Palestine and Syria. Inexorably closer, ever closer.
In the Church of the Holy Wisdom worshippers gathered together and sat with bowed heads as Patriarch Menas spoke in ringing tones: “As in the days of Noah, when the flood waters spread across the earth, when he heard the message of threat and perdition, we must hear this call to repentance. It is the voice of our Lord, saying: repent, repent, for behold, I am coming …”
The congregation breathed quietly, as if the contagion they all feared could filter into the great church in that very moment.
“Listen to the Word of God,” exhorted Menas. “God has told us: And I will smite the inhabitants of this city, both man and beast: they shall die of a great pestilence. Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this, and be horribly afraid, be ye very desolate, saith the Lord. For this gird you with sackcloth, lament and howl: for the fierce anger of the Lord is not turned back from us.”