“And there are special robes for ceremonies.” Constantine looked down at his wife’s garment. “In this case, I don’t think a robe is needed.” His hands reached to loosen the cord around the neck of her shift. He felt her tremble as he helped pull it over her head. Breathing became difficult as he beheld her nakedness, transfixed by her soft curves and skin glowing in the candlelight.
“What of the emperor? Does he need a robe?” she asked, a quiver in her voice. She reached up to his tunic, warm hands pulling at its cords.
“No. No, he doesn’t,” came his hoarse answer. They fumbled with his clothes, eager to be free of them, straining to feel their bodies touching, hands stroking, lips kissing. Finally, clothes discarded, they tumbled into the bed, jolting it against the wall in their haste.
***
Downstairs in Maurice’s room, he and Jacobus had been joking about “the beards”—the men who, unlike themselves, were still whole and suffering from the pangs of carnal desire.
“You would not believe how wild those young emperors are,” said Maurice, speaking of Helena’s younger brothers. “Can’t have a servant girl anywhere near them.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes, but then he grinned at Jacobus. “Any wine left?”
“I think there is,” Jacobus answered, looking pleased at the request, and poured another cup for the older man. Maurice chattered on, gossiping about the concubine Emperor Romanus had recently acquired, when they heard the sound of something moving above their heads.
“What was that?” asked Maurice, regaining some of his attention.
Jacobus arched an eyebrow and turned his head as if to listen better. There was no more noise, so he simply shrugged. “Probably just cats fighting. With all the cats around here, I’m surprised we don’t see more fights.”
Maurice relaxed then and leaned his head against the wall behind his chair. “Probably right. Just cats. Fighting.” He closed his eyes and began snoring.
***
As dawn approached, Jacobus was becoming impatient. Maurice could not sleep too much longer, and the other servants would soon be rising. He sprang to attention when he heard the soft scuff of shoes on the stairs. Looking into the hall, he saw Constantine strolling down to him.
“Well?” he asked in a whisper, though he did not need to. His emperor had never looked happier.
Constantine, beaming, clapped him on the shoulder and said in hushed tones, “Let’s go, shall we.”
Once outside, walking briskly back to their own palace, Constantine said, “I hope you and Maurice are good friends. I think you’ll be spending more time with him.”
***
Helena lingered in bed in the morning, making the excuse to Sophia of a headache, but instead reliving every blissful moment of the time she and Constantine had spent together. She could almost be grateful for Sophia’s pettiness starting her on this path. Almost.
She had never imagined a man’s touch could arouse her as Constantine’s had, nor had she imagined how her touch could excite such passion from him. She felt intoxicated and alive as never before, satiated and hungry.
It was hunger, but not for food, that roused her from her bed at midday when she judged Sophia would be napping, and she escaped unaccompanied by an attendant to Constantine’s small palace. Once inside, a heavy-eyed Jacobus greeted her with a smile before leading her to Constantine.
He sat at his desk with parchment and paint jars on it, looking out the window as she entered. He turned to see her, and she rushed into his arms.
They kissed hungrily. Then Constantine whispered in her ear, “Thank you for the most wonderful night of my life.” His hands held her close, stroking the length of her body, feeling the sweet curve of breast and buttock.
Her soft lips turned up, kissed his cheek. “It was for me as well.” She laughed softly, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. She pressed closer, understanding now how desire flowed between a man and a woman. “I came alone.”
Constantine grinned at her. “Did you, now? I suppose that means I must be the one to guard your virtue.”
“Definitely. Where would be the best place to, uh, guard my virtue, do you think?”
“I’ve a room down the hall I think would be perfect for that,” he said with mock seriousness. “Let me show it to you.” He grasped her hand as they practically ran to his bedchamber.
***
Over the next few weeks, Jacobus almost regretted the companionship his emperor had found with his empress. The nights of drinking with Maurice took their toll the next day, and Helena’s occasional solitary daylight visits to her husband seemed the height of recklessness if she meant to keep her father from learning the couple were no longer chaste.
On one memorable occasion, Helena’s father had crossed her path as she was leaving. Jacobus rushed to her side, pretending to be her escort, and apologized for his slowness at joining her. Romanus gave him a cursory glance before continuing on his way.
“Thank you, Jacobus,” Helena said as she watched her father continue on his way to the Augustaion and the Hagia Sophia, where he would meet with the patriarch.
“Of course, my lady.” He paused. “My lady, don’t you think your father should know you are, uh, spending time with your husband?”
Helena gave him a sidelong look as they walked back to the Daphne Palace. “If he knew, he would try to keep us apart. I’ll wait until he has no choice but to let us live together.”
Feeling philosophical, Jacobus thought that would happen soon enough.
***
The feast of Christ’s nativity dawned bright and crisp after a sprinkling of snow fell during the night. The imperial procession from the palace to the Great Church of Holy Wisdom, the Hagia Sophia, left not long after sunrise, with crowds along the way even at that early hour. Once in the church, the protracted service of the Divine Liturgy for the feast day and the procession back lasted until almost midday.
The silk-lined wool robes Helena wore were no match for the cold outside, but the crush of women surrounding her in the empress’s gallery in the church, as well as the crowds of men below in the nave, warmed the inside enough that she soon found herself perspiring.
Blessedly, Sophia had not joined them. Helena wanted no scratch of irritation to mar her enjoyment of the day. The joyful hymns from the eunuchs’ choir reflected her own happiness. She gazed out to where Constantine sat, enthroned between her father and brothers, and wished it was already night. He had promised to visit her then.
The patriarch and priests, in gold robes with mitres crowning their heads, circled the dais with candles and smoking censers before proceeding to the altar. There, screened behind the shimmering silver iconostasis that rose almost to the lower edge of the great dome, the consecration occurred. Gold-encrusted mosaics of Mary with her divine Son sparkled around the church, reminding all of her importance as the mother of Jesus on this day.
Finally, the service concluded and the procession returned to the Great Palace for the celebration feast. Helena hosted the highborn ladies of the court in the Daphne Palace while her father, brothers, and husband hosted the men in the Chrysotriklinos. The Advent fast over, the court ladies relished the feasting of that day. Helena could nibble just a few bites while thinking only of her husband.
Impatient and desperate to escape the noise and crush of so many women for Constantine’s company, Helena took the opportunity to slip out after a visit to the privy. Donning a mantle, she walked the short distance to where the men dined. The fresh air invigorated her, clearing her head.
She arrived at the great hall, her breath issuing in puffs of frosty white. From a distance, she watched eunuchs and servants passing in and out of the building until she saw one she recognized and thought she could trust.
“Demetrius,” she hissed at him to get his attention.
The old eunuch looked around, confused until she caught his eye.
“I need you to find my husband and tell him I must speak with him here,” she said,
trying not to appear too anxious. “Please don’t disturb anyone else when you speak with him.”
The servant disappeared into the golden throne room, and a few minutes later, Constantine emerged, wondering what she needed.
Helena pulled him around from the side of the entrance and sank into his arms, enjoying the warmth he emanated.
“I just wanted to see you,” she said. “That’s all. Is it so bad that a woman should want to see her husband?”
“I think you must be the boldest woman I’ve ever known,” he said, kissing her. “Boldest, or maybe the most foolhardy. I’m not sure which it is.”
“Foolhardy is what I think it is, for both of you” said a voice behind them. “Would you mind telling me what is going on here?” Emperor Romanus glared at them.
Constantine stiffened at the sound of his father-in-law’s—the usurper’s—voice. A protective arm around Helena, he turned defiantly to Romanus and said, “I’m kissing the wife you gave me.” Helena put a cautioning hand on his arm before he could say more.
“Father, can we talk about this?” she asked.
“I think we need to,” Romanus answered, scowling at his daughter. He stood before them, red-faced and angry, his fists on his hips. He jerked his head at Constantine. “You, back inside. I’ll speak with you,” indicating Helena, “later.”
Constantine did not move; he only glared at Romanus. He was about to speak when Helena said, “Constantine and I both need to speak with you.”
Romanus’s face darkened at their disobedience. In the circumstances, however, with a hundred guests waiting for him, he could not force either of them to do anything without causing great embarrassment.
His eyes darted from one to the other before he growled, “I’ll see you both in the Boukoleon at sunset.” With a final grunt of disapproval, he spun on his heel and returned to the hall and his guests.
“I’m sorry,” Helena said. “I know you have little reason to love him, but I think he will come around.”
Constantine stared after his father-in-law in frustrated helplessness. Her father, a powerfully built man and the leader of great armies, intimidated and angered her husband. Looking into her husband’s eyes, she realized something else.
“Constantine, just remember that no matter what my father says or does, it is what we say and do that is the future. We are married; I am his daughter. Beloved, we will be his heirs, not my brothers.”
He gave her a cynical sidelong glance. “I suppose that’s possible. But have you mentioned it to your brothers?”
“I don’t need to. I know it.”
Helena may be Romanus’s daughter, but Constantine had seen his father-in-law dispose of too many of his relations and friends. He shrugged skeptically. “Maybe. I won’t let him hurt you, though. I’ll take the blame for this.” He reached up and stroked her fair cheek. “We need to get back to our guests now. I’ll see you at sunset at the Boukoleon?”
She nodded, too full of purpose to speak.
***
Helena and Constantine waited in apprehensive silence, hands clasped, for her father to appear. Helena felt as though some of Constantine’s wisdom seeped into her through his touch, and some of her strength of purpose fortified him. The sound of Romanus’s resolute stride echoed down the hallway to the room where they waited. Constantine raised her hand to his lips, kissing it as though it might be for the last time.
“So, what do you have to say for yourselves?” Romanus’s voice was dangerously low as he sat down opposite them.
“I am entirely to blame for what happened between your daughter and me,” said Constantine.
“Husband, that is not true. Father, I approached him first. The blame is all on my part.”
Romanus scowled at them both. “Helena, I expected better from you. The marriage would have been consummated when I thought you were ready. You disappoint me.”
Helena tried to keep her face calm as her father spoke, but anger rose in her.
“When you thought I was ready? And when would that be? Marie, your granddaughter, who is two years younger than I am, is married just a year and already has a child. Or maybe there is another reason why you didn’t want us together? So I ask again, when would we be ready?”
Romanus turned red at his daughter’s challenge, the muscles in his neck bulging out. “When I decide you are ready,” he bellowed. “I am your father, and I will not rush you into the marriage bed.”
Helena thrust her small chin out. “Well, I decided I was ready.”
Constantine interrupted, “No, I decided we were ready; it wasn’t her.”
Romanus’s eyes narrowed, and he wagged a finger at them, “And I can decide that you aren’t ready. I’ll put the two of you under guard so you can’t see each other.”
“And I tell you we are ready. More than ready,” Helena retorted.
“No, Daughter, you aren’t. Don’t test me on this, or you’ll regret it.” His hand rose to her face, a finger jabbing at her. Romanus looked ready to burst as he rose to his feet.
Helena sprang up after him. “How can you say this to me? You’ve always said how important marriage is, what a sacrament it is, and important to bring children into the world. The Church has blessed our union, and you are saying, no, I can’t live with my husband? After you forced us to marry?” She looked her father up and down with disdain.
“For someone who professes to be of such deep faith, your actions keeping Constantine and I apart are not those of the Church’s faithful.” Her father’s deep religious beliefs gave her the whip hand in this argument.
“You don’t understand now. You will when you have children,” said Romanus, looking embarrassed at being caught by his own words. He turned as though getting ready to leave.
“Well, that will be in about eight months, so perhaps I will then. I know I would not try to keep a wedded man and wife apart, though.”
Constantine, standing beside Helena and watching the father-daughter sparring with interest, snapped his head back toward his wife, wondering if he had heard her properly. He had known she could get with child at any time, but he had imagined it might happen at some vague point in the future.
Romanus put a hand to his forehead and muttered, “Oh, God. What foolishness have they gotten into?”
“Father, I’m not foolish. I want to live with my husband and sleep in his bed each night. Starting tonight and every night. What is foolish is to try and keep us apart any longer. What will you say when people see my belly growing? You’ve been married, and now you have another woman to warm your bed without being married. We’re married, and we’re going to have a baby. Why can’t we live together?”
Constantine looked between these two—the man who had forced him to drink the bitter cup of humiliation and irrelevance, and that man’s daughter, who admired him and was the woman he loved. As different as they were, he had the odd sense they were two sides of the same coin—humiliation and irrelevance, balanced on the obverse by love and meaning.
“Father, please understand,” Helena pleaded softly. “We love each other and want only to be together, with our child.” She reached up to touch his hard sailor’s face, burnt by years in the sun and wind. “Please, Father, don’t keep us apart.”
Romanus stood teetering on the edge before relenting.
“If you’re already with child, it’s too late to stop it. I’d rather you had waited, but what’s done is done,” he said grudgingly.
Relieved at her father’s reluctant acceptance, Helena embraced him. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
Romanus glanced at his son-in-law with a disparaging look. He muttered, “Probably better to have her married to you rather than to some soldier who might beat her. She’s too willful to take a husband’s corrections.”
Constantine half smiled at that assessment while reaching for Helena’s strong hand. He would never have warm feelings for his father-in-law, but he would keep the peace for her sake.
Helena
stepped away from her father and into her husband’s embrace. Romanus left them then, bent before the force of their desire.
“Did you come to me this afternoon to tell me of the child?” asked Constantine. He looked into her eyes, hands circling her waist.
“Yes. I’d planned to tell you tonight, but I couldn’t wait till then.” Helena’s face radiated happiness. “We don’t need to sneak around anymore, and I don’t have to spend another night under the same roof as Sophia. I will spend all my nights with you.”
And so she did.
Author’s Note:
Constantine VII is known to history by the sobriquet “Porphyrogenitus” (born in the purple) because he was born in the purple porphyry marble room of the Great Palace. All children born to a reigning emperor were born in that room, but his father, Leo VI the Wise, had a marital history that would rival that of England’s Henry VIII. Constantine was given this particular nickname to emphasize his right to the throne. Like Henry VIII, Leo died when his only son was still a child, and Constantine, a sickly boy, became a pawn between various regents for seven years before Romanus Lecapenos took control when Constantine was almost fourteen.
Romanus had reasonable expectations that one of the three sons he had named as co-emperors would succeed him. However, Christopher, the eldest and most promising, died a few years after this story. The younger two, Stephen and Constantine, were fools who did not long survive their betrayal and usurpation of their father sixteen years after the events of this story. It was the quiet survivor, Constantine Porphyrogenitus, who ruled after Romanus, with Helena sitting beside him as empress and augusta. The historical record indicates their long marriage was a happy one, producing seven children.
Much of what we know of this period in Byzantine history comes from the books written by Constantine VII during the shadowy years he shared the throne with his father-in-law. They include De Ceremoniis, his book of ceremonies; the Vita Basilii, a life of his grandfather, Basil I; and De Administrando Imperio, a book written for his son to use to administer the empire when he took the throne. He was also a painter and art collector. It was during Constantine’s lifetime that historians have noted the Byzantines experienced a kind of Renaissance period, no doubt influenced by this unique emperor’s patronage.
Tales of Byzantium Page 4