by Mary Reed
“I believe you did not want to see the empress’ torture prolonged,” John said, wishing Theodora had shown such mercy herself to those she had sent to the underground dungeons.”It was an act of mercy.”
Justinian forced his lips into a mockery of a smile. “You have been a valuable servant to me, Lord Chamberlain, but tonight you have brought an end to your time here.”
Chapter Sixty-three
Hypatia sat with Peter—her husband Peter—all night. She had pulled a stool to the side of the bed and taken one of his still hands in her own. The physician told her Peter would not wake again when he went back to sleep, and Peter had fallen into a deep slumber before the clergyman who married them left.
Peter had mumbled the appropriate words. Had he truly known what was happening? At the same time he was taking his vows he seemed to think he was climbing the ladder to heaven.
He was half-sitting, propped up on the pillow. His hand was cool. She could hear him breathing faintly, with an occasional long pause between breaths. Hypatia waited every time, holding her own breath, until his breathing resumed.
She kept brushing his wispy hair back into place. His forehead felt as cool as his hand. In the soft glow from the sleeping city outside the open window he might have been any age.
What a strange marriage, ending before it began. Like a baby who died at birth, whose life consisted of a single cry and an inscription on a tombstone.
She had always felt a bond with Peter, as if they were family, without realizing it.
Was it foolish for her to marry an old man? She ran a finger over the back of his hand, feeling the fragile bones through the parchment skin. It was better they had married. The Lord Chamberlain should have married Cornelia long since. Did he suppose there would always be time?
The night passed. Outside the window dawn replaced the soft night glow of the city. Hypatia was gradually aware she could again discern Peter’s bedside table, the amulet she had given him, the lucky coin from Derbe, the pilgrim flask with the oil she had thought miraculous for a brief while. The cross on the wall came into sharper relief.
Her eyes burned and for an instant, as sunlight began to filter into the room, she was sure the increasing light formed a cross over the sleeping Peter. She blinked and it was gone.
No doubt it had been a transitory effect of sunlight and her own exhaustion.
Then the hand she held spasmed.
Suddenly it was clenched tightly around her hand, squeezing painfully.
Then the pressure released.
Peter opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Hypatia. I have just had the strangest dream.” His voice was strong. His eyes were clear.
How long Hypatia might have remained speechless she would not know because almost simultaneously with Peter’s awakening there came a pounding at the door. Up on the third floor the noise was barely discernible but it startled Hypatia like a thunderclap.
She rushed downstairs. She could hardly see for the tears of joy blinding her.
What wonderful news she would have for the Lord Chamberlain when she let him in. She had forgotten their argument.
Blinking back tears, stifling sobs, she fumbled with the bolt and finally threw the door open.
The caller was not the Lord Chamberlain.
***
It was later that morning before Hypatia learned what had happened to John.
He gave her a hurried summary of his meeting with Justinian as they stood in the atrium.
His first question upon entering the house had been about Peter.
“He’s sitting up and having something to eat, master. Complaining I undercooked the eggs.”
John had braced himself for bad news. “He sounds like his old self,” was all he could think to say.
“He’s entirely himself. He really has recovered. It’s a miracle. Isn’t it wonderful?” Hypatia smiled. “His god has decided to grant us some time together, or so Peter says. And how can I not believe him?”
For Peter’s sake John accepted Hypatia’s tearful apologies for her outburst and reinstated her in the household. Hypatia worshiped the gods of Egypt as John knew. He wondered if Peter would seek to convert her to his own religious views. “I am happy for both of you, Hypatia.”
He and Hypatia had exchanged their news in a rush. There was no time to waste. No time for John to visit Peter.
He put his hand on the door and looked around the atrium, wondering if he would see it again, half expecting it to dissolve like a dream. He was enveloped by a sense of unreality. If he were to reach out his hand it might pass through the scene as it would pass through the reflections in the water in his impluvium, or perhaps come up against a hard, cold, mosaic.
He had experienced this sensation after his mutilation by the Persians. Surely, he had thought, it must be a nightmare. The world could not have changed so much, so abruptly and inexorably. But he had never awakened, and gradually he had stopped waiting.
“I’m leaving immediately for Zeno’s estate to find out what has become of Cornelia,” John told Hypatia.
“That won’t be necessary,” said a familiar voice.
He turned, startled. Cornelia came down the stairs. Her clothing was mud-spattered.
“I arrived back not long ago,” she said. “All that rain delayed us right from the start of the trip. The roads were flooded. We got stuck in mud, then a bridge had been washed out. It was my fault, ordering the driver to try a side road. We ended up in a ditch with a broken axle and had to stay at an inn waiting for the carriage to be fixed. By the time we got to Zeno’s estate a messenger had already been sent asking when I would arrive. I turned right around and came back immediately.”
She put her arms around John.
“I may as well not have bothered to go,” she said. “I was no help at all. Our grandson was being born as I arrived. He is named John.”
“You really should have stayed,” John said, holding her tightly.
“Europa and Thomas and John are doing well. I knew you would worry and I didn’t want you to be distracted from your investigation, and given I could get here as quickly as another messenger, well…” She kissed his cheek.
Over Cornelia’s shoulder, John saw Hypatia looking uncertain if she was free to go, trying to remain unobtrusive.
Cornelia put her head on John’s shoulder. “Why does it all need to be so complicated?”
John gave a thin smile and put his arm around her shoulders. “It doesn’t have to be, not any more. We have always talked about living in Greece. You can start to pack, Cornelia. I am free to leave the city at last. The emperor has relieved me of my position.”
Epilogue
Early morning sunlight poured into John’s study, warming him as he stood looking out the window, waiting for Cornelia to finish packing.
Today they were leaving for Greece, to be followed in due course by Thomas, Europa, and the infant John.
Turning, John smiled at the mosaic girl Zoe.
“Yes, Zoe, Peter and Hypatia will be with us too. They at least are constants in a time of great change,” he informed her.
He resumed pacing back and forth across the empty room, as he had been doing off and on since Cornelia had banished him while she was making the final preparations for departure.
“It will go faster if you aren’t looking over my shoulder,” she’d told him.
The house was even more bare than it had been. So John had gone to his study, where there was no longer a chair, and looked out the window and paced and talked to Zoe.
“A time of great change,” he repeated. “Not just Theodora’s death, though Mithra knows how that will affect the empire. Felix is still talking of converting to Christianity. And Anatolius is convinced he was saved from death because he took sanctuary in the Great Church and sa
ys he is thinking along the same lines.”
He gazed at the mosaic girl with whom he had spoken so often. “Gaius is gone and Isis is running a refuge. The world is certainly changing, Zoe.”
He resumed pacing.
“And speaking of Gaius, it’s strange Peter would believe he saw him climbing the heavenly ladder before anyone knew he was dead. Then there’s Peter’s holy oil. Did it really heal him as he believes? Gaius once claimed fate was just another competitor of his. I should have liked to have heard Gaius’ thoughts when he learned Alba, who swore by white food, choked to death on the black olives Gaius presented him.”
He took another turn around the sunlit room and continued. “I was not paying as close attention as I should have to what I heard during my investigation, Zoe. I overlooked more than one nudge in the right direction. Pulcheria pointing out the same jar can contain wine or poison, for example, and Gaius mentioning the same plants can be used for good or ill, to kill or cure. Then there was Antonina’s servant, who believed the goblet Theodora held in her mistress’ wall painting foretold the blessing of the ending of her agony.”
He paced back to the window and looked out across the palace grounds. Seagulls wheeled and squawked over treetops and the familiar tramp of military boots announced the departure of a company of excubitors.
“I shall miss you, Zoe. We have shared many confidences over the years.”
“And now it’s time to say goodbye, John,” Cornelia said from the doorway. “Everything is packed and loaded.” She came to him and put her arms around him. “It will be a new life and a better one, John. You no longer serve Justinian. You are free.”
They left the study. The thud of the house door closing quivered upstairs through the hot air. Cloud shadows briefly dimmed the sunlight pouring across the mosaic girl’s face, seeming to animate her features and creating a brief, sad smile on her glass lips.
Afterword
Nine For A Devil was—as they love to say in book blurbs—torn straight from the screaming headlines of the summer of 548, or would have been if anyone in Constantinople had invented newspapers. Empress Theodora in fact died around the end of June from a disease which, to judge by the sparse description left to us, was most likely cancer. What the historians all failed to note—even the sixth century writer Procopius who never met a scandalous rumor he didn’t like—is that there were a lot of real historical figures who had possible motives for killing the empress.
Theodora’s death allowed General Belisarius and his wife Antonina to prevent the marriage Theodora had arranged between their daughter Joannina and Theodora’s grandson or, according to some sources, nephew, Anastasius. Although Theodora’s meddling might sound farfetched, Procopius, as translated by Richard Atwater, avers that:
“She [Theodora] made the boy and girl live together without any ceremony. And they say she forced the girl against her will to submit to his clandestine embrace, so that, being thus deflowered, the girl would agree to the marriage, and the Emperor could not forbid the event. However, after the first ravishing, Anastasius and the girl fell warmly in love with each other, and for not less than eight months continued their unmarital relations.”
Antonina arrived in Constantinople, seeking military aid for Belisarius, around the time Theodora died. Some sources say she arrived after the empress’ death, but we side with those who say simply that she arrived too late.
Perhaps it would have been better for Belisarius, if not for Antonina, to have allowed Joannina’s marriage to take place. The historian Philip Stanhope says that whether Joannina eventually married someone else or whether Belisarius’ line even continued is unrecorded.
Another general, Justinian’s cousin Germanus, had indeed long seen his career impeded by Theodora, who all her life maintained an enmity to Justinian’s side of the family. In 550, with Theodora gone, Justinian was finally allowed to favor the man whom many expected to succeed him on the throne. He appointed Germanus to head the ongoing invasion of Italy. Unfortunately, Germanus fell ill and died on the way, giving Theodora a posthumous victory in the family feud.
The situation of the general Artabanes, prevented by Theodora from repudiating his Armenian wife to marry the patrician he had rescued from rebels in Libya, is as described, melodramatic as it may seem. We cannot confirm with absolute certainty that Artabanes had a borderline drawn down the middle of a house he shared with his estranged wife, but we are sure Procopius would have been happy to tell the story if he had thought of it.
Artabanes may well have been disgruntled enough to be suspected of the empress’ murder. Later in 548 or early 549 he actually became embroiled in an attempt to depose Justinian. The scheme was easily foiled and Justinian, acting inexplicably as he often did, granted clemency to the conspirators. Artabanes resumed his military career. He was sent to Italy, no doubt pleased to get away from his wife.
During 548, and for years before and afterwards, the empire was agitated by the religious controversy known as The Three Chapters. We refrained from any attempt to detail either the theological or political subtleties of the matter. In our defense we cite Edward Gibbon who, in The Fall of Roman Empire, referred to “The famous dispute of the Three Chapters, which has filled more volumes than it deserves lines…” Suffice it to say that Justinian hoped to broker an agreement between the various religious factions but ultimately failed, leading in time to the schism which still exists between the eastern and western churches.
As part of Justinian’s effort to unite the church, Pope Vigilius was invited to Constantinople for a full and frank discussion, or kidnapped, depending on which historian’s interpretation you prefer.
Emperors knew how to negotiate in those days. Vigilius was detained for eight years. He was finally allowed to leave the city in 555 but died before reaching Rome.
As for the monophysite Patriarch Anthimus, after he was deposed for his heretical views, the empress kept him safely hidden in her part of the palace where his presence was not discovered for twelve years, until Theodora’s death, if you believe John of Ephesus.
John the Cappadocian, the much maligned tax collector, was hounded by Theodora for years, even after she managed to have him removed from power and exiled. The tale of woe he relates to John is entirely factual. In a sense, the Cappadocian was a real life counterpart to our Lord Chamberlain, a powerful man, close to the emperor and trusted by him, whom Theodora hated and relentlessly sought to destroy.
While Procopius states that John the Cappadocian “…remained in prison till her [Theodora’s] death, after which he was allowed by the Emperor to return to Constantinople, a free man…” we calculated that a cunning fellow like the Cappadocian—knowing Justinian would allow him to return anyway—would surely have come back early. It isn’t surprising that Procopius failed to notice the Cappadocian lurking for a few days in the imperial kitchens. He failed to notice the former patriarch Anthimus hiding in the palace for twelve years.
Unfortunately, we must believe Procopius when he tells us that the Cappadocian had to be content with remaining a priest, despite his continuing ambitions. We can’t help but wonder if the formerly powerful official visited Theodora’s sarcophagus in the mausoleum next to the Church of the Holy Apostles. And if so, who did he count as the victor in their struggle?
From the foregoing it might be concluded that it is not so difficult making fiction out of history since so much of history is fiction to begin with.
However, having said all that we have, we can hardly shy away from two final items. We have to admit that from 541 to 552 the captain of the excubitors, the imperial guard, was a man named Marcellus, rather than a bushy bearded German called Felix who has held that position for many years in our books. All we can do is wave our poetic license, properly and impressively done up with various official seals! A detective needs a friend in law enforcement. We needed the excubitor captain to be frien
ds with John and, frankly, Marcellus wouldn’t give the Lord Chamberlain the time of day.
Which brings us to the matter of “Lord Chamberlain,” a loose translation of the name of a high palace office, praepositus sacri cubiculi (head of the imperial bedchamber). At one time or another, the famous eunuch Narses probably held this office, amongst others such as treasurer. However, official titles multiplied endlessly and the duties attached were often nebulous. Narses, for example, was eventually sent like Belisarius, Germanus, and many others before him, to lead the armies in Italy, perhaps on the theory that if all else fails, try an eighty year old eunuch. Given all this, we decided it did not fly in the face of history to claim that Justinian had a close advisor with the title Lord Chamberlain of whom no record remains. John, like his authors, was a private person who preferred to live out of the public eye, and being a shrewd man, he succeeded.
Glossary
Dates are AD unless otherwise stated.
BLUES
See FACTION.
CARROT
Orange carrots did not appear until well after the Roman era. Roman carrots were white or purple.
CICERO (Marcus Tullius Cicero) (106—43 BC)
Prominent Roman orator, politician, lawyer, and philosopher.
CITY PREFECT
High-ranking urban official who governed Constantinople and nearby areas.
COUNCIL OF CHALCEDON
451 church council, its determination that Christ has two natures, fully human and fully divine, in one person, was rejected by many eastern churches, resulting in a schism which has lasted until the present day.
COUNCIL OF EPHESUS
Refers to three church councils, the second of which, held in 449, was repudiated by the Council of Chalcedon.
COUNT OF THE CONSISTORY
Member of an imperial advisory council made up of high state officials.
CHRISTODORUS (fl. 6th century)