Chapter 2

 

Imperial Palace, May 408

 

ANTHEMIUS, PATRICIAN, PRAETORIAN PREFECT and second most powerful man in the eastern parts of the Roman Empire, left Emperor Arcadius’ bedroom to confront the anxious crowd in the anteroom. He was followed by the handful of councilors and priests who had shared his vigil through the night and acted as witnesses to the passing of power. No one had expected Arcadius to die at the young age of thirty-one, but a sudden fever carried him off, leaving Anthemius with a succession crisis. As prefect, he had been running the government for his dull-witted Emperor the last eight years and saw no reason he shouldn’t continue. The boy is only seven, for God’s sake! It will be years before he can take the reins.

Silence descended on the courtiers and foreign ambassadors as Anthemius schooled his lined face and made the expected announcement. “The Augustus is dead. God rest his soul.”

The crowd echoed, “God rest his soul. Blessings be upon him.”

Anthemius ran a hand through his impressive head of curly silver hair, then stilled his unexpected fidgeting. I must be more tired than I thought. When did I lose the ability to work through the night and greet the dawn with vigor?

He took a deep breath and addressed the crowd. “Our beloved emperor, Flavius Arcadius Augustus, named his son, Flavius Theodosius, as Caesar and heir some years ago. The Imperial line continues. Theodosius is the next Emperor, the Second of that Name.” It never hurts to remind people of illustrious ancestors!

He scanned the crowd for hints of dissatisfaction. This was a dangerous time for the boy emperor and Anthemius was on the lookout for any sign of rebellion. Most of the men wore grave or sorrowful faces. He made note of those few showing a blank or calculating mien. He paid little attention to the women ritually crying and praying.

“The city prefect will arrange the funeral. I will continue to serve as Patrician to the emperor and praetorian prefect of the East. The senate will appoint a regent for Theodosius Caesar, soon to be Augustus.” Anthemius waved his hands toward the door. “You are dismissed.” He turned to several young pages and gave them instructions on whom to notify.

“Patrician?” Antiochus bowed before him as the last of the youngsters left. “May I have a word?”

While Anthemius ran the empire, Antiochus ran the palace and had physical custody of the emperor’s young children. The two had worked well together over the years. Antiochus had had a calming influence over the moody Arcadius and didn’t try to exercise power beyond the palace. The prefect hoped to enlist the eunuch in his plans for the children.

“Certainly.” Anthemius nodded to his son. “Isidorus, join us.” He had been grooming his son for high honors since boyhood. He hoped to leave the empire in his capable hands—someday—in the future.

The three men stood at an ebony sideboard laden with food left over from the night’s vigil. Anthemius ignored the wilted lettuces, crumbs of cheese, and picked-over meats in their congealed fat. He signaled a servant to pour chilled pomegranate juice over crushed cherries in silver goblets.

Antiochus declined, but Isidorus took a large drink. Anthemius frowned at the tart taste as he sipped his own.

“Your Sublimity, this sudden and tragic death leaves us a dilemma.” The eunuch shuffled his feet and looked longingly at a padded chair.

“Only one?” Anthemius gave a sour smile.

“What is to be done with the children?”

“They are to be cared for, as always.”

“I hesitate to bring this up, Noble Prefect, but I fear for their safety.” The eunuch put up his hands as if in defense. “Not that I suspect any specific person of plotting rebellion…uh…or wishing them harm. But they are young and without champions. It is an easy thing to shove aside a seven-year-old boy in favor of a mature man. Perhaps they should be housed in a more secure location? I could take the children to the palace in Hebdomon, away from the public eye.”

Anthemius was pleased at the eunuch’s concern. “Rest assured, Antiochus, I know of no one who wants to put aside the new emperor. The palace is the safest place for the children, especially with such a vigilant person as yourself in charge. The senate will soon appoint a regent. That should settle the matter until the boy reaches his majority.”

“Theodosius’ Uncle Honorius is now senior Emperor and might want some say in that appointment.”

“More likely his General Stilicho will claim some influence, since he acted as regent in the West during Honorius’ minority. I’m sure the eastern senate will be unanimous in its will to have one of their own in the position.”

Antiochus raised a questioning brow but did not comment on Anthemius’ bold assertion of independence in the East. “I still fear some disaffection in this court. Luckily, Emperor Arcadius—blessed be his soul!—provided a safeguard.”

“What’s the nature of this safeguard?” Alarm quickened Anthemius’ blood. What the devil has the eunuch been up to? Will he oppose my regency?

“At my urging, the late Emperor—may he be honored in heaven!—named the Persian King guardian of his son.” Antiochus flashed a satisfied smile, handing Anthemius a sealed packet. “This letter from Yazdgard, First of his Name, declares that he will wage war if the boy comes to harm. Please make it known to others of the court and the council.”

Anthemius broke the seal and scanned it quickly. He had not suspected the eunuch of being under foreign obligation. Antiochus had not tried to influence foreign policy, so was likely just taking a small pension from the Persian king for general information about the court, a common practice. I need to strengthen my network of informers inside the palace to confirm Antiochus is not more ambitious. We have a history of eunuchs getting above their station.

Anthemius handed the letter to his son. “There is no need for such foreign protection. I give you my word, no harm will come to our new emperor.”

“Your word is good with me, Patrician, but you do not command all. There are many ambitious men about. I’ll leave you two to your deliberations. I must inform the children of their loss.” Antiochus bowed and left.

With the eunuch gone, the prefect waved his son over to the chairs and took a deep swallow of his own drink.

Isidorus looked at his father over the brim of his goblet. “Well, Father?”

“Well, what?” he answered with a touch of asperity.

“Are you one of those ‘ambitious men’? You have managed the empire successfully for the last eight years while our ‘Blessed Emperor’”— he rolled his eyes—“drank himself to death. Many would rally to your cause.”

“I have sworn before God and the people of Constantinople to protect this empire. I will not break that oath by instigating a civil war.” Anthemius frowned at his son. “That means protecting the young emperor and running his empire to the best of my ability.”

Blood flooded his son’s face at the mild rebuke. “I meant no disrespect, Father. I do not doubt your loyalty, but many are dissatisfied after the disastrous rule of Arcadius and are looking for change. General Procopius claims descent from the Great Constantine. He could make a bid for the diadem.”

“The good general has never expressed an interest in ruling. Besides, I have plans for Procopius. I believe he would be much happier with a connection to our family, where he could accumulate wealth and influence without the headaches of wearing the diadem.” Anthemius smiled. “I’ve been looking for a good match for your sister.”

Isidorus looked startled, then nodded. “A very good move. Best to bring him into our faction and avoid civil war.”

“The senate is sure to name me regent.” Anthemius stared into his goblet for a moment. “I’ll replace Arcadius’ corrupt friends with men of good repute throughout the government. People will see a change and our young emperor should reap the benefit. If he proves as malleable as his father, we continue as now. If the boy shows strength of character and good judgment, he will keep us close. Either way, we benefit and avoid a civil war.”

“What if he grows strong-willed and foolish?”

“It is our job to surround the boy with good tutors and amiable friends who will have his ear for many years. By education and example, that is how we form a sensible man and competent ruler.”

“And keep him away from the wine.” Isidorus grinned.

“Yes, moderation in all things is the Hellene way.” Anthemius rose and stretched. “It was a long vigil last night, and I have more work to do. I best get to it.”

 

*****

 

A MONTH LATER, Pulcheria prepared her brother for one of the most important days of his life. “Stand still, Theo, or we’ll never get you ready for your acclamation. You do want to be the emperor of Rome, don’t you?” The cherubic toddler had grown into a weedy seven-year-old, missing his front teeth, and usually stinking of horses and dogs. One of his favorite hounds paced the carpet by his side, whining at the commotion.

Pulcheria inspected her brother with reserved approval. His attendants had arranged the boy’s dark blond hair in glistening curls and dressed him in new robes of purple silk encrusted with gold thread, seed pearls, and amethysts. He positively glittered! Theo was a handsome boy even with his gap-toothed smile. He reached down to sooth his hound, mumbling, “I am emperor. Nobody can take that away from me.”

She raised one eyebrow, an affectation she practiced in a mirror and used to devastating effect on servants. She needed Theo to know the precariousness of his position, but didn’t want to needlessly frighten him. It was enough that her stomach clenched with apprehension.

Pulcheria tried again, “One would think you have not studied your histories. Many an emperor has lost his throne and his life because the army or the senate did not want him.”

“But the people love me!” Theo whined.

She sighed, resisting the urge to tousle his carefully coifed curls. Pulcheria worked hard to keep up with the outside world, isolated as they were in the palace. Instinctively, she knew knowledge was power, even if she had no way of wielding that power as a child. It infuriated her that the adults in her life tried to deny her this one safeguard. Nana patted her on the head and suggested she not worry about such things. Antiochus deliberately kept disturbing news from the nursery, so her tutors deflected her questions on current events.

Only Father Marcus kept her apprised of the current state of the empire. For a priest, he seemed well informed and had the bonus of respecting Pulcheria’s questions. But he had no access to the thinking of powerful men and that was the knowledge she sought. Luckily there were no restrictions on history, so she concentrated on learning as much as she could about past imperial rulers—what traits made them successes, and which made them vulnerable.

The one history lesson she learned over and over again was that the emperor was always in danger. That knowledge was a curse. As she had after her mother’s death, Pulcheria struggled with a sense of helplessness. She was a young girl with an impossible task. What could she do against an entire court of adults to keep her family safe? What could she do if the army revolted?

Little to nothing, except pray.

If the worst threatened, Pulcheria planned to ask Father Marcus for asylum for the children in the church. Whereas the people of the court were all too vulnerable to bribes and promises of power, Father Marcus taught her God granted his grace to innocent children and would protect them.

Pulcheria blinked tears from her eyes. How to get through to Theo? Should she? If they can do nothing, shouldn’t she let him enjoy his innocence? No. Through God’s grace, and good luck, her brother would become emperor. He needed to know how to rule. If the tutors wouldn’t do it, she would.

“Brother, we live in perilous times. Father Marcus tells me the Huns have invaded from the north, the Goths muster under Alaric, and General Stilicho returns to the West by our Uncle Honorius’ order, leaving the East vulnerable. In the past, people have turned quickly against any emperor who cannot protect them. We must have the support of the eastern armies, as well as the people, or our lives are forfeit.”

Theo’s face turned somber. “How did you become so wise, Ria?”

“I had to. No one else looks after us except Nana and Father Marcus. What can one old woman and a priest do to protect us?” Pulcheria thought bitterly of her drunken father. Could he not have lived another five or six years, until she was of age? She had little affection for him, but alive he kept the vultures of the Court from his children, and Pulcheria knew some peace. Now all was chaos and uncertainty. With a boy on the throne and she only nine years old, their fate fell to whoever the senate declared regent.

“When I come into my majority, Sister, you will be my foremost advisor.” Theodosius gave her a lop-sided grin. “For I know you love me and have my best interests at heart.”

Pulcheria swept her brother into a hug, just as Antiochus appeared at the door.

“Children, it’s time to go.”

Pulcheria straightened her robes and her brother’s, bowed low, and pointed to the door with an outstretched arm. “Emperor Theodosius, your people await you.”

A fearful expression flitted over the boy’s face.

“You’ll do well, Brother. Show the people you are worthy of our grandfather’s name.”

Theo’s face settled into the mask of genial good humor all imperial children learn at an early age. He offered his arm. They walked out the door side-by-side.

A chaotic crowd milled about the entrance to the imperial palace. June sun scorched the plaza inside the Chalke Gate. Heat waves rose from the paving stones. Sweat dampened Pulcheria’s hair, trickling down her back, making her heavy embroidered robes even more uncomfortable. She surreptitiously wiped her damp palms on her outer cloak and glanced at Theo. He seemed unaffected by the heat, smiling expectantly at the people bowing before him.

Guards, senators, servants: all made way for the imperial children with deep bows. Anthemius, the praetorian prefect of the East, came forward to greet Theodosius. As the highest official in the eastern parts, it was his responsibility to raise funds for and oversee the celebration. “Caesar, you will take the chariot. Your sisters will follow in the women’s imperial wagon.”

Theodosius looked with approval on the gilded chariot decorated with the imperial eagle, symbol of the Roman Empire, drawn by four perfectly matched white horses. Pulcheria whispered in his ear. He turned to Anthemius. “My sisters find the arrangement unacceptable. They wish to ride in an open chariot as well, the better to see the crowd and be seen by them.”

Anthemius’ studied smile disappeared. “It is unseemly for the princesses to ride in a chariot. The people should not look upon their sacred faces.”

Theodosius glanced at Pulcheria. She gave the barest negative shake of her head. A frown clouded Theodosius’ face. “It is my wish as well. Am I not the Emperor?”

Anthemius, not wishing to provoke an imperial tantrum, countered with, “Perhaps the drapes to the wagon can be drawn back somewhat so the princesses can look out, but they are shielded from the gaze of the people.”

“That will be acceptable,” Pulcheria answered for herself. Anthemius gave her a calculating look. She gazed back with an innocent smile. She had only proposed the chariot knowing it would not be approved, hoping to force Anthemius into an acceptable compromise. Over the past several years, she had finely honed the art of bargaining while wheedling concessions from Nana and Antiochus. Father Marcus seemed immune to her strategies.

Theodosius entered the commodious ceremonial chariot with Anthemius and the driver. Imperial guards in striking white tunics and purple cloaks surrounded them, polished helmets and steel-tipped spears glittering in the sunlight. Pulcheria’s heart raced when separated from her brother. Many usurpers demonstrated their power with a public assassination and drive for immediate acclamation. Before Theo took power from the hands of his army would be a good time to strike.

With a sense of resignation and a prayer to God for protection, Pulcheria entered the imperial wagon with her sisters. Pulcheria directed Arcadia and Marina to the seat with their backs to the front of the carriage. They settled in, arranging their miniature royal robes to be comfortable, and looked to Pulcheria for approval. She leaned forward to tuck a brown curl behind Arcadia’s ear. “Good girls. Now, Marina, remember not to suck your thumb. Sit on your hands, if you need to. When we leave the wagon, smile at the people.”

“Like this, Ria?” Her littlest sister screwed up her face in an exaggerated smile, making Pulcheria laugh.

“No, Sweetling, if you smile like that you will scare the people. Think of something you like and let your face do what it wants.”

“I like flowers and puppies and honey cakes and…” Pulcheria let her baby sister babble on while she surveyed the entourage through a partially drawn curtain. Guards formed up around the wagon, and they joined the procession out of the palace gates.

Despite her apprehension, Pulcheria felt a thrill. This was only the third time she’d left the palace, and those had been short trips to the Church of the Apostles for her parent’s funeral services. She eagerly anticipated this trip to the outer suburbs through her city, which she had studied on maps but barely saw.

The procession moved from the Chalke Gate, in the southeastern palace precincts on the First Hill, into the Augusteum, named after Constantine’s mother Helena. Every child knew the story of how Helena went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and discovered the cross upon which Christ had been crucified. She returned to Rome with pieces of the holy relic, convinced her son to become Christian, and converted the Empire to a Christian State. Pulcheria said a silent prayer for the great woman.

Marina peeked out at an impressive statue dominating the square that was the center of political life in the city. “Who’s that, Ria?”

“Helena Augusta, the Great Constantine’s mother.” Gazing on the calm, beautiful face, Pulcheria drew strength. Here was a woman of power and piety. She could be one too.

They proceeded around the square, past the imposing basilica of the Senate house on the east and the ruins of Hagia Sophia, the Church of Holy Wisdom, on the north. It had burned down many years ago, shortly before her mother’s death. “That’s a shame!” Pulcheria murmured to herself. “Why hasn’t someone rebuilt that church? When I’m old enough…”

She sighed. There was so much she wanted to do and couldn’t, because she was a child.

Pulcheria put aside thoughts of tomorrow to gaze upon the crowd. The people dressed in their best to receive their emperor, smiling and eager to glimpse the boy. Their grandfather Theodosius had been a formidable general and popular emperor. After the disappointing reign of their father, the hopeful crowd wanted to believe the grandson of Theodosius the Great had the qualities of his namesake. Pulcheria cared not why they loved the lad; she was just grateful they did. Popular support made a public attack far less likely. As he passed, she heard their formal shouts of acclamation led by strategically placed imperial agents, “Theodosius Augustus, chosen and anointed by God and the Roman people! Blessed is Theodosius, Second of his Name!”

They headed west out of the Augusteum, and entered the central thoroughfare of the city, the Mese—Middle Street. The wagon hit an uneven patch; the girls were tossed about, Arcadia whooping in delight, Marina’s face screwing up to cry. Pulcheria pulled the little girl onto her lap. “I’ll keep you safe, Rina. It’s just a little bump in the road.” She pulled back the curtain a bit and pointed. “Look! It’s the monument to the Great Constantine!” Pulcheria gazed at the huge column of porphyry drums exquisitely carved with scenes from his life and triumphs, topped by a massive statue of Constantine as Apollo. The statue was ancient, done by a Greek master, the head replaced with a modern rendition of Constantine crowned by a halo of seven rays, facing the rising sun. In a monumental city, Constantine’s column was among the most impressive. “In the next forum we’ll see Grandfather Theodosius’ column. When you’re older, we’ll climb the stairs inside and spy on the city.”

The little girls’ eyes widened with anticipation. Arcadia asked, “When we grow up can we build columns and have statues?”

Pulcheria shook her head solemnly. “No. Men build columns, women build churches. We’ll build beautiful churches all over the city.” Struck with inspiration, she silently prayed, Dear God, keep us safe and deliver us to power over your most holy kingdom on earth and I will keep my promise. Constantinople will be a city of churches dedicated to doing your good work.

The prayer calmed her, filling her with peace. Pulcheria took this as a sign from God of His favor and brightened considerably.

She continued an animated commentary about sites of the city as they continued past new construction of houses, shops, baths, and tenement buildings to the coastal plain where the army drilled and emperors were traditionally acclaimed.

The wagon jittered to a halt. Pulcheria sat quietly. Her younger sisters took their cue from her. Soon Anthemius came to escort them to a wooden reviewing stand covered in more purple cloth. They ascended the stairs to sit under a welcome awning. Servants plied them with grape juice and cucumber water.

Pulcheria sipped her juice while examining rank after rank of soldiers in their polished armor flowing across the plain, their standards boldly announcing their designation. Pulcheria saw archers dressed in leopard skins, cohorts of Gothic cavalry, and the mainstay of the Roman army—foot soldiers. The officers sat astride their finest horses at the front of the columns near the reviewing stand. Sunlight bounced and flickered off helmets, shields, and tack. They must be sweltering. I can barely stand it in the shade!

Theo’s chariot made an entrance. Anthemius descended. Then the driver raced the chariot back and forth in front of the assembled soldiers, who beat their swords on their shields in a rhythmic din. Pulcheria’s heart swelled. Maybe the army did love their new emperor. Maybe they were safe for the moment.

The chariot made its way to the reviewing stand. Anthemius escorted her brother up the stairs. Theo, flushed and smiling from the exhilarating ride, winked at Pulcheria as he passed. After several moments, Anthemius raised his hands and the roar died down. “Soldiers of Rome!” Criers echoed down the ranks so all could hear the words. “I give you Flavius Theodosius Augustus, son of Flavius Arcadius Augustus, grandson of the Great Flavius Theodosius Augustus!”

This time the soldiers raised their voices to chant for over ten minutes, “Blessed is Emperor Theodosius, Second of that Name, beloved of God and the Roman people. May his reign be long, wise, and good.”

At the end of the acclamation, Anthemius draped the paludamentum—the purple military cloak used only by emperors and empresses to signify their control of the military—about Theo’s shoulders. Next, he fastened the magisterial belt around the boy’s waist, giving him supreme judicial power in the East. Finally, Anthemius tied an imperial diadem of pearls and gems around her brother’s hair, signifying Theo as supreme ruler and head of the government. The silk ribbons of the diadem draped down Theo’s neck onto his small shoulders. The three pillars of the empire—the army, the law, and the government—embodied in one person.

Thus, with permission of his people and his army, her brother Theodosius became Co-Emperor of the Roman Empire. According to the Church, he was chosen by God to be His viceroy on earth, tasked with protecting and ruling the eastern provinces.

The enormity of the responsibility made Pulcheria gasp. He’s just a little boy! How will he be able to do it? How can anyone? She calmed a bit as Anthemius spoke to the army. The praetorian prefect ruled and ruled well according to Father Marcus. The priest felt Anthemius would likely be regent, and that he was an honorable man. She would watch and learn from Anthemius how to govern so she could guide and teach Theo. Merciful God, I pray Father Marcus is right. Please give me the strength and knowledge to keep my brother and sisters safe.

Yet the closer Theo came to his majority and sole rule, she felt, the more dangerous it would become. We have a few years. I can learn more. I can grow. For now, we disappear into the nursery and allow Anthemius to rule in our stead—but our time will come. Good God watch over and keep us from harm and all we do will be in your name!