Chapter 3

 

Imperial Palace, June 410

 

PULCHERIA SUFFERED NANA’S MINISTRATIONS as the nurse clucked and complained. “Dumpling, let me do something with your hair today. You are eleven and a young woman. Pulling your hair back into a tight bun is for matrons, not maidens.”

Pulcheria perched on a silk-covered stool while Nana brushed her hair. Pulcheria observed herself in the polished silver mirror. Her hair was beautiful—long, lustrous, a dark chestnut with red and gold highlights and a natural wave. It almost made her plain face pretty. When she realized her thoughts, her face paled and her lips pinched together.

“Nana, get the shears.”

Her nurse looked puzzled, continuing to brush out her hair. “But why, Dumpling?”

“You must cut my hair. It feeds my vanity and Father Marcus teaches that vanity is a sin.”

“No, child. You are too young to sin. No one will fault you for keeping your hair.”

“The shears, Nana, or I will do it myself.”

Nana turned to a chest and rummaged through the contents, the stiffness of her back signaling her disapproval. She withdrew a pair of bronze shears and held them loosely in her hands, as if hoping they would fall away and Pulcheria would forget this latest fancy.

When Pulcheria met her eyes in the mirror, the nurse’s mouth set in a firm line. She raised the first silken tress from the back of Pulcheria’s neck. The shears cut through the hair with a decided “snip.” Tears came to Nana’s eyes, but Pulcheria sat still as her nurse continued to shear strand after strand, laying each carefully aside. When Nana had finished, barely two inches of hair waved on Pulcheria’s skull. She ran her hands through the remaining hair, nodding in satisfaction. “I will cover my head as the holy women do. Nana, make it so.”

Nana, hurt and anger warring on her face, muttered, “What will the people think when you show up in procession with no hair.”

“I shall be a good example to them. My mother was beautiful and what good did she do? She warred with the church and caused my father pain.” Pulcheria’s face set in a frown. Servants still gossiped about her wanton mother after all these years. “The priests are right. Beauty should come from within, through a chaste and holy spirit. Physical beauty is prone to corruption and lasts not beyond youth, whereas beauty of the soul lasts beyond the grave.”

Nana continued muttering about Father Marcus and his effect on Pulcheria as she dressed her charge in a plain blue woolen stola and a white linen veil.

Pulcheria ignored her.

Nana had lost the battle on clothing suitable for a princess the year before. She would add this latest act to the store of indignities she felt she suffered trying to raise an imperial child to her high station. Pulcheria preferred the simplicity of the religious life, although she regretted the aggravation it caused her servants when she dispensed with the ritual involved with imperial dress and toilet. She heard them worrying about their places in the palace if they had no purpose.

Nana finally finished, a look of extreme disapproval on her face. “Come to breakfast then and be prepared for the other children to stare and laugh.”

“They will not dare laugh.” Her brother and sisters looked to her for nearly all things. She sometimes felt more mother than sister to them. Her brother’s friends, Paulinus and Placitus—installed by Regent Anthemius two years ago to share Theo’s education and provide him male companionship—would not cross their emperor. “I would not be surprised if my sisters ask to have their hair cut.”

Nana gave a suitably horrified snort.

“And I will not attend breakfast. It’s Wednesday. I’m fasting.”

“But it’s not a holy day, and children are not required to fast even then!”

“I intend to fast on Wednesdays and Fridays. Father Marcus does it, and says it is good for the soul to deny the flesh.”

“The Good Father says that, does he?” Nana’s eyes flashed. “Well, Father Marcus is a man, well grown, and can afford to miss a meal or two.” She surveyed Pulcheria with a critical eye. “You, on the other hand, are a child.”

Pulcheria winced. “A moment ago, you said I was a young woman. Which am I to you, a child or a maiden?”

“I will always see the child I nursed in your face, no matter how old you grow.” Nana’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her breath caught in a swallowed sob. She turned Pulcheria to face the mirror and stood with her hands protectively on her shoulders. “You are a remarkable child. You’ve had to grow up fast with no father or mother to guide you. You soak up knowledge like a sponge does water. If I close my eyes while talking to you, most days I would think you were an adult. But my eyes are open, Dumpling, and what I see is a child’s body—no matter how quick the mind. A child’s body needs good food and lots of it.” Nana’s tone sharpened. “Remember the bad cold you had last winter? That comes from being too thin. The vapors penetrated your chest and your body had no way to fight them off.”

“But Father Marcus—”

“I grant Father Marcus may know best for your soul, but I know best for your body. And it doesn’t include starving a child who is already too thin. Besides,” Nana said, hugging her close, “what will Theo do if a fever carries you off, as it did your father?”

“He can be happy for me that I am in Heaven,” Pulcheria snapped, knowing defeat. Nana knew her few soft spots, but thankfully used her knowledge infrequently. The fact that Nana pulled out her most powerful weapon—Pulcheria’s need to protect and guide her brother—indicated how much it meant to her nurse. Pulcheria sighed, turned and embraced her nurse in a brief hug. “You’re right, Nana. I need to protect my health, for Theo’s sake as well as mine. I will attend breakfast with the others. But make sure Cook knows I want plain meals from now on. No fancy spice or sauce; no sweets or honey.”

“Of course, Dumpling. You are the imperial princess and can have your food however you wish.”

Pulcheria caught the barely muttered, “as long as you do have food,” and smiled to herself.

 

*****

 

LATER THAT DAY, Pulcheria toiled over the passage of scripture Father Marcus daily set her when Regent Anthemius entered her study. “News from Rome?” she asked.

Pulcheria had slowly come to trust the Regent over the last two years. He seemed a man genuinely dedicated to the welfare of the empire and his charge, the emperor. He also seemed to harbor no ambitions for himself, but then he was effectively the most powerful man in the East. The danger to her brother lay in any ambitions he might have for a relative. Pulcheria prayed every day for his good health—remembering the real danger after her father’s sudden death.

Anthemius, to Pulcheria’s delight, also recognized her precocious nature and provided her with the best tutors in rhetoric, history, natural science, and mathematics. When time allowed, he answered her questions about the state of the Empire. The fact that he came at this time, when the council usually met, meant something important had happened.

Anthemius’ face was drawn with worry. Dark circles under his eyes indicated he had had little sleep the night before. “Where is the emperor? He should hear this as well.”

“Theo is with Father Marcus, learning his scriptures.”

“Fetch the emperor,” Anthemius snapped at a loitering servant. “And be quick about it.”

They waited but a few moments before the boy came bounding through the entryway, his tunic spotted with ink from his exertions. “Are the barbarians at our gates?” He conducted a mock sword fight with his goose quill pen. “If so, let them beware! The mighty Emperor Theodosius will vanquish all before him!”

“Theo!” Pulcheria put all the gravity of her eleven years into the rebuke. “Sit. Regent Anthemius has important news for us. This is serious.”

Only somewhat chastened, Theodosius settled on a silk cushioned chair, his foot tapping to an irregular rhythm. “What’s this important news, Anthemius?”

“King Alaric of the Goths has stripped his pet emperor Attalus of the diadem.”

Pulcheria let out a breath. The barbarian Goths had pillaged Gaul and Italy with near impunity since her Uncle Honorius, in a fit of fear, executed Stilicho, the only general capable of holding them in check. Twice in two years they threatened Rome, heart of the western part of the empire. The first time the city beggared itself, providing a bribe. The second time, with nothing left to give, City Prefect Attalus convinced the barbarian king to anoint him emperor, effectively declaring a civil war on their Uncle Honorius in the West.

“But that’s good news!” Theo bounced off his chair. “Has he been executed yet?”

“His fate is unknown. But you can claim the victory, Augustus. If not for our sending forty thousand troops to your uncle’s aid in Ravenna, he would be deposed.”

“So, it comes down to whose army is greatest, and we have the best in the world!” Theo boasted in little boy fashion.

“It’s not that simple, Theo.” Pulcheria sometimes despaired of her brother. “Attalus was unwise in his choice of ministers. The man he sent to Africa to ensure supplies was easily dispatched by Uncle’s man. Without African grain, Rome and Alaric’s army starve. Starving people always turn on their leaders. Luckily for Alaric, he can put the blame on the false emperor and retain his power.” Pulcheria turned back to Anthemius. “Where is Alaric now?”

“He marches on Rome for the third time. I don’t believe he will negotiate with the western senate again. This time he will put the city to the torch.”

Pulcheria loved her own city and shuddered at the thought of Rome going up in flames. “What of our Aunt Placidia? Is she safe and well?”

“She sent personal word to your uncle. She has survived. She spent most of her portable wealth feeding and caring for the people of Rome during the siege and now stands with her people. She will not return to the Ravenna court. I fear she is in great danger.”

“May I go now?” Theo said, a faint whine in his voice.

“Of course.” Pulcheria watched him scamper off. Better he be gone than leave a bad impression on the Regent. I must spend more time on his comportment. It does not do for such important men as Anthemius to think Theo incapable.

She turned back to the regent. “I’m concerned Aunt Placidia refuses to return to her brother and the safety of Ravenna. Do you think she is unaware of the danger?”

“She is aware but, like a good ruler, refuses to leave her people.”

Anthemius’ gaze slipped away from hers, making her suspicious. Growing up in the imperial household, Pulcheria had a keen sense of when people withheld information or outright lied to her. She suspected there was more to the story.

“Did my Uncle Honorius not order her back to Ravenna?” Pulcheria leaned back in her chair, watching the regent closely. “Why doesn’t she obey her brother and emperor?”

“There is a good deal of history between your uncle and aunt that you are not aware of, Princess.” He squared his shoulders, looking directly at her. “For that matter, there is history between your aunt and your late father.”

More secrets! How am I to learn if people keep things from me? She took a deep breath and asked, in as reasonable a tone as she could muster, “Regent, don’t you think it’s important I know about my own family? My brother is co-emperor with our uncle. We must work together for the good of the empire.”

“Yes, Princess.” Anthemius ran a hand through his hair—a rare gesture Pulcheria noticed he used when he seemed uncertain. “Not all brothers and sister are as fortunate as you and the emperor in loving and supporting one another. Placidia is half-sister to your father and uncle. Her mother Galla married the Great Theodosius after his wife—your grandmother—died.”

“That is not enough reason for disobedience. Half brothers and sisters can get along.” Surely Anthemius was aware Theo might not be her father’s child. For years the court gossiped behind closed doors about her brother’s paternity—which later shed light on her father’s rant when he dragged her to her mother’s deathbed. After her father’s death, the whispers abated, probably because no one wanted the chaos of a civil war. Even if Pulcheria was Arcadius’ sole surviving child, women were banned by Roman law from ruling in their own right. In her mind Theo’s paternity was a moot point. He was her beloved brother, acknowledged by her father as his heir, chosen by God and acclaimed by his people to be Emperor of Rome.

“What bad blood existed between my father and aunt?”

“Your father resented the new marriage and the new baby girl, both of whom your grandfather loved and lavished with honors and gifts. Your father refused to let them live here in the imperial palace when Galla came to Constantinople while your grandfather campaigned.”

“I see.” Pulcheria thought a moment. “But that doesn’t explain Placidia’s reluctance to return to Ravenna.”

“When Placidia was orphaned at age seven, she went to live with General Stilicho and his wife Lady Serena. They raised her with their children. Since your uncle Honorius executed General Stilicho and his son—Placidia’s intended husband—I’m sure your aunt has no wish to return to his court.”

“Of course! I had no idea the relationships were so complicated between East and West. Why were we kept in the dark about this?”

Anthemius shrugged. “People are reluctant to gossip, Princess.”

The absurd idea that people didn’t want to gossip tickled something in Pulcheria. An inappropriate bubble of laughter started in her chest. She tried to stifle it. It came out as a loud snorting sound, then continued as a cascade of giggles. She gasped, trying to regain her dignity. “Regent! I thought you an honest man!”

“My apologies, Princess.” Anthemius grinned, then joined in with a hearty laugh. “That was a terrible lie.” Which led to another round of giggles.

When they both settled down, he continued. “It is good to see you can laugh, Princess. I worry about you being so serious all the time. You are a bright child with a surprising grasp of complicated issues. You should take some time to be frivolous while you can. Soon you will be of marriageable age and have your own little empire to run.”

Marriage? ‘Own little empire’? His words sobered her. Pulcheria had never considered that possibility. In her own mind, she always sat next to her brother, helping him rule. The thought of leaving Theo on his own, marriage to a strange man, giving birth…images of gory sheets and the coppery smell of blood invaded her senses. Her vision grayed for a moment. She grasped the arms of her chair to hold herself up.

“Princess?” The regent’s concerned face came into focus. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. The laughter weakened me.” Pulcheria covered her lapse with a diversion. “Regent, send agents to see to our Aunt Placidia’s safety. Extend her an invitation to our court. I believe we should know her better. This rift between the Eastern and Western parts of the empire is dangerous. Any other news?”

“The new city walls are going according to plan.” Anthemius seemed genuinely excited, as he did about most construction projects—and he had many planned. Constantine had built his city in a hurry and some of the shoddy construction showed nearly ninety years later. “They will hold off any army and should stand a thousand years.”

“Excellent. I look forward to touring the site. And I am most pleased with the results of your delegation to Persia on the emperor’s behalf. I prayed that King Yazdgard would allow our co-religionists to worship as they pleased, and you attained that privilege for them. God sees your good work, Regent.”

“Thank you, Princess. That is all for now.” Anthemius rose, ducked his head in a slight bow, and left.

Pulcheria stared at the bible verse she had been studying, without seeing it. She had much to think about. Her aunt’s safety, the legacy of discord between East and West, her brother’s need for more maturity, and—most frightening of all—the regent’s plan to marry her off. Did he also have plans for Theo? Did Anthemius reassess his worth and position? After all, he had just appointed his son to the important post of city prefect and married his daughter to General Procopius, who claimed descent from the Great Constantine—normal actions for a man in the position to help his family, but they could also be signs of something more.

She shook her head. No. Anthemius was an honorable man. She didn’t believe he wanted the diadem for himself or another of his clan, but she and he obviously didn’t agree on what was best for the emperor and empire. She had been so focused on the danger to Theo, she hadn’t thought about possible danger to herself. Anthemius wouldn’t move until she was of age.

I still have time to chart my own course. But how can I thwart his plans for me?