Chapter 4

 

Constantinople, September 410

 

“PRINCESS PULCHERIA, MAY I PRESENT Flavius Anthemius Isidorus Theophilus?” Anthemius bowed, indicating his grandson. Even to his biased eyes, the boy looked awkward and embarrassed—the legacy of being fourteen and not much around girls. He did show some promise of height and had dark wavy hair and laughing brown eyes. “I thought you might enjoy company on our tour of the walls.”

Pulcheria gave the regent a sharp look at this last-minute addition to their party, then smiled at the boy. “I always enjoy sorties into the city and talking with anyone knowledgeable. Is there one of your four names you prefer over the others?”

“My friends call me Theo.” The boy blushed to the roots of his hair.

“I’m afraid I can have only one Theo in my life.” The princess frowned. “I’ll call you Izzy to distinguish you from your father Isidorus.”

Anthemius shepherded the two young people to the palace courtyard where the imperial wagon waited. Pulcheria shot question after question at his grandson; he answered in monosyllables. This is not going as planned, Anthemius thought, but I should have known the princess would not act like a normal girl.

“You two will take the wagon, with Antiochus as chaperone.” He waved at the mounted guards chatting with his son. “I’ll ride with the guards. Servants will follow with food and drink. I thought a picnic on the wall might be entertaining.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Regent.” The princess’ smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure your grandson will be great company and can answer all my questions about the construction.”

A panicked look crossed the boy’s face.

“I can answer all your questions at the site, Princess.” Anthemius helped her into the wagon where Antiochus waited, then whispered in his grandson’s ear. “Talk to her!”

He strode over to Isidorus, scowled, mounted a block and swung his leg over a spirited bay. He settled in the four-horned military-style saddle and clasped the horse tightly with his legs. After settling the restless animal, he turned to his son. “Didn’t you prepare the boy?”

“As best I could.” Isidorus frowned. “He’s at an awkward age. Too old to companion the emperor and too young to interest a budding female. Luckily, we have a few more years for them both to mature. Let them become friends before we propose the marriage.”

“The Princess might not agree to the marriage. She has considerable influence over her brother.” Anthemius looked thoughtfully at the wagon exiting the Chalke gate. “She’s precocious for her age and sex. She believes she has the right to rule at her brother’s side and daily prepares for that role. I’ve never seen such will in one so young. She has even taken over the emperor’s comportment training, showing him how to dress, what to say, when to smile and how to moderate anger.” He shook his head. “I fear her increasing religiosity. Even today, for an outing, she dresses like a holy woman, not like a princess, much less a girl of eleven. She could be a disaster for the empire, if her brother follows her lead. It is past time we pried his sister from his side. He’ll be a much better ruler and happier man under our more moderate influence.”

“Can Antiochus help with our plans? The eunuch is close to the emperor.” Isidorus held his black gelding to a sedate walk behind the carriage.

Anthemius nodded. “We’ve worked quite well together. He’s happy with the proposition of marriage between the princess and our house.”

“And the gifts we’ve provided?” Isidorus’ mouth quirked into a lopsided smile.

“Yes, he’s quite happy with our donations. Antiochus whispers in the emperor’s ear about what a fine match it would be. The boy already trusts me with the empire. I don’t see that he’ll object to trusting me with his sister. As soon as she starts to bleed, we’ll make our proposal.”

Anthemius sighed. I just hope my grandson is up to the task of wooing the girl. Perhaps I should find an older man, one with more experience, who could better handle our precocious princess.

 

*****

 

PULCHERIA SAT QUIETLY IN THE CONSISTORY, embroidering a casula—a poncho-like garment Father Marcus used in celebrating the Eucharist. Her stitches had improved in six years; even Nana said so. But she did not embroider in the council meetings just for the glory of the Lord. Anthemius reluctantly let her attend and only did so after recent pressure from Theo and solemn promises that she would be unobtrusive. Pulcheria found that sitting in the corner with eyes downcast at her stitching made her nearly invisible. The council members soon forgot her presence as she listened attentively.

Anthemius, with his various honors as regent, patrician and prefect of the East, ran the council and set the agenda. Pulcheria could tell what the major topics would be by the attendance. Today was a war council with the emperor’s Master of Offices, most senior legal and money advisor, the two generals heading the armies in the emperor’s presence, and a couple of other notable citizens including Anthemius’ son Isidorus as the city prefect.

“The news from Rome is not good.” Anthemius put down the papyrus sheets from which he had read a brief report. “Alaric’s horde is on the march south. Our agents report he holds the Princess Placidia hostage and intends to invade North Africa.”

There was little muttering around the table; most, if not all, had already heard the news. The palace was equipped with a very efficient means of transmitting gossip.

Pulcheria continued stitching as Isidorus asked the inevitable question. “What are we to do? Alaric will devastate the Italian peninsula as he did the Greek but fifteen years ago!”

“We do nothing.” Anthemius retorted. “We’ve sent forty thousand troops to Ravenna at Emperor Honorius’ request. If they are needed in Africa, the Augustus can transport them at his own expense. Rome is already ravaged. It is up to the western emperor to rule his portion of the empire.”

“And the imperial princess?” the Master of Offices asked.

“Again, it is up to Honorius to recover his sister. Let us turn our attention to matters closer to home.”

Pulcheria stitched away.

When the meeting concluded and all the others packed up their reports, she questioned Anthemius. Why did he recommend moving this army unit to that posting? Why appoint this man to an office when a more suitable candidate seemed available? How goes the dredging in the harbor? What of the most recent embassy from Persia? He answered all her questions fully and in as much detail as she wished until she finally asked, “Is there nothing we can do for our aunt?”

“No, Princess.”

“Can we not send agents to her rescue?”

“The barbarian camp is heavily guarded, and, as I said, it is up to Honorius to free his sister. We should not interfere in the affairs of the West.”

“I do not like this kidnapping of royal personages.” She frowned, stirred by a vague uneasiness that popped up at inconvenient times. “What if some barbarian snatched me or Theo off the streets of Constantinople while we progress?”

“It is my personal responsibility to ensure the safety of you, your brother, and your sisters. I will double the guard when you progress and make certain our agents are alert for any abduction plots. I understand you are to visit the bread steps tomorrow. Do you wish me to accompany you personally? Or I could send my grandson with you.”

“No, Regent.” He proposes another meeting only days after that boring outing with his ignorant spotty grandson? She knew the regent’s motives in throwing the two of them together and vowed to resist him any way she could. She placed her hand on his wrist. “I am more at ease. Please forgive my fancies.”

“It’s been my experience that a healthy sense of caution makes for a longer life, Princess. I do not want you to fear unreasonably, but you should always be aware of who your enemies are and what their likely next move will be.”

Including you, Regent? she thought, but asked, “And Alaric’s next move?”

“I believe you have nothing to fear from Alaric. He passed by our strong walls in favor of sacking the weaker Rome. But he can’t eat gold and silver. His people will starve and his hold on them will weaken. He will be busy dealing with his own problems and not have resources nor inclination to hatch a plot against your person.”

“And the Huns?”

“You’ve been studying your brother’s maps and reports of troop deployments. What is your assessment?”

“The Huns seem contained by the forts on the Danube. Reports from the borders indicate they do minimal raiding across the river. I assume they are busy integrating the Gothic peoples and other barbarians they have subjugated in the past years. They must take time to digest what they have swallowed before turning their attention to us.” She rarely surprised Anthemius these days and was pleased when her grasp of the subject met with a calculating smile.

“And your recommendation?”

She considered a moment. “Send a diplomatic delegation to explore trade, make gifts to their leaders, and gather information about the Huns and their capabilities.”

“Have you been reading my mind, Princess? I intend to send a delegation headed by the historian Olympiodorus next spring, when it is safe to travel again.”

“Olympiodorus?” She frowned. “I don’t know of him.”

“He’s from Egypt—Thebes to be exact.” Anthemius shuffled his papers and glanced at the door, as if gauging when it would be circumspect to leave.

Pulcheria sensed a reluctance in the regent to speak more about this Olympiodorus. Why? “Is he a capable agent?”

“He’s a renowned traveler, speaks several languages—including Greek and Latin—and chronicles his adventures in verse and prose. I doubt your tutors would have you study him.”

“Is he a pagan?” Pulcheria frowned. “If so, I’m not sure he would be the best person to represent our Christian emperor.”

“The Huns are pagans, Princess. Olympiodorus has much experience dealing with barbarian peoples.” Anthemius spoke in clipped tones. “He is the perfect diplomat for this mission.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge of this situation, Regent.” Pulcheria knew she would not win this argument.

Anthemius surprised her by saying, in a soft and respectful tone, “You have a grasp of events uncommon to most who are twice and more your age, Princess.” Anthemius’ smile grew sad. “Your grandfather, the Great Theodosius, would be proud of you. But you still have much to learn.”

“Thank you, Regent.” Pulcheria felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She looked him in the eye. “I intend to advise my brother and strive to make myself fit for that task. You have been most helpful. I pray you will continue to support me.” She knew she took a risk stating her position so boldly, but perhaps it would spur Anthemius to be more open about his own intentions.

His smile disappeared, replaced by a sober look. Anthemius bowed deeply. “I have pledged my life to protecting the glory that is Rome. I will uphold Theodosius’ rule and his right to choose his advisers.”

But not me specifically. Pulcheria noted the omission and knew to be on her guard. This man, first among the citizens of Eastern Rome, bowed to her and acknowledged her brother’s rights. She felt sure he would honor his word, but he made no promises as to her own role. She knew what place he had in mind: firmly in the net of his own family. A prospect that frightened her, but he didn’t have to know that. She would rule at her brother’s side. She just had to figure out how to avoid the trap Anthemius set for her. Good Lord show me the way.