Chapter 9

 

The Great Church, Constantinople, June 413

 

PULCHERIA PRAYED AT HER PRIVATE ALTAR in her quarters before the ceremony. “Holy Mother of God, Mary save me. Guide me in the right path, so I may preserve my brother, my sisters, and myself. Send me wisdom and confound my enemies. And thank you for the friendship and wisdom of Bishop Atticus. Amen.”

She rose to seek out her younger sisters, being dressed for church.

“Is this all right, Ria?” Ten-year-old Marina slowly turned so Pulcheria could inspect the dresser’s work.

“Lovely!” All three sisters were dressed in plain white silk, unbelted gowns, topped with enveloping purple silk cloaks, encrusted with seed pearls and gold embroidery; hair cut short and unbound. “You must remember to walk straight and slow. Glide, as if you balanced a codex on your head and didn’t want it to fall off.”

Marina practiced gliding with a concentrated frown. A pretty child, she would grow into an attractive woman. Would she forgive her sister for the step they were about to take? At ten, I shouldered adult duties, but I’ve sheltered my sisters. Was that a mistake? If my plan works, Marina would not have to follow my path. I could protect her. She shook her head. No. They needed to present a united front, or their enemies would take advantage.

Pulcheria turned to Arcadia, who had been harder to persuade. “You understand why we’re doing this?”

“I understand, but I don’t like it.” Arcadia screwed her mouth into an unattractive pout. “Since I was a small girl, I dreamed of marriage and children.”

“While you played with dolls, I learned to govern. The dangers to Theo and all of us are real. You lack by one year my age and have started your courses. The regent could marry you off to some noble to cement an alliance or send you away from your family to a foreign land where you know no one.”

Fear and doubt clouded Arcadia’s eyes. Pulcheria enfolded her sister in her arms, kissed her forehead, and added, softly, “That’s the value of an imperial woman—a commodity to be traded for money or security. My way, we stay together, protect our brother, and lead independent lives. I need you, Sister. You will be my right hand. Believe me, I do this not just for me, but for you, Marina, and Theo.”

Arcadia pushed out of Pulcheria’s arms and sniffed. “You have always seen clearer on these matters than I, Sister.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and regained her composure. “I will be guided by your wisdom.”

The sisters donned knee-length veils and trooped out to their imperial wagon, accompanied by their female entourage. Pulcheria smiled behind her veil. The women dressed in their finest and gossiped like fishwives, thinking this an ordinary service to dedicate an altar in the Great Church. They would follow the wagon on foot.

As they proceeded through the streets of Constantinople, the people cheered their princesses, shouted their names, called blessings. It was good luck to see the royal wagon, even if they couldn’t see the sacred persons inside.

Bishop Atticus met the entourage at the top steps of the Great Church and escorted the princesses to the front of a newly refurbished chapel. Passing through the nave, Pulcheria looked approvingly on the murals showing the life of Mary from her birth, through marriage, the birth and death of Jesus, her death and ascension to heaven. Soft flickering candlelight gave movement to the scenes rendered in brilliant colors.

The princesses took their positions at the front of the congregation. Their female companions and city notables filled the rest of the space. Normally they sat behind screens, out of public view, but it was vital they be front and center for this ceremony. Pulcheria, feeling her brother’s eyes on her, spared a glance at his screened balcony. She could not have done this without his help and blessing. Anthemius did not attend. His health failed him; he could not stand for a lengthy service. Pulcheria spotted his son, Isidorus, and smiled behind her veil, anticipating his consternation.

The musky scent of incense and chants of the priests soothed her. Her soul filled with peace. Her mind cast out the last hints of doubt. This was right. This was good for her and her sisters.

She turned her attention to the marble altar, covered with an elaborately embroidered cloth. She and her sisters had spent many months covering the purple silk with gold and silver crosses. The crowning glory, a massive gold cross decorated with precious gems, sat in the center of the altar, flanked by gold candlesticks.

Bishop Atticus, in full regalia glittering with gold and gems, stood before the altar. “May the Good Lord bless us all, as we pray for peace, wisdom, and special blessings for our generous imperial princesses who gave their personal wealth to beautify this chapel and provide a fitting altar.” The Bishop led the congregation in prayer and a dedicatory service. He consecrated the altar and cross.

At the agreed-upon place in the ceremony, Pulcheria and her sisters approached, dropped their veils and elaborate cloaks, and prostrated themselves before the altar. The Bishop recited a prayer. They rose. Pulcheria took the cross and held it in her arms, straining against the weight of the gold. Maybe she and her sisters shouldn’t have been so generous! Arcadia and Marina each took a candlestick.

They turned to the congregation.

Pulcheria stood before the assembled court, bare faced, holding the cross before her with trembling arms. It was important all the witnesses know it was she and her sisters, not imposters, who took these next steps.

She spoke in her best declamatory voice. “On this day, taking my subjects, the priesthood, and God Himself to witness, I dedicate this altar on behalf of my own virginity and my brother’s rule.” She paused to allow the gasps and murmurs to die down. “I will take no husband but Christ and have no children other than my people. I have set these words in stone on the face of this altar for all to see.”

Bishop Atticus held the cross while she reverently removed the altar cloth. Underneath, her holy vow was carved in blazing white marble and picked out with gold letters for all to see—a permanent symbol of her vow. The bishop returned the cross to its position atop the altar, and her sisters returned the candlesticks.

Arcadia stepped forward. Pulcheria searched her sister’s face for any sign of doubt or rebellion. There was none. Arcadia declaimed, in a strong voice, “I join my sister in her vow. I dedicate my virginity to the Church and my brother’s rule. I will take no husband but Christ and have no children other than my people.”

Marina stepped forward to echo her sisters’ actions and words in her childish voice.

The three knelt before the bishop. He laid his hand on Pulcheria’s head. “In this sacred place, your subjects, the priesthood, and God Himself witness your vows. Go in peace, Sisters in Christ, and may your holiness reflect on and protect our emperor and the people.”

The sisters recovered their cloaks and veils and proceeded through the nave to their waiting carriage. A rising tide of voices accompanied them, as the congregation realized what they had witnessed. Pulcheria glided, head high, heart beating fast in exaltation.

She had done it! She had found a way to protect her brother and thwart her enemies!

Imperial agents planted by her brother along the return route led a rousing chorus of shouts.

“God bless our Virgin Princesses!”

“Long may Emperor Theodosius rule!”

“God bless and save Pulcheria, the Pious One!”

At the Chalke gate to the palace, Pulcheria finally relaxed against her seat. They were safe from the regent’s machinations. Only one more surprise remained for Isidorus and the council.

 

*****

 

ISIDORUS STORMED INTO HIS FATHER’S ROOM but calmed immediately upon seeing the slack face on the pillow. Pine needles steamed in a pot by the bedside; the sharp scent couldn’t mask the stench of illness—a combination of stale urine and bodily decay.

“How is he?” he asked the physician at his father’s side.

“Better. He breathes easier with the hot mist and took some strengthening broth.” The physician shook his head. “But it is the nature of this disease that he might recover for a while, then relapse.”

His father’s eyes flickered open. “You shouldn’t talk about me as if I weren’t here.”

“I thought you asleep.” Isidorus approached the bed to take his father’s hand. He nodded to the physician. “Leave us a moment.”

The man rose. “Don’t stay too long. He needs his rest.”

Anthemius snorted. “I’ll rest in the grave. For now, I have business to conduct.”

The physician exited, frowning.

Isidorus tried to suppress a smile. His father wasn’t in the grave yet!

“Given your entrance, Son, I take it you are agitated. What happened at the church?”

The memory of the princesses vowing virginity wiped the smile from his face. His voice grated with anger. “Pulcheria has neatly blocked our plans, Father.”

Anthemius raised his brows.

“She and her sisters have publicly dedicated their virginity to their brother’s rule. They pledge not to marry and vow their holy acts to protect their people. Bishop Atticus accepted their vows, and the people acclaimed them.”

“Clever girl.” Anthemius closed his eyes. “I should have seen that move coming. Pulcheria has been much in the company of Bishop Atticus since she started her Mary First Founded Church. I’m sure they colluded. She could not have done this without him.”

“What are we to do, Father?”

“Nothing, for now.” Anthemius opened his eyes. “Any action we take to force the princess would meet with severe approbation from the Church and the people.”

“I never thought the boy would be so susceptible to his sister’s blandishments.” Isidorus rubbed his jaw. “He had to agree to this, as well.”

“We underestimated the familial attachments. Pulcheria has been more mother than sister to the lad for the last ten years.” His father sighed. “I thought, as he matured, he might take more masculine advice, but she is still first in his affections and trust.”

“Will that last? All boys chafe under their mother’s rule at some point and leave them for the men’s world. Given another couple of years and his majority, Theodosius might set his sister aside.”

“We must be ready, my son.” Anthemius gripped his hand with surprising strength. “Pulcheria has removed herself and her sisters from the playing board but left the most powerful piece. The emperor cannot pledge himself to celibacy. He needs heirs. We must switch places. While Pulcheria busies herself advising her brother, we shall dabble in matchmaking. Be on the lookout for a suitable candidate for our boy emperor. We will fight a woman with another woman.”

A slow smile crossed Isidorus’ face. “Yes, Father. That we can do.”

 

*****

 

Imperial Palace, June 414

 

A TRUMPET BLAST SILENCED the packed audience chamber. Isidorus surveyed the empire’s top officials, generals in residence, and senators speculating on the boy-emperor’s announcement. Theodosius, Second of that Name, stood in full imperial regalia. He was a handsome lad with light wavy hair and regular features. Somewhat slight, but he could fill out with some martial training. Isidorus vacillated on the wisdom of keeping the boy in the palace or initiating him in his grandfather’s trade.

A year had passed since the princesses made their vow of virginity. During that time his father had recovered from his illness and relapsed twice, finally giving up his battle for life last week. The emperor honored his father with an elaborate funeral. Isidorus’ heart throbbed with grief at the memory of the people clogging the streets expressing their sorrow, but now he must carry on his father’s work.

His emperor motioned to the trumpeter for a second blast. The crowd quieted. His thirteen-year old voice cracked with the first signs of manhood.

“The death of Anthemius, our beloved Patrician, regent, and prefect of the East, grieves us deeply.” Theo put a hand to his forehead, bowing in silent prayer.

Isidorus did likewise, fighting back tears. Rest in peace, Father. Despite his grief, Isidorus looked forward to coming into his own. His tenure as city prefect would shortly end. He looked forward to his next promotion. Surely the emperor would name him to his father’s old position as prefect in the East and—possibly—regent. He had been doing his father’s work, as the latter grew increasingly ill.

Theodosius looked up. “As we mourn Anthemius’ passing and rejoice in the knowledge he sits with God in heaven, we must continue our work here on earth. Our wise prefect must be replaced. After much thought and consultation, I name Aurelian to the post and, by means of this writ, award him the additional title of Patrician—Father to the Emperor.”

Isidorus arrested a step forward in shock. A small wave of sound, signaling more surprise than approval, circled the room. Aurelian, a staunch ally of the former Augusta Eudoxia, the emperor’s mother, retired from public service long ago. He would be but a figurehead for that most important post. Was the council even consulted on this? Why wasn’t I told?

A frail old man, wearing red robes and walking with a gold-headed stick, approached the dais and bowed his head. Theodosius moved quickly to prevent Aurelian from prostrating himself. “I would not have obeisance from my mother’s dearest friend and trusted advisor. You have my permission to sit in my presence.”

A servant fetched a padded chair for the old man.

“Thank you, Most Generous Augustus. You do me too much honor.” Aurelian accepted the writ formalizing his new titles, bowed, and took the seat.

Another trumpet blast, and the doors at the far end of the chamber opened to reveal Princess Pulcheria garbed in a white silk robe, glittering with silver thread and purple amethysts. She walked down the center of the room, head held high, wearing an elaborate wig arranged in the latest court style with layers of curls and braids. Quite a contrast from her usual ascetic style. What’s the bitch up to? Now that she is of age, is she going to go back on her vow of virginity?

Pulcheria kept her eyes fixed on her brother. At the bottom of the steps leading up to the dais, she knelt.

The boy descended the steps and placed his hands on her head. “It is with love, and confidence in God’s plan, that I name my beloved sister Aelia Pulcheria Augusta, Empress of Rome!” A servant brought a richly embroidered purple paludamentum—matching his own—which Theodosius put around his sister’s shoulders.

Isidorus ground his teeth at this newest affront. Most imperial woman must give birth before being named Augusta. She’s fifteen, for Christ’s sake—fit for a marriage bed, not a throne room!

Theodosius raised his sister—and now co-Augusti—from her knees. The chamber broke into wild cheers of acclamation as Theodosius tied a pearl and amethyst diadem, the final symbol of imperial power, around Pulcheria’s elaborate wig.

Isidorus clapped his hands and mimed the words, but they were ashes in his mouth. He grudgingly admitted the emperor had the right to declare his sister Augusta, even in his minority. Imperial actions by the emperor were legal and binding, no matter how young the ruler.

Holding his sister’s hand, Theodosius announced, “It is also by my will that I appoint my sister regent for my minority. All she does, she does in my name.” He whispered in Pulcheria’s ear. They both smiled.

The council could not have sanctioned this! Isidorus put a stiff smile on his face as his emotions roiled. His father warned him not to underestimate Pulcheria, but he never imagined so sweeping a victory. Mere days after achieving her majority, she had taken total control of the Eastern Roman government and the most powerful military in the known world. All my plans dashed; all my plotting undone by a wisp of a girl!

His father’s final words offered a sliver of hope. “Find the boy a wife!”

Pulcheria may have won the battle, Isidorus vowed, but the war continues.

 

*****

 

THE NEXT DAY, Pulcheria sat at the head of the table in the Consistory, trying not to fidget as the scribe read her first imperial constitution—approved law—to a room full of men designated to guide her with their advice. The design and decoration of the room reflected the majesty and importance of decisions made there. Decorated with treasures from across the empire, it gave her confidence. God would not have chosen me and Theo to rule, if we were not capable.

She ran a hand over a table made from the most expensive materials from Africa, ebony and ivory inlaid in a geometric pattern. Matching chairs sported cushions of red silk and gold tassels from the far east. Niches in the walls held antique marble and bronze Greek statues. Frescoes showed Emperor Constantine at battle with his foes, protected by the sign of the cross.

Pulcheria straightened her back and stilled her hands. Being the center of attention at the council meeting rather than stitching away in the corner felt odd, but her four years of apprenticeship stood her in good stead. She looked around the table. I know you all—your strengths and weaknesses—and will be making changes, some sooner than later.

“Esteemed Augusta, I beg you be guided by older heads on this law.” Isidorus’ voice was reasonable, but his rigid face and stiff shoulders told her he held back considerable rage. “By tradition, Jewish synagogues are private property entitled to protection. If you ban new construction and allow destruction of existing ones, you give permission for people to attack their Jewish neighbors. The Jews are a far-flung people and important citizens in many large cities. There might be violence in Alexandria, Antioch, even here in Constantinople.”

“The imperial constitution reads ‘destruction of synagogues in desert places,’ Prefect. The holy fathers and mothers of the desert sanctuaries feel their sacrifice for the people is polluted by the presence of Jewish institutions and wish them gone. The Augustus and I agree. The Jews will still have their places of worship and the freedom to do so in the cities.” Pulcheria looked around the table at carefully schooled faces. Only one or two showed open dissatisfaction.

Isidorus sank into his chair with a scowl. He had more to say, but wisely held his tongue.

“What’s next on the agenda, Patrician?”

“We need to appoint generals for the two armies stationed in the emperor’s presence,” Aurelian wheezed.

“I recommend Generals Procopius and Anatolius,” Isidorus said, immediately jumping back into the fray.

Of course you do. Pulcheria sighed. You wish your allies close to the city and in charge of the emperor’s safety. That will not happen. “I will take your recommendation under consideration, Prefect.” She settled in for a long contentious council meeting.

Two hours later, she brought the meeting to a close with a prayer. The men gathered their papers and shuffled out with bows and felicitations. She signaled Isidorus to stay behind, dismissing Aurelian and her scribes. There was no need to humiliate the man before a crowd.

He bowed. “Augusta, how may I advise you further?”

“The Augustus and I are agreed that your family has been of considerable service to the empire and we wish to give you the gift of freedom from that burden. Your tenure as city prefect ends soon, but we wish you to vacate the post immediately. Your services on the council are no longer required. You may retire to your estates in the country.”

“You’re dismissing me?” His jaw hardened and eyes flashed. “You can’t—”

She raised a hand. “I can and I do. You and your faction seek power over my brother. I won’t allow it. Retire to your country estates and take your incompetent son with you. Be grateful Christian charity prevents me from implementing more harsh measures.” She waved to the door. “Be gone!”

A flicker of fear thrilled along her nerves as Isidorus wrestled with his rage. Just as she prepared to call for the guards, he got his emotions under control and stalked out.

Pulcheria watched him go with a niggling of regret. Anthemius, I wish you had lived longer. I could have worked with you, but your son…she shook her head…is not his father.