Chapter 19

 

Imperial Palace, September 421

 

IN THE THREE MONTHS since the wedding, Pulcheria felt the court settle back into its normal rhythm. Athenais worked hard to fit into the rigorous routines of prayer and fasting, but it was obviously a burden to her rather than a grace. She dressed modestly and participated in the work of the other court women: spinning, sewing and knitting for the Church and the poor. Pulcheria continued to act as chief advisor to Theo but found his mind more influenced by the arguments of the Hellenes than before. Athenais’ family continued to rise in honors and offices. Her brother, Gesius, gave up the prefecture of Illyricum to Isidorus—at least that got Anthemius’ son away from Constantinople—but now both brothers infested the court, fawned on Theo and expected handouts.

Today, Pulcheria sat at Theo’s right side as they received petitions and rendered justice: Theo as magistrate, Pulcheria as his advisor. Athenais insisted on joining them in the receiving room, but had to take a lesser place, one step down on Theo’s left, as she had yet to equal Pulcheria in rank. If Pulcheria had her way, Athenais would be confined to the women’s work room under the care of her sisters, but Theo indulged his new bride in this.

Master of Offices Helion approached. “Augustus. Augusta. Lady Consort.” He bowed. “An embassy just arrived from your co-Emperor Honorius in the Western court. He craves an audience.”

“Send him in,” Theo said with a frown. He leaned down to tell his wife, “The last time Uncle Honorius sent an envoy, it was an unmitigated disaster. In February, Honorius elevated his sister Placidia to Augusta, her husband General Constantius to Augustus, and their infant boy Valentinian to Caesar and heir to the West. Without consulting me!”

“How inconsiderate!” Athenais cooed.

Pulcheria struggled not to roll her eyes. “It was more than ‘inconsiderate.’ Honorius had no right to elevate the General without consulting Theo. And naming that infant his heir! We refused to recognize their elevations and sent back the commemorative statues. I understand Aunt Placidia and General Constantius were not pleased.”

“Their elevations were unlawful?” Athenais looked puzzled.

“Not unlawful—a sitting Augustus makes the laws—but Theo is the presumed heir. He should have the prerogative of naming his own colleague in the West or ruling the combined empire, if he wishes, upon our uncle’s death. May the Good Lord give Honorius a long life.”

Theo echoed, “May the Good Lord bless and keep our uncle.”

“What of Placidia? Was he wrong in elevating his sister?” Athenais asked.

“No, my love. An Augustus can elevate a mother, sister, or wife on his own. Your time will come.” Her brother looked at his wife with a besotted grin.

But not for a long time, if I have any say. Pulcheria eyed her sister-in-law with a tight smile.

Private conversations echoing around the audience chamber quieted as word passed something unusual was happening. The envoy entered, progressing down the length of the room. He was young for such an important post. Pulcheria noted with approval that he presented an elegant, but not ostentatious, figure. He dressed in a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver thread at the neck and hem, his only jewelry a signet ring on his right index finger. His purple-edged, bright white senator’s toga draped in perfect folds over his shoulder.

At the foot of the dais, the envoy announced, “I am Senator Bassus Herculanus, special envoy from the Most Noble Emperor Honorius of Ravenna. I bring his warmest greetings to Your Most Gracious Serenities. God grant you long life and health.”

Herculanus bowed low and passed on a scroll impressed with the western emperor’s seal. A scribe broke the wax and handed it to Theo.

A sigh escaped the emperor. “It is not how I wished it to be resolved, but it takes care of one awkward situation.” He handed the missive to Pulcheria

She scanned the page briefly. “General Constantius is dead? Of what?” She pointedly did not use the general’s augustal title.

“Pleurisy, Augusta.” The envoy looked sorrowfully at his shoes.

“How fares our uncle, without the advice of his Patrician?” Pulcheria knew Honorius was practically a lack-wit, more interested in his chickens than in ruling western Rome. General Constantius had long played the power behind the throne, both before and after his marriage to the emperor’s sister.

“As best as one might expect, given this grievous loss. Placidia Augusta is providing solace.” The man’s eyes darted away.

Afraid of offending us by using the title we do not acknowledge? Embarrassed that a woman dares to step in? Or is something else going on? Despite never having met her infamous aunt, Pulcheria sensed a kindred spirit. She hoped their individual ambitions did not come to cross purposes.

“Master Helion, see that our imperial envoy has suitable quarters and hospitality,” Theo ordered. They both knew Helion would personally wine and dine the envoy, extracting as much information as he could about the complicated situation at the Ravenna court. Pulcheria already had word through the agents en rebus that Constantius had contemplated some military action as a result of their refusing to acknowledge his elevation, but Placidia had talked him out of it. As disastrous as the Persian campaign turned out—they had recently agreed to retreat to pre-war borders—Pulcheria would have been hard pressed to counter a military move from the West. She was grateful to her aunt for that intervention.

After both men bowed and left, Pulcheria said to Theo, in a low voice, “I believe our aunt is making her move. I hope Helion can gain some knowledge of her motives.”

Theo watched the two men’s retreating backs. “Perhaps Placidia seeks power to expunge the stain of her infamous marriage to that barbarian king.”

“More likely she seeks to protect her son and provide for his future.” Athenais unconsciously put a protective hand over her stomach. She and Theo shared a tender look.

Hmm. It looks like we can expect our own heir in a few months. Pulcheria pursed her lips. Good! Perhaps Athenais will spend more time in the nursery and leave the receiving room to me!

 

*****

 

Birthing Room, Imperial Palace, April 422

 

“PUSH!” One midwife held the groaning Athenais on the birthing stool, while a second knelt to catch the infant through the hole in the seat. While pregnancy had added an inner glow to Athenais’ beauty, childbirth contorted her features in pain. Chords in her neck stood out; veins throbbed in her forehead as she moaned and shrieked.

Knowing the pain of her monthly courses, Pulcheria felt sympathy for the laboring woman. Her nose twitched at the smell of blood. Her chest tightened with fear for Athenais’ life. Pulcheria shuddered with vague memories of a blood-soaked bed and the still body of her mother. She silently prayed, Mary, Mother of God, give your grace to your daughter. Guide her safely through these trials. Lift the curse of Eve and give her release from pain. Her heart slowed. She breathed easier, believing Mary had received her prayer and would not let Athenais suffer much longer.

Next to her, Arcadia and Marina repeated the Lord’s prayer, adding, “Blessed Mother Mary, see our sister safely delivered of a healthy son.”

All Pulcheria’s women attended the birth, as was appropriate to attest to the legitimacy of a child who would wear the imperial diadem. Their bodies produced an almost unbearable heat in the crowded room. Servants fanned the laboring woman with palm fronds.

Athenais grunted and uttered a long, sustained moan.

Pulcheria sensed movement before looking up to see the midwife holding aloft a tiny body, smeared with blood and mucus. The infant wriggled, took a breath, and let out a mewling howl.

“It’s a girl!”

Poor child, Pulcheria thought. Forever doomed to serve the whims of men. Unless she follows in my footsteps, rather than her mother’s. She rose from her knees to approach the bowl of warm water where one of the midwives fussed over the baby, washing away the evidence of birth. Pulcheria examined the infant with interest. She had ten toes, ten fingers, and an elongated head.

“Is that normal?” Pulcheria pointed to the misshapen skull. Since all her women were pledged to chastity, she had witnessed no other births.

“Yes, Augusta.” The midwife tried to suppress a grin. “The head will take on a more normal shape over the next few days.”

The midwife wrapped the babe tight in swaddling clothes and handed her to Pulcheria. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Surprised, Pulcheria almost dropped the tiny bundle, but recovered quickly. She pushed a piece of the soft cloth back from the baby’s cheek. It turned its head toward her finger, making sucking noises. Pulcheria saw little beauty in the squashed face, but still felt an ache in her breasts. “Yes, she is quite beautiful.”

“Push again!”

Pulcheria looked over her shoulder at Athenais, still on the birthing stool.

“Twins?” Pulcheria asked, alarmed. Twins brought ill-luck, frequently in the form of the death of their mother.

“No, My Lady. The afterbirth.”

Once Athenais delivered the afterbirth, the midwives packed her vagina with dried moss, washed her body, and put her to bed on clean sheets.

Pulcheria approached and put the swaddled infant into her mother’s arms. “You did well, Sister. I’m sure Theo will be happy.”

Tears flooded Athenais’ eyes. “Thank you.” She yawned.

“We’ll let you rest now.”

Athenais nodded, one hand protecting the small bundle at her side. “Tell Theo—” Her eyes closed.

“I will.” Pulcheria pulled the wool cover up over the sleeping woman, stirred by unexpected feelings—empathy and affection.

 

*****

 

“WHAT WILL YOU NAME HER?”

Theo slurred, “We talked of Licinia Eudoxia.”

Pulcheria frowned. She had never seen her brother drunk before and didn’t like the look. “Have some water, Brother. I believe the wine has gone to your head.”

He refused, pouring himself another goblet. “It’s not every day I become a father. You’re sure ’Nais is a’right?”

“I left her sleeping, in the care of the midwives. They felt everything went well.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Do you want me to arrange the baptism? It should be in three days.”

“Yes.” He slumped in a chair.

She studied her brother’s sprawling form. “I’ll send a servant with food.”

“Sure. And send in Paulinus. Time to celebrate!”

“You’ve celebrated enough for one day.”

He frowned. His eyes drooped. The goblet rolled to the floor, spilling bright red wine like blood on the carpet.

Pulcheria rolled her eyes to heaven and prayed he would have a raging headache in the morning. Fitting punishment for the sin of drunkenness.