Chapter 29
Imperial Palace, October 437
After the formal ceremonies the next day, they sent the bridal couple off to the marriage bed with fanfare, flowers, and good wishes. The entire empire celebrated the Imperial nuptials with feasts and games. Statues were sent to every major city, and new coins minted with Valentinian and Eudoxia’s profiles. In Constantinople, the festivities would continue for a full week.
Pulcheria had alternate plans. She hadn’t forgotten Placidia’s anguish when she previously took refuge in their court. Now that her son was coming into his own, perhaps she was ready to embrace a more ascetic life to ease her soul. Honoria could also use something to occupy her mind and hands, or that girl would be trouble. An emperor’s marriageable sister could be prey to all sorts of plots—as Pulcheria knew. Honoria should be safely married or dedicated to the Church, and soon!
She approached Placidia and Honoria after the wedding feast. “Aunt, I will celebrate the next week by doing good works. I hope you and Honoria will join me.”
Seemingly surprised by the offer, Placidia stammered, “Wh-Why, yes. We will be honored.”
“We leave right after morning prayers.” She looked at Placidia’s regal attire. “I recommend you wear something plain you do not mind getting stained.”
Placidia gave a crooked smile. “I’ll see what I can find among the servants.”
The next morning, Pulcheria took them to a hospital run by the Great Church. A plump woman with pox-scarred cheeks bobbed her head in greeting. “Welcome, Augusta.”
“Sister Helena.” Pulcheria nodded. “This is my aunt, Placidia Augusta, and her daughter, Honoria Augusta. They will be helping in the hospital today.”
“We are grateful for your kindness, Most Gracious Ladies.” More head bobbing, and a low bow. “And your sisters, the Virgin Princesses? Are they well?”
“Quite. They feed the hungry at Hagia Irene today.” Pulcheria envied her sisters. It had been too long since she personally ministered to the poor. As she took on more of Theo’s administrative duties, her sisters had taken on more of her charitable activities. Arcadia had turned into an excellent manager of their households and resources. Pulcheria wanted for nothing when she returned home from the palace tired and vexed. Marina eased both her sisters’ burdens with a light and gentle spirit.
“What should we do?” Honoria asked.
“Whatever needs doing.” Pulcheria shrugged. “Feed them, bathe them, clean their beds, pray with them.”
“Bathe them and clean their beds!” Honoria’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “But I’m an Augusta. Why should I dirty my hands on the poor and destitute? I can buy slaves to minister to them or pay others to work here in my stead.”
“Because God chose you for your high office. How do you know the will of the people you wish to rule, what is right, what is good, if you do not go among them?” Pulcheria gave Honoria a chilly smile. “I understand you wish to take part in your brother’s government. You could do worse than follow my example.”
Honoria gave her a calculating look.
Placidia hid a smile. “Come, Honoria. I nursed many during the siege of Rome, and again among the Goths. I will show you what to do.”
“There is no need, Mother. I am sure I can master a spoon and wash cloth.”
Pulcheria raised an eyebrow. “Do not neglect their souls. Our prayers do as much good as our hands.”
“This way.” Sister Helena showed them into a long hall filled almost to bursting with women, some with infants, on straw pallets. “We had a bad outbreak of fever last week. These are the survivors, but they are weak. Soup and hot water are through there.” She pointed to a door that led into a courtyard. The scent of woodsmoke and barley soup wafted through.
They spent the rest of the day tending sick women. Pulcheria noted Honoria did not shirk any task. So the girl has capacity for hard work. Good.
Placidia, likewise, worked with a will. She spoke to the women in low, soothing tones, tended their physical needs, listened to their stories. She obviously had spent some time among the destitute and abandoned. Pulcheria quietly observed one incident that confirmed her confidence in her aunt.
A woman in a fine wool robe held a baby to her chest, mumbling in delirium. She convulsed, clutching the child in a bone-crushing grip.
“No!” Placidia rushed to save the child.
Sister Helena intervened. “The babe’s been dead since midnight. Poor soul wouldn’t let me take him. She’ll be gone soon herself.”
“You can’t have him!” the sick woman shrieked. She turned away, hiding the child from Placidia’s gaze.
Her aunt stayed with the woman, stroking her hair, bathing her forehead with cool water, until she lapsed into the coma that augured death. Placidia knelt in prayer a few moments, then moved on to someone who could use her services in this life.
At the end of the day, strain showed on both mother and daughter’s faces. Placidia dropped onto the seat of the royal wagon opposite Pulcheria with a sigh, blinking tears from her eyes. “Thank you for that opportunity.”
“Are you tired?”
“Yes, but with physical exhaustion, not the weariness of spirit that plagues me in the dark of night.” Placidia leaned back and closed her eyes.
“And you, young Cousin?” Pulcheria turned to Honoria.
“A revelation. I see why the people love you so.”
Pulcheria raised an eyebrow, but it didn’t seem to affect the younger woman as it did her servants. Honoria gave her an enigmatic smile.
The week filled with such activities: they delivered food and clothing to the poor, visited the sick and abandoned, prayed with the holy sisters, donated altar cloths and plate to churches. Everywhere they went, people crowded around Pulcheria, touching her robe, talking to her in hushed, reverent tones. The poor of the city truly loved her. It was good to be among them again.
*****
PULCHERIA HESITATED before entering Placidia’s residence. She had arranged to dine privately with her Aunt this evening shortly before Placidia left for Ravenna. She remembered the disastrous meal she and Placidia had shared before her aunt went to war to regain her son’s imperium and wanted to present her concerns in the best light. Composing her thoughts, she entered the residence and dismissed her guards.
“This way, Augusta.” A liveried servant bowed. “My mistress awaits you.” The servant showed her to a small private dining room, attractively decorated with frescoes of fruiting vines.
“Niece, welcome.” Placidia rose as Pulcheria entered. “I’m glad we have this last opportunity to talk before I leave for Ravenna. Who knows when we will meet again?”
“As you say and God wills.” Pulcheria took a chair at the intimate table.
After prayers and throughout the meal, the two women discussed strategies for keeping the barbarians at bay. Pulcheria was pleased her aunt honored her preferences for plain fare, serving boiled beef with a variety of cold salads. After the servants offered mulled wine with fruit and cheese, Placidia dismissed them, leaving only the mute body servant Lucilla to serve.
Her aunt took up a grape, inspected it, and put it down. “I have the feeling you didn’t come to discuss the Huns, Niece. You have been guarded all evening. You rarely withhold your opinions. Why do you hesitate now?”
Pulcheria’s eyes widened. “Why would I not offer my opinions and advice, if it provides guidance and instruction?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I do have a delicate matter to discuss.”
“The state of my soul? I know that concerned you greatly during my last visit.” Placidia sipped wine. Her gaze turned inward. “Twelve years ago. It was a dark time. I’ve done even more dark deeds, but I do see the light. This past week brought back memories of a more innocent time, when I thought I was on another path.”
“No. I believe you make your peace with God.” Pulcheria hesitated. “It’s…your children.”
“What about them?” Placidia sat up straighter, frown lines deepening from nose to mouth.
“I believe you have been lax in control of your court. Val is lazy and licentious, his sister sly and ambitious. I know I can have no influence with the boy, but I might take the girl in hand, if you give permission for her to stay.”
“How dare you!” Placidia’s voice trembled with anger. “You are with them for one week and criticize me for their upbringing?”
“I fear they will be trouble for you and weaken the empire, if you do not take pains to correct the faults in their characters.”
“Weaken the empire? Like you haven’t already doomed the East?”
“What?” Pulcheria’s jaw firmed under this unwarranted attack.
“I would not be so quick to cast stones, Niece. All is not so Eden-like in Constantinople. I spent time with Athenais this week, despite your attempts to keep us apart.”
“I didn’t—”
“You deprive Theo of an heir!” Placidia interrupted. “Athenais told me you convinced Theo to give up the marriage bed after Flacilla’s’ death.”
“That was Theo’s idea. He felt God punished him for the sins of the flesh by taking his daughter.”
“And you encouraged that belief?” Placidia accused.
“I supported my brother.” She put down her goblet, striving to hold onto her dignity. “As is my duty.”
“Convenient for you that the emperor abandons his wife and cleaves to his sister. By encouraging his celibacy, you have no rivals for his affections.”
“I want only what is best for Theo and the empire.” Blood drained from Pulcheria’s face. “I have no base motive.”
“Whether your motives are pure or base, the result is the same. You’ve not only deprived your brother of the affections of his wife, you have taken his unborn children. I thought better of you, Pulcheria, at least where the empire is concerned. What do you think will happen when Theo dies?”
“God’s will,” Pulcheria whispered.
“Civil war!” Placidia rose and paced. “God is good, but men are not. They crave power and will rush to fill the vacuum left by his lack of legacy. My son—who you feel is incapable!—will have to go to war to hold this empire together. I’ve seen war, Pulcheria. It is bloody, murderous, hell on earth. All those people you minister to will be victims. All your good work will be for nothing.” She stood before Pulcheria, trembling. “As to my children? At least I have a son and a capable daughter; the prospect of grandchildren. What do you have, Niece, but your prayers?”
Prayers? God give me peace, grace, and the wisdom to do right. Pulcheria bowed. She saw how her actions might be misconstrued, particularly regarding her brother. She worked hard to hide his weaknesses from the world; she would not expose them to her aunt.
“I’m sorry, Aunt, that my words have brought such discord between us. It was not my intention.” She looked Placidia in the eye. “My duty compelled me to bring up my reservations. They are still valid. But I leave you to deal with them as you see fit in the West. I will carry on as I feel is right in the East. If you should change your mind, I would welcome Honoria into my household.”
A shadow passed across Placidia’s face. “I believe you should go now.”
Pulcheria nodded. “God’s blessings on you and safe journeys.”
*****
Church of the Holy Apostles, Constantinople, January 438
PULCHERIA GLOWED WITH PRIDE as Bishop Proclus preached on Jesus’ commandments to care for the poor. Her good friend had finally been confirmed as Patriarch of the Constantinople Church. If Theo had only followed my advice and installed him after Atticus’ death, we could have avoided that Nestorius disaster. Pulcheria shook her head. What’s done is done. Better to concentrate on the now than regret the past.
Proclus had discussed his sermon with Pulcheria. She approved his message on this auspicious day, when the bones of former Patriarch John Chrysostom were returned to Constantinople. Proclus had requested, and she and Theo had agreed, to atone for their parents’ sin in sending the holy man into exile by providing a fitting final resting place thirty-one years after his death. Interring his sainted bones in the Church of the Holy Apostles, where the Eastern Emperors were buried, would bring even more holiness to the site.
“These are the words of our sainted John Chrysostom,” Proclus intoned. “‘Do you wish to honor the body of Christ? Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad.’”
The reference to silk soured her mood. Pulcheria glanced at the empty seat reserved for Athenais. Insufferable woman! There is no excuse for missing this important adventus. The people note her absence and begin to gossip. After seventeen years in the palace, you’d think Athenais would know her duty. Theo should take her in hand, or I will!
The bishop’s sonorous voice brought her back to the ceremony. “He who said: ‘This is my body’ is the same who said: ‘You saw me hungry and you gave me no food,’ and ‘Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also to me.’”
Proclus looked around the crowded nave, then thundered, “What good if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with golden chalices, when your brother is dying of hunger? Start by satisfying his hunger; then, with what is left, you may adorn the altar!”
The masses of ordinary people cheered.
“Heed the words of Saint John Chrysostom!”
“Blessings on those who care for the poor!”
“Blessings on our Most Pious Virgin Princesses!”
Shouts echoed through the long nave, shaking the gallery where Pulcheria and her sisters sat above and to the side of the altar in their holy women’s robes, heads bowed. She reached out on both sides to grasp Arcadia’s and Marina’s hands. It was only right she share the people’s love with her sisters. They had worked diligently with the poor these last several years, taking up the slack as she served their brother.
Proclus raised his hands. The congregants settled. Pulcheria suppressed a smile at the consternation on the faces of the nobles in the closest rows. Good! They should be preached to more often on this topic. Maybe they will loosen their purse strings and do what is right for the people and for their own souls!
“The people, the Church, and the emperor welcome Saint John of the Golden Mouth home to Constantinople. May his sainted presence bring blessings on us all!”
Pulcheria watched Theo lead the procession in full regalia, holding a tall candle of pure beeswax. A contingent of the most important men in Theo’s government followed, shouldering the plain white marble sarcophagus containing the bones of the new saint. Monks followed the coffin up the middle aisle, chanting blessings and holding censers that wafted the sweet woody smell of frankincense throughout the church.
Contentment settled in Pulcheria’s soul. Theo and Val are secure on their thrones. Our borders are quiet. The bones of Saint John Chrysostom protect our city. Other than that consistent thorn in my thumb, Athenais, all is as it should be. With God’s help, I’ve done well.