Chapter 39

 

Imperial Palace, July 450

 

PULCHERIA WIPED SWEAT from her brow as she walked in the gardens. Shady olive trees and cool sea breezes offered some respite from the humid July heat. Theo rode out this morning for a hunt; his first in months, in celebration of good news from General Aspar. Attila and his Huns migrated West, avoiding the Eastern Empire during this raiding season. They were safe, for now. She said a short prayer for her Aunt Placidia and her cousins in Ravenna, hoping their defenses held. Val had stripped his sister Honoria of her rank and held her in close confinement—some said prison—while he negotiated with the Hun.

“Augusta!” A fat eunuch ran across the garden, face red, jowls wobbling.

Pulcheria sighed. She wanted a few moments alone for reflection, but that—it seemed—was not to be.

The servant threw himself at her feet. “The Emperor!” he wheezed.

“What about the Emperor?” Fear sent her heart racing.

“He...he fell from his horse, Augusta. They just brought him back to the palace.”

“How serious a fall?” She pulled the man to his feet, grunting. “Speak up! How bad is it?”

“I don’t know, Augusta!” he wailed.

She raised her skirts and ran inside. Word spread fast. Servants, courtiers, and guards packed the corridors. All gave way as she rushed to her brother’s rooms.

Pulcheria pushed past the crowd inside his door to reach his bed. She whirled and shouted, with a wheezing breath, “Out! All of you!”

The guards used their spears to push the mob back into the corridor, leaving only the doctors, a body servant, and Pulcheria by her brother’s bed.

“Stay at the door. Let no one in without my permission.” Pulcheria panted from the unaccustomed exercise. She took a deep breath, turned to her brother, and took his hand in hers. “Theo! Brother, it’s me.”

He didn’t look injured: a little pale, with a few scratches on his cheeks and hands. She calmed somewhat, continuing to call softly to her brother. He moaned and opened his eyes. They wandered, fixed on nothing, closed again. Sweat covered his pale face. He breathed rapidly.

She turned to the doctors. “How bad is it? Will he recover?”

The two court physicians cleared their throats, exchanging glances. The elder finally spoke. “He injured his spine in the fall, Augusta.”

“Will he walk again?”

“Unlikely.”

Pulcheria said, “I’ve known other injured people from my time working in the hospitals. They can lead productive lives in a chair.”

The doctors coughed, shuffling their feet.

Pulcheria felt like a band constrict her chest. “Out with it. Tell me all.” She steeled herself.

“He hit his head. We fear other, more extensive, internal injuries.”

Her heart missed a beat and her breath caught. She whispered, “Will he live?”

“His injuries are quite severe, Augusta. We fear he bleeds inside, where we cannot help.”

“Will he live?” she shouted.

“We don’t wish you to give up all hope, Augusta, but it is very unlikely.”

“What can we do?” She fought back tears. This was not the time to mourn. This was the time to act.

“We have medicines to ease the pain, but they cloud the mind. We’ve already administered a dose of poppy juice. That’s why he doesn’t know you. Do you wish us to continue with that treatment?”

“How long does he have?”

They shrugged. “Two days. Maybe more. It depends on how fast he bleeds.”

“No more poppy until I’ve talked with him.” She stroked her brother’s hand, then turned to the body servant. “Send in priests to pray for his recovery. God does, sometimes, grant miracles.”

Pulcheria pushed Theo’s thin hair back from his pale forehead, murmuring, “Please God, don’t take my brother. His people need him.” She choked back a sob. “I need him!”

 

*****

 

PULCHERIA SPENT THAT FIRST NIGHT and the following day tending her brother, praying for a miracle. The second night, she sat at her brother’s bed, raging at her God.

“Good Lord, what have I done that you punish me so? I’ve dedicated my life to your service and praise your name many times daily. Why take my brother when we have just reconciled?” Her anger burned hot and fast as she struggled with her faith. She believed in a loving God. A God who redeemed mankind after their fall from grace. “Lord, how can you be so cruel?”

The anger burned out, leaving Pulcheria cold and numb; her only feeling a sharp pain in her chest, blocking breath and words. She had never felt such a bone-deep, primal sense of abandonment and loss. Her body convulsed. Arcadia, Marina, and now Theo! Not just her siblings, but her children. She had raised and loved them as if she had given them life.

Pulcheria left Theo’s bedside to collapse at his personal altar. “Mary, Mother of God, Holy Virgin, help me!” She curled into a ball, crying, “It hurts!”

Once her sobs subsided, she looked up at the calm face of the Virgin. Her body stopped shaking. The soft brown eyes of the painting seemed to look deep into her own with love and sympathy. Of course, the Holy Mother had experienced wrenching loss and survived. The pain receded to a throbbing wound in Pulcheria’s heart. With Mother Mary’s help, she could see a path forward. Pulcheria knelt before the cross. The familiar ritual calmed her. The pain did not lessen, but she could put it aside. She prayed.

“Mary, Mother of God, give me the strength to let my brother go to his just reward in heaven. Forgive me for doubting God’s will in this and all things. Bless me with the wisdom to carry on his rule.”

Pulcheria knelt for hours, offering her pain to the Blessed Virgin, receiving peace and a renewed purpose.

 

*****

 

“AUGUSTA.”

Pulcheria raised her head from Theo’s bed. A priest gently shook her shoulder.

“Augusta, you should go to your rooms and rest. You’ve had little sleep for two days. We will send word if there are any changes.”

“No.” She shook the shadows from her tired brain. “I will not leave him.”

She waved over a servant. “Bring me the arnica paste and a pail of hot water.” Her nose wrinkled at the smell of urine. “And clean bed linen.”

With a servant’s help, Pulcheria gently rolled her brother to his side so she could change the soiled bed. Yesterday, the doctors objected to her nursing, pointing out she had servants and skilled nurses at her disposal. She replied, “I’ve tended the bodies of the sick and poor. It is the least I can do for my own brother.”

Pulcheria pushed her pain to a dark place to be examined later, as she washed her brother’s battered body. He looked so vulnerable naked—a slight, middle-aged man with small pot belly and stringy arms and legs. What happened to the rambunctious boy and athletic youth she had raised with such love? A large purple bruise covered his lower back. Smaller ones, turning green and yellow, dotted his arms and legs. The arnica paste helped the bruising but couldn’t mend his broken spine. She checked the lump on the back of his head. It seemed smaller. She massaged Theo’s hands and feet. They were so cold nothing seemed to warm them.

“Oh Lord!” she cried as mottled red streaks, crept up his legs—a sign of encroaching death. Her breath came in short gasps as she struggled to maintain her calm demeanor.

“Please God, let him wake. Let him know me, so we can make our peace.” She knew many people, shortly before dying, had a brief lucid period and showed some recovery, before succumbing. She prayed that would be so. Pulcheria needed to talk to her brother. After that, she only wanted his suffering to stop.

After tucking blankets around his body and placing a hot brick at his feet, she sat holding her brother’s hand, softly singing a nursery song from their childhood.

Theo moaned. His eyes flickered open. “Ria?”

“I’m here.” Pulcheria clutched his hand.

“It hurts!” His face convulsed in a grimace. “What happened?”

“You fell from your horse. You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you.”

“My legs!” His eyes flew wide. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“You injured your back in the fall. There’s some swelling and…” her voice caught in her throat. Pulcheria saw fear in his eyes and wished it away. She wanted to lie; tell him he would recover…but she couldn’t. “I’m sorry about the pain, but you needed to be awake. Only for a little while. I’ve brought Bishop Anatolius to comfort you and bear witness to your last wishes.”

“L-last wishes?” Theo’s grip on her hand strengthened. “I’m going to die?”

“We all die in our time. This is yours, dearest brother.”

“I’m not afraid of death, Ria. I go to our Maker.” Theo stopped to draw a breath. “But…the pain... I know our Lord Christ suffered greatly…” His eyes pleaded.

“I will take care of it, Theo.” She stroked his forehead. “The Bishop is here. I’ll be right back.”

She waved Anatolius over to pray with Theo.

Pulcheria took the opportunity to use the chamber pot in an anteroom, gulp a goblet of water, and run a comb through her hair. She then conferred with the doctors. “Make me a draught with the poppy juice. I’ll give it to the Augustus after the Bishop leaves. I want my brother to die in peace, with no pain.”

She returned to Theo’s bed with the medicine. “Thank you, Bishop. Please stay a moment.” He stationed himself on the other side of the bed. “Theo, what are your wishes for the succession?”

“You, Ria. You must convince the council to let you rule. They will never accept Val…” Theo’s eyes wavered, then screwed shut as a spasm of pain racked his body. “I’m…so tired.”

“Only a little longer.” She grasped his hand and kissed it. Turning to the bishop she pointed to the door. He nodded and retired to the anteroom “Theo, I ask your forgiveness.”

“For what, Ria?”

“All my trespasses against you. For doubting your abilities, for causing you pain.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Sister. Without you I never would have been emperor. You have been and always will be my rock.” Theo grimaced; eyes clouded with pain. “It hurts, Ria.”

“The doctors have something for you.” Pulcheria held his head up and put a cup to his lips. “Drink what you can.”

He took a gulp and choked. “Bitter…”

“It will ease your pain. More?”

He took a few more sips, then shook his head. “I’m sorry…”

“Shhhh.” She put a finger to his lips.

“No.” He clutched her hand. “Sorry for last ten years…leaving you…now…to rule alone.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You are the Augustus, God’s Viceroy on Earth, and my beloved brother.” She leaned over, kissed his cheek, and whispered in his ear. “I’ll take care of everything. Go in peace.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Know you will.” His eyes fluttered shut and breathing slowed.

Early next morning, his breathing stopped.