Chapter 41

 

Field of Mars, Hebdomon, November 450

 

PULCHERIA STOOD, STIFF AND UNCOMFORTABLE, on the reviewing stand, in her purple silk robes and fur-lined paludamentum. She had vivid memories of the warm summer’s day when seven-year-old Theo had been acclaimed Emperor on this very spot. They were seared into her soul, along with the fear of those perilous times when she had no power to protect her brother from his enemies. Oh, Theo, why did God take you from me so soon? We could have ruled for ten or twenty more years and spared me this humiliation.

Aspar’s army arrayed themselves before her and the council, chanting acclamations for Marcian as their next Augustus. Marcian took the field on a white stallion, followed by a full unit of cavalry. He rode past the triumphal pillar with its equestrian statue of Theo dedicated to their victories over the Persians. For twenty-five years that statue had looked out over the armies of the East.

Twenty-five years! What happened to us, Theo? I had hoped to die before you, so I would never know another Augustus. Now I’m here to anoint Marcian. Please know, brother, no one can replace you in my heart.

Pulcheria had no tears on this auspicious day, but little to celebrate, either. General Zeno was named Patrician, and key council members got additional titles and privileges. She had negotiated hard and won all that she asked for, except the most important thing—she was still to marry shortly after she elevated Marcian to the purple.

Her prospective groom rode up to the reviewing stand and saluted her with his sword. The army broke into raucous shouts before settling into prepared chants of “Marcian for Augustus” and “We want only Marcian.” He saluted them, letting the thunder of their voices pour over him.

He dismounted to ascend the steps to the reviewing stand. Marcian approached, saying, in a voice loud enough to reach the back of the crowd, “The people, armies, and the Senate of Constantinople acclaim me Augustus.”

She came forward, followed by General Aspar, General Zeno, and Bishop Anatolius. “I, Aelia Pulcheria Augusta, do proclaim you Augustus, and accept you as my husband in a chaste marriage blessed by God. With these hands and tokens, I name you Flavius Marcian Augustus.” A few people—unaware she would introduce this innovation—gasped but were quickly shushed. No Augusta had ever elevated an Augustus before. In an emergency, the Great Constantine’s daughter had elevated an aging soldier to Caesar, but Pulcheria was the first to imbue an emperor with her own imperium.

Zeno stepped forward with the magisterial belt. Pulcheria wrapped it around Marcian’s waist, a sour taste in the back of her throat. This belt symbolized the one power the laws of Rome forbade her. Marcian was now chief magistrate in the land. She could not overrule any of his decisions.

Aspar handed her the gold-embroidered paludamentum which she put over Marcian’s shoulders, closing the purple cloak with a brilliant amethyst fibula. Pulcheria had to admit, the imperial symbol looked good on his tall spare frame.

Bishop Anatolius came forward with the diadem—the last symbol of Marcian’s ascension—on a purple cushion. She lifted the gold band, encrusted with amethysts and pearls, and presented it to the council, then the armies, to shouts and stomping feet. To her surprise, Marcian knelt on one knee and bowed, acknowledging her role in this transfer of power and making it easier for her carry out her duty. Pulcheria tied the band around his graying hair and pulled the tasseled strings forward over his shoulders.

She offered her hand to help Marcian rise, then held his hand aloft, proclaiming, “I present Flavius Marcian Augustus to his people. Blessed be his reign and merciful be his rule.”

The armies and the council took up the chants. Soldiers beat their shields. Civilians stomped their feet in time. Pulcheria, remembering the earthquake, wondered if the vibrations would jitter them both off the edge of the stand. They kept their feet.

She shouted in Marcian’s ear: “Before we leave for celebrations in the city, we will sign the wedding contract with Aspar and Anatolius as witnesses. Then all will be done.”

Marcian nodded. “Thank you, Augusta. I will renew my vow, in front of the Holy Bishop, to respect your chastity and take your advice in all matters.”

Pulcheria faced the future with reservations, but renewed hope.

 

*****

 

The Great Church, December 450

 

PULCHERIA KNELT BESIDE HER NEW HUSBAND during the service for the soul of her Aunt Placidia. The Western Augusta had suffered a stroke earlier in the summer and they just received word she had died in late November. Another of her family gone. She had never been close to her aunt, but they shared the bond of governing. She prayed for Placidia’s soul. “I hope you found peace, Aunt.”

As she and Marcian left the secluded imperial balcony, they accosted General Aspar. “Augusta, Augustus.” He bowed.

Pulcheria recognized the grief marking the general’s face: dark shadows under eyes red from weeping, a hoarse tone to his voice. She put a comforting hand on his arm. “Aspar, my friend. I had forgotten that you and my aunt were close. Theo and I feared you might wish to move to the Ravenna court after your successful installation of Placidia and her son.”

“Your aunt was a great lady. Placidia Augusta inspired many men to her cause. That is how she managed to hold the West together with so many enemies both outside and inside her realm. My only hope for Ravenna is that her son learned from his mother.” Aspar’s voice dropped as he added, “Placidia Augusta’s example is forever cemented in my heart and mind, that a woman could be an able ruler. You benefited from that belief, Augusta. I knew, in your youth, you would succeed, just as your aunt did, and vowed to support you. The Theodosian women rule wisely and fairly. It is only when their men interfere that things go wrong.” He looked pointedly at Marcian. “Remember that, Tribune.”

“I will, General.” Marcian seemed to take no offense at Aspar’s use of his former title.

Pulcheria, irritated at the informality, thought she would have to give her new husband some lessons in imperial comportment, as she did her brother when he was young. “I have always valued your friendship and support, General. I did not know I had my aunt to thank for it.” Pulcheria allowed a trace of sharpness in her reply.

“Do not mistake me, Augusta.” Aspar made a deep bow. “You’ve earned my respect and support many times over. I am proud of my service to you and your brother. I expect to give similar service to you and the Augustus.”

Pulcheria put her hand on Marcian’s arm. Their guard surrounded them, and they left the Great Church for their imperial wagon. As they stepped into the weak winter sunlight, the people cried their acclamations.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this.” Marcian nodded at people shouting their names and blessings.

Gradually the shouting took on a different tone. From “Blessings and many years to the Augustus and Augusta” it shifted to “Down with the heretic Eutyches!” and “Justice for Bishop Flavian!”

Marcian helped Pulcheria into the carriage for the short trip to the palace and took his place opposite her. “Your doing?” Marcian raised an eyebrow. “I know you’ve been meeting with Anatolius and some of the suburban bishops this week.”

“The people are genuinely angry over Bishop Flavian’s death. I spoke with Anatolius about the people’s dissatisfaction over the violent means by which he was installed after Theo called that disastrous second Council of Ephesus. I merely pointed out the best way to obtain the people’s love and trust was to denounce Eutyches’ heresy and embrace orthodoxy.”

“And gain your support as well?” Marcian smiled. “I’m just a soldier, my dear, and do not understand the minutiae of these controversies. They seem abstract and of little consequence, but I’m sure you will set me straight.”

“These matters of ‘little consequence,’ as you say, are the root of much unrest in all the cities of the East. The people in the street argue over Christ’s nature. They divide into factions as strong and violent as the rivalry between the Blues and the Greens.”

“It’s that bad?” Marcian sat back in contemplation. “In the army, we have more tolerance. If a man can wield a sword or shoot an arrow, no one asks how or who he worships.”

“I know. As much as it has chafed me over the years, I long ago realized how dangerous it would be to purge the armies. I leave them to your care. I will reform the Church. The clergy want an end to the violence and controversy. Pope Leo of Rome fully supports my positions and urges us both to bring the heretics back to orthodoxy.”

She leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee. “I know you will be busy preparing for the Hun invasion massing on our borders, but I face a similar war. It is more than time this controversy over the nature of Christ is settled. I’ll have some proclamations for you to sign this week.”

“As you wish, Ria.”

Pulcheria again praised God and Aspar for finding her such a compliant husband.