The fact that Flavius Belisarius had imprisoned his wife could not stay secret for long and in no time messages were flying back to Constantinople with the news. There was no need to tell Theodora of the cause, she knew only too well, and nor was it possible to stop her putting pressure on her husband to recall a general who was, after all, not engaged in fighting, it being winter.
Those who served Flavius knew their man well, none more so than Solomon, who ensured that if Antonina was confined it was not in the dungeons but in a set of apartments which, if not as regal as those from which she had been removed, were quite comfortable. Not that such consideration was acknowledged, she being loud in her complaint of being treated worse than a heretic beggar.
Her husband did not enquire after her well-being and there was a tacit acceptance by those close to him that it was not a subject to be alluded to in even the most oblique way. Not that Flavius was unaware of the stares he attracted as people sought to discern the effect such a bold step was having on their leader. Others, less intimate, looked at him differently, some sneering at the cause of the dispute, that was until they caught his eye.
In trying to appear unruffled and to carry on with the tasks that occupied him, ensuring the sick were cared for, sending away contingents to winter in less diseased locations on the Mediterranean shore, purchasing and storing supplies for the coming year, Flavius was yet aware of those surreptitious glances. The realisation of familiarity was what made him uncomfortable; he now grasped that many of the silent exchanges in the imperial palace had been of a similar type.
It should not have bothered him but it did, the palace, indeed the whole of Constantinople being a hotbed of debauchery, easily recalled from his own forays into the dock area with the yet to become emperor, Justinian, and he had himself been far from chaste, indeed that was where he had first come across Antonina, though they had not shared any intimacy until Theodora, finally wedded to the heir, brought her friend into the imperial wing.
The vows he took when marrying had put a stop on any such excursions, for to Flavius they were sacrosanct. How wounding was it that the same did not apply to his wife and how could the son they had adopted not see that his behaviour was an outrage against God? Was Photius right when he insisted that such sins were enough to justify killing them both? If he was, it could not, for the sake of his soul, fall to him to be the executioner.
‘The command is plain, Magister. You are to return to Constantinople at once and in the company of your wife.’
The imperial messenger was coated in the dust of travel and no great imagination was required to calculate the time it had taken for the imprisonment of Antonina to reach the ears of Theodora and for her to react. The information must have flown to the capital, and judging by the state of the man before him, the order had come back with the kind of haste normally afforded to news of a barbarian incursion. There was no choice but to obey, with one caveat imparted to Solomon.
‘The Lady Antonina and I will travel separately. She is to be brought to our villa south of Galatea and she will enter the capital from there while we will proceed directly. Also send word to Photius that he too is to make his way to Constantinople.’
Solomon was good at hiding reactions but even he could not keep the wonder from his face, a look to which Flavius responded. ‘What could be more damning than the word of her own natural son?’
‘You feel you require that, Magister?’
‘Solomon, I have no idea what I will require. All I do know is that within the imperial palace my wife holds more sway in certain quarters than I do.’
‘The Emperor—’
‘May act, but too many times I have known him sit on his hands when it means confronting Theodora.’
The journey was made in no great haste, it not being a confrontation to which Flavius was looking forward. He imagined that Antonina, in her separate caravan, would be wild with frustration and there was some satisfaction that he could inflict such an emotion upon her, but it was nevertheless an uncomfortable two and a half weeks in which he was left to contemplate what he might face. Not death, he had no fear of such an outcome, but disgrace, even if it was manufactured, was another matter.
Had he known what his stepson was up to, Flavius would have been even more concerned but that he did not find out until he was in the capital. Photius, who harboured no illusions about the behaviour of his mother or the transgressions of her paramour, had gone to Ephesus with a party of soldiers and abducted Theodosius before taking him to the winter quarters of the bucellarii where he was thrown into a prison cell.
His other act was to strip the miscreant of the monies he had so assiduously collected, a fortune distributed amongst the troops as a present not from him but from their general. That accomplished, he then followed his orders and travelled to Constantinople.
‘I am at a loss to know how you can treat your wife so, Flavius Belisarius. Your actions are those more suited to a barbarian than the Roman you soundly profess yourself to be.’
‘I would wish to hear from you what you think of her behaviour, Highness?’
Theodora bristled at his tone, but Flavius was determined that in matters matrimonial she had limited rights of interference. She had received him in a room normally the preserve of the most intimate discussions involving her husband and his closest advisors, exchanges of the kind that never went beyond these four walls.
Flavius had been here many times before but never alone with the Empress and he surmised that the location was part of the message she wished to send to him: that whatever she decided would be approved of by Justinian.
Despite several requests, his emperor had refused to receive him, startling behaviour given he was denying audience to his most senior military commander, which left Flavius to conclude that if Justinian was adept at embroiling himself in conspiracies he was equally adroit at staying out of those he considered too challenging, and the marital problems of his general would fall into that category.
‘As a woman I have perhaps a better understanding of Antonina than you.’
‘While I will openly admit to having very little understanding at all.’
Sensing her about to respond Flavius spoke quickly to cut her off; he had no desire to hear excuses from her lips, any more than he wanted to be once more exposed to the lies of his wife.
‘I also feel, Highness, that these are matters of which no other person need concern themselves.’
‘You deny me the right to support my friend?’
‘Support her by all means, but not to me.’
He had the sense that Theodora was slightly thrown by the vehemence of his contention. Just like her husband, she was so accustomed to deference that for anyone to take a high tone against her caused discomfort and it would be doubly the case with him, given he had ever been careful of her self-regard. Discomfited she might be but that did not last; with a flare of her nostrils and a loud explosion of air she soon reasserted herself.
‘Have a care how you talk to me, Magister! There are people in the dungeons below our feet who have cause to regret such an error.’
‘If you feel incarceration is what I deserve, then I invite you to call for your guards.’
Theodora was a quick thinker; she could not have ensnared Justinian without her sharp wits and certainly she would never have maintained her imperial estate without a keen nose for pitfalls. For the first time since her marriage Flavius was daring her to act in a way towards him that could only rebound badly, and the pause before her response was evidence that she got the point he was making.
Power she had, but so, because of his popularity amongst the citizenry and especially the soldiery, had he. Was he not famed for his loyalty and honesty? It was common knowledge now that he turned down a chance of independent power. If that provided only a measure of protection, in this case it was enough.
Imprison him on a whim and there would be grumbling in the streets, catcalls from the crowd in the Hippodrome, and for all both of them knew, much more. She had enough experience of the febrile politics of the metropolis not to set hares running without any idea where they would go.
‘I have too much regard for Antonina to send the man to whom she is wedded to prison.’
The Empress turned her back to him then, he surmised to avoid him seeing the fact that she thought the excuse as feeble as did he. Added to that, Theodora needed to compose herself and get back her regal posture, which required several deep breaths before she again faced him.
‘Do not assume I have no sympathy for the problem you face, Flavius.’
If the given name was meant to relax him it had the opposite effect, but it seemed politic to say nothing.
‘I have already alluded to my sex and that grants me insights denied even to the most astute of men. Antonina has reached an age in which the sentiments that have sustained her and made her the person she is are cast into doubt. If I was to say I have had cause to share the same, I would hope you would understand.’
‘I will readily admit to being mystified by the working of the female mind.’
That got a nod from Theodora, being for the first time a tactful response, followed by the kind of slight smile that to a man is part sympathy and part despair at what women see as blindness. Flavius recognised it because he had been exposed to it so many times. It was often employed by Antonina.
‘I think you would acknowledge that your wife was once very beautiful.’
‘As were you, Highness.’
That changed her expression once more to a frown; was it a compliment or a barb to a woman equally past her prime? But Theodora was intent on making a point and nothing Flavius said was going to deflect her.
‘We look in the polished silver and see the ravages of time, Flavius, and that induces a concern that never affects men. The vision of what we see, allied to the feelings that causes, makes us ask questions of ourselves. Are we still the object of admiration or do those who might have once flattered us look through to lay eyes on a younger, more comely countenance?’
‘I have never given Antonina cause to think that.’
‘There, you show your lack of understanding. It is not what you say or do that matters.’ She tapped her head very gently. ‘Everything to do with these concerns is in here, where you cannot see.’
‘God can see,’ Flavius snapped.
Her response was equally sharp. ‘Yes, he can, and do not doubt his forgiveness. We are all sinners, Flavius, you included, and it shows an arrogance I scarcely credited I could apply to you that you do not share such grace.’
‘I would consider it presumptuous to do so.’
‘Then perhaps allow yourself to be advised by one closer to the celestial than you.’
The temptation to say that Theodora was bordering on blasphemy was acute, but then Flavius had to remind himself that those who occupied the imperial throne might think of themselves as semi-divine. Certainly they were treated as such by their courtiers and servants, even sometimes by the mob that hailed them when they entered their box in the Hippodrome.
‘Yet there is another consideration,’ she added, adopting a look of deep concern. ‘The happiness of my good companion.’
There was no point in alluding to his happiness or misery, Theodora would care naught for that.
‘In addition, we cannot have the man tasked with defending our polity publically at odds with his wife. It is not only unseemly, it is dangerous to the throne.’
‘Are you suggesting I condone her behaviour to save the blushes of you and your husband?’
Taint by association was the point of that remark but it was an unsayable one to make too plain. No matter, she knew what he meant. Talk of imperial debauchery was the stuff of much gossip and that would only be fanned if the Belisarius marriage was added to the mix.
‘What you suppose to be her misdemeanours.’
‘If you doubt the truth, let me examine our adopted son, a gathering in which I would want to include Photius.’
‘I cannot imagine Antonina welcoming his presence, and besides, he is not in Constantinople.’
‘He is, on my orders, on his way.’
That changed the imperial mood abruptly; her nostrils flared again and the expression on her face seriously deepened the lines of her age. ‘Flavius, I have tried persuasion and I tire of it. You seem blind to the needs of my friend as well as those of the empire, which shows to me a selfishness of which I thought you incapable.’
‘Selfishness!’
That outburst was ignored, and the voice as she continued was emphatic.
‘I speak not as a person who was once her companion but in my capacity as Empress, and in this I also speak for the Emperor. He wishes that you be reconciled with Antonina as much as I do and for the very same reasons, added to which there might be doubts about your ability to lead our armies with such a burden gnawing at your soul.’
‘You and the Emperor have discussed my private affairs?’
‘As an imperial servant you have no private affairs.’ Her hands came up to produce a sharp slap and that summoned a servant who, on a nod from Theodora, departed without speaking.
‘I have just summoned Antonina to join us, Flavius, and this is a demand from those to whom you owe everything you have and all that you might achieve in the future. Greet her fondly or—’
She did not complete the sentence, which was a clever way of allowing him to range over all the possible consequences without the need for a direct threat. Flavius was about to openly allude to warnings about mobs and the unpopularity of the imperial couple when the door opened once more to admit Antonina, who barefoot, skipped lightly across the marble floor in a manner more suitable to a young girl than a mature matron.
She had dressed simply for this occasion, in a white garment of billowing soft material that showed the contours of her still impressive figure as she moved and Flavius was fleetingly reminded of the attraction he had felt for her on first acquaintance. Then in a display so contrived it nearly made him shout, she dropped to her knees at his feet and, grabbing both his hands, brought them together to repeatedly kiss them.
‘If I have behaved less than well I beg your forgiveness, Husband. I admit to being a weak creature who is barely worthy of you.’
Again the tone was unbecoming for a woman her age, pitched too high as if her years had fallen away and she was yet to reach puberty. He was not looking at her, but at the agate eyes of Theodora, who had a forbidding smile on her face.
‘What a heart of stone you must have, Flavius, if you can ignore such a plea.’
‘Surely, Father, you did not forgive her?’
Rarely discomfited in the company of anyone, Flavius was that now and the incredulity in the voice of his stepson only made that more acute and that robbed his response of any veracity.
‘If a person pleads, am I not allowed to grant such a thing?’
‘Absolution for a whole raft of sins?’
‘Had you been present, Photius, you too might have melted.’
‘No, and for one very profound reason. My mother prevailed upon Theodora to command that Theodosius return to Constantinople.’
‘You cannot know that.’
‘I do because the culprit himself told me so.’
‘You have seen Theodosius?’
Photius ignored the surprise on his stepfather’s face, his own taking on a gloat that matched the tone of his voice. ‘More than seen him, I have taken him prisoner. He could not run from me this time and I swear when he found me and my men outside his door he soiled himself.’
‘Prisoner?’
‘Yes. Right now he is in a cell which he shares with the rats, and all that money he stole I have given away. All I require now is an order from you and I will return and slit his gullet.’
Photius mistook the silence, not aware that Flavius was too shocked to speak, and he began to pace as he told a tale that clearly excited him, speaking quickly in short, near breathless bursts.
‘I alerted him to his impending fate. He grabbed my knees and wept like a mewling baby. It was only luck that I caught him before he departed. The instruction from Theodora was in writing so he could not deny it. He did try, saying he intended to ignore it, as if he would. The man is not only an ingrate he is a cowardly weakling who lacks the will to die like a man.’
‘Photius, stop. What you have done was not wise.’
‘I have done that which is necessary. I will not see you humiliated any more.’
‘Rather I was humiliated than that you should cross Theodora.’
‘Damn Theodora!’
‘No, Photius,’ was the sad reply. ‘More likely you have damned us both.’
The tale of what he had done was not long in spreading; Theodora had sent a second demand to Ephesus that Theodosius should obey her summons only to have the messenger return with the story of what had occurred, Photius having shown no discretion in his actions; the taking of Antonina’s paramour had been noisy and well witnessed.
Photius was arrested as soon as that messenger related his tale, while a body of Excubitors was sent to the bucellarii encampment to take up those who had aided him in the enterprise. They were brought back to Constantinople in chains and sent straight to the torture chamber where they revealed every detail, not that they could add much to what had already been extracted from Photius.
Flavius did not have to think too hard to discern what it was these torturers were after, a question that would have been put to them by Theodora. Had he ordered his stepson to act, or had it been done without his knowledge? To compound his discomfort, Theodosius was also back in the capital city having been rescued, and on the horns of a dilemma — he would himself be questioned — he had no one in the palace to whom he could confide the problem.