The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora Read Free Page B

as Narses worked at Justinian’s right hand. Eventually she called a halt to the requests laid before her, from the never-ending stream of needy and demanding who came to her state rooms requesting aid, to stand at the wide windows and look out, past the Palace grounds, down to the old wall, to the lighthouse and the water beyond. Theodora was used to hard work – as botha performer and later as a religious devotee, she had become skilled in mastering her body and her will – but even as a girl she had always craved solitude. Despite the power and privilege of office, solitude was the one thing in very short supply. She took a deep breath, turned back into the room, looked at the dozens waiting on her, waiting for her judgement, waiting for her approval, waiting on the Empress, and gave up the hope of a brief walk away from her rooms today. Her only role was Augusta, and nowhere was offstage.

Two
    T heodora and Justinian knelt before the massive figure of the monk. He wore a short robe made of the matted fur of a dozen unidentifiable animals in an uneven, undulating mosaic, and the smell of the imperfectly cured skins was strong. The monk’s body was also a patchwork, his heavily muscled back and chest, arms and legs were cross-hatched with tattoos and scars. Mar the Solitary was called the athlete of God by those who worshipped with him, and God’s brute by those who disliked his showman tactics. A star of the preaching circuit, he was not above beating religious sense into his followers, scoring with a knife, branding with fire; he encouraged his disciples to wear their prayer as he did, badges of belief cut into the skin. For twenty years, since his conversion from Zoroastrianism, Mar had travelled the Christian world, from the seminary near Nisibis on the Persian border in the east, to the old city of Rome in the west – he was not one for self-doubt.
    When Justinian heard the preacher was passing through the City he requested an audience. Mar replied that if the August wanted his teaching, he could hear it with his staff. According to Armeneus, the giant had spoken rather less politely, but noone was prepared to carry the full insolence of his actual message back to the August. The preacher’s beliefs on the nature of the Christ were antithetical to those of both the Emperor and the official belief of the state, and Mar the Solitary was one of the few from his side of the schism – Theodora’s side of the schism – still allowed to speak without censure. Some said the Emperor was playing a wise game; allowing Mar to preach made Justinian and the Patriarch of Constantinople appear more even-handed than their current attack on Pagans and Jews might suggest. Others thought the preacher a useful safety valve; with so many angry about John the Cappadocian’s new tax increases from the Treasury, with Blue and Green factions fomenting their rivalry even more than usual, and the droughts of the previous year affecting crop sales, mutterings in the street were at fever pitch.
    As Theodora remarked to her husband, ‘Your antecedents in the purple knew the value of a fool at court. I’m sure this one can be of use to us too.’
    Mar the Solitary rarely preached in the presence of the establishment, so his appearance inside the Palace and before the full staff – at his request – was of rare interest. As was the way he launched into Justinian and Theodora.
    ‘You forget your origins at your peril. Theatre tart. Peasant boy.’
    An audible intake of breath spread through the crowd, Mar ignored the tremor of scandal and continued, picking on others who were shocked that the preacher knew of them at all; more shocked when he pointed out their truths.
    ‘Eunuch. Farmer. Baker’s son. Bishop’s bastard. Tax evader. Tax collector.’
    The latter two glared at each other, though the tax evader was more scared of John the Cappadocian’s interest in himthan the treasurer was of being named a tax collector. It might have