A Triple-headed Serpent: A Story of Theodora, Empress of Byzantium
By Marié Heese
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About this ebook
Marié Heese
Marié Heese het bekendheid verwerf met haar roman Die uurwerk kantel in 1976. Jare later verskyn drie Engelse romans, The Double Crown, The Colour of Power, en die opvolg, A Triple-headed Serpent. Vuurklip, die eerste roman in Afrikaans oor die prehistoriese tydperk ter plaatse, verskyn in 2013. Marié woon saam met haar man in Stilbaai.
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A Triple-headed Serpent - Marié Heese
Triple-headed Serpent
Marié Heese
Human & Rousseau
For Chris
ByzantineEmpire.tifConstantinople.tifList of Characters
Fictitious characters are indicated with an asterisk (see Author’s Note)
Aetios, physician
Alicia, soothsayer (real person, invented name)
Amalasuintha, regent of the Goths in Italy
Anastasia (Stasie), Theodora’s younger sister, former animal keeper
Anastasius, grandson to Theodora, born to Juliana and Zeno
Anna, daughter to Chrysomallo (real person, invented name)
Anthemius, mathematician and physicist, designs new Hagia Sofia
with Isidorus
Antonina, former actress and friend of Theodora, wife to Belisarius
Areobindus, steward to Theodora
Areobindus, military commander and patrician
Artabanes, military commander, changes sides to serve Justinian
Belisarius, general and Commander in Chief of the Byzantine army
Bouzes, Byzantine general
Cappadocian John, Praetorian Prefect of the East, tax-collecter
Chrysomallo, former acrobat and dancer, friend to Theodora
*Claudia, lady-in-waiting to Theodora
Comito, Theodora’s elder sister, former actress and courtesan,
wife to General Sittas
Eudaemon, Praetorian Prefect of Constantinople
Father Agapetus, Pope of Rome
Father Anthimus, Patriarch of Constantinople after Epiphanius,
deposed
Father Epiphanius, Patriarch of Constantinople
Father Gaianus, becomes Patriarch of Alexandria, deposed
Father Maximianus, Bishop of Ravenna
Father Menas, Patriarch of Constantinople who replaces Anthimus
Father Severus, deposed Patriarch of Antioch sheltering in Alexandria
Father Silverius, Pope of Rome after Agapetus, deposed
Father Vigilius, Pope of Rome who replaces Silverius
Father Theodosius, Patriarch of Alexandria after Gaianus
Gelimer, leader of the Goths in Africa
Germanus, cousin to Justinian, becomes Magister Militum in Africa
Guntarith, rebel leader in Africa
Ildibad, king of the Ostrogoths after Witigis
Ildiger, Byzantine general
Indaro, former acrobat and dancer, friend to Theodora
Isidorus, university professor of science, designs new Hagia Sofia
with Anthemius
Jacob Baradaeus, holy man, old Ragbag
John, impostor claiming to be Theodora’s son
(real person, invented name)
John Sanguinaris, or Bloody John, Byzantine general
Juliana, Theodora’s daughter by Hecebolus
(real person, invented name, father not identified)
Justin, nephew to Justinian
Justinian, Emperor of Byzantium
Khosrau, King of Persia
Macedonia, slave
Maximinus, civilian commander of the military
*Marcus Anicius Longinus, senator, protecter of Comito
Matasuintha, daughter of Amalasuintha
Mundus, general in Byzantine army
Nabedes, general in Persian Army
Narses, a eunuch, Commander of the Imperial Guard,
becomes Chief Chamberlain and military general
Praejecta, niece to Justinian, widow of Areobindus
Pharas, general in Byzantine army
Photius, eldest son to Antonina
Procopius, secretary and legal adviser to Belisarius, historian
Quintus Julius Libo, aged patrician (real person, invented name)
Sergius, a military commander
Sheikh Harith ibn Jabala, king of a Christian Arab state,
a Monophysite
Sittas, general in Byzantine army, husband to Comito
Solomon, eunuch, military leader in Carthage
Sophia, daughter born to Comito and General Sittas
Theodahad, king of the Ostrogoths who deposes Amalasuintha
Theodora, former actress and courtesan, Empress of Byzantium
Theodosius, mapmaker, adopted godson to Belisarius and
Antonina (believed by historians to have been her lover)
Tribonian, legal expert
Witigis, king of the Ostrogoths after Theodahad
Zeno, son of Probus, marries Juliana (real person, invented name)
Z’ura, stylite, holy man
Sundry other persons such a chief usher, silentiaries, guards
(excubitors, scholarians & domestics), servants, slaves, soldiers,
priests, washerwomen, dancing girls, artists, etc
The process of gaining power employs means that degrade or brutalize the seeker, who wakes to find that power has been possessed at the price of virtue – or moral purpose – lost.
Barbara W. Tuchman
Istanbul, A Meditation
In a turbid dream
I tear out the inside page of a book,
the one on which the library’s date stamp is found.
The book is about them, the ones who’ve died,
the ones who are leaving, who often make
an appearance in dreams, or in foreign cities
look almost exactly like a local inhabitant,
except for speaking a foreign language, looking up
amazed and never returning a greeting, or who
lie outstretched in a glass case in a museum,
staring fixedly through sightless eyes. Their lives
were on loan-lease. Never belonged to them.
Those lives were merely a story; and the Author’s name
in the colophon was found to be a pseudonym.
That name is the one I have sought for ages.
Tonight I read in that borrowed book’s pages
about the lives of my friends, my father
and everyone who happened to cross my path.
About a life borrowed in the library of the Dead.
Joan Hambidge
Translated from Afrikaans by Charl JF Cilliers
Prologue: A visit at dusk
A chill breeze carried the bitter scent of ash. Still strong enough to mask the salt tang of the sea, it made the solitary pedestrian cough. No wonder, he thought, when almost a third of the city had been set to the torch. Swathed in a heavy woollen cloak with the hood drawn well over his head, he strode along the street, his authoritative boots asserting his right to be where he was. He was tall, and broad with it; armed, of course, with a short sword and a dagger, but he did not anticipate being set upon. Normally he would have been accompanied by an entourage, but his mission this night was one that he wished not to be witnessed.
Around him in the deepening dusk lay the still smoking ruins that now disfigured Constantinople: the Baths of Zeuxippus, the Church of the Holy Wisdom, the Hospice of St Samson, the Church of Eirene, all reduced to blackened rubble. Jagged walls, broken arches, drunken pillars and defaced mosaics were all that remained of the great buildings, sacred and profane, that had been destroyed by the rebellious mob, aided and abetted by a wild wind from the north. Shattered statues littered the street. He stepped nimbly over a cracked head that still maintained a haughty stare with one remaining marble eye.
But all was quiet now, the wind grown tame, the populace gone to earth, some men still nursing wounds and all of them shocked into submission by the radical violence of the two generals and their mercenaries. He had the street to himself. Even the beggars had not yet returned. The only sign of life besides himself was a rat that pattered past and darted into a crevice with a flick of its tail.
He reached an alley between two shops with their fronts boarded up. This was where he had been told to go. Now he stepped more quietly: careful, alert. Reached the third door on the left, a heavy one with iron studs. Yes, this was it. He rapped on it. Stood a while, rocking on his heels. Rapped again, impatiently. Then a couple of bolts rattled, the door swung open and he went in.
The Kyria is expecting you,
said the servile eunuch who had let him in. Follow me.
He led the way down a narrow passage to a room warmed by a brazier, scented with incense.
A woman sat at a small round table draped in wine-red velvet, in a pool of light cast by an oil lamp. She sat upright, apparently staring down at her hands clasped in front of her. At first glance she looked young and lovely. A second look showed the first impression to be quite wrong: in fact, she was old, with white hair braided and pinned and thin shoulders draped in a grey shawl. But she had the strong clear bones of a beauty still, covered in almost transparent skin like pale porcelain, finely fissured by time. He stood wordless, made to feel huge and clumsy by her pale delicacy.
She tilted her head up. Good evening, Sir,
she said in a musical voice. You should take a seat.
The eunuch offered a chair opposite hers. The man sat down heavily, throwing back the hood of his cloak to reveal the face of a man accustomed to dominating the company he found himself in. Fleshy lips, firmly clamped; a nose broken at least once, attesting to a violent youth; the broad flat cheekbones of marauding Slavic ancestors who rode the Steppes before coming to rest in a verdant Cappadocian valley; dark eyes with a guarded yet penetrating glare beneath wiry eyebrows.
But she did not react to his striking appearance. Her eyes were milky pearls.
Evening,
he grunted. He felt out of place. He resented women he could not dominate or use.
I am Alicia,
she said. Bring the gentleman some wine.
The eunuch trotted off.
She sat quietly, waiting.
He coughed. I am John,
he said. Known as the Cappadocian.
She nodded. A man of considerable energy and power. Capable and ruthless. Huge appetites.
He chuckled, richly selfsatisfied. That much anybody could have told you. Doesn’t need extraordinary divining skills.
She nodded again. A man of overweening ambition.
Fairly obvious.
Who never knew a mother’s love.
He was silent for a few counts. Then: A lucky guess,
he said.
The eunuch brought wine in a crystal goblet.
Leave us,
she said. When I need you, I’ll ring the bell.
Yes, Kyria.
He backed out.
Give me your hand, John,
she said.
He put out a peasant’s hand, broad, with thick fingers and dark hair on the back. She took it in both of hers, fine-boned and cool to the touch. He looked down at her delicate, tapered fingers.
She moved her fingertips across his palm as if reading something there by touch. Ah. A long life, and an eventful one.
Glad to hear it’ll be long,
he said. First thing you couldn’t have already heard or guessed. But then, who’s to know if you turn out to be wrong?
Riches. Yes, great riches.
I’m already rich,
he said. Everybody knows that.
And poverty,
she went on. Dire poverty.
Well, I grew up poor,
he said. Also common knowledge.
No, no. Still to come.
Poverty? Nonsense. I am very, very well off.
You shall be poor again,
she insisted.
I don’t believe you. I have so much … No, no. Impossible.
She shrugged.
What else can you tell me?
What is your chief concern?
He leaned forward eagerly. The future of … my career?
She considered, drawing circles on his palm.
And don’t tell me I have been dismissed from my post. There’s nobody in this city that doesn’t know that.
That which has been taken away, shall be restored,
she told him.
He sighed with relief. When?
I cannot say exactly. But probably quite soon.
He grunted with satisfaction. The same post? I’ll be Prefect of the East again? In charge of taxes?
If you are careful, yes. Wait patiently and do nothing to attract attention.
Her questing fingers pressed more firmly on his palm. Eventually,
she said, the mantle of Augustus will fall upon your shoulders.
He drew in a deep breath. Now, suddenly, he was ready to believe her. The mantle of Augustus? Are you sure?
I read it, here. I tell you truly. The mantle of Augustus.
When?
I cannot tell exactly when. Eventually.
It will take time,
he breathed. I can wait. And plan. And be ready.
She continued to stroke his hard hand. A girl,
she said. A young girl. Important in your life.
My daughter,
he told her. Only one of any importance.
She nodded. She is your weakness. You must beware.
Beware? But not of her, surely! She loves me! She is my one ewe lamb!
Beware,
she reiterated. There is danger here, associated with her.
I must take care of her,
he said, interpreting the warning in the only way it made sense to him. People could strike at me through her. It is right that you should make me more aware of this.
He was now completely convinced of the sibyl’s capabilities. She shall have bodyguards. Well, well. And … anything else of import?
You have been a follower of Mithra,
she said, suddenly.
He drew in a deep breath, horrified that she should say this. Paganism was completely forbidden and could cause him to be exiled, if not executed. Certainly it would keep him out of a civil post. But no longer,
he said quickly.
No. Now you are a man who knows no god.
At this he sat mute.
But one day you will turn to the Christ … This will happen when … the mantle of Augustus falls upon you.
Yes,
he agreed. The Emperor is God’s Vice-regent here on earth. He must be seen to be devoutly Christian. Yes, that makes sense. And? What more?
She sighed. I have told you all I am able to divine.
You can’t say how … or when … ?
I have told you all I can,
she said. But you have heard what you wanted to hear, no?
He cleared his throat. I suppose so. Yes.
She smiled, a smile still as sweet as it must have been when she was young and comely, revealing rotten teeth. She let go of his hand, turned her two slender hands upward and extended them toward him. He filled them with gold, before stalking off into the night.
Narses the eunuch: his journal, AD 532
No easy thing
2 February, AD 532
It is no easy thing, to get rid of an emperor. One who has been chosen by the Senate, supported by the army and proclaimed to the populace. Thrice August. Crowned and consecrated, God’s Vice-regent here on earth. Even when that same populace has varied and deeply felt grievances and wants to get rid of the man they once hailed and revered.
The people of Constantinople now know this fact. The Sanitation Department has removed the corpses, all thirty thousand of them, from the Hippodrome, and the tiers of seats that ran red with blood have been scrubbed with lye. But memories are harder to eradicate. All over the city there are walking reminders of the day they tried to put a different despotes on the throne: men marked with terrible scars or mutilations. But the most grievous reminders are invisible; they are the empty places where once there was a father, a brother or a son, a friend or lover, forever lost when the generals Belisarius and Mundus, with their Goths and Heruls, fell upon the mutinous gathering in the great circus, and cut out the heart of the revolt.
I was there, that day, I saw it all. Disguised as a slave in a tattered cloak, I stood with my back to the wall near the Nekra gate and I watched the slaughter. I saw the blood of thirty thousand men spilled in one day in one place, an urban place, not the kind of ground where battles are usually fought. I saw the blood drip and puddle on wooden stands and marble seats and on the hard earth compacted by thousands of thundering horses’ hooves. I saw the entire Hippodrome painted red. That frightful scene brought a sudden insight to my mind: red, rather than purple, is the true colour of power. Whoever wields absolute power will, sooner or later, have to consolidate it with blood. No matter how noble the autocrat’s ideals, it will inevitably come to this.
I saw, also, framed above the holding pens for racing chariots like a puppet show, the palace guards come rushing into the Kathisma to lay hold of the newly crowned Hypatius and his brother Pompeius and drag them back into the palace through the Ivory Gate, together with their recently assembled entourage. I witnessed the brief reign of the usurper coming to an ignominious end. I remember that I noticed the sun glinting on the ferocious fangs of the triple-headed serpent that tops the tower of Apollo on the spina around which the racing chariots hurl themselves to victory or disaster. The three heads appeared to me to be grinning in mockery.
As the Commander of the Imperial Guard, I oversaw the execution of the brothers as ordered by Justinian, and I stood on the icy shore when their bodies were cast into the sea. I saw the usurper float away into the deep.
I believe that Justinian, left to himself, would have been merciful. But the Empress Theodora, whose stirring words had stiffened the resolve of those who had been suggesting flight, pointed out that the sorry pair would always remain a possible focus for discontents, since they do have royal blood from the late Emperor Anastasius, their uncle; moreover, said Theodora, with characteristic pragmatism and clarity, Hypatius had been crowned. Even such a travesty as it had been, lacking the blessing of the Patriarch and enacted with a borrowed golden chain fashioned into a makeshift diadem – even so, he had been crowned. But the Empire of Byzantium can have only one emperor.
They had to be executed. So they were. And I saw them taken away like flotsam, drifting out to sea on an ebbing tide, the would-be emperor nothing more than food for nibbling fish.
No, no easy task to unseat a reigning emperor. Justinian has reasserted his right to the throne and his power in utterly convincing terms.
And yet he has been weakened. The formerly unthinkable has been thought, and almost turned to deed: there nearly was another emperor. The populace desired another emperor. So did the great landowners and the nobility, who have never truly accepted a peasant and a former actress and courtesan on the throne. Everybody has considered this possibility: there could be another emperor.
Perhaps this end may yet be striven for, though possibly by other means.
We must be vigilant.
Chapter 1: A particular question
Theodora sat on the terrace of the Hormisdas Palace, a wedding gift from Justinian. Since the Emperor and Empress had other quarters, it currently housed her friends from her acting days who had fallen on hard times – Chrysomallo and Indaro – and many Monophysite religious refugees. It was cold, but she was well muffled in a fur-lined cloak, with her small feet on a foot warmer filled with coals. She always loved to sit here, but now even more so, since the view was out across the Sea of Marmara with the houses of the rich dotted on a slope to the side and there were no blackened ruins to remind her of the convulsion the city had just gone through. No smell of smoke on the clean and salty air. Just heaving water the colour of pewter with white foam glistening where the waves broke on the shore, a vaulted sky white with cloud cover and one black cormorant perched on a rock, drying its wings.
A month and a half had passed since the rioting had ended. The Greens and the Blues, the two semi-military factions that held so much power in the capital, had joined forces in the recent insurrection, but their militant ambitions had been eradicated by the slaughter of thirty thousand rebels in the Hippodrome. A dull calm had settled on the stricken city. But Theodora was still in a state of shock. She had not yet been able to gather her strength to follow her customary routine and to pursue her usual goals. She sat like an invalid, unaware of the outside world, turned inward, nursing her injured spirit.
She felt as if she had been dealt a grievous wound by some powerful, half-tamed creature that she had mistakenly come to trust; a creature she had fed and tended, sheltered and loved. A creature that had turned on her in rage and violence beyond any expectation or understanding and had left her devastated. She felt completely sundered from the people – her people, for whom she had, by her lights, tried to do so much. She did not want to go out and see what had become of her many charitable institutions. She did not want to take part in the regular ceremonial processions in which she had delighted before. She did not want to set one small foot out into the ravaged streets of her beautiful city.
Justinian and Narses were baffled. In their view, the insurrection was over, the ringleaders dealt with, calm and order restored. They were looking forward. She could not explain to them that when she walked out into the streets of her city, or rode in state, she sensed at her back and shoulder the massed spectres of the rebels who had bled and died in the Hippodrome, the silently accusing ranks of the fallen: thousands upon thousands of men – husbands and fathers, lovers and brothers and sons, cut down by the swords of the mercenaries who had fallen upon the uprising because of her words, because of her speech rejecting flight. A horde of phantoms marched behind her, their feet striking no echo on the hard roads: a presence voiceless yet overwhelming, hostile and relentless. She found it unendurable.
Quick, firm footsteps on the flagstones heralded the arrival of Justinian, looking to share his usual frugal lunch with his beloved wife. He put his hands on her shoulders, leaned down and kissed the top of her shining black hair. Come away, my love,
he said, It’s much too cold out here.
They both ate sparingly, and drank only a small amount of wine. His round peasant face was flushed and he was filled with energy. Only forty-five days since it was burned down, and the rebuilding of the Church of the Holy Wisdom has already begun,
he told her. Most of the rubble in the city has been cleared away. We are returning to normal.
He spooned up vegetable soup.
He had not, she saw, been shattered by the recent insurrection as she had been. Already his mind was focused on the future, a future he was certain of being able to direct and control. She cleared her throat and forced her voice to achieve a level tone.
Who has done the design?
she asked.
I am fortunate,
said Justinian, in having two men of genius to work on this project. Anthemius – he’s difficult, but brilliant – and Isidorus, who’s practical besides being extraordinarily inventive.
She frowned. Are they not university men? My sister used to have them to dinner.
Yes, they are. They both know mathematics, and physics, and engineering. But I’ve hired them as architects. They’re not afraid to try new things. This will be a building such as the world has never seen.
He took a bite of fresh bread with his strong white teeth. In a way, the destruction has served a good purpose. Constantinople can now be magnificently rebuilt.
She nodded, saying nothing. His enthusiasm had not kindled hers as it usually did. He put a large hand over her small one. You are very quiet, my love.
I am still … somewhat … staggered by what happened,
she said. It was so dreadful. I can’t believe that the people … that they … have come to hate us so much. We meant to do so much good, for the city, for the Empire …
Mistakes were made,
he said. And mobs have no judgement. They become animals, truly. The slaughter in the Hippodrome was drastic, but it was necessary, to restore order and retain the throne.
They were all traitors, weren’t they? Cheering the usurper! I fail to see how they could have dreamed of accepting Hypatius,
she said. A complete nonentity, and a coward to boot.
Well, he’s gone for ever, and so is Pompeius. Nothing more to fear from them. And now that we have stabilised society, we can continue to reign with assurance.
"Yes. But I feel that there is a wound in the civitas. She used the Latin term from St Augustine, rather than the Greek they usually spoke, like most of the population.
We have been sundered from our people. It is not good."
We will carry out our great projects. Then they will understand that we have their interests at heart.
Justinian. We have always striven for the greater good. That’s true, isn’t it? What did we do to deserve such … such …
You must look forward, my love. There is no use in looking back. There is much work to be done. It will heal,
he said, in time.
Theodora confided in Narses, as she so often did. The Emperor tells me we must look forward, and of course he is right. But I … I don’t know. I just feel … I need … Oh, I wish my mother was still alive! I need to talk to her.
Despite her effort to remain calm and controlled, two tears slipped down her cheeks.
Narses looked anguished, as always when she was miserable.
One has heard,
he offered, of an exceptional sibyl. It is reported that she has remarkable insights. Perhaps, Despoina, it might help to talk to her.
A fortune-teller, do you mean? The Empress of Byzantium can hardly consult a common gypsy!
More of a clairvoyant, and not a gypsy. One is told that she is of aristocratic descent. She is reported to have given many clients valuable advice.
She’ll recognise me at once, and then she’ll simply tell me whatever she thinks I wish to hear. And demand a fortune for doing so.
She will not recognise you, Despoina.
Even in a veil …
Despoina,
said Narses, she is blind.
Oh. Well, then … But she can’t be brought to the palace. And I can’t be seen to go to her … rooms. Everyone will …
I can arrange a neutral venue, and you can be discreetly transported to it,
said Narses.
Well … perhaps … What will you tell her? About me?
Merely that you are a lady of standing in society, who has a desire to consult her about the best route to the future.
Theodora sighed deeply. Very well, then. Arrange it. I’ll go.
Despoina,
said Narses, do not allow your ladies to apply your attar of roses. Nor any unguent containing myrrh. It will betray you as a very rich person. One would not want to provide clues.
Theodora walked alone through an archway into a small room that was shuttered against the daylight and peering eyes. An oil lamp made a dusty gold patch in the resultant gloom. The sibyl was seated at a round table, her hands folded on the linen cloth that covered it. She lifted her head with its braided crown of white hair and tilted it alertly.
Ah,
she said. Good day.
Such hearing she must have, thought Theodora. I have stepped very softly on thick carpet. Surely she could hear a canary breathe. There was the scent of incense in the air, and burning oil from the slightly smoky lamp.
Good day,
said Theodora. I give you no name. Call me Kyria. What should I call you?
I am Alicia, Kyria. You should please be seated, and give me your hands. That is how I work.
So I have been told,
said Theodora, doing as she was instructed, with some trepidation.
The woman’s touch was cool. The milky pearls that were her eyes seemed to be directed over Theodora’s shoulder, perceiving images invisible to ordinary sight. She turned Theodora’s hands palms up and moved her fingers across them, then gave a slight shiver.
Kyria, your life has been an extraordinary journey. A journey of extremes. You have experienced the heights and depths of fortune. Much travail and pain, and also great joy.
Theodora made an indeterminate sound, having decided not to offer responses that might provide clues to her real identity.
Then the woman said: Three. A number of supreme importance in your life. For instance … You are one of three.
Sisters,
said Theodora inadvertently.
Ah. Yes. One of three. Also … You have been … previously … possessed by three.
Three men, thought Theodora, but she did not assent. Before Justinian. Yes, three. The champion charioteer who had taken her virginity had never possessed her. But after that she had indeed been a courtesan, kept by three men in turn. Ummm,
she murmured.
Then there are three others who have recently been important in your life. In the position of … servants, perhaps? No, officials, I think.
Eudaemon, Tribonian and Cappadocian John, thought Theodora. All sacked at the demand of the rioting mob. What of them?
she asked.
One of them is treacherous. Powerful and treacherous. If you do not rid yourself of him soon, it will come to a showdown between the two of you.
Cappadocian John, thought Theodora immediately. He’s the one. And who will triumph?
she asked.
The one with the stronger will.
Oh, typical, thought Theodora. She’s just like the old gypsies who used to hang around the Hippodrome. She expresses her statements in such a way that she must be right, whatever happens.
He will do battle by devious and underhand means. You should be prepared.
I hear,
said Theodora. I’ll keep a close watch.
There was a pause.
Then the woman said: Why did you come to see me, Kyria? Everyone has a particular question in mind.
What about … children? What do you see?
She stroked the palms of Theodora’s upturned hands. Again, three … vaguely. But only one is clear.
Shall I have a son?
demanded Theodora, voicing her deepest desire.
The sibyl frowned. She took Theodora’s hands in a firm clasp. Kyria is strong, with vibrant life,
she said. I feel it … it is not too late. It is possible … possible … but it is not clear.
Oh, anyone could say it is possible,
said Theodora furiously. You’re just being vague and evasive. Tell me something that is not general knowledge, something you could not just guess.
The woman continued: Recently there has been great drama, and much blood. Yes, of course the entire city lived through this, I know it and you know it. But, Kyria, it has distressed you particularly. At the present time, you feel lost. Lost and … devastated. That is why, really, you have come to me.
Theodora struggled against tears. She said nothing, biting back a flood of words she was tempted to spill to a sympathetic ear. She swallowed. Yes,
she whispered. I didn’t realise … I didn’t mean …
Her words during the insurrection, aimed at strengthening the resolve of Justinian, counselling against flight, had not been intended to be transformed into swords that cut down thirty thousand men. Yet that had happened. And now she could not sleep. What can I do?
If there has been sin, let the heart repent. A broken and contrite heart, the Lord will not despise.
I didn’t … intend …
But what did you expect? asked her accusing conscience. You convinced the Emperor to take a stand, to put down the rebellion. How did you imagine he was going to do that? Without bloodshed? It was so … extreme,
she said, shivering at the dreadful image of the Hippodrome painted red with blood. She had not seen it, but the word had spread throughout the cowed and shattered city.
Whatever your transgressions, Kyria, the greatness of His compassion will blot them out.
Can it be so great?
whispered Theodora.
The greatness of His compassion knows no bounds. Only repent, and live to serve the Christ.
Wise words, thought Theodora, even if one did