with the architect and the engineer, who created a plan that called for five cupolas, one on each of four arms of a cross design and a huge one over the central nave. She met daily with her steward, who turned out to be very efficient.
“Capable of precision,” said Narses approvingly.
“Ooooo, very good-looking,” said Chrysomallo. “Almost as handsome as Belisarius. Nice change from all those refugees. They stink, Theodora.”
Theodora frowned. “Kindly do not distract him. He has a great deal of work to do, and I depend on him.”
It was a time not only of reconstruction, but also for reconciliation. “We must try,” said Theodora, “to effect reconciliation in the Church. The truth is, the persecution of the Monophysites has not succeeded in forcing them to accept the Chalcedonian creed.”
“No, it hasn’t,” conceded Justinian. “All it has done is to cause suffering and loss of lives. It would be a great achievement to bring about a formula concordiae.”
“Enormous,” said Theodora. “I think there’s a terrible failure in communication at the root of the battle. Each side ascribes the most extreme heretical view to the other group, and both of them twist the statements of the opposition.”
“True,” said Justinian. “For example, it doesn’t seem to me that Monophysites actually believe that the single divine nature in Christ took the place of his rational human soul, do they?”
“No, no, we certainly don’t think that,” said Theodora.
“On the other hand, it is also not true,” went on Justinian, “that the Dyophysite view emphasises his humanity at the expense of his divinity.”
“I’m willing to accept that,” said Theodora. “You know, I live with an awareness of injustice. Everyone knows I hold Monophysite views, but due to my position, I don’t suffer the persecution that others do. It doesn’t seem right.”
“You aren’t the sole exception. Many powerful Monophysites escape punishment.”
“Not to mention the whole of Egypt being exempt because of the crucial importance of the grain supply. I saw that when I was in Alexandria, the city was full of refugees. But still …”
“I think our people realise that the persecution is primarily driven by the Orthodox churchmen themselves. My own view is, reconciliation should be possible, and it’s greatly to be desired. We should arrange a conference.”
“Then why don’t we invite two deputations? Six delegates representing each view,” suggested Theodora. “A manageable number. I’ll write to the Reverend Mother Sophia, she’ll recommend the right Chalcedonians.”
“Have you maintained contact with her?”
“She writes once a year at least,” said Theodora. “When she told me that I should aim for a better life, I imagine she didn’t quite expect that I would gain the throne of Byzantium. Just didn’t want me to return to the stage. She still addresses me as ‘my child’.”
“Very well, then. Two deputations. Let them confer in Constantinople in the summer,” said Justinian.
So, in the summer of 532 six Dyophysite and six Monophysite church leaders met in the capital of Byzantium to address yet again the opposing conceptions of the nature of Christ. Theodora welcomed them graciously. They were not, however, able to reach a satisfactory conclusion in a short period of time.
“Hardly surprising,” said Justinian, “when you think that the Church has been debating the nature of Christ for centuries.”
“But we must not give up,” said Theodora.
“We won’t,” Justinian assured her. He reached for her hand and held it as if sealing a pact. “We are both strong in will, and when we act together, we exercise great influence.”
“We do, my love,” said Theodora, smiling at him, and returning his firm grip.
“Let them continue to debate,” said Justinian. “Meanwhile, I shall give orders: no more persecution.”
Now, thought Theodora, now would be a perfect time for her to fall pregnant. After all, the sibyl had said it was possible. She should be carrying the heir to the throne of Byzantium. It would be a symbol of renewal, a pledge to the people, the promise of a continuing, legitimate line: a direct descendant of the ruling emperor. Although she had her own quarters in the Daphne Palace, with her own retinue (indeed, her own court), while Justinian slept in state in the Sacred Cubicle in the Sacred Palace behind a purple veil, they still spent three nights a week together in the Sigma section of the Imperial Palace. There they shared a small suite of rooms that, unlike most of the spaces in the palace complex, had not been designed with the aim of overawing visitors with the splendour and riches of the Byzantine court; these rooms created instead a habitation of human scope, offering the comfort of intimate domesticity.
It was a refuge for them both from the endless ceremony and pressure of the court. Only a small, hand-picked coterie of persons served them there, each one absolutely dependable, deft and discreet. The usual fluttering crowd of ladies-in-waiting and the horde of attendants, each with a resounding title (even Master of the Royal Chamber Pot), knew they would not be required. No senators, officials, courtiers, or supplicants for positions or favours would be allowed in.
Justinian and Theodora would often linger over their light supper of fruit and fish, telling each other what they had been doing, discussing and debating, analysing and planning. Their conversations might be roundly argumentative, or loving and intimate, or philosophical, ranging across the wide expanses of their empire and backward and forward through centuries experienced and yet to come.
Their staff knew that they should not hover too long, that dishes should be cleared away with dispatch, that the silken covers on the plump bed should be turned back smartly, that the Emperor would himself blow out the last candles on the dinner table and lead his lady into the bedroom where small lamps created a magical golden circle and they were welcomed by warm air scented with the sweetness of myrrh. The Excubitor Guards responsible for the safety of the royal couple knew that they should herd out every last eunuch and slave, and take up their stations outside the tall, carved doors that closed behind the Despotes and the Despoina with the solid clunk and click of beautifully hand-tooled wood and bronze fittings.
Since on these specific nights, the Despotes and the Despoina wanted to be alone. Alone together.
At this time, Theodora did not share with Justinian her renewed desire for a child. For long enough this consuming need had dominated their love-making, eventually causing so much disappointment, frustration, tension and anger that she had sometimes feared it might sunder the powerful bond that sustained their marriage. No, she was determined to say nothing to rake up that old hurt. Justinian had been deeply injured by the insurrection, she knew. He needed his wife to be loving and receptive, responsive to him as a man, not as a prospective father. He needed no reminder of impotence. But she could still nurture an unspoken hope.
Alone in their shared bedroom, they could put off all the pomp and protocol that determined every action outside that circumscribed sanctuary. They could disrobe, removing layer by layer their imperial identities. Justinian cast off his clothing faster than she did, turning eagerly to help his small wife emerge from her last undergarments until the two of them stood naked, face to face, simply a man and a woman, still delighting in each other after seven years of marriage. He, by far the taller, had retained the
