Mary Reed - Two for Joy

John did not reply, contemplating Philo’s insight, but his old tutor, as usual, quickly filled the silence.

“I cannot help seeing the irony in this terrible tale, John. It’s well-known that eunuchs are valued precisely because their lack of family insures their loyalty to their masters, yet you say you have a daughter…”

“I will not speak further of my past.” John’s voice was colder than the breeze wandering through the garden.

Philo apologized for his tactlessness. “You say you departed the Academy because of my advice?” he continued thoughtfully. “If so, I feel a great deal of responsibility for the tragedy that befell you.”

“You did not wield the blade. It was not your fault. Nor, for that matter, was it mine, either for taking your advice or losing my way in a foreign land. The fault lies solely in the hearts of those who would take from a man everything he is for the sake of getting a few more coins for him when they sell him into slavery.”

“But are you not surrounded by such heartless men in this very city? Even if they do not trade in human flesh, still…you even serve beside them at court.”

“Your old student may not have approved, Philo. But remember, that impetuous youth died long ago.”

An hour or two before the banquet, Anatolius stopped by the palace office where he spent most of his work days. He was surprised to find Empress Theodora glancing through the correspondence piled on the plain wooden desk.

He stood quietly just inside the doorway. If he did not know Theodora he might have mistaken her for one of Isis’ girls playing the part of an empress. Caught unaware, she was simply a short, attractive woman, her complexion carefully lightened by chalk, her deep set eyes accentuated by artful application of kohl, as if she depended upon enticement to work her will, rather than command. Surely the smooth pearls glistening along the edge of her mantle must be milky glass droplets, the brooches pinning her elaborately draped silk robes more common stones cleverly aping emeralds.

Yes, he thought as Theodora looked up from the untidy pile of letters and fixed him with a cold gaze like an adder’s, it would be an extremely easy mistake to make. And a fatal one.

“The emperor will not be needing your assistance today,” Theodora began. “I am here to retrieve your draft of his reply to the bishop of Antioch but it does not seem to be among these documents.”

Anatolius did not tell her he had not been expected, having been excused from his duties on account of the banquet. “I do not recall seeing that, highness, but I have some copying to do today, so if I discover it I will have it carried to Justinian immediately. I trust the emperor is well?”

“Do not concern yourself. The emperor isn’t ill. He is engaged in composing a theological treatise seeking to reconcile these Michaelites’ curious beliefs with more orthodox views.” Theodora’s lovely mouth curled into a sickle of a smile. “A difficult exercise, I would imagine.”

And one with which she would have no sympathy whatsoever, thought Anatolius, for she was a well-known champion of the Monophysites, despite the fact that their theology was also less than orthodox.

“A challenge worthy of our beloved emperor’s wisdom,” he replied tactfully. “It is far better to reconcile our philosophies than to shed blood. The pen can defeat the sword if wielded with sufficient skill.”

“Now you declaim like the emperor.” Theodora’s smile turned into a small grimace of disappointment. She moved away from the desk and Anatolius found himself enveloped in her scent, so like a summer garden after rain, the smell of musky blossoms and damp earth. “And indeed I confess that it is a statement I could almost wish to see tested on the floor of the Hippodrome, kalamos against spatha.”

Anatolius tried to suppress a shudder. Even the most extravagant whims of the imperial couple had a nasty way of becoming reality.

Theodora laughed and lowered her darkened eyelids. “Don’t worry, Anatolius. I would not want to see those black rebellious curls matted with dust and blood.”

She reached out and touched his hair. Anatolius could not be certain whether the ice he felt brush his temple was one of the empress’ rings or her flesh.

“I appreciate your…uh…kind thought, highness,” he stammered.

Theodora gave a girlish laugh. “And now, tell me, where is my poem, Anatolius? I have been waiting.”

With panic the young man recalled the scurrilous verse which had so alarmed his father. “Your poem?”

“Why do you look so surprised? Every lady at court has had a verse, and not a few of the servants as well by all I hear. Have you then nothing left for your empress?”

Anatolius’ relief was short-lived. Theodora took another step toward him, bringing her near enough so he could feel the warmth of her breath, faintly fragrant with some spice exotic beyond his experience and certainly one not to be found in the public markets or even at the table of a senator. She was wearing a heavy gold necklace, a chain of interlocking dolphins. Were those kindly sea creatures not said to bring good fortune? Perhaps not for him, not under these circumstances. He stared at the faint pulse in her slim white neck.

“If it is the wish of the empress I would welcome the opportunity to compose a panegyric.”

“A panegyric? They are for emperors and architecture. I would prefer a love poem,” she pouted.

“As you command, highness.”

“And not about the empress bare either.”

Anatolius tried to reply but could not. He half expected the tread of military boots in the hallway and the prod of iron between his shoulder blades announcing he was to be hauled off to the dungeons.

But Theodora just laughed again. Not a girlish laugh this time but the coarse sort of guffaw sometimes heard emanating from behind closed doors at Isis’ house.

“Oh, don’t worry, I quite enjoyed your little verse. But your evocation of my talents left something to be desired. Perhaps your sensibilities are much too delicate, Anatolius. But a pretty love poem, that’s what I’ll have from you.”

Her slightly upturned face was near to his. He knew he must back away from her. Were Justinian to arrive at the door there would be no time for explanation. But he could not force himself to move, even though his heart pounded with fear.

“It is indeed a pity,” she whispered, her piquant breath hot against his face, “that you are presently spoken for. I am sorely tempted to inform the lady’s husband and claim you for myself.”

Anatolius stared at her lips, stained fashionably red, the furtive movements of her tongue visible behind dainty teeth. Then she leaned forward and her lips touched his so lightly he would wonder afterwards if he had only imagined it. Before he could respond she was turning away towards the door.

“The poem, dear Anatolius,” she said, firmly. “You won’t forget, will you?”

He was left alone with the wraith of her perfume.

In a daze, he moved to the cluttered desk where he would sit writing as Justinian restlessly paced the small room, dictating letters carried by imperial couriers to all corners of the empire. Clearly the empress was playing with him. But to what end? Had his verse angered her so much? Was he to be made to suffer before his inevitable demise? Or did she have some other purpose?

He forced himself to look quickly through the correspondence on his desk. Her scent seemed to cling to him, reminding him that it was everywhere rumored that the empress’ lovers were often of a much lower class than a senator’s son. But a senator’s son…

Immediately Anatolius was horrified that he could even allow himself such speculation. Perhaps it would be safer were he, like John, beyond such unthinkable folly. He became aware of the sour odor of his sweat.