Jack Ludlow - Triumph

‘Flavius, how good it is to see you.’

These words from Antonina, who had appeared in a ghost-like fashion from behind one of the great columns of St Sophia, who had found her husband in prayer. He was, as usual, asking that those for whom he cared, alive or dead, had the Lord’s blessing, a point he made to his wife when she was informed of his entreaties.

‘Am I included in such supplications?’

This was asked with that air of faux innocence that Antonina had ever been able to contrive and the look on her face was one that held no hint of guilt for what had happened, either in his trial or since.

‘Would you consider you deserve to be?’ he replied, getting up from his knees.

‘I would hope that you think of me kindly. I am after all your wedded wife.’

‘And an example to all in the depth of your attachment.’

Intended to dent her carapace it failed utterly, as does water off the back of a duck, which reminded Flavius that he was, in many ways, no match for her, the fact of that reinforced by what came next.

‘I was much distressed by what happened to you.’

‘And so quick to show sympathy. I am touched.’

‘In fact,’ she continued as if he had not spoken, ‘I was saying to the Empress that I reckoned your punishment to be too harsh.’

‘I am sure she was moved by your opinion.’

‘Theodora takes heed of what I say. I have told her you would readily seek her forgiveness.’

Her sudden appearance was suspicious in itself, after many months in which she had been distant. But Flavius had now become so inured to monarchical manoeuvring that he felt he could discern the undercurrent of what was happening.

‘She has nothing to forgive me for.’

The response came with something close to a sneer. ‘It is a poor sinner who prays yet cannot see his faults.’

‘Why are you here, Antonina?’

‘In church? What an odd question.’

That failed to satisfy; he knew from long past that while she paid lip service to religion and could be called upon for a bit of chest beating if there was an audience to impress, her faith did not run deep. She was wedded to earthbound power not the celestial.

‘I have thought about you a great deal since …’ That got a pulled and anxious expression; she did not want to refer to his downfall too openly. ‘Your difficulty. I have racked my mind to find ways to help you.’

‘Don’t tell me. You have pleaded with Theodora to meet with me.’

The eyes shot wide. ‘How did you know?’

‘I decided, since I had nothing else to occupy me, to study how to be a courtier in this sin pit of a palace, a place in which you seem so much at home.’

That finally got through her defences. ‘You have no idea of the effort I have put in to intercede on your behalf.’

‘No, I have not,’ was the mordant reply.

‘And after much begging I have got Theodora to agree to meet with you.’

‘How kind.’

‘Indeed, if you were to accompany me now, she is alone in her apartments and I know, if I ask, she will receive you into her presence.’

He wanted to refuse, to tell his wife and through her Theodora, to go to perdition, but against that was his present state of limbo, which was driving Flavius mad. Also, he had to believe that this was in truth a summons and that meant there had to be a reason behind it. Was his pariah status about to be withdrawn?

‘I can hardly wait,’ he said, indicating that she should lead the way.

That did not encompass a far journey; St Sophia was attached to the imperial palace by a private passageway and soon Flavius found himself in the presence of Theodora, alone as had been promised.

‘Highness,’ he said with a bow.

‘Do I observe humility, Flavius?’

‘Who could not be humble in the presence of such prominence and piety?’

The look that got, for she could see the barb, was one that indicated he could still irritate her and easily, which pleased him. More important was the fact of her muted reaction; there was promise here and if he had prayed for the souls of others in church, he now uttered a silent one for himself.

What was Theodora really saying when she claimed that the pleading of Antonina had led to a softening of the imperial position? That due to such intercession and her own application to Justinian, who, rumour had it was now recovered, had it in mind to end his present isolation and reinstate him in imperial favour. If anything underlined the falsity of that senatorial judgement it was this: the notion that on a whim any verdict arrived at could be overturned, though that hardly came as a surprise since the charges, wholly specious, had been inspired from the same source.

There was one obvious undercurrent: any relaxation would only be considered and maintained if he showed a true appreciation of the manifest attributes of his wife. Tempted to list them as disloyalty, deceit and infidelity, added to a conceit that allowed for no self-appraisal, Flavius held his tongue and if part of him knew that to be craven he sensed he was close to a prize worth his silence.

‘In order that you know I bear you no ill will, and in appreciation of my good friend your wife, I have agreed that your daughter Ioannina should be betrothed to a member of the imperial family.’

That caused Flavius to look at Antonina; Theodora was talking of a girl he had barely seen since birth, both through being away at war and his marital estrangement. It made him feel ashamed that he had no real knowledge of her and given his wife looked so pleased by the pronouncement all he could do was offer a feeble thanks.

‘My husband has demanded to see you.’

‘I am, as always, his to entirely command.’

Despite the sincerity with which that was imparted, Theodora could not help but look at him with suspicion to see if he was once more mocking her.

‘I would point out to you, Flavius, that whatever privileges you allotted to yourself previously when addressing the Emperor no longer hold. He will talk, you will listen and if you speak, confine yourself to the mere answering of his enquiries.’

‘And when am I to attend upon him?’

‘You may wait outside his private chamber and you will be summoned.’

It pleased Flavius that Justinian did not intend to haul him before an open meeting of his counsel in the audience chamber. This would, he was sure, have led to a humiliating listing of his supposed crimes, just so the Emperor could then appear wise, benign and merciful. Much of such gatherings were constrained by ritual and theatricality as the Emperor sought to demonstrate his sagacity, this while being fawned on by people who privately, if the rumours were true, thought him of little worth.

Attendance had been blessedly rare, Flavius being too often on campaign to be included in meetings in which too little was ever resolved and time was wasted by the courtiers in making statements, either self-aggrandising or in defamation of their rivals. The only joy was when two men in conflict for some well remunerated service were simultaneously present; neither could be open in either ambition or condemnation and for an uninvolved observer their manoeuvrings and sophistries had some value as entertainment.

The anteroom, apart from the two Excubitors guarding the inner chambers, was empty. It was also lacking in anywhere to sit, which obliged Flavius to pace back and forth, the only interruption being when the door was opened to allow one of Justinian’s more intimate advisors to depart. Finally the magister officiorum exited, to favour Flavius with a surprised look. Moments after his departure a servant emerged to beckon him in, staying without himself.

The interior was lit by dozens of candles and if the room had windows they were so heavily draped as to be of no account. Was the form of light to flatter a man who wished to disguise the ravages of both his recent disease and increasing age? The way Justinian was pacing back and forth, very few steps back and forth at a hurried pace, took Flavius back to a time when both were young; even then he had been a restless soul who gave the impression of a mind in permanent turmoil.