‘The burdens-’
‘Please, Flavius,’ she snapped, albeit gently. ‘Allow that I know you too well for that old saw.’
‘I have extra concerns that weigh upon me.’
Her pressure on his arm was enough to move them on, and fortunately it broke eye contact. ‘And they are?’
‘Do you really want to share my worries?’
‘I cannot see they can be so different from those I have shared with you before?’
Antonina said this in a confident tone and indeed it was true. How many times had he discussed matters that pressed on his mind, propped up on pillows of their bed while she prepared and applied her treatments? Then there were the post-coital intimacies, which strayed often into a discussion of personalities. How many times had his words and digs at Justinian been transcribed afterwards in letters to Theodora? It was as well Antonina was not looking at him as that thought occurred for his face, crumpled, would have given him away.
‘So are you going to tell me?’ she asked as her maid came forward to help her undress.
Was it the light from the oil lamps casting shadows or was he looking at her for the first time? She was still beautiful, but right now he could see lines that had not been visible to him before, the crow’s feet around the eyes, the slight slacking of the jawline, a depth of crease where her cheeks met her nose and mouth.
‘Leave us!’ he barked, startling a maid to whom he was ever considerate.
The look he got from his wife as the girl fled was not allowed to last more than a blink. Flavius had hold of her shoulders and was soon ripping at what garments were left, before he pushed her so the knees hit the edge of the bed, knocking her back. Then he was on top of her, scrabbling at his own clothing before roughly entering her.
If the coarse act of lovemaking that followed — could it be called that being so fuelled by fury — was some satisfaction to him, the gurgling laugh from beneath him was a clear indication of the pleasure his wife was taking in this unusual behaviour. Sated he rolled away, only to hear her whisper.
‘My Flavius, I enjoyed that.’
The fine cloth screen that covered the open embrasures might keep out flying insects but it did let in a bit of breeze and a modicum of light, enough to show the outline of Antonina’s face. It was so easy to allow sadness to overwhelm him at such a time and in such a place, where the only distractions to disturb his thinking seemed to be the distant sounds of guards being changed.
No matter how much he thought on the problem, no matter how many conversations he imagined having with Antonina, no solution presented itself to what was an intractable problem. Accuse her and she would deny it, he was sure. Present her with evidence and that might turn a person meeting the demands of a friend — he had to believe Theodora had applied pressure — into an antagonist and he had enough enemies right now to think it unwise to add another.
He would take refuge in silence, though Flavius was not fool enough to think that would be easy. From this moment on, and for how long he did not know, his personal life would be an act and that was a skill at which he was not adept. He would have to learn to smile when he was unhappy, agree when he wanted to dispute, slither round subjects rather than deal with them and act as lustily as a husband should in the bedchamber.
Would Antonina perceive the change? He had to believe so. If she challenged him, that might mean his previous excuse of naïvety for her actions might be true, but if she accepted the way he had changed did that mean guilt? Sick of his endless and formless rambling peregrinations he left the bed, threw on a loose gown and went to his place of work, to find on his desk and at the top of the pile a series of letters.
The hand was that of Procopius, the words only too recognisably those of Antonina; gossipy, sentences badly formed in a way that his secretary must have winced at, misspellings abounding. Observing those was mere distraction and he had to concentrate on the contents which were damning. Flavius said this, my husband thinks that, none of it flattering to Justinian but even more critical of Theodora’s influence on imperial policy. Nowhere did it mention he thought her braver than her spouse!
Had Theodora passed these on to Justinian? Why ask for reports if they were not to be used to bolster her own position? Flavius doubted if the Emperor would be much thrown by the description of him as an untrustworthy schemer; if anything that would bring a smile to his lips. What about his sexual preferences, openly discussed with a woman who had, Flavius had always suspected, shared in some of them.
Bed-delivered sallies meant for laughter looked very different on the page. They were not jokes but words that diminished the person referred to. He and Antonina had related to each other anecdotes about Theodora as well. In these copies only his comments appeared, underscored as if to convey shock.
Flavius Belisarius pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes. The despair he was assailed by seemed to match that he had experienced when he had seen his family mutilated and dead, their open eyes staring to an unresponsive heaven as if they had been asking how this fate could have been visited upon them by a deity they worshipped.
‘General.’
Looking up, Flavius saw Procopius standing in the doorway and he looked abashed, as if he was trying to share in his employer’s misery. The hand that waved across the now scattered letters said it all, there was no need to comment but Procopius did so anyway.
‘I regret that I did not bring this to your attention earlier, General.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I feared to hurt you.’
‘Hurt is not a word of enough force to describe it. What plagues me now is how I deal with it.’
‘I cannot stop you confronting your wife with what you have read, but I can say it means that I could no longer serve you.’
‘I have to admit that did not occur to me.’
‘Untenable, I think.’ That got a weary nod. ‘What do you wish me to do?’
The reply was some time in coming, but when it did it was firm. ‘Put these away somewhere safe. I may need them in the future, though it pains me to think like that.’
‘And me?’
‘I have forfeited any trust I have in my wife, Procopius. To lose you as well would not help me bear that cross.’
‘Then I have another painful duty to perform.’
‘Spare me, man,’ Flavius pleaded.
‘General, I dare not and please do not think I derive either pleasure or comfort for things that I am required to reveal that distress you. You are aware that the Lady Belisarius often entertains the officers of your comitatus?’
Sure he knew what was coming Flavius threw his face into his hands and groaned. ‘Who?’
‘Theodosius visits her when you are fully occupied. Only her maid knows of it.’
His own godson, the offspring of one of his bucellarii officers and a person he and Antonina had adopted, his frequent presence in their personal apartments was not something to remark upon; he was family.
‘And I do not, do I,’ Flavius moaned, ‘the fool that I am.’
It hurt to admit to himself that such a statement was not strictly true; if he had never seen evidence of adultery Flavius had often wondered if it might be happening. Had he not thought on Antonina’s past on more than one occasion, would he have seen the facts if he had looked closely enough?
As a man who felt that he had suffered many setbacks in his life — though he admitted to good fortune too — Flavius knew he could not give way to despair. If what he had been told was a weight on his mind it was one he would have to carry. Life might get very difficult from now on, but it would persist and all he could do was to silently pray to God to provide him with the strength to bear it and the Christian will to forgive.
‘I must go back and talk with my wife.’ Seeing alarm on the face of Procopius he took a bit of delight in delaying the need to allay his fears; why should he not suffer some discomfort too? ‘Do not worry, what you have told me remains a secret, though I will ensure that Theodosius is moved to where he can cause me no more grief.’