‘In my dreams I still see that helmet on the cliff!’ he cried, ‘ — still hear Atawulf ’s despairing calls for help, still see my dearest friend Valerian spitted by a Galla spear, still feel the blow I inflicted on myself in the Cistern of Nomus. Look — I yet bear the mark!’ And he pointed to a faint, star-shaped scar on his forehead. ‘The truth is, Theodora, I’m bad for those I allow to become close to me.’ He shot Theodora an anguished glance. ‘I’ll probably turn out to be bad for you as well — something I would not have happen for the world. Perhaps it’s best we don’t see each other any more.’
Instinctively, Theodora rushed over to him, took him in her arms. She felt an overwhelming surge of pity and affection. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she murmured, cradling his head against her breast, ‘there’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be put right. I think I understand what the root of your problem is. In the past, you’ve seen yourself — as many Romans think they ought to see themselves — as a man of Mars: strong, courageous, displaying active leadership. But perhaps you’re not a man of action,’ she continued gently. ‘And there’s no shame in admitting that. Inspiring and directing men need not consist in leading from the front. Let others do that for you. Don’t you think that that’s where your true genius may lie, Justinian — in choosing the right men to carry out your plans?’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ breathed the other, wonderingly. He paused, then went on, ‘Yes — I believe you are right. Why could I not have seen that for myself?’
‘Sometimes it takes another to see in us what we can’t ourselves perceive. Isn’t there a verse in Scripture somewhere about motes and beams?’
‘“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”’ quoted Justinian with a smile. ‘Luke 6, verse 41.’
From that moment Justinian’s mind began to heal. Freed from the burden of past guilt, he began to form plans — schemes that suddenly now blossomed (from what had previously been vague aspirations) into designs for ambitious projects. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he found himself eagerly discussing these with Theodora: reform of Roman Law; great buildings which would incorporate exciting new design ideas, enabling, for example, the construction of stupendous domes of a size never before conceived; and — something he had hardly yet dared to think about, so mind-blowing in its boldness was the concept — the recovery of the Western Empire from the barbarians who had overrun it. ‘Together, we shall make Rome greater than she’s ever been before,’ he enthused.
‘Together?’ Theodora smiled indulgently. ‘You flatter me, Justinian. You make us sound like partners.’
A silence followed, a silence in which both came to realize that an invisible boundary had somehow been crossed. ‘We could be partners, Theodora,’ Justinian said at last. ‘In every way.’ He smiled gravely. ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you, you know — something I’ve never felt before for any woman. Theodora — I’m asking if you’ll marry me.’
Theodora’s mind reeled as she tried to analyze her reactions. She liked Justinian enormously, and, as a result of helping to restore him to himself, felt (mingled with a Pygmalion-like concern for her ‘creation’) a fierce protectiveness towards him that was almost maternal in its tenderness. But did this amount to love? She thought perhaps it did — a kind of loving, anyway. But, admittedly, as different from the love she had for Macedonia as a quiet stream is from a raging flood. To become the wife of Justinian! — that opened up unimagined possibilities. After Hecebolus, she had promised herself that never again would she become dependent on a man. But to the spouse of the emperor-designate that condition scarcely applied. She herself would hold patrician rank, and thus be entitled to a palace and income of her own, in perpetuity. However, since Macedonia had shown Theodora her true nature to herself, would she not be living a lie if she married? Whatever she decided, nothing would be gained, she told herself, by being anything but honest with this fine, good man.
And there were considerations beyond the strictly personal to be taken into account — factors which seemed to tilt the scales in favour of accepting Justinian’s proposal. Her efforts to alleviate the plight of prostitutes would be immeasurably strengthened. Why limit that to prostitutes? The status of all women throughout the Roman world was circumscribed by laws which favoured men. As Justinian’s consort, she would be in a position to change that for the better. Then there was her family — her two sisters and her mother; at a stroke, their lives could be lifted out of poverty into security and comfort. And what about the Monophysites, especially her dear friends Timothy and Severus, at present suffering under unjust persecution? She had made a good beginning there, in getting Justinian to see the benefits of toleration. But think how much more she could achieve, as his wife.
‘May I dare to hope?’ asked Justinian softly, with a gentle smile.
‘I must be frank with you, my dear,’ replied Theodora, taking him by the hand and looking fondly into his face. ‘I cannot love you in the way that is usual between a woman and a man, for such is not my nature. But I love you, or at least I think I do, in the sense that Plato means when he says, “The true lover loves the beauty of the soul rather than the beauty of the body”. If you can accept me on those terms, Justinian, then I will gladly marry you.’
Was it relief that she saw in his eyes — relief that was more than the joy of the accepted suitor, hinting that his love for her was of the same kind that she felt for him? If so, theirs should be a happy union indeed, their kind of love the strongest bond of all — agap, the pure love that blossoms between soul-mates.
During the weeks when she was getting to know Justinian, one incident occurred which marred, momentarily, Theodora’s serenity of mood.
Reporting one day for her regular meeting in the palace, she found, instead of Justinian, a smooth and self-possessed young man who introduced himself as, ‘Procopius of Caesarea, lawyer, man of letters, and world-citizen.’ Today, he explained, Justinian was unable to be present and had asked Procopius to take his place. They were to discuss the business of compensation for brothel-owners, in the event of legislation being passed that would outlaw prostitution.
‘I have here a list of samples, taken from every province in the Empire, of the various rates paid for girls by brothel-owners. As you will see when you peruse it, they vary widely. The best solution is to work out a mean rate as the basis for a standard payment, one that will satisfy all brothel-owners.’
At the conclusion of the session (with the task barely half-completed) after tying up his codices, Procopius seemed inclined to linger. ‘If you’re hoping to become his mistress,’ he said with a conniving wink, ‘then you’re in for a long wait. Justinian’s a cold fish. He wouldn’t be interested, even if you offered it to him on a plate.’
‘The thought never occurred to me,’ replied Theodora icily. ‘You’ve got a filthy mind, Procopius. I think you’d better go.’
‘Come on, don’t give me that,’ sneered the other. ‘I know your sort, Theodora. Proper little prick-teaser, aren’t you? Don’t imagine I haven’t heard that you once trod the boards. Everyone knows that actresses are always ready to turn a trick. Well, let me enlighten you, my dear. You’re wasting your time where Justinian’s concerned. Instead, why not share my bed? You’re quite a looker, I’ll give you that. I’d pay good money.’