Assuming that Macedonia would be given the use of a suite in the Imperial Palace in the capital, Theodora was taken aback when Justinian suggested that Macedonia join Theodora at Hieron. ‘You two have years of gossip to catch up on,’ he declared with a fond smile. ‘Living in the palace on her own, poor Macedonia would soon get bored, despite your no doubt frequent visits.’
Accordingly, after a formal reception for Macedonia followed by a grand dinner at the palace (a tinglingly polite affair), the two women were conveyed by litter and private ferry to Hieron. At last, after Macedonia had been introduced to the household, and the slaves had unpacked her luggage in her suite, she and Theodora found themselves alone — in the luxurious surroundings of the cubiculum or bedroom assigned to Macedonia. With the restraints imposed by the presence of others now removed, Theodora suddenly felt at a loss as to how to proceed.
‘Is everything to your liking?’ she asked her guest hesitantly.
Macedonia did not answer. Instead, she held out her arms and murmured softly, ‘Come.’
Her former resolution crumbling in an instant, Theodora flew into Macedonia’s embrace. Their mouths locked hungrily; then, with a tender urgency, they removed each other’s clothes and gazed in longing at one another’s naked bodies.
‘It’s been a long time, darling,’ said Macedonia, her eyes glowing with desire.
‘Too long,’ whispered Theodora, and traced her fingers across the other’s breasts. Shuddering with delight, Macedonia reciprocated the gesture, then, when both were fully aroused, led Theodora to the bed and lay on top of her, reversed, her mouth against her partner’s vulva. Theodora gasped in rapture as the other’s flickering tongue caressed her clitoris. Engulfed in waves of unimaginable pleasure, she performed the same service on her lover, both climaxing together with cries of ecstasy. Satiated and happy, they lay long in each other’s arms exchanging news and kisses, until at last sleep claimed them. .
Waking before dawn, Theodora slipped out of bed taking care not to wake her sleeping companion. Tormented with guilt, she forewent her usual early morning routine (breakfast in bed, bathing, making up her face and doing her hair with the help of several maids, dressing, choosing jewellery) and, clad in a simple tunic over which she threw a cloak, slipped out of the palace undetected and made her way to Hieron’s quayside. Here, she hired a boatman to ferry her across the Bosphorus to the Harbour of Phosphorion on the Golden Horn.
Last night had been a moment of madness, she told herself — wonderful, delicious madness; but it must not be repeated. She could not live with herself, she thought, unless she made a clean breast of her affair with Macedonia to Justinian. A keystone of their marriage had always been complete honesty. Surely he would understand and forgive, especially as sex had never been an important aspect of their relationship. On the other hand it was conceivable he might be outraged, even seek to divorce her. It was a risk she felt she had to take.
Entering the city via St Barbara’s Gate just as it was opening, she threaded the narrow lanes of the Fourth Region — already stirring into life as metal-workers, blacksmiths, carpenters and other craftsmen began to ply their trades, everywhere the clink of tools sounding from their workshops. Traversing the wide spaces of Region V with its granaries and oil stores, and the mouth-watering smell of new-baked bread wafting to her nostrils from the public bakeries, she crossed an invisible boundary into Region I — home of the court, the aristocracy, and the great offices of state. Not having risen so early for many years, she had forgotten just how beautiful Constantinople could appear at this hour, before the streets filled up with noisy crowds and vendors. Away to her right, the topmost tier of arches of the Aqueduct of Valens along with the statues atop the columns in the fora of Constantine and Theodosius, flamed in the dawn rays, while before her rose the shining marble walls of the Palace and the Hippodrome, overtopped by the towering elegance of Hagia Sophia.
‘Augusta,’ murmured the sleepy porter at the Chalke — the grand entrance to the Palace, clearly surprised to see the empress informally dressed and seeking admittance at such an early hour. After passing through the great bronze doors then negotiating the building’s labyrinth of corridors and walkways, she found Justinian — ‘the Sleepless One’, as he was known — at work already in his private study, surrounded by a clutter of codices and scrolls. An elegantly dressed and pleasant-faced man was seated at a desk beside the emperor’s. Both rose. Theodora’s heart began to race at the thought of what she was about to disclose to her husband.
‘My dear — what a delightful surprise!’ exclaimed Justinian, his expression welcoming. ‘This is Tribonian, the Empire’s most distinguished jurist.’ (The other man bowed, and gave a charming smile.) ‘He and I have started a tremendously important task, something that has never before been attempted — nothing less than a complete reform of Roman Law.’ Justinian’s voice was vibrant with excitement and enthusiasm. ‘Our Code will totally replace that of Theodosius II, now a century old, a mere mechanical compilation of imperial decrees. The new corpus will go far, far beyond that — a complete re-drafting, removing all uncertainties and contradictions in previous enactments, and scrapping irrelevant archaisms.’ He clapped Tribonian on the shoulder. ‘This paragon assures me that all will be complete in eighteen months.’* He shook his head in un-comprehending admiration. ‘Incredible. Now my dear, what was it that you wished to see me about?’
For once, Theodora’s courage failed her. Seeing her husband so happy and absorbed over a project that she knew had long been dear to his heart, she could not bear to spoil his mood. What she had to say would keep until a more appropriate occasion. ‘Oh, I just came here on a whim,’ she said lightly. ‘For some reason I couldn’t sleep, so I thought to see our city in its morning raiment. A little adventure, if you like.’
‘The vagaries of women,’ sighed Justinian to Tribonian, with a smile and a shrug of simulated helplessness. ‘You must be hungry, my dear,’ he said, turning back to Theodora. ‘Perhaps you’d like to order breakfast for us both — to be served in the garden where we used to hold our meetings.’
‘Oh my dear, I cannot tell you how relieved I am you did not tell him!’ Macedonia exclaimed, after Theodora had rejoined her later that day, and confessed what she had planned to do. ‘Not so much because it would have jeopardized our own relationship, but that it could have come between yourself and him. Men, far more than women, tend to be sensitive and insecure where their self-image is concerned. Most husbands, learning that their wives had done what we have, would — however irrationally — feel jealous and diminished. From what you tell me of Justinian, he may well be above such sentiments, but I would not like to bank on it.’
Taking Theodora’s hand, Macedonia looked imploringly into her eyes. ‘Darling, you do not have to choose between us. Your husband and I are not in competition for your love. I think it was a Chinese sage, one Kung Fu-tze,** who said that for a serene and happy life free of inner conflict, the wise person should keep the different aspects of his life in separate compartments. In former times, Greek women were free to love each other outwith marriage. Soon, my dear, I must return to Antioch; we may not meet again for many months. So let us take what joy of each other the Gods allow us, while we may.’
‘Very well, my love,’ said Theodora softly, slipping an arm around the other’s waist. ‘I’ll say nothing to Justinian. You have convinced me — almost — that keeping silence is the best and wisest course. Anyway, I don’t think I could bear to give you up.’ She laughed tremulously, and went on. ‘I shall do as you suggest, and put our love in a box marked ‘Macedonia’. It’ll be our special secret.’