The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora Read Online Free PDF

Antonina, ignoring the man. ‘Would your husband prefer meat to fish this evening, do you think?’
    Antonina smiled and played along, ‘Belisarius is fond of both fish and meat, though our fishermen have been landing abundant catches recently. Big, big catches.’
    The petitioner tried again, ‘Lady…’
    At this Sophia whistled softly and Theodora said, to no one in particular, ‘Yes, the last time we had lamb it seemed particularly lardy.’
    ‘Mistress.’ The patrician eventually forced himself to use the correct term and Theodora, looking at him properly for the first time, felt she recognised him.
    ‘Have we met?’
    ‘No, Mistress. If I could just explain my problem to you – I have come to a difficult…a problem, there is…’
    The man stopped as Theodora leaned forward, the chlamys dragging on her shoulders and neck as she moved.
    ‘I think we have met.’
    Theodora remembered a night, a lifetime earlier. Part of Menander’s company of girls, dancing for a group of wealthy men, a sumptuous dinner in a private house, her sister Anastasia grabbed by a man in the front row and pulled on to his lap. Theodora felt again her little sister’s fear, saw herself coming to Anastasia’s rescue, fighting off the man and then turning that fight into a joke, a comedy routine, saving the evening from ruin and earning a beating from Menander for her pains. Anastasia had died young and in childbirth, her memory was precious to Theodora, and if this fat man before her was not the patrician who had lunged at her sister, then he looked very like him. Which was enough.
    The patrician was still explaining his petition: ‘I have a hole, Mistress, in my finances. I made a loan, to a member of your own staff and I hope that the Palace might reimburse me? For a patrician to be in need reflects badly on Rome. I am not one of those,’ he waved at the group of widows standing to one side, ‘used to begging for my living. This hole…it is not right…’
    Theodora raised her hand and the man stopped, believing his case heard. She stood and Sophia leaned forward to enjoy what was coming. Antonina darted a look at Armeneus, who moved closer, his job always to tread the fine line between acknowledging his mistress’s status and reining her in when the famous temper looked as if it might get the better of her.
    Theodora stood a few paces from the patrician, a good head and a half shorter than him, impressive in her held anger. Small and fine, the wiry strength that had stood her in good stead when she had trained daily as an acrobat and a dancer was present now in her poise, her bearing.
    She smiled round at her women, at the staff attending them, the petitioners still waiting, and then, speaking quite deliberately, and slowly, she asked him, ‘A hole, you said?’
    The patrician was confused. ‘Yes, Mistress, a hole in my—’
    ‘You have come to the Imperial Palace to tell us you have a hole?’
    ‘Perhaps not exactly a hole…’
    He tried again, and was again silenced by Theodora simply lifting her forefinger.
    ‘We have seen widows begging for their children’s stomachs, refugees petitioning the generosity of Rome, and you mock these cases of genuine need by declaring your hole?’
    Her voice was still quiet, still low, but perfectly pitched so that everyone in the deep chamber heard each carefully articulated word.
    ‘I don’t…I’m not…’ he blustered.
    Now Theodora responded with a chant, repeating herself and gesturing for the ladies to accompany her, ‘Showing your hole in the Palace? Showing your hole?’
    It took no time for Antonina and Sophia to join in, half a moment more for Comito’s daughter Indaro, always a bright point in the Empress’s entourage, to take up the chant andturn it into a song. Even Theodora’s daughter, the shy Ana, quietly sang along. Armeneus sighed, well aware this story would be all over the City before nightfall and that the higher-ranking members of society needed no