Theodora. The Justinian Wars

By Andrew Muir

When Rome fell in 473AD, Constantinople became the capital of the remnants of the Roman Empire. Virtually every province west of Greece had fallen to the Goths or barbarians and in north Africa to the Visigoths. This historical novel tells the story of Theodora, one time actress or vedette who became the wife of Flavius Justinian, four years before he became Emperor Justinian. -- Theodora so impressed Justinian with her political expertise that he took the unprecedented step of allowing her to rule by his side as Empress. Together they began the task of restoring the Roman Empire to its former glory, reclaiming lands lost fifty years earlier. During the infamous Nikka riots, when Justinian was preparing to flee for his life, Theodora showed her courage, leadership and determination when she vowed to stay. She inspired her entourage with a rousing speech and commanded the young General Belisarius to attack and eliminate the mob which was occupying the stadium, which he did with devastating efficiency. Thereafter, Justinian devoted himself to codifying the law and rebuilding the city and its palaces and churches which had been destroyed by the riots, leaving Theodora and Belisarius to reconquer the lands which had made up the R

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mondial
• Release date: Jul 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781595692511

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Imperial Palace, Constantinople, 519 AD

On a still autumn evening the Emperor Justin lowered himself gratefully into the steaming water of his bath, hoping to alleviate some of the aches and pains which lately seemed to plague him. He was sixty nine years old, and for the last fifty or so years had served in the Roman Army. For every battle - won or lost - he had collected a scar as a souvenir of the occasion. He stretched his back and legs to their fullest extent, groaning half in pain and half in pleasure as he submerged his body in the hot water, rendered milky and opaque by the chalky white marble of the tub.

He examined himself critically. Generally he was proud of his lean and muscled physique, but was starting to feel the passage of years and wondered if perhaps the corded muscles of his legs might in fact be considered stringy. Years of living in heavy armour had taken their toll on his robust frame and he was beginning to feel a certain stiffness in the mornings. He reflected sadly that even Emperors and generals got old – at least the lucky ones did. More fortunate than many of his comrades, he considered himself lucky to be alive today to celebrate his sixty ninth birthday. His nephew, Justinian, was expected to join him for a celebratory dinner. A slight noise interrupted his reverie, and, still the alert warrior, he instantly opened his eyes to see his wife Euphemia walking towards him. Though an imposing woman, her bearing was not as regal nor as courtly as one would expect from an Emperor's wife. She was ten years younger than her spouse and her bearing was more reminiscent of an even younger woman used to carrying heavy loads - of washing or half grown children.

How's the water? she asked shall I bring you some more hot?

No it’s fine thank you, my love, it's still warm. He smiled up at her fondly I'm indulging myself, relaxing and thinking of the old days. Come and sit by me and talk for a few minutes.

As she sat on a low stool at the edge of the bath, he noted that she too was showing some signs of the passing years, a dusty cast to her hair, where a few grey hairs had appeared among the blue black waves and a thickening of her once slender waist, but she was still a handsome woman with very few lines and wrinkles marking her face in spite of the difficulties she had endured in her early life. The years of good living in the Palace had done much to repair the ravages of her early years and help preserve her looks.

He continued looking up at her and sighed.

Perhaps I shouldn’t dwell on the past, we must enjoy the present – who knows how much more of it there will be.

That sounds a bit depressing. For the love of God, Justin dear, don’t go philosophical on me - and don't spend too long in there, you'll catch a chill. I'll go and fetch some hot towels, now get a move on, my lord and emperor, I'll be back shortly - and I hope you’re ready for your massage.

In reply, he flicked water at her and she smiled back over her shoulder at him as she left the room. Their subjects, the citizens of Constantinople, would have been astonished to see Euphemia serving her husband like a handmaiden, but although there were literally dozens of slaves and servants to do the menial domestic work, she was much more comfortable caring for her husband herself. She was not accustomed to command and preferred to continue to do what she had always done, if anyone offered help she smiled, thanked them and continued as before.

He sank back into the cooling water and remembered the day, more than thirty years ago, when he had first met the woman who was as necessary to him as breathing. That had been in the autumn too, he recalled. One of his junior officers had come to him for help over some trouble involving a gambling debt. The embarrassed youngster apologised profusely, and explained that he needed money to settle the debt and please could Justin help him out. He didn’t want a loan, but he did have something valuable to sell. Would Justin like to buy his slave. She was a Goth, he explained, strong and very hard working. He was prepared to part with her for a mere twenty solidii, about six months wages. Justin had no need for a slave and did not want to become a slave owner. As an Illyrian, he had never become quite accustomed to the Roman habit of enslavement, but he was perfectly happy to help out one of his better and more experienced men. So after delivering a short and pithy lecture to the unfortunate man and without setting eyes on the slave in question, he agreed to the trade and handed over the money.

He thought no more about it, but that night as he was sleeping, his new slave Euphemia entered his tent, shed her clothes and crept into his bed. She was soft, warm and sweet smelling. He had not made love for many months, not since the last time he was in Constantinople, and then it was with a fairly indifferent whore. Euphemia was very different. In a very few minutes she had coaxed his willing body to a stunning, exhausting climax. In the darkness he could see nothing, but his other senses explored this unexpected gift, the feel of her long smooth hair on his naked chest, the clean fresh scent of that hair, the saltiness of her skin, warm and damp after her exertions. Sated, he lay on his back, content to drowse in her embrace. When she quietly rose to leave and let him sleep, he had insisted that she spend the rest of the night with him. An unforgettable night. Two weeks later, he had given her her freedom and then they were married. Since that day, although he had looked with appreciation on other women, he had never touched one. She gave him everything a man could want from a wife and now, in spite of his position as Emperor, who could have any woman, free born or slave, he would not jeopardise the trust they had in each other.

He looked up, to see that his Empress had returned, armed with a bundle of fresh towels.

Here I am, beloved! Up you come, lean on me so I can help you out of the bath and dry you. Then you can have your massage.

In no time at all Euphemia had towelled him dry and helped him up onto the marble slab, she covered his body with more soft dry towels. With lightly oiled hands she began the massage, starting at his toes and working up his legs. She wanted to make use of the relaxed muscles resulting from the warm bathwater, she worked swiftly and efficiently, massaging and kneading his scarred body until, thoroughly relaxed, he fell drowsily into sleep. Once the massage was finished, she undressed and sank gratefully into the now tepid water.

Above the bath, the previous Emperor, Anastasius, had installed a polished silver mirror, presumably so that he could admire his own body. Usually it was too steamed up to serve any real purpose, but as the water had now cooled and the steam evaporated, she could see her reflection. She was more thickset now than when they had married; heavier through the hips and behind, her breasts were a little fuller, and there was a definite thickening in the waist. She pursed her lips as she contemplated the pull of gravity on chin, breasts and belly. On the plus side, her skin was still the colour of freshly cut ivory, her eyes were clear and bright and she retained the luxuriant growth of jet-black hair that covered her groin - almost as much hair as on her head. She knew it was exceptional because, as a camp follower, she had seen naked women of practically every race and had never seen any to compare with that mane of hers. Justin used to say that he always had to take a meander through the woods to seek the 'Eye of the god.

As she soaked, she too thought back to their first meeting. She recalled the shame of having been sold like a horse or dog to another soldier. But was glad that she had done her best to please her new owner. She had had no idea that the soldier would do anything other than use her and discard her. It was inconceivable that she would become his wife, let alone Empress. Yet she had still gone directly to Justin's tent when she knew he would be asleep. She did not think twice about undressing and getting into bed with him, if only to keep him warm, though when at her slight touch she felt his body respond, she knew exactly what was needed. She had no fear of becoming pregnant, since an infection a few years earlier had left her barren. What she had not been prepared for was the night that followed, a night of passion and lust which metamorphosed into inventive love making. The following day, not only was she grateful for Justin's consideration and tenderness but she could also feel that she was already half in love with him. Fanciful thoughts of marriage didn't occur to her. After all, he was an Illyrian warrior fighting for the Romans and she was a lowly slave. But after he had spoken about Christ and the Holy Sacrament she agreed to convert and at the next census he listed her as his wife. For the first time in her life she was a free woman.

Are you still in the bath? inquired Justin, who by now had woken up from his nap. "Here, let me help you out and dry you before you catch cold."

Justin rubbed her all over with his own towel, going down on his knees before her to dry her legs, and seized the opportunity to give her a playful kiss, burying his face in her pubic hair and inhaling the sweet heady scent of her.

Now don't get any ideas, young man. We have a guest for dinner and someone has to make sure that those servants we inherited don't spoil the food.

On one condition then, he reluctantly released her.

What’s that?

That we repeat on my sixty ninth birthday, that's tonight my love, what we did the very first night we spent together.

Euphemia was touched that after all this time he too had remembered.

Ah my love, nothing would please me more, but you have to promise me something too - that you won't drink too much of that Illyrian wine, or else I know you'll just fall asleep.

They each went to their respective bedrooms to change for dinner. Euphemia was the first to emerge and after a brief visit to the kitchen to check on the cooks, she settled down to her knitting. All her life she had filled her spare hours single-needle knitting any thing from table mats to undergarments. Just because she was an Empress she wasn't about to make a change. As she started working on the unbleached wool, she heard her husband's door open and she looked up to see how he had dressed. As always she admired his upright military gait - never strolling, always moving with a purpose. He came and stood before her.

Is that all right for tonight? he inquired making a complete turn so that she could see both front and back. He had chosen a simple white tunic made of fine linen imported from Egypt and a purple cloak fastened with a jewelled clasp at his right shoulder.

I would say it was perfect. Justinian will appreciate it, because the servants will think he must be a very important guest for you to wear Imperial Purple. Come and sit down and talk to me while we wait for him. Tell me about your day. What have you been doing?

Euphemia was seated on a low couch covered with purple silk cushions embroidered with gold thread. These used to be the couches that were used for dining, having one end raised so that the diners could comfortably recline while they were eating. However, they had long since decided that chairs were less hedonistic and much more practical in the dining room, so they relegated these couches to the anteroom where they received visitors. Justin sat next to her and as she put her knitting to one side he took her hand in his.

I want to ask you something, Euphemia. He paused, uncertain of how best to put what he wanted to say. He took a deep breath before continuing,

How would you feel about Justinian coming to live here in the Palace?

Why would he want to do that? I thought he had a very comfortable house overlooking the Bosporus.

"So he does. No, it's not that he might want it, it's that I think I need him here. When I took on this role last year it was simply because Anastasius had no successor and as Count of the Excubitors, thought that I was in the right place at the right time. In reality it was the Army that appointed me. I accepted, without thinking too deeply about it, because I wanted to avoid the chaos which would have been caused by a political vacuum. I knew that I could handle the administration and provide the necessary leadership - after all it was what I had been doing all my life. But what I had not realised was what a handicap it was not to be able to read or write. For example, to check on a piece of legislation I have to ask one of the advocatus fiscito to read aloud. That is not only embarrassing, it could be dangerous, because I'm not sure how much I can trust them. On the other hand, Justinian reads well, he had a very good education, he speaks perfect Greek and is a forceful negotiator. Not like me, I joined the Army at 14 and had practically no schooling, my schoolroom was the battlefield – and - he's also my own flesh and blood."

Well as far as I'm concerned it's not a problem to have him here, but are you sure you can trust him? We have plenty of space, there are many more rooms than we use or need and I'm tripping over servants all the time. But you need to be sure that your trust is not misplaced, how well do you really know him?

At that moment a servant entered and announced the arrival of their guest. Justinian was a slight man of about thirty-six with large eyes, and thick arching eyebrows, giving off a look of surprise and innocence rather than guile. Although somewhat effeminate in his gestures, when he spoke it was with a firm voice and he gave the impression of absolute authority, but an authority that came not from rank nor strength, but rather from a keen intellect and superior knowledge.

Euphemia, my dear aunt, you look wonderful tonight. I don't know how you do it, but you never seem to age. Uncle Justin, let me wish a very happy birthday to my favourite warrior. I have this small gift which I acquired from a merchant a few weeks back. I knew instantly it was exactly right for you.

Justin eagerly took the package and quickly removed the cloth in which it was wrapped. Inside was a small square of ivory on which was carved a bas-relief of a Roman cavalry officer mounted on his horse. The horse had reared up on its hind legs in a pose of victory. The mounted soldier had a lance in his right hand, its tip resting on the ground. Underneath the rearing horse was a peasant girl selling apples and with one hand she was supporting the foot of the soldier acknowledging his power. And behind the horse could be seen an infantry soldier with his arm raised in salute, no doubt to the victory that his officer had secured for them. Justin looked at it appreciatively for a while, noting the finely carved details of the saddle and bridle.

Justinian, its magnificent. I'm sure it must have cost you a small fortune; the workmanship is so skilled. I cannot thank you enough. You obviously have an eye for these little beauties. Now, Euphemia my dear, why don't you organise some of that excellent Illyrian white wine and perhaps some of those delicious black olives from Greece. Thank you my love. Now, Justinian you can tell me what's going on in the world of politics and economics.

Euphemia departed for the kitchen to organise the servants, leaving the men to talk.

I'm sure, Justin, that there is not much that you don’t know already. There is one thing, that might be news to you though. I had a visitor from Rome today. He told me that the succession of invasions by its Germanic neighbours and by the Vandals over the past few years have left the city in a shambles. Hardly any of the buildings that were damaged in the fighting have been repaired and none of those which were destroyed have been rebuilt. I think this is just an indication of what's happening to the rest of the Empire. During this discussion, from force of habit I spoke in Greek. He looked so surprised, I think he was as shocked by that as I was by his tale of the degeneration of Rome. I told him that Latin was a dead language, that everyone in the Roman Empire (what's left of it that is) spoke Greek and soon it would be the one and only universal language. Even historians, I told him, were now writing in Greek.

At that moment Euphemia entered, followed by two servants with the wine, three silver goblets and a dish of fat glistening black olives. As Justin poured the wine and handed a chilled goblet to his guest to taste, Justinian asked how they managed to serve it so cold.

It's an old army campaigner's trick, replied the Emperor. You wrap the bottle in a piece of gauze, wet it thoroughly and then stand it in the shade, somewhere where there is a breeze. The water evaporates and cools the wine. Like magic, isn't it?

It's perfect and reminds me so much of home. The best white wine comes from Illyria! The Thracians and Greeks only know how to make red wines. This wine is such a pleasure to drink he raised his goblet to salute Justin. Do you detect, Uncle, a slightly unusual aroma?

Well, said Justin as he sniffed the contents of his goblet thoughtfully there is a delicate mix of peach and melon, but, yes I think I can smell orange blossom, or something similar too.

You're absolutely right! And shall I tell you why? I know the vineyard and it's on a hill right above an orange grove. The winemaker, whose family have held the vineyard for years told me once that he thought it was due to cross pollination.

Well whatever the reason, it's a very good wine Justin replied dismissively, indicating that he had heard his nephew but to him wine was wine and if it was white the cooler the better. Changing the subject he asked,

How is business?

No one is complaining. Goods are still coming in from all corners of the earth, changing hands and being sold on again. Today we had ships from Africa bringing ivory - which has already been sold on to the east. There were ships with cotton from Egypt, wool from Syria and Armenia and silk from China. Business is booming and the only complaint I hear is about the taxes. All the merchants grumble about the amount of money spent on the army.

What short memories these people have. You'd think they'd remember that less than twenty years ago we were attacked by the Persians. And I have the scars to prove it, Justin said ruefully as he massaged a twinge in his knee - the result of a Persian arrow. Besides, the taxes are not just for the Army, they're also used to finance the building and reinforcing of the west wall, and that guards us against any other invasion. And these wretched earthquakes mean more rebuilding, it all takes time and money.

I know, Uncle, but don't take it personally he soothed. People always complain about taxes. The time to worry is when they don't have the money to pay them. Right now that's not a problem.

The two men continued to chat in desultory fashion about trading and taxes with Euphemia contributing a few words now and again, until she rose and said,

"I thinks it's time for us to dine. Justin, why don't you lead the way, then after dinner you and Justinian can have a talk.

As they moved towards the adjoining dining room, two immensely tall Nubian servants dressed in a scarlet and white livery, opened the heavy ornately carved wooden doors which at twice the height of a man, reached to the ceiling. The ceilings of the room were so high that the light from the golden candelabra in the centre of the table could not penetrate and the ceiling was barely visible. The heavy table, waxed to a glowing honey was set for the three of them at the end nearest the door by which they entered. Justinian glanced around at the rich tapestries and captured war banners decorating the walls. Although he had dined there on other occasions, he was always impressed with the elegance and luxury, he envied his uncle the beauty which surrounded him, and he gave the smallest of sighs as the Nubian seated him on Justin's right.

Euphemia had chosen the menu carefully, partly because she knew it was important to maintain high standards at the Emperor's table, and also as a way to impress upon young Justinian that Justin was more than just his kinsman and that he was favoured to be invited to dine with them privately, he needed to realise the importance and gravity of Justin's position.

To begin the meal, there was salty sturgeon's roe from the Pontus Euxinus, the delicate fish taste complemented by tiny crisp oatcakes. They drank more of the Illyrian wine which was served by the head footman in gold and silver goblets. Justin noticed with approval the slight frosting on the bottle that was partially wrapped in a white linen cloth. The sturgeon roe was followed by a dish of fillets of red mullet that had been caught locally in the Propontis they had been baked in a creamy goat's cheese sauce. The main course was roast Syrian kid served with a pomegranate sauce, the latter accompanied by a robust red wine from Greece, the tannins cutting through the richness of the kid to perfection. To finish there were Arab sweetmeats bought in the market across from the Palace.

That was wonderful Euphemia Justinian congratulated his hostess. I don't know how you do it, but every meal I eat here is more memorable than the last. If I were married to you, I think I would weigh as much as two men in a very short time. Thank you." Euphemia inclined her head in acknowledgement, pleased by his flattery and confident that she had achieved her aim of impressing him.

After dinner the Emperor and his nephew retired to his office so that they could talk privately without fear of being overheard – even in the Palace Justin was cautious since servants frequently turned out to be spies. He closed the door behind him and waved Justinian to a comfortable chair and seated himself behind the substantial desk.

So, nephew, I'm sure you realise that you were not invited this evening just to wish an old man a Happy Birthday. To come straight to the point, I need a favour from you - quite a large one actually, but not necessarily unwelcome, I hope. After a year as Emperor, in certain areas. . . sometimes I feel. . . he hesitated uncharacteristically, "no, more than that, I know that in certain areas I am out of my depth. I need someone I can trust, someone I can keep close, someone to help me and share some of the responsibilities. As you know I am illiterate; I can read a map, and very often people's minds, but not the written word. What I want is for you to come and live here and perform that duty."

Justinian stirred as if he was about to interrupt. Justin held up his hand and motioned for him to be still.

Please Justinian, let me finish. I have no heir and no intention of fostering one. Euphemia could not have children and obviously never will. I don't want to think that there'll be an unexpected change of command the day I die as happened with me. It's far too disruptive and destabilising. What I am proposing is that gradually you take over more of the responsibilities until finally we are joint rulers with the clear understanding by the public and the senate that you will be my successor.

Apollo's teeth! That's more than just a favour uncle! That's my whole life you're asking for. What on earth brought this on? You've only just become Emperor and already you're thinking about the succession.

It's not a whim Justinian, believe me. I have to think about the future of the Empire. The Empire is more than your life, or my life, I have been chosen to serve The Empire, and I will do so to the utmost of my abilities. It's a huge burden to bear and I have to plan for what happens after I've gone. It's never too early, and I've had a few too many brushes with death to believe that I'm immortal. No, this is something I need to start now, it will work better if it's a gradual process. Anyway, I really do need the help reading those endless rolls of parchment which to me are just pages of hieroglyphics.

Justinian liked the term which on occasions aptly described a scribes handwriting.

How gradual is gradual, might I ask?

I’ve thought about that. I would propose to make you Consul before your fortieth birthday, unless we both agreed that it is not working. That would be a very clear signal to the world that you are to succeed me.

This has obviously come as a huge surprise. I really need some time to let it sink in, can I ask that you let me think seriously about it? I'll give you my answer in a day or two. If you're going to the chariot races this weekend, I could join you in the Imperial Box and that would be a significant and visible gesture for all to see.

Splendid idea! I'll be there and I very much hope that you will be at my side. I have to confess, though, that I feel the mob is getting too rowdy of late for my liking.

The Emperor then took the unusual step of accompanying his guest to the entrance of the Palace where Justinian’s two escorts awaited him. As they approached the heavy bronze gates the members of the Palace Guard came noisily to attention. They had deep respect for Justin, not because he was their Emperor, but because he was, and always would be, their Count of the Excubitors. The two men embraced each other before Justinian took his leave.

Uncle, goodnight, please thank Euphemia again for me for the excellent dinner. And thank you for the trust you place in me.

"Goodnight, Justinian, and thank you for my birthday gift. It will have a place of special honour amongst my collection of memorabilia."

Justin returned to the inner quarters of the Palace and made his way directly to Euphemia's bedroom. As he approached the two guards outside her door sprang to attention and one of them bowed and spoke.

With all respect, Sir, Her Majesty asked that she should not be disturbed tonight except in an extreme emergency.

Very good, officer. At ease!

He walked slowly to his own quarters with a heavy heart. Surely she had not forgotten the promise she had made him. Perhaps she had been taken ill and decided to retire early. He gave the same order to his own guards, undressed and climbed into bed. The window to the balcony was open and the curtains only half closed, to allow the breeze from the Propontis to enter. He was just drifting off to sleep when there was a slight rustle of those same curtains and someone slipped into the room. He was about to call the guards, when a familiar voice caused him to smile in the darkness,

Your slave has arrived, master, to do your bidding.

The Empress dropped her robe and climbed up onto the bed beside her husband.

Did you think I could possibly forget my promise to the man who has made me the happiest woman in the Empire?

As if in a time machine, they drifted back together to the tent in North Africa, re-living their first night together thirty years ago. All night long they were joined as one, years of experience compensating for the waning fountain of youth.

Map 2 City Plan showing location of Palace and other key buildings

Chapter 2

The City of Constantinople - two days later.

Justinian lived in a modest house in the fashionable eastern neighbourhood of the city. From the street the house was unremarkable, but once inside the double iron studded doors guarding the entrance all was fresh, light and sweet scented. The two storied building enclosed an intimate flower filled courtyard with a tiny dripping fountain at its centre, moss covered, it gave a freshness to the dry parched summer days, it was a place of peace and tranquillity in spite of its proximity to the Palace. Justinian's quarters were on the first floor and, unlike the houses of his neighbours which were closed in and dark, his rooms were filled with light reflected from the river Bosporus which ran close to the rear of the building. The servants' quarters, the furnace for the baths and the kitchens were all on the ground floor opening on to the courtyard, with no windows giving on to the street for security reasons.

Today was race day and so the city would be uncomfortably crowded, the ruffian elements taking full advantage of the crowds. There would surely be fights, accusations of cheating, stealing – all the rowdy noisy fun of a Roman holiday. Justinian loved the races but normally would only visit the Hippodrome in the afternoon for the main events. As he matured, he found the disorder irritated rather than amused him, but he had heard that some of the current circus attractions to be seen just outside the main stadium were especially entertaining and so shortly after the noon meal he made his way slowly across the Augusteum, accompanied by two servants.

Grouped around the square were: the church of Santa Sophia, the Senate House, the public baths of Zeuxippus and the impressive bronze gates to the Imperial Palace. He loved the grandeur of the buildings, the profusion of columns and statues and one of his indulgences was to take the time to admire the architecture and sculptures. But today was race day and catching the mood of excitement of the crowd, he hurried with the rest of the racegoers down Middle Street. As he passed the Gate of Charisius on the outer of the two walls that protected the western approaches of Constantinople, he quickened his pace, hurrying past the dark and dank alleys that led off the avenue, until he reached the Hippodrome.

Instead of entering the main arena he parted from the throng and turned left, following the south-eastern length of the stadium until he reached the markets and the fairground beyond. It was his special pleasure to visit the stalls, rooting around amongst the goods for sale, haggling with the stall holders and hoping for a bargain. Before he even arrived in the main market area he could smell that heady mix of fruit, incense, frying fish, the smoke from grilled horse- meat, pungent spices and rotting vegetables all of which meant that he had almost reached his goal. He quickened his pace, eagerly pushing through the throng to reach the first of the temporary stalls set up along the side of the stadium. Looking along the length of the market he smiled, aware of a sense of belonging, he enjoyed the anonymity of being just one more person in the crowd. But this feeling of being just one of the crowd was fleeting, however, as a frequent visitor to the area he was well known and more importantly, well liked and respected by the hoi polloi. It was not long before he was recognised and hailed by Marcus Maximus:

Hail Senator! How are you? What news do you bring us today?

Marcus was the biggest, both in physique and importance, of the impresarios who worked the fairground. Originally from Thracia, he had arrived in Constantinople more than ten years ago looking for work. For years he had worked with Acacius, an animal trainer best known for his dancing bears. When Acacius died Marcus married his widow and took over the business. Now he had jugglers, dancers, mime artists, contortionists, musicians and every other sort of entertainer working for him. He had three open stages in the fairground with visitors giving their pennies after a theatrical performance, the amount and value of the coins reflected their generosity and appreciation of the act.

Marcus Maximus! Greetings to you! Not much that's new except you should be glad you came to Constantinople to look for work instead of Rome. Apparently it's practically a disaster area now with all those barbarians sacking, pillaging, raping and what not.

He slapped Marcus on the back.

How's business with you?

You know, it could always be better, but I have some expectations. he nudged Justinian and leaned towards him to whisper theatrically.

I have something for you to see, my friend. You won't believe your eyes

Oh yes? What now you old charlatan? A two headed monkey is it? The worlds smallest man? I've seen all your specials before.

No! This really is something to make you sit up. Your old man will sit up too he laughed uproariously at his own lewd joke. No my friend, you really have to see my step-daughter, Theodora - what an artist! What a body! She's just returned from Egypt and she learned some tricks there, no doubt about it. Right now she's getting ready for her performance, it starts in a few moments. Why not take some refreshment, stay and watch the show, it will be well worth your time. Theodora is exceptional, very gifted, a true artist.

Yes, yes, all right, you don't have to carry on, I'm convinced, I'll stay, said Justinian laughingly interrupted his eloquence.

Marcus Maximus grinned and winked suggestively and nudged Justinian on the shoulder.

You won't regret it my friend, after the show I'll introduce you to her.

The stage was a large wooden platform raised off the ground to about chest level, rectangular, about 4 metres by 6, with a set of wooden stairs at one end for the access of the performers. The musicians were placed on either side of these steps and the audience formed a ring around the stage, those in the front row being near enough to touch the players. Marcus and Justinian moved off to a nearby stall and ordered a mug of beer apiece, then found a relatively quiet area a little way off the stage to enjoy their drink while keeping one eye on the audience and another on the pickpockets. Marcus prided himself on his theatres and employed muscle men (who also did a weight-lifting act) to make sure that any trouble was dealt with swiftly. Pickpockets were trouble because, if successful, their activities meant that there would be fewer contributions for the kitty.

Before they had half drunk their beer, there was a roll of drums and an expectant crowd began to gather near as a handsome young man climbed onto the stage. His rich deep voice cut through the chatter of the crowd, his bright robes commanding attention and his not inconsiderable height accentuated by his elevated position above the crowd.

Come my friends. Come one, come all, Ladies. Gentleman. Noblemen and thieves. Gather near, listen to me, your Master of Revelry.

He paused to allow more passers by to approach the stage.

"Come closer my friends and hear. Today, despite all attempts by the senate to censor us, today, we are proud to present the story of . . . Salome. For those ignoramuses among you, let me remind you that Salome was the stepdaughter of King Herod. That despicable rogue had base designs on the lovely Salome, seeing as how she was very attractive and he was exceedingly lecherous. However being a good girl….

(Cries of ooh from the crowd.)

…being a good girl, as I was saying, all she wanted was to go to bed with that pillar of sanctity, John the Baptist."

Shame! Scandalous! Hussy!"

Now, not surprisingly, John was having none of that. He was a holy man and was not going to misbehave with such a lecherous....lascivious.... licentious libertine.

He paused for effect and then went on:

With that profligate, promiscuous... perverted. . . . degenerate. That debauched . . . depraved. . . dissolute . . . dissipative harlot. That shameless. . . sybaritic. . . . saucy. . . whore. !

Cheers and applause! Stamping of feet, whistles! Yells and catcalls!

So, my friends, that sweet young girl, devastated by this rejection danced for the man who would appreciate her many talents – none other than wicked King Herod. Now, remember, my friends, what your fathers should have taught you, 'there is no fury in heaven nor hell to compare with a woman scorned'. Our Salome invented a new dance, a special dance, a dance with just seven veils to cover her nubile body. And when she had removed all but the very last veil she said to the king - if you want me to remove this the final veil, bring me John's head on a platter.

The Master of Revelry paused for effect.

Oh, can you imagine the satisfaction of her revenge for the insult. Can you imagine? And now, for the very first time in Constantinople, for your exclusive pleasure, to enact this thrilling, this erotic, this theatrical story, we have a very welcome return from distant lands, none other than our very own shameless hussy, THEODORA!!!

The flap of the tent beside the stairs to the stage was drawn aside by an unseen hand and out stepped Theodora, her slim body tantalisingly, almost - but not quite - visible beneath seven gauze veils, each of a different colour. She slowly climbed the steps and stood poised in the centre of the stage, not looking at the audience, her gaze fixed on a point above their heads. She stood motionless waiting for the chatter to die down. Such was the presence of the proud and lovely young woman that gradually the whistles and cat calls faded into near silence. When she had everybody’s attention she flicked her fingers and the musicians began to play on their lutes and pipes, a haunting lilting melody.

Justinian thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful. Her glossy dark hair fell in waves almost to her waist, concealing and revealing her shoulders and the elegant column of her neck as she swayed in time to the rhythm of the lutes. Her eyes flashed dark and scornful. She was the Armenian gypsy of his imagination. He felt that he had seen her in his dreams. He was utterly captivated. As she danced, barefoot, he caught glimpses of her shapely ankles and calves. Her arms seemed to beckon each man in the audience as if she danced for him alone, though she looked at none of them. Very slowly she loosened the first veil floating around her body, lifting it above her head before releasing it, she allowed it to float to the ground. Disdainfully, she ignored the applause, the cheers and the encouraging words from the audience - they were beneath her notice and she treated them as one would treat a slave - with total impassiveness.

As the erotic dance continued and the veils were discarded one by one, so tantalisingly slowly, Justinian could see how perfectly formed were the twin orbs of her breasts, each one crowned by a dark dark protruding nipple, how slender her waist and how voluptuously rounded her stomach and hips. Her smooth unblemished skin gleamed with a sheen of perspiration in the sweltering afternoon sun. She twirled and whirled, dipping low to the floor of the stage, so close that Justinian could almost touch her, but then whisking away before he had a chance to raise his hand. He was drunk with the sight of her, drowning in a sea of unspoken promises and lust. At last, the moment of truth, one final veil remained, loosely tied around her waist with the two ends hanging in front of her stomach and reaching down to her knees. Slowly she pivoted on one slim elegant naked foot so that everyone could admire her breasts, now completely naked and unadorned, and the exquisite provocative cleavage of her behind but no more than that.

Salome demands not just John's head but also a gold coin, cried the Master of the Revels.

There was silence for a moment. A gold coin was more than most people there would earn in a year. Justinian put his hand into the leather purse that was fixed to his belt..

Here! he said, Two gold coins for the most talented and beautiful woman in the Empire, and he placed the two coins on the stage.

Theodora didn't smile. She barely acknowledged his generous gesture. A roll of drums and onto the stage rushed a servant carrying by its blood encrusted hair, the gory head of a young man (probably saved from an earlier execution), which he placed at the feet of Theodora. The crowd waited expectantly and then slowly she came towards Justinian, knelt in front of him so that her hips were level with his face and slowly removed the final veil, giving him a privileged and private view of her most intimate self as she bent down to pick up the two coins. A loud cheer went up from the crowd and, as Justinian also burst into applause, she held his eyes with hers, before catching up the veils and walking languorously off the stage, with an exaggerated swing to her exposed hips, to disappear into her tent.

The crowd drifted away until Justinian was left alone with Marcus

You didn't have to be so generous, my friend, we never really expect a gold coin you know, but if enough ordinary coins are thrown onto the stage we bring on the head and she drops the last veil. Oh well, come on inside the tent and let me introduce you.

Inside, Theodora, already covered by a robe, was sitting quietly on a low seat. She was examining her face in a polished silver mirror, biting her lips to bring the colour to them. She would put on one more show before the races started.

Theodora, my dear, let me present my very good friend. Senator Flavius Justinianus.

Theodora arose and held out a slim and elegant hand to greet him.

Theodora. May I call you Theodora? What an elegant performance! I am almost speechless. There are no words to . . . I'm sure you have been complimented often enough on your talent and beauty. I can only add my compliments to those. But. . . I would like . . may I . . . that is, will you grant me the opportunity to discover whether you have intelligence and brains to complement your more physical charms? It would give me the greatest of pleasure if you would grace my dinner table tonight? Should you wish, you may bring your step-father, Marcus - we are old friends.

Theodora suppressed a frown at what she perceived as his impertinence and glanced briefly at her step-father and then turned to Justinian

That won't be necessary, my lord. I accept with pleasure the challenge of proving to you that there is more to Theodora than acting Salome.

Perfect. Then I'll send my two servants to escort you at dusk, this evening.

He bowed and kissed the hand that she had held out. Something a Roman would very rarely do, least of all to an actress, since they were considered to be at the very lowest rung of the social scale. But then Justinian was no ordinary Roman.

Until tonight, then!

Outside, he bade Marcus goodbye and made his way back to the north end of the stadium. An elongated oval, the racetrack was surrounded on three sides by a tiered grandstand that would accommodate some 80,000 spectators - considerably larger than any of the other Hippodromes in the Empire. It was squared off at one end by a three-storey building, which housed the private boxes and the Kathisma, the Royal or Imperial Box, connected to the Palace by its own private corridors.

In the middle of the dusty oval inside the track itself, were a series of commemorative statues, monuments and obelisks. There were small, gated entrances along both long sides of the stadium for the public and at the south-west end, the end opposite to the Royal boxes, there was a main gate through which the contestants entered.

Prior to the time of Constantine, all manner of games would be held in the arena, including bloody gladiatorial contests, but now such activities were no longer permitted and the Hippodrome was used solely for chariot racing, military parades and the occasional public execution. Chariot racing was extremely popular with the locals and