face to meet her eyes, and with a smile gestured to him to rise.
He was surprised, when he did so, at her stature, for though he was only of medium height for a man, she was of extraordinary height for a woman, standing fully as tall as him, while wearing only her thin palace slippers. She seemed to have no compunction about compressing the aloof distance she usually maintained with her staff, and stood facing him barely a foot away, her shoulders back and spine straight, almost in a military stance, but with the laughing gleam in her eye and the smooth lines of her cheek effacing any thoughts of the harshness of command. Most disconcerting of all to Julian, as he recounted it to me afterwards, was the soft contours of her breasts, mere inches from his chest, their swelling outline visible beneath the quilted silken robe draped over her body. Unlike a physician, Julian had had little contact or experience with the female form, and her extraordinary beauty was something to which I was so accustomed that I had not even bothered to describe it to Julian beforehand. As she stood facing him, he forced himself with a supreme effort not to step back or look down, either of which might have been interpreted by the Empress as an insult or an indication of fear on his part. Rather, he stood straight and immobile, facing her, his eyes focused on a point beyond the top of her head. A trickle of sweat ran down his side under his left arm, soaking into the belt of his tunic, making him long to scratch his ribs.
She examined his face carefully. 'Certain things you have already received from us,' she said, using the royal plural, 'and if God wills it, you will receive others. This is provided that you prove to be faithful and honest toward us.'
'You know I am grateful for all you have done, my Empress. I would be honored to be of service in any way I am able.'
Eusebia again examined his face, though this time her eyes were not smiling as before.
'I assume you have been told by our physician Caesarius about the Emperor's… condition?'
Julian blushed, and gracefully lied. 'I would not presume to discuss such intimate matters with one outside the family, my lady…'
She tossed her head impatiently. 'Nonsense. He is a fine physician, and completely trusted by all within the royal family. Besides, the entire palace knows, and is aware of the awkward position in which it has placed us both — us all. Julian — I have been watching you for many months, since long before you arrived in Milan, and I gratefully accept your offer of assistance.'
'I don't understand, my lady…'
At this, with a slight flick of her thumb and forefinger, she opened the clasp at the top of her robe and the two sides of the rich fabric fell away, revealing the creamy white skin of her breasts and her taut, dusky nipples. Beyond that he dared not glance, though he confessed to me that his mind and his feverish imagination raced. He quickly diverted his eyes to her face, though he found no comfort there, either, in the penetrating stare she had locked on him. Eusebia swayed slightly, and although she did not move her feet she seemed to imperceptibly lean forward toward him. Though still several inches away, he could almost feel the heat of her breasts penetrating through his own padded linen tunic, and just as imperceptibly, he leaned backward the same distance.
'Julian,' she said, her voice husky and her eyes pleading, 'I am not making my choice blindly…'
His eyes opened wide and his thoughts tumbled over one another, as did mine when I first heard this story from his lips. Never, with the possible exception of when he had first received the Emperor's summons to Milan, had he felt himself to be in such danger, or in such temptation. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and tried to think. Acceptance of the Empress's ultimate gift, or rejection — by which path did he stand to gain or lose more? He needed time, he had to buy time. In anguish, he resorted to the arguments of human biology, which, in fact, I myself had taught him only the previous day in preparation for his impending marriage to Helena.
'Your Highness — this is exceedingly dangerous. What if you should find yourself with child?'
'My cycle is quite regular and has been accurately timed. Now is the perfect opportunity.'
'To avoid pregnancy?'
She stared at him evenly. 'On the contrary, Julian — to ensure it.'
He stared back. All things now became clear. The Emperor was without an heir, and blaming Eusebia for his own poor performance and physical limitations. Eusebia's position as Mother of the Empire was consequently threatened. An heir must be produced — but from where? Only a family member could produce one with the necessary physical similarities, only a devout Christian and an ascetic could be trusted to provide the service confidentially, only a newly appointed Caesar would have the political stature to ensure the offspring's survival should questions arise about its paternity, only a man soon to become a member of the imperial household could gain the requisite access to the gynaeceum to do the deed; most important, only one man was suitably moronic and lacking in ambition as to be sufficiently trusted by the Emperor at this crucial juncture. All the pieces fell into place in a flash, and Julian could suddenly see the role he had been chosen to play. All of it fit perfectly, except when it came to his own conscience.
He continued to stall. 'Your Highness, I am deeply flattered-'
She rolled her eyes in exasperation.
'It is not a matter of flattery, I assure you,' she interrupted. 'Though you are a reasonably attractive man, my dear cousin-in-law, the palace is full of such men. Even the eunuchs could satisfy, if it were merely a matter of a woman's satisfaction. No, Julian, it is a matter of necessity, for both me and the Empire.'
'But you are my cousin's wife. I am to be married tomorrow to Helena. That would make it a double betrayal on my part, not to mention the injustice I would be doing to you.'
She stared at him in amazement, and then her face took on the hard lines of a sneer. 'So plump little Helena is Penelope to your Odysseus?' she retorted. 'While I, the wicked Calypso, am so besotted with your beauty that I must use my superior powers to trap you and keep you for my own? Go back and read your Homer, my scholar. Even Odysseus was wise enough to realize that when the goddess crooks a finger, you don't plead a headache.'
With that she jerked her robe shut, spun with a flourish, and marched wordlessly out of the room, leaving Julian to make his way out alone to the anteroom, where I found him red-faced in frustration and humiliation, his mind in turmoil and his lower tunic disturbingly askew.
VII
He did not see Eusebia privately again, for the palace was sufficiently large that they could easily avoid each other while making plans for the departure to Gaul and his marriage to Helena. At the sumptuous wedding, with the Basilica illumined by the light of ten thousand candles, glinting ten thousand times more in the polished glaze of the windows and the gold of the chalices and monstrances, he glanced up at the Empress while intoning the Creed. He saw what he thought was a flash of dark eyes behind the thin veil she always wore in public, and even in the act of getting married, he confessed, he flattered himself with the thought that he was one of the very few men in the Basilica, indeed in all of the Empire, who had actually seen the Empress's face, and more.
Plump, homely Helena was as presentable as she ever would be, in the wedding raiment dictated by ancient custom: the unhemmed tunic secured around her ample waist by a girdle of wool with a double knot, covered by a fine saffron-colored cloak, matching sandals, and a thin metal collar worn tightly about her neck. Over her delicate coiffure she wore a flammeum, a veil of flaming orange, to modestly shield the upper half of her face. The veil was secured to her head by a simple wreath of myrtle and orange blossoms taken from the palace hothouses, and she carried a single, pure white candle in her hands. She looked for all the world like a rather heavier version of the vestal virgins. The normal unruliness of her thick, black hair had been tamed into six complexly braided plaits as is customary for a bride. They had been fastened with the traditional iron spearhead whose point had been bent, which was said by her mother to have been the tip of a lance taken long ago from the dead body of a gladiator, when such weapons were held to have some mysterious powers of their own. Her face was almost the precise image of her brother's, though lacking the spark of malevolent intelligence.
After he had intoned the solemn oath and had received her corresponding response — Ubi tu Julianus, ego Helena — the mercifully short ceremony was deemed complete, and he lifted the veil of his new bride. At first, he said, when looking into her eyes, he felt simultaneously charity for her and pity for himself, as if he had made a great sacrifice for the sake of duty, though what precisely that sacrifice might have been, he could not tell me then. His greatest concern, upon leaving the Basilica and striding with Helena to the designated bridal chambers, was
