Justinian

deservedly so. I have a suggestion: tomorrow, I visit an old friend, one Severus, Patriarch of Antioch and an ardent Monophysite, so presently in Alexandria as a refugee from persecution. He’s renowned throughout the Roman world for his skill in disputation, and as a teacher. Were I to ask him, I’m sure he would be willing to accept you as his pupil. What do you say?

Under Severus’ benignly merciless tuition, Theodora learned to hold her own in theological argument and debate. By the end of three months in the Egyptian capital, Theodora’s metamorphosis was almost complete. Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, she had become transformed from the frightened lonely derelict who had fled from Apollonia. In a world which had shown her little kindness, she had at last encountered others who had given her true and disinterested affection. (That two of these were male had shown her that there were at least some men prepared to value her for herself alone, and not just for the pleasure her body could provide.) Buoyed up by the friendship of two eminent and respected figures who had helped her to regain her self-respect and cultivate her mind (as well as imbuing her with sympathy and admiration for the Monophysites), she was ready to embark on the next stage of her voyage of self-discovery. For Alexandria, she knew, could only be a staging-post. She must find her destiny, whatever that should prove to be, in her home city, Constantinople, with its strong pull of family and genius loci — the place’s soul.

‘I understand, my dear,’ said Timothy sadly, when she told him the time had come to move on. ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions,* and you must seek your fortune wherever it may call you. I can’t pretend you won’t be greatly missed; the poor whom you served so well have come to love you — as have I, as a father loves a daughter. May I suggest you break your journey in Antioch, where an old friend of mine lives — a wealthy widow with many contacts in the world of trade and business. I’d be surprised if Macedonia were unable to help you find an opening in work you’d find congenial. I’ll give you a letter of introduction.’

Timothy did more than that. Although Theodora had saved enough (just) from her stipend to cover the cost of the voyage home, the bishop pressed on her a bag of solidi, ‘for unforeseen emergencies’ (a kindness Theodora would one day repay a thousand-fold**).

Disembarking at Seleucia — Antioch’s harbour, fourteen miles from the sea on the River Orontes — Theodora entered ‘The Crown of the East’ via the great city’s Watergate. Before her stretched a vast townscape, its suburbs chequered with orchards, olive groves, and vineyards, extending to the lower slopes of Mount Casius three miles distant. A few enquiries enabled her to track down Macedonia’s home, its entrance opening onto the street in the wealthy suburb of Daphne. On producing Timothy’s letter of introduction, she was conducted by a porter to the atrium — a courtyard floored with magnificent mosaics and surrounded by colonnaded walkways. ‘The Domina will be with you presently,’ the man murmured respectfully and withdrew. A little later, an attractive and elegantly clad lady entered the atrium and approached Theodora. While still some yards away, she halted, and exclaimed, ‘The actress from Constantinople!’

‘The dancer from Antioch!’ gasped Theodora in sudden recognition, as a tide of feelings, long suppressed, surged up inside her.

* The Alexandrian terminus of the cursus publicus — the imperial post. See Notes.

* In this quotation from the Bible, ‘mansion’ doesn’t mean a large house. The English meaning of the Latin mansio is ‘station, stage’ (Cassell’s New Compact Latin Dictionary) — i.e. a staging-post on the cursus publicus.

** See Notes.

SIX

And on soft beds. . tenderly. . we would satisfy desire

Sappho of Lesbos, Fragment 94, c. 600 BC

Macedonia was the first to recover. Taking the letter from the other’s unresisting hand, she perused its contents then looked up with a smile, in which there lurked a hint of mischief.

‘Well, Theodora, who’d have thought we’d meet up again like this? I’ll be delighted to help you — if I can. Archbishop Timothy speaks highly of you; I’m sure we can find something that will suit. But before discussing your situation, we must catch up with each other’s news over cena;* I’m all agog.’

Extended on a couch in the triclinium or dining-room beside her hostess, Theodora — to cover the embarrassment that had suddenly engulfed her — prattled on inconsequentially about life in Alexandria, scarcely tasting the delicious dishes from the table beside her. At last, aware that a mounting flush was colouring her neck and cheeks, she floundered to a stop.

‘It’s all right, my dear,’ murmured Macedonia, in tones of understanding mingled with amusement. ‘We don’t need to be shy with each other.’ Moving from her couch, she stretched out beside Theodora, and putting her arms around her, kissed her gently on the mouth.

Immediately, Theodora felt herself responding, and returned the kiss with ardour. Unbelievingly, she became aware of the other beginning to undress her; arousal coursing through her veins, she helped Macedonia complete the process then returned the service, till soon both women were lying naked, side by side.

‘Are you ready for this?’ asked Macedonia softly, beginning to stroke the other’s breasts.

For a brief moment, Theodora felt herself stiffen. Never before had she been touched by a woman; thus far, her only experience of sex had consisted of fleeting intercourse with male clients, coldly commercial acts, undertaken not from choice but simply to keep the wolf from the door.

Barring a mild disgust both for herself and for the man who had purchased the temporary use of her body, she had felt nothing on these occasions. But this was different. As delicious sensations from the other’s cunning fingertips began to spread throughout her bosom, all resistance melted and she whispered in a voice husky with excitement, ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

Theodora gasped as Macedonia caressed her nipples, causing them to swell erect, her pleasure mounting in intensity as lips and tongue replaced the work of fingers. She felt Macedonia’s hand slide down her body, explore those other lips now slippery with expectation, fondle the swelling bud until she cried aloud in ecstasy, as the sensations climbed to a pinnacle of exquisite delight. Then suddenly she was convulsing in a violent orgasm, which gradually subsided to a glow of blissful satisfaction, leaving her shaken but at peace.

‘I didn’t know anything could be so beautiful,’ she whispered to Macedonia, gazing adoringly at her lover’s face. ‘Now, I must try to do the same for you. Be warned though — I don’t know if I’ll be any good. All this is new to me, you see.’

‘Provided a willing pupil has a good teacher, what’s there to worry about?’ murmured Macedonia. Smiling, she lay back languorously, and closed her eyes in sensuous anticipation.

To the short list of the only true friends she had ever known — Irene, Timothy, and Severus — Theodora was now able to add another name, Macedonia, one associated with a new dimension in her life — passion. The next few weeks passed in a delectable blur — long, intimate talks sometimes lasting far into the night; delicious meals complemented by the finest of wines; excursions around the splendours of Antioch, its colonnaded streets, magnificent circus, theatres, baths, and great churches;* bouts of tender lovemaking.

In the course of sharing confidences about their past lives, Macedonia revealed to Theodora that she had been briefly married to a successful merchant, before his untimely death from ague. ‘Mathias was a sweet, kind man,’ she recounted, ‘who fell in love with me after seeing me perform with my troupe of dancers. It was hard to refuse his proposal of marriage; he offered me security, genuine affection, a life of luxury beyond the wildest dreams of a mere dancing-girl from a poor background. And I was truly fond of him. Not, of course, in the way I feel about yourself, my love, but as a dear friend, whose death left me with a devastating sense of loss and sadness. He willed me his trading empire which, though I say it myself, I manage pretty well; if there’s one thing my sort of upbringing has taught me, it’s how many nummi make a solidus.’