When my head cleared a little, I caught at my mistress’s hand and we ran back to where the house had been, frantically calling the names of the two elder children, and the names of their tutor and of the other domestics. But all were buried under the dusty ruins, except for two gardeners, and a footman who had rushed out of the back door when the first shock was felt, and one badly injured maid. We tried to free someone who was groaning close to us in the ruins – I think that it was my mistress’s sister-in-law – but a sudden wind blew up, and a fire spread through the shattered mass, making rescue-work impossible. Once I thought I heard my mistress’s elder boy screaming; but when I went to the spot I could hear nothing. After this the shocks gradually diminished in violence. A few hours later we were able to reckon up the day’s horrors.
Antioch, the second city of the Eastern Empire (though Alexandria and Corinth and Jerusalem boldly disputed the title), lay in ruins. Of those who survived of its three-quarters of a million inhabitants, all but a few thousand were homeless; for a raging fire had destroyed the wooden houses that the earthquake had spared. Not a church or a public building was left undamaged. Immensely deep, long chasms had appeared in the earth, engulfing whole streets of houses. The most fantastic damage was in the Ostracine and Nymphaean quarters, but the greatest loss of life was at the Public Baths (named after Hadrian and Trajan) which were crowded at the time of the first shock.
The usual evils that accompany an earthquake of such magnitude were not lacking: pillage, rioting, contamination of the water supply, the spread of infectious diseases among the inhabitants (the cholera with increased force), and bitter religious argument as to the cause of the disaster. Fortunately we had an able governor who kept the confidence of the better elements among the survivors. He organized parties for releasing victims trapped in the ruins, for fighting the fires, for burying the dead, for building temporary shelters, and for the collection and distribution of food. If it had not been for him our situation would have been desperate indeed.
My mistress’s husband had been caught in the collapse of the Temple of Diana, and his body was never identified; but we were able to recover a large sum in gold from the cellars of the house, and his will was safe in the crypt of a church at Seleucia, under the charge of priests, and the store-building in which he kept his bales of silk had neither collapsed nor been burned. The villa in the Lebanon would be unaffected by the disaster. It might all have been much worse, we decided. Of my mistress’s four children she still had two. She suffered the usual mother’s pangs for the two that she had lost, telling herself that they were her favourites and the most beautiful and gifted of the four; but whether this was really the case I do not know. It is true that Photius did not prove a good son to her, but I preferred him to his brother who died.
When Justin was informed of the disaster, which had involved not only Antioch but the great city of Edessa on the road to Persia, and Anazarba, and Pompeiopolis, and, in the West, Durazzo and Corinth, all principal cities, he was overcome with grief. He took off the diadem from his head and put on a grey mourning cloak, and offered sacrifices at a shrine outside the City walls, and refrained from washing or shaving for a whole month. He also closed the theatres and the Hippodrome by decree for the same length of time. He contributed 2,000,000 gold pieces to the rebuilding of Antioch and proportionately to the other cities; he also remitted their taxes for a number of years. The loss in Imperial revenue was staggering.
As for my mistress, Antonina: she waited for two years at Antioch until conditions there had improved sufficiently to restore land values to a reasonable level. Then she sold all the property that she had inherited from her husband, and returned to Constantinople, with her two children, accompanied by myself. She bought a small house in the suburb of Blachernae, overlooking the waters of the Golden Horn, and did not announce her presence in the City to Theododa or any other of her former associates, preferring to live in seclusion.
Shortly after our arrival, Justinian became Emperor in succession to Justin. Theodora was already his wife, for his old aunt had died and he had persuaded Justin to repeal the law forbidding patricians to marry women who had been stage-actresses.
So my mistress’s former club-mate now wore the Empress’s crown of gold heightened with sprays of jewels, and strings of pearls over her shoulders, and a purple silk mantle, and a red gold-brocaded skirt, and golden slippers, and green stockings. My mistress thought it better to let Theodora seek her out, if she wished, than wait upon Theodora herself. For all we knew, she might wish to forget or destroy all evidence of her former life.
My mistress eagerly followed the news of the Persian War, and came to take a secret pride in Belisarius’s achievements. He and another young commander named Sittas had raided Persian Armenia and carried away a number of prisoners. This was the only success that the Romans could show in the war, which so far had gone badly for us. The Iberian subjects of the Persians, who were Christians, had revolted from Kobad because he had tried to force Persian burial customs on them. The Christians dig graves and the pagans practise cremation, but the Persians expose their dead, in towers, for the carrion-birds to feed upon: they regard fire and earth as elements too sacred to contaminate with corpse-flesh. Help had been sent to the Iberians from Constantinople in the form of a distinguished general, money, and a small force of friendly Huns from the borders of Colchis; but this was not enough to prevent the Persians from reconquering the Iberians.
In the mountain-range between Iberia and Colchis there are two passes, dominated by ancient forts. The men of Colchis who manned these forts made the war an excuse for sending an ambassador to Constantinople, asking to be paid for maintaining their difficult and disagreeable service; but saying that if the Emperor preferred to hold the fortresses with his own men, he was at liberty to do so. This was while Justin was still alive, though in his dotage. Justinian, who now took all the important decisions himself, was determined not to repeat the mistake that Anastasius had made over the Caspian Gates. Without calling a meeting of the Senate, he informed the ambassador that Justin would accept the second alternative. The Colchians therefore withdrew their garrisons, and Imperial troops were sent to take their place. But unlike the castle at the Caspian Gates, which was easy of access and situated in a fairly fertile region, these fortresses were in wild and barren country, and the provisions that they needed could not be brought to them even by mules – only human carriers could scale the rocks. Nothing edible grew for miles around, except for a kind of millet on which the Colchians could subsist but which our men regarded as food fit only for birds. The Colchian carriers now charged so highly for the conveyance of bread and oil and wine to the Imperial garrisons that the two commanders soon exceeded their subsistence allowance and, their soldiers refusing to touch millet-bread, were forced to withdraw to the plains. When the Persians in Iberia heard of the withdrawal, they seized the fortresses themselves and thought it worth while to feed their garrisons on the best food procurable. Justinian should have left the garrisons in the hands of the Colchians, paying them well for their services.
Another mistake on our side was a raid into enemy territory near Nisibis, undertaken by a Thracian general commanding the troops at Daras. The object of a raid, so Belisarius used to say, is to thrust as far inside enemy territory as is possible without endangering one’s retreat and, while there, to do as much military damage as is possible; but one should avoid committing acts of unnecessary cruelty. A successful raid alarms the Government of the land raided and discredits it with the inhabitants: the alarm and the discredit are the measures of its success. Thus the cavalry raiders of Belisarius and Sittas, in the previous campaigning season, had swept for a hundred miles up the valley of the Arsanias, crossed the river by a bridge, which they then destroyed, and retreated slowly by the other bank – plundering systematically as they went – before the advance of a large Persian column. There were only a few hundred of them, all trained men. But this Thracian conducted his raid wit
h a large, ill-assorted force of cavalry and infantry and made the pace of the horses conform with that of the marching men. He reached no place of importance, committed several acts of senseless cruelty, and, on the unconfirmed and inaccurate report that Persian reinforcements were marching along the road to Nisibis, turned about and hurried empty-handed back to Daras, from where he had started.
Such cowardice and foolishness cancelled the wholesome effect of the previous raid. Belisarius and Sittas were therefore ordered to rayage the Arsanias valley again; and did so. The Persians were on the alert this time, however, and soon surprised a squadron of Sittas’s men, who were not only encumbered with heavy plunder but intoxicated as well. Belisarius was forced to fight a difficult rearguard action to cover their retreat, and was lucky to get the greater part of his force away intact after causing the Persians heavy losses. But he left a large herd of captured horses and a number of captured Persian notables in the hands of the enemy. It was after this raid, in which his former schoolmates distinguished themselves greatly, that Belisarius first announced his stern rule against drunkenness while on active service: death without appeal was the penalty, and death according to whatever was the most shameful method established in the drunken man’s own nation – the sentence to be carried out by his fellows.
One of the first acts of Justinian on his accession was to dismiss the Thracian from his command and appoint Belisarius Governor of Daras in his stead. We heard a rumour, which troubled my mistress greatly, that Belisarius had advanced his position by becoming betrothed to Anastasia, Theodora’s sister, in spite of her lost teeth and unhealthy condition; but it was untrue. It was Sittas who was the fortunate man.
One day, while the war was still in progress, the course of my mistress’s fortune was again changed by the arrival at our house of two haggard and wayworn monks, the elder carrying a little basket. They had traced her whereabouts with great difficulty, having walked all the way from Antioch, where they had expected to find her. Only after many fruitless inquiries from one end of the City to the other, and much prayer, had they come upon her house. When we first looked into the basket it seemed to contain only a few freshly plucked mulberry leaves. Yet in those leaves was stored a fortune of colossal size. My mistress immediately took them to the Palace and asked for an audience with Her Resplendency, the Empress Theodora. She had put on dull-looking clothes and described herself as the pious relict of Such-and-Such, late Treasurer of the Blues at Antioch; not as Antonina of the club-house. She refused to particularize her business, but said that it was an important matter of State, and that if she announced it she would not be believed. She knew Theodora well enough to be sure that this statement would be irresistible.
CHAPTER 6
THE SECRET OF SILK
THE part of the Palace to which my mistress Antonina went was the vestibule, called the Brazen House. Its roof is of brass tiles, and there is an image of Christ over the Gate. Here the four battalions of the Imperial Guards are quartered; here also are to be found the Throne-rooms and State banqueting halls, and the State prison for men and women accused of treason. The other principal buildings of the Palace are the Daphne, where most of the Imperial business is transacted, and the Sigma, where the Emperor and Empress have their sleeping quarters, and the Residence of the Eunuchs. There is also a little square palace with a pyramidal roof, built of purple-speckled marble – the others are of white, yellow, red, or green marble – where all Empresses must, by an ancient rule, be brought to bed of their children, who are then said to be ‘born in the purple’. Theodora bore Justinian a child here, a girl; but she died in infancy. The Palace and its annexes and grounds cover one-tenth of the total area of the City, and occupy a triangle of land between the Bosphorus and the waters of the Sea of Marmora.
My mistress was kept waiting for hours in the reception lobby of the Brazen House, a small, stuffy apartment, and questioned by a number of important and unimportant people, mostly eunuchs, each in turn trying to break her persistent silence. The Empress, she was continually assured, refused to see claimants unless they expressly stated their business in detail. My mistress answered that if the Empress knew that they were keeping away so important a petitioner, she would punish them for their interference. Surely they could judge from the seriousness of her person that she was not one to petition the Empress idly?
She was at length successful. They admitted her to Theodora’s silk-hung audience chamber at the second audience, which began at two o’clock. She had with her, besides the basket, the children Photius and Martha; and they were cross and tearful because they had missed their dinner, having been kept standing about in the reception lobby since before eight o’clock. My mistress recognized one or two of the officials and Guards officers from her club-house days, but took care that no one should recognize her. The handsome gold cross on her breast and her widow’s weeds were a sufficient disguise; and she had grown a good deal plumper since her acrobatic dancing days. She had been ten years away from this part of the world.
My mistress watched the preliminaries of the audience, which Theodora conducted at a different hour from Justinian’s, so that the chief Officers of State should be free to assist her. A priest opened proceedings with a short prayer, and a few responses were sung, during which Theodora trimmed her nails with a tiny knife and looked contemptuous. Next, retired officials and women of note came up one by one to her throne very reverently, to kiss the hem of her robe or the instep of her feet. She greeted them coldly. Then the first petitioners were announced. Theodora listened to some attentively and to some impatiently with bent brows. Her decisions were short and pointed. ‘A present of gold to this woman’, ‘This plea must be referred to His Clemency, the Emperor’, ‘Take the impudent fellow out and whip him.’ Everyone seemed to stand in awe of Theodora.
Yet she had not changed at all, my mistress thought. At last Narses, the eunuch Chamberlain, announced her apologetically to Theodora: ‘Antonina, widow of Such-and-Such, silk-merchant, late Treasurer of the Blue faction at Antioch: with a personal plea. Obstinately refuses to state her business; insists, however, that it is of importance to the State and to your Resplendency.’
My mistress advanced and made a deep obeisance.
Theodora listened quizzically, her head tilted a little in a familiar attitude. My mistress almost forgot herself, almost sprang forward to embrace her old friend; tears started to her eyes. She was very fond of Theodora, and felt a deep pride in her as she sat there on a golden throne with such grace and assurance.
Theodora addressed my mistress. ‘That is a pretty little girl. Is she your own?’
‘Yes, Resplendency.’
‘Name?’
‘Martha, Resplendency.’
‘Why Martha?’
‘A Christian name, Majesty. The child is baptized.’
‘But why not Mary? Or Elizabeth? Or Dorcas? Or Ann? Or Zoe?’
My mistress grew bolder: ‘I named her Martha after the sister of that Lazarus who was raised from the dead. Martha, I am told, preferred the practical routine of household life to taking part in perhaps heretical religious discussion.’
The priests were scandalized, but Theodora laughed softly and said to the Major-Domo: ‘Clear the room, and be quick about it. I wish to have private conversation with this intelligent and pious widow.’
Before the last of the petitioners and Guards were well out of the room the Empress had descended from the throne, run towards Antonina, and was embracing her tenderly, weeping for pleasure. ‘O my Antonina, I thought you were dead. They told me that you were killed in the earthquake at Antioch! I did not recognize you until you spoke. Why did you not seek me out before? You were the best friend I ever had, dearest Antonina.’