She shook her head, driving away the thoughts. Later. For now, there was this other matter.
She turned away from the window and smiled at Antonina. Then she smiled at Belisarius. The first smile was heartfelt. The second was—not. Or, at least, not very.
Briefly, the Empress examined her feelings in that cold and dispassionate way that was one of her great strengths. In truth, she liked Belisarius. It was just that she found it impossible to trust any man. She did not even trust Justinian, for all that she genuinely loved him. But—as men went, Belisarius was not bad. He had been good to Antonina, after all. And Theodora thought, approvingly, that his wife had the general well under her thumb. Whether or not Belisarius could be trusted, she trusted Antonina.
The Empress resumed her seat upon the throne which sat in a corner. The throne fit awkwardly in the confines of the private reception room. True, the room itself was luxurious. The floors were covered with exquisite Armenian rugs, the walls with even more exquisite mosaics and tapestries. Still, it was much too small a room to manage the bulk of a throne properly.
Yet even here, in the privacy of her own quarters, Theodora insisted on a throne. A relatively modest throne, to be sure, nothing like the monstrosity upon which she sat in the great reception hall of the palace. But it was a throne nonetheless.
It was one of her own foibles, she knew. The throne was not as comfortable as a normal chair would have been, but—she remembered the years of poverty and powerlessness. The years when she obeyed men, rather than the other way around. And so, everywhere she planted her very attractive imperial rump, she insisted on a throne.
“I just don’t like to have my intelligence insulted,” she growled. The Empress straightened. As tall as she was, sitting high up on a throne, the pose made her loom over her audience. Exactly as she intended.
“It’s perfectly obvious that you’re looking for an excuse to get away from Justinian’s insanely jealous eye, Belisarius.”
Seeing the slight look of startlement on the general’s face, Theodora laughed.
“You think it strange that I understand my husband’s peculiarities?”
Belisarius examined the Empress. She was a beautiful woman, very shapely in a slender sort of way. An Egyptian like Antonina, she shared his wife’s dark complexion. But where Antonina’s green eyes were a startlement in her dusky face, the Empress’ eyes were so deep a brown as to be almost black. Her hair also was black, as little of it as could be seen in the jewel-encrusted coiffure.
He decided that honesty was probably the best course, under the circumstances. He did not know Theodora well, but he did not mistake the cold intelligence in those dark eyes.
“I am not surprised that you understand the Emperor’s—characteristics. I am simply a bit puzzled that you understand him so well and—” He faltered. This was perhaps pushing honesty a bit far.
The Empress concluded for him.
“And still love him?”
Belisarius nodded. “Yes.” He took a deep breath. Hell with it. The general knew from experience that it was unwise to change strategy in midbattle. “And are quite devoted to him. Even a man as removed as I am from the imperial court can tell that much.”
The Empress chuckled. “I suggest you don’t try to understand it. I don’t myself, not entirely, and I suspect I’m much better than you at understanding such things. But the fact is, I do love Justinian, and I am quite devoted to him. Do not ever doubt it.” She bestowed upon him a cold, deadly, imperial gaze. But only for a few seconds. Belisarius, she realized, was not one to be intimidated. Nor, she thought, was there any reason to do so.
Theodora smiled again. “One of the facts which is, and unfortunately, remains, is that my husband is prone to extreme jealousy. An imperial kind of jealousy, to boot, which is the worst variety.”
She sighed. “It would be so much better if he’d fret himself over my fidelity, like most men. There’d be nothing in it, and I could spend some pleasurable hours reassuring him of his potency. But, not Justinian. He frets only royal frets, I’m afraid. The greatest of which is being overthrown by a rival. Especially a successful general.