Justinian by Ross Laidlaw

to the office of a Patriarch.
    â€˜Well, it would seem my good friend Abbess Irene, our sister in Christ, has formed a high opinion of you,’ boomed Timothy, after perusing the abbess’ letter of introduction. ‘She hints that you have had a chequered past not without its share of troubles, but that now you wish to follow a fresh path in life. She maintains that despite lacking any advantages of wealth or education, you possess in your favour youth, courage, a generous heart, and an excellent mind.’ Looking up from the missive, Timothy barked, ‘None of which, of course, will be the slightest use to you, unless you also have that most essential of ingredients – luck.’
    â€˜Was it not luck, Your Holiness, that directed I should meet Irene, and thus yourself?’
    The bishop stared at Theodora, then shook his head and chuckled. ‘You may have a point. At least you’ve got a ready tongue, which counts for something, I suppose. I’m wondering how I can be of service to you.’ Shooting her a keen glance, he went on, ‘I could always recommend you to a nunnery as a postulant. Perhaps not,’ he continued hurriedly, as Theodora gave a slight shake of her head. ‘Well then – how about working as an almoner until you find your bearings? Free bed and board, plus allowance – only a tiny one, I fear.’
    â€˜Yes, I’d like that,’ replied Theodora, immediately attracted by the idea of working with deprived people, helping lives less fortunate than hers.
    And so began the happiest period Theodora had thus far known in her short life – a strange, fulfilling interlude in which she discovered, through her work with the poor, a natural empathy and ability to communicate with others. Her peregrinations sometimes took her past the theatre, situated near the waterfront; somewhat to her surprise, she felt not the slightest twinge of regret or nostalgia on these occasions. From her base in the Convent of St Catherine situated in Rhakotis, a poor quarter in the west of the city, she made periodic reports to Timothy, who seemed to take a personal interest in her welfare as well as in the progress of her work. Noticing the curiosity she displayed towards his impressive collection of volumes, he gave her the freedom of his library, a privilege which afforded Theodora enormous satisfaction. She simply could not get enough of books; her keen and active mind, so long starved of knowledge, hungrily absorbed their contents as fast as she was able to unroll papyrus scrolls or turn the pages of parchment codices. Plato, Aristotle, Isocrates, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Polybius, Caesar, Tacitus, Dio Cassius, Ammianus: all were greedily devoured (Latin authors in Greek translations, for although Constantinople was a bilingual city, Theodora had but a smattering of the tongue of Cicero and Virgil). The subtle metaphysics of Christian theologians such as Athanasius or Augustine proved a tough challenge, but also a source of gratification when she found she could (mostly) unravel their complexities.
    â€˜A pity you can’t supplement my poor collection from the richest store of knowledge known to man,’ sighed Timothy one day when she showed up to present her report, ‘ – the great library of Alexandria, burned down by a Christian mob over a century ago in the time of the first Theodosius.’ He shook his great head sadly. ‘Misguided bigots. Fanaticism – the curse of the Eastern mind, I fear. Hence the present unhappy state of near-schism between the Monophysites – Easterners of Syria and Egypt, unbending in devotion to their creed – and the Chalcedonians of the West.’
    â€˜But Irene said you favoured the Monophysites.’
    â€˜True. But not too openly, I fear.’ Timothy grinned ruefully and spread his hands, as if to disown what he was about to say. ‘As Patriarch, officially I represent the emperor in a spiritual