Soon Justinian made King Kobad a present of a costly silk cloak dyed in Tyrian purple which, he pretended in the accompanying letter, was made by Syrian silkworms; and sent cocoons of silkworms in proof. This was a great vexation to Kobad, who had also recently come to know the secret of silk: it had been communicated to him by one of his vassals who married a Chinese princess – she had concealed a batch of eggs in her turban upon leaving her own country. But he had made no attempt to exploit his knowledge. It was safer to let things continue as before, making his middleman's profits on the sale of silk to the West cover the expense of his own large consumption, rather than inaugurate a new industry and risk its being observed and copied by ourselves. Now the worst had happened: his monopoly was broken and the higher the price he now asked for silk, the greater would be the encouragement to our Syrian silk-farmers. He therefore informed the Chinese that both Persia and Constantinople knew the secret of silk, and did not wish to pay such high prices abroad for what they could raise cheaply at home. The price fell somewhat, but even now our silk-farms cannot clothe us without help from China and Persia; for the rearing of silkworms is by no means a simple matter. Justinian made the sale and manufacture of silk a State monopoly.
Within two days of her arrival at Court my mistress Antonina was created a patrician, the Illustrious Lady Antonina of the Bedchamber; and was presented to Justinian, who was condescending to her, but pretended not to know her. Meanwhile she had been involved in an alarming adventure. On the evening of the day that she had this audience with Theodora, she left the Palace and went on foot to the nearest point of the Bosphorus where she could hire a boat to row her home past the docks of the Golden Horn. But a burly-looking, black-bearded fellow in a merchant's cap stopped her in the street. He drew her aside and asked whether her name was Antonina; for if so he must have a word with her. 'I am an official from the Palace,' he said.
My mistress refused to go with him into a nearby house, as he suggested, because the man might be an impostor who intended in reality to carry her and her children off, after stupefying them, and sell them as slaves to some chieftain of Colchis or the Crimea or some other wild region. There was considerable traffic in kidnapped women and children to remote parts of the Black Sea coast. She replied: 'No, come into this church with me. We can talk privately there.'
He agreed, and they went in. My mistress said: 'Now show me your warrant. How can I be sure that you are from the Palace?'
He drew out a commission written in purple ink, which is only used by the Emperor. It was to the effect that the loyal and beloved patrician, the Distinguished So-and-So (but he held his finger over the name) was commissioned as a superintendent of secret police in the City of Constantinople by the grace of His Most Sacred Clemency the Emperor Justinian. My mistress read it only in the flickering light of the long, scented candles burning in a draught before the shrine of some martyred monk or other; but it appeared genuine.
'Well, what do you want of me?' she asked.
'An account of everything that passed between yourself and the Empress this afternoon.'
She laughed, resolved not to display the least fear. 'It would surely be better to ask the Empress. I have a wretched memory for royal interviews.'
'Prison and a little torture would improve it,' he threatened. 'And there is another more important matter which His Clemency is anxious to learn about, and which you as a former associate of the Empress…'
My mistress interrupted: 'If the Empress has been gracious enough to recall certain trivial services of mine to her in the years before she was raised to the purple, that is her affair. I have no recollection of them myself.'
He lowered his voice and said: 'No hedging, I beg of you. Is it a fact that the Empress had an illegitimate son in her theatrical days by a Red Sea merchant who visited frequently at your club-house?'
My mistress raised a cry, and two monks who were hovering in the shadows darted forward. 'This man is blaspheming the Christ,' she said. 'He is an idolator, a Manichee, a vile sodomite, and I do not know what else. Protect me from him, you pious monks!'
The Superintendent flourished his commission in their faces. 'The woman lies,' he said. 'I am questioning her in the Emperor's name. Sec, I am a superintendent of police. Go away, holy brothers, and leave me to conduct this inquiry in private. I have soldiers waiting outside.'
My mistress asked the monks: 'On whom does this church of St Mary Magdalene depend for its endowments? On His Sacred Clemency the Emperor, or on Her Sacred Resplendency the Empress?'
