Bread and Circuses

Byzantium enjoyed many of the imperial realities of Rome, above all, in 'bread and circuses.' That is, free bread and entertainment. We meet Theodora as a sexy, young star of the Constantinople stage and explore what made entertainment throughout the empire possible – factions.

Transcript

T&J Episode 1 
Bread and Circuses

 A quick content warning: there is a lot swearing. Sex work is also mentioned. There is a description of child sexual assault between the 45 to 46 minute mark, if you’d prefer to skip ahead. Please take care of yourselves, and most of all, thank you so much for being here. 

Intro

It’s the year 516 A.D.
You have just taken your seat in one of the better theaters in Constantinople — a bustling Christian metropolis and the crown jewel of the Roman Empire. It is, after all, the capital.  But you’re no tourist! You’re a Roman citizen and a resident of this fine town! Which means you’ve been issued a special bronze token. All you have to do is show that token at certain bread distribution points around the city, and they’ll give you a loaf ... for free. Which is why before you arrive at the theater, you make a quick stop. You know, for your show snack. 

Constantinople offers an almost dizzying amount of entertainment. No boredom here. Only FOMO. You’ve got your pick of exotic animal shows, chariot races, even orchestras with chorus girls. Sometimes they’ll even flood the stage with water, and they’ll dance around in it in skimpy bathing suits. It’s awesome. 

But you are here at this particular theater to see a mime show. Female mimes were then essentially what we’d consider today to be actresses or comediennes. Female mimes were also considered to be a rung above the dancing girls in the stratum of free Byzantine society known as ‘theatrical people.’ 

‘Theatrical people’ were beneath the elderly, children, and the infirm, who themselves were all lumped into a higher-ranked category called, and I’m not kidding, ‘The Useless.’

So, keep in mind: Theatrical people [ding]. The useless [higher note ding]. 

 As a citizen, you are well-aware of the low status of theatrical people. You’re also aware that theatrical women – whether they be mimes or dancers – are also sex workers. Now, mime shows offered up a specific style of slapstick, burlesque comedy that punched up. They’d mock priests, nuns, members of the aristocracy … They’d also do raunchy skits based on Greek mythology. And this last one, in particular, is what you’ve come to see. 

Leda and the Swan is the story of Zeus transforming himself into a swan — a swan whose neck is long and thick and priapic — so that he can bone a princess. It is not … what you’d call plot fat.

Nevertheless, all your friends in Constantinople have been like: ‘Dude, listen, I know Leda and the Swan is not your thing, but this Theodora … You’ve heard of her. She’s the younger sister of that huge star, what’s-her-face. Uh, Comito! But I promise. It’s not what you think. You’re gonna love it.’
So here you are. 
[NAT - Record scratch]

Now, when Theodora appears on-stage she is wearing a girdle and nothing else. 
[NAT - Audience cheers]

This is not new. What is new is the complete absence of what you’d call traditional talent: singing, dancing, playing an instrument.  Theodora, in her late teens – petite with dark hair – she does none of these things. Doesn’t even try.  However, when it comes to her using her lithe, beautiful and very flexible body to take a gag as far as she possibly can, Theodora is fearless.

Take the finale. She gets on her back, spreads her legs and a couple of enslaved stagehands begin sprinkling barley grains all over her exposed crotch, like some sugar-dusted caketop and you’re like, ‘What the …’ When a gaggle of trained geese appear from offstage, waddle toward her and begin picking the grains clean off of her pussy — I know, I don’t really say pussy that often — with their beaks. And the crowd goes nuts. 
[NAT - grains sprinkling + Ducks quacking + Audience cheers]

Now, I am here to tell you that in just over ten years’ time, Theodora, that mime whose show you just saw … would become the unthinkable. She would become Empress. And that’s because Theodora and Justinian, the man next-in-line to be emperor, fell in love. 

I am also here to tell you that this anecdote of Theodora’s raunchy AF barely-crotch performance cannot entirely be trusted. And that’s because it comes from a single source, written by a man … who hated her.  

Byzantium is this bridge between two monumental eras of European history: the Roman Empire and the Middle Ages. Byzantine history spans a thousand years, and yet it remains to many this vague, interstitial era. 

It was also a time when men were named Peter, and they were also named Quadratus.

The Roman Empire didn’t fall; it faded. Gradually — over a period of centuries  — it shifted east and was subsumed into an evolving Byzantine one. An empire where Christianity eclipsed paganism. Theology eclipsed Neoplatonic philosophy. Greek eclipsed Latin. 

The period of Byzantine history I’m going to cover — the Theodora and Justinian or T&J era, as I’ll refer to it — spans 450 to 570 AD. In the year 450, Justinian’s uncle, Justin was born. And one year later, there was a game-changing council meeting on early Christian dogma.  The T&J era wraps in the decade after Justinian’s death in 565 at the age of about 83. In 570 AD, let’s just say a very important prophet was born. Justinian’s reign coincides with the end of the Roman Empire. To what extent his and Theodora’s choices contributed to that, well, I suggest you subscribe to this podcast.

T&J were impressive people. Complicated people. Sometimes even ridiculous people whose choices and ideas I disagree with. But Justinian was also a visionary who wanted to create beautiful, impossible things, while Theodora was the OG mother of reinvention: a little bit of Marilyn, Josephine B, Cardi B, and Madonna all-rolled-into-one … albeit with unprecedented political and religious power.     

I first became aware of T&J back in high school world history class. Thank you, Ms. Proffer. But it took a pandemic to finally examine them in-depth.  [Shout out!]
Because when Covid-19 hit, I got to thinking about how Justinian had been emperor during the very first pandemic — the bubonic plague — and being a journalist nerd stuck at home during lockdown, in Berlin winter, I figured … I dig mosaics and a love story? Why not finally do some reading? And I am here to tell you, I basically have not stopped since. 

I’m Christine Laskowski and this is T&J, a limited podcast series devoted to sixth century Byzantium and the greatest recorded love story on earth – that between Empress Theodora and her husband, the Emperor Justinian. This is episode 1: ‘Bread and Circuses.’  
 
Part I. Bread, Baby  

It was actually sixteenth century humanist scholars who named Byzantium Byzantium. That’s not how the inhabitants of the empire at the time referred to themselves.
They called themselves Romans, albeit in Greek. Which had overtaken Latin as the empire’s lingua franca. That humanists coined the term Byzantium is relevant because they were the ones emerging from the Dark Ages. These scholars looked to Antiquity for guidance and inspiration. It’s what brought us the Renaissance. 

But the humanists were like, ‘Ah, you know what we need? We need a different label …’ And the label they settled on was Byzantium, which was what Constantinople had originally been called before Emperor Constantine renamed the Greek colony after himself in 330 AD. 

[Istanbul was Constantinople and Constantinople was Byzantium] And for another three centuries, until 619 to be exact, Byzantines did enjoy many of the imperial realities of Rome, above all in ‘bread and circuses.’   

[Body of Water Lullaby: The Mediterranean, Aegean, the Dardanelles, Sea of Marmara] In the ancient world, much like they are now, cities were places of consumption rather than production. And this was certainly true of Constantinople, where every year in August, a massive fleet of ships carrying basically nothing but grain would depart from the port city of Alexandria in Egypt. 

The grain from this annual shipment was so vital that Alexandria kinda got a pass on a lot of things other cities in the empire didn’t … simply because the powers-that-be would not risk it. You just did not fuck with Alexandria’s grain supply.  [Oh, Alexandria. That wild, wild wharf.]

But the challenges didn’t end once the grain ships left Alexandria …  Because the waters of the Black Sea flow south and into the Mediterranean … Constantinople’s location at the mouth of Black Sea was no accident; those southbound currents made it very difficult to invade. However, it also made it difficult to bring home the grain without the assistance of the winds.  [NAT - Stormy Winds] If the winds were good, early ships could make a second, or sometimes even a third, trip from Egypt before the onset of winter ended the sailing season. But if the winds were bad, sometimes they had to lie at anchor at the entrance to a strait known as the Dardanelles. [Body of Water Lullaby: The Mediterranean, Aegean, the Dardanelles, Sea of Marmara]
Either that, or simply let the cargo rot.  Known for his building projects, which I’ll get to later, Justinian devised a more efficient system for this. He ordered the construction of huge silos on an island located at the entrance to the Dardanelles. If the winds were unfavorable, ships could unload their cargo there. When conditions improved, other ships could bring the grain the rest of the way.

And once offloaded in Constantinople, this Egyptian grain was distributed to guilds of millers and bakers who made sure that bread was available every single day. It’s been estimated that the population of Constantinople around the T&J era peaked at half a million people. Now that’s a lot of bread. The government also took measures to prevent inflationary prices, not only for bread, but other core groceries, like pork and wine. Evidently, these protections were never applied to fish, which was the city-dweller’s main source of protein, because it’s really hard to hoard fish. [NAT - wine]

Needless to say, feeding the Roman citizens of Constantinople was a massive – and coordinated – state undertaking. And it demonstrates, in one fashion, the centrality of the Mediterranean Sea in the movement of goods. But also, in the Roman ethos. 

I grew up hearing a lot about Roman roads, but the Roman Empire was by-and-large a coastal empire. And practically every book I’ve read has a sensual paragraph on the Mediterranean as its fundamental axis. Here’s a nice one from historian, John Moorhead: ‘In the time of the Roman empire the lands around the Mediterranean were knit together more closely than at any other period in human history … the arms of Rome had conquered a wide swath of territory throughout which, the imposition of the one government, the practice of Roman law, the use of a unified system of coinage and, ultimately, the existence of one state religion progressively tended to lessen regional distinctions. The empire constituted a vast, largely self-sufficient common market within which areas could specialize in the production of such items as grain, wine, oil, pottery and papyrus; every summer what Julius Caesar nonchalantly referred to as ‘our sea’ was filled with cargo ships. Its cohesiveness was displayed in the remarkable uniformity of its towns, from Britain to Syria, which a fine network of roads brought close together.’

So that was the empire. Where the empire ended was the frontier.  During the T&J era, if, for example, you were at, say, the fortress city of Dara – located today in southern Turkey on the border with Syria – you were on the Roman side of its border with the Persian Empire. As far east as the Caucasus, Armenia was also at the frontier, as half of it had been divided between Rome and Persia as a buffer state. So, too, was the Arabian peninsula, which was fought over by local tribes in proxy wars funded by Rome and Persia, respectively.

And the Persian Empire, as the name attests, was an empire. 
Unlike the barbarian tribes, the Persian Empire was viewed by the Romans as a true rival. Right on the other’s doorstep, as we’ll see, sometimes the timing of those raids and ransoms could be super annoying. On the European side of the frontier, of course, there were many, many barbarian tribes. Some, like the Huns, came from as far east as modern-day Kazakhstan.  [NAT - Horses galloping] But what served as the Roman empire’s most striking territorial borders were its rivers: the legendary Euphrates in the east; the north-south Rhine, which buffered Gaul, to the west.  [NAT - Rivers and birds] And if you’re like me, who was unclear for years about what Gaul encompassed [It’s … Mainly France]. To the north there was the Danube River weaving its way across Eastern Europe before draining into the Black Sea. And then on the African side, the Roman frontier began along the Mediterranean coast and ended at the Sahara Desert, which was populated to-a-large-extent by Berbers. Roman Egypt ended right around where the Nile transitions into modern-day Sudan. 

And living along the frontier regardless of which Empire, or tribe, you belonged to … was precarious as hell. You could be, say, a blacksmith or a farmer, and a raid by the other side meant that you and your entire family could be captured, separated, and sold into slavery. It happened all the time.

I’ll address the realities of enslavement during the T&J era in subsequent episodes, but it’s important to grasp just how endemic the practice was. Try to think of enslaved people like the white blood cells of the empire. Integral to the body, white blood cells aren’t credited with giving blood its color, but they are everywhere, doing the work. 

The enslaved also exemplify how not everyone residing within Rome’s borders were themselves citizens. Even manumitted — or freed — slaves were not necessarily granted full citizenship rights. The same went for immigrants and refugees. Those classifications existed back then, too. 
Like the special bronze token that entitled you to that free bread as your theater snack at the top of the episode, Roman citizenship had its perks … You paid taxes, but in exchange you could be assured that, when you lent money, made a will, sold real estate — or human beings — your transactions — and any grievances caused by them — could be adjudicated in a Roman court.  As a Roman citizen, you had legal rights, you had protections. And therefore, you had status.  It was believed that each of the 72 languages thought to be spoken in the world at that time could be heard in the Constantinople of the T&J era — But that didn’t mean it was free of xenophobia. And even if you were a Roman citizen, were you Roman enough? 

Citizen or not, anyone living within or near this powerful, coastal ring of an empire would have associated the Romans with a robust entertainment culture. One that, among its many qualities, brought slave and senator together under one roof. As sports fans.  

Part II. The Circus Part 

 I’m not that well-versed in basketball, but I think it’s probably safe for me to say that Porphyrius Calliopas was the Lebron James of the chariot racing world. 

When he rose to prominence in Constantinople in the early years of the sixth century, Porphyrius Calliopas was unquestionably the best charioteer there ever was. And also like Lebron James, by 507 AD, Porphyrius Calliopas, according to one scholar: ‘Had for years been astonishing the capital by the agility and coolness with which he changed factions.’ That’s right. Factions. Between the ages of about fifteen and twenty-five, Porphyrius Calliopas changed factions the way Lebron James went to Cleveland and Miami and back, only many times over. 

Now, factions were not sports teams, per se. They were essentially giant production companies centered around sports that made entertainment throughout the empire possible.  And each faction was represented not by a mascot, but by a color. And apart from a short-lived reform sometime between 81 and 96 AD when Domitian was emperor — when there was purple and maybe also gold, there had always been four factions in the circuses and hippodromes of the Roman Empire. Emperor Nero? Huge Green fan. He’d roll in wearing a green coat and sometimes have the arena floor covered in bright green dust. By the time Porphyrius Calliopas was GOAT, we hear almost exclusively of the Blues and Greens, and not so much from the other two. The prevailing theory is that the Whites and the Reds simply found it beneficial to align themselves with the two stronger teams.

So … Blues and Whites; Greens and Reds. 

A win for the Whites was nonetheless seen as a de facto win for the Blues and vice versa. This is not to say that the smaller teams were irrelevant. In early sixth-century Constantinople, the whole city plunged into grief at the death of a driver named Constantine who drove for the White Faction. And we also know that Julian, a driver for the Reds, got a statue from them upon his retirement. Which is pretty sweet. But it must be said that Porphyrius Calliopas, though he was constantly switching colors, was never anything but a Blue or a Green. Now, Porphyrius was also likely a free man. At least by the time he made his first switch. Because only free, or manumitted, charioteers were permitted to move from one faction to another. Although, enslaved charioteers were certainly not unheard of. I mention this to offer up some sense of the dynamics of what went on inside during these races. Races dominated by colors, cheered on by enormous crowds of men, and mostly young men.  | NAT - crowds cheering + horses

In Constantinople, the setting for these faction-run chariot races was inside a stadium called the Hippodrome — you may have heard of it. And the Hippodrome’s predecessor stadium was none other than the Circus Maximus in Rome. [Istanbul was Constantinople and Constantinople was Byzantium] The Hippodrome, however, was a bit smaller in scale, and fashioned in a closed-off U-shape, which soon became the preferred stadium design for chariot races in major cities all over the empire: Nicomedia, Nicopolis, Thessalonica, Antioch, Berytus, Tyre, Caesarea, and Alexandria.   

Fun fact. Alexandria-being-Alexandria, its hippodrome dated all the way back to the early Ptolemies — which was long before Roman influence had ever reached Egypt. But Alexandria aside, there is actually very little evidence for chariot racing in eastern cities before the third century.  [Oh, Alexandria, that wild, wild wharf ]

By the fourth century, however, the once dominant gladiatorial games were phased out for chariot races — Tastes change, people! And everything involved in them: the horses, the feed, the staff of groomers, sweepers, doctors, trainers, coaches, drivers — you name it — made the chariot races just far more complicated operations to pull off. So the state did what states very often do. They outsourced it.  And the circus factions were born.

Juvenal: Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated their duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions – everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses. 

This snippet comes from a Roman satirical poet named Juvenal, and the aphorism he coined — ‘Bread and Circuses’ — summed up what he saw as a govern-like-you-would-parent-a-toddler approach.  Keep ‘em fed; keep ‘em entertained. And up go your chances for some domestic tranquility. Juvenal, who lived around 100 AD, also expressed pretty plainly that he thought ‘Bread and Circuses’ were a bum deal. Not only was it a way for citizens to be tricked into political passivity via their own tax dollars. It was even more sinister than that. By pointing out that ‘Bread and Circuses’ were also a source of anxious hope, Juvenal tells us what he really thought of them as: an addiction. Which is not entirely inaccurate. People waited in long lines to see the races. And in Constantinople during the T&J era, we’re talking upwards of 25 races in the Hippodrome in a single day.  The primarily young and primarily male audience were whipped into frenzies, which led to the invention of the halftime show. Intermission entertainment was created to calm fans the fuck down while the next race was getting set up. That way they wouldn’t riot or set the city on fire, which they sometimes did. The circus factions’ curated intermissions featured all kinds of things: mimes, dancers, acrobats, and even … performing bears. 

Part III. Theodora’s Origin Story

Before he dropped dead, Theodora’s father had been a bear trainer for the Greens.  His name was Acacius, and his job was to provide the Greens with bears that would do tricks in-between the chariot races. Occasionally, and this was not unusual for the time, he’d even slaughter them for the crowd’s amusement.

As a bear trainer in the Hippodrome, Acacius, would have also been classified as a ‘theatrical’ person. [Theater people [ding]. The useless [higher note ding]. But considering the nature of the job market at the time … Acacius had been doing all right for himself and his young family. Because while Constantinople was a city with a really robust service sector — as in, most people there were either directly, or indirectly, employed by the imperial government, the court, or the church — Theodora’s bear trainer dad, Acacius, despite being a theatrical person, had something super valuable: he had a trade. And tradesmen belonged to powerful guilds, guilds which ensured that occupations — whether you were a plumber or an ivory carver — were passed down from father to son. And these guilds were really hard to break into.

 I’ll note here that performers were also among the hereditary professions, and women in the theater were expected to follow their mother’s occupations. Theodora was a mime and a sex worker because her mother had been one, too. 

Now, we don’t know exactly how Acacius died, only that he left behind a wife and three young daughters all under the age of seven. Without a son, there was no one to inherit Acacius’ bear trainer position with the Greens. So Theodora’s mother quickly marries this guy who’s also a bear trainer, and her plan is that he can take over her dead husband’s position. Unfortunately for her, the Dancing Master of the Greens — that’s his title, I don’t make this stuff up —  was easily bribed and had already given the bear trainer position to someone else. Ugh!

So Theodora’s mom … she’s  got these three little girls to care for and now an unemployed bear trainer husband she probably doesn’t even like. Damn it. I hate it when that happens. Desperate, she gathers her little girls, places garlands on their heads and leads them onto the Hippodrome floor. Where they kneel in the dirt, heads bowed, and beg the Greens for compassion.  [NAT - Crowds]
I mean, it’s cinematic as hell, right? [HBO, I’ve got a pilot script. Call me!]   

The Greens are not persuaded. The Blues, however, the Blues are sympathetic. Their bear trainer also happened to die recently — I know, a lot of suspicious bear trainer deaths. And the Blues give Theodora’s stepdad the job. Her hard-scrabble little circus family is saved from the brink of destitution by the Blues.

According to Procopius of Caesarea — the historian of record for the T&J era — this was the reason Theodora was a die-hard Blues supporter for the rest of her life. 

But before I get to Procopius’ backstory, first, a short break.  
Featuring a 1922 recording of a song performed by Teddy Tucker, His Band and the Hilltoppers titled ‘Oh, Theodora.’  

Instrumental Break.

 | ‘Oh, Theodora’ |  

Part IV. Procopius & The Secret History 

I was going to begin with books, but I think it’s actually better if I start with their predecessor: scrolls. 

You see, aside from the charred papyrus fragments discovered in the Heraculaneum and the papyri found in garbage piles near the ancient Egyptian city Oxyrhynchus, everything and I mean everything else we have in-print from the ancient Greek and Roman world …  is a copy. And more often than not, a copy-of-a-copy-of-a-copy. Basically, how we know what we know is: a game of luck and telephone. 

Because all along the way, accidents happened, nature happened, and people made choices about what to commission. And what to keep.

In T&J’s Byzantium, scrolls were out, books were in. And they were not rare. There was no copyright and certainly no publishing houses like we have today. There were only wealthy patrons, which is how the authors of books made their money.

One of those authors was Procopius of Caesarea.

Justinian wanted a detailed historical record of his and his wife’s many achievements as emperor and empress. And we’re not just talking about the wars Justinian waged in Persia, North Africa and Italy. But also his architectural and infrastructure projects, like the Hagia Sophia, various aqueducts, and as I mentioned earlier, those grain silos in the Dardanelles.

So Justinian commissioned Procopius to chronicle it all, which he did, in two very epic, multi-volume historical works. The first was titled Wars and the second was titled Buildings, which were each published sometime around 553 and 555 AD, respectively. 

Now, one of the things scholars tend to take care in emphasizing is that while both Wars and Buildings are histories, they are also what are known as encomiums. Meaning that the works were deliberately hagiographic in their presentations of T&J because they were the benefactors footing the bill. And no one was like, ‘But, this is not objective.’ Because encomiums of emperors were seen as completely normal for the time.  [Encomium Palinode Song ]

Now enter: the Secret History.  

Likely written sometime on or around 550 AD, the literary convention the Secret History followed is what was known as a palinode, that is, a retraction. So while Procopius is busy finalizing these other two very flattering presentations of T&J in the classical style of Herodotus and Thucydides, he is also simultaneously undoing the work of that work with this other work. In secret. 

The Secret History was never published during Procopius’ lifetime. And as far as its popularity or impact … that’s hard to say. But what we can say is the Secret History … got a little lost. 

Until … a copy of it was discovered in a manuscript in the Vatican Library by a librarian named Niccolò Alemmani, who published it in 1623.

And it sort of blew scholars' minds. Because the contrast between the Secret History and Procopius’ known, published works was simply too great. Even though he announces himself in the Secret History’s opening lines and is clearly like, ‘Just so you know, guys, this one’s gonna be different.’ 

Procopius: All that has befallen the Roman nation in its wars up to the present day has been narrated by me as far as it proved possible, on the plan of arranging all the accounts of its activities in accordance with their proper time and place. Henceforth, however, this plan of composition will be followed by me no longer, for here shall be set down everything that came to pass in every part of the Roman Empire …

Accepting that the historian of record was also responsible for the Secret History meant accepting, as source material, something which had been written, well, more in the tradition of a lengthy, Hollywood blind item.

But thanks to the efforts of a Byzantine scholar named Dame Averil Cameron, we are in a season of acceptance. There is consensus that the three works — Wars, Buildings, and the Secret History — were written by a single Procopius — who will, from here-on-out, be our Procopius. [Shout out!]

And while I’m going to rely on them all, the Secret History forms our bedrock. When you hear from Procopius in this podcast, it’s going to be from the Secret History unless I say otherwise. 

So we already know that the Secret History is the true story of the T&J era because Procopius tells us so. But he then immediately tells us why the Secret History had to be so secret.  

Procopius: It was not possible, as long as the actors were still alive, for these things to be recorded in the way they should have been. For neither was it possible to elude the vigilance of multitudes of spies, nor, if detected, to escape a most cruel death. Indeed, I was unable to feel confidence even in the most intimate of my kinsmen.

According to the book, once in power, T&J created an intense climate of violent retaliation and fear. Cross them? And they would take away all your wealth and property in a fuckin’ snap. If you were really unlucky, you might also get thrown into one of Theodora’s apparently infamous oubliettes.

What comes into focus for me when reading Procopius, is that T&J did not respect rank. If there was ever a bee in Procopius’ bonnet, that was it.  [NAT - Bee]

Not only did T&J weaponize acute humiliation, read: acute emasculation — to keep the ruling classes loyal and in-line, the rigid hierarchies Procopius believed helped make Rome so great had basically been obliterated.

Procopius’ beloved empire wasn’t on the decline; it was in freefall. And it was all T&J’s fault.

Now, the book’s composition is itself a bit frenetic, as in Procopius jumps around, repeating, harping, and sometimes contradicting himself, sort of stream-of-consciousness-style, like he just could not rage-write fast enough, let alone stop to make an outline. The Secret History can also, at times, be hilarious, although clearly not on purpose.

For instance, Procopius writes how the bubonic plague was terrible and killed a lot of people, but at least there were some survivors. Not one living person in the Roman world had the fortune to escape Justinian’s reign. Like, damn, Procopius, you got any aloe for that burn?

But he’ll also spend a lot of time presenting things as factual that simply cannot be true. Like, how late at night, Justinian — a known insomniac, by the way — would rise suddenly from his imperial throne and his head would vanish while the rest of his body would keep pacing back and forth, back and forth.

I mean, it’s creepy, but it’s also impossible. Nevertheless, it’s presented as evidence for Justinian’s not metaphorical, but actually diabolical nature. Often, Procopius won’t even refer to Justinian by name, but simply as:

Procopius: ‘The Lord of Demons.’ 

I’m sorry. What was he called again?   

Procopius: ‘The Lord of Demons.’ 

Who was Procopius? How did he get the gig? Or gigs, as it were. Writing imperial histories and clandestine screeds?

Procopius tells us in Wars he was a native of Palestine. Caesarea, his hometown, was an important coastal and provincial capital that would today be located about halfway between Haifa and Tel Aviv. And while he likely came from Caesarea’s Christian upper-classes, the city was very cosmopolitan, with a mixed population of Christians, Jews, and Samaritans.

The Samaritans, in particular — both their revolts and Justinian’s harsh suppression of them — Procopius documented in detail and vehemently opposes. This, I’ll admit, was surprising for me given his attitudes toward women, but I’ll take tolerance wherever it sprouts. To quote Dame Averil Cameron: ‘He wrote, therefore, as a provincial, and as a native of an area and a city which knew what religious division and persecution meant in practice.’

While Caesarea had peaked as an intellectual hub in the 4th century, it still would have been a center for education during Procopius’ early years there, and a possible feeder for the famous law schools in Berytus, or Beirut. We don’t know where Procopius studied law, but it was likely the standard, secular education of the day. His legal education, wherever it was, was also one of the ways the sons of noble families landed plush administrative jobs. 

So he was a rich, white guy who went to Harvard, basically. In 527 AD, Procopius, age unknown, was hired on as a legal secretary/advisor to the staff of a young, up-and-coming general named Belisarius, who’d been appointed Commander of the East. This meant that when Belisarius fought, at least in the early years, Procopius went with him. Procopius’ accounts of the wars have credibility because he was, in fact, an eye-witness to a lot of them. Similarly, when it comes to depictions in the Secret History, Belisarius, and his wife Antonina, who I’ll talk about more in future episodes, are the only major characters we can reliably say Procopius knew.  

Whereas there’s a very good chance he didn’t interact with T&J much in person … if at all.

What the Secret History ultimately does is draw us into a special sort of quandary about how we ought to treat gossip … when it is the only source we have. And when that source is clearly hostile.

Part V. Theodora, The Sex Worker

The T in our T&J was probably born in or around 497 A.D. as a theatrical person. [Remember: Theatrical people — Ding! The Useless — Ding!]

Now, the Secret History, i.e. Procopius, provides us with nearly all the details we have on Theodora’s biography and exactly 100% of what we have about her childhood, including that story I recounted earlier about her bear trainer dad’s death. Here’s his account of her life right after.

Procopius: When these children came of age, the mother immediately put them on the stage  — since they were fair to look upon — not all three at the same time, but as each one seemed to her to be ripe for the calling. Now, Comito, the first one, had already scored brilliant success among the harlots of her age; and Theodora, the next in order, clothed in a little sleeved frock suitable to a slave girl, would follow her about, performing various services and in particular always carrying on her shoulders the stool on which her sister was accustomed to sit in the assemblies.

What Procopius describes next, and at length, are Theodora’s early experiences in sex work and trigger warning:  it’s really, really upsetting.

Procopius: Now for a time Theodora, being immature, was quite unable to sleep with a man or to have a woman’s kind of intercourse with one, yet she did engage in intercourse of a masculine type of lewdness with the wretches, slaves though they were, who, following their masters to the theater, incidentally took advantage of the opportunity afforded them to carry on this monstrous business, and she spent much time in the brothel in this unnatural traffic of the body.

He goes on to talk about her supposed penchant for ‘beardless youths.’ Which, I can imagine if you’re going to have a male client or clients, you’d probably prefer ones less likely to beat the living shit out of you. Because, according to Procopius, they did.

Procopius: She was the sort of person who, for instance, when being flogged or beaten over the head, would crack a joke over it and burst into a loud laugh … 

Theodora’s comedic talent was no accident. It was her weapon in this insanely aggressive environment where women like her were granted virtually zero bodily autonomy. She uses humor to beat men to the punch. Literally. And Procopius is like, ‘Nah, it’s shamelessness.’ 

What also gets me is how Theodora’s jokes can travel across millennia and still land, while Procopius is right there, as her contemporary, and manages to miss them entirely.

Procopius: And though she made use of three openings, she used to take Nature to task, complaining that it had not pierced her breasts with larger holes so that it might be possible for her to contrive another method of copulation there.

Okay, let me try it. [coughs] ‘Sorry, fellas. I’m done for tonight. It’s too bad these titties didn’t come with fuck holes!’ Come on. That’s hilarious. And it’s clever. Cloaking the word ‘no’ with some tawdry originality. ‘No’ obviously being a word I’m sure her clients were unaccustomed to hearing or even respecting.

Procopius: She would go to a feast with ten youths or even more, all of exceptional bodily vigor [fornicating] … the whole night long … and when they were too exhausted … she would go to their attendants, perhaps thirty in number, and pair off with each one of them; she could not get enough of this wantonness. [Ehhhh.] Maybe she did really like fucking, I like fucking. Which is fine. But that … that sounds to me a whole lot she was doing a job that she could not quit.

The last thing I’ll say about Procopius’ presentation of Theodora’s theater days is his fixation on her abortions. 

Procopius: And though she was pregnant many times, yet practically always she was able to contrive to bring about an abortion immediately.

He also uses them to criticize Justinian. 

Procopius: And to lie with a woman who had also practised infanticide time and time again by voluntary abortions.

Now, if we take all this gossip at face value, then the particular class of men, that is the patricians, the very class of men to which Procopius belonged — now, they would have been the most powerful and unassailable of Theodora’s clients. 

Which for me, once the tables had turned — ooh hoo — puts her torture, her irreverence, her unbridled wrath toward some of those men into some needed perspective. 

Conclusion

Theodora would go on to have a child, and only one — a daughter, out-of-wedlock — sometime during her theater days, whose name is lost.

Theodora could read and write. Although we don’t know exactly how or when she learned.

But considering only around ten percent of people back then were believed to be literate, even counting those who could only write their names — it speaks volumes not only of her intelligence, but of her tenacity.

Now, I’ve no opposition to sex work when the adults who do it choose it in an environment they know to be safe and are appropriately compensated for that work. However, when it comes to Theodora … those were not her circumstances. She clearly wanted out of a profession where there was no out.

A theatrical person was so low in the societal hierarchy, they even were barred from receiving the sacraments. A priest was only permitted to administer them the sacrament of Last Rites, when they were dying. That way, a theatrical person, if lucky, could be forgiven their lifetime of sins, and go to heaven.

But the funny thing is, if said theatrical person recovered, they were now too pure, and were forced to retire from that life. Apparently, enough theatrical people began exploiting this loophole that a law was passed requiring both a bishop and city officials to sign off before last rites would be granted.

You were born a theatrical person, and you died a theatrical person. Your options were the life, the loophole, the monastery, or death. Theodora, of course, knew this. And yet, she fucking manages it. Sometime around the age of twenty, Theodora contrives for herself an alternative path and departs … for Africa. 

She leaves the theater – and her young daughter behind – in Constantinople, and attaches herself to a man – who is not Justinian, but who will absolutely, undoubtedly change her life.

And this is where we’ll leave her. For now. Until next time, when we pick up Theodora’s thread again. 

Outro/Wrap

Research, scripting, narration, and editing for this episode were all done by me, Christine Laskowski. Scoring and musical arrangements for T&J were also written and performed by me in collaboration with the incomparable, Jack Butler. The T&J logo was designed by Meredith Montgomery. 

Procopius of Caesarea was voiced by Michael de la Bedoyere and Juvenal by Craig Judelman.

Special thanks to David Parnell for his notes and feedback. Additional sources for this episode are available in the show notes.

If you liked what you’ve heard, spread the word and leave a nice note in the review section wherever you’re getting your podcasts. Follow and donate on Patreon – that’s patreon.com/tandjpodcast. It’ll really help me keep the show going and give you access to all upcoming T&J episodes in addition to other objectively delectable perks.

Now, enjoy the outro because I wrote it just for you.

Blues and whites, greens and reds
When Porphyrius drives,
we bow our heads  

Nero was a crazy king,
crushed chrysocolla
made the stadium green 

Blues and whites, greens and reds
When Porphyrius drives,
we bow our heads 

T&J had much to lose,
and still they backed
their beloved Blues  

Blues and whites, greens and reds
When Porphyrius drives,
we bow our heads 

Anastasius was a faction
Switzerland he rooted Red
until the very end

Blues and whites, greens and reds 
When Porphyrius drives, 
we bow our heads  

Sources

Boin, Douglas. Alaric the Goth: An Outsider’s History of the Fall of Rome. W.W. Norton & Company, 2020. Browning, Robert. Justinian & Theodora. Thames and Hudson, 1971.
Cameron, Alan. Circus Factions: Blues and Greens at Rome and Byzantium. Clarendon Press, 1976.
Cameron, Dame Averil. Procopius and the Sixth Century. Routledge, 1985.
Evans, James Allan. Power Game in Byzantium: Antonina and the Empress Theodora. Continuum, 2011.
Evans, James Allan. The Empress Theodora: Partner of Justinian. University of Texas Press, 2002.
Greenblatt, Stephen. The Swerve: How the World Became Modern. W.W. Norton & Company, 2011.
Herrin, Judith. Byzantium: The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire. Penguin Random House, 2007.
Moorhead, John. Justinian. Longman, 1994.
Procopius. The Anecdota or Secret History. Translated by H.B. Dewing, Harvard University Press, 1935.

Non-Original Music 
(Courtesy of Internet Archive (archive.org), in order of appearance)

Destrubé. “Théodora.” Pathé, Publication Date Unknown.
Schmit, Lucien. “The Swan (Le Cygne).” Cameo, 1923.
Ferera’s Hawaiian Instrumental Quartet. “Flower of Hawaii.” Columbia, 1922. Drumheller, L.A. “Love and Devotion.” Edison, 1914.
Wyman. Taylor Trio. “Idol Eyes.” Connorized, 1922.
Menzel Instrumental Quartet. “Tranquility.” Victor, 1906.
Straight and Biese. Paul Biese Trio. “In the Land of Rice and Tea.” Columbia, 1920.
Von Tilzer, Harry, AL. H. Weston and Irene Young. “At the Circus.” Edison, 1921.
Edwards, Leo. Harry Raderman’s Jazz Orchestra. “Song of Omar.” Okeh, 1920.
Victory Military Band. “When It’s Circus Day Back Home.” Victor, 1917.
Cogane, Franklin, and Skyler. Teddy Tucker His Band The Hilltoppers “Oh, Theoodora.” Savoy, 1922.
Radford-Olman. Emerson Dance Orchestra. “My Rose of Palestine.” Emerson, 1919. 

* Under the Music Modernization Act, all recordings published prior to 1923 will enter the public domain and will be free to use and reuse. 

 Non-Original Natural Sounds 

 ‘Only in Lapland’ Audio Library (https://soundcloud.com/onlyinlapland)
www.freesoundeffects.com