Based on the work of Robyn Bee, In 7 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Theodora believed. Her faith ran deeply. It was not worn as some gesture of heretical mockery. That cross, like her body, were symbols of her devotion to God. She made love, shared herself with others as an act of worship. Her every moan, a prayer; her every cry, an exultation to her creator. The font between her legs, the sweetest sort of holy water.

It was no sin to revel in what God had given her.

"Ah, my soldier," she panted, collapsing onto her hands. "You are a worthy distraction."

The Empress finished her bath not long after; taking a few minutes to scrub vigorously at her skin, her expression curled into one of satisfied contentment. We traveled with her back to her inner chambers, standing outside while an army of maids moved in to help her get dressed.

I stood numbly at Helena's side, my guts twisting around as if I'd taken a knife. I hated myself; both for what I'd done and what I hadn't let myself do. She was my Empress, yet I couldn't get the sight of her naked body out of head. Or, how I'd watched her impale herself again and again on that golden phallus; rivulets of her own moisture trickling down the shaft of it.

"You surprised me again, you know," Helena said into the silence.

Her voice drew me back into the real world, letting me blink my thoughts clear. I tilting my head to find her eyes considering me.

"In the baths," she clarified. "Your restraint."

Right. She'd been there. She'd seen me, my nakedness, My cheeks suddenly, burned scarlet and I couldn't meet her gaze.

She laughed, a deep sound rich with textures, which somehow made me feel even more uncomfortable.

"Don't worry," she said. "I've seen many others, and been a lot closer to a fair bit of them. Although, yours was particularly nice,”

She trailed off, her voice still on the edge of laughter.

"Restraint?" I managed to croak out, looking for a way out of this. "What restraint?"

"You know what I mean," Helena said. "The Empress practically begged you for more. Most men, and many women I've met wouldn't have hesitated to jump in. But you didn't, and I can't really figure out why."

I let out a long breath, breathing back in through my nose. I caught the whiff of oiled-steel, and was talking before I really knew it.

"Honestly? I don't even know. She's the Empress for God's sake, not some camp follower. And besides, she's married. I know the world is way different here but, I don't know. It just felt wrong, I guess."

"I told you that neither she nor the Emperor care about that," Helena said.

"I know. But a good woman isn't supposed to be like that."

"And just how is a good woman supposed to be?"

It was a sign about how lost I was in my own confusion that I missed the flint in her voice and the sudden stiffness of her frame. I just kept talking, my eyes down onto my out-stretched hands.

"I don't know that anymore either. My mother always said that good, happy women were,” I let out another long breath and shook my head. "Not like this. Not so, I don't know. But it doesn't matter."

I back towards her with a shaky grin. "I guess all I do know is I shouldn't be the one deciding any of this anyway."

Silence fell between us for a time. I listened to the commotion of the Empress' preparations, keeping an eye on the empty hallway. It was Helena that eventually spoke again.

"And what about me? Am I a good, proper woman?"

"No," I said, meeting the challenge in her gaze. I let my lip quirk into a wry smile. "But Helena, you might just be the sanest person here."

Her lips parted in a wide smile, and the deep green of her eyes brightened just a little. She laughed, and I felt an all-together different sort of warmth rise through me.

My little lion.

Your letter has been an answer from God. I feared for you when I heard about the army's defeat at the hands of those barbaric Persians. But God is good, and I knew that He would not let you fall to those heathens. I do not know when, or where this letter will find you, but just know that I love you and that your dedication to your career fills me with pride.

I know too, that your father would say the same. What man wouldn't? To see their son follow so closely in his own footsteps.

I let out a breath, leaning back, away from my little desk. This was the last letter I'd received from my mother; the message waiting for me when I'd arrived in Constantinople back at the end of May. It was nearly September now.

I'd put this off enough, I told myself. I had blank parchment, quill and inkpot. I had to write to her. I had to tell her that I was still alright; that I was in the capital. That I was working in the Imperial Palace.

That I'd left the Legion.

My head fell into my hands. I closed my eyes, and tried to will them open an instant later. I needed to do this. I needed to tell her. I was a soldier for God's sake, I could write a letter to my own fucking mother.

A minute passed, and then two. And then, luckily, there was a knock at my door before I could really start hating myself.

I just about leapt from my desk, opening the door to find Helena standing there.

"Morning!" She said with a wide smile. "You ready?"

"Helena," I said. "Ready? What, uh. I, for, ?"

I trailed off unable to figure out what I'd actually wanted to say. Helena stood in my doorway without her armor, without much of anything really.

Her neck and shoulders were bare; her warm bronze skin flowing down to the swell of her chest. The shape of it was hidden, however, lashed tight by a winding strip of cloth. Her stomach was naked, the muscles flexing with every breath she took.

My eyes traveled down the tightness of her navel, to the loincloth wrapped snuggly around the curve of her hips. It was short, doing nothing more than swaddle the place where her legs flowed into each other. I followed the endless, sculpted smoothness of her legs down, tracing every swell and divot. I lingered for a time of the strip of cloth looped around one thigh, wondering at its arcane purpose before I arrived at her sandaled feet.

"Like what you see?" I could hear the smirk in her voice, and I looked up to find her eyes alight beneath the free-falling curls of her copper hair.

"Yes" I instantly replied, the words springing out of me without bothering to stop by my brain.

She snorted, a faint flush of color creeping up her naked skin. "Come on, get out of that. We're going for a run."

"A run, ?" My eyes flicked back down to the shape of her thighs. My mind finally seemed to judder back into motion, and heat seared up my body as I realized what I was doing.

"A run!" I said, tearing my eyes away from her. "Yes. Sorry. Yes. I'll be ready."

I still hadn't moved, my eyes flailing about wildly for a place to rest. Helena laughed, and I took that as permission to settle back on her grinning face.

"Sorry," I said. "You, uh, took me by surprise."

"I can see that," she said. "Now, take that off. We need to go before it gets too hot."

"Ah, right," I said. "Give me a moment."

"Sure," she said. "I'll meet you down in the Hippodrome, then."

I nodded. She turned, moving away and giving me a view of her back. My eyes slid down the smooth arch of her spine until they reached the curved, firmness of her hips. Her loin-cloth was tight, looping around her waist and between her legs. It left much of her rounded behind visible, each hump jiggling faintly as she walked.

I was mesmerized by the sway of her hips; of the rhythmic bouncing of her cheeks. Of the muscles shifting beneath the flesh of her naked thighs. But most of all, by the way her ass completely devoured the strip of cloth down its center.

I heard her make a small sound, and looked up to find her peeking back at me from over one shoulder. I flushed, and saw her lips curl into another smile. She turned her attention forward once more, reaching down to that loop around her thigh and using it to tie back her hair.

I swear, in the final few steps before she rounded the corner, the swing of her hips took on an extra snap.

I stared after her for a while after she'd disappeared. I'd grown used to the sight of her in armor; the shape of her body masked by the protective steel. Women didn't wear armor; and so, despite the beauty of her features, I'd somehow convinced myself that Helena wasn't one.

I wouldn't forget that again. Not now that I had the sight of the swaying, curving femininity of her waist locked tightly in my mind. I knew that I would never forget that first glimpse of her. I'd carry it with me, along with the way her eyes had danced when she'd smiled.

Constantinople's Grand Hippodrome was one the great wonders of the world. It was huge, the U-shaped track built directly into the western wall of the Imperial Palace. From the Emperor's box, Justinian, and the hundred thousand others that could squeeze themselves into the surrounding grandstands, could watch the thunder of the chariot races that were the center of life within the capital.

The seats were empty now. Though I remembered well, when I'd jogged through at the end of my own race, the way the sands had shaken with each one of the crowd's roars and cheers.

Helena and I started to run after a few minutes of stretching. We ran the circuit of the charioteers, doing lap after lap around the low, obelisk framed wall that divided the track in two. She was a good runner, better than good. Her breathing was steady, her long legs devouring mile after mile of the sandy track.

We ran in silence mostly; each of us focusing on the breath in our lungs, the sun on our naked backs and the sand beneath out feet. I quickly fell back into my old rhythm, my head emptying itself of everything but the run. Slowly, as one hour slipped past, and then two, I felt that calm settle deeper into me. My thoughts, my confusions and my doubts from the past couple of weeks; all of it started to clear. This was something I knew. Something that I was good at. I focused on that, anchoring myself to the joy of doing something I loved; in the company of someone who seemed to love it too.

By the time we stopped, I actually felt like myself again.

It was near midday when we stopped, guzzling water from a waiting barrel. In the hours since we'd arrived, a unit of Excubitors had started drilling nearby. They attacked wooden posts with heavy training swords; another group falling in and out of formation beneath the heavy batons of their officers.

I watched them while we rested, noting a much heavier focus on marching and formation drills, rather than actual combat. It wasn't what I was used to, but it would serve.

"Let's go train with them," I said, speaking loudly over the shouts of the officers. "I haven't practiced in weeks."

Helena, her skin flushed a healthy pink from the long run, didn't meet my gaze. "Ah, you go. I'll just run some more; I think."

I frowned. "Come on, we need the practice. Let's get those guys at the posts to do some actual sparring."

She shook her head. "I can't. Just go, Leo. I'll do a few more laps before I go back in."

"Helena," I said. "We're the Empress' Guard. We can train with them whether they like it or not."

Her face twisted. "Oh, they very much don't like to train with a woman."

My frown deepened. "That doesn't matter. You guard the Empress. They have to train you."

"You'd think so, right?" She laughed, a bitter sound. "Oh, they're all happy to stare at me when I run, but as soon as I approach them with a training sword in my hand, everyone suddenly finds somewhere else they need to be. I just do what I can with the wooden posts."

I was getting angry. "That’s nothing."

"It’s the best I can do."

"It’s not enough," I answered.

Her eyes flashed, but I turned away. I started towards the closest rack of training swords. "I'll train you myself, then."

She caught me before I'd taken my third step. Her hand closed around my arm, whirling me around to face the anger in her wild, cypress green eyes.

"Fuck you," she hissed. "I don't need your pity."

"Pity?" I wrenched my arm from her grip. "This isn't about fucking pity. You're Empress Theodora's bodyguard. Our duty is to keep her safe. How the fuck are you going to do that if you can't fight?"

"I'm not a coward," she said. "I won't run."

I snorted. "So, what? Any idiot can take a knife to the gut. But what happens to our Empress after that?"

She didn't back away from me, but neither did she speak. So, I did.

"You're my shield mate, Helena. We stand beside each other. While we fight, your shield stays locked onto mine." I slapped my hand loudly against my forearm, my voice rising.

"We fight like Romans. We make a wall out of our shields and bodies. We let our enemies break themselves upon it, and we grind through them."

I was angry. I was angry at her for not trying. I was angry at the self-important guards who'd refused to teach her. And I was angry at myself, that I hadn't noticed any of this sooner.

"We sell our lives as dearly as possible." I was roaring now, my voice hoarse. "That’s our fucking duty. You, and all these shit-brained Excubitors have forgotten. But I haven't. And I'm not going to die because my shield mate doesn't know what the fuck she's doing."

I grabbed her arm and spun her around, kicking her towards the rack of wooden swords and shields. "So, go get us some gear. We're starting now."

Helena hesitated a moment, her back stiff and trembling. My fists were clenched, ready to meet her rage with my own. Though, the still rational part of me knew that it would be the end of us. I wouldn't work with someone who let their pride get in the way of their duty.

She didn't, moving towards the nearest rack within another heartbeat.

"Don't forget the shields!" I shouted after her.

Then, I let out a long breath, trying to unclench my muscles. She'd done right. Again. She didn't deserve this. I noticed some of the Excubitors throwing looks my way. I'd evidently spoken louder than I ought to, because most glared at me furiously.

I glared right back.

One of them started to come towards me, a sneer painted onto his face. He was pretty; bare-chested as the rest of us, his muscles gleaming with oil. He swung his wooden sword in lazy arcs, his shield nearly dragging through the sand.

"I don't recognize you," he said in a refined accent. "Are you here to train that woman?"

I felt my hackles rise. I wasn't going to let some tarted up parade ground soldier speak to me like I was some fucking dog. Even if he was probably some senator's son.

"We're the Empress' guard, boy," I snapped. "Piss off."

The idiot's face darkened. "Watch your mouth," he said. "This place is for soldiers; not women and servants."

"Fuck off. I won't tell you again."

But I knew he wouldn't. He'd gone this far, in full view of his entire unit. He couldn't let me win. And so, when his sneer shifted into a snarl and he swung his wooden blade across at me, I was ready.

I caught the wooden sword in one fist, ignoring the pain that flared there. The idiot's eyes widened. He tugged on it, trying to pull it out of my grip, but I swung my other fist into his nose before he could succeed.

I smeared his nose across his face. He collapsed to the sand, screaming. The fool hadn't even raised his shield.

I kicked him in the stomach, wrenched the sword from his grip and ripped the shield from his other arm. I quickly looped my own limb through the too loose straps of the shield, cinching them tight with my teeth in time to see one of his friends charging at me.

I rushed to meet him, tucking my shoulder into my shield and crushing it into him. I hit him like a battering ram. He went down, and I ground my heel into his stomach before facing the rest of them.

"Come on!" I roared. I slammed the flat of my sword against the face of my shield. "Anyone else!?"

Then, I slammed my sword onto it again, and again. The sound was deafening, though it was nothing compared to what it could be. To the thunder of tens of thousands on the battlefield.

"Show me!" I screamed. "Show me who you are!"

A few of the other Excubitors started towards me. I waited for them to come, slamming my sword into my shield and bellowing my anger into theirs.

But these weren't Stratiotai. It had been generations since the Excubitors had gone to war. They knew nothing of blood, of death.

But I did, and when they faltered, I did not. I kept beating my sword against my shield. And for the first time in God knew how long, the walls of the Hippodrome echoed with the rhythmic drum of the Legion at war.

The very heartbeat of Rome.

Helena joined me at some point. I let the sound die out when I was sure that no one else would come. I spat on the ground, my anger not at all burned away.

"Leave that extra sword and shield here," I told Helena, turning and striding to a clear space. "I've already got my own."

The sun was low in the sky when I finally called an end to our training. We shuffled through the halls of the Imperial Palace. I was exhausted, my muscles stretched and quivering. My head hurt; I was sun-scorched and hungry from the midday meal that we'd skipped.

Yet, I felt good. Great even.

"Leo," Helena called.

She was a few steps behind me, stopped at a junction with a corridor I didn't recognize. Guilt flashed through me. She looked worse than I felt; her muscles taut and shaking beneath dirt and sweat crusted flesh. Bruises were already blooming all over, some scabbing over with dried blood.

"Come this way," she said, turning down the new hallway. "I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

"You'll see," she said, disappearing from view.

I hesitated a moment before forcing my aching body after her. I'd worked her too hard. I hadn't been fair; using her to work through anger that had been directed more at myself than anywhere else.

Going after her now was the least that I could do.

I followed Helena through the twisting palace corridors, surprised by how fast she was moving now. She pulled open a seemingly random door a few minutes later, gesturing me over before she slipped through. Inside, was a room bathed in light.

The golden rays of the setting sun flooded this unused bedroom; washing over the bed and tapestry covered walls from a wide open, columned balcony. Helena was already stepping onto it, tilting her head up to catch the day's final warmth.

I stepped out with her, coming to where she stood by a stone railing. I noted the way her copper hair, sweat darkened and still kept from her face by that loop of cloth, seemed to burn brighter than the fading light.

"This is my favorite spot in the palace," she said, leaning her elbows onto the railing. "Just look at this view."

I tore my gaze from her. She was right; the view was spectacular. We faced south-west, looking out over the glittering expanse of the Sea of Marmara. I could see the dark silhouettes of ships; coasting through the placid waters. Constantinople was the center of the world, the crossroads between the east and west. I wondered how far some of these ships might have come to drift here beneath our eyes.

"I come here whenever I can,"