The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (20 page)

And yet I slept on silk sheets carried from Serinda to the Empire on the Silk Road, dined on roast eel and more beef than the Emperor, and bathed in rose petal oil every afternoon. At night Hecebolus would have me with only the emeralds at my neck or the pearls
threaded through my hair, leaving bruises on my pale skin. This was my price as a whore.

The sun warmed the saffron curtains in my room as I wrote a letter for Tasia one morning. I had a stash of five
solidi
to include, although I still wasn’t sure how I’d manage to send the letter, because I didn’t want Hecebolus to realize why his purse was always short. I hadn’t had any letters from Mother or Antonina, but I told myself it was too early to worry.

My empty breakfast tray sat at my elbow, one bite of bayberry pork sausage and a handful of olive pits left over. I popped the sausage into my mouth, but my stylus jumped across the page as Hecebolus barged in, dressed in a navy tunica that swept the top of his feet. I slipped the letter into the stack of blank parchment.

Wordlessly, Hecebolus relieved me of my robe and pushed me onto my pallet. I endured until he gave his final thrust. What had once left me breathless and trembling had now become yet another performance. I was growing weary of the same feeling I’d always had with Wart, the feeling of being dirty and used.

“I won’t need you tonight,” he said, kissing an old bruise on my collarbone, one faded enough to be mistaken for a shadow. “I have to meet with the mayor of Cyrene.”

I didn’t care if he had to meet with a demon. A night without him was a gift from God.

“I’ll count the minutes until tomorrow night.” I didn’t breathe easy until the door closed and I was alone again.

A whole day of freedom.

I addressed Tasia’s letter to the district of the fifth hill of Constantinople and added it to the secret stash under my pallet, then whiled away the last hours of the afternoon at the villa’s tiny baths. Bored out of my skull after my evening meal of boiled eggs with pine nut sauce, I decided to invade Hecebolus’ study. I’d devoured
The Clouds
and was eager for more of Aristophanes’ work. Perhaps Hecebolus had a copy of
Lysistrata
, although I doubted he would enjoy a story about women with minds of their own. Too bad I couldn’t win my own war by denying Hecebolus my bed.

The study was across from Hecebolus’ bedchamber, a small room with ceilings so low I could almost touch them if I stretched my arms above me; but the woodwork shone, and one of the tall tables sported a bronze mask with staring, vacant eyes, colored linen streamers dangling limply from its pointed helmet topped with a griffin’s crest. It was probably a soldier’s mask from some sort of parade during the Golden Age. Next to it sat a limestone figure of Bes, but the ancient Egyptian god was so well-endowed as to be laughable. Several other oddities collected dust—a golden icon of the soldier saints Sergius and Bacchus, a carved ostrich egg with a filigreed elephant on its front, and a mummified monkey, among others. Hecebolus was quite the collector. He’d even managed to collect me.

A tinkle of laughter came from the other side of the door, followed by a man’s voice. There was a slap and another giggle. Hecebolus was definitely not meeting with the mayor of Cyrene, not unless the mayor had an extremely feminine laugh and enjoyed being spanked.

I could have kept walking and retreated to my room with a codex tucked under my arm, but something pushed me forward. My eyes took a moment to adjust as I opened the door—the room was black as ink except for the feeble flicker of an oil lamp. Hecebolus straddled a woman with flame-colored hair, her huge breasts splayed almost to her armpits.

“Theodora?” Hecebolus growled, but made no attempt to move. “I thought I told you to entertain yourself tonight.”

“I don’t recall Cyrene’s mayor being so well-endowed.” I stepped closer. “Who’s your friend?”

His teeth glinted in the dark. “Flacilla is the best actress in Apollonia.”

The orange-haired wench waggled her fingers at me. “Care to join us?”

“Some other time.” I turned and shut the door behind me, ignoring their laughter from the other side. My nails bit into my palms. Hecebolus thought I was some sort of mouse, scurrying back to my hole to cower when threatened. He was dead wrong.

A large terra-cotta oil lamp shaped like a lion burned on a table down the hall, the flame flickering from the beast’s mouth. I almost tripped on the edge of the exquisite silk rug as I carried the lamp back to Hecebolus’ room and kicked the door open again.

“What in Christ’s name—” Hecebolus had to crane his neck from his new position behind Flacilla. “I thought I told you—”

The lion’s flame arched as I hurled it onto the bed, waiting only long enough to see the fire and oil spill onto the silks. Flames engulfed the fortune of tasseled hangings and threatened to consume the entire bed. The smell of burning feathers from the mattress filled the air.

Flacilla screamed and floundered to escape the inferno. The last I saw, her hair had caught fire, but I didn’t stay to watch the show. Now she really did have flame-colored hair. I laughed as I raced down the corridors, but the sound was strangled.

I only had time to stuff my pearl eardrops, a gold bracelet, and an amber necklace into the pocket of my stola before Hecebolus exploded into my room, his face smudged with soot and the smell of smoke and fury rolling off him like a storm. He knocked me to the floor with a single punch. I threw myself at him and managed to rake my nails down his face before he slammed me into the floor again.

I curled into myself, trying to save my ribs as his fists pummeled me. I had to get out of here with the treasures stuffed between my breasts. His foot crashed into my skull, scarcely missing my eye. After that I lost track of where the blows landed.

Finally the barrage stopped. The inside of my mouth tasted like a copper
nummi
, and something wet trailed down my chin. Blood smeared my fingertips. One eye felt sewn shut.

“Get her out of here.”

Someone yanked me up and dragged me through the villa, past the smell of baking bread and the latrina. The front gates groaned open, and something slammed into me.

The ground.

I lay there for some time—it felt like hours or even days, but it was surely much less—before uncurling from my cocoon of battered flesh. I wondered if this was how a butterfly felt before embarking on a new life. But then butterflies live only a matter of days.

You were blessed with both brains and beauty. Those gifts are your weapons, but you’re certainly not using them.

God knew I hadn’t used my brains these past months.

“Stupid idiot.” I wanted to cry, but tears were a luxury I could ill afford. I managed to pull myself up to sit, thankful I hadn’t hit the pile of goat dung to my left. A shiny black beetle used its back legs to roll a perfect sphere of the stuff away from me.

An inspection of my pockets revealed I’d lost the amber necklace and gold bracelet in the fight. The five
solidi
were still tucked in the straw of my pallet, along with my letters to Tasia. Two pearls shone softly in my hand, all I had left in the world.

To my right lay the path I knew led to the theater, and in front of me stood the baths and the Central Basilica with its plain white columns. Beyond that were the docks. Apollonia’s tangle of streets led everywhere, and nowhere.

And I had nowhere to go.

T
his ship was worse than the last, and I wasn’t given a cabin of my own, no matter how small. Instead, the captain showed me to the cargo hold where a pile of filthy hay remained from the horses he’d delivered to Apollonia. At least I wasn’t alone—there were plenty of ticks and fleas to keep me company.

The ship carried African red slipware pottery and crates of ivory, bound for Alexandria and from there to Constantinople. The captain hadn’t wanted to take me—not that I could blame him, with my face rearranged as it was—and had gouged me on the fare, taking both of my pearl earrings. I’d have paid any price to get back to my daughter.

The boat creaked as we shoved away from Apollonia. This time I rejoiced to see the shore slip into the horizon. A few weeks and I’d be home.

Alone with my thoughts, I enjoyed my first respite from men since my early days in the Kynêgion. My days were spent on deck until I became brown as a slave, despite the goat hide awnings I lounged under. My bruises faded and my ribs slowly healed. I’d never rely on
another man again—better to spend my days pressing olives or spinning wool, anything to stand on my own two feet.

Several days into the journey we made our first stop at Alexandria, the famed city of Alexander the Great, Marc Antony, and Cleopatra. We came in at dusk, drawn by the famed lighthouse astride the island of Pharos, its gleaming mirrors and fires a beacon amidst the orange-stained sky. The monument stretched to pierce the sky, the tallest structure I ever hoped to see. I strained to see the statue of Poseidon at its pinnacle, but the pagan god was hidden in the low purple clouds.

We passed close enough to read the inscription carved along the lighthouse base:
Sostratus of Cnidus, son of Dexiphanes, to the Gods protecting those upon the sea.
Sostratus had been the architect of the Pharos lighthouse, obviously not a humble man.

To have the power to create something for the ages—I wondered why all kings didn’t leave a similar mark on this world. I would if I had that power.

The city showed no signs of settling in for the evening. A number of tavernas lined the dock, spilling yellow lamplight and drunken patrons into the streets.

The captain gave orders from the prow as we bobbed to the dock, the smell of salt and fish welcoming us to the ancient city. “Have you got the rest of the fare, missy?”

The man must have breathed too much salt air. “I’m paid through to Constantinople.”

He laughed, revealing several chipped teeth. “Those eardrops got you to Alexandria, but not a whit farther. All the way to the capital costs another five
solidi.
”

That was the same amount likely still hidden in the straw of my pallet in Pentapolis.

“No, that can’t be—”

“I’ll have to report you to the locals as a stowaway if you can’t pay.”

“But we had an agreement!”

“You got proof? A written contract?”

He knew I didn’t. I struggled as two rather brawny rowers each took an arm and hauled me off the boat. “Sorry,” one muttered as they deposited me on the dock.

The other scratched his head, but wouldn’t look at me. “I’d give you five
solidi
if I had it. Maybe you can scrounge some up before sunrise when we shove off.”

I’d been swindled, and it was my own fault, too. I was as likely to find five
solidi
as it was for angels to descend and offer to make me queen of paradise. I headed away from the docks toward the lights of town. There was a theater up the main road, but if the empty streets were anything to judge by, the show was still in progress.

An ugly brown monkey perched on the shoulder of one of the doorkeepers, a man about my age in a blue tunica. The monkey was cracking walnuts and throwing the shells to the ground.

“Can you tell me if there’s a faction of Blues here?” I asked the man. “I need their help.”

He looked me over, popping a nut between his teeth. “There is, but you won’t be able to see them until morning.”

“By the dog,” I muttered. By morning the ship would be gone.

He leaned against the wall, eyes roving over my crumpled stola. “What’s a girl like you doing out here so late?” He glanced down the dark street. The monkey leaned forward to get a better look at me. “You’re not out looking for trouble, are you?”

“Trouble always seems to find me.”

“What’s your price?”

“Excuse me?”

He rolled his eyes. “A pretty thing like you, alone at this time of night? What’s your price?”

I almost told him to bugger off, but something seized my tongue instead. “Five
solidi
.”

He whistled. “I think you’ve mistaken me for the Emperor.”

“Men in Constantinople paid twice that for a night in my bed.” I tried to keep the panic from creeping into my voice.

“Then perhaps you should return to the capital.”

“Please—one
solidi
.” Surely I could find five men to pay that much.

He pulled a single coin from the folds of his tunica. “I’ve got a
tremissis
.”

I started to shake my head but stopped. It was better than nothing.

He was quick, although his monkey watched us with beady little eyes the entire time. I was able to find two more men after him, but by the time the sun rose, I had only four tarnished
tremissi
in my purse.

The captain laughed at me as dawn lifted the sun. “A horse pays a higher fare than that, missy. Good luck in Alexandria.”

.   .   .

I spent two weeks catering to any man who would have me. I’d applied to the theater out of desperation, told the Master of the Stage of my position in Constantinople and my support of the Blues, but there were no positions open. He wasn’t interested in Leda either—apparently the Patriarch in Alexandria was stricter about what went on in the theaters, and the stage master didn’t want to chance anything so obscene.