Theodora (5 page)

Comito used the day off for extra singing rehearsals, Anastasia chose to stay close to home, closer to the second family Hypatia and Basianus were making with the new step-babies and happy to act little mother. Theodora hurried out of the apartment long before Hypatia could demand she help with the younger ones or Basianus insist she help him clear out the stinking cages of his stinking beasts. She said the smell of their captivity revolted her, but it was also true that the stench of the pens was forever tied to the smell of her father’s draining blood. The only creature Theodora now had any time for was the owl she fell asleep to, screeching in the night, or in her dreams, clawing out of the stone of the Hippodrome obelisk and away to the full moon rising over Chalcedon, across the Bosphorus. She had a strong,
fit body, trained to climb towers of acrobats, and equally useful on a feast day to climb the great aqueduct for a better view of the procession below. Today she had a perfect view of the lauded Juliana Anicia, carried through the streets in her sedan chair.

What those on the street couldn’t see, their eyes averted either from politeness or awe, was the bald patch right on top of the famously pious lady’s head, neither her hairpiece nor her lace scarf thick enough to hide it from Theodora’s gimlet gaze. Nor did the public have Theodora’s vantage point to count the many coins the much-praised princess had in her purse, and how few her servant handed out. Juliana of the Anicii was renowned for her building works and Theodora supposed she was keeping her coins for grander schemes. As a child of the City, Theodora had often been tempted by the scaffolding for one of Juliana’s new churches; like any other citizen she took pride in the building works of her town as the city spread further back, well beyond Constantine’s original walls, right out to Blachernae in the west. Unlike the protected princess in her sedan chair, she also saw the damaged ex-soldiers and refugees begging for food and drink, despite the rich men at their private performances laughing about how well the City was doing, and what good fortune it was to be born now, with the Empire once again on the rise.

‘Good. Enough. You may go.’

At Menander’s quiet command the girls of his team let out a collective sigh and slowly lowered Comito to the ground, from where they had been holding her, high above their heads. They’d kept the pose, as demanded, for over half the time it took the hourglass sands to run through. Every one of them was aching and sweating, and the younger ones, less accustomed to the constant pain of their work, especially after the rare relief of their time off yesterday, were crying.

‘Not you, Theodora.’

Comito reached for Anastasia, pulled her close and wiped away the tears before Menander could see the little sister and punish her for weakness. She looked at Theodora. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing. I was perfect. I’ve been perfect all day.’ She shook her head. ‘Damn him, he probably just wants a back to smack.’ She was whispering just loudly enough for the other girls to hear. ‘Wrinkled old eunuch, he doesn’t have anything else to beat.’

The other girls were picking up their robes, rubbing down their cramped muscles, laughing at Theodora’s gall in the face of what was surely yet another beating from their master.

Comito and Anastasia waited by the door until Menander turned from the wardrobe mistress and shouted at them too, ‘You girls – fuck off! Your sister’s clever enough to mock me when she thinks I’m not listening, you think she’s so stupid she can’t get home by herself? A mouth that big won’t frighten away any Huns in the Mese? Piss off now, before I make you stay and repeat the routine. I saw those tears Ana, you could do with some extra training.’

Comito shrugged an apology at Theodora and, putting her arm around Anastasia, pulled the younger girl away.

What Theodora should have done next was quite plain. Asked to stay after rehearsal, certain to be punished for yet another infraction of Menander’s infamous company rules, or for a more specific weakness in action or line, she should have knelt before the teacher, kissed his foot, begged forgiveness and then meekly taken whatever punishment he handed out. Any one of the other girls knew the routine, all of them would have followed the form, knowing that the sooner they begged forgiveness, the sooner Menander would let it go, hand out the
beating or the extra practice, and she could then go home, eat and rest before another long day’s rehearsal and the show booked for the next evening. But not Theodora. She stood, left hand on her hip, lifting her right foot back and behind her head with the help of her right hand. When she had her foot in what she believed to be the perfect position, she took her right hand away, and reaching out with both arms, addressed Menander.

‘Great teacher, revered eunuch.’ She slowly lowered the right leg, bringing the left up into the mirror position before continuing. ‘What now? What terrible sin have I committed?’ She lowered the left leg even more slowly, delicately lifting her short skirt, parting her legs and, agonisingly slowly, lowered herself to the floor in perfect splits. ‘What – could I – possibly – have done wrong – now?’

Menander stared at her. Then he sat down and waited five minutes, ten, fifteen, until he was sure she must be in excruciating pain, though only the finest beads of sweat on her brow told him he was right. Theodora had learned all his lessons well, and the one in which she had most skill was in hiding everything but her art.

Eventually he relented. ‘The left foot is sickled, the little toe sticks out and spoils the whole leg line. The first finger on your right hand is just out of joint with the others, your left eyebrow is slightly higher than the other, it mars the symmetry of your face.’

Theodora let out a groaning laugh and shook her head. ‘Mother of God, I just can’t please you, can I?’

‘You could try shutting up for a moment.’

But she wasn’t listening. ‘I’ve been so damn good today. I worked hard all week, all month, you know I did. Even you weren’t shouting at me quite so much.’

‘Then I was mistaken, your mouth is still too wide.’

‘I’ve been working harder than ever before.’

‘You need to. You’re not as perfect as you think.’

Theodora looked at him and then smiled, raising herself, even slower this time, directly from the splits without bending either leg. ‘Or perhaps you’re not as good a teacher?’

‘Maybe. That’s why I asked you to stay.’

Theodora was not expecting this, she’d been waiting for a blow, a slap, for her teacher to bound across the room and pull her from the floor. This little private performance had been intended as a way of placating him before the violence began, of distracting him from what was bound to come. His admission of less than perfect teaching sent her immediately off balance, she began to wobble, her muscles demonstrating the uncertainty that her mind could not contain, and then Menander was there, at her side, as he always had been, holding her into place, halfway above the ground, halfway to standing, pummelling her muscles, moulding bone and flesh into perfect position as he had done for almost every day of the past six years, since she’d first come to his class a frightened five-year-old, her father just dead and any older man a comfort. In the pain of this touch, this teaching, she knew his care. She tried to stand fully but he would not let her.

‘Stay. You listen better in pose anyway, it’s the only time I can be sure you’re fully concentrating.’

Theodora stopped moving, allowed Menander to shift a finger ever so slightly, straighten her head by the merest angle, slap in her tiny stomach, flick a sharp finger at the eyebrow he insisted was out of place.

‘The City company leader has asked for you.’

‘I’m not twelve yet.’

‘Shut up.’

Stunned, she did.

‘He saw you at that dinner, when you made Anastasia the
bear. Elena, his comedy actress, is leaving, she’s decided to keep the child she is too damn full with already. He needs a comedian who can dance a little.’

‘I dance more than a little.’

‘On a good day. It doesn’t matter. For whatever reason, he liked what you did.’

‘I’m too young.’

Menander nodded. ‘I said that. He likes your spirit, he was impressed by your behaviour the other night. I told him he’d be a damn sight less than impressed once he started working with you, but it’s his choice. It’ll be good for you, you need a higher standard.’

‘You are the highest standard. Everyone knows that.’

‘I don’t mean me. I mean those you work alongside.’

Theodora began to turn her head, lower her hand, the better to make her point, ‘But I don’t want—’

Menander simply whispered, ‘Don’t. You. Dare.’

She shifted immediately into position, trying one more time ‘It’s just that—’

‘Dear God, do I have to gag you, girl?’

He allowed her the barest shake of her head before continuing, all the while poking and prodding her into more difficult poses. ‘It’s really not up to you, is it? There’s money, quite a lot more. Your mother will agree, as will Basianus. You know they’ve been wanting to take Comito on, he approved of her showing at that dinner as well. He’ll take the two of you at once. Seems I gave you both a wonderful audition opportunity.’

‘You knew he was there?’

‘Of course I knew, it’s my job to know who comes to these things. To show you lot off.’ He saw she was about to speak again and pre-empted her. ‘Anastasia stays with me for the moment. She’s too young for them, and we don’t yet know what she can do, not really. We know what they’d like to do
with one as pretty as she is, but not yet – even a eunuch understands it’s too soon for that. So, there is no argument.’ He waited. ‘You may rest. Sit.’

Theodora sank to the ground. She had always known this would come, but it was unusual for it to come so soon. The girls who joined the Hippodrome and Kynegion companies, as dancers and performers, also went in as whores. It was part of the job. The tears were just behind her eyes and she was praying Menander would release her before they fell, but he knew, and waited, standing over her, saying nothing, until her body could hold the flow no longer, and they came, a thin stream of bitter salt water, Theodora hating herself for showing weakness in front of him, hating him for forcing her here and, more than anything, hating him for sending her away. When the ground was wet with her crying he knelt beside her, yanked a handful of her hair at the back of her head so he could stare into her face, trying to see, as he always did with this girl, what was real and what for show. He felt uncomfortable when he saw real pain.

‘You can stop now, the tears won’t help, and they mar what little looks you have. I’ve agreed the terms of your contract with their leader. This is done. I do not let you go lightly, girl. It will not be an easy transition of course, but you and I know there is nothing your body cannot bear, no punishment it cannot take. I’ve trained you well. And we also know you need a bigger stage. There are hard things that will come of this, and there will be good. What have I always told you?’

Theodora intoned his mantra as she had been trained: ‘Enjoy the good, bear the bad.’

‘Exactly. That is all there is to do. Go now, tell Comito I will see her early in the morning, she should come before breakfast. Tomorrow night will be your last show for me. Go home.’

Menander waited until she was almost at the door before he called after her. ‘Theodora, what have you forgotten?’

She came back, every step a resistance, and knelt before him to kiss his foot. As she did so, he grabbed her shoulders, pulled her up and embraced her, whispering, ‘I know you child, you crave attention, and you will take punishment and pain over praise because it feels bigger. It is my hope that a larger stage will teach you the pleasure of praise. You will hurt too much otherwise. You must learn there is more to feeling than pain.’

Theodora looked up at him, all tears gone, furious. ‘You could have taken longer to agree.’

Menander shrugged. ‘They offered a good price to get you this young.’

She stepped back and then spat at him, ‘I’ll be richer than you, eunuch.’

When she reached the door he called after her, in a perfect hidden whisper, so it seemed to come at her from the walls of the room, ‘Yes you will, actress.’

And they both laughed, understanding each other only too well.

Five

A week later, Theodora met Sophia for the first time. Of course she knew of the dwarf’s reputation, had seen her on stage plenty of times – four foot nothing of controlled energy combined with an unstoppable charm and a mouth that, on occasion, could make even a Vandal blush – if, as Sophia said with a grin, winking at a young man in the front row, she was using it well enough.

For more than a decade, Sophia-the-half-size had been one of the company’s biggest attractions. Unusually for a dwarf she was perfectly proportioned, just extra small – in every way but her cunt, as one of the front row lads once heckled. And then promptly shut up when, in response, she showed him her perfectly formed, and brightly tattooed, arse. Sophia had no qualms about trading on her size. While the oddly shaped attractions of other companies eventually tired of being constantly paraded less for their skills than for their bodies, Sophia saw her difference as a blessing. Unlike the other girls, she did not have to sing or act or tumble to earn her salary, she could simply stand on stage and earn applause being herself. Essentially lazy, she was happy to do as little as possible: if people paid her merely for being small, she was fine about taking their coin. The fact that such a glorious voice emanated from her tiny frame and that she had a talent for learning lines that even the old-school actors admired, just added to her status.

Sophia made sure never to work too hard or try too much – only consenting to perform her most successful routines when
houses were down or they needed a sharp opening to a new piece that was, as yet, lacking the indefinable something that would make it a regular crowd-pleaser. While the writers kept on trying to hone the perfect sketch, Sophia would, often as not, take their piece of basic smile-and-nod material and, with a raised eyebrow, a particular pause, skilfully placed, turn it into belly-laugh comedy. The audience had long ago grown out of the classic Greek works everyone knew they were supposed to appreciate, if not enjoy – this public wanted their performance in street Greek and would take the likes of Euripides and Sophocles only with sweeteners of sex or comedy or song. Sophia could deliver all three, and her renowned one-woman-as-twelve-maenads scene was always guaranteed to draw a huge crowd, no matter how many times it had been seen before. If only for the joy of watching the tiny woman rip off her own head a dozen times.