The Colour of power: A story of Theodora, Empress of Byzantium

by Marié Heese

  “Do I detect a lack of sympathy?”

  “I think Caesar was foolish,” said Theodora. “Blinded by ambition. He should have seen it coming, and … well … taken measures.”

  “Could he have?”

  “If he’d kept an ear to the ground. Been more aware of people’s feelings.”

  He gave a small smile. “You know your history.”

  “Not as much as I’d like,” said Theodora.

  “Why not? You’ve been well taught.”

  “My mother knows history and philosophy,” said Theodora, “but she hasn’t much time to teach us. And we have no books of our own, only those we can borrow.” She looked around her with an expression like that of a hungry child in a pastry shop. As if she could eat the books, cram them into her undernourished soul. “Not a single one.”

  “You should come here to read,” he offered. “I could teach you more.”

  “Could you? Would you? That would be … but we have no money, you see. I couldn’t pay you.”

  “You could do some work,” he suggested. “Some transcriptions need to be made. I assume you write a fair hand?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Theodora, who had been smartly slapped for blots. “But won’t the Senator object?”

  “No,” he stated firmly.

  “Probably never comes in here,” sneered Theodora. “I expect he’s one of those who buy scrolls by the length, merely to impress.”

  “No, he’s not,” he said mildly. “The Senator likes to read.”

  Comito came in, yawning and licking her fingers. “Cook has excelled himself. These pastries are delicious, my love,” she said. “I see you’ve met Theodora.” She put her arms around the small man and kissed him stickily. He looked at her with sad longing.

  Oh, dear, thought Theodora, she’s in love with a eunuch and it’s hopeless and if the Senator finds out he’ll kill them both and …

  “Why back so early?” asked Comito.

  “My horse cast a shoe and then pulled up lame.” He disengaged himself from her sister’s arms and gave a little bow. “I have been remiss,” he said. “I did not introduce myself.”

  “Senator Marcus Anicius Longinus,” announced Comito, lingering over the stately syllables.

  “Oh, my,” gasped Theodora, who wished she could suck back some of her recent words and clamp her jaw on them. But they remained said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I enjoyed our frank discussion,” he said with a smile. “My offer stands.”

  Comito frowned.

  “History lessons,” said Theodora. “In exchange for transcriptions.”

  Comito shrugged. “Boring,” she said. “Can’t think why you want to do that. But suit yourself.”

  “I would hazard a guess,” said Marcus Anicius, “that she usually does.”

  Chapter 6: The insatiable whore

  Comito was able to help her family survive the harshest winter Constantinople had known for decades. Marcus Anicius sent regular gifts. He kept his promise to teach Theodora history, and covered much more besides. He turned out to be a challenging and demanding tutor. She spent a few hours each week in the luxurious warmth of the apartment; produced the required synopses, answered incisive questions, and offered critiques; she delighted in the thrust and parry of debate as she learned from a master the rules of logic, the skill to marshal facts and shore up arguments.

  In she would stride, cheeks reddened by the chill onslaught of the spiteful wind, blowing on her painfully chilblained fingers, to be greeted by a gauntlet tossed onto the table: “God does not exist. If we posit an omnipotent, purely good creator, such a one could not have created evil and suffering. Yet evil exists. Therefore, either God is not omnipotent and cannot conquer evil, or else God wills evil and suffering, and is not purely good. Ergo, God does not exist.” He leaned back, eyebrows raised in expectation of an answer.

  “Religious belief is a domain unto itself,” she said. “Not, um, not … governed by reason and logic. Faith should not require proof, it is not based on proof. It is based on belief.”

  “Are you saying God must exist simply because we believe?”

  “I am saying we must believe despite what might appear to the rational mind to be grounds for disbelief.”

  “Ergo, faith is irrational?”

  “No, I did not say that.” She was exasperated.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, faith and rationality are different domains. Different categories. Criteria in the one do not necessarily apply to matters belonging in the other.”

  “You are merely evading the problem of the existence of evil and suffering.”

  “Well … if we had a perfect world, there would be no choice, no free will. No … framework for morality.”

  “You think your father chose to be eaten by a bear? Your family chose to become indigent?”

  A wave of pure fury swept over Theodora. How dare he sit there with his arched patrician eyebrows, warm and well fed and unafraid and cushioned by comfort, and say such … such … Impotent with rage, she picked up the nearest codex and hurled it at his head.

  He reared back and caught it. Put it down and aligned its covers neatly.

  There was a long silence.

  I’ve ruined my chances, she thought, he’ll throw me out. Right out on the street, and there’ll be no more reading for me.

  “You lost that round,” he said coolly. “Physical attack is the last resort of a loser. Try again.”

  Her thoughts fumbled.

  “The issue is the existence of evil,” he told her. “Why does that not disprove the existence of God?”

  “Our minds cannot … cannot … encompass …” she struggled.

  “Tears are the second last resort,” said Marcus Anicius.

  She swallowed. “We cannot encompass the greatness of the Lord. We cannot understand his plan for the universe. It may well be that good and evil … and suffering … are components of an overarching plan that only an omnipotent and omniscient being can comprehend.”

  “And therefore, evil … ?”

  “And therefore, evil does not necessarily disprove the existence of a supreme being.”

  He gave a slight nod. “Next time, you will support the Chalcedonian position on the nature of Christ.”

  “But I … I read those books you lent me and I think that Christ had but one nature. The Monophysite view …”

  “One must be capable of defending a position one does not hold oneself,” he said flatly. “Prepare for it. You should read these sources. They do not all agree.”

  “Yes, Senator.”

  Out she hurried into the biting wind, three borrowed codices clutched to her chest under her cloak.

  “Don’t know why you bother with all these mouldy old books,” said Fat Rosa. “Absolutely no use whatsoever to an actress.”

  And an actress was, after all, what Theodora had to be. It was still essential for each of them to bring in something. As soon as the weather turned milder, performances at the Kynêgion resumed. Theodora and Anastasia returned to the stage. Stasie managed to get a job at the Hippodrome looking after animals. Only not the bears.

  Theodora found her niche. She had to face the facts: she could not dance like Comito, and her small, sweet voice was lost in the huge amphitheatre. But she could combine acrobatic and comic skills in an entertaining performance that won her enthusiastic fans. As time went by, she finally developed the body of a woman: compact but shapely. With her huge dark eyes, pale skin and cloak of shining black hair that hung down to her hips, she was strikingly lovely. When she was fifteen Marius gave her her own star turn, with the backing of two more experienced actresses. It was inspired by Comito’s act with the bevy of birds, and yet it was quite original. Nobody had ever seen anything like it. Soon she was the prime topic of drunken discussion in taverns across the town.

  In her version, there were no girls plastered with feathers; instead there were real live geese. The pantomime began wh
en a prince, acted by one Indaro, fell in love with a beautiful young peasant girl (Theodora), whom he saw one day as she herded geese. Indaro, who was exceptionally tall and had a deep voice, delivered a soulful love song to the accompaniment of a lute. An older girl known as Chrysomallo – a nickname that referred to her golden locks – took the part of the prince’s betrothed, who became so jealous of the beautiful peasant girl that she put a spell on the prince and turned him into one of the geese. Indaro then left the stage incarnated as a goose.

  The two remaining girls performed a tantalising double striptease combined with gymnastics that made the audience gasp. The jealous Chrysomallo tore the clothing from Theodora’s body in simulated fury, while Theodora fought in self-defence and managed to strip her rival of all her clothing as well. Since Chrysomallo was endowed with disproportionately large breasts, this was greeted with enormous enthusiasm by the crowd, who whistled and stamped, cheering her remarkable ability to whirl two long tassels, attached to her nipples with gum, in opposite directions simultaneously.

  As the act continued, Chrysomallo finally gained the upper hand. Theodora was flung onto a low couch and tied down with a scarf. There she lay, spread-eagled and apparently naked, although in truth a layer of skin-coloured linen fastened with a thin string covered her crotch. Chrysomallo now sought revenge on her beauteous rival, so she sprinkled seeds across Theodora’s stomach and between her legs, then called the geese to come and feed. The circling geese cackled and darted forward and greedily pecked up the titbits, much to the delight of the lascivious crowd. This was intended as punishment, as a supreme humiliation; but the naked, helpless Theodora created a stunning reversal: she mimed enjoyment, writhed and shrieked in simulated sexual ecstasy. This brought the audience to their feet time after time. The performance became notorious, and men came from far and wide to see it and applaud.

  “You’ll have to stop going to see Comito’s senator,” said Fat Rosa. “There’ll be gossip.”

  “The Anicii,” said Marcus with patrician arrogance, “have never heeded gossip. Come when you can.”

  Marius continually introduced fans, but Theodora refused to get involved with any of them. One night he brought a portly fellow she had not seen around town before.

  “Sweetie,” said Marius, “meet Procopius. He’s from Caesarea, a legal gentleman. He’s a great fan of yours.”

  Theodora glanced up sideways through her lashes. She didn’t like the look of the man. He was plump and pale and scented, which was just as well since he perspired a great deal. He mopped his forehead with a linen kerchief.

  “I was amazed by your performance,” he told her in a high-pitched voice. “Totally amazed. Such … audacity! Such courage! I am surprised that they don’t draw blood, though. The geese. Extraordinary.”

  “They are well trained,” said Theodora solemnly.

  “Truly? Amazing. And then your … your … aplomb, to be naked in front of …” He licked his pale lips.

  “Thirty thousand men,” supplied Theodora.

  “But then … it’s your … um … chosen profession, is it not?”

  “Yes,” said Theodora. “I choose to do it.”

  “Right. You … you sell sex, like your mother and sister. Also services to … um … individual men, I’m sure?”

  A wave of anger swept over her, almost stopping her breath. She glared at him. “Of course,” she said. “In large numbers. All three of us. Most enjoyable!”

  “Aha. Ahum. Such women, I have always thought, must have a particular … kind of … one might say, pathological sexual hunger. Always thought so. They must be insatiable.” He nodded at his brilliant insight.

  Pure, blinding fury took possession of her. “Oh, yes,” said Theodora. “Of course, I am …”

  “You are … ?” He was breathless. Licked his lips with a wet pink tongue.

  “Absolutely insatiable,” she told him. “Indeed, I become entirely frantic!”

  “Really?” he squeaked.

  “Yes, really! For instance, I take on an entire dinner party in one night! Ten men!”

  “One night?”

  “One night. And then even that is not enough. So I move on to their servants.”

  “Heavens! And each one must have, say, three … That makes …”

  “Thirty. Oh, yes. But you see … I cannot tell you – it is hard to explain …”

  “I am listening,” he told her avidly. Indeed, such was his interest that his bulbous eyes almost started from his head as he leaned forward. What a gullible fool he was, she thought. How much more would he believe before he caught on?

  She whispered: “Sometimes I wish … that I had more orifices. To be able to have more sex. Three orifices can simply not do! I wonder why we women were not made with holes in our breasts – then we could have more! Even, perhaps, simultaneously!”

  “More!” he moaned “At one and the same time!” His broad, pale face gleamed with perspiration. “But … you do make them all pay?”

  “A girl must live.”

  He was clutching the front of his tunic. He writhed. He patted his wet forehead. “You’ve made me so … I need … I need … but no actual … fornication, not if … With so many partners, who knows what you may have picked up? Can’t risk it …”

  You utter bastard, thought Theodora. You ghastly, stinking little turd!

  “But just a quick … you know, I’m sure …”

  Theodora knew exactly what he wanted. Comito had instructed her in a variety of sexual practices. In your dreams, she thought venomously.

  She fluttered her lashes at him. “I don’t usually. But maybe …”

  “Just this once?” Trembling hands struggled to unveil his eager member.

  She kneeled in front of him. Already she had decided what she would do. But the sight that greeted her made it easy. He stared at her, breathing hard. She leaned forward slightly, hesitated, and giggled. She put her hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, I’m terribly sor-sorry. But it’s so … small!” She laughed more loudly and shook her head. “Comparatively speaking,” she added. Sat back on her haunches, and roared with laughter.

  The diminutive pink sprout that had reared its head from a straggly brown bush wilted sadly. The man turned red, then white.

  “You will regret this,” he hissed. “I am not sport for a bitch, a whore, a sex maniac!” He reordered his clothing and straightened himself, shaking with fury. “You will regret this! Believe you me!”

  “You won’t repeat the nonsense I told you,” said Theodora, standing up and folding her arms, “or a description of your pathetically inadequate and impotent genitals will become the joke of Constantinople. I guarantee it.”

  His plump lips thinned to a furious line, but he found no further epithets to hurl at her. Out he stalked, exuding outrage.

  Angry he may be, thought Theodora, but he’ll keep his mouth shut.

  Then one night Marius brought a man she had long wanted to meet. She had just finished removing her stage make-up and was pinning up her hair when the knock sounded.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Marius appeared with a slim yet muscular figure in tow. “Sweetie, another admirer! But do please be kind! Make me no more enemies by being cruel!”

  “I don’t believe that such a pretty girl could be cruel,” said his companion. “Lady, you are one of a kind! Never seen such a show!”

  “Allow me to introduce …” began Marius.

  “Oh, we all know Gaius Lepidus,” said Theodora. “How could anybody not know the city’s champion charioteer?”

  “Septimus might disagree,” said Gaius, “and so might the Greens.”

  “But you’ve won more races than Septimus,” said Theodora, “so that makes you the champion, I should think.” She smiled at him, enjoying the frank admiration in his brown eyes.

  “So, now you know each other. You don’t need little old me around. I have people to see,” twittered Marius and trotted off with a wave.
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br />   “How about dinner?” suggested Gaius. “Should think you’re hungry. I’ve a litter waiting, and I always have a private room in a restaurant, chef ready to serve, all that.”

  “Sounds good,” said Theodora. His hands gently caressed her shoulders as he helped her with her cloak. She did not mind.

  The litter was an object of great elegance. Carried by eight burly slaves, who shouldered poles ending in silver-tipped finials, it was made of highly polished dark wood, its curtains and lining of rich blue velvet. Ah, she thought as she sank back into fat cushions, I could get used to such luxury.

  At the restaurant subservient waiters welcomed them and showed them to a room right at the back, with an entrance almost hidden by plants in enormous pots. Inside, swathes of rich red velvet were draped over shuttered windows, and the colourful mosaics on the walls seemed alive in the golden glow of oil lamps. She kicked off her soft street boots and stretched out on a cushioned couch next to a low table with crystal flasks of wine. Gaius Lepidus poured for both of them and then lay back on another couch. Sipping the golden honeyed wine, she looked up at the wall design.

  “Oh, it’s Leda and the swan,” she said.

  He smiled complacently. “Thought you’d like that. Kind of like your show. With the geese, I mean.”

  “So it is,” said Theodora.

  A slave brought a bowl of lemon-scented water and napkins for them to rinse and dry their hands. A waiter set a salver down on the table: fat black mushrooms flanked by fresh asparagus dressed with olive oil. Theodora realised that she was hungry.

  “Told them, just a small gustatio to begin with,” said Gaius Lepidus, waving the waiter away. “Don’t want to overdo it. The food, I mean.”

  She nodded with a sudden qualm. His meaning was clear enough. Of course, she’d known from the first what he would expect. But she was there because she had made a decision. Most girls were married by fifteen. She wanted to know what it was to lie with a man, to experience this act of extreme intimacy that was both commonplace and mysterious. So in a sense, she had chosen him, the champion charioteer, as a worthy partner in her initiation. She glanced at him over the rim of her glass and he winked at her. He had remarkably long, curly lashes for a man. She sensed the strength that a charioteer had to have in every movement of his muscular arms as he reached out to lift his goblet, or to take some tasty morsel in his hand.