by Marié Heese
“The very one.”
“Isn’t it a desert?” enquired a guest.
“No, not the Pentapolis itself,” he said. “The cities near the sea are surrounded by wheat fields, vineyards and olive orchards. They keep my ships busy, delivering plenty of produce to Constantinople. But the hinterland – yes, that’s a desert, a desolate place, only barbarians can survive there. It’s close to the kingdom of the Arian Vandals.”
“I really can’t see the attraction of such a wild place,” said Comito.
“I think it would be exciting,” objected Theodora. “It would be a challenge.”
“Exactly,” agreed Hecebolus. “And I love a challenge.” He held Theodora’s gaze when he said this.
So do I, thought Theodora. She said, coolly: “Would you like some more wine?”
“Thank you.”
Hecebolus was reclining on the same couch as Theodora. He reached out, circled her ankle with his hand and drew her foot down, so that it was hidden by a fold of the damask table cloth. For a brief moment it felt like a trap closing and she wanted to kick loose, but then she let it be. He looked away, still amiably conversing.
“What does it look like?” asked Antonina. “Very different from here?”
“It is very beautiful,” he said. “One is aware of the natural world there, in a way that one never is in a great city. The sunsets are spectacular. Twilight is brief. And then there is a time of silence, as if even the birds are holding their breath, waiting …”
Masked by the tablecloth, his hand now cupped her heel, bare, since everyone removed their sandals before taking their places on the couches. It was a strangely intimate connection. She had to concentrate to keep her breathing even.
“Waiting for what?” asked Comito.
“Moonrise,” he said. “And then the night sounds are all around you. Frogs. An owl. Sometimes you can hear a jackal howl. A very lonely sound.” Now his hand began to slide around her foot. Stroked it imperceptibly with his fingers. The heel, the arch, above, below. It tickled and she gave a little jump. He tightened his grip and went on blandly. “One is aware, there, of how very ancient the earth is, compared to the men who walk upon it.”
He has a poetic turn of phrase, thought Theodora.
“But can you make good profits?” demanded Marcus Anicius.
“Excellent profits,” he said. “We’ve made a good bit out of shipping their produce, my brother and I. But I have a feeling that one could do even better if one lived there.”
“Might you live there yourself?” asked Darius Pollo.
Hecebolus’s fingers now investigated Theodora’s toes. Inserted themselves in between, clasped her foot as if it were a hand. Squeezed, almost painfully.
She caught her breath, then coughed. I should kick myself loose right now, she thought; this is a wordless conversation, skin to skin, and I am communicating submission. I should end it. At once.
“Oh, yes, I would love to live there. And it might happen. I hope to be appointed Governor.”
“A civil post? What about the shipping line, then?”
He shrugged. Fondled her foot. Rubbed the ball of his thumb over her arch. Looked around innocently when she coughed again, to hide her response to the tickling. “My brother can carry on with that,” he said. “He would prefer it. And I … I would enjoy something new.”
“A challenge?” asked Theodora.
“Indeed. Oh, yes.”
Only when the guests were all ready to leave did he loosen his warm grasp, and draw himself upright. There was a moment when Darius Pollo had gone out to see the Senator and Comito to their carriage. Hecebolus leaned forward and whispered into Theodora’s ear: “I think you enjoyed that. I think you’d like to take it further.”
She said nothing.
“You’ll hear from me,” he said. “Thank you for a delightful evening.”
“Goodbye,” said Theodora.
Chapter 11: An invitation
Within a week, Darius Pollo went home – temporarily – to his wife. The next evening, a tall slave knocked at the villa door. The eunuch major-domo announced him. He bowed low to Theodora and offered a small package with a note attached.
“From my master, Kyria,” he said. “He invites you to dinner tonight. The litter is outside.”
Theodora opened the package and raised her brows when a heavy gold chain with finely worked links emerged from the box. She looked at the note, which was written in a well-formed script.
Dear Lady,
Please accept this small token of my esteem. I would be honoured if you would agree to come to dinner with me. I owe you hospitality. The litter is for your convenience, but if tonight does not suit, please instruct my man as to when you would be free.
Yours with sincere regard,
Hecebolus
So. Of course he had bribed her major-domo to let him know when Darius would be away. She felt gratified that he had been so prompt, but however polite the letter, it was a fairly bald command. She felt herself reduced to a commodity, with the face value of a gold chain. No, she thought. I may have sold myself, but I’ll not be bartered.
She dropped the chain into its box and tendered it to the slave. “Please thank your master,” she said, “but I can’t accept his gift, nor his invitation. It’s no doubt well intended, but no.”
“When will it suit?”
“Never,” she said. “I am … spoken for.”
The slave, a grizzled Nubian, bowed but did not take the box. “My master would not take it back,” he told her. “It is a gift.”
“But I can’t accept it. Really, you should return it. His … his wife would surely not approve.”
“My master is not a married man.”
“Ah. Nevertheless.”
“It is a trinket merely. Please, Kyria, keep it. He will be angry with me if I bring it back.” He looked anxious. “It is permitted, surely, for an admirer to send a little gift, to one so famous for her stage performances?”
“Well …” It was true, she did receive gifts from fans, although usually not such valuable ones. Also, it gave her a good feeling to be respectfully addressed as “Kyria”, like a society matron of good standing. She thought: Why not keep it? It’s a trifle to the man who bought it, after all. Yet I will not let him buy me with it. “Very well, then. As a gift. Thank your master most sincerely. It is beautiful.”
After the litter had been borne away, Theodora was restless. She paced the path that bisected the peristyle, of which Darius was rather proud. It did not take many steps to cross it from side to side. Suddenly she was struck by how small it was. Despite its slender pillars and elegant proportions, despite the meticulous care she took to keep the grass weeded and clipped and the mosaic basin into which the fountain splashed sparkling clean, despite the neatly pruned flowering shrubs, the scented herbs in matched urns, the white marble figure of Pan forever playing on his pipes and the brightly hued parakeet in its tiny cage, the peristyle was small. Like the villa, like her life. There was no room for her to spread her wings. Nor would there ever be.
Like a small mosaic, she thought. To be taken in at a glance. The idea made her feel suffocated. If her entire life was to be so simple, so circumscribed that it could be contained in one little picture, it would surely not have been of much significance.
And yet, she thought, and yet I am safe here. To be safe is no small thing.
Again there was a knock at the door. Surely the slave had not returned, she thought, and went to open it. There stood Antonina, Indaro and Chrysomallo.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” exclaimed. Theodora. “I’m in such a state – you must tell me what to do!”
Antonina with her flaming hair, little pouter-pigeon Chrysomallo and the tall Indaro suddenly made the reception room seem very small.
“Do tell us!” said Indaro, as she helped herself to black grapes from a bowl.
“It’s Hecebolus,” guessed Antonina.
“Was it that obvious
?”
“Not to everyone, maybe. But I could tell he was smitten. Pretended to be casual, but he was smitten.”
“Well, he sent a litter for me, just as soon as Darius Pollo left town.”
“You didn’t go at once, I hope?”
“No, of course not.”
“He’ll try again, if I know men,” said Chrysomallo, “and oooh, I do, I do know men.”
“Probably,” agreed Theodora. “I must think carefully.”
“Just go to dinner, why not?” suggested Indaro. “Need it matter?”
“I have an agreement with Darius Pollo,” said Theodora. “An exclusive one.”
“And this has been for how long?”
“Almost two years now. They’ve been good years. We have dealt well together.”
“You don’t love the man, do you?” enquired Antonina.
“No … but I have grown fond of him. He treats me kindly. He is satisfied with me; I give him what he wants in bed and I keep a house where he is clearly happy. I have created a haven of tranquillity – you said I should do that and I have. He comes here as often as he can and we are … well, we are … comfortable. Almost like an old married couple, I suppose.”
“Boring,” said Indaro in her deep voice.
“But he will never marry you,” said Chrysomallo.
“No, he won’t,” admitted Theodora. “We are not married and we never will be. I can’t force a choice, because he’ll choose his wife – his wife and his five fine sons. I know that.”
“And he’ll never give you a child,” said Antonina. “Does it matter to you?”
Theodora was jolted into a sudden realisation: Living with Darius Pollo, she must be barren all her life. Her entire life. I might never have a child, she thought. Not ever. And his wife has five sons.
“Yes,” said Theodora. “It matters.”
“I think you can hook this Hecebolus,” said Antonina. “He was fascinated, no doubt about it. He’s good-looking, and he’s rich. Richer than Pollo, certainly.”
“He may want no more than a brief fling while my protector is conveniently out of town,” said Theodora. “He may just want to sleep with me and then go on his way.”
“But you could change that,” said Indaro. “You could make him want to keep you with him always.”
“Yes,” agreed Theodora. She thought: I know how to enchant a man. I could ensnare him. If I wanted to.
There was a moment of silence. Theodora felt weighed down by the knowledge that whichever way she turned, her choices were limited. She could not altogether leave the stage. She knew, her friends knew, an actress could never retire and live a normal life. She was expected to enter a convent and become the bride of Christ, for no decent man could marry her. She was a creature of shame, she was degraded; no matter that she had been what she was because many thousands of men wanted her to be that way. No matter that it was their lustful imaginations that had turned her into something that she in truth was not. No matter that she had only done whatever she did in response to their demands. To earn a living the best way she knew how. She was not chaste. She had to be punished, and kept away from decent society. Of them all, only Antonina had some independence, and it was due to the legacy of the solid man who had married her. For the rest of them life was precarious.
But they all knew these things. One did not need to speak them. Theodora sat there, dumb and hopeless.
“He’ll pay you off one fine day,” said Chrysomallo, “when your looks start to go.” Her own bright locks owed more to henna than nature, and her waist was no longer the mere two hand spans that it used to be.
“No nest egg from him? No inheritance?” Indaro closed her one good eye in a leering wink. She had lost the other eye when a customer battered her head to a pulp with his fists. It had been replaced by a brown glass orb which sometimes, oddly, would still ooze tears.
“He’ll leave me something to tide me over,” said Theodora, “but not enough to murder him for, he said.”
“Pity,” growled Indaro.
“This man,” said Antonina thoughtfully, “this Hecebolus is not an ordinary citizen of Constantinople. He doesn’t have a wife and a family of sons. He comes from somewhere else and he’s going somewhere else. He has ambition. It may be that when he goes, you could go with him. He might even defy society and marry you. This might be your chance, Theodora.”
Yes, thought Theodora, that might happen. I might become something more, something better than I am now. “But … there are considerable risks,” she argued. “I have a good place here, I have a kind man who takes care of me. He has been helpful to my family.”
“They’re better off than they were,” said Antonina. “Comito’s senator has built his fortune again and he is devoted to her and generous. Stasie’s going on steadily with the animals, and your mother’s still a popular star at the Kynêgion. You could leave and they would be all right, they would be fine.”
The parakeet let out a raucous shriek and fluttered its wings.
“I don’t know what kind of man this Hecebolus is,” said Theodora. “Well, he does appear to have made a success of his life. He has drive and ambition and I like that, I admire that.”
“And he has considerable wealth and some power,” said Indaro, “make no mistake. He’s known to important men.”
“But how will he treat me?” asked Theodora.
“You,” said Antonina, “are the daughter of a man who breathed into the nostrils of Illyrian mountain bears. You can take a risk.”
“And besides,” added Chrysomallo, “he is a very good-looking man.”
“Besides being rich,” said Indaro.
“Maybe I should take a chance on him,” said Theodora. She had not had many choices in her life, but this time, she thought, perhaps she could choose. Stay, or leave. This time she was standing on a cliff looking down at deep water. She could turn and walk quietly away, or she could take a deep breath and jump into the wind and unknown depths and hope she’d come up for air and didn’t strike hidden rocks or get swept away by the roaring current. For once, she might have a choice.
“I think … I think I’ll take a chance,” said Theodora. “Shall we have some wine?”
Her mind made up, she waited for another invitation. Which did not come. Some weeks passed without a word, and then Darius Pollo returned. Life went on as it had before. She was disappointed, having gathered her courage for a decisive move. But it seemed that she had misjudged Hecebolus, and over-estimated the attraction she believed he had felt for her. Perhaps, she thought, he had already left the country. She could do nothing but wait.
Then Darius Pollo received news that one of his sons had been badly injured in a fall from a horse and went off home to his family. The following day, the Nubian slave stood on Theodora’s doorstep once again. This time, she noted, he had not brought the litter with him.
“Kyria,” he said, bowing low. “My master presents his compliments. He asks whether the lady would graciously consider an invitation to dinner. On any evening that would be convenient.”
Theodora looked at him levelly. “Tell your master he may send for me two days from now,” she said.
“Thank you, Kyria. He will be pleased.”
She dressed with care, selecting a tunic of dark blue silk, richly embroidered and with a high collar in the Oriental style and a tasselled sash that suited her slim figure and set off her pale skin. The golden chain that Hecebolus had sent her looked well against the blue. Her maid pinned up her hair in a twisted loop that showed off her slender neck and added some height to her diminutive stature. Her sandals had gold thread woven into the soft leather thongs. She smiled as her maidservant laced them around her slender ankles, remembering the game he had played with her the night they met.
Her major-domo bowed her out of the door. She drew her dark blue brocade cloak around her and stared at him, wondering how discreet he would be. He looked back with the shuttered face of servitude. Well, she thought, it al
l depends on who pays him best. I hope Hecebolus has sent a substantial bribe.
Her heart gave a lurch as the litter was lifted, tilted slightly and levelled again before it moved forward. She suspected there would be no turning back.
The litter transported her along at a steady, rhythmic pace. Peeping out from behind the curtains, she saw that the carriers were striding down one of the main marble thoroughfares of Constantinople that the Emperor Severus had caused to be carved through a welter of slums and alleys. At the level of her eyes, shining marble porticos formed an arcade of shops still thronged with people; if she glanced up, she could see the terraced promenade above, alive with bobbing heads. It was lined with statues; former emperors stared out, shoulder to shoulder with ancient pagan gods – and among these august beings stood some statues of popular actresses. However, it was illegal to replace an emperor with an actress. Theodora smiled as this thought occurred to her. One day there may be a statue of me up there, she said to herself, overlooking the broad marble road. Even if I do not supplant an emperor.
The litter took her to one of the most luxurious mansions in the city, set back on a height among a grove of trees with a view across the Sea of Marmara, which lay glimmering, turquoise and purple in the late afternoon light. A flight of broad marble steps led up to a colonnaded portico, which connected two substantial wings. Huge urns spilled trailing jasmine. As the slave handed her out of the litter, a breeze cooled her cheeks, bringing with it the salt smell of the sea. The doorway, she noted, was guarded by a tall statue of the two-faced pagan god Janus, the god of new beginnings, who faced both forwards and backwards, to the past and to the future, in his hand his ring of keys. Ah, she thought: one of the really old families, who still honour the ancient gods, even if they have acquired a veneer of Christianity.
Hecebolus himself stood at the door to welcome her. He smiled with pleasure, his teeth white in his swarthy face.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “You look very lovely.”
“You are kind,” said Theodora, who was suddenly nervous.
Above their heads a seagull wheeled and shrieked.
