B009KUWVHG EBOK

by Thornton, Stephanie

  “Thanks.”

  “The point is, you’ve got to get her out of here.” Antonina stroked Tasia’s little fingers. “I don’t want to see this little thing on the boards one day.”

  Tasia finished on one breast, so I moved her to the other, inhaling the baby smell I adored so much. My little piglet gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes.

  I knew what I needed, much as I didn’t want to admit to sounding like my sister or every other pornai in the Empire. Love was a luxury I could ill afford, but I needed a bronze wedding belt around my waist. A rich patron was the only way to pluck myself from the gutters, but only if I could convince him to marry me so I could protect my daughter.

  We passed through the crumbling walls Constantine had built hundreds of years ago, no longer needed as the city spilled from its gates and Theodosius surrounded the new city with thicker, taller walls. Constantinople’s fifth hill was directly before us, and somewhere carved into its slopes was one of the city’s smaller theaters. I might as well get on with my life today.

  Tasia nestled against my chest, her mouth open and cheeks pink with sleep. I could smell my milk on her breath. “Take her for me, will you?” I murmured to Antonina. “I’ll meet you back home, but find her some goat milk if I’m late.”

  She slipped out of her gray paludamentum embroidered with black and white fish swimming up the front, and tied it over my now rather ample breasts. “My bloods started today, so take as much time as you’d like—I’m looking forward to a few days off. Good luck.”

  I watched them go, then ducked into one of the corner shops to ask where I might find the closest theater.

  “An actress, eh?” The man grinned, revealing carcasses of brown teeth. “Follow the aqueduct to the Cistern of Aetius. The Seneca’s on the other side, but don’t blink or you might miss it.”

  “Thank you.” I did as he said, stopping to wash my hands and face in a fountain spewing water from a lion’s mouth. A couple of women with hennaed hair and garish turquoise stolas pushed past me, close enough so that I gagged at their cloud of cheap perfume. The façade they’d just come from leaned precariously against the hillside, hiding what must have been the world’s tiniest stage. I’d slit my wrists if I couldn’t get hired here, but between my pregnancy and Comito, I knew I wasn’t welcome at the Kynêgion any longer.

  A man I presumed to be the Master of the Stage stood under the façade’s arch and whistled at another departing actress. His eyes flicked over me. “You here for a position?”

  I gave my most becoming smile. “You guessed right.”

  “You clean?” He rubbed one side of his face as he studied me. “No scabby tarts for the fine patrons of the Seneca.”

  “Clean as the day I was born.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He bit his fingernail and spit a piece at my feet. “The best I got might be a trooper in the chorus.”

  Right back where I was at the Kynêgion. “Fine,” I said.

  His bushy caterpillar of an eyebrow arched. “You sing?”

  “A little.” It wouldn’t do to lie—I wouldn’t miraculously become a songbird overnight.

  He gestured with one hand for me to show him, and I managed to squawk out the first line of a popular troparion often sung in church.

  “‘O Gladsome Light of the Holy Glory of the Immortal Father, Heavenly, Holy, Blessed Jesus Christ!’”

  He rubbed a finger in his ear, rolled the yellow smear of wax between his fingers, and wiped it on his tunica. “Dance?”

  “Some.”

  “Instruments?”

  “No, but I’m good for a laugh.”

  “No trooper then,” he said. “But maybe a mimic.”

  I wouldn’t even wear a mask if I became a mimic. In fact, I’d never wear much of anything. But something was better than nothing.

  He opened a thin book with broken seams, one full of contracts from what I could see, most marked with a cross at the bottom. “You got experience?”

  I wasn’t sure if the truth would harm me or help me, but it probably couldn’t hurt. “I played at the Kynêgion for the Blues.”

  “Name?”

  “Theodora.”

  “Daughter of Acacius?” He shut the book. “I don’t hire crazy.”

  “What?”

  “We Masters of the Stage talk. I don’t hire girls who aren’t dependable”—he mimicked a pregnant belly—“and who like the bottle too much.” I sputtered at the lie, but he shook his head. “Sorry, sweet. Don’t let the door hit your pretty little arse on the way out.”

  I’d strangle Comito next time I saw her. I didn’t know what other tales she’d told Hilarion, but she’d definitely found her revenge. I watched the Master of the Stage walk away. “Just one question,” I said, thanking God when he turned around. “I suppose Hilarion told all the stage masters in the city about me?”

  “Prob’ly a few outside, too. No one goes against Hilarion, not if we want to keep our stages open.” He gave me a grandfatherly smile. “Maybe try a taverna?”

  I wouldn’t resort to a taverna—patricians rarely frequented the filthy houses, and I didn’t want the average pleb. I wandered a bit longer before heading in the direction of the Kynêgion. None of the other stage masters would hire me, but perhaps if I was lucky—

  My breasts were engorged by the time I reached the huge theater and pushed the limits of my neckline to their breaking point. Uncomfortable, but I could use all the help I could get.

  “Theodora!” I turned to see Chrysomallo, the little pornai from the Boar’s Eye, run toward me, decked out in a sleeveless blue trooper’s costume. What there was of it anyway. “What are you doing here?”

  “When did you become an actress?” I wanted to be happy for her for escaping that pit, but it was hard when that same pit might be my only way to earn a living.

  “Just this season,” she said. “There was a position open as a trooper in the chorus.”

  My position. I cringed, but she didn’t notice.

  “I’m so glad to be out of the Boar’s Eye.” She clapped her hands over her smile and squealed. “Did you come to apply for a position, too?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” I’d formulated a proposition almost impossible for Hilarion to reject. Almost. “Is Hilarion here?”

  “Somewhere—he and one of the girls went to his office, but they’re probably done by now. We’re preparing for the opening show of Antigone tonight.” Chrysomallo smiled. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  I grabbed her hand. “Perhaps I should go to him. Since he’s so busy.” It would be harder for him to throw me out if I wasn’t already on the street.

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes and giggled. “Hilarion’s always telling me I have the brain of a naiad.”

  We passed through the curious, and sometimes hostile, stares of some of the other actresses. Hilarion was in the trenches with the chorus as Antigone and Ismene rehearsed some of their early scenes. Chrysomallo ran off to join the rest of the troopers while I waited on one of the Senate’s marble benches on the floor. I searched for Comito but didn’t spy her anywhere. Hopefully that patron of hers kept her locked in a villa outside the city walls. Hilarion strode over to me as soon as the performers took a break.

  “I don’t care who sent you this time or which scenicae can vouch for you.” He chewed his perpetual toothpick and carried two mismatched practice swords, pointing the short one at me. “Your sister left me in the lurch for that Tyrian merchant of hers, and I have no intention of ever letting either of you back on my stage.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief that Comito wasn’t here any longer. Now there was no reason Hilarion wouldn’t accept my offer.

  “Nice to see you, too, Hilarion.” I crossed one leg over the other and leaned toward him. It really was a shameless display, but it got his attention. “I’ve actually come with a proposition.”

  “Because no one else will hire you?” He almost smiled but waved the sword toward the exit. “
Out.”

  “I have something you want. Badly.”

  He laughed. “The only thing you’ve got is that little body of yours. It’s sweet, but not that tempting. I’ve got plenty of girls to keep me happy.”

  He turned and walked off toward his office, but I followed him. “I’m not leaving until you hear me out.” I didn’t wait for him to protest but gave him the condensed version of what I’d planned.

  Hilarion turned, his jaw slack and the bone toothpick he’d been gnawing stuck to his lip. “You want to do what?”

  “You heard me.” I closed his mouth and wiped my fingertips on my stola. “It can be the opening act tonight.”

  “Absolutely not. The Patriarch would shut us down for vulgarity, obscenity, lewd and immodest behavior—”

  “You couldn’t pay for better advertising,” I added. “Think of it—standing room only.”

  He scowled, but I could practically hear his mind making the calculations—the stands would be full for the premiere tonight and word would spread. He’d have a full house every night for the month if he agreed to my little performance. He smacked his lips and grinned. “I’ll get the bird—you can go on tonight.”

  I flashed him my most becoming smile. “And what do I get in return?”

  His grin was replaced with a shrewd scowl. “Name your price.”

  “Forty percent of sales.” It was obscene and I knew it.

  Hilarion choked—he might have made a fine actor himself. “Five percent and not a nummi more.”

  “You must be addled. You’re going to be rich after this. Thirty percent and not a nummi less.”

  He chewed his toothpick, pretending to consider it. “I’ll give you ten percent. That’s more than all the other girls make combined.”

  “But I’m not just one of the girls, now, am I?” I crossed my arms. “Twenty percent. And the rest of the girls still get paid.”

  “Fifteen and the girls get their usual wage. Final offer.”

  “Done.”

  “I would have taken five,” I called over my shoulder. I’d have done it for free if it meant making a name for myself. One day I would be a kyria. And I wouldn’t look back.

  Hilarion’s chuckle followed me out. “I’d have paid you forty.”

  …

  The girls grumbled that night when Hilarion told them the playbill had been changed.

  “I hate Leda,” Chrysomallo whined. “The Zeus costume is ridiculous. The feathers make me itch for hours afterward.”

  “You won’t need the costume tonight,” Hilarion said. “Theodora’s mostly the only one onstage.”

  “What?”

  I took one long gulp of wine, thankful it wasn’t watered, as most of the girls glared at me.

  I walked onstage alone as the name of the play was announced—Leda and the Swan—glad for the warmth of the wine that soothed at least a few of my nerves. The crowd jeered—I wore far too many clothes in my white stola, hair swept up to show off the pair of fake pearl eardrops that dangled to my collarbone. I smiled and held up a finger to silence them. Taking my place in the direct center of the stage, I pulled the tie at my shoulder and let my stola fall in a heap. My stomach felt as if something inside it were alive, and I willed myself not to vomit.

  The crowd went wild.

  Hilarion crouched in the shadows of the vomitorium, clutching a burlap bag. It lurched as if trying to run from him, spewing the occasional feather.

  I walked the full circle of the amphitheater, clothed only in a snowy ribbon tied to cover my most private parts, making my movements as slow and sensual as I could while my hands shook. There were catcalls from the audience, but then a hush fell as Chrysomallo and a few of the other girls pranced onstage with little silk bags clutched in their hands. I lay on the center of the stage, one ankle crossed over my knee. The evening air was warm, but the cool limestone on my back made my nipples pucker.

  The girls sprinkled trails of grain across the floor and over my naked body. Then they danced off, and Hilarion released his bag.

  I wanted to throttle him. In the myth, Leda had been seduced by Zeus in the form of a regal swan and then gave birth to Helen of Troy, the world’s most beautiful woman. I was supposed to be bedded by a graceful swan, but instead three brown geese waddled toward me, much to the audience’s delight. The birds squawked indignantly until they found the trails of grain.

  This would certainly make a name for me—the girl who slept with geese.

  The largest of the geese hesitated as he got close, but his stomach overrode any qualms he may have had about eating off a naked girl. He smelled like dirt, and his peck on my leg was less than gentle; but I moaned, arching my back as he honked and jumped back, showering me with downy feathers. The other two joined in the fun, plucking at the grains on my arms, breasts, and my mons veneris. I thrust my pelvis and acted out the pleasure of my solo bedding. The geese wandered off once their dinner was gone, but I wasn’t done yet. The theater was silent—Constantinople could not ignore me now.

  Chrysomallo flounced across the stage, strewing flower petals and scattering the geese. “From this blessed union, Helen was born!”

  My face burned and my hair tumbled down my back as Chrysomallo removed the pins to symbolize my transformation from Leda to Helen. Senators waved me to them as I wove my way through the first of their fourteen marble sections, noting with satisfaction many tunicas tented with excitement. Some reached out to grab my buttocks or stroke my breasts, and I let them, clenching my teeth and closing my eyes to lean into their hands, lips parted as I moaned. Tonight they could all indulge in the fantasy of touching a goddess. And tomorrow I would be all they could talk about.

  My heart pounded as I held my breath and sauntered back to the vomitorium, refusing to glance behind me. My feet touched the shadows of the arch just as the audience burst into applause so loud I feared the roof would crumble.

  The only two ways out of this profession were from the top or the bottom. I preferred the top.

  Chapter 8

  T he ropes burned my wrists.

  “The fires of Gehenna will burn worse, my child.” The black-robed Patriarch gave me a patronizing smile as I picked at the rough cords. “I act with the authority of God and his vassal on earth, Emperor Anastasius. You have defied the sanctity of the very body God has given you with your lewd display here at the Kynêgion. Such vulgarity cannot be tolerated.”

  I stifled the urge to roll my eyes and gave Hilarion a pointed look instead.

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could reach some sort of agreement? Negotiate a deal that would be mutually beneficial to all parties?”

  “My role as shepherd of the Empire cannot be compromised.” The Patriarch snapped his fingers, and two slaves came forward to lead me away. We were almost out the door when Hilarion stopped us.

  “Perhaps a cut of the profits?” He sounded as if he were merely bargaining for a cut of veal in the market, but I knew he must be desperate to make such an offer.

  The Patriarch paused, then shook his head. “Coins cannot sway me. The girl shall remain in prison until I have deemed she has fully repented her evil ways. This is as God wills.”

  I wouldn’t be led away to rot in prison, locked away from my daughter. I’d seen the way the man’s eyes lingered over the swell of my breasts under my stola. “Perhaps a cut of the profits and a private viewing of Leda?” I asked. “Free of charge?”

  The Patriarch stopped and nodded to his slaves. They dropped the ropes and left Hilarion’s office. He waited until the door shut to speak. “A very private show.” He spoke to my breasts. “And fifteen percent of the show’s profits.”

  Hilarion choked, but he relented after the glare I shot him. “Fine. But we get to finish out the season with Leda.” He spat on his hand and offered it to the Patriarch, but he received only a cold stare in return.

  The Patriarch’s fingers were gentle as he untied me. “When may I expect that private viewing?”

  I
rubbed my wrists and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll go change right now.”

  …

  “I know I’m going to trip and fall on my face.” Chrysomallo clutched my hand.

  “Careful.” I shook her off and rubbed my wrist, the skin still pink despite all the olive oil I’d rubbed into the evidence of the Patriarch’s ropes.

  “Still sore?”

  More than my wrists were sore, but I shrugged. “Could be worse.”

  “I’ve never been to a kyria’s house before.” Chrysomallo gaped as we passed under the pink marble arch to the villa of General Flavius Justinus, now commander of Emperor Anastasius’ palace guard. The Empire had always been a place where an ambitious military man might be promoted, but the fall of the Western capital to the Vandals meant even more opportunities for men in Constantinople. Justin had been a Thracian swineherd in his youth, and he had risen high in his old age, at least high enough to install two gaudy gold statues of Heracles and Theseus—both in all their naked glory—to glower at his guests as they entered his villa. Our troupe was to play a sedate number for the wives during a dinner for the senators and other illustrious guests. I’d have tangled with a demon to perform for the men instead, but I would take what I could get. Hilarion had tried his best to exclude me, claiming he wanted me to perform exclusively on his stage, and only after I’d thrown a bust of Sophocles at his head and threatened to take Leda to another theater did he relent.

  Chrysomallo gawked at a mother-of-pearl table with its gold reliquary case and cross, then glanced at me. “Your sister would love this. Do you think she’ll come back to the Kynêgion now that her patron threw her out?”

  That was news to me—last I’d heard Comito had been happily ensconced in the villa of her Tyrian dye merchant. I missed my sister, but her return would make things thorny.

  I didn’t have to answer. A beardless man in a delectable white and gold tunica herded us through the atrium. His lips were plump, and his skin looked soft as rose petals, his elongated fingers delicate as bird wings. My suspicions were confirmed when I heard him speak to Hilarion, his singsong voice high and unbroken. He was a castrato, likely once the child of a poor family eager to place its son in a patrician’s villa to entertain his guests with his sweet singing voice.