The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (17 page)

The Emperor’s gaze flicked to the execution block, and I wondered for a moment if Justin thought how easy it might have been for him to be on that platform. He had paid the Excubitors five silver coins each to purchase their loyalty, but everyone assumed the money was from his own pocket. Perhaps no one cared if the throne had been bought.

Theocritus emerged from the circle of guards in a ragged tunica and stumbled up the stairs before he smashed face-first into the platform. The crowd around me jeered and hissed as the guards yanked him to his feet.

“Theocritus’ assets and property have been seized,” Hecebolus said. “His widow is forced to beg from her family. Fortunately, they had no children to suffer Justin’s wrath.”

Thank God for small blessings.

Theocritus met his fate boldly, accepting a priest’s final blessing and bowing over the platform without a sound.

The executioner hoisted the ax above his head. I knew before it met its target that it wouldn’t take. Theocritus had a neck like a bull, and the executioner was a small man even under his loose black tunica. The ax bounced back, almost taking the executioner with it. The woman next to me cheered, but someone nearby moaned. It took me a moment to realize the sound came from my own throat. The inept butcher tried four more times before he finally wrenched Theocritus’ head free and held it up by its thin hair, streaming blood like a pagan sacrifice. The face was twisted in frozen agony, the mouth hanging limp.

I stood to leave, but Hecebolus’ hand clamped my wrist tighter than the Patriarch’s ropes. “Sit down and cheer.”

“I will not.”

“You will. Justin is watching you.”

The damnable man was right. Justin’s eyes were on me, one eyebrow almost to his retreating hairline. On the floor, a cluster of slaves hauled off the headless corpse, and the platform was disassembled, its straw taken to feed some unlucky horse. Trainers for the Greens and Blues emerged with wooden crates and let loose a handful of wild ostrich. Bored, the birds pecked the sand until two larger crates were dragged to the base of the Egyptian obelisk and four lionesses roared out. More blood sprayed the arena floor as the birds were ripped apart.

One of Justin’s slaves beckoned Hecebolus halfway through the first heat of chariot races.

“Don’t go anywhere.” His hand was tight on my knee.

“Where else would I go?”

People turned to stare at me as Hecebolus mounted the stairs to the imperial balcony. I’d come to the coronation to land a rich patron, not realizing I’d accompanied one of the Emperor’s new favorites.

He remained next to Emperor Justin through the chariot races while people around me screamed,
“Nika!”
to spur their favorite charioteer to victory. My eyes flicked to the Kathisma now and again, but each time Justin and Hecebolus seemed engrossed in conversation while the Excubitors stared straight ahead. Lupicina looked down at me, and I thought I saw a flicker of a smile pass her lips while she scratched behind the ears of the greyhound at her feet. I would have liked to be a flea on that mongrel. I’d have made sure to bite both men next to her.

Hecebolus returned during the bearbaiting. The black beast my father had trained had blood streaming from his ear, his mangled left eye dangling from its nerve, a tasty treat for the Blues’ brown bear. The Greens were going to need a new bear.

“It’s time to go.” Hecebolus offered me his hand.

“So soon?” Things were not proceeding according to plan. The woman next to me glared as I stopped in front of her, blocking her view as I tried to slow Hecebolus.

“The
Naiad
sails with the tide.”

I turned around on the stairs to face him. “The tide?”

“The Emperor just made me a patrician. And granted me the governorship of Pentapolis.” He held a piece of purple parchment before me. Two lead seals dangled from the bottom, and the top was stamped with four gold letters.
LEGI
.
I have read.

Hecebolus folded the paper and replaced it in his tunica. “The Emperor’s stamp. He claims he’s not about to learn to write his name after all these years getting by without it.”

Pentapolis: five cities on the coast of Africa. The end of the world. “Couldn’t he have found somewhere farther than Africa?”

“You’d hurl me off the edge of the map if you could.” He gave me a wicked grin. “Your life is about to become painfully dull.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.” Somehow. Unfortunately, I wasn’t on a first-name basis with any other patricians at the moment.

We walked out of the Hippodrome as the brown bear ripped the rest of the face from the black, a stringy mass of quivering pink muscle and blue veins. The ravaged bear roared one final time before collapsing to the ground.

Hecebolus helped me up into his litter but didn’t let go of my hand. “Come with me, Theodora.”

I tripped on the stair and whirled around. “What?”

“Come with me to Pentapolis. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Why in Christ’s name would you want me to come with you?”

“You’re the most famous
scenica
in the city, in the Empire for that matter.” He straightened and scowled, as if insulted by my question. “I only want the best.”

It was difficult to be a
scenica
when your usual customers included tanners and fullers, but I wasn’t going to mention that. “I can’t leave my daughter.”

He dropped my hand, then stepped back. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I know you’re just like me—scheming, conniving, and ambitious. And I know you have a sweet little body every man in the city wants, but that body’s going to be in my bed all night, every night, all the way to Pentapolis.”

His mouth was on mine, making it impossible to think. I pushed him back. “I promised you tonight, but nothing more.”

“Leave your daughter here and come with me. I’ll be gone only six months, a year at most, before I manage a position in the capital.” His finger traced my jaw, his eyes delving into mine. “What do you have to lose?”

Nothing, except Tasia. It was a high price to pay, yet Hecebolus might wish to keep me when he returned to the capital. Or perhaps, if I played this right, I might wear his bronze marriage belt and the red sandals of a patrician by then. Tasia’s future would be secure.

He stepped into the sedan and pulled me onto his hardness, his hands on my backside as he crushed my lips to his. It seemed we were never destined to make it to a bed. He brought me to the edge of ecstasy several times before pushing me over; it was a savage bout of lovemaking, but I matched him until he shuddered his release and collapsed onto my chest.

Afterward, his finger traced lazy circles on my breasts. His slaves carrying the sedan had circled the city walls at least three times, but I didn’t care if they managed a few more. A perfect lethargy seeped into my bones, but it fled as his teeth teased my nipples. “We were made for each other, Theodora. Pentapolis will never be dull.”

“I still haven’t decided if I’m coming with you.” I taunted him to
readiness as I recognized the crumbling building with its hideous phoenix outside. It wouldn’t hurt to leave him wanting more.

I managed to pin back my rumpled stola for the neighbors’ benefit, despite his best attempts to keep me indecent, and dropped a kiss on his lip just below his scar. “I’ll meet you on the dock tomorrow.”

Only I still had to make up my mind if I was going.

“S
ix months?” Mother clutched Tasia while I made a final sweep of the room. Antonina sat at the lion-legged table and stifled a yawn.

“Perhaps a year. At least that’s what Hecebolus says.”

“Of course he does. I must have dropped you on your head when you were young.”

“You’re getting senile, Mother. It was Comito you dropped.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “And you were the one who told me not to reject Hecebolus.”

“I didn’t think he’d drag you to the edge of the Empire!”

Antonina rose from her rickety throne to take a swig from Mother’s amphora and envelop me in a loose hug. “Your mother’s going to miss you,” she whispered. “She’s scared for you.”

That made two of us.

I looked to the ceiling to ease the needles in my eyes—the water stain had gotten worse, and the cloud of black mold seemed to be spreading down the wall. “She’s only scared she’s going to have to cut back on her wine.”

“I heard that.” Mother stomped her foot. “This is absurd. I forbid you to go.”

Part of me wanted to obey like a little girl, unpack my things, and return to the Kynêgion in September. I could live my life in this dingy room, selling myself every night, but I couldn’t do that to my daughter. I squeezed my eyes shut, barely managing to speak. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Tasia gurgled a string of babble and held out her arms for me. I dropped my bag, struggling to swallow my sobs. I loved her baby smell, her tiny hands with their pudgy fingers, and her beautiful brown eyes. And I was leaving it all behind.

“You’ll be back so soon Tasia won’t even notice you were gone.” Antonina’s hand was warm on my back. “You do what you have to. For her.”

I swallowed hard and looked at Tasia, her cheeks still rosy from sleep. It tore my heart to think of leaving her, but it was only for her that I could even contemplate going with Hecebolus.

I wrapped my arms around my family for a damp hug, breathing in the scent of my daughter to carry with me. “I love you all so much.”

Antonina’s hand on my shoulder pulled me away from Tasia. “The ship will sail without you.”

I dashed the tears from my eyes. “Take care of her.”

“We will,” Antonina said. “I promise.”

My mother sighed and kissed my cheeks, her lips cool. “We do what we have to, I suppose.”

Antonina hefted my bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll walk you down.”

My arms were empty, and my chest felt hollow. My life now amounted to three stolas—including the burnt orange I hadn’t returned to Hecebolus—a string of cheap turquoise beads that only looked real onstage, and two bronze hair combs. I’d given my mother everything else, including the few coins I’d saved and Anastasia’s old doll, for Tasia.

“Good luck,” Antonina said, handing me the linen bag. A woman emptied her night soil bucket from the window of the gray building across the street, earning her a spew of curses from the wizened men below playing dice on a board scratched in the dirt. “Don’t forget us when you come back a
kyria
dripping in pearls and gold.”

I hugged her, but she laughed me off. “Gods, it’s not as if you’ll be gone long. Enjoy yourself.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “And enjoy that magnificent body of his.”

I wiped my eyes. “You would say that.”

She shrugged. “Life is short. God knows you’ve never really lived.”

I detoured outside the city gates to visit Father’s and Anastasia’s graves one last time, both unmarked and long since covered with tall grass. I passed a dusty family on the way back, the man pushing a cart laden with pots, several crates, and a birdcage with a half-dead blue and black starling. The woman carried a baby on her hip and led a little boy with his thumb in his mouth.

“Excuse me,” the man said, his accent so thick I could scarcely understand his Greek. “Where can I find a place to stay?”

I gestured to the city walls, the domed churches and great towers looming overhead.
“Is tin boli.”

In the city.

Everything was in the city; yet I would leave it all behind when I went with Hecebolus.

The long walk from the graveyard gave me time to compose myself, but my feet felt as if they were bleeding in my new slippers—the only decent ones I owned—by the time I smelled the docks, the heavy treacle of fish and brine. I wished for thunder and lightning to match my mood, but the sun danced on the waters of the Bosphorus, a sparkling mosaic of beveled turquoise glass, and only soaring pelicans marred the sky. A newly varnished ship gleamed in the sun, its crew
already at the oars. I hurried as fast as my cursed shoes would let me, but the oars moved like giant dragonfly wings and its curved prow cut into the waters. I dropped my bag and broke into a run. “No! Wait!”

But the ship didn’t stop. The sun caught the letters painted in gold on its side.
Greyhound.
The Emperor’s private yacht.

I was an idiot.

Behind it groaned a boat bleached almost white by the sun, gulls pecking at the cracked and weathered masthead. Faded letters on its hull spelled its name in Greek—
Naiad
.

Hecebolus’ ship.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.” The thing looked like a leaky bathing tub. “That boat will sink before we make it past the Golden Horn.”

Hundreds of terra-cotta amphorae were being hoisted on board, a dozen or so the height of a man pulled by rope on deck while slaves carried smaller ones on their backs. Several paused to gawk at my approach, and one missed his cue as the next slave in line tossed one of the pots onto his back. It teetered for a moment, then tumbled to the ground and shattered. Thick red sauce speckled with green oozed onto the planks of the dock like blood.