The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora (18 page)

But it wasn’t blood. It was
garos
.

“By the dog!” I jumped and stepped back. It wasn’t the mess of fish sauce I cursed, but the slave who’d dropped the amphora, the same one now being thrashed about the ears for his incompetence. I recognized the wart on his chin with its thick black hair I could see even from where I stood. The last thing I needed was one of my first customers on the ship with my new patron. I promised God my eternal obedience if Wart stayed behind once the ship set sail.

“Going to Pentapolis with us, miss?” A slave with more than a few teeth missing stepped out of my way as I walked up the tiny gangplank like one of the Hippodrome’s tightrope walkers.

I took a moment to answer—I could still change my mind, run
back to the room across from the Gate of Charisios, return to Leda and the Swan. And resign my daughter to a life of the same.

I gave the slave my sunniest smile. “I am.”

A red tunica passed behind the slave. And sniffed. “The governor has been expecting you.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

He looked at me as if I were a snake. “Your cabin is below deck. Last on the right.” Then he walked away.

I thumbed my fist at his retreating back and winked at the gap-toothed slave. He winked back. “Libanius is a nasty snob, almost as bad as the governor,” he said. “I’ll show you to your cabin.”

The smell of fish grew perversely stronger below deck, but I couldn’t tell if that was the slave’s natural odor or the actual stink of the ship. The entire boat needed to be doused with vinegar.

My cabin was little more than a closet, empty save for a rope hammock and a metal bucket. Two silk pouches dangled from the hammock, one blue and one red. The first was full of dried herbs, ones that smelled familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. Perhaps a posy to ward off seasickness. Or poison if Hecebolus tired of me.

The second pouch held two lumps the size of small grapes. Two perfectly matched pink pearls on gold hooks fell into my hands.

I’d traded my daughter for eardrops.

I stuffed them back in the silk and followed my nose out of my cabin to a rickety wooden ladder leading farther into the bowels of the ship. I kicked off my slippers and climbed down. Water slapping walls echoed up at me, not the rush of the ocean outside, but the splash inside the hull as we swayed with the sea. My toes touched water on the next rung. We were sinking.

I scrambled back up, hearing my hem rip as I stepped on my stola. Libanius stood outside Hecebolus’ closed door—at least I managed to surprise him coming up from the hull.

“There’s water below!”

“Of course there’s water below.” He said it as if commenting on the presence of clouds in the sky. “The
Naiad
is a fish transport.”

“What?”

The man actually rolled his eyes at me. “The governor is carrying live fish from the Black Sea to Antioch.”

“Antioch doesn’t have its own fish?”

“Parrotfish are a delicacy found only in the Black Sea, and the Patriarch of Antioch likes them fresh. The
Naiad
is equipped with a special pump to filter fresh seawater into the hull to keep them alive on the journey.”

Wonders never cease. I eyed the door behind Libanius. “Is Hecebolus in?”

“The governor is above deck.”

“Until?”

No answer—this slave was insufferable.

I kissed him on the cheek, relishing his look of horror at my honeyed smile. “Thank you for all your help, Libanius. I’m truly sorry I get to have Hecebolus and you don’t.”

A feral glare followed the flash of shock in his eyes. I’d hit the mark.

There was a terrible grating noise, and the beast of a ship shuddered. I took the stairs two at a time into the blue sky to find the dock had been emptied of the last amphorae and the gangplank hoisted off. It was time.

I clenched my teeth as the slaves threw off the ship’s riggings and we slipped fully into the turquoise embrace of the Golden Horn, beards of algae drifting past. There was no going back now.

The massive wooden roof of the Hagia Sophia watched us depart, and the city walls melted into the buildings clustered like cowering giants on the seven hills. I entertained ideas of jumping overboard and swimming back to shore just as three shiny gray fins surfaced in our wake. Dolphins, racing our boat, with only me to watch.

Tasia would have loved them; she would have laughed and gurgled as they surged ahead and dove deep into the water.

I turned my back on the city to face the wild expanse of blue. Even when my entire family had been green and retching on our move from Cyprus, I had loved the feel of the waves and the endless stretch of the sea. I needed it to soothe me now.

I stayed above deck with the benches of rowers at my back, feeling the sea spray on my face and licking the taste of salt from my lips until the air turned chill and sent me shivering below. I was bored by counting the irregularities in the wooden panels of my cabin walls and wary of the dark stain I’d discovered in the corner. It felt like hours before I finally heard Hecebolus’ voice next door. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.

A surprise up the sleeve of my
paludamentum
, I knocked on his door and was greeted with a loud grunt. Hecebolus sat next to a washbasin, his chin cocked to allow Libanius to shave the stubble from his neck. Unlike my cabin, his actually had a pallet on the floor. My heart skittered for a moment—Hecebolus might have been a sarcastic lout, but I couldn’t wait to have him between my legs again. I held out my hand for the blade.

“Come to slit my throat?” The vein in his neck pulsed as he motioned a scowling Libanius away. The door slammed behind him.

“Not this time. I prefer the element of surprise.” I dipped the metal into the basin and massaged a little olive oil into the coarse hairs on his neck. “This is quite a ship.”

He arched an eyebrow at me.

“I’ve seen the fish.”

“I make money while I sail.” He turned his chin so I could finish scraping his neck. “The fish below are as precious as purple dye.”

I bent over the basin, and my
paludamentum
slipped from my shoulder to expose the pale swell of my breast. His finger traced my
collarbone down to my nipple, then flicked open the clasp of my pin. The cloak puddled at my feet and I stood naked before him.

“Surprise,” I said.

His brow arched and a slow smile spread across his lips to crinkle his scar. “I think I’m going to enjoy this voyage.”

.   .   .

I woke the next morning to the glow of an oil lamp. And Libanius’ big nose.

I grimaced. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to wake someone?” I’d retired to my cabin after Hecebolus had me, but my room had no windows—the moon or the sun might have been up for all I knew.

Libanius ignored me. “I took the liberty of brewing this for you.” He thrust a clay cup at my face.

I sat up and slipped my arms into my
paludamentum
as he averted his eyes, but not before I saw the revulsion there. The cup’s curling steam smelled like a spice market, the same as the herbs in the blue pouch left for me. I knew better than to believe this man had discovered a sudden affinity for me. “What is this?”

“The governor cannot afford any bastard brats birthed by a nefarious prostitute.”

“Nefarious?” Normally I’d enjoy the new accolade, but I could scarcely think through my fury. I shoved the cup back at him. “No slave is going to tell me what to do.”

His lips curved into a frown. “My apologies—”

“Are not enough.” My only real security with Hecebolus would come once he married me. And he’d almost certainly marry me if I gave birth to his son, ensuring his financial support even if he tired of me. Libanius knew that. I was sick of this half man.

Hecebolus was stretched on a bench above deck in the morning sunshine, reading a codex. He scarcely looked up as I stormed past the
rowers. The wart-chinned slave sat at the end of one of the benches, watching me from hooded eyes.
Christ’s blood
. I’d worry about him later.

Hecebolus peered over his reading as I skidded to a halt before him, chest heaving. “Your slave is a fool.”

“I’ve heard Libanius called many things”—Hecebolus closed the codex and looked at me, crossing his muscled legs under his tunica—“but never a fool. What brings this about?”

“I brought her the tonic you requested, sir.” I hadn’t noticed the slave follow me, but now he stood behind me, hands clasped around the foul cup with the serene expression of an ascetic.

“What?” I whirled on Hecebolus. “You asked him—”

I felt the eyes of all the rowers on our little scene, a scene I had caused. Hecebolus clasped my hand. “Theodora, I plan to be promoted and return to Constantinople.” His voice dropped. “A child could scarcely help my cause with the Emperor. Or the Senate.”

He meant a child by me. And he was right.

“You’re young.” He patted my hand. “There’s plenty of time for children.”

Hope. I knew it was foolish, but I clung to it.

I took the cup from Libanius and tipped the contents down my throat, then leaned down, my dark hair hanging over my breasts as Hecebolus’ eyes slipped under my cloak. “And this means we have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves.”

He stood and picked me up like that first night at Justin’s banquet. “Make sure we’re not disturbed,” he said to Libanius.

I smiled at the eunuch, but he didn’t return the gesture.

.   .   .

I closed the door to my cabin behind me and almost yelped in surprise to see the slave with the wart on his chin leaning against the wall of the narrow hallway.

He chewed a sliver of wood, then spat at my feet. “You’ve risen high.”

“Pardon me?”

“Sleeping with the governor.” His voice was too loud. “That sure beats mounting slaves in the alleys behind the Kynêgion.”

I grabbed his tunica and yanked him into my cabin, shutting the door. “What do you want?”

He sat on my hammock, looking far too comfortable for my liking. “I wonder if the governor might be interested to know the quality of the woman he’s financing. Not a
scenica
like he thinks, but only a common
pornai
.”

Hecebolus had brought me along only because he believed I was a high-class
scenica
, the perfect adornment for any patrician. He might sing another tune if he knew of my early career. I couldn’t take that chance.

“What’s your price?”

Wart rubbed his chin, the black hair waggling at me. “I doubt anyone would notice if those bronze combs of yours went missing.”

I yanked them from my hair and threw them at him. “Now get out.”

They disappeared into his pockets, but he made no attempt to leave.

I opened the door. “I said get out.”

He stepped closer and pushed the door shut. I was a caged animal, a helpless one at that. “It’s a long journey to Pentapolis. And no women on the
Naiad
. Except you.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“I’d rather not end up feeding the fishes. You know as well as I there are other ways to buy my silence.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “You’d gamble that the governor won’t care about all the slaves you had, the filthy ways you serviced them before you became the city’s little darling?”

Such were the rumors Antonina had spread. I’d be lucky if Hecebolus dropped me in the first port we came to. More likely it would be me feeding the fishes.

Control over my new life was slipping through my fingers like sand. This warty rat could destroy everything I’d worked for with a single word to Hecebolus. I hated him for possessing that power over me, but I couldn’t let that happen, no matter what I had to sacrifice. I stepped closer and yanked up his tunica, hands fumbling with the rope beneath. My cheeks burned with shame.

“Hecebolus can never know of this,” I said.

“You keep me happy and we’ll see what happens.”

He moaned as he sprang into my hand, hard and ready. “No noise.” I muffled his mouth with my free hand before sinking to my knees, my eyes crushed shut. The taste of his sweat and filth mingled with the bitter tang of desperation. I felt dirtier than I ever had before, grimy and used, like one of the foul old whores at Constantinople’s docks. I’d always been able to choose my men, but now I’d lost even that.

Yet another price to pay. I was beginning to think perhaps the cost was too high.

.   .   .

I dined with Hecebolus every night, drinking more and more wine after each secret meeting with Wart. The filthy slave seemed to know exactly when Hecebolus was otherwise occupied, and he would rap four times on my door to signal that he wanted me. I tried ignoring him once, but he only banged louder. I was cornered, and we both knew it.

I found myself waiting to hear Hecebolus’ voice on the other side of the wall, not just for relief from Wart, but because it was getting more and more difficult to get the damn Tyrian out of my mind. His accent alone made me want to tear his tunica off, not to mention the heft of his massive shoulders. I felt safe in his arms, a new feeling I could grow accustomed to. I knew I was losing my head over him but couldn’t think why it should matter.

One night Hecebolus brought an ebony chest full of codices to
dinner. I smothered a smile as he winced and straightened—I happened to know that his back bore fresh scratches from my fingernails.

I picked up a copy of Ovid’s
Amores
and flipped through it, reading the first verse my eyes fell on. “‘Every lover is a soldier.’”

Hecebolus poured two cups of wine and added the spices himself, not bothering to dilute them with water. “Don’t tell me you read, too.”

“You prefer your women dumb and stupid?”

“It does make things easier.” He ignored the not-so-gentle poke with my toe. “Most actresses I’ve met could scarcely write their name.”

I thought back to Hilarion’s stack of contracts marked with the sign of the cross. “I’m not your average actress.”

He gave me a strange look. “No. You’re not.”

I took a long draft of wine. The waves outside were placid; yet the ship listed from the cups I’d already drunk. I couldn’t seem to get the taste of Wart from my mouth—another drink couldn’t hurt. “And do you believe that?” I asked.