Theodora (12 page)

While there was laughter at the captain’s expense, there was an even louder retort from a grain exporter at the other end of the table that the Bishop’s reply was no more than a classic case of clergy dodging the real subject and concentrating on minor matters, ‘As your lot always will when there’s any chance of a confrontation.’

At which point the Bishop slammed his cup down on the table, spilling barely watered wine on his own plate and soaking half a loaf of uneaten bread.

‘Oi! Bishop!’ shouted a second military man, waiting for everyone else to quieten so his words would be better heard. ‘There’s no need to go wasting good wine, or good bread for that matter, first time I’ve had real bread in months.’

‘I didn’t … I’m not …’ The Bishop tried to mop up the mess in front of him, ashamed to be accused of wastefulness in anger.

The soldier continued, ‘We’re all grown men, we’re perfectly capable of remembering Him with our own bread and wine, however many natures we believe in, you don’t have to go mixing good bread and better wine to a soggy paste to prove your point.’

The Bishop spluttered, the military applauded each other, the exporter began arguing with the merchant trader about which made more sense, the Greek translations of the latest one-nature texts, or the Syriac originals, and Hecebolus watched the first dinner he had hosted as Governor of the Pentapolis begin its descent from an elegant soirée to the North African equivalent of a drunken brawl, the kind he could see any Saturday night in the City’s own harbours.

Armeneus came into the room. Leaning close to his master’s ear so the warring guests would not hear, he whispered, ‘The Mistress would like a word, sir.’

‘Not now, bitch, can’t you see there’s more to concern me here?’

While Hecebolus was keen to ape the Imperial Palace in as many areas as possible, his provincial upbringing showed in his distaste for the eunuch, whom he privately considered an abomination. Usually he was able to keep his dislike in check, but the passion in the room was too close to boiling point for him to be careful of Armeneus’ feelings. The Bishop was ready to storm out, the army captains appeared to have turned on
each other now they’d had their fill of attacking the prelate, and far from using the meal to broker better deals, the merchant captain and the exporter were halfway through a long-winded argument about the best of the hidden passages on the silk route.

Armeneus looked at the men ranged before him and sighed in disgust; clearly their intact balls didn’t ensure any greater ability to behave well in company. ‘Sir, the Mistress understands the difficulty.’ It was already in his mouth to add that the whole street understood the problem, they’d been listening to it at full pitch for the past hour, but he remembered his own elegance and swallowed the jibe, whispering in a low and careful voice, ‘She and Chrysomallo have a suggestion.’

Theodora would entertain the men. In the corridor outside the dining room she hissed to Hecebolus that anything was better than what was developing on the other side of the door. He had to agree. Chrysomallo would sing, Armeneus had a small harp and could add a tune or two, Theodora would dance. She’d make it up as she went along. If the guests would shut up and pay attention she might even give them one of her more famous scenes. At that, Hecebolus glared at her and Armeneus paid still closer attention. Theodora told them both to run away, she’d done with the geese. She meant one of the big speeches, Helen or Cassandra or Clytemnestra.

‘Though the way that lot are carrying on, if you don’t let me get in there and calm things down soon, I might as well give them Agave and set them to tearing each other apart.’

Hecebolus knew she was right. At the very least her appearance would be a distraction, and Chrysomallo had a perfectly adequate voice to go with her pretty face and beautiful hair. He agreed. Then Theodora added that she did have a price.

‘Of course you do, once a whore always a whore.’

Armeneus sucked in his breath, Chrysomallo gasped and Theodora stepped back in shock. Hecebolus shook his head. ‘Oh, don’t be so fucking delicate. I’m not saying it in front of that lot in there, but we know where we come from, let’s not be coy about it.’

Theodora said nothing, simply gathered up her cloak and turned away from her lover.

‘Theo! Come back. Look, I’m sorry. All right? Sorry.’

She stopped, but did not turn around.

Hecebolus sighed. ‘Theotokos spare me! All right. What is it? What’s your price?’

Theodora turned slowly, raised her head to look at him square in the eyes, staring down the man well over a foot taller than her. She spoke quietly so he had to come closer and stoop to hear. She wanted Hecebolus to introduce her to the Bishop before he left the house.

‘He won’t want to talk to you.’

‘I know he probably won’t, but you didn’t expect him to get into a fight with the captain either, did you? Maybe he has other surprises as well. Maybe he likes to talk divinity with actresses. Bishops often do, in my experience. I am not asking that you force him to speak with me, merely that you request he consider the matter. I’ll distract your vile guests whatever his answer, just give him the chance to say no. To say yes.’

The sound of a copper platter clattering to the ground in the next room made up his mind. Hecebolus shook his head and gave in.

Chrysomallo began singing with no introduction. From a dark corner of the room, quietly at first, came the opening chant that called the audience to attention, bringing latecomers to their seats, silencing – a little – the vendors selling cold drinks and spiced foods. It was a tune many men at the table had heard
in the theatres of the City, and for those who didn’t know what they were hearing, it was clear from the repetitive notes on a rising scale that something was about to happen.

The Bishop, listening to the soft, light voice coming from an unseen woman in the dark corner, couldn’t help whispering to his neighbour, ‘Music. A perfect example of the divine emanating from, but not one with, the human.’

The army captain across the table from him slurred, ‘You’re comparing a singer to the Christ?’

‘No, I’m offering you a small analogy to simplify an enormously complex matter, in the hope it will help your dull head understand. Obviously I needn’t have bothered.’

The captain growled but held his tongue. He loved the theatre, and if their host had something to offer that was more entertaining than arguing with the old priest, he’d happily shut up and give himself over to the entertainment. He was bored with the fight now anyway.

Chrysomallo’s song became a call, the guests arranged themselves better around the table in order to look towards the sound and then Armeneus arrived in the doorway, playing the small painted harp he held in one hand, alternately picking and strumming with the other. Theodora, veiled, followed him into the room and, at a clap from Hecebolus, the three waiting servants ran and lit a dozen candles, placing them in a half-circle to light their master’s mistress.

She began with a speech of Niobe. Plaintive, heartfelt, yet also soothing. It was just what the men needed. Their glasses were refilled, the dented platter quietly removed, small plates of stuffed dates, sugared almonds and honeyed figs laid out for them to pick at as they watched. From Niobe, Theodora segued into Antigone for a little more passionate agonising, using the speech to soak up the anger that had been raised and transform
it into something more manageable. She flung off her veil just before the last stanza of the speech and several of the theatregoers in the room gasped. There had been plenty of rumours about Hecebolus’ concubine, that she was a dancer or an actress, that she’d been known in the City, but none of the suspicions had been confirmed until now. Not any actress – the actress. The merchant captain whispered to the exporter that perhaps now was the time to consider leaving grain in the harbour and not shipping it out and the two men giggled to each other. Theodora, trained to listen as well as to speak, replied in perfect classic Greek to contrast with the men’s rough accents, that it would take more than the puny grains of an African exporter to tempt her geese out of retirement, her birds had been fattened on much juicier stuff. She did so without skipping a beat and without departing an iota from the rhythm of her speech, returning immediately to Antigone in chains, and the merchant captain, laughing, raised his glass in surrender and salute.

More singing, more music, another short speech from the classics, followed by a modern piece from one of the Kynegion’s youngest writers – the most barbed comments on the clergy softened in the telling by Theodora smiling sweetly at the Bishop and offering an apologetic curtsy when she finished the piece berating the religious for spending too much time discussing the poverty of nature in relation to man and too little dealing with the nature of real men’s poverty. The two women concluded with an old Lebanese dance in honour of their host, Armeneus playing the tune and, once he’d heard the first few notes, Hecebolus’ countryman, the spice exporter, singing along in a good bass-baritone. The evening was over. The guests left the house, shaking hands and patting Hecebolus on the back, both as a man of the people, always a useful thing in Africa, but also as a man of the wider world, able to bring a touch of City elegance into this cultural backwater.

His evening saved and his reputation enhanced, Hecebolus did not go back on his promise. He had a quiet word with the Bishop at the door, and an appointment was made for the two ladies to visit the older man in his office the next day. Theodora went to bed very happy. She had the glow of performance on her still, the Bishop had not immediately refused her request as any of his peers would have done in the City, and she had proved herself useful to Hecebolus. Not a wife, but something like a wife. It was a lot better than fighting him. Their lovemaking was sweeter too, not as passionate as one of their after-fight fucks perhaps, but soft and careful, layered with kindness. Theodora lay in the darkened room, her hand on Hecebolus’ broad chest, her fingers rising and falling as he slept, hoping she wouldn’t become too accustomed to such pleasures. She’d seen far too many other women fall from grace through their dependence on what had once been kind.

Twelve

The Bishop was not unkind, but he was honest. He received the two women in his office, two lower-ranking members of his clergy in attendance. He offered them only water. He praised their performance, while reminding them that their talents would be better used in praise of the Christ, than in a theatre. Then, clearly believing his obligation met, he nodded to the women and told them he had business to attend to, wishing them well in the Pentapolis. If they cared to kneel he would give them his blessing before they left. Chrysomallo knelt, Theodora stayed in her seat.

‘I’d like to speak about redemption Father, if we may? And what lies beyond?’

‘Beyond redemption? What are you talking about?’ The Bishop glared from beneath heavy brows, last night’s wine still staining his teeth.

Chrysomallo winced at his tone. ‘Theo, come on.’

Theodora continued sweetly, ‘As you see, my friend does not have a passion to understand the Church – but I do, and I would ask a little more of your time?’

The Bishop squinted at Theodora and sighed, he would have refused to meet any of her kind back in the City; it was merely that they were so far from the centre – and, admittedly, he’d enjoyed her performance last night – that had convinced him to allow the Governor’s request. He went back to his desk, motioned for one of the young priests to refill his cup with
watered wine, then he leaned forward, looking Theodora up and down. Her face seemed to match her words and it was true there were many women whom the Church revered for their passionate interest in matters of faith, the sainted Helena for one. Striking face, small wiry body, voice held soft and low for now – but he’d heard the stories, this was not just any actress, this was Theodora.

‘No, I’m sorry, you are too well known. And even now …’ The Bishop hesitated, wondering how to put it politely in front of the young priests hanging on every word, and realising he could not: ‘You are the Governor’s concubine, yes?’

Theodora nodded. ‘I would be his wife if the law were different.’

Chrysomallo groaned and went back to her seat.

The Bishop frowned. ‘It is not your place to make law.’

‘The laws of God and man are often united and becoming more so.’

‘You flatter me. Perhaps the clergy in the City have influence in the Imperial Palace. Out here we can only hope to have influence with the people.’

‘The people are the Empire.’

‘So the phrase goes, but there is a hierarchy for good reason: just as man is subject to the Church, and woman subject to man, so we keep our ordained positions. Your position now would be bettered not by argument, but by penitence.’

‘But there is much to engage in. Your conversation last night, for example, on the divinity of the Christ …’

At this, one of the young priests let out an involuntary gasp: the idea of an ex-whore daring to bring this up was too much for him to keep quiet.

‘The nature of the Christ is not a question for any woman. You would be better to remember that this region does not take kindly to women acting out of their true domain.’ The Bishop had had enough.

Chrysomallo jabbed Theodora from beneath her long thin cloak, and Theodora realised she’d gone as far as she could. They curtsied and turned to leave the room, Chrysomallo pinching the skin on the back of Theodora’s hand all the while to shut her up. By the time they reached the door the Bishop was already sitting back at his desk and working through a pile of papers.

He spoke aloud, as if he were not addressing Theodora, but speaking to the paper beneath his hand, ‘Find yourself a teacher, girl. Nothing is impossible in the Christ.’

It was not the conversation Theodora had been hoping for, but it was better than nothing. She had finally met a bishop, as herself and not as some whore brought in secretly to satisfy his silent lust. She had talked to him, however briefly, and he had not dismissed her outright. It was a start.