Theodora (23 page)

Grabbing her robe, she carefully pulled back a hanging on the far wall, opening a narrow door behind it. She stood between both rooms and waited until her eyes adjusted to the total darkness of the small, windowless antechamber and she could clearly discern two lots of breathing. One was a small child, his breath the snuffling repetition of a little one who has fallen asleep crying for his mother, the other was very close, older, and drunk. Theodora headed for the child; feeling the low bed cutting into her shins, she bent and reached out her arms to the boy. Her robe was partly around her, her skin was warm, she hoped that, for a few moments at least, the two-year-old would imagine she was his mother, that she wouldn’t further upset him, not least because a screaming baby did not feature in Macedonia’s plotting for the success of their mission.

Three minutes later the child was strapped to her back, pulled close with a combination of her own robe and his light blanket, the two cloths twisted round her body, locking him tightly to her back as she’d seen the Nubian women wrap their babies in the Alexandria market. Then the little boy simply settled comfortably against her, with no protest, nothing to disturb the night nurse. Crossing the small room to the opposite door that opened into the main hallway, she gently pulled back the bolt. The guards were stationed outside Orontes’ door, twenty paces to her right. The standing guard kept on with his broken snore, the rhythmic clicking of the dice assured her his seated companion was no more alert. She rounded the corner and broke into a silent run, bare feet hardly touching the stone, the way Menander had trained the dancers from their very first class: ‘We don’t want to know you exist until the moment you arrive, so shut up and do it again. Better.’

Then she climbed through the window at the end of the
hallway, let herself down to run along a high wall, finally jumping to the neighbouring garden, where, despite Macedonia’s reassurance, Phebe was now frantic. The little boy’s strong neck was arching back, his mouth ready to howl, and then Theodora had unwrapped him, a gift of flesh and blood, warm child to fear-cold mother, and the boy’s unhappy mouth was stoppered with his mother’s breast, Phebe shaking with tears and hysterical relief, Macedonia both proud and worried. Theodora herself was quiet and drained, and without even taking time to whisper a greeting, immediately headed back the way she’d come.

This time she made no pretence of hiding from the guards. Her robe barely covering her front and none of her back, she sauntered along the corridor, coming to stand very still in front of the dice-thrower.

‘Morning, men.’

Her breasts were head-height, her smile wide. His friend still dozing against the wall, the young man blushed and demanded to know how she’d left the room without them noticing.

Theodora shrugged, letting the robe drop a little further. ‘I hate to piss in front of a man I’ve just serviced, especially one as pretty as your boss. So I went through the brat’s room, his nurse stinks of wine and the child of his own dirt. Someone ought to sort them out. If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading back to the preacher’s bed, I’m sure Marcus Orontes has plenty of prayer to share with me yet.’

She went in, leaving two very frightened men at the door, both wide awake.

Theodora was on her knees before Orontes when the nurse came in, screaming that the child was gone. It was good timing and not at all accidental. Orontes looked down, Theodora looked up, and they understood each other perfectly. He issued all the appropriate
orders, shouting at the nurse and the men at his door, but, Theodora thought, his performance lacked a little urgency.

She was strapping on her sandals when he dragged her up from the floor, one hand round her throat.

‘You’ve taken my son?’

Theodora kept her voice quiet and low. ‘Your mistress’s son, Orontes. I don’t think he is yours, strictly speaking. And neither is she any more, didn’t you throw her out?’

‘He has lived in my home since he was a baby.’

‘Perhaps he wanted a change, you know what little boys are like.’

‘You think he left by himself?’

She twisted, reaching one hand up to his face, her fingers stroking his cheek, her voice a whisper, ‘I have no idea what the child did or did not do last night.’ His hold on her neck was still tight and she pulled her hand back a little from his cheek, spread her fingers wide and held them, sharp-nailed, just a breath from his eyes. Her voice still a whisper, she continued, ‘But if you don’t let me go now, I will put out your eyes. Our Greek classics are littered with blind characters, I understand the people are meant to value their words more highly, purely because they cannot see – will you be a blind teacher, Marcus?’

He let her go then, but not before he had kicked out at her, catching her deep in the belly with his full foot, ripping at the new scar tissue in her gut.

Theodora was winded and fell to her knees. Orontes leaned down to her, pulling back her hair: ‘I won’t forget this, I won’t forget you.’

Theodora used every theatre trick she knew to get back her breath and replied, ‘Neither will I, I assure you. But you’ve got what you wanted, surely? Phebe and her bastard are gone, you are free to continue your work, unencumbered.’

‘My work matters.’

‘I know you think it does. I know you think your faith justifies any behaviour.’

‘I have done nothing wrong, you are the thief here.’

‘Well, nothing unless I tell your people a little of what happened in your bed last night. Between us? I don’t suppose that even this city with its amazing ability to party until dawn and then pray all day would quite understand the allure of fucking Theodora-from-the-Brothel.’

‘But you’re converted, you’re faithful now. Redeemed.’

‘True, but I will tell them otherwise if I have to. And I’ll add to the story in the telling. That young man out there, the one who fumbled with his dice all night outside your door, haven’t you noticed how he looks at you? I’m sure some of your people have. I don’t think it would take much to persuade them you are more to him than a teacher.’

‘They won’t listen to your gossip.’

‘Really? Are you sure?’ She waited for her threat to sink in, felt his hold on her hair loosen just a little. ‘You continue on your path, Orontes, I’ll take mine. You didn’t really want to keep that child, did you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not much, no. But I do not like to be tricked.’

‘Who does? Take it with good grace and be quiet about it. The less people know about what happened here, the sooner you will forget.’

‘I’ll never forget.’

‘Well, more fool you. You can waste a very long time looking back.’

Theodora left then, while Marcus Orontes was briefly calm, not at all sure he would stay that way for long.

Safely in Macedonia’s house, Phebe and her child already shipped out of the city, Theodora told her night’s story, unburdening her
physical and emotional discomfort as she gave her body to Macedonia’s care, first to warm water and then to soothing oils.

When eventually they made their way to bed, Macedonia admitted she was impressed. ‘You’re even stronger than they’d told me.’

‘They?’

‘Timothy’s people.’

‘I thought I was done whoring.’

‘Is it whoring to save a woman and child from someone like that?’

‘The cause was good, yes,’ said Theodora, ‘but a cock in your mouth, for reasons other than love? My dear, that is always whoring.’

‘Would you rather have taken care of the hysterical mother?’

‘Nothing a slap across the face wouldn’t fix. Couldn’t see you turning a side somersault to get off his bed, though.’

‘Really? I haven’t lost all my skill.’

‘No, but you have a few years on me, you’re not quite so delicate on your feet. And you’re tall, tall girls lack agility …’

Their teasing became kissing, and the kissing became passion, and the passion was not whoring.

Twenty-Four

For the first few weeks after they rescued Phebe and her son, Theodora and Macedonia had to contend with verbal attacks in the market and, once, an actual physical assault from one of Marcus Orontes’ followers – the physical assault didn’t stand up to Macedonia’s strength or Theodora’s agility, but it was disturbing enough. Orontes though, realising outright hostility didn’t look good while trying to recruit new faithful to his Church, eventually called his people off, insisting they were all happier without Phebe and her brat.

There followed several missions like the first, some under Macedonia’s direction, others specifically for the Patriarch. Once they were asked by Timothy to help free a misguided son from an overbearing sect, another time Macedonia decided that one of the town’s pimps had gone too far and it was time his whores, led by herself and Theodora, took revenge. On several occasions they wined and dined visiting traders, passing back information gleaned across comfortable couches and groaning tables to either the Patriarch’s people in Alexandria or Macedonia’s contacts among the Blues in the City. Despite her initial reservations, Theodora came to relish these games, they were a form of the playing she’d always enjoyed, but now when she went home it was to Macedonia who had become her friend as well as her lover. There was still a little necessary whoring sometimes to get one or other of them out of a tricky situation, but Theodora was happy. Working for Timothy, doing his
bidding with Macedonia to guide her, she almost forgot that her bosses intended that she return to Constantinople eventually. Timothy and Macedonia did not.

‘You need to leave.’

Theodora stretched in the bed, leaned up to look out of the window, over the tiled roofs to where stalls were still laid out, their sun-bleached canopies dozens of shades of warm red and ochre in the afternoon light. ‘There’s plenty of time, the market won’t be clear for another hour or more, and I hate pushing through the crowd.’

‘You need to leave Antioch.’

Theodora was suddenly cold, her voice low. ‘Why?’

‘The Patriarch has new work for you.’

‘What work?’

‘He wouldn’t tell me, not specifically, but it’s important.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

‘He knows that.’

Theodora pulled away when Macedonia reached for her.

‘You knew he had plans for you.’

‘I thought these were his plans. Here, with you.’

‘The Patriarch’s not stupid, Theodora. You and I? He knows we’ve become closer than he intended.’

‘So he’s sending me away to punish us?’

Macedonia shrugged. ‘I don’t expect he cares, his concern is always for the Church. We are irrelevant to him.’

‘So why does he want to send me away?’

‘He’s not sending you away, he’s sending you to work for him.’

‘Where?’ Theodora asked even though she knew there was only one answer.

‘The City.’

*

The Emperor Justin was becoming more aggressive in his behaviour towards their fellow believers, those who maintained the primacy of the Christ’s divinity over His humanity; the refugees from the City told angrier stories about the treatment meted out from the officials at the Chalke, entrance to the Palace, and Timothy needed someone working for him from inside. They were sending her home with a letter of introduction to the Palace officials who really ran the Empire. It was a simple enough thing, and it was everything. The people Macedonia maintained contact with, on Timothy’s behalf, were very different to Theodora’s circle. Many of them had known her work – as an entertainer, Theodora from the Hippodrome had had no equal, but she would never have been welcome inside the Chalke gates before. Now the Patriarch was sending her back to get into the hidden centre of their world, she would need to go home as the newly penitent Theodora.

There were a few days to prepare and then it was time to leave. The ship was sailing on an early tide, they spent their last hours together awake and in bed.

‘You will need to be on your best behaviour, all the time.’

‘This isn’t one of my best behaviours?’

Macedonia curled down and held Theodora, ‘It’s one of your finest skills, but they need to believe that you are totally changed when you go home.’

‘I am. I had no faith before: now I do. That’s all the change I need.’

‘I know the importance of faith as well as you, and I know, too, that in a place like the City, appearance matters as much, if not more. We have someone who will give you work, and a place to stay.’

‘I can stay with Comito. I might have been a few years away,
but I doubt very much they’ll turn me down at the actors’ entrance to the Kynegion.’

Macedonia sat up, her voice very clear in the still room that was slowly gaining light as the sun began to rise over the mountains. ‘Theodora, you are part of Timothy’s plan to get close to the man who may become Emperor.’

‘Justin has other family who could succeed him as well as this nephew.’

‘Perhaps, but Justinian is his favourite. Many people believe he paved the way for Justin’s own accession, the Emperor owes him. The Patriarch wants you to build influence with Justinian, but the Palace won’t let you near unless you approach him as a changed woman.’

Theodora laughed, without humour, ‘Timothy doesn’t want you and me to make love in this bed, but he has no qualms about pimping me to Justinian.’

Macedonia shook her head. ‘By all accounts the Emperor’s nephew works day and night at his studies, the man barely goes to bed, and certainly not for sex.’

‘Maybe he takes a eunuch?’

‘Not that we’ve heard. All the Patriarch asks for now is that you try to make him like you, engage him. From what our people tell us, Justinian is interested in the world – you’ve travelled, you’re good at charming people, once Timothy arranges the introduction, your job will be to find a way to get close to him.’

‘Yes, but he’s sending me, not some other woman, and we all know how best I get close.’

‘Maybe this is a test for you.’

‘What? To see if I can keep from ravishing some lumpen Slav who’s only come to prominence because of his mother’s brother? Even I can probably hold off there.’

‘I agree it doesn’t sound like much of a test, but just in case, you have to give the appearance of being a new Theodora.’