by Stella Duffy
She stood for a minute, then five, then ten. Neither moved. The high tide threw spray against the wall below and Theodora realised she had walked almost the length of the Hippodrome and must now be in one of the offices perched above the rocks, where the Bosphorus joined the Sea of Marmara.
Eventually Narses sighed, ‘This is a very dull game.’
‘I didn’t know we were playing,’ Theodora answered.
‘Liar.’
‘My apologies. I don’t know what game we are playing, so it’s hard to judge whether it is truly dull or not.’
‘Macedonia didn’t tell you?’
‘Macedonia gave me the letter for Simeon of Galatia, I knew it contained another, I have no idea what either say.’
‘You didn’t look?’
‘You didn’t see the Patriarch’s seal?’
‘Wax is easily come by.’
‘I would not cheat my mentor.’ Theodora’s voice was quiet but certain.
‘No, but you would turn up at the Chalke Gate, a day later than expected, reeking of stale alcohol and looking as if you spent the night in a brothel, instead of directly delivering the letter as was expected?’
Theodora held up her hands, offering no excuse where there was none. ‘Mea culpa.’
‘Indeed.’
The light outside was nearly gone. Narses leaned forward and lit the candles on the table in front of him. Now she could see his face more clearly – dark skin as might be expected from his accent – a finely shaped head that showed itself better for being hairless, thin eunuch’s brows, and even darker eyes that gave nothing away. She hoped there might be a sense of humour somewhere, the lines at the corner of his eyes looked as if he must laugh, occasionally.
His next question contained no humour, though. ‘Is that just City Latin, or do you have more?’
‘I have a little more.’ Narses looked irritated, so she added, ‘I can converse if I have to. The basics, obviously, it’s hardly a language for the comedy theatre.’
Narses allowed the beginning of a smile. He didn’t disagree, but he wasn’t ready to let Theodora know that. ‘And?’
‘And I learn fast, I always have. I can learn more if that is meant.’
‘Meant? You think this is a matter of destiny?’
Theodora paused. If she said yes, there was every chance he would interpret her answer as heresy. If she said no, it might sound as if she was rejecting whatever she’d been sent here to do. She spoke carefully, in Latin. ‘I do whatever my mentor asks. In whichever language is necessary.’
Narses smiled fully now, ‘Good answer. They said you were brighter than the average actress.’
‘I was never an average actress,’ Theodora snapped back, too soon.
Narses’ smile went as quickly as it had come. ‘Apparently not. Still, that life is behind you now. What other languages do you have?’
She bit back her pride, furious with herself for letting it show, and more furious for feeling it at all. ‘I also have stage Greek, the older form – if you don’t attend theatre you might think of it as classic Greek.’
He didn’t bite and she wished she’d answered more plainly.
‘What else?’
‘Some Syriac, a very little Coptic, words and phrases I found useful in Alexandria and when travelling, and some Hebrew.’
‘Hebrew?’
‘Timothy believes there is much to be learned from the old teachers.’
‘Timothy is the Alexandrian Patriarch to you.’
Theodora apologised, but she was pleased to have finally learned a little about her interlocutor. If he were truly the Emperor Justin’s man he would not have acknowledged the status of the anti-Chalcedonian Patriarch so forcefully, no matter how important a man of God. So now she knew two things about Narses, who clearly knew a great deal more about her. Three, perhaps: she thought she could locate his first accent, although it was mostly hidden in years of City and Palace overtones. She risked another rebuke.
‘I don’t speak Armenian though, I’m sorry.’
Narses didn’t answer, but the laugh lines around his eyes tightened just a very little. Then he stood up and walked to her, walked round her. Theodora held her place. Whatever was coming, a slap, the rant of one who had waited a day for her arrival, maybe a revelation from her mentor’s letter, she would take it. She’d had her indulgences of flesh and spirit, she was ready now.
His next question was unexpected. ‘Do you spin?’
Theodora laughed, ‘God, no – oh, well, actually, I did play Arachne once, I had to spin then. But I was hopeless. Why?’
Narses walked back to his chair, but didn’t sit. He stood looking out into the now dark evening, explaining his plan. ‘I work primarily for Justinian, the Emperor’s favourite nephew, his adopted son. Justinian is soon to be appointed Consul and the Patriarch thinks you would be ideal to advise him on the best form of celebration. You understand theatre, language – you are of the people, that much is obvious. The Patriarch and Severus, advised by Macedonia, believe you’ll be able to counsel Justinian well.’
‘On how to organise a party for the City?’
‘Initially, yes. You’ve been away, you will not be aware that there have been certain …’ Narses paused, reaching for the right words ‘… suggestions, about the deposition of Vitalian, the previous Consul.’
Theodora smiled. ‘Away yes, but I did spend my first night home in a bar. Once I said I’d been in the desert with Severus, everyone was dying to tell me how Justinian and the Emperor had Vitalian executed. I’m glad they got rid of him.’
Narses winced. ‘It is true that Vitalian did demand Severus’ head some years ago; the disturbance was instrumental in the preacher’s relocation to the desert.’
‘So Justin and Justinian can’t be that estranged from Severus and the Patriarch if they got rid of Vitalian, can they?’
‘None of it is that easy –’ Narses held up his hand to silence her – ‘and please lower your voice, these matters are not easily resolved, and may never be, no matter how much Justinian wants to see a reunion between those divided in faith. It is too simple to say there are those who agree with the Council of Chalcedon on the nature of the Christ …’
‘And those who don’t?’
‘Indeed.’
‘But it is simple, isn’t it, for most people? The Christ is solely divine, or He is not.’
‘You are very reductive. And anyway, matters of faith, where they affect law, the governance of the people, can never be simple.’
‘A pity,’ Theodora said.
‘Perhaps. And that is where you come in. The Patriarch believes, and I agree with him, that it could be valuable to his cause if Justinian were to find you … useful. Trustworthy.’
‘To find one of an opposing belief useful and trustworthy?’
‘Yes. Justinian is, though, very proper.’
‘Prudish?’
‘No, that role is reserved for his aunt Euphemia, the Emperor’s wife. Now there’s a reformed slut if ever there was one.’ Narses had spoken under his breath, but he had intended Theodora to hear. ‘For you to get close to Justinian we’ll need to introduce you as a reformed woman.’
‘I am reformed. I experienced—’
Narses cut her off, ‘Truly I have no interest in your apparent conversion, real or imagined. I simply need to make sure that you are introduced to Justinian, and that he finds you pleasing. It is up to you to make him like you, trust you. And as soon as possible, so you can be taken on as an adviser for his own consular celebrations. Spinning is a good occupation for a woman who has converted and seen the error of her ways.’
Theodora’s heart sank and her temper rose as she finally understood. ‘Oh. Right. So the point of this letter, the only reason for me coming home, was for you all to set me up for this princeling of yours. Dear God,’ she shook her head, ‘I said as much to Macedonia, and I had thought more of the Patriarch, but apparently Timothy is just another pimp like the rest of
you.’
And then she did feel Menander’s slap across her face. Narses had his hand at her throat and there was nothing effeminate about his grip, he was spitting in his attempt to hold back his anger, and to keep his voice down in a place where anyone might be listening at any door.
‘The Patriarch is your teacher, and he is mine. You’ve been away, so I’ll forgive your utter ignorance, but Justinian is the most abstemious man this city has ever known. He has never paid any attention to a woman until now and I doubt, stage star though you were, that you are going to make a difference. He simply doesn’t care for anything beyond his papers and his studies and anything else that can sooner fulfil his personal ambition which is, apparently, nothing less than the reformation of the Empire, a full restoration to the glory days of old Rome, one people, one faith. He is one of the best minds ever to enter the Palace and, whatever his eventual rank in life, he will do well. The Patriarch seemed to think that in meeting you Justinian might be encouraged to see another side to those faithful to his own and Severus’ teachings, something different to the current beliefs in the Palace, maybe lessen the excesses of his uncle’s reactions. No one wants you to use your brothel ways with him, least of all the Patriarch, who apparently believes you a reformed woman, though judging by your assumption, your mind heading straight for the gutter, I’m sorry to say, he must be mistaken. Which is an enormous pity. Because until now, I had thought him exemplary in his decisions.’
When Narses eventually loosened his grip on Theodora’s neck, all she could hear was her own blood pounding in her ears and the choking of her hoarse throat. Then, when a screaming, wheeling gull outside the window broke the silence, she was suddenly aware of where she was. That the quiet of the room indicated the depth of the walls, the strength of the Imperial Palace’s defences, the enormous distance, in attitude and hierarchy, separating the teeming city outside, from this silent room down a long corridor manned by no one but the Emperor’s own guards, men who were commanded by Narses. Timothy’s letter had brought her into the belly of an unknown beast and, destiny or not, what she said next would determine all her future.
She said yes because there was no other answer. And Narses, who had evidently expected a yes all along, then handed over a bag containing all she’d need to get started. The address of her new home and tutor, a very little money, two plain gowns of plainer cloth. She had to get herself up to speed in the craft they had chosen for her, and in her new life, as soon as possible. Justinian would become Consul in ten weeks; the celebration would follow. That meant they had to arrange a meeting with Justinian in little more than a month. She’d need to make him trust her, offer a perfect plan for the celebration, something spectacular that could be arranged in less than six weeks, and do so while maintaining the mask of an ex-whore who now lived a life of pure simplicity and faith.
Despite his dismissal of the theatre, Narses knew of Theodora’s skill. He had no qualms about giving her the job if the Patriarch trusted her to play the role well. The only thing that worried him was her big mouth and uncertain temper; sending her to a family of weavers would keep her quiet for now, and would confirm her status as a penitent while he studied her for himself. She took the bag he offered, tucked it into her own, and prepared to leave, assuring Narses she would do her best, meanwhile promising herself this was the last time she would take any role that was not her own truth, no matter who asked it of her.
Narses waved a hand, dismissing her to her new life.
‘And Theodora?’
‘Yes?’
‘If you are late for me again, I will be harder on you than Menander ever knew how to be.’
‘You knew him?’
‘I loved him.’
Theodora stared, awareness dawning. ‘You’re the Armenian boyfriend?’
Narses smiled, a genuine smile this time, full and sad. ‘I loved him.’
Twenty-Seven
Theodora’s new home was in the Chalkoprateia, an entirely different neighbourhood to the warren of slum streets she’d grown up in, further still from the elegant houses and apartments where Comito now lived. Despite the cramped conditions of the overcrowded city, the copper and bronze artisans who gave the area its name still worked here, just down the hill from the Mese, as they had done since the founder’s time. The goods that came from these few streets of homes that were also workshops were highly valued, and the sweat that went into producing them well paid, but the aroma of success here was vastly different to that enjoyed by the wealthy in their sea-aired houses on the hills. These streets smelt of fire and molten metal and the singed flesh of a young apprentice learning a valuable lesson at the forge. Beneath the acrid stink of cooking metal, Theodora quickly learned to discern the stench of dyes, the ammonia of urine, the sickly sweet of tallow, the acid of tannin and lye. These were the streets where wool and linen and that most precious of all commodities, silk, underwent the alchemy from simple thread to Imperial Purple, shot through with the finest gold and silver, Church and state woven together in each perfect bolt of new-made cloth.
Theodora spent both days and nights in a single back room large enough to house her own wheel and loom – her new teacher explained she might as well live with them, there would be no time off – with a narrow bed against one wall and a small table for her few goods in the corner. The room itself opened directly on to a back alley where she shared a well with a dozen other families, including the people of the house itself, the Jewish family who worked in the larger front rooms and lived upstairs. Originally from Aleppo, the patriarch of this family, like many Jews, had made his start in the City working in copper, but he soon realised that the constantly rising price of silk, and more importantly his connections among the silk traders, meant that if he could buy the thread when it first arrived from China there was a good living to be made and, invaluably, a reliable income in an unreliable world. It took him several years to turn his connections into serious business bonds, but by the time Theodora was first experiencing the rigours of stage training, the old man was dying happy in the knowledge that his family was well established in their trade, safe for the foreseeable future.
When Narses sent Theodora to them, they were doing as well as any Jew could in the City, and things felt easy, if not absolutely safe. The family lived with both acceptance and distrust, often in the same moment, as did all their people: permission to renovate the synagogue had been granted by the Palace last spring, though a request to consider a new build was summarily rejected. Certainly no one was talking of expulsion as had happened in other parts of the Empire, but there’d been a violent attack on the son of a copper worker by several Green youths just six months ago. The Greens said it was a matter of boy against boy, but the Jews felt differently, they’d heard the whispers behind the fists. More obviously, it was as apparent to the Jews as to the Christians that the Church was changing around them, and a Church that was fighting itself might instead be happier looking outside for argument. For now they were safe, in future they might not be. Copper and bronze workers needed heavy raw materials, the heat of a furnace, water to cool and set. A silk weaver, however, needed only a loom, which a smart man could make himself, while the raw material, that precious thread, was easily bundled away in a hurry and light to carry. With their relative stability and quiet faith, the old man’s family were as good as any to double as Theodora’s teacher and landlord. Moreover, as Jews, they had probably never entered a theatre in their lives, it was likely they had no real idea who she had once been, and Narses believed that was all to the good. Even for someone used to hard work, just a month to learn a new craft, one that most were born into, would be a challenge. The less that was known about Theodora, the faster she could get on with the new life.
A new life of spinning and weaving. Of calluses on her hands, cuts on her fingers, nails turned yellow and red from tannin and betel stains, the stench of dye and fixer deep in her hair and skin, no matter how fully she used the quiet hours of the Jews’ Sabbat
h to wash in sea water or lemon juice. A life of learning daily from the granddaughter Esther, minding Esther’s baby while she was shown the method and then trying herself, and failing, the baby given back as she was shown again.
It was hardly the homecoming she’d hoped for. Theodora went to bed aching from bending over the loom, dreamed of the stomp and shuffle through the night, and woke again to try to get it right, Esther’s quiet and patient smile when she regularly failed infinitely more irritating than Menander’s fury had ever been. Theodora was used to teachers who stood over her shouting, beating understanding into her flesh, compliance into her bones. Esther, three years younger than Theodora, a placid mother of one with another on the way, just shook her head, smiled with a grandmother’s patience, added the wasted thread to the pile ready to re-use later, and began again. Theodora moaned she’d never get it, and Esther would simply take the baby back to her hip, hand over the shuttle and tell her to get on with it.
‘Talk to me while we work.’
‘What about?’ Esther asked.
‘Tell me things I don’t know, things I’ve missed while I’ve been away. What do you think of this Emperor? Of his nephew? Is he really as boring as they all say?’
Esther shook her head. ‘What do you think I know of the great and the good? There were all sorts of rumours a few years ago, that Justinian had tricked or cheated his way into the Emperor’s favour, but nothing ever came of it, he stayed the golden boy. Some say he encourages his uncle to come down harder on the Greens than the Blues, but they used to say the opposite of the old Emperor. We never saw any difference down here, Blues or Greens – both sides will be friendly to us if it suits them, attack us if it doesn’t.’