Read Online The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora by Stephanie Thornton - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Thornton
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but I’m so happy to see you’ve found your niche.”
“Better than yours at least.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, digging my fingers into my own flesh to keep from crying. “How is it for a dried-up old
pornai
like yourself? I notice you don’t have many customers these days.”
I danced away as she lunged at me, varnished nails flashing. She managed to grab a fist of hair and yanked my head back so hard thatwhite spots danced before my eyes. “You filthy viper—you don’t know what I’ve been through.”
I landed on my backside and grabbed her ankle. “You’re the viper.” But then I bit into the back of her leg, rather enjoying her howl of pain. I skittered away as the actors emerged from the stage, ignoring Comito’s raised eyebrow.
“Get that filthy pagan out of here,” Petronia screeched. “I thought I told you not to come back!”
I hadn’t realized Antonina had added worship of the old gods to her long list of sins. She flicked imaginary dust from her tunica and sniffed as she passed me. “I hope you burn for eternity in the fires of Gehenna.”
“I’ll see you there.”
. . .
I got drunk that night. Filthy, stinking drunk.
Comito stayed late with her ivory merchant, and I planned to collapse on my pallet once I got to the Boar’s Eye, but an amphora of wine held the blissful promise of making me forget what I’d done, at least for the night.
And so I drank. I spent the entire bronze coin on two amphorae, drinking them unwatered.
“You’d best take it slow, little bird,” the taverna owner said, his brows arching as I guzzled straight from the second bottle.
“I’m fine.” My words slurred together, and the warm room spun on its axis. Yet I no longer cared so much that I’d lost my virtue. I laughed aloud at that, ignoring the looks from the other girls and their patrons. How were you supposed to keep your virtue when life trod all over you?
“It’s time you came upstairs, Theodora.” I vaguely registered my mother’s voice as someone pulled me from my chair. The room lurched and I fell to my knees, vomiting the liquid contents of my stomach all over the floor and my hands.
“I’ll come back and clean it up, Falkon,” my mother said from somewhere far away. “Stupid, foolish girl,” she said, dragging me up the stairs. “Whatever you’ve done, this isn’t the solution.” She stopped and forced my chin up. Somehow she had multiplied, so three of her frowned at me, then reached up to brush my stinking hair back from my face. “You don’t want to end up like me, do you?”
I didn’t have time to think on that. The world went black.
. . .
I was in the corner of the Kynêgion’s dressing room, my tunica hiked up with a fuller behind me, his hands in my hair, a beneficial position since he stunk of the urine he’d stood in all day before seeking me out halfway through a production of
Saint Agnes of Rome
. I’d have preferred a silversmith or even a butcher, but it wasn’t as if I had men waiting in line for me.
I’d sworn off wine, deciding the momentary respite from reality wasn’t worth the pounding head and curdled stomach the next day. I was determined not to end up like my mother, but I was desperate to get out of this life. Unfortunately, a rumor started that I excelled at all sorts of depravities—no doubt a gift from Antonina—and none of the men in the past week was as generous as the first. I had to get onstage. Any pleb could flop on the ground and hike up her tunica, but only an actress could become a
scenica
. And I had no chance of getting onstage on my own, not with my flat chest and feet like an elephant. For the first time in my life, I found myself wishing to be like Comito.
That didn’t last long.
“Theodora, we can’t find the fake breasts, and I need them for the next act.” I didn’t hear Comito over the din of the water organ until it was too late. “What in the name of—” She screeched and
“Better than yours at least.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, digging my fingers into my own flesh to keep from crying. “How is it for a dried-up old
pornai
like yourself? I notice you don’t have many customers these days.”
I danced away as she lunged at me, varnished nails flashing. She managed to grab a fist of hair and yanked my head back so hard thatwhite spots danced before my eyes. “You filthy viper—you don’t know what I’ve been through.”
I landed on my backside and grabbed her ankle. “You’re the viper.” But then I bit into the back of her leg, rather enjoying her howl of pain. I skittered away as the actors emerged from the stage, ignoring Comito’s raised eyebrow.
“Get that filthy pagan out of here,” Petronia screeched. “I thought I told you not to come back!”
I hadn’t realized Antonina had added worship of the old gods to her long list of sins. She flicked imaginary dust from her tunica and sniffed as she passed me. “I hope you burn for eternity in the fires of Gehenna.”
“I’ll see you there.”
. . .
I got drunk that night. Filthy, stinking drunk.
Comito stayed late with her ivory merchant, and I planned to collapse on my pallet once I got to the Boar’s Eye, but an amphora of wine held the blissful promise of making me forget what I’d done, at least for the night.
And so I drank. I spent the entire bronze coin on two amphorae, drinking them unwatered.
“You’d best take it slow, little bird,” the taverna owner said, his brows arching as I guzzled straight from the second bottle.
“I’m fine.” My words slurred together, and the warm room spun on its axis. Yet I no longer cared so much that I’d lost my virtue. I laughed aloud at that, ignoring the looks from the other girls and their patrons. How were you supposed to keep your virtue when life trod all over you?
“It’s time you came upstairs, Theodora.” I vaguely registered my mother’s voice as someone pulled me from my chair. The room lurched and I fell to my knees, vomiting the liquid contents of my stomach all over the floor and my hands.
“I’ll come back and clean it up, Falkon,” my mother said from somewhere far away. “Stupid, foolish girl,” she said, dragging me up the stairs. “Whatever you’ve done, this isn’t the solution.” She stopped and forced my chin up. Somehow she had multiplied, so three of her frowned at me, then reached up to brush my stinking hair back from my face. “You don’t want to end up like me, do you?”
I didn’t have time to think on that. The world went black.
. . .
I was in the corner of the Kynêgion’s dressing room, my tunica hiked up with a fuller behind me, his hands in my hair, a beneficial position since he stunk of the urine he’d stood in all day before seeking me out halfway through a production of
Saint Agnes of Rome
. I’d have preferred a silversmith or even a butcher, but it wasn’t as if I had men waiting in line for me.
I’d sworn off wine, deciding the momentary respite from reality wasn’t worth the pounding head and curdled stomach the next day. I was determined not to end up like my mother, but I was desperate to get out of this life. Unfortunately, a rumor started that I excelled at all sorts of depravities—no doubt a gift from Antonina—and none of the men in the past week was as generous as the first. I had to get onstage. Any pleb could flop on the ground and hike up her tunica, but only an actress could become a
scenica
. And I had no chance of getting onstage on my own, not with my flat chest and feet like an elephant. For the first time in my life, I found myself wishing to be like Comito.
That didn’t last long.
“Theodora, we can’t find the fake breasts, and I need them for the next act.” I didn’t hear Comito over the din of the water organ until it was too late. “What in the name of—” She screeched and
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