Read Online The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora by Stephanie Thornton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Thornton
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girls who worked here would brazenly advertise their occupation while their patrons took such pains to hide their identity. Not for the first time I wondered at the lack of fairness in God’s world.
I climbed the stairs slowly, unsure who might be waiting outside my door. I never told men at the Kynêgion much about myself, usually not even my name, much less where I lived.
A well-made young man leaned against the wall by our room, a posy of daisies in one hand. I’d have known those shaggy curls anywhere.
“And here I thought I had a surprise visitor,” I said, glaring at Karas. “I should have known it was for Comito.”
His smile faltered. It wasn’t my fault he’d scorned my sister and she now warmed the beds of Constantinople’s elite.
“It’s good to see you, Theodora,” he said, running his hands through his mop of curls as he looked past me. He smelled like a slaughter room. “Is your sister downstairs?”
“She’s still out—” I felt a momentary flicker of pity for the butcher’s son. “With the other actresses.” And my mother was on the other side of the door, either listening to all this or passed out after drinking too much wine. I folded my soggy
paludamentum
over my arm. “I know I look a fright, but I’d be happy to share a mug of barley water with you.”
Karas showed off two rows of perfectly straight teeth. He and Comito would have made beautiful babies, but it was too late for that now.
He saw me settled at a table near the fire and ordered us two clay cups of barley water with mint and honey. I was halfway done with mine, having chattered about the recent races at the Hippodrome, the latest crop of pears, and the general state of the Empire while he stared at his cup. Finally, I faked a yawn into my hand. “It was lovely visiting with you, Karas, and I’ll tell Comito you stopped by—”
“I made a mistake.” He grabbed my hand. “I want Comito back.”
We sat that way across the table, his hand over mine, probably stared at by half the people in the Boar’s Eye. A butcher’s son would never help our fortunes, not like a prefect or one of the other patricians my sister now entertained. And after my sister’s little performancetonight, I wasn’t about to saddle poor Karas with her. A patron was what she wanted, and a patron was what she’d get. “Comito has moved on,” I finally said.
“I know she did things she shouldn’t have, when Anastasia was sick. I should have helped her, but I was too jealous. My mother told me I should find a better girl, one with virtue. But I don’t want another girl. I just want Comito.” His face crumbled. “She’s found someone else now, hasn’t she?”
“A merchant.” Several of them. And a senator.
I slipped my hand from under his. “I’m sorry, Karas.” He still sat there as I looked down from the top of the stairs, so forlorn as he stared into his cup, the posy of wilting daisies on the table, that I almost went back and told him my sister would marry him the next morning. But she had been so awful to me tonight—I knew she rather enjoyed keeping me in the gutter. I forced myself to turn around and open the door to our room, glad for the robust moans that seeped through the walls to muffle the creak of the hinges as I tried not to wake my mother.
Now I had to make sure Comito never found out what I’d done.
. . .
Comito prodded me awake with her foot as autumn sunshine weaseled its way through the shutters of our only window the next morning.
“Late night?” My mother kissed the top of Comito’s head, her eyes puffy and her breath still sour from last night’s wine. “I’ll see what’s downstairs for breakfast—probably more eggs and boiled cabbage.”
Comito let her stola fall at her feet and stretched out naked on our pallet as Mother shut the door. I rolled to the other side to give her my back, but she dangled a thick gold coin before my nose, a
solidus
bearing Emperor Anastasius’
I climbed the stairs slowly, unsure who might be waiting outside my door. I never told men at the Kynêgion much about myself, usually not even my name, much less where I lived.
A well-made young man leaned against the wall by our room, a posy of daisies in one hand. I’d have known those shaggy curls anywhere.
“And here I thought I had a surprise visitor,” I said, glaring at Karas. “I should have known it was for Comito.”
His smile faltered. It wasn’t my fault he’d scorned my sister and she now warmed the beds of Constantinople’s elite.
“It’s good to see you, Theodora,” he said, running his hands through his mop of curls as he looked past me. He smelled like a slaughter room. “Is your sister downstairs?”
“She’s still out—” I felt a momentary flicker of pity for the butcher’s son. “With the other actresses.” And my mother was on the other side of the door, either listening to all this or passed out after drinking too much wine. I folded my soggy
paludamentum
over my arm. “I know I look a fright, but I’d be happy to share a mug of barley water with you.”
Karas showed off two rows of perfectly straight teeth. He and Comito would have made beautiful babies, but it was too late for that now.
He saw me settled at a table near the fire and ordered us two clay cups of barley water with mint and honey. I was halfway done with mine, having chattered about the recent races at the Hippodrome, the latest crop of pears, and the general state of the Empire while he stared at his cup. Finally, I faked a yawn into my hand. “It was lovely visiting with you, Karas, and I’ll tell Comito you stopped by—”
“I made a mistake.” He grabbed my hand. “I want Comito back.”
We sat that way across the table, his hand over mine, probably stared at by half the people in the Boar’s Eye. A butcher’s son would never help our fortunes, not like a prefect or one of the other patricians my sister now entertained. And after my sister’s little performancetonight, I wasn’t about to saddle poor Karas with her. A patron was what she wanted, and a patron was what she’d get. “Comito has moved on,” I finally said.
“I know she did things she shouldn’t have, when Anastasia was sick. I should have helped her, but I was too jealous. My mother told me I should find a better girl, one with virtue. But I don’t want another girl. I just want Comito.” His face crumbled. “She’s found someone else now, hasn’t she?”
“A merchant.” Several of them. And a senator.
I slipped my hand from under his. “I’m sorry, Karas.” He still sat there as I looked down from the top of the stairs, so forlorn as he stared into his cup, the posy of wilting daisies on the table, that I almost went back and told him my sister would marry him the next morning. But she had been so awful to me tonight—I knew she rather enjoyed keeping me in the gutter. I forced myself to turn around and open the door to our room, glad for the robust moans that seeped through the walls to muffle the creak of the hinges as I tried not to wake my mother.
Now I had to make sure Comito never found out what I’d done.
. . .
Comito prodded me awake with her foot as autumn sunshine weaseled its way through the shutters of our only window the next morning.
“Late night?” My mother kissed the top of Comito’s head, her eyes puffy and her breath still sour from last night’s wine. “I’ll see what’s downstairs for breakfast—probably more eggs and boiled cabbage.”
Comito let her stola fall at her feet and stretched out naked on our pallet as Mother shut the door. I rolled to the other side to give her my back, but she dangled a thick gold coin before my nose, a
solidus
bearing Emperor Anastasius’
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