actually have been possible to turn me to stone.
I took the gorgon head from Perseus, one with peeling paint on the eyes and thick braids of green woolen yarn for the snakes. The actor playing Perseus shook his head as he circled me. “This is a pleasant bit of improvisation,” he said under his breath.
Hilarion didn’t seem to agree—he looked ready to feed me to the bears from his seat in the lower stands, those reserved for the theater’s special guests. Seated next to him was a woman with copper hair I hadn’t seen since the night at the Hippodrome. Macedonia smiled and leaned back in her seat, motioning with an elegant turn of her wrist for me to continue.
The silence stretched too long as I gathered my thoughts. I should have had a better plan. The Kynêgion rarely performed antic shows for laughs, but as I could neither dance nor sing, I had a rather small repertoire to choose from.
I sniffed the head and gestured with it toward Antonina’s prone form. “In the name of God, it really does resemble her,” I said loud enough so all could hear, looking the gorgon head in its chipped eyes. “An improvement, actually.”
The crowd roared as Antonina came to life and lunged after me, but I chucked the head at her and ran, pulling Perseus before me as a makeshift shield. He shook loose as Antonina twirled the head by its snakes and lobbed the thing at me. It knocked me sideways, and the audience roared with laughter. I scrambled to my feet, and I laughed with the audience, despite the lump I would find above my ear tomorrow. Antonina looked ready to throw something else at me, but I pulled Perseus’ dagger from his belt. Perseus chuckled, and his arms floated up from his sides in surrender.
I meandered toward Antonina and gave a dramatic sigh. “Medusa here is so ugly, men would wish for death if it meant never having to see her face again. And her breasts are more wrinkled than the Fates’.”
The audience laughed. Antonina’s eyes flared; behind her, Comito pantomimed slicing her neck. I tossed Perseus his blade and bowedto the crowd before sauntering away, my heart slamming up my spine. I didn’t make it far.
Antonina grabbed the back of my tunica and yanked it, hard. The threadbare fabric ripped, exposing my breasts to the thousands of people packed into the tiers. I wanted to run but forced my feet to stay planted instead. From the catcalls, it didn’t sound like anyone wanted me to run offstage. I forced myself to release my tunica and let my breasts remain bare.
“Mine may be wrinkled as the Fates’,” she hollered, “but yours are so small most men would miss them entirely!”
By the dog, I wanted to cut her tongue out.
I turned and smiled, pulling the rope around my waist and hoping no one would notice my fingers tremble. The fabric fell to the ground. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.” My fingers reached to the dark sky, and I turned so the entire audience could see all of me as butterflies—more like angry sparrows at this point—pummeled my stomach. Thank goodness I wore the girdle the law required; otherwise the city Patriarch might have me thrown into Blachernae prison tomorrow morning. I waited for the shouts of disappointment, but instead a golden burst of laughter and applause filled my ears.
My eyes fell on Macedonia—the
scenica
smiled and slowly clapped.
Antonina stepped toward me, but I wasn’t taking any more chances. I saluted the audience, yanked my tunica up from my ankles, and made for the exit as fast as my feet could run, carrying the audience’s cheers with me.
Nearly naked as I was, I was faster than Antonina in her full Medusa getup, at least until I barreled straight into Hilarion.
Damn.
“What in the name of God was that?” His giant nose seemed to splay wider as he took a deep breath and held up a hand to stop Antonina from crashing into me. “How dare you—a pleb—ruin my production? I should have you whipped!”
“She didn’t ruin it.”