Free The Purple Shroud: A Novel of Empress Theodora by Stella Duffy Page B

with bitterness, irritation worming its way into each interaction. They heard housewives complain about the bread distribution and firemen denounce their ward managers, street preachers breaking their usual diatribes against the world to eat a few mouthfuls before beginning again with even more dire warnings of apocalypse to come.
    When the plates of mutton stew were brought to their table, Theodora inhaled the aromas of her childhood. Nothing like the expensively spiced food of the Palace, this was solid, warming, workman’s food served with fat chunks of day-old bread, all the better for dipping. Nevertheless, Theodora pushed her bowl aside after a few mouthfuls, claiming a headache.
    ‘I’ll go outside for some fresh air.’
    ‘Mistress…’
    ‘Not so loud, Armeneus. I won’t be long.’
    ‘You shouldn’t go alone.’
    ‘So you all keep saying,’ she answered, ‘but I am going out,and you will stay. We can’t leave Mariam alone with all these strangers, she’s just a girl after all.’
    Theodora walked out as Mariam quietly reached for another chunk of bread.
    Theodora walked along the harbour-front of the Golden Horn, revelling in the freedom. Even though the sun was close to setting, the City was still hard at work. At one dock, men unloaded a cargo of wine and garum fish sauce from Sicily, goods expected six days ago, the ship delayed by the fierce Mediterranean storms that were predictable only in their unpredictability. The captain stood on deck, the late delivery fee causing him to curse and bribe in equal measure. All along the docks Theodora watched ships unloading grain or spices, cattle or furs, taking on board the traders and merchants heading out again to do new deals.
    At the point where the main waterside road turned uphill, winding back towards the centre of the City, to the Hippodrome where she had spent so much of her childhood, Theodora stopped to watch a group of whores. They stood around a brazier counting out their last night’s takings. One share for the taxman, another for their landlord, a third share for the young ex-soldier they used as guard and lookout, with not quite enough left for each woman. They stood close to the fire, the eldest of them plainly shivering even though the chill night winds that crossed the Black Sea from the north had only just begun. Theodora knew about the havoc of disease; the girls who worked backstage as actress-whores were protected from the worst illnesses, but most moved on to street work once they were older, and sailors and traders were as likely to leave disease as coin. Most of these women were never fully well, fully warm.
    One of them saw Theodora watching and called, ‘No worktonight. The storms last week mean all the ships have been delayed or their goods disturbed. The bosses are keeping their men hard at it.’
    Theodora shook her head, wanting to say she wasn’t looking for work, but she kept her mouth shut, aware there was no other good reason for being out alone in the City at this time of day.
    Another of the women, mistaking Theodora’s head-shake for incomprehension, added, ‘If the bosses keep them hard at it, there’s no time for them to go hard at us – yes?’
    The women laughed then, a combination of resignation and tiredness, yet with friendship in their shared, forced jollity. A camaraderie that made Theodora catch her breath.
    The eldest nodded. ‘You hurry home, girl, and tell your mother to find you a nice husband. Send him to work for you instead, there’s too many whores down here as it is.’
    Theodora needed to come closer to their group to move past, and as she did so her cloak fell back a little, slipping away from her face.
    A young woman took a long look at her, then reached out. Grabbing Theodora’s arm, she said, ‘I don’t know about a husband, but doesn’t she look like the Augusta?’
    She pulled back Theodora’s cloak, fully revealing her face. Theodora jumped, began to wrench her arm away, her mouth