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aunt Euphemia would certainly not approve – when it could turn somersaults and make a dozen men laugh aloud at the same time. Justinian unrolled a sheet of paper, and took up his pen, surprised – and a little shy – to find himself imagining all those young women again, cavorting before him. Two hours later the management of Egyptian grain levies was fully occupying his thoughts, the dancers forgotten.

Four
    The City’s feast day began with services in the dozens of churches all across the metropolis, long processions into the street, priests holding relics high above the people. Blues and Greens held back their jibes as a splinter of the True Cross or a fragment of cloth from the True Shroud passed by, a moment later their animosities cried all the louder for the solemnity before. As light fell fast to let the night begin, flower garlands were carefully removed from statues of saints and holy men, taken down to one of the harbours and thrown on to the water, Christian offerings given to pagan water deities by sailors keen to appease all the gods of the past and present, just in case, no matter what their priests’ more Christian injunctions might be.
    Comito used the day off for extra singing rehearsals, Anastasia chose to stay close to home, closer to the second family Hypatia and Basianus were making with the new step-babies and happy to act little mother. Theodora hurried out of the apartment long before Hypatia could demand she help with the younger ones or Basianus insist she help him clear out the stinking cages of his stinking beasts. She said the smell of their captivity revolted her, but it was also true that the stench of the pens was forever tied to the smell of her father’s draining blood. The only creature Theodora now had any time for was the owl she fell asleep to, screeching in the night, or in her dreams, clawing out of the stone of the Hippodrome obelisk and away to the full moon rising over Chalcedon, across the Bosphorus. She had a strong,fit body, trained to climb towers of acrobats, and equally useful on a feast day to climb the great aqueduct for a better view of the procession below. Today she had a perfect view of the lauded Juliana Anicia, carried through the streets in her sedan chair.
    What those on the street couldn’t see, their eyes averted either from politeness or awe, was the bald patch right on top of the famously pious lady’s head, neither her hairpiece nor her lace scarf thick enough to hide it from Theodora’s gimlet gaze. Nor did the public have Theodora’s vantage point to count the many coins the much-praised princess had in her purse, and how few her servant handed out. Juliana of the Anicii was renowned for her building works and Theodora supposed she was keeping her coins for grander schemes. As a child of the City, Theodora had often been tempted by the scaffolding for one of Juliana’s new churches; like any other citizen she took pride in the building works of her town as the city spread further back, well beyond Constantine’s original walls, right out to Blachernae in the west. Unlike the protected princess in her sedan chair, she also saw the damaged ex-soldiers and refugees begging for food and drink, despite the rich men at their private performances laughing about how well the City was doing, and what good fortune it was to be born now, with the Empire once again on the rise.
    ‘Good. Enough. You may go.’
    At Menander’s quiet command the girls of his team let out a collective sigh and slowly lowered Comito to the ground, from where they had been holding her, high above their heads. They’d kept the pose, as demanded, for over half the time it took the hourglass sands to run through. Every one of them was aching and sweating, and the younger ones, less accustomed to the constant pain of their work, especially after the rare relief of their time off yesterday, were crying.
    ‘Not you, Theodora.’
    Comito reached for Anastasia, pulled her close and