Remember what we practised.”
Forward they went with their heads bowed, taking small steps in the baked and trampled dust. Comito walked behind their mother, Stasie’s hand in hers. Theodora was last. It would have been easier, she thought, if there had been singing, as there was on the day of the funeral procession. They should have brought Fat Rosa, to help them sing. She imagined the washerwoman’s pure voice soaring and silencing this jabber-jabber-jabber. She was being pointed at, like a performing bear. She wanted to scream, and turn and run. But she walked forward, her red posy held tightly to her white chest. Please, Jesus. Please.
At last they reached the front ranks of the Greens. Their mother turned and nodded. The three little girls flung their posies, to fall just short of the row in which Asterius sat. Anastasia stretched out her right hand. The girls lifted their arms to the banked spectators in the pleading gesture that they had practised. Then they fell to their knees and bowed their heads. The sand was gritty and it hurt. The buzz died down and silence fell.
Anastasia spoke. Her voice shook just a little when she began, but it was a trained voice, trained to sing and to speak out in front of multitudes, for not all her performances were mimes, and soon it steadied and gained in clarity. She clasped her hands and her plea rang out:
Greetings to you, most Christian and most glorious Greens!
May your victories be many, may they be long in memory!
We thank you for this hearing, in this Kynêgion of Constantinople.
We are assured of justice and mercy.
You all did know Acasius, my late husband,
Who was a master of the bears.
He worked faithfully and tirelessly
For your entertainment.
Now he is dead, and we who have been left
Are bereft. A good man has taken pity on us.
But he has lost his work. He has been dismissed.
We beg, we plead …
Here the little girls raised their arms again, imploringly, then bowed low once more. The sand felt like sharp bits of glass. Theodora thought her knees would bleed.
… we plead that he may have his post again.
He works well with the bears.
He will entertain you, glorious Greens.
We beg for mercy.
Anastasia too bowed her head.
Silence reigned. Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus.
Theodora raised her head slightly. She saw that Asterius had risen to his feet. His arms were folded across his chest, so that his cloak fell in straight folds like that of a tall statue. His head was thrown back contemptuously and he glared down his hooked nose at the trio of little girls. Then he turned his gaze on their mother, who stood barefoot and submissive in the dust. His mouth sneered. Nothing better than a slave, he seemed to say. Not worthy of attention. Not worthy. He swivelled and his arrogant stare raked the rows of silent men. Can you believe this, he seemed to ask, can you believe this insolence? He turned back to Anastasia and made a gesture of dismissal, such as one might make to a servant, one who was not worthy of a single word.
The three little girls stood up, clutching each other’s hands. Oh, no, thought Theodora in disbelief and horror, we have failed. No mercy, Lord Jesus, no mercy. Where are you? Where were you today? A sharp odour rose from the gritty dust. She looked down. Stasie had wet herself. They stood in a puddle of pee.
Chapter 4: A scarlet scarf
Weary and bereft of hope, Anastasia turned to go. She had tried her best. She had been daring and courageous, but it had not worked. She had been humbled. She had been punished for her audacity. It was over.
“Come, girls,” she whispered.
The terrible silence dissolved into a new buzz, a low murmur. Asterius sat down and arranged his cloak with a hugely satisfied smirk. He folded his arms again and stared around him complacently.
Then the unexpected happened. The man who served the Blue faction as Asterius did the Greens rose to his feet. His raised right arm demanded silence and the right to be heard. He quelled the chatter authoritatively.
“Wait!” he cried, in stentorian tones. “This is not right!”
Anastasia turned back, surprised.
“Advance,” he called and beckoned them over.
She straightened the garlands on her children’s heads. Stasie had begun the desolate weeping that was hard to stop. Let her cry, thought Anastasia. She’s the littlest one. Let her cry. Perhaps it may move them as my words could not. She led the trio across the wide expanse of dust towards the front rows of the Blues.
Their dancing master still stood. What was his name? she thought. She knew him, they had spoken more than once. Marius – that was it. He spoke again, projecting his voice to address the multitude.
This woman has called you
Most Christian and glorious, oh Greens.
But you have been neither Christian nor glorious today.
Anastasia was surprised. Normally Marius was a fussy, effeminate fellow. But today he had a dramatic presence, and the audience was with him. There was a rumble, part laughter, part hum of agreement, from the crowd. He continued:
Here we see the children of Acasius
Bereft of their father, begging for mercy.
Mercy they have not received.
The crowd rumbled again. He gestured towards Asterius.
These supplicants have put their case.
They have been received with arrogance, with silence.
He pointed dramatically at Asterius.
You, you who have not spoken with mercy,
Who have not shown Christian love –
May God silence your voice.
Asterius looked furious. Marius continued:
The plight of these three lambs, these innocents,
Must surely move the hardest heart.
“Throw up your arms,” hissed Theodora to her sisters, who stood and gaped at this new development. “Do the supplication! Then kneel!”
They did this as gracefully as they could. Marius nodded. He went on:
Their mother has not begged for charity.
She has merely pleaded for justice.
She has a husband who has useful skills.
He
