Blood & Honour by Richard Foreman

Author:Richard Foreman [Foreman, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2018-05-13T16:00:00+00:00

18.

Actors.

Varro forced a smile, whilst sighing from the bottom of his bedraggled heart. Their company was to be endured rather than enjoyed, for the most part, he judged, as Sharek introduced him to some of the leading players in his troupe. Varro once thought how poets could be as self-absorbed as Narcissus, until he met theatre folk. A few of them could be witty, well-rounded beings with a sense of perspective. But only a few, unfortunately.

Actors fed on attention, like leeches feed on blood. If an actor wasn’t being seen or heard, then he didn’t exist. Varro remembered Alba, an actress he had once courted. She had a remarkable talent - or disease - for always turning the conversation back towards the subject of her. And when - on the rare occasion when someone else held court (especially a rival actress) – she would appear bored, pout or sigh until she regained the floor again. Varro had yet to encounter a performer who was concerned more for the whole play than he was for his own part in it.

The large tent, made from waxed goat-hide, was filled with a number of couches and tables. Plates of empty oyster shells and stems left over from asparagus tips were strewn around the floor. Incense burned in each corner. Sharek argued it was a source of courage, to remind his actors to be bold and tell the truth – although more so he kept it burning to take the edge of the smell of cheap perfume and body odour which pervaded the tent. Whether the troupe had gone through a dress rehearsal or not that morning they all seemed to be in costume, or they naturally dressed flamboyantly. Varro almost cringed at some of the brightly patterned garments and garish items of jewellery.

Thankfully the entrance was kept open, letting in some air and light. A couple of slaves pulled upon ceiling fans to keep the occupants cool too.

The actors – four men and one woman – lounged on sofas and worked their way through more than one jug of wine. Sharek introduced Varro to the group.

“This here is one of our veteran performers, Pawah. He will be playing the ghost of Cicero in our play.”

The well-groomed actor offered Sharek a tart expression, for calling him a “veteran” but then turned to the young nobleman. His expression was appreciative, suggestive, lurid. As well as competing for lead parts over the years the two men had stolen lovers from one another. But their rivalry was friendly, for the most part. The two cats may have hissed at each other, but they rarely showed their claws and drew blood.

“It’s nice to see the senator widen his circle of acquaintances. Youth should have its head, no? I am surprised that Sharek is deciding to share you however – and he is not keeping you all to himself,” Pawah exclaimed, after re-positioning his hairpiece, which Varro couldn’t work out if he wore for personal or professional reasons. His voice was rich and refined, like someone mimicking a member of the patrician class.

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