The Walls of Byzantium tmc-1

by James Heneage

  Zoe looked directly at her father. She gave the slightest of nods.

  ‘Of course, lord. Zoe, please show Prince Suleyman out.’

  Zoe led Suleyman through corridors in the basement of the palace. She was heading for a door that led on to a small alleyway that ran by the side of the building, a door that she knew would be unguarded.

  As they walked, Suleyman watched the gentle sway of her bottom beneath the rich folds of silk that accentuated its shape as she moved. He felt himself harden against the silks of his caftan. He quickened his pace.

  ‘So you are going to Venice?’ he asked as he drew level.

  ‘I am going everywhere my father does business, prince.’

  ‘But you have a brother. I heard he was hurt.’ He paused. ‘Such a misfortune.’

  Zoe glanced at him. He seemed to be serious. She remained silent.

  ‘So you will go in his place. Is he like you?’

  Zoe said nothing.

  ‘He is not like you,’ the Prince said quietly. ‘And that, I suspect, is the problem.’

  She stopped and looked directly into Suleyman’s face. ‘And you also have brothers,’ she said. ‘We have that in common.’

  The Prince laughed. She saw there was a bead of sweat on his forehead and that his face had new colour. He looked up and down the corridor. It was dark.

  ‘This is assuredly a great palace,’ he said softly. ‘What part are we in now?’

  ‘These are the storerooms, lord,’ she answered, adding unnecessarily, ‘where we keep food.’

  ‘And would they be occupied at this time?’

  Zoe tilted her head and smiled as she stopped beside a door. ‘I have no idea, lord. Shall we look?’

  Zoe opened the door behind her and led Suleyman into a narrow room with a low, vaulted stone ceiling and a smell of damp. In the centre of the room stood a table.

  She leant against the end of the table, her arms spread to hold its edges. Her breasts felt tight against the constraints of her tunic. She opened her mouth slightly to allow her breathing to come more evenly.

  Suleyman quietly closed the door and turned the key in its lock. Then he walked over to the table and began, very slowly, to unbutton the front of her tunic, his eyes never leaving hers. She did nothing to stop him.

  At the fifth button, just below Zoe’s navel, Suleyman stopped and parted the tunic to reveal a white cotton chemise, also buttoned at the front. This time, using both hands, he tore it open. Only now did Suleyman’s eyes travel down and his mouth curved into a smile of untrammelled lust.

  He took each breast in a hand and bent down to kiss them.

  Then Suleyman dropped to his knees and began to lift the bottom of her tunic, gathering the folds as it rose to her thighs.

  As his tongue made contact, Zoe let out a low moan and, taking a handful of his hair, pushed his face into her groin, thrusting her hips up to meet him. Waves of pleasure rolled up her body and her other hand came up to caress her breast.

  Suleyman rose to his feet. He began to lift his caftan and, as it rose to his waist, Zoe grasped him with her hand.

  ‘You’ve done this before, I think,’ said Suleyman thickly.

  Zoe was guiding him between her thighs, stroking him as she did so.

  Then he was inside her and the hard edge of the table was digging into her back as his rhythm became more urgent. His arms were either side of her head and she could see the fine knots of muscle in his upper arms, feel their tension in every part of the body above her.

  She opened her legs wider, gathering him deeper, deeper, feeling him move inside against her bottom as it rose to meet him.

  As the surge swept over her, she felt his body go rigid and he arced away from her, his bearded chin rising as if in summons. He grunted once, twice, then let out a long, long sigh as his body came to rest against hers.

  For a while, neither of them spoke.

  Then he rose, letting his caftan fall. He made a little bow.

  ‘Zoe Mamonas, I think we will be friends.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MISTRA, SPRING 1394

  Anna sat on the balcony of her home in Mistra with an untouched meal on the table beside her. It was her favourite: garon, a fish soup, followed by Cretan cheese and pancakes with honey.

  But Anna wasn’t hungry. She was too miserable to eat.

  Her brother Alexis sat on the other side, staring hard at the floor and tracing the delicate curve of the tesserae with his left shoe.

  Neither of them spoke. It had all been said.

  It wasn’t that Anna had expected to escape marriage. She’d always known that it would be required of her one day, and very likely that it would be to someone she’d never set eyes on. But was she really ready to take on the duties of matrimony?

  What those duties entailed had been revealed to her by her mother over the weeks following the dreadful announcement. And although she’d known most of it, having spent much of her youth in the company of her brother’s friends, it still came as a shock that she was now so close to realising it.

  It was two years since her encounter with Suleyman and the time had been spent in a mood of wild exhilaration at having escaped death so closely. She’d even thrown herself into her lessons with an enthusiasm that had unnerved the monks.

  And now this. In a week’s time she was to be married to Damian Mamonas, a boy a year her senior whom she’d never met and had heard only bad things about. Even now, her father would be riding by his side, accompanying him to Mistra.

  To take her away.

  Forever.

  What made it worse was that it was one of those spring days in Mistra when she felt that she lived in the most glorious place on God’s earth. The sky was an unblemished blue and the midmorning sun shone down upon the hill and its people as if it was their own, lending all the individual colours of house, square and garden a brightness that Anna hoped would stay in her memory forever.

  My God, I love this place.

  Even the people seemed intoxicated by the day. Since the siege, they’d seen Anna as something of a patron saint to the city, which embarrassed her and the Metropolitan of St Demetrius Cathedral in equal degree. And if half of them were sad to lose their icon, the other half were filled with pride that her illustrious match would make their despotate safer. At any rate, not one of them wanted to miss the entry into their city of the Mamonas heir and they chattered excitedly to one another as they gathered flowers to shower upon the bridegroom.

  Anna had already made her peace with St Demetrius that morning. Before first light, when the streets were deserted, she’d walked down to the cathedral and sat alone in the front pew to watch the bright frescoes of the Blessed Family and saints reveal themselves in the tiptoed light of the rising sun. Every child of Mistra knew the story of St Demetrius, how he’d been cast into a dungeon in Thessaloniki by the Romans and speared to death for refusing to abjure his faith. She’d never much liked the saint but she found herself beseeching him to grant the same protection to her as he did to her city.

  Now she sat with her brother, awaiting her future husband and wondering what she should say to him when they first met.

  Alexis looked up. ‘Sister, you look beautiful,’ he said, taking Anna’s hand in his.

  Indeed she did. Anna was dressed in a long red dress of finest Cypriot silk damask, tight-fitted at the bosom, with a deep neckline fastened at the front with cross-laces of gold thread. The long, triangular sleeves were decorated at the edges with an elaborate floral design and the effect of the red and gold against her fair skin was dramatic. On her head was a simple diadem of cream silk cord and her luxuriant hair had been braided into a single strand at the back, with two further plaits framing her face. From her ears hung crescent-shaped earrings of silver decorated with the monogram of the Palaiologoi, a gift to her from the Despoena.

  She was lovelier than her brother had ever seen her and now, as he looked into those green, green eyes, he realised how much he was goi
ng to miss her.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said again, this time in a whisper, and squeezed her hand.

  Anna looked into his clear, kind eyes and felt herself on the edge of tears. She bit her lip.

  Then, mercifully, there was distraction.

  Commotion came from the town below. The two of them moved to look over the balcony and saw people flocking through the streets to the city gate where the flag of the Palaiologoi flew. A ragged cheer went up from the crowd but they could see little beyond the houses around them. Anna’s heart quickened as she realised that the man whom she was to marry was fast approaching the house.

  Her mother appeared at the door to the balcony.

  Maria Laskaris was a woman of legendary poise but the events of the past weeks had tested her to the limits. Her daughter was so young — but Maria herself had been far younger when she’d married and hadn’t she been happy? And she knew about duty. When she and Simon Laskaris had wed, it was to seal a peace agreement between her father, a powerful Norman lord with extensive lands in the north, and the then Despot Manuel. Now her dead father’s lands were part of the despotate.

  She looked at her daughter and marvelled again at what had happened to her over the past two years. She had grown up, not just in body, but in mind as well. She was still impulsive and stubborn, but there was also a wisdom that her mother found reassuring given what might lie ahead. She’d not heard good things about her future son-in-law.

  ‘Come, Anna,’ she said. ‘We’d better go down to the courtyard to wait for them.’

  She took her daughter’s arm and led her through the triclinium, down the stone steps and into the large courtyard with its imposing gateway on to the square. A tall cedar stood in the middle.

  Outside the gate, they could hear the procession drawing nearer, the cheers and laughter of the crowd giving way to the sound of hoof on stone. And then Simon Laskaris was there, riding under the arch in his rich tunic and tall hat, with an uncertain smile pinned to his face.

  Beside him rode Damian Mamonas, whose own face was set fast in a smile of no warmth and whose dark eyes immediately sought Anna out as they accustomed themselves to the shade of the cedar tree. Whether what he saw pleased him, Anna couldn’t tell, for his expression remained fixed. She felt sick.

  He looked less than impressive. While handsome, he had a livid scar down one cheek and a pallor that suggested long hours indoors. His long black hair, which fell almost to his waist, seemed too heavy for his head and he rode awkwardly.

  Damian dismounted in front of her and stumbled, waving away the arm of a servant. He fixed his gaze on Anna and she smiled back. Then he walked towards her, his limp causing one side of his body to dip low with every step. Anna looked hard into his face and still she smiled. She extended a hand.

  ‘My lord, you are most welcome.’

  Damian did not reply. He merely took her hand and bowed to kiss it. His lips were cold.

  There was an awkward silence in which Anna looked at her father and then her brother who was now by his side. Alexis gave the merest hint of a shrug.

  Then her father said: ‘Anna, Damian has had a long ride. Why don’t you take him inside where we can sit?’

  Damian turned to him. ‘Sir, the ride was not hard. I ride further than that daily. I’m just hot.’

  The Protostrator gestured towards the stone steps leading up to the door to the house. ‘Of course, of course. Please do me the honour of entering my house.’

  But Damian didn’t move. He was staring at the steep steps.

  Anna stepped forward. ‘Sir, I fear the heat is affecting me also. Would you help me in climbing these steps?’

  Then she took his arm and began, slowly, to mount the steps.

  Inside the triclinium, laid out on a long table that ran the length of the room, was a spread of cold game birds, fish, cheeses, fruit and sweetmeats all displayed on plate of gold and silver. At intervals stood jugs of cool Cypriot wine surrounded by bunches of grapes and twisted vines. Servants, dressed in the Laskaris livery, stood against the walls.

  Damian was shown to his chair by Anna, who then sat down beside him. She poured him wine.

  ‘Was your ride pleasant, lord?’ she ventured.

  But Damian was looking around him curiously, searching the faces of the guests who had started to arrive. ‘I don’t see the Despot.’

  Anna wondered what she should say. It would be inconceivable for the royal couple to attend. Surely Damian must know this?

  She decided to lie. ‘I believe the Despoena is unwell, sir.’

  It was not quite a lie. Bartolomea had confessed to Anna the day previously that her courses that month were severe. Damian shrugged. He drank some wine and leant forward to fork a quail on to his plate. As he ate, he nodded absently at arriving guests who bowed to him as they came into the room.

  ‘How many rooms does this house have?’ he asked at last.

  Anna was taken aback. She’d never counted them. ‘I don’t know. Twenty?’

  Damian considered this, looking through the large windows either side of the room at the two other wings of the house. ‘I think not,’ he said. Then he added, ‘You will find our palace very spacious, and cool inside.’ He drew a cloth from his sleeve and began to mop his brow.

  Anna had never met anyone so rude. Was this the man with whom she was to spend the rest of her life?

  ‘I look forward to counting its rooms,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring my abacus.’

  Damian looked up quickly. A small spot of colour had appeared in each cheek. But Anna had turned away.

  There was laughter in the room and she could see Alexis’s fair head rising and falling as he made his way towards them, stopping to greet friends. His charm washed before him like water over pebbles.

  ‘Sister, will you introduce me?’ Alexis was standing over them, his hand extended and a smile of untinctured friendship on his face.

  Damian didn’t get up. He only slowly put out his hand and said, ‘I hear you’ve met the Prince Suleyman.’

  Alexis grinned. He took the seat next to Anna. ‘Yes, out on the plain. He seemed quite taken by Anna. Perhaps you should watch him.’ He laughed, unaware of the cold look that Damian was giving him. and added, ‘I hear you have some extraordinary horses at your stud. Now that you’re to be married to Anna, I wondered …’

  But Alexis didn’t finish his sentence because the look that Damian was giving him was full of such venom that even he couldn’t fail to notice it. What on earth had he said wrong?

  But Anna had realised. ‘Alexis, Damian has a twin sister famed for her beauty and as yet unmatched. I’m surprised you’ve not yet found room for her in the conversation.’

  Alexis looked back at Damian. He seemed to remember something and reddened. ‘I shall be honoured to meet her,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope the four of us will be friends.’

  If the prospect of this friendship seemed attractive to Damian, he hid it well. He merely beckoned to a servant for more wine. Then he yawned. ‘I find myself more tired than I thought. Perhaps I might be found one of your … twenty … rooms in which to rest for a bit before the inevitable speeches?’

  With some effort Anna controlled herself. ‘Of course.’

  As Damian limped away behind a servant, brother and sister turned to look at each other.

  ‘Perhaps it’s just tiredness,’ said Alexis lamely. ‘I get like that sometimes.’

  ‘You? Never.’ Anna was staring at the back of the man she was to marry. ‘He’s just unpleasant. How can I live with that?’

  ‘I’m only fifty miles away,’ Alexis said softly. ‘I can be there whenever you need me.’

  Anna looked into those good, brave eyes, eyes that wanted so badly to see equal good in the world. How did she deserve such a brother? She leant forward to whisper in his ear: ‘It doesn’t matter what he’s like. With you in my life, I can always know love.’

  The following morning was as bright as its predecessor and a gentle b
reeze stroked Anna’s hair as she rode through the gates of Mistra on the first part of her journey to her new home.

  The cheers of the crowds were still ringing in her ears as she steered the pretty palfrey that Damian had presented her with that morning down the hill towards the plain. If truth be told, she’d have preferred to ride her own horse but she could hardly refuse such a gift, and anyway the Mamonas horses were famous throughout Christendom. She patted the speckled roan on its neck and it whinnied in reply.

  By her side rode Damian, looking bored and hungover from the revels of the previous night; Simon Laskaris had not stinted on either the quality or quantity of his wine. Damian had shown himself even less congenial drunk than when sober. This morning, he had yet to speak.

  Anna refused to be affected by his mood, having resolved, on waking, to make the best of her situation. She’d also decided not to make all of the conversational running, having exhausted so many avenues the evening before.

  Instead she talked to Alexis, who rode at her other side, and considered the countryside around her, so green and buxom in these first weeks of spring. The Vale of Sparta had recovered quickly from the ravages visited on it by the Turks and bounty was everywhere. New fields of wheat and corn were beginning their rise into the gold of harvest and fat oxen pulled blades through the rich soil.

  Soon they met a caravan making its way towards Mistra and Anna remembered that the Spring Fair was to take place later in the week in the open ground before the city. The mules appeared to be laden with small jars of different coloured ointments packed into crates that swayed with the movement of the beasts. The last was ridden by a cheerful fat man who waved at their passing. Anna guessed him to be quack who would proclaim the miracles of his virility potions from a box while the wives of Mistra giggled like virgins. She’d enjoyed the spectacle before.

  She was so lost in her thoughts that it took a moment for her to realise that Damian was finally speaking to her.