by Anne Perry
“Constantine?” Anna said in surprise.
“Of course Constantine,” Helena snapped. She looked at the glass in her hand. “This is disgusting, but it doesn’t make me feel ill. You don’t need to stay,” she dismissed her. “Come again in three days. I’ll pay you then.”
When Anna returned, she had been with Helena only ten minutes when another visitor was announced, Eulogia Mouzakios. Helena had little choice but either to invite her in as soon as she was dressed again or to allow Eulogia to know that she had a physician present—or, more dangerous than that, some other caller she did not wish her to meet.
“If you dare tell her what you came to treat me for, I shall see you never work again,” she snarled. “Do you understand me?”
“Say you have sprained your ankle,” Anna advised. “She will smell the unguent in the air. I will not contradict you.”
Helena straightened her tunic. She did not bother to answer.
Eulogia came in a few moments later, bearing a gift of honeyed fruit. She was an elegant woman, fair-haired and a little thin, several inches taller than Helena. There was a jolting familiarity about her that froze Anna in sudden confusion. She searched her mind for the name and found nothing.
“My physician,” Helena said, waving an arm at Anna after she had greeted her guest. “Anastasius.” She gave a slight smile, infinitely condescending. She was saying the name so Eulogia would recognize Anna instantly as a eunuch, a womanish creature with a man’s name and no gender at all.
Eulogia stared at Anna for a moment, then looked away, entering conversation with Helena as if Anna had been a servant.
In that instant, Anna recognized her. Eulogia was Catalina’s sister. They had met several times in Nicea years ago, when Catalina was alive. No wonder Eulogia had been disturbed by memory at first.
The sweat broke out on Anna’s skin, and her breath was shaky, her hands trembling. She must watch every gesture. Nothing must remind Eulogia of Justinian’s sister.
She had not finished prescribing for Helena, who would be angry if she left. She was imprisoned here by obligation and circumstance.
Helena sensed her discomfort and smiled. She turned to Eulogia. “Have some wine, and figs. These are very good, very quickly dried to produce excellent humors. It’s kind of you to call.”
She ordered the servant to bring refreshments, including a glass for Anna. It seemed to amuse her.
Anna considered refusing. Eulogia was watching her, the puzzled look in her face again. Anna dared not let Helena believe she was afraid of staying. “Thank you,” she accepted, smiling back. “I’ll have time to prepare your … herbs.”
“Ointment!” Helena snapped, then blushed, aware she might have made a mistake. “I have a sprain,” she said to Eulogia.
Eulogia nodded and offered her sympathy. They moved to sit together, leaving Anna to look in her bag for the appropriate items.
“How is Demetrios?” Eulogia inquired.
“Well, I imagine,” Helena said casually. The wine, figs, and nuts came. She poured, leaving aside a glass for Anna but not offering it.
“I imagine Justinian will not be returning,” Eulogia remarked, looking obliquely at Helena.
Helena allowed herself to look sad. “No. They believe he was deeply implicated in Bessarion’s death. Of course he wasn’t!” She smiled. “Whoever it was tried before, you know, when Justinian was in Bithynia, miles from here.”
Anna’s hand froze over the herbs. Fortunately her back was to the room, and neither Helena nor Eulogia could see her face.
“Tried to kill him?” Eulogia said in amazement. “How?”
“Poison,” Helena said simply. “I’ve no idea who it was.” She took a bite out of a dried fig and chewed it slowly. “And Bessarion was attacked in the street a few months after that, also. It looked like an attempted robbery, but afterward Bessarion himself thought it was one of his own men. But Demetrios found them for him, from friends of his—the Varangian Guard, so it seems unlikely.”
Eulogia was curious. “Demetrios Vatatzes has friends in the Varangian Guard? How interesting. Unusual, for a man of an old imperial family. But then his mother, Eirene, is unusual.”
Helena shrugged it off. “That’s what I thought he said. Perhaps I was wrong.”
Eulogia was concerned. “That’s dreadful. Why would anyone wish to harm Bessarion? He was the noblest of men.”
Helena hid her impatience. “It was always religion with him, so it was probably something to do with that. Of course, he and Justinian quarreled terribly about it, twice that I know of, and then Justinian went to Eirene. Heaven knows why! After that, of course, Bessarion really was killed by Antoninus. Funny thing is that I never knew that Antoninus cared about religion all that much. He was a soldier, for heaven’s sake!”
Anna turned around, the herbs in her hand and a small jar of ointment. She held them out.
“Why, thank you, Anastasius,” Helena said charmingly, meeting Anna’s eyes. “I’ll pay you if you come tomorrow, when I’m not busy.”
Anna returned as commanded to collect the money.
When she arrived, Helena received her after only fifteen minutes’ wait and made her almost welcome. They were in the newly decorated room with its exotic murals. She was dressed in a soft deep plum color that became her excellently. She had a minimum of jewelry, but with her warm skin and rich hair, she did not need it. The silk of her dalmatica billowed around her as she came across the room. It was one of the rare moments when Helena was as beautiful as her mother.
“Thank you for coming,” she said warmly. “My ankle is so much better, I shall recommend you to everyone I know.” She smiled, but she made no reference to the money.
“Thank you,” Anna replied, taken by surprise.
“Odd that Eulogia should call just as you were here,” Helena went on. “She was related to Justinian Lascaris, you know?”
Anna felt herself tense. “Was she?”
“He was married, some time ago.” Helena’s tone dismissed it as if it were not relevant anymore. “She died. She was Eulogia’s sister.” She was watching Anna’s face as she spoke.
Anna stood motionless, awkward. Her hands seemed clumsy and in the way, as if she had no idea what to do with them. She swallowed. “Really?” She tried to sound uninterested. She was trembling.
Helena picked up a small jeweled box from the table. It was exquisite, silver set with chalcedony and surrounded by pearls. Anna could not help looking at it.
“You like it?” Helena held it out for Anna to see.
“It’s very beautiful,” Anna replied sincerely.
Helena smiled. “Justinian gave it to me. Unwise, I suppose, but as I told you, he loved me.” She said it with satisfaction, but still looking at Anna under her eyelashes. “Bessarion gave me very little that I can recall. If he had chosen anything, it would have been books, or icons; dark ones, of course, heavy and very serious.” She looked back at Anna. “Justinian was fun, you know? Or don’t you know that? He had an elusive quality about him, as if you could never really know all of him. He would always surprise you. I like that.”
Anna’s sense of discomfort grew. Why was Helena telling her all this? Surely it was lies, as Constantine had said? Helena was beautiful and profoundly sensuous, but Justinian must have seen what was ugly inside her, if not immediately, then soon after. Helena turned the box in her hand, its pearls catching the light. Why had Justinian spent so much on her? Or was that a lie, too?
Helena was watching her. There was an intensity in her gaze that was almost mesmeric. The light was shining on the box, on the plum silk of her dalmatica, on the gloss of her hair. “Do you like beautiful things, Anastasius?” she asked.
There was only one possible answer to that. “Yes.”
Helena’s winged eyebrows rose, her eyes wide and dark. “Just ‘yes’? How unimaginative of you. What kinds of beautiful things?” she insisted. “Jewelry, ornaments, glass, paintings, tapestries, statuar
y? Or do you like music, and good food? Or something you can touch, like silk or fur? What gives you pleasure, Anastasius?” She put the box on the table and walked three steps closer to Anna. “Do eunuchs have pleasure?” she said softly.
Was this what had happened to Justinian? Anna felt the sweat run down her body and the blood hot in her face. Helena was trying to awaken her sexually for entertainment, power, simply to see if she could.
The air in the room prickled as if a storm were about to break. Anna would have given anything on earth to escape. It was excruciating.
Helena’s eyes swept down Anna’s body. “Do you have anything left, Anastasius?” she asked, her voice soft not with pity, but with a sharp and curiously coarse interest. Her small hand reached out to touch Anna’s groin where her male organs would have been, had she had them. They met nothing.
Anna panicked, and hysteria welled up as if she were going to choke. Helena’s eyes were bright, laughing, at once both inviting and contemptuous.
No man, however mutilated, would refuse to speak at all. And whatever Anna said, it must be what a man would say, not the revulsion that was beating inside her now like a huge bird trapped and breaking itself to force a way out.
Helena was still waiting. She would never either forget or forgive a rebuff. She was so close, Anna could feel the warmth of her and see the pulse beating in her throat.
“Pleasure must be mutual, my lady,” Anna said, her voice catching in her throat. “I think it would take a remarkable man to please you.”
Helena stood absolutely still, her features slack with surprise and disappointment. Anastasius had been polite to her, flattering, yet she knew she had been robbed of something. She made a sharp little sound of annoyance and stepped back. Now it was she who did not know how to answer without giving herself away.
“Your money is on the table by the door,” she said between her teeth. “You bore me. Take it and go.”
Anna swiveled and went out, forcing herself not to run.
Thirty-three
ANNA ARRIVED HOME AFTER HER ENCOUNTER WITH Helena with her mind racing and her body still trembling as if she had been physically assaulted. She strode past Simonis with barely a word and went to her own room. She took off her clothes and bandages and stood naked, then washed herself over and over again, as though she could cleanse herself with harsh, astringent lotion, smelling the bite of it with pleasure. It stung, even hurt, but the pain pleased her.
She dressed again in her plain golden brown tunic and dalmatica and left the house without eating or drinking. She was fortunate that Constantine was at home.
He rose from his seat, his broad face filled with anxiety the moment after she entered. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened? Is it another monk tortured? Dead?”
It was preposterous! Her obsession with her own, so desperately trivial hurt, when people were dying terribly. She started to laugh, hearing it run out of control and end in sobbing. “No,” she gasped, fumbling her way forward to sit in her accustomed chair. “No, it’s nothing at all, nothing that matters.” She put her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “I saw Helena. I’ve been treating her—nothing serious, just painful. She …”
“What?” he demanded, sitting opposite her. His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of alarm in it.
She looked up at him, steadying herself. “Really nothing,” she repeated. “You told me that she made an advance to Justinian, which he found acutely embarrassing.” She did not add her own experience, but he understood it. She saw his face darken and then pity and revulsion leap to his eyes, as if he had been touched by it himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Be careful. She is a dangerous woman.”
“I know. I think I made a reasonably graceful refusal, but I know she won’t forget it. I hope I don’t have to treat her again. Perhaps she won’t want me to….”
“Don’t rely on that, Anastasius. It entertains her to humiliate.”
Anna pictured Helena’s face. “I think she knows humiliation. She told me Justinian was in love with her. She showed me a beautiful box that she said he gave her.” She saw it in her mind as she said it. It was the sort of thing Justinian would have chosen, but surely not for Helena?
Constantine’s mouth curled with distaste and perhaps a vestige of pity. “Lies,” he said without hesitation. “He disliked her, but he believed that Bessarion could lead the people against the union with Rome, so he hid his feelings.”
“She said he quarreled with Bessarion badly, shortly before he was killed. Was that a lie, too?”
Constantine stared at her. “No,” he said quietly. “That was the truth. He told me of it himself.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Was it about Helena? Did Justinian tell him that Helena had … How could he tell him such a thing?”
“He didn’t.” Constantine shook his head minutely. “It was not to do with Helena.”
“Then what?”
“I can’t tell you,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”
The protest welled up inside her. She saw in his face that he knew the answer and that he would not tell her.
“Was it a confession?” she said shakily. “Justinian?” Now the fear gripped inside her like an iron hand closing.
“I cannot tell you,” Constantine repeated. “To do so would betray others. Some things I know, some I guess. Would you have me speak that aloud, were it your heart and your secret?”
“No,” she said hoarsely. “No, of course I wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Anastasius …” He swallowed hard. His skin was very pale. “Be very careful of Helena, of all of them. There is such a lot that you don’t understand, life and death, cruelty, hatred, old debts and dreams, things that people never let go of.” He leaned farther toward her. “Two men are dead already, and a third exiled, and that is only a tiny part of it. Serve God in your own way, heal their ills, but leave the rest of it alone.”
To argue with him would be pointless and unfair. She had not told him the truth, so how could he understand? They were each trying to reach the other, he failing because he was bound by the sanctity of confession, she because she could not trust him with the truth of why she could not let go of any of it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for listening.”
“We shall pray together,” he replied. “Come.”
She was at the Blachernae Palace, having treated one of the eunuchs for a bad chest infection and been up with him all night until the crisis broke. Then she had been sent for by the emperor over a minor skin irritation. She was still with him when the two papal legates from Rome, Palombara and Vicenze, were granted an audience and were shown in, as was customary, by the Varangian Guard. They were always there, strong men with lean, hard bodies, dressed in full armor. The emperor was never without them, no matter the time of day or night, how formal or trivial the occasion.
Anna stood a little apart, not included, yet neither had she been given leave to go. She recalled her unpleasant journey to Bithynia with Vicenze, during which Cyril Choniates was nearly killed.
All the ritual greetings were exchanged, well-wishes that no one meant. Beside Anna, Nicephoras was watching every inflection while outwardly seeming merely to wait. Only once did he glance at her with a momentary smile. She realized that he would remain here, judging both words and silences, and afterward give Michael his counsel. She was glad of that.
“There is still some dissension among certain factions who do not see the need for Christendom to stand together,” Vicenze said with barely concealed impatience. “We must do something decisive to prevent them from causing trouble among the people.”
“I’m sure His Majesty is aware of that.” Palombara glanced at Vicenze, then away again, both humor and dislike in his eyes.
“He cannot be,” Vicenze argued impatiently. “Or he would have addressed it. I seek only to inform, and ask advice.” The look of contempt he shot his fellow lega
te was sharp and cold.
Palombara smiled, and that too was a gesture without warmth. “His Majesty will not tell us everything he knows, Your Grace. He would hardly have led his people back again to their city, and kept them safe, were he ignorant of their nature and their passions, or lacking in either the skill or the courage to govern them.”
Anna hid her smile with difficulty. This was becoming interesting. Rome certainly did not speak with a single voice, although it might be only ambition or personal enmity that divided them.
Palombara looked at Michael again. “Time is short, Your Majesty. Is there some way in which we might assist? Are there leaders with whom we might speak, and resolve some of their fears?”
“I have already spoken with the patriarch,” Vicenze told him. “He is an excellent man, of great vision and understanding.”
For half a second, it was clear in Palombara’s face that he had not known that. Then he concealed it and smiled. “I don’t think the patriarch is where we need to concentrate our efforts, Your Grace. Actually I believe it is the monks in different abbeys who harbor the greatest reservations about trusting Rome. But perhaps your information is different from mine?”
Two spots of color stained Vicenze’s pale cheeks, but he was too furious to trust himself to speak.
Palombara looked at Michael. “Perhaps if we were to discuss the situation, Your Majesty, we might learn of a way in which, in Christian brotherhood, we could find an accord with these holy men, and persuade them of our common cause against the tide of Islam, which I fear is lapping ever closer around us.”
This time it was Michael whose face lit with amusement. The conversation continued for a further twenty minutes, and then the two legates withdrew, and shortly afterward Anna went after them, having finally been noticed and given permission to leave.
She was on the way through the last hall before the great doors when she encountered Palombara, apparently alone. He looked at her with interest, and she was unpleasantly aware of a certain curiosity in him because he was clearly unfamiliar with eunuchs. She became self-conscious, aware of her woman’s body under the clothes, as if he could see some kind of guilt in her eyes. Perhaps to a man unused to even the concept of a third gender, her masquerade was more apparent. Did she look feminine to him? Or was he simply considering how mutilated she was that her hands were so slender, and her neck, her jaw, lighter than a man’s? She must say something to him quickly, engage his intellect away from her physical presence.
