by Alan Gordon
“Father would never treat me like this,” she muttered, but the Empress pretended she did not hear her.
Evdokia remained, chewing her thumb nervously. The Empress pointed at her.
“You stay here,” she said. “You will attend me today. We’ll have some mother-daughter chats.” She bared her teeth in a gruesome approximation of a smile. “It will be fun.”
“Yes, mother,” whispered Evdokia.
A tinkling of tiny bells approached us rapidly, and a moment later the Emperor’s flutist burst into the room to kneel before Euphy. She was breathing hard, something I suspected she did to draw attention to her overexposed bosom. The bells adorned her wrists, ankles, and earlobes, and clattered away throughout her conversation.
“What is it, girl?” asked the Empress in Arabic.
The flutist had been hand-picked by Euphy to be the Emperor’s mistress. The Empress had known that his attentions were turning away from her as she got older, but she was determined to hold sway over his passions. So, she did it by proxy, tolerating his being besotted with this Egyptian wench while using her to spy on him, control him, and divert him from any other amorous distractions.
The two of them always conversed in Arabic, believing that none of the servants or ladies-in-waiting spoke it. They never suspected me, of course. Growing up in Sicily, I had a very fine Arabic tutor from Bugia, who taught me mathematics and the Greek philosophers as well as his language. I no longer have need of mathematics or philosophy, but the language has served me well on many occasions in this city of many tongues.
“He means to ride today,” said the flutist.
“He what?” shouted Euphy. “How could he? I told you to take care of him, to wear him out last night.”
“He wouldn’t have me,” she said tearfully. “He’s never refused me before, but now he’s determined to go.”
Euphy treated her like a daughter, which is to say she stepped down from her throne and slapped the girl, snapping her head back and rattling her bells.
“You’re a worm,” said Euphy contemptuously. “You should have known how to wrap him around your little finger by now. By God, girl, if I was twenty years younger and had your figure, I would be ruling all of Europe. Well, it seems that I must speak with my husband before he gets himself into any greater trouble. Fetch my crown!”
Her servants scattered about the room retrieving the accoutrements of her royalty. A gorgeous purple silk cape was draped around her heavily brocaded gown, with enough jewels stitched into the fabric to finance an army if she were willing to part with them. The crown was gold, of course, studded with more jewels.
“How do I look?” she asked, preening slightly.
“Magnificent, Your Highness!” chorused the room.
“Captain, attend me,” she said to her bodyguard. “Evy, you come along. Watch and learn. Let my ladies carry my train.”
Her entourage assembled, servants fore and aft. On the captain’s signal, they launched the Empress down the halls of Blachernae.
She did not tell me to follow her. But neither did she direct me to stay. So, I followed her.
Her captain, a well-muscled fellow who swung a sword as long as he was tall, led the way, shoving aside the odd servant or courtier unfortunate to find himself in the Empress’s path. Each set of double doors was opened with a crash, shivering hinges and sending tremors through the palace. Finally, we reached the Imperial Chamber.
Alexios was sitting on a padded sawhorse while his servants bustled about him buckling on his armor. His sword and spear leaned against the throne. I spied Rico sprawled across the throne itself, tootling away on a whistle, paying no attention to us. Alexios looked up at our entrance, a puzzled expression on his face that cleared only slightly when he spotted his wife at the center of the maelstrom.
“Oh,” he said. “Hello, my dear. And is that Evy with you? My, how you’ve grown.”
“Just where do you think you’re going?” demanded Euphrosyne. And, just like that, he looked like any common henpecked husband rather than the Emperor of Byzantium.
“Well, um, I was going out,” he began.
“Out? Out where? You’re not thinking of going to battle at your age.”
“Actually, I was. They expect me to.”
“Who does?” she demanded.
“Well, the citizens. The people. You know, the ones I rule.”
“The ones you rule. Yet you are off to battle because they expect you to. Sounds like they rule you.”
“Now, my dear, this happens to be the sort of thing an Emperor is expected to do every now and again.” He motioned to his servants who carefully lifted him off the sawhorse and stood him on the floor. He grimaced as his legs took the weight of the armor.
“You can’t even stand up without help,” she said scornfully.
“That’s why we have horses, my dear,” he replied. “Wonderful creatures. Carry you straight into battle, and not a word of complaint from them. I truly like horses.”
Rico stood on the throne, seized the Emperor’s spear, and used it to vault across the room.
“Here, Your Bigness,” he said, handing it to him. “Spit a few Frenchmen with it.”
“Thank you, little friend,” said the Emperor, taking it. “Would you be so kind as to bring my sword?”
The dwarf somersaulted across the floor, grabbed the sword, and dragged it slowly back. He raised it slowly over his head, then collapsed under the weight.
“It would take a mighty arm to wield this blade,” he said. He proffered it to the Emperor, who seized it and waved it clumsily about.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Like a fragment of a man,” Euphy said. “What will happen to me if you get yourself killed?”
“Oh, I expect you’ll manage,” he replied easily. “Get Laskaris to run the place—he’s the best of the bunch.”
She burst into tears. He looked at her impassively.
“That won’t work any more,” he said. “Go back to your plotting, Euphrosyne. If God sees fit to extend my life a little longer, then I will see you when I return.”
The tears stopped immediately. She turned and marched out of the room, Evdokia running to keep up. The Emperor watched them leave.
“And if He doesn’t, then I will see you in Hell,” he muttered. “By God, it would almost be worth dying in battle to get away from her.”
He turned and caught sight of me. “Go,” he said, frowning. “Go and attend your mistress.”
Rico chased me out of the room, squawking, “Go! Go!” like he was some deranged crow. I ran down the corridor, then slowed as I turned the corner and waited for him to catch up to me.
“Isn’t marriage wonderful?” he sighed.
“Easy for you to mock,” I said. “You’ve never been married.”
“I’ve been saving myself,” he informed me proudly.
“Really?”
“I figure that if he takes a spear in battle, I might have a chance with the flutist.”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it.
“She’s beneath you,” I said.
“Not yet,” he said. “But that would be the general idea. Did Euphy really think she could talk him out of going?”
“She forgets that he occasionally takes being Emperor seriously. Will he really ride to battle?”
“Just enough to give the city a good show,” he said. “He’ll wave his sword, shake his spear, flash the ikon, then send the Guard on ahead of him. His fighting days are long past.”
“How about the bribery?”
“I’ve brought it up. He said, ‘Is there enough gold in the world to make them go away, I wonder?’ It’s a good question. How did she like the idea?”
“I haven’t had a chance to mention it. The day has been filled with dramatics, and the quality of the acting has been poor.”
“Well, watch your back. When this family starts feuding, the words don’t last long. Sooner or later, the knives will come out. I’ll
see you tonight.”
We thumbed our noses at each other and left for opposite sides of the palace.
I returned to the Empress’s chambers in time to see the captain dragging Evdokia down the hallway as she shrieked, “But I don’t want to go to my room!” A door was slammed and bolted, and the shrieking faded.
The Empress was nowhere to be seen but had left a trail of battered ladies-in-waiting in her wake. I helped one of them get to her feet. Her name was Isadora, and she was from a wealthy family in the city who thought placing her with the Empress would further her prospects. So far, it had only taught her how to take a punch and keep smiling. Not the worst thing to learn, but still.
“Thank you, Fool,” she whispered to me, as I dabbed a kerchief at the blood on her lip. “It is fortunate that I am not expected to leave the palace anytime soon. I’d hate to be seen in public like this.”
“Wear it with pride,” I said. “The men are always boasting of their scars. Why shouldn’t we?”
She smiled wanly.
“May I ask you a question?” I whispered.
She glanced around, then nodded.
“I’ve become curious about a woman who lives on the Fifth Hill. She dresses in mourning and lives alone in a mansion set back from a high wall. The rumor is that she’s a witch. Do you know …”
Then I stopped, for she had turned quite white.
“Please, Aglaia,” she whispered fearfully. “Never mention her in this room.”
“But—”
She shook her head and walked away, leaving me holding a bloodied kerchief.
What was that all about? I wondered. Perhaps it was just simple superstition. Lord knows it ran rampant in this palace, with the tone set by the Empress. But when Euphy encountered a witch, she was more apt to trade recipes than to run away. What was special about this one?
It was too hard a knot for me to untie for now. I decided to let Time untangle it for me.
A servant came running from Euphy’s bedchamber. To my surprise, she came directly to me.
“She wants you,” she said. “Quickly!”
I looked at the female debris about me, gulped, took a deep breath, and headed in.
She was pacing the room, still in her imperial regalia, the crown askew. She stopped when she saw me, then strode toward me, her hands extended toward my face.
I did my best not to flinch. She seized my head in both hands and peered into my eyes.
“A daughter,” she said. “That is my prophecy.”
“I think so as well, Majesty,” I replied.
She nodded, satisfied, and released me. I rubbed my jaw where her fingers had dug in.
“Daughters are difficult,” she said.
“So I see.”
“The problem is, we spoiled them. Treated them too gently. They have no idea what the world is like, then suddenly they’re being married off and learning the hard way. My fault, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past. All I can do is change the future, and I have devoted every minute of my existence to that end.”
“Your untiring efforts in that regard are an inspiration, Highness.”
“Stop it,” she said sharply. “The one person I can count on to be honest in this entire city is you, Fool. Don’t play up to me when I need you the most.”
Well, compliments from an unexpected quarter. I never expected her to praise me for my honesty. It showed what a thorough job I had done in deceiving her.
“All right, Euphy,” I said. “What do you want from me? I won’t bother tuning my lute for this occasion.”
“I can’t keep Evy locked up forever, as much as I wish I could. We have to show the people how strong we are, and that’s everyone in the family. She will be out making her charitable rounds as usual. You know she’s fallen for this prisoner.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
She sighed.
“Romantic folly is the worst kind,” she continued. “One must be clear-eyed about men. Marriage is a relationship where the two parties use each other for their own ends. If you don’t want to be used, you can’t let love get in the way. That’s a lesson I’ve learned a little too late in life. I want to teach it to my daughters while they’re still young.”
“And Evy needs to learn it the most?”
“Exactly,” she said, pleased. “I want you to become her companion. Go with her on these outings. Worm your way into her confidences, and report back to me. She has bodyguards, but they don’t fully perceive what is happening with her. I need a woman in there, and you’re the only one I trust right now.”
I bowed.
“I will do this, of course,” I said. “But don’t you think she’ll suspect me?”
“I’ve already thought about that,” she said. She opened her door a crack, then beckoned to me. I peered through to see the ladies and servants working on their needlepoint and gossiping, all while keeping their ears pricked up in our direction.
“Traitor!” Euphy screamed suddenly, causing me to jump. I turned to look at her uncertainly. She was grinning maniacally. “You stupid, evil tramp! You think you have a license to mock to my face? Who knows what you do behind my back?”
“But, Your Majesty,” I protested, realizing the scene we were playing. “I was only trying to help.”
“I alone decide what is best for my daughters,” she shouted. “How dare you take their part! Go tell your little jokes to them if that’s the way you feel.”
She flung open the door and shoved me through it.
“If it please you,” I began, then stopped as I saw her pull back her arm. This is carrying verisimilitude a bit far, I thought just before her fist connected with my jaw. I pulled back at the last second to soften the blow, but she was remarkably strong for an old woman. I was knocked back onto the floor, skidding about ten feet on the smooth black marble. She slammed her door shut, and I sat up, surrounded by the stares of the other women. Some of them seemed frankly pleased at my discomfiture.
I inspected my lute for damage, but I had managed not to fall on it. I was glad, for I had only had it a few days, a gift from my husband. I then inspected my jaw, which I had had for much longer, a gift from my parents and of much less value. It was sore and tender. I suspected that a bruise would emerge. I pulled out my makeup kit from my bag.
“That’s one advantage I have over all of you,” I announced to the ladies as I powdered the flour-chalk mixture over my jaw, wincing a bit. “I can still show my face in public after that. Good day, gentlewomen. I leave you to the whims of this considerably less gentle woman.”
I walked out a bit unsteadily, but my head cleared by the time I reached the gate from the Blachernae complex. That was a blessing, at least. I needed a clear head tonight.
I was going out with my husband to commit a burglary.
SIX
Let’s vary piracee
With a little burglaree.
——W.S. GILBERT,
THE PIRATES OF
PENZANCE
I often marvel at the correspondence between religion and superstition in our world. One would expect the Church to push pagan beliefs and rituals out of the way, relegating them to the odd heathen sacrifice in a remote cave or a witches’ sabbath deep in the woods. Yet somehow the opposite was true. The greater the influence the Church had over a given area, the greater the concomitant use of talismans, worship of relics, interpretations of the stars, and casting of fortunes.
Perhaps it was because of the Church’s emphasis on saints and miracles rather than faith and morals, the rallying of armies to conquer Holy Lands rather than the rallying of minds and spirits to chasten sin and bring the gifts of goodness and charities on our own doorsteps.
All I truly know was that in this city of over two hundred churches, there was such widespread practice of arrant nonsensical magics that an ancient Greek or Roman—or even better, a Druid—dropped into the middle of the city would find himself right at home.
The Hagia Sophia was the large
st church in the world, or at least that part of the world that was known to us. Perhaps some enterprising monk even as we speak was building some bigger monstrosity in India or Cathay, but no one around here had heard anything about it. So, this pile of marble, porphyry, gold, tiles, and gems rose to the heavens from this shaky patch of land, all for the greater glory of God. Truly, it was a palace of a church, and it would be churlish to note that Our Savior set foot in a palace only once in His life that I can recall, and he didn’t particularly enjoy the experience.
The building was so infused with the trappings of holiness that it was no wonder that its congregants believed the very stones and tiles had powers. It had stood for so long that the powers had become specialized. Each of the 104 columns was invested with a particularized healing quality. One drew the lame; another supposedly cured maladies of the kidneys. Another, set in a gloomy gallery off to the side, reportedly helped those who had lost their sight. I had never heard of anyone actually being cured by this tall piece of rock, but the legend seized it and named it the Column of the Blind.
I watched the poor souls come into the gallery, stepping uncertainly. A pair of young deacons took each of the pilgrims by the elbow and led them to the column, which received their gifts and prayers with a face of stone. The deacons, I noticed, were not averse to accepting tips to further their holy work.
The bureaucrats of the Senate and the Great Palace complex frequented this gallery solely to amuse themselves by watching the blind stumble toward the column. They sat in the pews, twisted away from the altar, eating their lunches, laughing among themselves. I watched them with disgust.
“So many born blind, so many who have been blinded, so many who just refuse to see,” murmured a voice behind me.
“Hello, Nik,” I said without turning around. “Do you have time for a real lunch?”
“With you, always,” he said. “Let’s go to that place in the Genoese quarter.”
We left separately, passing through the Augustaion. As I walked by the Column of Theodosios, I marked Ranieri going the other way. I had been in such a suspicious frame of mind lately that I was ready to follow anyone at a moment’s notice, but lunch with Niketas was my priority now. Where was Plossus when I needed him?
