Anna of Byzantium

by Tracy Barrett

  “No matter,” said my father. “I am more pleased than otherwise.” He looked John up and down. “So, my son, how has it been faring with you? Are you making progress in your studies?”

  “Oh, yes, Father,” said John. “Master Simon is most pleased with my progress.” I felt my jaw drop open, and saw that Maria was gaping too. Did he not care that we all knew he was lying, or was he counting on our unwillingness to displease our father by exposing the lie to keep us silent? I clenched my teeth to keep from blurting out the truth.

  “And do you help your mother while I am away? You are my son, and must be the man when I am not here.”

  “Yes, Father,” he said, and again I had to struggle to hide my disgust at his barefaced lies. Far from being a help, John made everyone work even harder trying to keep him satisfied and not causing trouble with his temper. But my father seemed to believe him, and even our grandmother nodded approval.

  “Good, good,” my father said, smiling again. “You may go now and join the others.” John approached us, lifting his face in my direction to find his proper spot. I noticed that despite his apparent sobbing a moment before, John’s face was completely dry of tears, and no redness marred his eyes. Little hypocrite, I thought with contempt. He is no more moved at our father’s homecoming than he would be at a servant’s return. As he took his place next to Maria, I could feel her shift her weight slightly in my direction, as though to avoid contact with our brother. Good, I thought. So she doesn’t like him either. The thought cheered me, I know not why. I think the realization made me feel less alone.

  My father seemed determined to make everyone happy, and he started by showing us the treasures he had brought back from his travels. Surrounded by his advisors, both those he had taken with him and those who had remained behind to help my grandmother govern, he ordered box after box brought forward and opened. Fabrics, both silk and of other glowing materials, in many glittering colors, were presented to our dazzled eyes. Painted pictures, some enclosed in precious golden frames, ivory figurines, silver buckles, gold earrings, jeweled necklaces—after a while I felt drunk with the sight. Slaves, some of regal bearing and proud faces, others with beaten-down expressions and wilting postures, were paraded in front of us. Small boxes of precious spices were thrown open until the very air seemed heavy with the scents.

  To my mother he presented a gold and crystal box, containing a tiny piece of something yellow. “Can you guess what it is, wife?” he asked.

  “I hardly d-d-dare hope …” she stammered.

  “Yes,” he replied. “It is a piece of the finger bone of St. Irene, your patroness.” Mother dropped to her knees and pressed her lips to the front of the reliquary. The small church of St. Irene was dear to her heart, being dedicated not only to the saint for whom she was named, but also to peace. I knew how she longed for the wars with the Turks to end so that my father would stay home.

  Her trembling hands threatened to drop the precious fragment, so my father signaled to Father Agathos to bear it away. He did so with great reverence.

  To Maria my father gave a chessboard of inlaid precious woods and stones, with intricately carved ivory pieces. John’s gift was a tiny white pony with a splendid saddle, which my father said he had captured from a Turkish chieftain who kept it in his tent, like a pet. And to me he gave a gorgeous parrot, green, gold, and red. I was frightened of its beak and odd, wrinkled claws, but also intrigued by its bright colors, its exotic face, and the words it uttered in a crackly voice. I couldn’t understand its speech, but my father said it was Turkish, and that the bird was asking me for a treat. One of the servants handed me a grape, and I offered it in the parrot’s direction. He took it with a surprisingly gentle claw, ate it, and then spoke again.

  “He said, ‘Thank you,’ ” my father translated. I was enchanted. Many people had chessboards like Maria’s, and I already had a pony that was prettier than John’s, but no one had a talking bird.

  After we had all exclaimed over our gifts, and they had been removed by the servants, my father dismissed us. As we children all turned to leave, my father said, “But you stay, Princess Anna.”

  I longed so to keep walking, to pretend I had not heard, but I knew that it was useless. I retraced my steps, stopping in front of the throne, and wondered if I should make my bow to the floor again. But my father was descending the platform, and took me by the hand to a small stool normally occupied by one of his counselors. He sat on another stool next to mine.

  “Have you missed me too?” he asked, continuing to hold my hand.

  “Of course, Father,” I said. Tears rose to my eyes. I had struggled so hard to maintain my dignity and treat him with respect, successfully fighting the urge to leap into his lap as I had done when a child, and now he thought that I was being formal only because I had not missed him, whereas John’s false outburst was seen as true love. No matter what I did, it seemed to be wrong.

  But he did not appear to notice my tears. “Have you missed anyone else?” he asked. I looked at him, confused. Who could he mean? But without turning around, he put his hand behind him and beckoned with a finger. Out of the throng of men stepped a tall athletic figure, crowned with glorious golden hair.

  It was Constantine Ducas, and he was smiling at me. He had broadened during the year away, and looked more like a man than like the slender youth he had been when he left. His face bore a new scar, but it did not detract from his beauty, merely made him appear a more seasoned veteran than an untried novice.

  “Your betrothed acquitted himself well,” my father said, “and bears with him even now the marks of his valor.”

  Constantine suddenly laughed, a merry sound that dispelled much of the tension I had been feeling. “This scar was not made by a sword-cut, Princess,” he said, touching the mark where it ran around his jawbone. “Nothing so exciting. I was unhorsed during our first campaign, and as I fell, I scraped my face on the ornaments on my saddle. From then on, I assure you I rode with a saddle as plain as any used by our humblest knight!”

  “Ah, but he slew many a Turk after that battle,” my father said.

  “How many Turks were there?” I asked. Both men laughed, looking at each other.

  “Numbers impossible to count,” my father said. “Some were valiant soldiers, others were as cowardly as their infidel souls would make them. But are you interested in warfare?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, my eagerness making me forget to be dignified. “I want to know what kind of battle-engines you used, and how the campaigns were waged, and what were the terms of surrender—” I stopped short, afraid that Constantine would laugh at my eagerness. But instead, he approached, his face serious again. He knelt next to me, so that despite his height his head was nearly at a level with mine as I sat on my stool.

  “I am glad you are interested in these things,” he said, “and when we have rested I will tell you all you wish to know. Accompanied by a proper chaperone, of course,” he added hastily, and I felt myself blush as I realized that I had been imagining speaking with him alone.

  Seeing my confusion, perhaps, my father hastily intervened. “Why don’t you show us what else you have learned, Princess, by checking on the progress of the feast while we go to our rooms and prepare ourselves to dine?”

  I rose to my feet, and they did too. I bowed to my father, scarcely dared to glance at Constantine, and walked as quickly as I could out of the throne room. I didn’t slow down until I had turned enough corners to make sure that no one could see me, and then I leaned against the wall and pressed my hand to my chest, feeling my heart pounding and my breath coming in short gasps. Had I acted like a fool? Would he think me a silly child, one not yet old enough to wear the veil, just as my father had?

  When I had regained my composure, I continued on my way to the kitchen. It was familiar territory to me, as my mother had been instructing me in the proper methods of supervising the meals. A palace was just a large house, she reminded me, and the mistress of the house must
be in charge of making sure the larders were full, and that delicious and wholesome food was available to all who hungered.

  I passed near a garbage heap outside one of the minor kitchens, and my eye was caught by a flash of green and gold on top of it. I stopped and looked more closely. It was my parrot, the one my father had brought back for me, and it lay there dead, its neck wrung. Its eyes were already glazing over. As I stared in horrified disbelief, a slave passed nearby and saw me staring.

  “That bird bit the little prince, Your Majesty,” he said. “It drew blood and made him scream, and as soon as he could draw breath again, he ordered it killed. Dirty beast, and not big enough to eat. If you’ll excuse me, I have my work to do.” He passed on through the door as I stared at the silent bird, my errand forgotten.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  he feast was glorious. There were musicians, jugglers, and storytellers. Everyone was in a happy mood at the return of the warriors, and the tales my father and the other men were telling must have been uproariously funny, to judge from the reaction of their companions. John was taking his place at the men’s table for the first time. I glared at him, wishing I could have him punished for killing my parrot. But I knew that no one would listen to me. Anyone, even an animal, that harmed a member of the imperial family, had to be dealt with severely. The parrot had been executed for the crime of treason.

  Since the men and women sat at different tables, we women could remove our veils as we ate. I was glad of this, for I had no practice in eating veiled, and did not want to do it for the first time at such a banquet. The food was delicious; all my father’s favorite savory dishes were served. The spices made me thirsty, and I drank more wine than I was used to. My mother was so occupied with attending to my father’s needs, sending platters of special dishes to his table, bidding servants to refill his glass when it was only half empty, that she did not notice how much drink I consumed.

  The wine made the evening pass more quickly. But when a platter of roasted peacock was brought out, its tail arranged around its steaming body in a glowing display of green and gold feathers, I suddenly saw again the corpse of my parrot lying on the rubbish heap. A wave of nausea hit me, and I slipped from the table.

  I knew that my absence would be noted if I stayed away for long, so instead of returning to my chamber to lie down, I stepped out the nearest doorway into the courtyard to breathe some fresh air. I leaned my forehead against a cool stone column, and stayed that way until my breathing slowed and my stomach settled. The sweet smell of the flowers and herbs growing in the small space cleared my head and I straightened up, gathering the courage to enter the noisy, hot room again. I had thought I was alone, so I jumped when a voice behind me said, “Are you unwell, Princess?”

  Whirling around, I saw Constantine Ducas sitting on a stone bench not three yards away. Hurriedly I adjusted my veil to cover my mouth and chin again, and looked around to see if anyone else was in sight. Nobody, to my relief. He must have read my mind, for he said, “I know it is not really proper for us to be here together, but I don’t think anyone else will follow us. They are enjoying themselves too much.”

  As if to confirm his words, a burst of laughter flew out the door. I relaxed a little. “What are you doing out here, Cousin?” I asked. I felt too shy to use any other name.

  “All the noise and the food …” He shook his head. “It was too strong a contrast with the way I have been living recently, camping out in a tent, eating what we could find. I needed to come out and remind myself that there was still an outer world, still a sky with stars.” I looked up at the familiar constellations as he said that. I felt him move nearer, and quickly took a step back. He stopped immediately.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It is not really improper for us to spend a few minutes alone together. We are, after all, betrothed, and have been for a long time. Indeed, our betrothal is one of my earliest memories.”

  “I don’t remember it,” I said, wondering.

  “Of course you don’t,” he said with a grin. “You were an infant in your cradle. They led me up to where you lay, and told me that someday you and I would wed, and at that moment you started crying. Everyone laughed, and I started crying too. My nurse gave me a piece of sugar to suck on. So you see, our first meeting was sweet, for me at least.” I nodded, not knowing what to say. I was embarrassed at the story, even though I knew that crying is normal for babies.

  “I hope,” he said in a more serious voice, “I hope,

  Princess Anna, that the thought of our engagement does not displease you now.”

  “Oh, no—” I started to say, but my voice came out in a croak. I paused and started over, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “Oh, no, Prince Constantine, the thought is most pleasing. I can think of no one I would rather wed.”

  “Good,” said he, still keeping a careful distance. “Now, perhaps, we had better return to the feast. Engaged couples are notorious for sneaking off on their own, and we don’t want anyone to think that we’re doing anything—”

  “No, no,” I said hastily, not waiting for him to finish. I gathered up my long skirts and moved through the open doorway. I slipped as quietly as I could into my seat, and took a sip of wine, hoping to slow the beating of my heart. Constantine, I saw, had also regained his seat, and was carefully, or so it appeared, avoiding looking in my direction.

  Then I noticed that John’s place was empty. But it did not remain so for long. He came in through the same door Constantine and I had used. My heart sank. Had that monkey been out there with us? He did not look at me, but instead went straight to our father, and whispered something in his ear. My father appeared to ask him a question, and John nodded vigorously. Then my father glanced over at me, and in Constantine’s direction, before pointing to John’s empty seat. John nodded again, and returned to where he had been sitting, shooting me a smug smile as he did so. I saw that his hand was bandaged. I wish my parrot had bitten his finger all the way off, I thought savagely.

  My appetite gone for good now, I sat at the table and watched as course after course was laid out, served, and removed.The best I could manage was to shift the food around to make it look as though I had eaten some. Voices around me rose and fell in song. The din was deafening.

  I was sickened at the thought that at any moment my father might call me up to his table and ask me what had transpired outside. But perhaps I would escape, as the meal was ending. The musicians made a final flourish of their instruments, the acrobat turned one last handspring out the door, and my father and mother rose, he at the head of the men’s table, she at the women’s.

  “Friends and family!” called out my father. “Thank you for your attendance at this banquet. All of us are most heartily glad to be back. Only some seem more glad than others. Constantine!” he called. My betrothed stepped forward, looking confused. He bowed to my father, then looked up expectantly.

  “We missed you for a long time at the table,” went on my father. “Where did you disappear to?”

  Everyone was silent, and all except me (and John, I was by now sickeningly sure) must have wondered what he was talking about.

  Constantine made a gesture with his hands as though to dismiss the question. “I wished to go to the ah—ah—” he stumbled.

  “Oh, did you?” my father said. “Well, you must have gotten confused, because the door to the ah—ah—is over there, and you were seen coming in this door. Surely, Constantine, you know that we are no longer on campaign, and there are proper places for doing these things!”

  By now everyone knew my father was joking, and they were laughing at the young man’s confusion. All except me. My father then picked little John up and stood him on the table in front of him. “Tell us what you heard,” he commanded, and the little imp turned to face the company, his piercing voice, mocking mine and Constantine’s, “Our first meeting was sweet for me, Princess Anna—Oh, Prince Constantine, I can think of no one I would rather wed.”

  Laughter erupted once
more. Even Constantine appeared not to be offended at being mocked, but joined in the merriment, grabbing at my brother, tickling him and saying, “You little fiend! Where were you hiding?”

  The only two faces I could see that were not laughing were those of my mother, who looked imploringly at me, and my grandmother, who stood apart, grimly surveying the scene. I tried my best to join in the mirth, but with the tears starting from my eyes, it was impossible to feign a laugh without allowing a sob to escape from my throat.

  Finally, wiping his eyes, my father spoke over the crowd again. “Enough, enough, we are embarrassing them! Let us all retire for the night. Your Majesty?”

  My mother still looking at me, did not answer. My father repeated, “Your Majesty?” and she started as though awakened from a dream, put her veil back over her face, and went toward him at the men’s table. Hand in hand they went out the door. I longed to follow on their heels, but escape was not to prove so easy. Before I could leave I had to put up with the jokes of all who passed, and it was not until the crowd had thinned enough to let me out that I fled, seeking the sanctuary of my bedchamber.

  Thank Heaven, it was empty but for Maria. I flung myself on my bed and let go of the sobs that I had been holding in ever since my father had first addressed Constantine. Maria sat by my side, stroking my hair, making soothing noises. After I had cried myself silent, I lay facedown, exhausted. I heard footsteps, and Maria rose from the bed. Raising myself up on one elbow, I saw her making the usual bow to our mother. I didn’t bother to do the same, certain that she wasn’t going to scold me for lack of respect. And she did not, but took Maria’s place, sitting next to me on the bed.

  “Anna,” she said, “Anna, my darling, you must learn to relax your dignity a little.”

  “Relax my dignity, Mother?” I said, starting up with indignation. “You ask me to stand by in peace while I am mocked?”