“But, Anna,” she said, “that kind of teasing is common with betrothed couples. I saw how much you were suffering and felt for you, but it is something you must grow accustomed to. You won’t be married for several more years, and it is bound to happen again.”
“Father wasn’t trying to make you sad, Anna,” Maria said, her little face looking worried.
“I know, Maria.” I was too exhausted to tell her how humiliated I had been. I wished they would both leave me alone, and let Sophia undress me so I could sleep.
“Then why are you crying?”
Before I could explain, an answer came from the doorway.
“She is crying from shame,” said a cold voice. I looked up. There stood Anna Dalassena, her face stern, her long hand gripping the door frame.
“She has not behaved like a princess,” continued my grandmother, stepping into the chamber. “She has not behaved like a Comnenus. She has behaved like a Ducas, like a silly, weak girl, and she knows she has degraded herself by so doing.”
“Enough,” said my mother coldly. “The child has suffered enough tonight.”
“Suffering?” my grandmother laughed. “You call that suffering? Eating a luxurious banquet, wearing silk robes, and having people laugh because she disappears with her betrothed? If she wants to know what suffering is, she should try living in a tent with no servants, the way I did when I was planning for Alexius’ glorious reentry to the throne.”
“That was a long time ago,” said my mother, still with little emotion.
“I did not know that I was allowed to resent the actions of your family for only a limited time.” I looked up sharply. Surely those were the words my mother had used when talking about my grandmother in the chapel.
My mother had turned white. But if she too recognized the words, she said nothing about them, but returned to the subject of my disappearance with Constantine.
“She made a mistake, true, but I believe it was done in all innocence. Anna is the least deceitful person in the world.”
My grandmother ignored this and said, “My father would have had me whipped if I had behaved in such a way.”
“They were gone but a few minutes,” my mother protested. “There was no time for anything to happen.”
“Oh, so you saw them go, did you?” said my grandmother. “I am not surprised that you said nothing. You have taught your loose Ducas ways to your daughter.”
“I have taught her wrongly? Who is the one who teaches her to be cold and cruel? Who tells her to lie, to make promises and not keep them? And who is it that teaches John to repeat what he overhears?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” said my grandmother smoothly, and moved as though to leave the room, but my mother rose to her feet and blocked the door.
“Oh, you have no idea what I mean, do you?” she said, her eyes flashing. “How did you know what I said to Alexius in the chapel?”
“Alexius? The chapel?” Grandmother laughed without humor. “You are raving, woman. You Ducases have been known to have weak minds.”
“Enough about the Ducases!” shouted my mother, raising her fists as though to strike the older woman. “They were ruling an empire when you were living in a tent and tending goats in your bare feet! We are descended from the great hero Digenis Akritas! Who are you descended from? Barbarians! Illiterate peasants! Even now, you must have your own decrees read aloud to you, because you can’t tell an alpha from an omega!”
Silence fell, but it was a silence that crackled and stung, like the air just before lightning hits. I realized that I had been holding my breath, and made the mistake of audibly releasing it. On hearing me, my grandmother swung around. Her face was contorted, her eyes narrowed.
“This is nonsense,” she hissed. “You are not to listen to what that woman says. The Dalassenas and the Comneni are of ancient and noble stock.”
“Ancient and noble goatherds!” sneered my mother. But my grandmother ignored her.
“You will behave like a Comnenus,” she went on. “You will not see that young man, or any other young man except your brother, unless you have a proper chaperone—and I do not mean your mother. You will attend me tomorrow morning in the throne room.” She wheeled and made as though to go through the door. But my mother still blocked the exit, and I wondered which one of them would give way. My mother looked my grandmother in the eye—the two women were very much of the same height, although my mother’s fair coloring and bright hair made her look somehow taller than the older woman, with her black hair, sallow skin, and dark clothes. They stayed like this for several long seconds, and suddenly my mother smiled coldly.
“You have my permission to withdraw,” she said, moving away from the door. And Anna Dalassena swept through, hard shoes clicking on the floor, black skirt swishing on the cloth hanging as my mother let it go.
My mother turned to us, said, “Girls …” and fainted.
CHAPTER TWELVE
aria and I were frozen, but fortunately Sophia returned at that moment and caught my mother as she fell. Together she and I put her on the bed, and Maria ran to summon another servant to bring damp cloths and perfumes to help her recover. Mother came to herself in a few minutes, and refusing all offers of help, returned to her own room with her servant supporting her.
I slept poorly that night, and had a disturbing dream. I dreamt that I had walked into the banquet hall, my hand held by Constantine. Both of us wore golden crowns, and we went to take our seats at the heads of the two tables. Suddenly a huge bird, green and gold, but with the face of a human, appeared in front of us, blocking our way. It spoke words that I could not comprehend, but which I could tell had an evil import. I turned in horror to Constantine, but instead of my handsome warrior, I saw that I was holding the paw of a monkey. It laughed and jumped up and down in the way of apes, shouting, “The bird speaks truth! You will never sit in that throne!” and then let go of my hand and whirled away, jumping and leaping on all the banquet tables, upsetting the wine until it flowed like blood over the tablecloths. All around me people were laughing, mouths wide, mockery on their faces, and they all pointed at me as I turned and turned, trying to escape, finding myself ever more hemmed in by crowds that would not let me flee.
I woke up in a sweat, my bedclothes wrapped tight around me. Slowly I unwound them and rose, trying to dispel the evil dream as I made ready for the day. Maria was stirring under her own quilt, and the maids were already laying out our clothes. For me there was a golden-brown robe, one of my better items, but not as formal as that purple-trimmed thing that had caused my father displeasure the day before. We dressed slowly, Maria and I, and we ate the light breakfast that Dora brought for us.
I had no intention of attending my grandmother in the throne room, as she had commanded, but when my father summoned me there before noon, I had no choice but to obey. Sophia gave my hair a hasty dressing, and then accompanied me. When she had seen me safely to the door, she gave my hand a quick squeeze, and left.
Once again I made my approach, and once again I bowed. My heart was pounding, and my head spun, I suppose from the aftereffects of the wine I had drunk the night before. My father bade me rise, and as I did so, I saw that in the throne next to him sat not my mother, but my grandmother. The surprise must have shown on my face, for my father said, “Your mother is unwell this morning, and your grandmother has agreed to assist me today.” I nodded, not wanting to say what I was thinking. I was accustomed to seeing my grandmother at my father’s side, but I resented her presence in the seat reserved for the empress.
“Come,” continued my father. “Come sit on this stool by me and tell of what you have been doing while I have been saving Christendom, little Anna.” He gave a self-mocking smile as he said these last words.
“She should be veiled,” interrupted my grandmother. “There are other men present.”
Indeed, the usual crowd of counselors surrounded the throne platform. My father sighed and motioned to one of his servants, who n
odded and left the room, returning in a moment with a plain black veil. My grandmother rose from her throne, and had me turn my back to her and my father as she tied the cords behind my head. As she did so, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Take care how you answer! Our future depends on it!”
Our future? What had her future to do with it? She was an old woman. It was my future that concerned me. But I could not answer, for she spun me around to face my father again. He smiled reassuringly and motioned to the stool. I sat on it stiffly, wishing the ordeal were over with.
“Now, tell me, Princess,” he began. “How go your studies?”
“Very well, Father,” I answered.
“Just ‘very well’? What kind of answer is that? Come, daughter, tell me what you like to study and what you do not.”
“Indeed, Father, there is nothing I do not like to study,” I answered. “Of all subjects, I suppose history and astronomy please me the most.”
“And why is that?”
I had never asked myself that question and did not really know the answer. But my grandmother was growing visibly impatient as I hesitated, so I started speaking, hoping the right words would leave my lips.
“I suppose—I suppose—” Then I spoke hastily to avert the storm I saw gathering on Anna Dalassena’s face. “I suppose because nothing can change them,” I said. “What is past is past, and we can never change history. And the stars are unchanging; they dance each night in the heavens, but one who knows their steps can say what dance they will be doing the next night.”
“But all life is change, little Anna,” he said. “Why do you dislike change so much?”
Again I did not quite know how to answer, so I said slowly, “Changes are rarely for the better.” I did not explain, and hoped he would move on to a different subject rather than ask me for examples of evil change. I could hardly say that the birth of his son had been an unhappy event for me, that I had wanted things to go on the way they always had. His departures for war were changes that upset everyone, and it was only when he returned and life went back to its normal course that we lived happily in the palace. Fortunately, he did not pursue the matter, but went on.
“I understand that you have been learning statecraft with your grandmother,” he continued, turning his smile on her. Her thin lips smiled back, but her eyes did not join in as she watched me closely while I nodded agreement.
“And do you learn much from her?” he asked.
I nodded again, hands clenched in my lap. I kept my eyes on him, but wanted so desperately to run away that it was an effort to keep seated.
“She is a good teacher, Anna,” he said. “I myself learned much from her, and I would not ever have become emperor if it had not been for her counsel. That is why even now she is my most trusted advisor.” This time my grandmother’s eyes gleamed as she smiled, turning to look at my father. He returned her gaze for a moment, then turned back to me.
“And what do you learn in your lessons with your grandmother?”
A question I could not answer with a nod. I stumbled through my response, my voice hoarse as though I had a cold. “I learn how wars are waged—how palaces are managed—how treaties are made and broken—how alliances are formed to mutual advantage—”
He held up a hand to stop me. “How treaties are made and broken?” His voice slightly emphasized the last word.
“Broken by the other party,” my grandmother interrupted smoothly. “And how we must react without dishonor when that happens.”
I stared at her, astonished at the bold-faced lie. She had not just talked with me about what to do when the other side failed to live up to its side of the bargain; she had spent long hours detailing how to break a treaty without appearing to do so. But before I could say anything, my father had gone on to another question. “And what have you learned of the history of our family, Anna?” he asked.
I dragged my thoughts away from my grandmother’s lie and forced myself to think.
“I have learned little of the Comneni,” I answered, “since it seems we did little of note until my great-uncle Isaac became emperor. Previously, we were barons, were we not, and ruled over small holdings that gradually increased through our military might?”
“Indeed so,” answered my grandmother. “We have much to be proud of, and it is plain to see that the Ducas blood has not tainted you very deeply.” She smiled at me, but instead of feeling proud of the compliment, I suddenly grew enraged at the insult to my mother and to my betrothed. What was there about Ducas blood that would dishonor me, or anyone? And who was she to say we have much to proud of? She was not a Comnenus, not even half a Comnenus, as I was.
“One thing Grandmother has not told me much about,” I continued, as though I had not heard her, and my father leaned forward, obviously relieved that I was finally speaking of my own volition, “is the history of her own Dalassena family.” I turned to my grandmother, and was startled at the venom in her eyes. But I made myself go on, as though I had not noticed, keeping my face expressionless, as I did when playing chess. Don’t let your opponent know that her king is in danger, I reminded myself. “There was a Dalassena who married into the Ducases, was there not, Grandmother, a Eudocia Dalassena? Was she a close relation of yours?”
“Hardly,” she answered, her face turning dark as she glared at me. “A distant cousin.”
“And what,” I pursued, “were the Dalassenas doing while the Comneni were increasing their power and the Ducases were consolidating their own?”
My father leaned back and looked at his mother. As she struggled to come up with an answer, he appeared to take pity on her.
“The Dalassenas are an ancient family, too,” he replied. “It is through no fault of their own that they were not able to rise to the station that befitted them until—”
“Until they married into it?” I asked, my voice reflecting an innocence that I knew my grandmother would recognize as feigned. Fortunately, my father did not know me so well.
“Indeed,” he said, smiling. “And they proved themselves worthy of their new station, and aided it well. You say that your grandmother has told you of her assistance to me in attaining the throne—”
“Oh, she told me that she did more than that, Father,” I said in my sweetest voice. I felt myself move across the chessboard until the king was in my sight. “She said that she alone was responsible for your attaining the throne. I assure you, I was fascinated by the tale.”
“That is not what I said!” exclaimed my grandmother. “The child has misunderstood me!” A weak attempt to escape checkmate, I thought.
“It would be difficult to misunderstand words like ‘I did it,’ Grandmother,” I said.
“What are you trying to say?” she asked. I saw her king topple and moved in to capture him.
“Merely that you told me—” but I could not finish the game, for my father raised his hand. He was laughing.
“Enough, enough, ladies! I see that you are two of a kind,” he said as we fell silent, glaring at each other. “Neither one of you will admit to being wrong, and neither one of you will change your mind. I see, Mother, that you will have a struggle to maintain your influence if I fall in battle and it is Anna, not I, who sits in this throne!”
I made the sign of the cross to avert the evil omen of his words. My grandmother did not, but regarded me levelly. “Yes,” she said finally. “I will indeed.” And after making a low, formal bow to my father, she swept from the room without waiting for his permission to withdraw.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
fter Anna Dalassena left, there was silence in the throne room. I sat frozen to my stool, breathless at the chance I had taken in provoking my grandmother, and giddy with relief that she had not lashed out at me with her tongue. I prayed silently that my father would dismiss me quickly, and he did so after a few moments, murmuring a blessing and kissing me on the forehead. I bowed as quickly as I dared, and entered the corridor, intending to go to my bedchamber. Instead, I
felt my arm grasped by a hand. What now? I asked myself wearily, and turned to see who had hold of me. To my relief, it was Simon.
“Little Beetle!” he exclaimed, his ready grin spreading across his round face. “You must see the new additions to the library!” And without waiting for an answer, he bustled off toward that wing of the palace with his characteristic waddle. He didn’t wait for me, but if he had been assuming that I would follow, he was right, for I was eager to distract myself with study.
Several open boxes sat on the floor, and Simon bent over one of them, pulling out its contents for me to see. He held a scroll and unrolled it partway to show me the contents. I saw nothing fancy, no illuminations, but beautiful, clear handwriting that filled the page.
“Where did these come from?” I wondered aloud. “Surely it’s not booty—the infidels do not write in Greek and Latin.”
“In a way, they’re booty,” Simon said, searching for the perfect place on the shelves to set the scroll he had showed me. “With some of the gold and other treasures your father seized, he ordered that scrolls and books be bought. See—most of them are history.”
I bent down in my turn and pulled something out of the wooden box. No scroll, but a bound book, heavy and interesting-looking. It also seemed newer than some of the others. I read the author’s name out loud, “Nicephorus Bryennius,” and looked up at Simon. “Who is Nicephorus Bryennius?”
“There!” he said with satisfaction, having slid the scroll into what must have been exactly the right spot. “What were you saying?”
“Can’t you ever listen to me?” I asked, but Simon was busy examining a new book. “I said, who is Nicephorus Bryennius?”
Simon came over and looked at the book with satisfaction. “This is a real treasure,” he said. “Not many of them have been copied yet. It must have cost a pretty penny. The author is a Byzantine, Princess, and a soldier. He knows your father well. He is also a historian, and someday his name will be spoken in the same breath with the names of the greatest historians of the past, like Thucydides and Herodotus.”
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