Later I heard that Constantine, far from being angered when he heard the news of our broken betrothal, fell to his knees and swore eternal allegiance to his new emperor. He had shown his loyalty to my father by this action, and joined him when he left for yet another war.
I joined the rest of the imperial family in the church before my father departed, and we all prayed formally for his safe return. When we gathered in the courtyard to make our farewells, he blessed me as he did Maria and John and my cousins, but his lips felt cold, and his hand barely touched my bowed head.
What solace I found came from my studies. As we imperial children were needing less of his tutoring, Simon took over the duties of the librarian. Even when we both worked in silence, his presence was soothing. Under his guidance, I studied for hours every day, bending over the books, all with different styles of writing, until my eyes glazed and my head swam. But every time I stopped, images of myself on the throne, the golden Constantine next to me, would fill my head. I would force myself to read more until I was so weary that when I finally tumbled into bed, Sophia had to undress my motionless form, and every night I slept a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I was too tired even to read, I would lie on the carpet in the classroom and ask Simon for stories. His voice calmed me, and his tales distracted me. As I reached my thirteenth year, he discouraged this practice as unseemly for a nearly full-grown woman, but sometimes he would still indulge me. Occasionally he would tell me about the old gods, but now that I knew they were dead,as Father Agathos had said, I was less interested in them than in the tales of earlier rulers of our empire.
“Empress Zoë,” I would say to him.
“This is not a story for young ears,” he would say.
“Empress Zoë,” I would repeat.
“Empress Zoë,” he would say with a sigh. “She would be about the age of your grandmother, I suppose, if she were still alive. Are you sure you want to hear this yet again, Little Beetle?”
“Empress Zoë,” I would say for a third time, and Simon would hurry through the recital of the facts that I so relished hearing.
“She was married to the Emperor Romanus III but was in love with another, Michael the Paphlagonian. She ordered her husband murdered, married Michael, and had him crowned emperor.”
He would always stop here, until I prompted him with, “And then?”
“Well, and then Michael died. I don’t really know what happened to him, but in a short time his widow was married to her last husband, Constantine IX Monomachus.”
I would wait a few minutes to savor the tale. Then, “Irene,” I would say.
“Oh, Empress Irene lived hundreds of years ago. She called herself king instead of queen, because she would not admit the power of any man over her. When her son reached legal age to rule, she refused to turn the throne over to him. When he threatened to have her forcibly removed, she had him dragged to the purple bedchamber where she had given birth to him.”
“And then?” This was my favorite part of the story, but Simon was always reluctant to tell it.
“Then she had her slaves blind him, in front of her eyes. She shouted to him, loudly enough to make herself heard over his screams, ‘The room where you first saw the light shall be the last place you ever see the light!’ ”
“And he never tried to take the throne again,” I would say, satisfied.
“How could he, Little Beetle? He was a broken man.”
I found these stories satisfying. I knew my mother did not approve of them, but I also knew that she did not understand the thirst for revenge. So I spent as much time as I could in Simon’s company, begging him for more. He finally either ran out of tales or got tired of repeating them, and so gave me histories to read for myself. Psellus’ Chronographia, with its portraits of fourteen great rulers of our empire, became my obsession. I decided to write a life of my father, taking the Chronographia as inspiration. When he came back he would see how much I had learned, and realize my devotion to him. I had given up all hope of regaining the throne, but I still longed for my father to forgive me and love me as he had before.
I was at work on this task in the library one day shortly after my thirteenth birthday when Sophia came into the room. Her face looked even homelier than usual, for I could see that she had been crying. She entered my presence slowly, her lips pressed tight.
“Have you still not learned to bow?” I asked, but more out of habit than anything else. I was resigned to the fact that Sophia would never be a proper servant. But instead of prostrating herself on the floor, she said, “Your Majesty, I have been instructed to tell you some bad news.”
I stood up, my hand to my throat, my heart racing. My father was safe with the pope, working out some diplomatic matter—surely nothing could have happened to him in the safety of the papal palace? My mother?
“What is it?” I managed to say.
“It is that your mother’s cousin, Constantine Ducas, has died.”
Died? The golden Constantine? I clutched the edge of the table for support, scattering pens and paper. Simon, hearing the commotion, moved swiftly to my side, and grasped my arm to keep me from falling.
“Died?” I said when I felt in command of my tongue. “Who murdered him?”
“He was not murdered, Your Majesty,” she said. “He fell in battle. They say he died instantly, and felt no pain.”
Simon lowered me back to my chair, but I shooed him away. There was a drumming in my ears, and I began to tremble as I absorbed what I had heard.
So Constantine was dead. He had been dead to me for a long time, at least officially. But I had still sometimes caught glimpses of him on the polo ground where we had first met, in the throne room, or in a parade with my father. I knew he was not married—we would all have been summoned to the wedding of a relation—and I still thought that someday my father might see an advantage to my marrying him. I knew that it was a foolish hope, but I had so little to hope for that I clung to it desperately.
I turned back to my books, trying to lose myself in study. For once I was not successful. I fled to my room, which was mercifully empty. I sobbed and sobbed into my pillow. What crime had I committed that everything was being taken away from me?
I refused to come down to dinner, saying I had a headache. I sat on a chair, staring at the torch, watching the flames flicker whenever anyone passed in the hallway, causing a breeze through the open door. I could see shapes in the flame—first myself as a little girl, seeing John for the first time, then my grandmother, schooling me in the arts I was to need in my glorious future life, then my father, returning battle-stained from war. But mostly I saw Constantine, walking so gracefully he seemed to be dancing, his golden hair shining in the light, his ready smile, the scar on his cheek. In the flames he seemed to move closer to me, then recede, then move closer, finally vanishing altogether as I fell asleep, exhausted.
When I woke up, a hollow feeling had invaded my chest. I sat up in my bed (where someone must have moved me) and looked around. Sophia’s place was empty. She has gone to the privy, I thought. The hot, stuffy air of the bedchamber was oppressive, and I suddenly longed for a breath of cool night air. Careful not to disturb Maria, who slumbered next to me, I eased aside the heavy hanging and slipped through the opening, then moved down the hall, my bare feet noiseless on the stone floor.
I had never been alone in the corridor after dark. Its familiar daytime aspect seemed utterly changed without the usual throng of people walking briskly up and down. The stone floor was icy under my feet, and the walls, as I pressed against them, were no warmer. Every few yards a torch flared and flickered, making strange shadows dance on the walls. I passed a few doors, each covered by a thick cloth to keep noises and drafts out, and I tiptoed past the guards’ room and up the stairs to the battlements.
Here the moonless sky shone with stars. Simon had taught me how to identify the constellations, and I was grateful that they at least were unchanging, following the pattern that had been
ordained for them. Nothing done by humans could alter their destiny. There was Orion, the great hunter, his faithful dog, Sirius, at his heel. The Dragon curled around the sky, and there—
What was that? A sound came from behind a pillar on my left. I had come up so quietly that I hoped that whoever was there didn’t know they had company. If I slipped away now, no one would ever know I had left my bed. As I backed away, my feet made a small noise. But it was enough for the person behind the pillar. A shape moved out, and a voice said, “Malik?”
I froze. The form came closer, and in the bright starlight I could see that it was Sophia.
“Malik?” she said again. Then, as I moved out of the shadow, she gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she threw herself on the stones, her head pressed against my foot.
Finally, the proper attitude of submission. I stood there, watching her humiliation, and wondering in the back of my mind why I did not find it satisfying. I sighed, then reached down and pulled her up.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What are you?” she responded, then clapped her hand to her mouth, evidently realizing the impertinence of her question. “I—I’m sorry, Princess. Forgive me; I was expecting someone else.”
“Who is Malik?” I asked.
She looked away over the battlement without answering. I looked too, and could see now what she had been waiting for. A dark form was moving toward the stairway at the foot of the tower.
“Who is that?” I demanded, pointing at the shape. Still she did not answer, but bit her lip. Tears started from her eyes.
“I could have you both put to death! I will have you both put to death! Tell me instantly who that person is, or I will have him executed as a burglar!”
“Oh, no, Princess! He’s not a burglar, he’s a good man, he’s from my village, he’s the one I was supposed to marry. He bought his way out of slavery and has been looking for me ever since—”
“Cease your babbling!” I had not heard so many words from her mouth since she had joined our household. “Are you telling me that you are meeting him here by arrangement? Were you planning to run away? The punishment for a slave who runs away is beheading. Were you aware of that?”
“No, Princess, not running away! He comes here every month to tell me how much money he has saved. He’s going to buy me out of slavery and then we’ll get married. Princess, if you knew him, if you knew what an honorable man he is, you’d know he would never ask me to run away!”
At that moment a shout came from below. Sophia flew to the battlement and let out a scream, quickly stifled when I clamped my hand over her mouth. Down below, we could see a man struggling in the arms of three palace guards. Before I could think what I was doing, I turned and ran down the tower stairs, Sophia close at my heels.
I burst through the door. Two of the guards whirled around, swords drawn. When they saw me, they lowered their weapons, appearing thoroughly confused. They seemed about to speak when the door flew open once again, and out came a little, round shape. My knees grew weak with relief as I recognized Simon.
“What is all this commotion? Are you soldiers brawling again? Don’t you know that I need my sleep?” One of the guards indicated me without a word. Simon looked at me, his jaw dropping open.
“Princess—” he began.
“Master Tutor,” I interrupted. “Where have you been?” They all joined Simon in staring at me. What could I say? I could see, above Simon’s head, the lovely constellation of the Pleiades. This gave me an idea.
“Many of the constellations have set already,” I said, “and our night is wasted. It will be a full month before the dark of the moon again, and I was particularly interested in learning astrology right now.”
“Princess—” he started again, bewilderment showing on his face.
“Do not interrupt me,” I said, desperate for him to stop talking. “You are growing altogether too familiar. I could have you whipped. I should have you whipped!” I stamped my foot for emphasis.
That closed his mouth. I had never spoken to Simon that way before. He stared at me in silence.
One of the guards stepped forward. “Your Majesty,” he said. I looked up at him. “What about this one?” He jerked his head in the direction of the man still being tightly held by the other two guards.
I had forgotten the man. Sophia clearly had not; I could see her trembling next to me.
“Oh yes,” I said. What could I say now? A chill, whether from the cold night air or from fear crept through my whole being. Then words came to me. “Master Tutor,” I said, turning back to Simon, “if you had not slept through your appointment you would have been here to welcome your new manservant, the one we discussed this morning.” Simon looked at me wordlessly, evidently convinced that I had lost my mind. I continued, gaining confidence with every word. “You told me that you need someone to help you move boxes and reach for books on the higher shelves. Give him a fair trial and report to me in a month.”
I turned to the guards. “Release him,” I commanded. They dropped his arms.
Everyone remained silent as they waited for my next command. I suddenly became aware of my bare feet, my thin nightdress clinging to my legs. The silent guards stood in their heavy leather and gleaming helmets, and even Sophia and Simon had the dignity of a robe and sandals. Never mind; I was Princess Anna Comnena, and had no need of fine clothes to prove that I was my father’s daughter.
First I addressed the guards. “You are dismissed,” I said. “Return to your posts.” They bowed and melted away, obviously relieved to be gone. Next was Simon. “I will speak to you in the morning,” I said. He too bowed and turned back through the doorway.
Sophia was by now holding the man’s hand. I moved closer and looked at him. He was short, with the same light-brown skin as Sophia. His black hair curled around his head. Like Constantine, he had a deep scar on one cheek; a relic, I supposed, of the battle my father’s soldiers had waged against his village. He was not a handsome man, but was well built and sturdy, standing firmly on his short legs, his free hand clenched into a fist. Malik kept his chin up and stared at me square in the eyes with his black ones. The direct gaze made me uncomfortable, so I turned to Sophia. Her round eyes also stared back at me, the tears drying on her cheeks.
“Take him to the menservants’ quarters,” I said. “We will speak in the morning.” She fell to the ground, embracing my ankles.
“Get up,” I said. I was warm from my triumph, and not in the mood to deal with her gratitude. She stood with head lowered, her hand once again in Malik’s. “Leave me,” I said. They turned to go, but as they reached the door, Sophia looked back at me.
“Why, Princess?” she asked.
I thought for a moment. I didn’t really know how to say it. Finally, “For the chalice,” I said. “For taking the chalice from my hand the first day.”
A little smile crossed her lips. Then she turned away, and still holding the hand of the man she loved, Sophia quietly disappeared through the doorway.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
hen I awoke, it was to bright sun and an empty room. The door-hanging swung open, and Sophia’s small form entered, carrying a tray. She said, “Here is your breakfast. I told your mother you were unwell, and she ordered everyone to let you sleep.” I sat up and arranged myself on the pillows, pushing the tray aside. Sophia still stood in front of me, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me about your meetings with that man.”
“Malik and I grew up together,” she said quietly. “Our fathers’ lands adjoined each other, and when we were old enough, we were betrothed. He was captured during the battle, and was sold as a slave. He had a kind master who let him keep a portion of what he earned when he was hired out, and he saved every coin. He bought his freedom two years ago, and has been looking for me ever since.
“One day last year, when I was at the market, he finally found me. Oh, Princess—it was like seein
g my mother and father again, like seeing my sister and brothers. He spoke in our language; he made me remember all those who died. He told me he had never forgotten me and wanted to buy my freedom. It’s hard, but he has managed to save almost half of what he would need. Whenever he can get away, at the dark of the moon, he comes here. We meet for just a few minutes—I’m so afraid of being found out. We talk, I give him any coins that have come my way—that’s all, I swear it!”
“And what makes you think you can buy your freedom? I can raise your price to any level I want!”
“I have already spoken to your mother while you slept,” she answered, her square jaw set firmly. “She is the one who purchased me, so she knows what is my worth. She has named a fair price for my freedom.”
I had grown accustomed to Sophia; I even would have said, if it had not sounded so absurd, that I liked her. I had to find some way to keep her with me.
“How do I know he isn’t plotting to overthrow my father?”
“He cares nothing about politics! He was a farmer’s son, just as I was a farmer’s daughter. Malik has no interest in who leads the empire. Nor do I!”
I found it hard to believe that anyone could be indifferent to the ruling of the empire. But I stood up. “Dress me,” I commanded. “I’ll have to see for myself.”
Sophia ran to pull a robe from the chest at the foot of my bed. As she fastened the dozens of tiny buttons down my back, her fingers felt like ice. She spoke no more, just tied and fastened until I was ready. I hastened out of the room, with Sophia at my heels.
The hall had now returned to its normal daytime appearance, with servants and guards going about their business. I hurried along and pushed aside the heavy hanging covering the library door, expecting to see Simon there. Instead, a tall, stooped man wearing the long robes of a scholar stood with his back to the door, inspecting the books on the tall shelves. He turned at the sound of our entry, then bowed low.
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