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He drank the potion and choked. It exhausted him for several minutes, but when he finally opened his eyes again, there was a touch of color in his cheeks and his breathing was easier.
“So what is it you want, Zoe Chrysaphes?” he asked. “Charles of Anjou will burn all of us. The only difference is that I shall not feel it, and you will.”
“Probably. But you know many secrets about the old families of Constantinople.”
“You want to damage them?” He was surprised. “Why?”
“Of course I don’t, you fool!” she snapped. “I want them to crush the rebellions and back Michael. You want my herbs. You may roast in the flames of hell tomorrow, like a pig on a spit, but tonight you can be a lot easier, if you tell me what I want to know.”
“All the shabby and fraudulent secrets of the dissenters to union?” he said, turning the idea over in his mind. “I could tell you those. There are plenty of them.” His smile was cruel and sharp with pleasure.
She remained with Philotheos three long days and nights, portioning out the medicine, keeping him alive using all the skills she had. Little by little, laced with viciousness, he told her the secrets that she could use to bleed the Skleros dry of money, and the Sphrantzes and the Akropolites. It would be worth thousands of gold byzants. Used with skill and care, as she would, it might just foment enough doubt and rebellion in the West to weaken even the strength of Charles of Anjou.
The day after Philotheos died, Zoe was at the Blachernae Palace and told some of her plan to Michael as they walked together along one of the great galleries. The light streaming in through the long, high windows showed cruelly the chipped marble of pillars, the broken hands of a porphyry statue.
The emperor looked at her wearily, and the defeat in his face frightened her. “It’s too late, Zoe. We must think of defense. I tried everything I know, and I couldn’t carry the people with me. Even now, they don’t see the destruction awaiting them.”
“Not from Charles of Anjou, maybe.” She leaned closer to him, ignoring all the rules of etiquette. “But they will understand shame in the eyes of their peers, the men they see every week, the men they talk to in business and government. The men they will do business with, even in a new exile. They will pay to avoid that.”
He looked at her more closely, his eyes narrowing. “What shame, Zoe?”
She smiled. “Old secrets.”
“If you know them, why didn’t you use them before?” he asked.
“I’ve only just learned them,” she replied. “Philotheos Makrembolites is dead. Did you know that?”
“Even so, it is too late. This pope is France’s creature. Spain and Portugal will ally with him. They can’t afford not to. All the gold in Byzantium won’t change that.”
“He’s pope for as long as he lives,” she replied softly. “What does he need the King of the Two Sicilies for now? Are you saying he will honor all his debts?”
“He’ll pay them only if there is something he still wants,” Michael agreed.
“Think of your own people,” she urged. “Think of their suffering in the long years of exile, and of those who never came back. We have been here a thousand years, we have built great palaces and churches. We have created beauty to the eye, the ear, and the heart. We have imported spices, colored silks like the sun and the moon, jewels from the corners of the earth, bronze and gold, jars, urns, bowls, statues of men and beasts.”
She spread her hands. “We have measured the skies and traced the paths of the stars. Our medicine has cured what no one else could even name.” She spoke with intense intimacy. “But more than any of these, our dreams have lit fire in the minds of half the world. Our lives have brought justice to rich and poor, our literature has furnished the minds of generations of people, and made the world sweeter than it would ever have been without us. Don’t let the barbarians kill us again! We will not rise a second time.”
“You don’t know when you are beaten, do you, Zoe?” he said with a soft, sweet smile.
“Yes, I do,” she answered. “I was beaten the first time, seventy years ago. I saw the fires of hell consume everyone I loved. This time, if it happens, I will go with it.” She took a breath. “But in the name of the Holy Virgin, I will not die without a fight. If we fail, Michael, history will not forgive us.”
“I know,” he admitted quietly. “Tell me, Zoe, Cosmas Kantakouzenos is dead, and Arsenios Vatatzes, and Georgios, and Gregory, and now Eirene. Why is Giuliano Dandolo still alive?”
She should have known he would have understood all along and allowed her to take her revenge only if it suited him.
He was waiting. “He is still useful to me,” she replied. “He is courting enemies of Charles of Anjou, awakening trouble in Sicily. I will have Scalini kill him when we don’t need him. I would have liked something more elegant, but we no longer have time,” she added.
He nodded, his eyes sad. “A pity. I liked him.”
“So did I,” she agreed. “What has that to do with it? He is a Dandolo.”
“I know,” he said softly. “It’s still a pity.”
Eighty-seven
ZOE STOOD AT THE OPEN WINDOW AND STARED AT THE FAR light on the sea. The wind stinging her face was sharp off the water; it still carried the smell of ice from the east, but also present in the breeze was the promise of spring. Zoe’s plans were maturing nicely. She had the money, albeit under bitter protest. Yesterday the Skleros had yielded. And she had exacted an extra price, just as a surety, that they should cease their opposition to the union with Rome. Constantinople needed every shred of power or influence it had with the West. Survival depended on it.
And Zoe’s efforts would thwart Helena, which compared with the survival of Byzantium was trivial, but there was still a dark sweetness to it.
Thomais was at the door. She looked frightened. “Bishop Constantine is here to see you, my lady. He is very angry.”
Zoe had expected Constantine to be angry. “Let him wait a few minutes, then send him in.”
Thomais looked cornered. “Are you well?” she asked. “Shall I bring you an infusion of camomile? I can tell the bishop to come another day.”
Zoe smiled at the thought. It was almost worth doing simply for the satisfaction of it. She was still considering her answer when she saw the large figure of Constantine, magnificently robed, in the passage behind Thomais; obviously he was intending to come in, with or without permission.
Thomais turned to face him.
“Get out of my way, woman.” His face was white and his eyes blazing. Now that he was closer, Zoe could see the gleaming silk of his dalmatica, in spite of the inclement weather. It flowed around him, fluttering wide with his movement, making him appear even larger.
His arrogance was intolerable to Zoe. She had a wild idea to wait until Thomais had retreated and closed the door, then take off her tunic and stand naked before the bishop. It would appall him so terribly, he would never exercise such high-handedness again. And it would be fu
Thomais was waiting for her to give the order.
“Send Sabas to wait outside the door,” Zoe told her. “I doubt His Grace will continue with such ill ma
Thomais obeyed. Constantine came in and shut the door, almost catching the end of his tunic between it and the jamb.
“You seem to have lost control of yourself,” Zoe observed coolly. “I would offer you wine, but you appear to have had more than sufficient already. What is it you wish?”
“You have betrayed the Orthodox Church,” he replied through clenched teeth, the muscles of his smooth, beardless jaw bulging.
Theodosia Skleros would have told him. No doubt she had asked absolution again for the sins of her brothers.