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Constantine’s eyes glittered with a fanatic anger, and there was sweat beading his skin. “You have foresworn all that you professed to believe and broken the covenants of your baptism.” His voice trembled. “You have abandoned the faith, blasphemed God and the Holy Virgin, and you are excommunicated from the fellowship of Christ. You are no longer one of us.” He flung out his arm, fingers pointing at her almost as if he would jab her. “You are denied the body and blood of Christ. Your sins are upon your own head, and in the Day of Judgment He will not atone for you. The Holy Virgin will not intercede for you before God, her prayers will not speak your name, nor will she hear your words at the hour of your death. Among the company of saints, you no longer exist.”
She stared at him. It could not be true. He was standing in the light, alone, the rest of the room blurring around him so she could not see it. There was a strange, fuzzy sound in her ears. She tried to speak, to tell him he was wrong, but she could not find any words, and the pain in her head was unbearable.
She put up her hands to block it out, and then suddenly she was on the floor. Darkness and light splintered into each other in total and incomprehensible silence. Then nothing at all.
Constantine had expected her to be terrified. Zoe had committed the ultimate sin. But he had not thought that she would be so affected that she would be struck speechless and fall to the ground unable to move.
He looked where she lay, her eyes half-open but apparently sightless. Was she dead? He moved closer and stared. He could see her chest rise and fall with her breathing. No, he had not killed her. Better than that, she was sightless and dumb, but still alive to know it.
Victory soared up inside him, as if he were suddenly without weight. He turned on his heel and walked to the door. He pulled it open and saw the servants standing in a huddle. He drew in his breath and let it out slowly. “Be warned,” he said, measuring each word. “The Holy Church of Christ will not be mocked. Your mistress made light of her oaths and betrayed her promises. I have delivered God’s message to her, and He has struck her down.” He gestured behind him to where Zoe lay. “Call a physician if you wish, but he ca
Eighty-eight
ANNA HAD BEEN SENT FOR AND ACCOMPANIED THE white-faced messenger to Zoe’s home. Sabas was waiting for her and took her immediately to where Zoe was lying on her bed, Thomais at her side, her face impassive.
“Bishop Constantine excommunicated her from the Church,” Sabas informed A
A
“Is it not the bishop’s doing?” Thomais asked.
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She touched Zoe’s hand, gently. It was warm. She was not dead or even dying. “We must not let her get cold. And put a little ointment on her lips to stop them drying. I will fetch herbs and come back.”
Thomais stared at her, her face filled with doubt, perhaps fear.
“God may have struck her,” A
She did all she could for Zoe, waiting and watching to see if her condition changed. On the fifth night, she was sitting in the corner of Zoe’s room next to a painted and inlaid screen, half asleep. The room was almost dark. One small candle burned on the table about seven feet from Zoe, just enough to see her outline, not enough to shine on her face.
She still had not opened her eyes or stirred more than to move one hand a few inches. A
She was almost asleep when she was suddenly, terrifyingly aware that there was someone else in the room. He was moving soundlessly, no more than a shadow passing across the floor. He couldn’t be a servant or he would have spoken.
She froze, her breath caught in her throat. She watched as he crept toward the bed, a small man, dressed not in a tunic but a shirt and britches. He had a pointed beard, and as he came closer to Zoe the candlelight touched his face and she saw that he had sharp features, thin and clever. His hands were empty.
Her mind raced. She knew from the awkward way the man’s jacket lay over his hip that he had a knife at his belt, and Zoe was defenseless. If A
She must move silently or the intruder would hear her and strike, probably Zoe first and then her. She had nothing near her, no heavy bowl, no candlestick. But there was the tapestry. If she threw that over him, it might confuse him for long enough to reach for the candlestick on the table.
“Zoe,” he said quietly. “Zoe!”
Could he not see she was not asleep but senseless? No, thank God the candle was small and far enough from her that her face was in the shadow.
“Zoe!” he said more urgently. “It is going well. Sicily is like a tinderbox. One spark, one wrong word or move, and it will burn like a forest fire. Dandolo has worked well, but he has just about served our purposes. Give me the word, and I’ll kill him myself. One quick thrust and it will be over. I’ll use the Dandolo dagger you gave him.” He gave a low, soft laugh. “Then he’ll know the message of death comes from you.”
A
Then she heard a footstep outside the door, a brief knock, and the door opened. The intruder moved toward the tapestry like a shadow.
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She must see that from now on all the windows and doors were more carefully barred.
Two days later Zoe opened her eyes, puzzled, frightened, unable to speak. She tried, but the words were garbled, animal sounds. Thomais tried offering her a pen and a piece of paper. She gripped the pen awkwardly, made a few scratches on the white surface, and gave up.
Helena was informed that her mother was awake but unable to speak. She came, stared at Zoe with a strange pleasure, then turned and left. It was after she had gone that Zoe spoke her first comprehensible word. “A
It was a slow task. By evening, Zoe had managed a few more simple words and names, requests, movement that was a little more coordinated. A