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She made her purchases and then was happy to accept his invitation to stay and dine with his family. They ate well, then the two of them sat in the small garden late into the evening, discussing some of the physicians of the past, especially Maimonides, the great Jewish physician and philosopher who had died in Egypt the same year the crusaders had stormed Constantinople.
“He is something of a hero to me,” Shachar said. “He also wrote a guide to the entire Mishnah, in Arabic. He was born in Spain, you know.”
“Not Arabia?” she asked.
“No, no. His name was really Moses ben Maimon, but he had to flee when the Muslim overlord, Almohades, gave people no choice except to convert to Islam or be put to death.”
A
Shachar made a gesture of dismissal. “There is enough evil and pain to fight today, don’t look for tomorrow’s. Now tell me about your medicine.”
It was with pleasure and some surprise that she realized he was interested in her growing practice. She found herself answering his questions about her treatment of Michael, although she was discreet enough to say only that she was afraid for him because of the anger among the people regarding the union with Rome.
“That is something of an honor for you to attend him,” he said gravely, but he looked more anxious than happy.
“It was Zoe Chrysaphes’s recommendation that earned it,” she assured him.
“Ah… Zoe Chrysaphes.” He leaned forward. “Tell her nothing you do not have to. While I know her only by repute, I ca
Why did he warn her? Surely she had been discreet enough with her inquiries. “I’m Byzantine, and Orthodox Christian,” she said aloud.
“And a eunuch?” he added softly, a question in his eyes. “Who uses Jewish herbs and practices medicine on both men and women, and who asks a lot of questions.” He touched her arm where her robe covered it, very lightly, barely enough for her to feel, and not on her skin, just as he would if she were a woman. Then he withdrew it and sat back.
She felt the horror surge through her and bring the sweat out on her body. Somewhere she had made mistakes, perhaps many. Who else knew she was a woman?
Seeing her fear and understanding it, he shook his head fractionally, still smiling. “No one,” he said gently. “But you ca
She knew with a rage of embarrassment what he was referring to. It was her time of the month; in spite of her injuries it still came, and with it, of course, the warm, intimate odor of blood. She thought she had masked it.
“I will give you herbs which will keep you safe from others’ suspicion, and perhaps ease the pain a little,” he offered.
She could only nod. In spite of his kindness, she felt humiliated and deeply afraid.
Twenty
WHEN ANNA NEXT VISITED CONSTANTINE, HIS SERVANT conducted her into the room with the icons, apparently unaware that Constantine himself was in the next room, deep in conversation with someone.
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But as Constantine and the man walked slowly from the courtyard closer to the archway into the room, she could actually see the other man, whom she knew because she had once treated his mother. His name was Manuel Synopoulos; almost thirty, he was a rather brisk, confident young man of unusually plain appearance, but the family possessed great wealth, and he could at times be charming.
Now he pulled out of his dalmatica a soft leather pouch fat with coins and passed it to Constantine.
“For the feeding of the poor,” he said quietly.
Constantine’s reply was gentle, but there was a high, sharp note of excitement underneath it.
“Thank you. You are a good man and will be a noble addition to the Church, a great warrior in the cause of Christ.”
“A captain,” Synopoulos said, and as he turned he smiled.
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Manuel Synopoulos was no more a worthy priest, a man of God, than any young man who studied nothing, bought his way out of his mistakes, and took his pleasures where he wished and as his right.
His family would be grateful, and as long as the Greek Church stayed independent of Rome, a high office would bring in even more wealth. But far above money was the pride and the respect.
When Constantine did come to her, he looked elated, his face a little flushed.
“I have just received a new donation to the poor. We are gathering strength, Anastasius. Men are repenting of their sins, confessing and putting the past away. They will not join Rome but will fight beside us for the truth.”
She forced an answering smile. “Good.”
He heard the effort in her voice. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she lied, then knew he would not believe her. “It is simply that there is so far to go.”
“We are gaining allies all the time. Now the Synopoulos are with us, and the Skleros have always been.”
She wanted to ask at what cost, but she was not yet ready to challenge him. “I came about another matter, a patient I am concerned for…” And she addressed the cause of her visit.
He listened patiently, but it was clear to A
A
“Then she is ill, too,” A
Zoe laughed harshly. “Don’t mince words around me, Anastasius!” she snapped, sitting up a little farther against the pillows. “Helena is a coward. She will confess to anything trivial, and take the herbs if she likes them well enough, which I think you already know perfectly well. Isn’t that what you do for most people-comfort their guilty consciences with the doctrine they expect, and then give them the medicine that actually treats the illness?”
It gave A
“Well, Helena is less,” Zoe said coldly. “Anyway, why do you care about her? I called you, she didn’t. Is it because she’s Bessarion’s widow? You’ve been unusually curious about him from the begi
Lies would never work with Zoe. “Yes, I have,” A