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Helena laughed.
The servant returned with the steeped herbs in a glass.
Helena sipped it. “It’s sour,” she remarked. She looked at A
A
Helena struggled to mask her surprise, not entirely successfully. “My husband was murdered. Of course it is not easy.”
As A
“Yes,” Helena said slowly. “I had thought so.”
“I’m sorry,” A
“Of course you can’t,” Helena agreed, a shadow across her face that might have been contempt or only a movement of the light. “Justinian was in love with me, you know?”
A
Helena did not move. “No,” she denied. “Antoninus admired me, perhaps, but that is hardly love, is it?”
“I don’t know,” A
Helena smiled. “It isn’t. It is a hunger. Or don’t you know what I mean?” She turned and looked at A
A
“Do I embarrass you?” Helena asked with obvious pleasure.
A
“I do embarrass you,” Helena concluded happily. “But you didn’t know Antoninus. He was handsome, in a fashion,” she continued. “But he had not the depth of character of Justinian. He was extraordinary…” She let it hang in the air, the suggestion infinite.
“Were they friends?” A
“Oh yes, in many things,” Helena replied. “But Antoninus liked parties, drinking, games, horses, that sort of thing. He was a good friend of Andronicus, the emperor’s son-although perhaps not as much as Esaias. Justinian was an excellent rider, too, but he had more intelligence. He read all sorts of things. He liked architecture, mosaics, philosophy, things that were beautiful.” Regret touched her face, only momentarily, but it was deep.
A
Then the mood shattered, before she was ready for it.
“You’re right,” Helena said huskily. “I have suffered far more than most people realize. You must take care of me. Don’t look so crushed. You’re a good physician.”
A
“I do,” Helena said with a tight, gleaming smile, unreadable except as a mask for something else. A
“And your husband, too,” A
Helena shrugged. “He was a bore. He was always talking about religion and politics. Away with the damn bishop half the time.”
“Constantine?” A
“Of course Constantine,” Helena snapped. She looked at the glass in her hand. “This is disgusting, but it doesn’t make me feel ill. You don’t need to stay,” she dismissed her. “Come again in three days. I’ll pay you then.”
When A
“If you dare tell her what you came to treat me for, I shall see you never work again,” she snarled. “Do you understand me?”
“Say you have sprained your ankle,” A
Helena straightened her tunic. She did not bother to answer.
Eulogia came in a few moments later, bearing a gift of honeyed fruit. She was an elegant woman, fair-haired and a little thin, several inches taller than Helena. There was a jolting familiarity about her that froze A
“My physician,” Helena said, waving an arm at A
Eulogia stared at A
In that instant, A
The sweat broke out on A
She had not finished prescribing for Helena, who would be angry if she left. She was imprisoned here by obligation and circumstance.
Helena sensed her discomfort and smiled. She turned to Eulogia. “Have some wine, and figs. These are very good, very quickly dried to produce excellent humors. It’s kind of you to call.”
She ordered the servant to bring refreshments, including a glass for A
A
“Ointment!” Helena snapped, then blushed, aware she might have made a mistake. “I have a sprain,” she said to Eulogia.
Eulogia nodded and offered her sympathy. They moved to sit together, leaving A
“How is Demetrios?” Eulogia inquired.
“Well, I imagine,” Helena said casually. The wine, figs, and nuts came. She poured, leaving aside a glass for A
“I imagine Justinian will not be returning,” Eulogia remarked, looking obliquely at Helena.
Helena allowed herself to look sad. “No. They believe he was deeply implicated in Bessarion’s death. Of course he wasn’t!” She smiled. “Whoever it was tried before, you know, when Justinian was in Bithynia, miles from here.”
A
“Tried to kill him?” Eulogia said in amazement. “How?”
“Poison,” Helena said simply. “I’ve no idea who it was.” She took a bite out of a dried fig and chewed it slowly. “And Bessarion was attacked in the street a few months after that, also. It looked like an attempted robbery, but afterward Bessarion himself thought it was one of his own men. But Demetrios found them for him, from friends of his-the Varangian Guard, so it seems unlikely.”
Eulogia was curious. “Demetrios Vatatzes has friends in the Varangian Guard? How interesting. Unusual, for a man of an old imperial family. But then his mother, Eirene, is unusual.”
Helena shrugged it off. “That’s what I thought he said. Perhaps I was wrong.”