The Sheen of the Silk

Constantine smiled. “Go in peace, my brethren. Never lose faith. To the true heart there is no such thing as defeat, only a time of waiting, an exercise of trust, and a keeping of God’s Commandments, until the dawn.”

Again the cry came, his name, blessings, then again his name, over and over. A

Suddenly she was revolted and ashamed, wishing she had not seen it, but it was too late. The look in Constantine’s face was printed on her mind.

He did not notice. He was reveling in being adored.

She stood in the shadow and was hot with guilt because she was aware of the ugliness in him, the doubt and then the lust, and she had not the honesty to tell him.

Constantine had given her a link to the vast body of the Church again, a purpose to strive for beyond the daily healing of the sick. To separate from him irrevocably-and it would be irrevocable-would mean standing alone.

Which was the greater betrayal, to face him with the truth or not to face him? She turned and walked away, ahead of him, so she could not see his eyes nor he see hers.

Forty-five

ANNA STOOD IN EIRENE VATATZES’S ELEGANT, QUIET bedroom and looked down at the woman lying on the bed. Her clothes were rumpled and marked with blood, and around her neck there were stains of an ointment. In two places was also the yellow mucus of suppuration. There was an open ulcer on her cheek and another just under her jawline on the opposite side. Her hands were covered in red weals, some already swollen where the pus was gathering into a head.

A

“Is the rest of your body affected as well?” A

Eirene glared at her. “That doesn’t matter.” She made a sharp gesture with her hands. “Cure my face. Do whatever you have to. The cost is unimportant.” She drew in a long breath. “So is the pain.” Her voice was brittle; A

A

A

What was the point in healing the skin from outside, only to have it erupt again a day later?

“Don’t stand there like a fool!” Eirene snapped, twisting a little to look at her. “If you don’t know what to do, say so. I’ll call someone else. If you’re in poverty, for God’s sake take some money, but don’t stare at me as if you expected me to heal myself. What are you going to tell me? That I should pray? Do you think I haven’t prayed all my life, you stupid…” Suddenly she turned her face away, tears wet on her blemished cheeks.

“I am considering what remedies there are, and which would be best,” A

“I will give you an ointment to take away the heat,” she said aloud.

“I don’t care what it feels like, you fool!” Eirene shouted at her. “Can you see nothing, you-”

“And the redness,” A

Eirene looked taken aback, but she would not apologize. Physicians were like good servants; hardly equals. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.

A

Since the last time she had been here, Demetrios’s words had raced in her brain. It still seemed absurd, and she remembered his contempt with a heat of embarrassment. He had said the idea of usurping Michael was ridiculous. She knew that to succeed, one would have to overcome the Varangian Guard. Demetrios knew them, even had friends among them. It would not be possible. One would need to have the army with you. Antoninus was a soldier, he would know that. And the navy, and the merchants, which Justinian would know. His ever increasing business had been in such things.

One would need sound economic advice and access to the Treasury. Since then, A

And what could the easy, charming Esaias Glabas do in such a plan? Was he cleverer than anyone supposed? And Helena? Was she a part of this plot or merely Bessarion’s wife?

“They are not as deep as I had feared,” A

“Really…,” Eirene said with skepticism.

“I think so.” A

“Yes,” Eirene agreed, wincing as one of the worst sores was washed. “I think they are grateful that a man of Demetrios’s rank should befriend them. Some noble families treat them less courteously. Not rudely so much as with indifference.” She smiled bleakly. “Like a good servant.”

“You mean Bessarion? Or Justinian Lascaris?”

“Justinian less so. Of course to Bessarion they were heathens, for the most part. Certainly those from the far north.” She bit her lip, forcing herself not to pull away from the pain.

A

“Good heavens, no!” Eirene said with contempt. “He could tell a story well, and he knew endless jokes, most of them unrepeatable in front of women. He could flatter, and keep his temper even when provoked.”

A

“He is not dead,” Eirene snapped. “At least not as far as I know. I think Demetrios would have mentioned it.”