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“And what are you going to do, Enrico Palombara? You must deal with Vicenze.”
“Oh, I know!” he assured her, smiling bitterly. “This pope would protect me today, but tomorrow could be different.” He shrugged. “Over the last few years, popes have come and gone faster than the weather has changed. Their promises are worth nothing, because their successors are not bound by them.”
She did not answer him, but there was a sudden light in her eyes, a different understanding. It took only an instant for him to know that she had let slip the dream of defying the union and seen the reality, and its flaws. It was his first step toward convincing her. He must tread lightly. The smallest attempt at deception and he would lose her.
She searched his face, curiously, quite frankly. “You are trying to tell me that union with Rome may not be as bad as I had supposed, because little note can be kept of actual practice. A pope’s word is worth little, so ours need be worth no more. As long as we are discreet and do not force anyone’s attention to us, we may quietly do as we have always done.”
He smiled his acknowledgment.
Although she understood perfectly, she was enjoying playing with him. “And what is it you would like of me, Palombara?”
“I find it inconvenient always having to watch over my shoulder,” he replied.
“So you wish Vicenze… got rid of? You think I can do that? And that I would?”
“I am quite sure you could,” he replied. “But I don’t want him killed. I would be suspected, whatever the circumstances. And of rather more practical importance than that, he would only be replaced, and by someone I don’t know, and therefore would find harder to predict.”
She nodded. “You have been in Byzantium long enough to learn a little wisdom.”
He smiled and inclined his head. “I need Vicenze’s attention diverted, something that will give him no time to concentrate on destroying me.”
She considered carefully. “You ca
He realized with a wave of certainty that she was speaking from her own experience, and the instant after he knew exactly where and when. The grief was for Gregory Vatatzes, but she had had no choice, for her own survival. Was Arsenios Vatatzes’s death her doing also? One of her vengeances?
“The important thing is that only you and I know this.” He chose his words carefully, edged with double meaning. “While I appreciate your help, I ca
“You won’t be,” she promised. “You have given me knowledge of papal plans which enables me to… revise my situation on the union with Rome. That is important to me.”
He rose to his feet and she did also, standing close enough to him that he could smell the perfume of her hair and her skin. If the balance between them had been just a little different, he would have touched her, and maybe more than that. As it was, their understanding was deep, even intimate. She would curb Vicenze for him, and it would amuse her to do so. If he ever presented a danger to her, with intense regret, she would kill him. They both knew that, too. The difference between them was that apart from his admiration for her, his involvement was ultimately sealed in his mind, his urgent, busy intellect; there was no wave strong enough to knock him off his feet, bury him, pummel him, and carry him far, far out of his depth. Whereas she cared passionately.
He envied her that.
Seventy-two
CONSTANTINE PACED THE FLOOR OF HIS BEAUTIFUL ROOM with the icons, grasping at the air with his hands.
“Please help her, Anastasius. She is so wounded by the betrayal, she is ill with grief. I think she does not care if she lives or not. I have done all I can, but I am no use. Theodosia is a good woman, perhaps the best I know. How can a man abandon a wife of years for some… some harlot with a pretty face, just because she may give him a child?”
“Yes, of course I’ll go to her,” A
Constantine breathed out a great sigh. “Thank you.” He smiled suddenly. “I knew you would.”
A
A
Finally Theodosia turned to her, as if her presence required some response. “I don’t know who you are,” she said politely. “Or why you have come. I did not send for you, and I seek no counseling. There is no purpose you can serve here, except the easing of your own sense of duty. Please feel released from obligation and leave. There is probably someone you can serve elsewhere.”
“I am a physician,” A
“There is no comfort in being ‘fine’ alone,” Theodosia said bitterly.
“There is not much comfort in doing anything alone,” A
Theodosia turned slowly and looked at her, very slight surprise in her face, but no light, no hope. “Is that supposed to cure me?” she said with mockery. “I have no interest in being a saint.”
“Perhaps you would like to be dead, but you haven’t the anger yet to commit that sin, because it would be irrevocable. Or perhaps you are just afraid of the physical pain of dying?”
“Please stop insulting me and go away,” Theodosia said clearly. “I have no need of you.” She looked back out of the window.
“Would you want him back, if he came?” A
“No!” Then Theodosia drew in her breath sharply and turned to face A
“Do you imagine you are the only person to taste the dregs of disillusion?”
“Did you not understand me when I told you to go away?”
“Yes. The words are simple enough. You keep twisting your hands. Your eyes are sunken and your color is bad. Do you have a headache?”
“I ache everywhere,” Theodosia replied.
“You are not drinking enough. Your skin will begin to hurt soon, I expect, then your stomach, although I imagine that pains you already. And you will become constipated.”
Theodosia winced. “That is too personal, and it is not your business.”
“I am a physician. Are you trying to punish someone by deliberately afflicting your body? Do you imagine your husband cares?”
“My God, you are cruel! You’re heartless!” Theodosia accused.
“Your body doesn’t care about just or unjust, only practical,” A
“Oh, give me the herbs, then go away and leave me in peace,” Theodosia said impatiently.
But A
“Thank you,” Constantine said to A