Anna of Byzantium (20 page)

No one was about. Final preparations had been made,
and the servants must have been in the kitchen helping to get the food and drink in order. I walked as quietly as I could across the great hall. The tapestries glowed on the wall. The floor had been polished until it gleamed, and my wooden shoes slid on it until I was afraid I would fall. All was in readiness at the long tables, too. The bronze dishes, which I had last seen at my betrothal feast, were shining on the white cloths. Bread was already laid out, and artful arrangements of fruit on every table added color. The goblets were in place, and the servants had already poured wine in them. I felt weak with relief. No one would notice a few more drops of dark liquid in one of the cups. Most of the guests would be drinking from bronze cups, while silver was reserved for the imperial family. At the high table, a gold goblet encrusted with gems awaited the emperor.

I knew what I had to do. I moved toward the high table, flask in hand. Up a step to the throne I went—moving it back so that I could reach the table. My heart stopped at the squeak the wooden legs made on the marble floor. The smell of cedar rose to my nose, bringing hot tears to my eyes as I remembered how the scent used to cling about my father for hours after he left his seat. My knees felt weak, and I sat on the high seat of the throne to recover.

But I couldn’t wait. Even as my head swam and I was afraid I would faint for the first time in my life, my hands were busy uncorking the flask. The smell that rose from it was not particularly strong, and I thought I could risk a fairly large dose without its being noticed. I tipped the flask, and the dark liquid splashed into the wine.

At that moment, a slight breeze reached me as the tapestry moved. I froze.

From behind the tapestry stepped John. With him was Anna Dalassena, her face so bright with triumph that I could not bear to look at it. John’s face mirrored hers.

I could not move.

Another tapestry shook, and from behind it came four guards, swords drawn, faces grim.

“Seize her,” said John.

As they moved in my direction, he added, his voice thick with gloating, “I hope you are comfortable. That is the last time you will ever sit on that throne.”

had never seen the dungeons before, but they were as I had always pictured them. The walls and floor were rough stone, and mildew grew over them in damp patches. A torch in the hall cast only a feeble light through a slit in the door, but I had no need to see anything. I supposed my mother was somewhere in the dungeon too, for whoever had betrayed me must have known that she was involved as well. I was certain I was going to be executed, and that my mother would be too. After all, what good would it do John to get rid of me if she was still alive?

I spent a long time—I’ll never know how long exactly—in the cell. I wondered if the funeral feast had gone on as planned, or if my actions
had disrupted it. I slept on the hard pallet on the floor, glad of the servant’s woolen clothes I had on, since they were warmer than the thin silk I would have been wearing otherwise. I did not miss food, but I was growing increasingly thirsty, and wondered if John was going to let me die of neglect. I did not mind death—in fact, I embraced the idea. But I did mind wasting away. I had the right to die as a royal, by execution. The cold thought struck me that John would perhaps officially declare me illegitimate, and so unworthy of the executioner’s steel.

As I considered this possibility, the door swung open, pushed by the burly arm of a guard. The guard stepped back to admit someone, and Sophia entered, carrying a tray.

I seized her arm, causing the tray to spill its contents.

“You!” I spat. “Traitor!”

“No, Princess—” said Sophia, trying to back away from me, but I held her tight.

“What did they offer you? Your freedom? So you could marry that man?”

“No, it wasn’t me, I swear it!”

“Who else could it have been? No one else knew!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know—I admit that I did not want you to do it, that I would have stopped you if I could, but I didn’t betray you. I didn’t tell anyone!”

“If you didn’t, who did?”

“I did,” said a familiar voice. I dropped Sophia’s arm and she spun around, so we were both facing the door. There, tears streaming down his face, stood Simon.

“No,” I whispered. “No, it couldn’t be you.”

He stepped toward me, and stretched out a hand in my direction. I slapped it away before he could touch me.

“Why?” I said. “Why?”

He tried to speak, but was choked with tears. Finally, “Atreus,” he said. “Agamemnon. I couldn’t stand by and see that happen to you.”

“And will you stand by and see what happens to me now?” I asked. “Will you come to the Purple Chamber and watch me blinded? Or will you hold my head in your lap as the executioner’s sword slices through my neck?” He turned white.

“No, Princess …” he beseeched me. “This will not happen. He gave me his word—I made him swear on your father’s soul—I told him that there was to be an attempt on his life but that I would not tell him who was behind it unless he swore neither to torture nor to execute the person involved. I told him that even under torture I would never betray who it was unless such assurance was made first. He didn’t want to, but your grandmother realized the need for haste and forced him.”

“And my mother?” I asked.

“No one knew she was involved until you were captured, when she went raving to the banquet hall, a drawn knife in her hand. She screamed that his life would be forfeit. The guards easily overpowered her. She is obviously mad; even the emperor recognizes it. He has agreed to send her to a convent in the mountains, where she will be looked after. Her servants are packing even now. She doesn’t remember what has happened, and thinks she is
going to join your father on campaign, the way she used to before you were born. She seems quite content.”

That was some consolation. If she never regained her senses, she would never realize her situation. I was not so fortunate. When the guards had seized me, the flask had dropped from my hand and shattered on the floor, taking with it any chance I had to escape my fate.

And it was Simon’s fault that I was here. I turned from him in loathing. “Go away,” I said.

“Princess—Anna, my more-than-daughter—” he was sobbing now. I refused to look at him, and the guard ordered him out. The door closed, and I could finally allow myself to weep. I sat on the edge of the pallet, but no tears came. I was alone, for Sophia must have left when Simon did.

Several more days passed. I was finally allowed nourishment. I drank the water, but felt no desire for the bread and hard cheese that came on the tray. The days melted together. One of the guards was friendlier than the others, and told me that my mother had departed, locked in a carriage, laughing and having long, one-sided conversations with my father, with me, with her long-dead parents. He also told me that Simon had left the palace and no one knew where he was, although the emperor had instituted a search for him. I suspected that John had had him killed and ordered a search to cover his tracks. The thought made me feel a lead weight in my chest, although I tried to push it away, saying, “Traitor! Traitor!” to myself.

Finally, just as I had begun to think that I was going to finish my life in prison, a guard told me I had been ordered
to the throne room. I was filthy and half starved. I knew that my miserable appearance would be a triumph for my brother but did not know what to do about it.

As I stood shakily on my feet, a knock came at the door. “You may enter,” I said, knowing only one person knocked these days. It was Sophia. She was carrying a clean gown, which she helped me put on, and I sat on the edge of my cot as she washed and brushed my long hair, now bound back simply. I had no shoes, but cared little. At least I was neat and presentable.

I stepped out of the cell, leaning on Sophia’s arm. The dim light of the one torch was painfully bright after weeks, I supposed, of near-total darkness. Four large guards accompanied us. I smiled inside at this ostentatious show of force, thinking that even if I had somewhere to go, I could not overpower one guard, much less four.

Sophia left me at the door and I stood in front of the throne while my brother pronounced sentence on me, our grandmother seated to his right. I was dismayed, but not surprised, to see Nicephorus Bryennius behind John. He avoided looking at me. But he need not have feared my hatred; I had no ill will toward him, and wished I could tell him so. He was loyal to his emperor, and after Simon’s treachery I appreciated the quality of loyalty.

John was pronouncing my fate, and I pulled my attention to his words. To a Kecharitomene convent. In the mountains. It was fitting. And it was a good plan on his part. Far away, surrounded by religious women, I would
find no allies to support me in any bid to regain the throne. It was all over, and for good.

He was speaking again, but suddenly Anna Dalassena stepped from behind the throne. Her face was distorted with anger.

“You have not listened to my command!” she said to John, ignoring me. “She deserves death.”

John looked calmly into her face. “We do not do things that way anymore,” he said. “Don’t you remember what my father said when Anna talked about killing me for the first time? And in any case,” he went on, “you cannot command me.
I
am emperor, not you.”

It was as if a little cub had turned into a lion and bitten its trainer. Even in my misery, I enjoyed her look of disbelief as she struggled to speak. Now you see him for what he really is! I thought. You are rarely deceived in people, Grandmother, but this time he managed to conceal his true nature from you. Not the puppet you thought, but one who will do as he wants, despite what you tell him.

Finally she managed to sputter, “But—but—you wouldn’t be emperor if it were not for me! I put you on that throne!”

“For which I thank you,” he said, as though this were an ordinary conversation. “But I have no need of your services at this moment, and I command you to withdraw.”

She stood stock-still, whether from shock or from a refusal to move, I do not know. John made a small motion with his hand, and a guard stepped forward. Surely she
would not suffer the indignity of being forced from the room. She must have had the same thought, for she began to leave.

“And Grandmother …” John called after her.

She looked over her shoulder.

“You forgot your bow,” he said. She hesitated, then stiffly inclined her head, and strode from the room. I stifled a laugh. Not bad, Little Brother, I thought.

John turned his attention back to me and proceeded as though nothing had happened.

“Although you have shown yourself unworthy of any consideration, you once were my sister. I will allow you a certain measure of comfort above that of the nuns in the abbey. You may bring warm clothes and have a fire every day in the winter, and I will allow you one of your slaves.”

“One slave?” I said. “Just one?”

He barked a short laugh. “Just one. You can learn to take care of yourself.”

I ignored his jibe, although I had heard that he himself required three attendants just to get robed for an ordinary day. “Will this be one of your slaves that you allow me to take, or will she still belong to me?”

He waved his hand, clearly bored by the question. “What does it matter? Whichever you prefer.”

His ministers nodded, and whispered to each other. I could hear one of them saying, “Such generosity!” Well, if he was generous, he was the victor, and could afford it.

“I choose the girl Sophia,” I said.

“As you wish.” He turned to one of his ministers and said, “See to it.”

“Just one moment.” I held up my hand. “It is clear that the slave Sophia is my property, to dispose of as I will?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, impatience making his voice rise. “What do I care what you do with your maid?”

“Then hear me,” I said. “I will go without servants to the convent. From this moment forth, the girl Sophia is to be free. She can never be claimed as anyone’s slave.”

I wheeled and strode out of the throne room, being careful not to make any motion that might be interpreted as a bow. I must have taken my guards by surprise, because they had to make little hopping strides so that they could catch up to me without breaking into an undignified run. As I passed Sophia, I saw her muddy brown eyes round and staring, her face shining as she returned my glance. I wondered why I had ever thought her ugly. I knew I would never see her again.

The journey to the convent took several days. As we passed through the city walls in the closed coach, I thought that surely now I would die; I had never been outside the walls before. Fields, farms, hills—they went past the window of the carriage. These sights were so strange to me that despite my gloom I kept the window-curtain pulled open so that I could look out, except when curious villagers tried to peer in at the deposed princess. Then I pulled the curtain closed and sat huddled in a corner.

The scenes outside the carriage window looked nothing like the bright illustrations I had seen in the psalm-book that Sophia had been so fond of, with their bright colors and busy figures. Most of what I saw was dreary. Rain fell
almost continuously, and at the inns where we stopped, the stench of damp made me ill.