The Sheen on the Silk (24 page)

ZOE HAD SEEN THE NECKLACE WHEN IT WAS ALMOST finished. She had stood in the goldsmith’s shop and watched him working the metal, heating it slowly, bending it, and smoothing it into exactly the shape he wanted. She had seen the stones because he had had them out in order to make the shapes to hold them: golden topaz, pale topaz almost like spring sunlight, dark, smoky citrines, and quartz almost bronze. Only a woman with hair like autumn leaves and fire in her eyes could wear this without being dominated by it and made to look eclipsed rather than enhanced.

The goldsmith would be flattered that she wore it. It would advertise his art and earn him more customers. Then everyone would want his work.

She arrived at his shop at midmorning, gold coins ready in a small leather pouch. She would not send Sabas for this because she wanted to make sure the piece was perfect before she passed over her money.

She was irritated to see someone already there, a gaunt-faced middle-aged man, his graying hair prematurely thin. He was holding coins in his hand. He closed his fingers over them, smiling, and passed them to the smith. The smith thanked him and picked up Zoe’s necklace. He laid it on a piece of ivory silk, wrapped it gently, and passed it to the man, who took it and folded it away until it was concealed by his dalmatica. He thanked the smith, then turned and walked away toward Zoe, his face alight with satisfaction.

Zoe’s fury overtook her. The man had taken her necklace, and the smith had allowed it.

It was only as the man passed her that she recognized him, even after all these years-Arsenios Vatatzes, Eirene’s cousin by marriage, the head of the house whose crest was carved on the back of her crucifix.

It was his family who had robbed Zoe’s father in 1204, promising to help in that terrible escape, then betraying them by keeping the relics, the icons, the documents of history that were uniquely Byzantine. They had fled to Egypt and sold them to the Alexandrians to finance a fat, comfortable exile, while Zoe’s father, hideously bereaved, a widower with one small daughter, had had to labor with his hands in order to survive.

Now Arsenios was rich and back again in Constantinople. The time was right. She turned away, in case he might recognize her also.

She arrived home with her mind racing. There were a dozen ways of achieving someone’s ruin, but it depended upon circumstance, the person’s friends and enemies, their family or lovers, their hungers, their strengths, the weaknesses through which they were vulnerable. Arsenios was clever, and it seemed he had wealth, which these days meant power. The Vatatzes had ruled Byzantium in exile from 1221 to 1254. Arsenios’s brother Gregory was married to Eirene, who was also of aristocratic descent from the Doukas dynasty. Only a disgrace so clear, so blatant as to be unarguable, would work.

What kind of disgrace? She paced the floor of her room, walked over to the great cross, and stared at it, seeing in her mind’s eye the other side with one goal achieved, one of its fourfold emblems meaningless at last. The Vatatzes must be next.

Whom was the necklace for? Someone Arsenios loved, but whom?

It did not take long to find out that he was a widower and had one daughter, Maria, who was soon to make a fortunate marriage into a family with not only wealth, but immense power and ambition. Her beauty and her lineage were her strengths, and therefore Arsenios’s strength also. That was where to strike.

The plan took shape in her mind. It would avenge the humiliation she had suffered in Syracuse all those years ago. Arsenios would pay for that, as he would pay for betraying Byzantium.

Anastasius Zarides was the perfect vehicle. But with a peculiar mixture of emotions, she remembered their last encounter. At first she had thought his saving the monk Cyril was just one of those random pieces of good fortune that happen from time to time to anyone. But then she had seen something in the healer’s eyes that made her believe he knew she had tried to poison Cyril and had himself worked out exactly how.

She could see him in her mind’s eye, and it was almost as if she had caught half an image on some polished surface: herself and yet not herself. The clothes were different, the shape of the body, no lush curves of bosom and hip. Yet the turn of the neck, the refinement of the jaw, just for half a second, the blink of an eye, were the same.

It was a delusion, of course. It was the fire in the mind that was the resemblance, the steel inside.

Of course, Anastasius had serious flaws. He forgave, and that was a weakness that sooner or later would prove fatal. He overlooked faults. Such a defect infuriated Zoe. It was like a chip on the face of an otherwise perfect statue. The mutilation of his manhood was a shame, but he was too young to be of any interest to her, although it was difficult to be accurate about the age of a man who was not a man. A human being without the spirit or the fire to hate was only half-alive. That was a waste. She liked him-apart from that.

She shook herself impatiently. The only thing of importance was that he was the perfect tool for this task and perhaps for others in the future. She realized with surprise just how sorry she would be if it did destroy him.

The sun was making bright patterns on the floor, its warmth soothing her shoulders. What was the cause of this new hate of Anastasius in Helena? Had he bested her too in something, and was she stupid enough to resent it instead of tasting the amusement of it? Zoe’s daughter gave in to emotion instead of using it.

The idea that was forming in her mind had far greater possibilities than merely destroying Arsenios. By using Anastasius, she might also learn the answer to several questions that had become more and more insistent lately. Anastasius was always interested in the murder of Bessarion. Zoe had assumed that the law was correct and Antoninus had killed him, and then Justinian had helped him conceal it. She had thought that she knew why, but possibly she had been mistaken. It could be dangerous to be wrong.

Also dangerous was the possibility of Michael learning that she had deliberately ruined Arsenios. If he discovered this, he might deduce that she had also killed Cosmas. He might feel inclined to stop her.

That must be prevented. Michael was clever, inventive, a true Byzantine. Above all, he would save his country, his people, against their will if necessary, but he would live or die to prevent the crusaders from burning Constantinople again.

If Zoe were indispensable to him in any part of foiling Charles of Anjou, then he would protect her from the devil himself, let alone some mere question of the law.

Even as she stood in the sun, the sounds of the street echoing below her, the far light gleaming on the sea, she began to see how she would do it.

It took over two weeks for Scalini, the Sicilian, to visit her, alone and at night, as she had insisted. He was a weasel of a man, but clever and not without a sense of humor, and that quality alone redeemed him in her eyes.

“I have a job for you, Scalini,” she told him as soon as he sat in the chair opposite her and she had poured wine. It was long after midnight, and she had only one torch lit.

“Of course.” He nodded and reached for the glass. He put it to his long, sharp nose and sniffed. “Ascalon wine, with honey and something else?”

“Wild camomile seeds,” she told him.

He smiled. “Where is the job? Sicily, Naples… Rome?”

“Wherever the king of the Two Sicilies might be,” she replied. “As long as he is not here. By then it would be too late.”

He grinned. His teeth were sharp and white, well cared for. “He will not be here yet,” he said with relish, licking his lips as if tasting something sweet. “The pope has forgiven the emperor of Byzantium. When he heard this piece of news, His Majesty of the Two Sicilies was so beside himself with rage that he snatched up his own scepter and bit off the top of it!”

Zoe laughed until the tears were wet on her face. Scalini joined in, and they finished the wine. She opened a new bottle, and they finished that as well.

It was coming toward three in the morning when at last she leaned forward, her face suddenly grave. “Scalini, for reasons which are not your concern, I need to have something of great worth to offer the emperor. A year from now may be sufficient, but I need to be certain of it.”

He pursed his lips. “The only thing Michael Palaeologus wants is his throne secure and Constantinople safe. He’ll trade anything else on earth for the city’s security-even the Church.”

“And who threatens him?” she whispered.

“Charles of Anjou. The world knows that.”

“I want to know everything I can about him. Everything! Do you understand me, Scalini?”

His small brown eyes searched her face, studying inch by inch. “Yes, I understand.”

IT WAS BEGINNING TO DISTURB ZOE THAT SHE DID NOT know for certain who had betrayed Justinian to the authorities. She had assumed it was some clumsiness that had caused Antoninus to be caught, and he had been tortured, which was a common practice.

But on reflection, she doubted that even under torture Antoninus, an unquestionably brave man and a soldier of excellent record, would betray any friend, let alone one who was as close as Justinian had been. Now she needed to know who it had been, and if Anastasius would discover that for her, so much the better.

In the meanwhile, he was treating Maria Vatatzes precisely according to Zoe’s plan. The whispers as to the exact nature of Maria’s disease were spreading nicely. The tide of anger would in time take back her brother and her father, just as Zoe intended. “If someone is poisoning her, find out who, and give her an antidote,” she said to Anastasius. “If anyone knows such a thing, it is you.”

“Who would poison her?” Anastasius asked.

Zoe raised her eyebrows. “You ask as if I would know. Her brother Georgios is a friend of Andronicus Palaeologus, as Esaias is, and Antoninus was. They play hard, drink hard, and take their pleasure where they wish. Georgios has a high temper, so I have heard. Perhaps he has enemies? I have wondered if it could have a thread of connection with Bessarion’s death.”

“After five years?” Anastasius said with disbelief.

Zoe smiled. She was not quite sure how much Anastasius knew, and it was sharp in her memory that this bland-seeming eunuch could bite very hard indeed. “Five years is nothing. There is much yet to learn,” she said gently. “Antoninus is dead, but Justinian is still alive. You have asked many questions, but never the only one that I ask and cannot answer…”

“What question is that?” Anastasius’s voice had dropped to a whisper. There was no doubt that Zoe had his total attention now.

“Who betrayed Justinian to the authorities?” Zoe answered.

“Antoninus…,” Anastasius replied, but the certainty had gone from his voice.

Zoe felt victory sing inside her, at least for this first step. “I assumed it was, but your questions stirred doubt in me. Shortly before Bessarion was killed Justinian quarreled with him, passionately. Justinian went to Eirene about it, but she gave him no help. He went to Demetrios, but he was no help, either. He did not come to me. Why was that?” Zoe could see the thoughts racing behind Anastasius’s dark gray eyes. Sometimes for an instant he looked like Justinian, the same expression. Except that Justinian had been such a man!

“Do you think this poisoning of Maria, if that’s what it is, could have something to do with Bessarion’s murder?” Anastasius asked, doubt still in his voice. “Georgios Vatatzes?”

“It might.” Not the truth, but close enough to be believable. “Georgios knew Bessarion, and he knew Antoninus even better.”

“Thank you,” Anastasius said quietly. “Perhaps that is true.”

Anna found Georgios as he was leaving the Blachernae Palace. He was a better-looking man than his father, taller and leaner, without the years of soft living larding his body with fat. He recognized her after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Is my sister worse?” he said sharply, stopping in the shadow of the great outer wall with its immense stones fitted so perfectly together and the high windows that let in so much light.

“No,” Anna said with rather more certainty than she felt. “But she may be, if I don’t find the source of the poison.”

He stiffened. “Why do you say it is poison? Or is this just an excuse because you don’t know how to treat her?”

“I don’t know who is poisoning Maria,” she said quietly. “But I think that if you examine everything you know, particularly about other plots, other deaths, you might know.”

He looked totally confused. “Whose death?”

“Bessarion Comnenos?” she suggested. “Or Antoninus? Was he not a friend of yours? And Andronicus Palaeologus?”

He froze. “God Almighty! That?” His face was pale.

“Do you know something that could be of danger to someone? Or of use?”

“And they’d poison Maria?” He was aghast.

“Wouldn’t they?” she asked. “What was Antoninus like? And Justinian Lascaris?” She almost stumbled over the name.

“They were close friends,” he said slowly, remembrance sharpening in his mind as he found the words. “Justinian cared about the Church more than he let on, I think.” He frowned. “Antoninus was different. When he was with Justinian, he was thoughtful, loved beautiful things. But when he was with Andronicus and Esaias, he was just like any other soldier, enjoying the moment. I never knew which was the real man.”

A shadow crossed his face. “We were going to have a great party the night after Bessarion was killed. Esaias and Andronicus were going to be there. Andronicus planned to have races first-that was Antoninus’s idea, like the old days, before the exile. Justinian loved horses, too. He always said we’d know we really had our city back when we opened the Hippodrome again.”

“Was Justinian going to be at the party?”

“No. Antoninus said he had to be somewhere else. But what the devil can this have to do with Maria?” Anger darkened his face again. “Just cure her! I’ll find out who did it.”

It was pointless to argue any further. Anna thanked him and walked away, leaving him staring out across the city toward the western headland and the old Hippodrome.

She turned over everything that he had said. Was the party important? It had been canceled because Antoninus was arrested that day. Had he betrayed Justinian? For what? They had executed him anyway. Or was Zoe right, and it had been someone else? Perhaps Esaias?

What was supposed to have happened at that party? Which was the real Antoninus-the partygoer, drunkard, and lover of horse races whom Georgios had described and she had heard about from others? Or the man of passion and intelligence whom Justinian would have wanted as a friend?

Anna discovered the nature of the poison afflicting Maria Vatatzes-it was administered through the stems and leaves of the flowers that arrived fresh every few days in Maria’s room.

Maria was recovering, but it was too late to save her reputation from the whispers about her virtue. Her marriage to John Kalamanos was canceled. His family would no longer countenance it, and he yielded to their wishes.

Maria was devastated. Even though she was almost in full health again, she threw herself onto her bed and sobbed. There was nothing Anna could do to help. It was unjust, but there was no recourse.

Anna had not been long home after what was her final visit to Maria when Simonis came in to say that there was a gentleman to see her. It was after dark, and Leo was still out on an errand. Anna could see the anxiety in Simonis’s face.

Anna smiled. “Show him in, please. I expect he has some matter to discuss which is urgent, if he calls at this hour.”

Georgios Vatatzes entered in a towering rage. His face was flushed and he stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him with Simonis barely through it.

Anna squared her shoulders and stood as tall as she could, but she was still several inches shorter than him and half his weight.

“Have you discovered something?” she said as stiffly as she could, but her voice wavered a little, giving her away. She sounded like a woman.

“No, I haven’t. In God’s name, what does it matter who poisoned her?” His voice was thick with rage. “The Kalamani have withdrawn their offer of marriage, as if our family were unclean. It stains all of us. They won’t remember it was some unknown poison, all they’ll think of was that the word went around Maria was a whore! You let the filthy gossips say whatever they wanted when you could have told them the truth.”

“You could have said it was poison,” she countered. “I was not free to.”

“Who’s going to believe us when you wouldn’t back us up?” He was drunk, slurring his words. “The poison worked, didn’t it? It didn’t kill her, but she might as well be dead.” He was standing so close to her that she could smell the acrid sweat on him and the odor of wine.

Her breath was ragged. “You could have told anyone you wished to that she was being poisoned.”

“You destroyed her with your sanctimonious silence as surely as if you’d poisoned her yourself,” he sneered. “She might as well be dead.”

“Because she didn’t marry John Kalamanos?” she said. “If he loved her, he would believe what she said and marry her anyway.”

Georgios lunged forward and struck Anna across the side of the face, sending her sprawling backward, arms flailing. She caught her left hand on the edge of a small table, and pain shot through her arm. He reached for her, pulling her up by the front of her tunic, and hit her again. She could hardly get her breath for the fear that seemed to paralyze her. She was dizzy and could taste blood. She knew he was going to go on beating her. Any moment her clothes would rip and expose the padding and her breasts. Then it wouldn’t matter if he killed her or not, it would all be ended anyway.

The next time he came forward, she managed to roll over sideways, away from him, and reached for the small stool half under the table. His blow landed on her shoulder, numbing her arm. She grasped the stool with her other hand and swung it back toward his face as hard as she could.

She heard him roar with surprise and pain. Then there was a scream that was not hers-and surely was too high-pitched to be his?

There were other people in the room, more shouting and banging, the heavy thud of bone against flesh, and bodies swaying and lashing, weight hitting the floor, finally heavy breathing and no more movement. She was half-blinded and all she could feel was her own pain.

Someone reached for her and she clenched, trying to think how to strike back. She would have only one chance.

But the hands were gentle, lifting her up. A cold, wet cloth touched the throbbing wound in her cheek and jaw. She opened her eyes and saw a man’s face, someone she knew, but she could not think from where.

“Nothing is broken,” he said with a rueful smile. “I am sorry. We should have been here sooner.”

Why could she not remember him? He put the wet cloth to her face again. There was blood on it.

“Who are you?” She wanted to shake her head, but with the slightest movement pain shot through her like a knife blade.

“My name is Sabas,” he replied. “But I expect you have never heard it.”

“Sabas…” It meant nothing.

“Zoe Chrysaphes was afraid for you,” he said. “She knew that Georgios Vatatzes had a violent temper, and overbearing family pride.”

Her breath caught in her throat, all but choking her. “Had?”

Sabas shrugged. “I am afraid he attacked us also, and in order to subdue him, it was necessary…” He left the sentence unfinished.

She sat up a little farther and looked past him. Georgios lay on the floor, blood on his face and his head at an angle that made it clear his neck was broken. Another man stood by him.

“Don’t worry,” Sabas said hastily. “We’ll take him away. Perhaps you should say a burglar attacked you. If anyone asks, you frightened him off.”

She laughed abruptly, close to hysteria. “Well, if they look at me, and reckon I made an even worse mess of him, no one will try to rob me again.”

Sabas smiled, softening the hard lines of his face. “Bought at a high price, but a good thing.” He helped her to stand, guiding her to a chair. “Can your own servants assist you, or would you like us to send for another physician?”

“They can assist me, thank you,” she replied. “Would you be kind enough to thank Zoe Chrysaphes for her concern, and your courage? If ever you need any help, it is yours, or your friend’s.”

He bowed, and then the two of them picked up Georgios and carried him out, leaving Simonis to come in, her face blanched with shock. While she did what she could to clean Anna’s cuts and apply ointment to the bruises, Anna’s mind raced. She should have known Georgios Vatatzes would take his sister’s rejection badly. Or was it more complex than that?

Bessarion’s murder again, old fear, old vengeance? And how had Zoe’s servants known what to expect and from whom? The answer to that was only too obvious, once Anna faced the facts. Zoe had poisoned Maria, knowing it would ruin the family and intending it to. She had sent Sabas and his fellow servant, not so much to rescue Anna as to make certain that Georgios was killed.

But what had they done to earn Zoe’s hatred to such a depth?