Arriving at the convent one day, almost a month after Orkhan’s death, she sent her litter back to the palace, telling her headman, “I intend to spend the night here. Return for me late tomorrow afternoon. I have already informed Ali Yahya of my plans.” The litter moved off down the narrow street as Theadora rang for the gatekeeper and was admitted. But instead of going to the convent church, the princess headed for her little house, which was always kept in readiness for her.
Alone, she moved silently to her old bedroom and, opening the little trunk at the foot of her bed, drew out the garments of a peasant woman. On the two occasions that she had sent the litter back to the palace, she had gone to a nearby market and bought the clothing and a few other items she would need in order to make her escape. Returning to this house, she had secreted them in the old trunk. Now she quickly drew off her own rich clothes and, folding them carefully, lay them in the trunk and covered them with a blanket.
She opened a small pot on a table and rubbed a light walnut stain over her entire naked body, being careful that even her ears and toes were well-covered. She was able to reach her shoulders and back by means of a long-handled brush wrapped with a soft piece of chamois. For a few minutes she stood shivering in the cool air, allowing the stain time to dry.
Finally satisfied, she pulled on her new garments and braided her hair into two long plaits. Wrapping the other things she needed into a kerchief, she placed them into a woven, covered basket.
Theadora slipped from the house. The convent grounds were deserted as the nuns were now praying in the church. Even the entry was deserted but for a horse and cart. The elderly driver was unlatching the gate. “Here, let me help,” she said, running up to him. Grasping the horse’s bridle she led it into the street while the old man closed the gate behind them.
“Thank you, little girl,” he said coming around to her. “And where did you come from?”
“In there,” she replied, pointing at the convent. “I’ve been visiting my sister, Sister Lucia. She’s a nun here.”
“Well, thank ye again. My name is Basil, and I am the convent’s fishmonger. If I can ever serve you-”
“But you can,” she said. “My sister said I was to ask if you would take me with you to the coast. I can pay you a bit for your trouble.”
The old man eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you go to the coast?”
“I come from the city. My name is Zoe, and I am the daughter of Constans the blacksmith whose forge is just outside the Gate of St. Romanus. I am newly widowed, and I came to visit my sister and make a religious retreat. Now I have received word that my twin sons are ill, and I cannot wait for a proper caravan. If I may travel to the coast with you I can take the ferry and get home to my boys quickly.” Her upturned face was the correct mixture of concern and sincerity.
“Come along then, Zoe, daughter of Constans,” growled the old man. “Never let it be said that Basil the fisherman would not help a mother in distress.”
It was so easy. So incredibly easy! Old Basil and his wife insisted she stay the night with them in their cottage, for it was well past dark when they finally arrived at the coastal village. The following morning they took her to the ferry which quickly made its way across the Sea of Marmara into the harbor of Eleutherius. She felt a shiver of delight as she glimpsed again the city of her birth-the city she had not seen since she left it as the bride of Sultan Orkhan. Constantinople! The name itself evoked a thrill! She was safely home!
She didn’t even know she was smiling until a voice said, “A sane man would kill for you if you smiled at him like that, pretty girl. I don’t suppose you’ve time for a bit of wine with a sailor?”
Theadora laughed aloud, and it was a joyous sound. “Why sir,” she said in the common dialect of the city, “you turn a poor widow’s head. But alas I must hurry to my father’s house where my little sons lie ill.”
The sailor grinned back ruefully. “Another time,” he said, helping her down the gangplank and handing her her basket.
“Perhaps,” she said smiling at him again, and turned away into the crowd. While she walked she searched for something, and suddenly she found it. Placing herself in front of an imperial soldier, she said, “I am the empress’ sister, Princess Theadora, just escaped from Bursa. Arrange an escort for me and take me to the emperor-at once!”
The soldier looked down at the dark-faced peasant woman and raised his hand to shove her away.
“Touch me and you die! Fool! How many peasants speak the tongue of the city’s upper class? Take me to the emperor or I’ll have the skin stripped from your body and fed to the dogs!”
The soldier shrugged. Let his superior handle the madwoman, he thought. He gestured for Theadora to follow him, and led her to a nearby guardhouse. As he entered, he called to his captain, “Here’s a crazy woman for you. She claims to be the Empress Helena’s sister, Captain Demetrius.”
“I am Princess Theadora, Captain Demetrius. If you will have someone bring me a basin of warm water, please, I will prove it to you.”
The captain, an older man, was intrigued by the sunburned peasant who spoke the elegant Greek of the city’s upper class and who carried herself so proudly. “Get water,” he commanded, and when it was brought Theadora washed the stain from her face and hands. “As you can now see, captain, I am not a peasant,” she said holding out her smooth, white hands to him. She next reached into the bundle she carried and drew out a beautifully jeweled crucifix. “It is engraved on the back. Can you read?”
“Yes,” the captain said taking the pendant from her.
“My father gave it to me an the occasion of my marriage to Sultan Orkhan.”
“To my daughter, Theadora, from her father,” read the captain. “It’s interesting, but it doesn’t prove you are the princess, lady.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Theadora, “it should be enough for you to take me to the emperor. Or perhaps peasant women come to you every day, wash stain from their bodies, hand you valuable jewels, and demand to see the emperor.”
The captain laughed. “You certainly reason like old John Cantacuzene,” he said. “Very well, I’ll take you to the palace, but I will have to have you searched before we leave. What if you were an assassin?” Catching Theadora’s look of outrage, he quickly added, “My woman will do it, lady.”
She was taken into a small room and joined by a pretty girl who said, “Demetrius says you must strip completely so that I can be sure you conceal no weapons.” Theadora obeyed, and when the girl had satisfied herself, she returned the garments to the princess. While Theadora dressed, the girl poked through the few items in her basket. They then rejoined the captain.
“No weapons, Demetrius,” said the girl, “and do you know what? She has no hair on her body! Isn’t that funny?”
The captain looked at Theadora and said quietly, “Welcome home, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, captain,” Theadora replied as quietly. “May we go now?”
“Of course, Highness. I regret, however, that I shall have to take you up before me on my saddle. There is no litter available.”
“I have not been on a horse since I was a child,” said Theadora as they left the guardhouse.
The soldier who had brought Theadora to the captain looked at the captain’s woman and said, “He called her ‘Your Highness’. What convinced him that she speaks the truth?”
The girl laughed. “Only highborn women pluck the mound of Venus free of hair, silly, and only the Turk’s women are completely free of body hair. It was that plus her language and the pendant that probably convinced him.”
Captain Demetrius lifted Theadora up in front of him on his saddle, and they rode across the city to the Blanchernae Palace where the imperial family now resided. Theadora noted that though the city was filled with people, many of them seemed to have nothing better to do than wander about the streets. She also noted that more shops were shuttered than were open. She sighed. What she had told Helena but a few weeks back was true. Constantinople was a dying old man.