A week passed. And then on the eighth day after Alexander’s departure for Trebizond, the dawn rose to reveal the royal ship sailing back into the palace harbor.
Anna frantically shook her mistress awake. “My princess! My princess! The prince’s ship has returned!”
Adora was instantly awake and off the bed, barely waiting for the green silk robe Anna helped her into. Barefoot, her long dark hair streaming behind her, she ran through the gardens and down to the beach below just in time to meet the ship’s little boat. There were three people in it; a sailor who rowed, the ship’s captain, and Zeno. The boat slid up onto the beach.
“What is the matter?” demanded Adora. “Where is my lord Alexander? Why have you returned?”
The captain and Zeno climbed from the boat. Zeno was pale, stooped. He looked yellow and very ill. The captain was somber.
Adora was becoming frightened. “Where is my lord Alexander?” she repeated.
Zeno began to weep and fell to his knees at her feet. Adora felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She looked to the captain. His eyes were filled with tears.
“My lord Alexander…?” she whispered.
“Dead.” The word came out cold and hard. “Ah, God, my princess! I should sooner be dead myself than bring you this news!”
Theadora looked at him hard and slowly the terrible comprehension filled her eyes. Zeno whimpered at her feet. “Dead?” she said. Slowly turning away, she crumpled to the beach. “No! Not dead! Not dead!”
Feeling a great deal older than his years the captain lifted the woman. She was now unconscious. He carried her into the palace to her frantic servants, then delivered the tragic news to the chamberlain.
Basil immediately called a meeting of the royal council. The stunned councilors decided to ask their queen, when she had recovered, if she would remain as their ruler. Theadora Cantacuzene had shown the Mesembrians that she was truly one of them, and they far preferred a known ruler, even a female, to a strange, foreign prince.
In the great bed the queen of Mesembria lay unconscious, watched over by her women. Assured that Adora would not yet waken, Anna slipped from the room to confront her husband. There was more to this than met the eye. She knew Zeno well. His grief was more than simple grief. He lay upon the bed in their room, staring at the ceiling with sightless eyes. Firmly she closed the door, sat next to him, and spoke. “What have you done, my husband?” she asked him quietly.
“I had to, Anna! She knew about our Marie. She said she would have you executed, and she described how they would do it! I couldn’t let that happen. I had to kill him for her!”
“Who, my husband? For whom did you do this terrible thing?”
“The empress Helena.”
“Tell me everything, Zeno, my love. Tell me now.”
She listened as her husband poured out his story When he had finished, she shook her head sadly. “Oh, Zeno, we are little people. Unimportant in the eyes of God and our fellow man. Prince Alexander was a great man. Better we had died instead of the prince. And all because of a wicked woman’s envy. May God forgive you, Zeno, for I never shall.”
“I did it to save you, Anna!”
“Save me? From what? Death? We must all die eventually, Zeno. I do not fear death. Far more do I fear having to live side by side with the princess, knowing what I do. Oh, my husband! Had you only had the wit to tell the prince when that evil creature approached you! He would have protected us, and been on his guard against her. Now he is needlessly dead, and who will protect you from the empress’s assassin? She must dispose of you, for only you can connect her with this terrible deed.” Anna stood up. “I must return to my princess. She is still unconscious.” And without even a backward glance at her husband, Anna left the room.
Several hours later the prince’s manservant, Zeno, was found in the gardens, hanging from a tree.
“He loved his lord deeply,” declared the widow. “He has chosen to follow him in death rather than remain without him. I would do the same for the princess.”
For two days Theadora lay unconscious on her bed while the royal council planned the state funeral. They feared they might have to bury Alexander without her presence, but on the afternoon of the second day she awoke, stared at the exhausted Anna, and whispered, “Is it true?”
“Aye, my princess.”
“How long have I been like this?”
“Two days.”
“What has been done in my illness?”
“The council has prepared for a state funeral. It is tomorrow. They have also appointed you their ruler.” Anna paused. There was no gentle way to tell her mistress the terrible thing she did not yet know, and so Anna simply gazed into the eyes of the princess and said, “I wish I had anything but this to tell you, my princess. Anything but this.”
“Not Ariadne?” murmured Adora, beginning to feel strangely numb. Anna nodded.
“It happened suddenly, at the moment the ship was spotted on the horizon.”
Adora nodded, now entirely devoid of feeling.
“I see. Thank you, Anna.” A moment later she asked, “Where is my lord?”
“His bier is in the palace audience chamber. The people have been passing through since yesterday.”
“Clear the hall. I would have a few minutes alone with my husband.”
Anna nodded and went silently out. She was worried by Theadora’s strange calm. The princess had yet to shed a tear. It was not natural.
Quickly she found Basil. “The princess has awakened from her swoon, my lord. She desires that the audience chamber be emptied so she may be alone with the prince.”
The chamberlain nodded. “It will be done immediately.”
Shortly after that Theadora walked alone to where her husband’s bier rested. She saw no one. In deference to her feelings even the guards had withdrawn. Pushing open the doors to the hail she entered the room. Alexander‘s bier had been placed in the center. The hall was filled with tall, beeswax candles that flickered in an oddly cheerful fashion. The room was cold.
Slowly Adora walked to the bier and gazed down at the body. They had dressed him in an azure-blue velvet robe, the Mesembrian arms embroidered in gold thread on the front of the robe. The robe cuffs, hem, and neckline were edged in ermine. Upon his softly curling blond hair they had placed the crown of Mesembria’s despot. On his chest was a gold chain and the city’s sapphire seal. His wedding ring was on his hand. On his feet were fine soft leather boots.
Adora viewed the body from all angles, walking slowly around the bier. What she saw convinced her firmly of the existence of a souclass="underline" for though the body was his, this was not truly Alexander. Without the spark of life this was only an empty shell, a cocoon without its butterfly.
She knelt at the prie-dieu set before the bier, but she did not pray. She spoke silently to him. I want to be with you. It is too great a burden to bear alone. I have not even the comfort of our child.
It is not meant to be, beauty, came his reply. Your fate is to follow a different path. I know that now.
“No!” she shouted aloud. “I will not accept that fate.”
Ah, beauty, he chided her, why do you always struggle so hard against your fate? What is meant will be. The logic of our Greek ancestors should tell you that.
Suddenly she began to weep. “Do not leave me, Alexander! Please do not leave me!”
Ah beauty, would you keep me a prisoner between the two worlds? I cannot go unless you let me. Release me from this earth of which I am no longer a part.
“No! No!”
I love you, beauty, and if you love me you must let me go. What has been between us can never be taken away. Our story is firmly engraved in the pages of the world’s history. You will always have your memories.