“Alexander!” It was an anguished cry.
Adora, please! She understood the plea. Tears poured down her face, but she did not feel them. Her heart ached so painfully that she thought it would burst. Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed to force the words out.
“Farewell, Alexander. Farewell, my beloved husband!”
“Farewell, beauty!” She heard his voice!
“Alexander!” she screamed then, but the room was silent. “Alexander!” came back the frantic, mocking echo. Slowly, she rose from her knees.
Tomorrow they would commend to God the soul of the last Heracles to rule in Mesembria, and then she would found a new dynasty whose first son, she vowed, would be called Alexander.
It rained heavily the next day, yet the streets of Mesembria were filled with silent mourners. They took strength from their queen. She sat straight on the white palfrey led by Basil. Her gown was black velvet-long-sleeved, plain, completely unadorned. She wore no jewelry but her wedding band and, upon her unbound dark hair, the small gold consort’s crown. The patriarch of Mesembria conducted the funeral mass in St. John the Baptist’s Cathedral, which had been built some four hundred years prior by Alexander’s ancestors.
Afterward the mourners made their way to the memorial park above the city where Alexander’s family had been buried. Here his coffin was placed in a marble tomb facing the sea. Ariadne’s little coffin was placed beside her father’s.
Adora performed her widow’s duties in stony silence. At the palace, she snapped when Anna questioned her. “Mourn for your husband in your way, old woman! I will mourn for mine in my way. And for my child, too, as I choose. Alexander has left me a great trust, and if I spend my time in idle weeping I shall fail him. I will never fail him!” But in the silent cold hours before dawn she wept secretly. Her grief was a private thing, not to be shared with anyone. From that moment on, Theadora refused to release herself from her feelings about either Alexander or Ariadne. What she felt about the loss of the two people closest to her heart was a matter she shared with nobody at all, from then until the day she died.
Each day she presided over her council, following the progress being made on the city’s renovations, meting out justice, working with the city’s merchants.
Then, one day, a delegation arrived from Constantinople led by a nobleman Lord Titus Timonides. Adora knew him to be an occasional lover of Helena’s. He brought two messages. The first, from Helena to her sister, was filled with a false sympathy Adora recognized immediately. She tossed the offending parchment aside and opened the second message. It was an imperial edict signed by the empress, appointing Lord Timonides governor of Mesembria. Wordlessly, Adora handed it to Basil. He quickly scanned it, then spoke aloud to the assembled council. “The empress wishes to appoint this man our governor.”
“No!” came the collective shout of outrage.
Basil turned to Timonides. “You see how it is, my lord. They do not want you. But far more important, the empress has no legal right to make such an appointment. Our charter, which is as old as this city and older than Constantinople itself, gives us the right to choose our own leaders. We have chosen the princess Theadora to rule over us.”
“But she is a woman,” came the condescending reply.
“Aye, my lord,” replied the old man. “How clever of you to notice that. She is a woman! A beautiful woman! Nonetheless a capable leader. She is Mesembria’s choice. It is not up to your empress to appoint us a ruler.”
“But the empress wants her sister to return home. In her great grief she surely needs the comfort of her family.”
Adora choked with outrage. “Helena has never had any but the most hostile feelings toward me, Titus Timonides. You know that. My beloved Alexander left me his city as a trust, and these good men of my royal council have confirmed that trust. I have not lived in Constantinople since was a child. With both my parents gone from there, the city holds no fascination for me. Mesembria is my true home, and here I will remain. Return to my sister, and tell her that. Also tell her that if she again attempts to interfere with our government, we will take the appropriate action.”
“You will regret this, princess,” snarled Timonides.
“Do you dare to threaten the queen of Mesembria?” thundered Basil. Timonides saw that about the council hands had gone to sword hilts. Their grim looks made it clear that he had gone too far. These men would not hesitate to kill him. “Get you back to your mistress, Byzantine, and give her our message. Mesembria will not be interfered with!”
Titus Timonides did not hesitate. Gathering up his party of idle courtiers and hangers-on, he returned to his ship. They sailed back to Constantinople where he sought immediate audience with the empress.
Helena received him in her bedchamber. She was looking particularly stunning in a chamber robe of sheer black silk with a painted gold design. Her long blond hair was loose about her shoulders. Reclining on one elbow on her side, she allowed the seductive outline of hip, thigh, leg and breast to be visible. Timonides felt a sense of frustrated lust, for, reclining next to Helena was the smiling current captain of her guard. While Timonides offered his report the handsome young soldier, naked save for a breechcloth, fondled the empress’s ripe breasts. At one point he even pushed his hand between Helena’s soft thighs, and dallied there.
“Why are you back here instead of in Mesembria? And where is my sister?” demanded Helena.
“Their charter allows them to choose their own ruler. They have chosen your sister. They expect her to eventually remarry, and found them a new dynasty.”
“In other words, Titus, they sent you packing. That is very unfortunate, Titus. You know how I dislike failure. Paulus, that is too delicious.” Helena stroked the soldier’s cheek. “However, Titus, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself,” she continued. “You will take a message from me to the Bulgarian general, Symeon Asen. He will take care of this troublesome matter, and my sister will return home to Constantinople. Go now and rest. You must go alone on this new journey.”
Titus Timonides bowed himself from the empress’s presence, thankful to still be alive. Helena did indeed dislike failure. It was reassuring to know that the bitch had some feeling for him.
In the royal bedchamber Paulus moved to mount his mistress but she pushed him aside. Rising from the bed, she began to pace. “You will have to go to Mesembria by sea, and rescue Theadora.”
“Rescue her?” He looked puzzled.
“Yes, rescue her. The message Titus carries offers our friend General Asen the city of Mesembria if he will but take it. The Bulgarians captured Mesembria over five hundred years ago but held it only for a short period. They have always coveted it. My note will explain to the general that he may have the city and its people. I only want my sister returned safely to me. Of course, if he should choose to amuse himself with her for a short bit before be returns her, I cannot prevent it. Your job, my brave Paulus, will be to bring your ship into the imperial boat basin and remove Thea from the mouth of danger. Do not fail me, Paulus!”
“It shall be done, my empress,” smiled the handsome soldier. He drew Helena back onto the bed and, opening her gown, rubbed his face against her breasts. “What of Timonides? He is no fool, and will quickly make the connection between his message and Mesembria’s downfall.”
The empress’s red nipples hardened. “Poor Titus will not be returning to us. My message also asks that the messenger be executed. There must be no connection between General Asen and me. Paulus, darling! Ohhh, yes!”
The empress lay on her back now, murmuring with pleasure as her lover‘s lips moved over her body. “Such a clever girl, my beautiful Helena,” whispered Paulus. And then they lost themselves in carnal pleasures.