Thus she remained for several days. Everyone who saw her during that time was astonished by how much more beautiful she had become. She was now so beautiful that it no longer gave rise to feelings of pleasure but rather of fear and horror, as at some supernatural visitation.
And they knew that she too had been struck down by the same mysterious disease that had carried off the children of the town.
The Palace was plunged into mourning. The Emperor Constantine began to neglect his duties of state. Prayers for the young Princess were said in every church in the city. Doctors came and doctors went, but there was no known cure for this condition. With the death of each child something of Zoë’s own life had gone to the grave.
And then — after Thessalian prophetesses had read the signs and pronounced in vain; hermits had come out of the deserts to make the sign of the cross, to no avail; long-bearded Jews had hung up strange stones to work their influence for her, without result; Arab holy men had danced ululating beneath her window, to no effect; madmen and dwarves had turned cartwheels, and made no difference; two-headed animals bred specifically to brighten faces such as hers, had all failed — for her mysterious affliction simply grew ever deeper, more silent, more death-like — someone finally thought of the White Magus.
The White Magus had not been seen for seventy years. He lived alone, up in the north, at the top of a high mountain in the Carpathians. Since then he had renounced everything to do with the world and devoted his life to studying the eternal verities. It was said that he knew all the deepest secrets of nature and of human life. He, if anyone, would surely be able to help the little Princess.
A delegation was quickly drawn up, with the Archilogothetos at its head, with instructions to seek out the White Magus, if he were still alive, up in the Carpathian mountains.
The emissaries had to battle against many obstacles on the way. Melting snow had washed away the roads that ran between the peaks; the Danube was in flood, and crossing it proved fraught with danger. In the forests of the snow-covered lowlands wild Slavic tribesmen lay in wait for them with poisoned arrows.
At last they arrived at the permanent snowfields. They had come to a terrain into which no one had ever before ventured. This abode of tranquillity and silence had remained undisturbed in the shadow of the snow for many thousands of years. Those of the party who were versed in the lore of dreams and omens realised, trembling, that they were now very close to the White Magus.
One day they came to a stream beneath whose waters drifted strange flowers of frozen crystal, and they knew that this must be the mountain on whose peak he lived. They continued their painful journey upwards, picking their way between fields of snow and rivers of ice. One by one the mules collapsed. The weakest members of the party became ill or suffered from terrifying hallucinations, and the group began to break up.
It was already night when its remaining members reached the Magus’ ice gardens. In the astonishingly bright light of the stars they could see across enormous distances to the other peaks. Immense fields of ice stretched out before them, gleaming palely in the darkness. The cold was terrible. A blue light emanating from the palace itself flickered back and forth across the garden.
When they reached the top of the slippery stairway the Magus appeared at his gate to greet them. His austere, distinguished face made all petty thoughts seem shameful, and their bent, weary backs straightened as if under a reproach.
After listening attentively while the Archilogothetos explained the reason for their coming, he promised to visit the little Princess and do everything in his power to help her. It would be hard indeed to leave his astronomical tower and return to the bustling, petty-minded world from which he had grown so remote, but he respected both the moral code that required him to help all who turned to him and the law that made the Emperor the ruler of the world. While he remained in that world he would always follow his duty.
However, on that particular night certain very special events were about to be played out in the heavens, events to be witnessed only once in a hundred years, and which set the pattern for the next hundred, and he felt obliged to spend that one last night in his tower. Towards dawn, with a heavy heart, he bade farewell to the eternal stars.
The next day they set out for Byzantium. With the Magus at their side, the road was now very easy. He knew of pathways that led between the snowfields, and the Danube meekly allowed his longboat to ride on its back. Along the way he gladly dispensed advice to all who sought his counsel, treating everyone with the same kindliness and respect.
When they reached Drinapolis word came that Princess Zoë was on her deathbed. Alarmed and concerned, the Magus increased the pace of the journey. But by the time they arrived at the city walls of Byzantium the bells were already tolling. The Princess was dead.
The Emperor Constantine who received the Magus was a man broken by grief.
“If you had arrived just a few hours earlier, you might have saved her!”
“I am to blame,” replied the crestfallen Magus. “If I had set out immediately I would have been here in time. Eternal shame upon my head!”
He entered the room where the body lay and examined it carefully. When he returned his expression was even more sombre.
“I do not believe I could have helped her while she was alive,” he declared. “Your daughter must have been a very special person, my lord. It takes a most exceptional character to die of that most helpless form of love — pity. She froze to death because the children of the city were dying of cold, in their yearning for the lost sunlight of ancient Greece. It is a perilous thing to allow yourself to face life with a bared heart, not knowing, as one should, the need to abstract oneself from the world. You see, up there in my astronomical tower I can foretell every misfortune that blows down onto the world from the fateful stars. Should I ever allow pity to overwhelm me, if only for a moment, I would be dead within the hour. But the eternal winter of the Carpathians shields my heart. The sea of life cannot reach my tower, other than as a pure and rarified vapour. I could have done nothing for your daughter while she was still alive; and now that her heart is cold… But I have never yet made a wasted journey…”
Deep in thought, he wandered through the Palace gardens.
During the night he called again on the Emperor, who had remained beside his daughter’s bier.
“My lord, I cannot leave with this business unfinished,” he began. “I have decided to resort to the very greatest, and most dangerous, of all forms of magic, something a magus can work only once in his life — the art of raising the dead. I cannot reveal its many secrets and difficulties to you, but there is one problem you will have to find a way round by some means or another. You know that in this vale of woe everything comes at a price, just as the great mystery of birth requires both pain and the shedding of blood. If I am to bring a dead person back to life there must be an exchange with someone still living. My lord, if I am to revive your daughter I shall need a volunteer for sacrifice.”
“I am sure a great many people,” the Emperor replied, “would be prepared to give their lives for her. The heart of the entire city beat in her breast. I would willingly die myself, but unfortunately affairs of state require my continuing existence.”