Sofia was surprised to find herself seated at the emperor's table between Lucas Notaras and the dull but very talkative Grand Logothete, George Metochites. As a woman, it was not Sofia's place to speak unless directly questioned, and so she listened politely to Metochites, stifling yawns while he alternated between his two favourite subjects — the glories of his learned great-grandfather Theodore Metochites, and the dangers of union with the Catholic Church. All the time he managed to eat at a fascinating rate, far outpacing the constant stream of dishes, and shortly a trail of half-chewed food began to form, leading down his shirt and under the table. Oblivious, Metochites prated on and on.
'Did you know that my great-grandfather was something of a scholar?' Metochites asked in a dull monotone. He continued without waiting for an answer. 'Oh yes, he was. Quite the scholar. His studies of Aristotle and of astronomy are simply marvellous. Astronomy is certainly superior to mathematics. Most certainly superior, epistemologically speaking, for astronomy assumes the proper functioning of mathematics, does it not? Even without our understanding of the golden mean or arcs or circles, the sun would still travel around the earth. Of course, our Latin friends don't think so. To them, the sun revolves solely around the pope, with never so much as a nod to any bishops or councils. Did you know that they use unleavened bread in their communion? They might as well be Jews…'
Sofia had already met her other dinner companion, Notaras, on several occasions. She found him arrogant, very handsome, and very aware of it. He spent the meal locked in conversation with the royal councillor Sphrantzes and hardly glanced at Sofia. From what she could gather, they were arguing over the possibility of union with the Catholic Church. Only near the end of the meal, after his conversation with Sphrantzes had ended in frustration, did Notaras finally turn to her.
'The damn fool,' Notaras muttered. 'He would have us go begging cap in hand to the Latins.' He glanced at Sofia as if noticing her for the first time, and his gaze lingered. 'I understand that you know something of politics, Princess. Tell me, what do you think of this talk of union?'
Sofia lowered her eyes. 'I am sure that I could tell you little you do not already know,' she replied. She might study politics and philosophy in the privacy of her quarters, but she knew her public limits well enough.
Notaras's eyes narrowed. 'Sphrantzes has told me that you are not so modest behind closed doors. Come now, Princess. You may speak freely.'
'Very well,' Sofia said, raising her eyes to meet Notaras's gaze. 'When help is there, I believe that one should take it. And, I believe that it is not piety that makes us spurn such help, but pride.'
'Hear, hear! Well said,' Sphrantzes cried from down the table. Notaras ignored him.
'Perhaps you are right, Princess,' he said, his voice rising. 'Perhaps it is pride that motivates me. But I am not ashamed to say that I am too proud to submit to the rule of the pope; just as I am too proud to see our patriarch dethroned, or to see Latin soldiers walking our walls in place of their rightful defenders. I am proud, Princess, and I hope to God that all the men of this city are just as proud.'
'Your pride will count for very little if the city falls, if our homes and churches are looted and our women raped,' Sofia replied, rather more loudly than she had intended. Around her, the table had gone quiet as people turned to listen, but Sofia continued regardless. 'I do not see the honour in sacrificing an entire city to your finer feelings.'
'You are a woman,' Notaras snorted. 'You could hardly understand such things as honour, could you?'
'It seems you understand little else,' Sofia murmured.
'What was that?'
'I said you are right. I do not understand the honour of which you speak.'
'That is enough, Princess,' Constantine called from the centre of the table. 'We are not here to bicker, but to celebrate. Come, let us all drink to the continued glory and prosperity of our empire.' He quaffed his glass, and the rest of the guests followed suit. A long round of toasts followed: to Constantine; to the empire; and to continued peace and friendship between the Turks and Constantinople. When the toasting was done, Constantine left the table, signalling that the feast was over. Sofia left her place without even a glance at Notaras. She hurried from the great hall and was surprised to find Constantine waiting for her in the corridor.
'Niece,' he said. 'Come here. What did you think of the megadux, Lucas Notaras? A fine man, is he not?'
'Yes, sire,' she replied, although in truth she thought him a prideful buffoon. She could not, however, contradict the emperor. 'He is a very fine man, certainly.'
'Good,' Constantine said, smiling. 'Perhaps you shall not believe it, but it would pain me to upset you. I am very glad you enjoy Notaras's company, for he has agreed to marry you. He will be your husband before the year is through.'
Sofia felt suddenly sick. She put her hand to her stomach and lowered her head, breathing deep as she struggled to control her shock and disappointment. 'Yes, sire,' she managed to say in a dead voice. 'I am overjoyed.' She bowed and hurried away before Constantine could see the tears in her eyes. 'On guard!' Sofia cried and lashed out with her sword, swinging for the head of Dalmata, the head of the imperial guard and her fencing instructor. Dalmata gave ground, and Sofia pressed her attack, driving him across the floor of her apartments. Dalmata was much larger than Sofia, but she compensated with exceptional quickness and lightning reflexes. She swung high, then sidestepped a blow from Dalmata before swinging down hard and giving him a cruel rap on the knuckles of his sword hand. The blow stung, despite the leather glove that Dalmata wore and the dulled blade of the practice sword. Dalmata cursed and dropped his sword.
'Well done,' he said, rubbing his hand. After much convincing, Dalmata had agreed to teach her the fundamentals of sword-play, and Sofia had proved an apt pupil. They practised in her quarters, the only place in the palace where such outlandish behaviour on the part of a royal princess could pass unremarked. 'But be careful not to overextend yourself,' Dalmata warned.
Sofia nodded her understanding. She was breathing hard after nearly an hour of practice, but she did not wish to stop. 'Shall we continue?' she asked.
'Very well, one more pass,' Dalmata said. 'But I warn you, I shall not spare you this time.' And with that, he attacked, slashing at Sofia's waist. She parried the blow and spun away, but Dalmata was on her immediately. He swung hard, and Sofia's hand stung as she parried the heavy blow. The pain only made her angry. She ducked another blow and then went on the offensive, attacking with a ferocity that surprised even herself. She drove Dalmata back until he was against the wall, and then their swords crossed and locked. Dalmata shoved hard, and Sofia fell and rolled away.
'Are you injured?' Dalmata asked. Sofia sprang to her feet and shook her head. She would have a bruise on her hip, but she did not want to give in now. She attacked again, pressing Dalmata back against the wall. Again, their swords locked, but this time when Dalmata tried to push her away, she was ready. As he pushed, she gave way and dropped to a crouch, kicking out and knocking Dalmata off his feet. She rose quickly and struck the back of his sword hand hard with the flat of her blade. Dalmata threw his sword aside in frustration.
'Good Lord, child!' he exclaimed. 'You have fought these last days as if you wished me dead. What has come over you?'
Sofia lowered her sword, embarrassed. She was breathing hard, furious still, but certainly not at Dalmata. 'I am sorry, filos. Are you hurt?' Dalmata waived away her concern. 'I have not been myself, of late,' Sofia confessed. 'I certainly have no idea why.'