“Find out, or I’ll have to,” Anna said. “And you would be better at it than I would.”
“Are you ordering me to?” Simonis responded.
“Would that make any difference? Because if it would, then yes, I am.”
Simonis said nothing, but Anna knew she would do it, and do it with courage and dedication. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.
Simonis stood up and stalked out of the room.
It was a few days later that enough information was pieced together for Anna to be certain that Esaias had traveled to Palermo and to Naples on Helena’s behalf, and that Helena at least believed that she had a promise from the king of the Two Sicilies for her to rule Byzantium, as consort of the puppet emperor he would place on the throne. Her Comnenos and Palaeologus heritage would legitimize the succession in the eyes of the people. She would be empress-a feat Zoe could never have achieved.
Anna went to the Blachernae Palace to speak to Nicephoras. She would do it straightaway, before she lost her nerve, before she allowed Leo or Simonis to dissuade her.
She climbed the steps and went in through the huge entrance, acknowledged by the Varangian Guard, who knew her well. How many more times would she do this? Could it even be the last, this evening, as the dusk settled purple over Asia and the last light flickered on the waters of the Bosphorus?
She asked to see Nicephoras, telling his servant that it was urgent.
He was used to her calls and did not question her. Ten minutes later, she was alone with Nicephoras in his room. It looked exactly as it had the first time she was here. Only Nicephoras himself was changed. He looked tired and much older. There were hollows around his eyes and blue veins in his hands.
“Have you come to say good-bye?” he asked, making no attempt to smile. “You have no need to stay, you know. I will remain with the emperor. The injuries we are about to receive cannot be healed, except by God. I would like to think you are safe. That would be a gift you could give me.”
“Perhaps this will be good-bye.” She found this meeting harder than she had been prepared for. Her voice wavered, and she mastered it only with difficulty. “But that is not what I came for. I came because I have news of Helena Comnena which you should know.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Does it matter now?”
“Yes. I have proof that she has been in communication with Charles of Anjou, to make an agreement with him.”
Nicephoras was startled. “What could she possibly offer him?”
“A kind of legitimacy. A Palaeologa wife for whatever puppet he puts on the throne of Byzantium.”
“None of Michael’s daughters would betray him by doing such a thing,” Nicephorus replied instantly.
“Not a legitimate daughter-illegitimate.”
His eyes widened with incredulity, then dawning horror. “Are you sure?” he breathed.
“Yes. Eirene Vatatzes told me. Gregory knew, from Zoe. Whether it is true or not hardly matters, although I believe it. The thing is that Helena believes it, and Charles of Anjou may choose to.”
“How was Helena in communication with Charles? Letters? Do you have them?”
“She wouldn’t be so foolish. Words, a signet ring, a locket, things whose meaning is clear only when you know it already. All these, through Esaias Glabas. He was part of the original plot to murder the emperor, which my brother, Justinian, foiled. He is the only one left, apart from Demetrios Vatatzes, for whom Helena has no further use.”
“And you have come to tell the emperor?”
Her hands were clenched so tight, her muscles ached and her breathing was ragged. “I want something in return, because Helena will denounce me to the emperor, and he will not forgive me for having deceived him.”
Nicephoras bit his lip, and his face was bleak. “That is true. What do you want, Anna? Freedom for your brother?”
“Yes. A letter of pardon would still achieve that. Please.”
Nicephoras smiled. “I think that would be possible, but you must not lie to him, about anything. It is too late for that now. You must tell him that you are a woman, and that you deceived him in order to learn the truth and prove Justinian’s innocence.”
She felt herself go cold. She could not get enough air into her lungs. “I can’t. It would mean I had deceived you also. He can’t forgive you for that, because you should have told him, and had me imprisoned… at the very least.”
“I should have,” he agreed. “But I don’t think he will have us executed now. These are the last days, and I have served him since my childhood. As much as it is possible, we are friends. I do not think he can afford to cast aside a friend in these last few months before the midnight of our empire.”
“Then… then we had best do it,” she said, her voice cracking.
He looked at her steadily for several seconds; then, when she did not avert her eyes, he reached for a small gold-and-enamel bell and rang it.
A member of the Varangian Guard appeared almost immediately. Nicephoras gave him an order to bring Helena Comnena to the emperor, straightaway, on pain of death.
Startled, pale-faced, the man withdrew to obey.
“Anna,” he said, “we have much to say before Helena comes.”
He led her along the familiar corridors with the ruined statues. She found herself trembling, ridiculously close to weeping as she thought how all this would soon be smashed again, trodden through by people who did not love it, did not even imagine the beauty of mind and heart it had once been.
Too soon, Anna was in the formal room where the emperor received his subjects. Nicephoras went in ahead of her, then returned to conduct her in.
She followed, bowing low, not meeting the emperor’s eyes until commanded to do so. When he spoke, she looked up. What she saw chilled her. Michael Palaeologus was not yet sixty, but he was an old man. He had the hollow-eyed look of one whose days were numbered.
“What is it, Anastasius?” he asked, searching her face slowly. “Have you come to tell me anything I do not already know?”
“I’m not certain, Majesty.” She was trembling and her words stuck in her throat, all but stopping her from breathing.
Nicephoras plunged in for her. “Majesty, Anastasius has word of an act of betrayal you may choose to allow, or choose to prevent. Perhaps it will come to nothing in the end, anyway.”
“What betrayal, Anastasius? Do you imagine it matters now?”
“Yes, Majesty.” Her voice was trembling, her body was cold. “Helena Comnena has been in communication with Charles of Anjou.”
“Really? Telling him what? How to invade our city? How to break its walls so the crusaders of the pope can put us to fire and the sword again, in the name of Christ?”
“No, Majesty. So that when he has taken us, and killed those loyal to you, the empire, and the Church, he can crown a new emperor in your place, with a wife who can claim two royal names, and an inheritance sufficient to give him some hold on the people’s obedience.”