“Where is the shop of Avram Shachar?” he called out to a man slowly opening his door and peering out.
The man pointed.
Giuliano thanked him and increased his pace.
He found the right door and banged on it, too hard, and realized with embarrassment that he was being rude.
“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as it was opened. “I’m looking for Anastasius Zarides. Is he here?”
Shachar nodded, but he did not step aside or invite him in.
“I’m Giuliano Dandolo, a friend of Anastasius. I have great good news. Charles of Anjou is fallen. His fleet is sunk-burned, and at the bottom of the sea. I want to be the one to tell him…” He realized he was gabbling and took a breath to steady himself. “Please.”
Shachar nodded slowly, his eyes searching Giuliano’s face. “That is true?”
“Yes. I swear. I have already told the emperor. But I want to tell Anastasius myself-and you.”
Shachar’s face split into a broad smile. “Thank you. You had better come in.” He pulled the door wide and pointed to a room at the farther end of the corridor. “The herb room is there. Anastasius will be working with them. No one will disturb you.” He seemed about to add something more, then changed his mind.
“Thank you.” Giuliano brushed past him and went down to the door. Then apprehension swept over him. What changes had Nicephoras meant? What had happened? Was Anastasius ill? Injured?
He knocked hard on the door.
It opened and a woman stood just inside. She was taller than average, with a slender throat, high cheekbones, and bright chestnut hair. There was something beautiful in her that tugged at him as if he had known her for as long as he could remember, yet he had never seen her before.
The color swept up her skin in a burning tide.
“Giuliano…” Her voice was husky, as if she found it difficult to speak.
He did not know what to say. He knew now. He felt a rage of embarrassment burst open inside him for all the things he had said, the emotions, the stories shared about which he could recall not the words, but the intense feeling of companionship, almost intimacy, as if nothing need be hidden.
Then he remembered the awakening of physical hunger in himself and the shame and confusion that had all but crippled him. He had struggled with such pain to stifle that.
It seared through him with shock. What had she felt?
He averted his eyes and saw the herbs and ointments packed away, as if to travel.
“Is Shachar leaving?” he asked impulsively. “Are you?”
She smiled, blinking rapidly as if to dispel tears. “The crusaders will come any day now. When they do, it will not be good for Jews to be here-or Muslims.”
“Is that why…” He looked at her woman’s tunic. It embarrassed him, and pleased him, to see how feminine her body was beneath it, as rich as Zoe’s.
“No…,” she said quickly. “Helena was going to ally with the invaders, to rule with them. She’s Michael’s illegitimate daughter. I found proof of her plans and I told the emperor. She told him I was a woman.”
He caught the pain in her voice, then looked up and saw it harsh and sad in her face. He could only imagine how it hurt.
“Anas-” He stopped. He did not know her name.
“Anna Lascaris,” she whispered.
He reached out his hand, not to touch her, just in a gesture. He thought of all his own disillusion, the dreams and the friendships failed, the long loneliness of it.
“It’s over now,” she said quietly. “The emperor allowed me to go, but I cannot stay in the city. Simonis will go home to Nicea. If that falls, too-”
“It won’t!” he cut across her urgently. “None if it will. Byzantium is safe, at least from Charles of Anjou. His whole fleet is at the bottom of Messina harbor. I saw it myself. The crusade will never happen.” The joy and relief welled up inside him. He wanted to take her in his arms and hug her so hard that he lifted her off her feet, whirled her around. He ached to do it with an almost physical pain. But it would not end there.
“You don’t have to leave…,” he said.
She met his gaze, studying him. “Yes, I do. Helena had friends, allies. They will know I was responsible for her betrayal to Michael. They killed her in the palace. Broke her neck. They won’t forgive me for that.”
He tried to imagine it, the passion and violence.
“And I have Michael’s letter of pardon for my brother,” she went on. “I must take it…”
“To Jerusalem?”
“And then Sinai.”
If she was not here, what use was Byzantium without her?
“Are you going back to Venice?” Her voice caught on the words.
“No.” He shook his head fractionally. “I was one of those who set the fleet on fire.” Why the sudden modesty in front of her? Because boasting was shallow and in the end without meaning. What he wanted above anything and everything else was to go with her to Jerusalem, not only the Jerusalem of the world, but the destination of the heart.
“Shachar doesn’t have to leave Byzantium,” he said softly. “He’ll be safe here. I’ll go with you-if I may?”
The color swept up her face again, but this time she did not look away. “I’m… I’m not a eunuch anymore…”
“I know.”
“Do you?” It was a question. He saw the fear in her eyes. Something hurt her almost more than she could bear. Her body was stiff, as if pain filled her and ran out of control.
What did she believe he meant? “As your husband,” he said quickly.
She wanted to look away, but this was the moment when the last deceit must go, whatever it cost. “I cannot have children,” she whispered. “It’s my own fault. I’ve regretted it with all my time and my strength, but it changes nothing. I hated my husband, and I provoked him until he beat me-” She stopped, the grief inside choking her. She wanted passion, the giving and the taking, with a fierceness that consumed her, but the lie could destroy everything.
“I can live without children,” he said quietly, touching her cheek with his fingers. “But I cannot be fully alive without you. I should be alone, always alone, and that is to be shut out of heaven. Marry me, and we shall travel to Jerusalem. We’ll find that pathway of the spirit that goes always upward, or make it. There will be people to defend, and to heal.”
She reached up and closed her hand over his, putting it to his lips. “I will,” she promised. “I will.”
Book List
Byzantine Dress: Representations of Secular Dress in Eighth to Twelfth-Century Painting (The New Middle Ages) by Jennifer L. Ball
Byzantine Monuments of Istanbul by John Freely and Ahmet S. Cakmak