Anna felt the first stab of doubt, fine as a needle. Could holiness use such shadowed means and remain pure? The torches burned in their stands, and there was no wind, no sound outside, but suddenly she was colder.
Anna was still troubled with doubts and aware of the tensions in the city. She had warned Constantine of the personal dangers to him because she needed to raise the subject of Bessarion’s murder, but some of her fear for him was real. And she also knew that by asking questions, she drew attention to herself. There was no question of stopping her inquiry, but she took more care about walking alone, even though to everyone else she appeared to be a eunuch, and there was nothing lacking of propriety in going wherever she chose. But when called out late, after dark, which happened only rarely at this time of year with the short summer nights, she took Leo with her.
With all she had used in her own practice, and the extra needed for assisting the poor, she was running short of herbs. It was time she replenished her supply.
She walked down the hill to the dockside in the warm light, the sun still well above the hills to the west, the breeze blowing and smelling a little salt. She had to wait only twenty minutes, listening to the shouts and laughter of fishermen, before a water taxi came, and she shared it with a couple of other passengers going across the Golden Horn to Galata.
She relaxed in the taxi; the slight rocking of the boat and the steady slap of the water were soothing, and the other passengers seemed to feel the same. They smiled but did not disturb the evening with unnecessary conversation.
Avram Shachar welcomed her as always, taking her into the back room with its shelves and cupboards full of supplies.
She made her purchases and then was happy to accept his invitation to stay and dine with his family. They ate well, then the two of them sat in the small garden late into the evening, discussing some of the physicians of the past, especially Maimonides, the great Jewish physician and philosopher who had died in Egypt the same year the crusaders had stormed Constantinople.
“He is something of a hero to me,” Shachar said. “He also wrote a guide to the entire Mishnah, in Arabic. He was born in Spain, you know.”
“Not Arabia?” she asked.
“No, no. His name was really Moses ben Maimon, but he had to flee when the Muslim overlord, Almohades, gave people no choice except to convert to Islam or be put to death.”
Anna shivered. “They’re to the south and to the west of us. And they seem to be getting more powerful all the time.”
Shachar made a gesture of dismissal. “There is enough evil and pain to fight today, don’t look for tomorrow’s. Now tell me about your medicine.”
It was with pleasure and some surprise that she realized he was interested in her growing practice. She found herself answering his questions about her treatment of Michael, although she was discreet enough to say only that she was afraid for him because of the anger among the people regarding the union with Rome.
“That is something of an honor for you to attend him,” he said gravely, but he looked more anxious than happy.
“It was Zoe Chrysaphes’s recommendation that earned it,” she assured him.
“Ah… Zoe Chrysaphes.” He leaned forward. “Tell her nothing you do not have to. While I know her only by repute, I cannot afford to be ignorant of where the power lies. I am a Jew in a Christian city. You would do well to be careful also, my friend. Do not assume that everything is as it seems.”
Why did he warn her? Surely she had been discreet enough with her inquiries. “I’m Byzantine, and Orthodox Christian,” she said aloud.
“And a eunuch?” he added softly, a question in his eyes. “Who uses Jewish herbs and practices medicine on both men and women, and who asks a lot of questions.” He touched her arm where her robe covered it, very lightly, barely enough for her to feel, and not on her skin, just as he would if she were a woman. Then he withdrew it and sat back.
She felt the horror surge through her and bring the sweat out on her body. Somewhere she had made mistakes, perhaps many. Who else knew she was a woman?
Seeing her fear and understanding it, he shook his head fractionally, still smiling. “No one,” he said gently. “But you cannot hide everything, especially from an herbalist.” His nostrils flared slightly. “I have a keener sense of smell than most men. I had sisters, and I have a wife.”
She knew with a rage of embarrassment what he was referring to. It was her time of the month; in spite of her injuries it still came, and with it, of course, the warm, intimate odor of blood. She thought she had masked it.
“I will give you herbs which will keep you safe from others’ suspicion, and perhaps ease the pain a little,” he offered.
She could only nod. In spite of his kindness, she felt humiliated and deeply afraid.
Twenty
WHEN ANNA NEXT VISITED CONSTANTINE, HIS SERVANT conducted her into the room with the icons, apparently unaware that Constantine himself was in the next room, deep in conversation with someone.
Anna walked to the farther end, hoping to be out of earshot, because whatever it concerned, confession or simply the arrangement of some ceremony, it was being said in the belief that it was private.
But as Constantine and the man walked slowly from the courtyard closer to the archway into the room, she could actually see the other man, whom she knew because she had once treated his mother. His name was Manuel Synopoulos; almost thirty, he was a rather brisk, confident young man of unusually plain appearance, but the family possessed great wealth, and he could at times be charming.
Now he pulled out of his dalmatica a soft leather pouch fat with coins and passed it to Constantine.
“For the feeding of the poor,” he said quietly.
Constantine’s reply was gentle, but there was a high, sharp note of excitement underneath it.
“Thank you. You are a good man and will be a noble addition to the Church, a great warrior in the cause of Christ.”
“A captain,” Synopoulos said, and as he turned he smiled.
Anna wouldn’t admit to herself what had happened. It could not be that Constantine had just sold an office in the Church in return for money, even though he gave it all to the poor and more besides, just as Synopoulos had directed.
Manuel Synopoulos was no more a worthy priest, a man of God, than any young man who studied nothing, bought his way out of his mistakes, and took his pleasures where he wished and as his right.
His family would be grateful, and as long as the Greek Church stayed independent of Rome, a high office would bring in even more wealth. But far above money was the pride and the respect.
When Constantine did come to her, he looked elated, his face a little flushed.
“I have just received a new donation to the poor. We are gathering strength, Anastasius. Men are repenting of their sins, confessing and putting the past away. They will not join Rome but will fight beside us for the truth.”
She forced an answering smile. “Good.”
He heard the effort in her voice. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she lied, then knew he would not believe her. “It is simply that there is so far to go.”
“We are gaining allies all the time. Now the Synopoulos are with us, and the Skleros have always been.”
She wanted to ask at what cost, but she was not yet ready to challenge him. “I came about another matter, a patient I am concerned for…” And she addressed the cause of her visit.
He listened patiently, but it was clear to Anna that his mind was still in the exhilaration of his achievement.