Anna found Zoe in her bedroom, lying on the great bed. Its tightly laced sheep-fleece mattress was covered with further goose-down ones and then clean, embroidered linen. It was so soft, Zoe had sunk into the depths in great comfort; still, she was tired and bad-tempered. Her lungs were congested, and she complained that it kept her from sleeping. She blamed Helena for having brought the affliction into the house.
“Then she is ill, too,” Anna said. “I am sorry. Shall I take some herbs to her, also? Or does she prefer a… a more traditional physician?” It was a delicate way of asking if she would accept medicine rather than a priest’s treatment by prayer and confession.
Zoe laughed harshly. “Don’t mince words around me, Anastasius!” she snapped, sitting up a little farther against the pillows. “Helena is a coward. She will confess to anything trivial, and take the herbs if she likes them well enough, which I think you already know perfectly well. Isn’t that what you do for most people-comfort their guilty consciences with the doctrine they expect, and then give them the medicine that actually treats the illness?”
It gave Anna a chill to realize Zoe saw through her so easily. She struggled for an answer. “Some people are more honest, others less,” she equivocated.
“Well, Helena is less,” Zoe said coldly. “Anyway, why do you care about her? I called you, she didn’t. Is it because she’s Bessarion’s widow? You’ve been unusually curious about him from the beginning.”
Lies would never work with Zoe. “Yes, I have,” Anna said boldly. “From what I have heard, he was fervently against the union with Rome, and he was murdered for it. I care very strongly that we do not lose ourselves and all that we believe to what is in effect a conquest by deception. This seems to be surrender. I would rather be conquered still fighting.”
Zoe propped herself up on her elbows. “Well, well. Such spirit! You would have been disappointed in Bessarion, I promise you.” Her voice was laced with disgust. “He had less manhood than you have, God help you!”
“Then why bother to murder him?” Anna asked. “Or was it to replace him with someone better?”
Zoe stopped, remaining motionless on one elbow, even though it must have been uncomfortable. “Such as whom?” she asked.
Anna took the plunge. “Antoninus?” she said. “Or Justinian Lascaris? Some people are saying he was man enough for it. Did he not have the courage?” She was trying to sound casual, although her body was stiff and her hands rigid. She had said it to begin with merely as a spur to make Zoe deny it and perhaps give away more. Now the idea danced wildly in her mind as a possibility.
“You think I know?” That was a demand, and the edge of Zoe’s voice was razor-sharp.
Anna held her gaze. “I would be very surprised if you didn’t.”
Zoe leaned back against her pillows, her rich, bright hair fanning out. “Of course I do. Bessarion was a fool. He trusted all sorts of people, and look where it got him! Esaias Glabas is charming, but a player of games, a manipulator. Only a fool needs to be loved, although it is pleasant, of course, and useful-but it is not necessary. Antoninus was loyal, a good right hand. Yes, Justinian was the only one with the brains, and the steel in his bones, to do it. Pity Bessarion was such a damn fool to drop his amulet in the cisterns. God knows what he was doing there anyway! I wish I did.”
“In the cisterns?” Anna repeated, playing for time. “I thought Bessarion was supposed to have died at sea? Did someone steal the amulet?”
Zoe shrugged. “Who knows? It wasn’t found until several days later, so perhaps the thief put it there.”
“An amulet?” Anna asked. “What was it like?”
“Oh, it was Bessarion’s,” Zoe assured her. “Very Orthodox, but unimaginative. Rather a graceless thing, really. Justinian had one far better, and he wore it all the time. Still had it when they took him away.”
“Really?” Anna could not control the wavering in her voice. “What was his like?”
Zoe stared at her. “St. Peter walking on the waves, and Christ holding out his hands to him,” she answered, and for a moment there was emotion in her voice as well, a mixture of pain and wonder.
Anna knew it. It was the one Catalina had given him. It was a joke between them, gentle and very deep: a reference to the ultimate faith, the weakness it mastered, the love it extended. So Justinian still wore it. She must not cry in front of Zoe, but tears choked her throat.
“Justinian was dining with friends half a mile away,” Zoe explained. “I presume that is why they suspected him of complicity. That, and the fact that it was the nets from his boat that Bessarion was found caught in and drowned.”
“Bessarion’s amulet could have got into the cisterns at any time,” Anna argued. “When was it stolen?”
Zoe settled a little more against her pillows. “The night he was killed,” she replied. “He wore it that day. Not only Helena said so, but his servants as well. She might lie, but they have not the sense to do so consistently, not all of them.”
“Justinian! I thought…” Anna stopped, not knowing what to say. She was betraying herself. None of it was what she had wanted to hear. “What… what was this Justinian like?” She did not wish to know, but she could no longer avoid asking. She remembered him as he had been, how they had shared so much, in thought and passion almost mirror images.
“Justinian?” Zoe rolled the name over on her tongue. “Sometimes he made me laugh. He could be abrupt and single-minded, but he wasn’t weak.” Her wide mouth tightened. “I hate weakness! Never trust a weak person, Anastasius, man or woman-or eunuch. Never trust someone who needs to be approved of. When things get hard, they’ll go with the winner, whatever they stand for. And don’t trust someone who needs to be praised. They’ll buy approval, regardless of the price.” She lifted one long, slender finger. “Above all, don’t trust someone who has no belief bigger than the comfort of not being alone. He’ll sell his soul for what looks like love, whatever it really is.” In the torchlight her face was hard and full of pain, as if she had stared at the first great disillusion.
“So whom do I trust?” Anna asked, forcing the same harsh humor into her own voice.
Zoe looked at her, taking in every line of her face, her eyes, her mouth, her hairless cheeks and soft throat. “Trust your enemies, if you know who they are. At least they’ll be predictable. And don’t look at me like that! I’m not your enemy-or your friend. And you will never predict me, because I’ll do whatever I need to, of God or of the devil, to get what I want.”
Anna believed her, but she did not say so.
Zoe saw it in her face and laughed.
Twenty-one
ANNA PUT AWAY THE HERBS INTO HER CASE, SAID A FEW last words of advice to the patient, then excused herself.
“Thank you,” Nicephoras said sincerely as she came out into the hallway. He had obviously been waiting for her. “Will Meletios recover?” The concern was apparent in the slight strain in his voice. He was sending for her more and more often lately.
“Oh yes,” she said confidently, praying she was right. “His fever’s broken. Just get him to drink, and then start him eating again soon, perhaps tomorrow.”
Nicephoras was clearly relieved. She had found him to be both compassionate and highly intelligent. She had become increasingly aware of a loneliness in him to share the excitement of his knowledge. He not only collected works of art, especially from antiquity, but even more he loved the treasures of the mind and hungered to share them.
They walked together from the anteroom to one of the great galleries. He guided her a little to the left. “Have you met John Beccus, the new patriarch?”