Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [155]
And a cold and ugly thought: Had Constantine allowed Justinian to be blamed as an act of revenge for his change of allegiance, his understanding of reality?
Fifty-six
ANNA CHOSE HER TIME WITH CARE. FROM HER MANY visits to the Blachernae, she was familiar with Nicephoras’s routine. She went when she knew he would be alone and undisturbed, unless there was some crisis. She was uncharacteristically nervous climbing the palace steps, although she was now well-known, having attended most of the eunuchs at one time or another.
She passed the broken statues, the dark stains of fire, the passages blocked with rubble because the fabric of the building was dangerous. Perhaps Michael kept it this way so that neither he nor his servants would ever forget what being faithful to Orthodoxy cost.
She found Nicephoras in his usual room, open onto the courtyard. His servant went ahead and whispered that Anastasius had come, and a moment later she was shown in. Instantly she saw both the tiredness in his face and the sudden lift of pleasure at the sight of her.
“We are not falling ill often enough. It seems a long time since you have been here. What brings you? I have not heard of anyone needing your help.”
“It is I who need yours,” Anna replied. “But perhaps I can offer something in return? You look weary.”
He gave a little shake of his head. Anna was aware of the loneliness within him, the hunger to speak of things deeper in the heart than policy or the realities of diplomacy.
“That vase is new,” she observed, looking at a smoothly curved bowl sitting on one of the tables to the side. “Alabaster?”
“Yes,” he said quickly, his face brightening. “Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect,” she replied. “It’s as simple as the moon, as … as complete in itself, unconcerned with admiration.”
“I like that,” he said quickly. “You are quite right, many things try too hard. You hear the artist’s voice crying through the work for your attention. This has the supreme confidence of knowing exactly what it is. Thank you. I shall like it even more from now on.”
“Do I interrupt you reading?” she asked, seeing the manuscript on his desk.
“Ah! Yes, I was. It is about England, and I daresay it would be considered highly seditious here, but it is extraordinarily interesting.” His eyes were bright, watching her face carefully.
She was surprised. “England?” To her it meant only a barbarism beyond even the French, and she said as much.
“I thought so, too,” he admitted. “But they wrote a Great Charter in 1215, different from our laws of Justinian, because they were created by the barons, the aristocracy, and forced upon the king, whereas ours were codified by the emperor. Nevertheless, some of their provisions are interesting.”
She feigned interest, for his sake. “Really?”
His enthusiasm was too keen to be dampened by her lack of it. “My favorite is the dictum that justice delayed is justice denied. Do you not like that?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, to please him, then realized how profoundly she meant it. “Very much. It is certainly true. Is that what you were reading?”
“No. Much more recent, actually. Have you heard of Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester?”
“No.” She hoped this was not going to be long. “Is he one of the barons who forced this charter?”
“No.” He turned the manuscript facedown deliberately. “But you have come about something in particular. I see it in your face. The murder of Bessarion again?”
“You know me too well,” she confessed, then felt as if with the words she had betrayed him. He knew nothing at all of her in reality. She could not meet his eyes and was surprised how much that hurt. She had planned in her mind exactly what to say, practicing the details.
“What is it?” he asked.
She plunged in, all her careful rehearsal abandoned. “I believe there was a plot to assassinate the emperor, and for Bessarion to take his place, in order to save the Church