Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [191]
“I’m here.”
“Good. Get Anastasius to give you … the letters. Don’t lose them! Don’t throw …” She took a long, deep breath and let it out with a sigh, a little gasp in her throat. Then silence.
Demetrios waited for several more minutes and then stood up. “She’s gone. What letters was she talking about? Where are they?”
Anna took the key from under the pillow and went to the box behind the icon on the wall, as Eirene had told her. The letters were in a neatly tied bundle.
“Thank you,” he said, taking them from her hand. “You can go. I would rather be alone with her.”
There was nothing for Anna to do but obey.
Seventy-six
ZOE HEARD OF EIRENE’S DEATH WITHOUT SURPRISE; SHE had been ill for some time. It was not exactly grief Zoe felt, for they had been both friends and enemies. What troubled her was that they had also been co-conspirators against Michael, when Zoe had believed that Bessarion could have usurped the throne and led a resistance against the union with Rome and that such a thing would have saved both Constantinople and the Church.
Now she knew that that could never have succeeded. Justinian had realized it and done what Zoe should have done herself. His action had had the advantage that it was he who had paid the price for it, not she.
The thought that gnawed at the back of her mind as she paced the floor in her marvelous room was that Anastasius, inquisitive and unpredictable, was the one who had treated Eirene in her last days. Sometimes when people are ill, frightened, and realizing that death cannot be held at bay any longer, they tell secrets they never would have were they going to face the results.
And then there was Helena. She had changed since Eirene’s death. She had always been arrogant, but there was a self-confidence in her now that was disturbing, as if nothing frightened her anymore.
Did she think that now Eirene was dead, Demetrios would marry her? That made no sense. He would have to observe a decent period of mourning.
But as Zoe thought back on Helena’s mood, her behavior, there was certainly no new warmth toward Demetrios; if anything, rather the opposite. She seemed consumed in herself. It was something far more powerful than security or status; something, perhaps, like a glimpse of the throne!
Could there be another attempt at usurpation, one that this time might succeed? The situation was vastly changed, and this time Zoe would have no part in it. But could she betray it to Michael? She could not. Her part in the last plot had been too close. If Helena attempted and failed, Zoe would be ruined.
Michael was their only hope. His overthrow would bring chaos to the empire, and to her personally, a whole new balance of relationships. Worst of all, Helena would exercise her long-hoped-for revenge.
In the end, survival was all. Byzantium must not be raped again. Whatever was paid to prevent that, it was not too much.
Seventy-seven
THE MAN WHO BROUGHT THE MESSAGE FROM THE POPE WAS obviously tired and profoundly unhappy. Courtesy required that Palombara offer him refreshment, but as soon as the servant had gone to prepare it, he pleaded to know the news.
“God knows we tried to create a union, but we have failed,” the man said miserably. “The king of the Two Sicilies is gathering more ships and more allies with every passing week, and we can no longer pretend that the Orthodox Church is one with us in spirit and intent. It is only too obvious that their acceptance of our hand of friendship is a farce, a convenience to protect their physical safety, no more.”
Palombara’s mind was heavy with the terrible inevitability of it. Yet he had hoped that somehow the passion for survival would overcome.
“If you wish to return to Rome, my lord, the Holy Father gives you leave to do so.” The messenger’s voice dropped. “The Holy Father has recognized that he no longer has any control over the actions of the king. There will be another crusade, perhaps as soon as 1281, and it will be an army such as we have not seen before.” He met Palombara’s eyes. “But if you wish