Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [196]
Anna turned the corner, and the wind was cold in her face.
She could not let the matter rest. She went to Constantine and found him busy ministering to supplicants of one sort or another.
“What can I do for you, Anastasius?” he asked guardedly. They were in his ocher-colored room facing onto the courtyard.
There was no purpose in trying to be tactful. “I have just visited Theodosia. She has lost the strength and comfort of her faith.”
“Nonsense,” Constantine said sharply. “She attends Mass every Sunday.”
“I did not say she has fallen from the Church,” Anna replied patiently. “I said she is without that inner light of hope, the trust that keeps us going even when we cannot see the way at all, but still feel the love of God … in the dark.”
She saw a flash of amazement in Constantine’s eyes, as if he had caught a glimpse of something he had barely guessed at before.
Anna went on with a surge of belief within herself. “She does not believe in a God who overlooks her offense without healing it, as if neither she nor it mattered. If she were to offer some deep penitence, a sacrifice of something important to her, she might be able to believe again.”
Constantine looked at her with a strange mixture of wonder and hostility. “What had you in mind?” he said coldly.
“Perhaps to part from Leonicus for a while—say, two years? It was being with him when Joanna was dying that was wrong. She could devote her time to caring for the sick, as Joanna was. Then she would come back from it whole, able to take up and treasure what she had paid for, albeit with pain. Then she could accept forgiveness, because she was honest.”
Constantine raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying that she has not accepted God’s absolution?” he said incredulously.
“The Church’s, not God’s. Please … at least offer Theodosia the chance to earn back her faith,” Anna pleaded. “What are any of us without it? The shadows are closing in everywhere, armies on the outside, and selfishness, fear, and doubt within. If we haven’t even a pinpoint of faith that God is absolutely good, a pure love of the heart and soul, what hope is there for any of us?”
Constantine blinked and stared at her. “I’ll see her,” he conceded. “But she won’t agree.”
Eighty-one
CONSTANTINE HAD BEEN CERTAIN AT THE TIME HE GAVE absolution to Theodosia that he was the instrument of her salvation and that she would be eternally grateful to him for that.
Now he felt the deep, gnawing pain inside him that Anastasius was right. He recalled Theodosia’s desperate humiliation after her husband left her. She had been grateful for Constantine’s support, his assurance, his constant promise to her of God’s guidance and blessing.
Lately when they met she was courteous, but her eyes were blank.
She received him, and he felt his belly tighten with apprehension.
“Bishop Constantine,” she said courteously, coming forward to greet him. “How are you?” She looked magnificent in an emerald green embroidered tunic and a dalmatica crusted with gold, gold ornaments in her dark hair. Somehow the hues, rich as they were, leached the color out of her skin.
“Well enough,” he replied. “Considering that we live in such threatening times.”
“We do,” she agreed, turning her eyes away as if regarding some danger beyond the gorgeous painted walls of the room. “May I offer you refreshment? Perhaps some almonds, or dates?”
“Thank you.” Having food would make his task easier. It would be too discourteous to ask him to leave while he was eating. “I have not had time to speak with you in the last month or two. You look disturbed. Is there anything with which I can help you?”
“I am well, I assure you,” she said.
He had given much thought as to how he could broach the subject of penitence with any delicacy at all. “You have not been to confession lately, Theodosia. You are a fine woman,