Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [211]
“God can do anything!” he said forcefully. “If you repent, and obey.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said softly. “We must help ourselves.”
“You blaspheme!” His voice rose in amazement and fury. “God will strike you dead!” He lifted his hand and pointed at her, jabbing his finger in the air as if it were a weapon.
She sat staring at him, smiling slightly lopsidedly, the right side of her face a little stiff. “Then my physician will heal me … again,” she replied. “You have the power to destroy, and he to make whole. Think of that, Bishop! Which of you does that make the greater?”
He lunged forward and seized a cushion from the nearest chair. He flung himself on top of her, pressing the soft, stifling fabric over her face. She struggled, arms and legs thrashing, but he was more than twice her weight and he held her down, crushing her lungs, suffocating her. It was only a few hideous moments before she stopped moving, and his rage went cold, his body covered in icy sweat. He stood up slowly and looked at Zoe where she lay sprawled on the floor, hair tangled, tunic up around her thighs. He should remember her like this: broken, without dignity, at once both exciting and disgusting in her suggestion of sensuality.
Feeling a revulsion he could barely control, he touched her hair with his hand to straighten it around her face. It was soft, so soft that he could barely feel it. The backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek. Her skin was still warm.
He shuddered convulsively. This was obscene! He wanted to strike her, tear down one of the huge tapestries and cover her with it.
But of course he must not do that. He was a bishop, tending a penitent sinner on her deathbed.
He pulled her tunic down as far as it would go. It was not far enough. It still looked as if she had had it lifted, as if … He refused to follow that thought. His mutilation burned in his soul. He lifted her thighs; she was heavy and warm. Then he pulled her tunic straight.
He stood up, his whole body trembling.
He waited several more minutes, then walked to the door and opened it. He stopped abruptly or he would have bumped into Anastasius standing just beyond it.
He looked Anastasius straight in the eye. “She repented of all her errors and saved her soul. It is a time for great rejoicing. Zoe Chrysaphes died a loyal daughter of the true Church.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “She will be buried in the Hagia Sophia. I shall offer the funeral Mass myself.” He forced himself to smile. It was like the rictus of the dead on his face.
Anastasius stared in total disbelief, his eyes wide and, unbelievably, filled with grief.
Constantine crossed himself and walked past him, his huge hands clenched, his heart pounding with victory.
Ninety
ANNA WALKED INTO THE ROOM AND STARED DOWN AT the body of Zoe. She saw the blue face, the bitten lip, and the blood on it. She bent down beside her, pushing back a stray lock of hair off her brow. Gently she lifted one eyelid. She saw the tiny pinpricks of red and knew what had happened. She stood up slowly and faced Thomais.
“Lay her out,” she said. “Make her look beautiful.” Her voice strangled in her throat. It was not only Zoe who was dead, it was Constantine also, and in an infinitely more terrible way.
Anna went outside into the rising wind and the first spots of rain. She walked alone to Helena’s house to give her the news. She did not want to do it, so it was best done quickly. Now the weight of what Constantine had said lay increasingly heavily on her. He would claim that Zoe had taken back all her support for union with Rome and died in the bosom of the Church. He would make pomp and display of it.
Helena took a long time to appear. The servants had admitted Anna only with great reluctance, but she had told them why she had come, and not one of them wished to tell Helena of Zoe’s death themselves. Anna waited, grateful for the wine and bread she was offered. She was cold through to the bone now, and her eyes stung with tiredness and with sorrow.
Helena came across the room, and Anna rose to her feet.