Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [215]
Now Zoe still plagued his dreams: She lay on her back, a lush, full-breasted woman, thighs apart in a mockery of his own emptiness. It was a humiliation, an obscenity, yet he could not look away.
Everything was sliding out of control. The emperor had betrayed the entire nation by selling out to Rome, and worse than that, he had done it so publicly that there was hardly a man, woman, or even child in Constantinople who did not know of it.
Now was the time for a miracle. Another month, two months, and it would be too late.
Yet Constantine was startled when his servant informed him that Bishop Vicenze was here and wished to speak with him. He disliked the man intensely, not only for his calling to undermine the Church in Byzantium and the fact that he came from Rome, but personally as well. Vicenze lacked any kind of humility. Still, Constantine had prayed for a miracle, and he must not stand in the way of its occurrence, if in some way Vicenze was part of it.
Constantine set aside the text he was reading and stood up. “Have him come in,” he instructed.
Today Vicenze was dressed very plainly, almost as if he wished to pass unnoticed, whereas usually he was self-important.
They exchanged formal greetings: Constantine guardedly, Vicenze with uncharacteristic ease, as if keen to reach his purpose for having come.
Constantine offered him wine, fruit, and nuts. Vicenze accepted his hospitality, making light conversation of irrelevances until the servant had left. Then he turned straight to Constantine, his eyes brilliant with urgency.
“The situation in the city is very serious,” he said, his voice sharp. “Fear is mounting every day, and we are on the brink of civil unrest, which could be disastrous for the well-being of the poor and the most vulnerable.”
“I know,” Constantine agreed, taking a handful of almonds from the exquisite porphyry bowl. “They are terrified of the army that Charles of Anjou will bring. They grew up on tales of crusader murders and destruction.” He could not resist saying that, reminding Vicenze that because he was Roman he was partisan in the atrocity.
Vicenze bit his lip. “They need something to restore their faith in God, and in the Blessed Virgin,” he said firmly. “Faith is greater than all the fear in the world. Brave men, giants in the cause of Christ, have faced crucifixion, lions, the fires of torture, and not flinched. They have gone to martyrdom because their faith was perfect. We are not asking that of the people, only belief, so God can work the miracle that will save not only their souls, but their bodies as well, maybe even their homes, their city. Has not the Blessed Virgin done it before, when the people trusted in her?”
In spite of his loathing for the man, Constantine was drawn into his vision. He spoke the truth, pure and lovely as the first light of dawn in a blemishless sky. “Yes … yes, she has, in the face of the impossible,” he agreed.
“The invaders are coming by sea,” Vicenze countered. “Has not God power over the wind and the waves? Could Christ not walk upon the water, and calm the storm—or cause one?”
Constantine felt his breath tighten. “But it would be a miracle. We have not the passion of faith to bring such a thing to pass.”
“Then we must gain it!” Vicenze said, his eyes gleaming. “The faith of the people could save them, and surely there is nothing else left that will?”
“But what can we do?” Constantine said in a whisper. “They are too frightened to believe anymore.”
“All they need is to see the hand of God in something, and they will believe again,” Vicenze replied. “You must perform a smaller miracle for them, not only to the saving of their bodies, and your city and all it has been in the world, but to the saving of their souls. They are your charge, your holy responsibility.”
“I thought you wanted their loyalty to Rome?” Constantine said.
Vicenze