Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [49]
While he was sitting up in bed, he still looked hollow-eyed and pale. A whole man would have been stubble-chinned by now, but Constantine’s face looked curiously soft.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Improved,” he replied, but she could see he was tired.
She felt his brow, then his pulse, then gently pinched the skin on his forearm again. He was still clammy and his flesh slack, but his pulse was steadier. She made a few more inquiries about his pain, by which time Manuel arrived with the soup and bread. She sat beside Constantine, steadying his hand as he ate, gently helping him, steeling herself to ask the questions.
“Please eat,” she encouraged. “We need you to be strong. I do not wish to be governed by Rome. It will destroy a great deal of what I believe to be true, and of infinite value. It is a tragedy that Bessarion Comnenos was murdered.” She hesitated. “Do you think that could have been prompted by Rome?”
His eyes widened and his hand stopped with the spoon in the air. The thought had not occurred to him. She could see him searching for the answer he wanted to give.
“I had not considered it,” he admitted finally. “Perhaps I should have.”
“Would it not have served their interest?” she pressed. “Bessarion was passionately against union. He was of imperial blood. Might he have led a resurgence of faith among the people that would have made union impossible?”
He was still staring at her, the last of the soup temporarily forgotten. “Have you heard anyone say so?” he asked, his voice low and with a sudden, sharp note of fear in it.
“If I were of the Roman faith, perhaps hoping to assist the union myself, either for religious reasons or ambition, I would not want a leader such as Bessarion alive and well,” she said urgently.
A curious look passed over Constantine’s face, a mixture of surprise and wariness.
She plunged on. “Might Justinian Lascaris have been in the pay of Rome, do you suppose?”
“Never,” he said instantly. Then he stopped, as if he had committed himself too quickly. “At least, he is the last man I would have thought it of.”
She could not let this opportunity slip by. “What other reason do you think Justinian could have had for killing Bessarion? Did he hate him? Was there a rivalry between them? Or money?”
“No,” he said quickly, pushing aside the tray that held his food. “There was no rivalry or hate, at least on Justinian’s part. And no money. Justinian was a wealthy man, and prospering more each year. Every reason I know of says he would wish Bessarion alive. He was profoundly against the union and supported Bessarion in his work against it. At times I thought he did the more work of the two.”
“Against the union?”
“Of course.” Constantine shook his head. “I cannot believe Justinian would work for Rome. He was an honorable man, of more courage and decisiveness than Bessarion, I think. That is why I spoke for him to the emperor in plea that the sentence be commuted to exile. It was certainly his boat that was used to dispose of the body, but it might have been without his knowledge. Antoninus confessed, but he did not implicate Justinian.”
“What do you think was the truth?” She could not leave it now. She touched on the subject ugliest in her mind. “Could it not have been personal? To do with Helena?”
“I do not believe Justinian had any feelings for Helena, most certainly not of that kind.”
“She is beautiful,” Anna pointed out.
Constantine looked slightly surprised. “I suppose so. There is no modesty in her, no humility.”
“True,” Anna conceded, “but those are not always qualities that men look for.”
Constantine shifted a little in the bed, as if he were uncomfortable. “Justinian told me that Helena had once made it very clear that she wished him to lie with her, and he had refused. He told me that he still loved his wife, who had died not long before, and he could not yet think of another woman, least of all Helena.” Constantine smoothed