Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [67]
With all she had used in her own practice, and the extra needed for assisting the poor, she was running short of herbs. It was time she replenished her supply.
She walked down the hill to the dockside in the warm light, the sun still well above the hills to the west, the breeze blowing and smelling a little salt. She had to wait only twenty minutes, listening to the shouts and laughter of fishermen, before a water taxi came, and she shared it with a couple of other passengers going across the Golden Horn to Galata.
She relaxed in the taxi; the slight rocking of the boat and the steady slap of the water were soothing, and the other passengers seemed to feel the same. They smiled but did not disturb the evening with unnecessary conversation.
Avram Shachar welcomed her as always, taking her into the back room with its shelves and cupboards full of supplies.
She made her purchases and then was happy to accept his invitation to stay and dine with his family. They ate well, then the two of them sat in the small garden late into the evening, discussing some of the physicians of the past, especially Maimonides, the great Jewish physician and philosopher who had died in Egypt the same year the crusaders had stormed Constantinople.
“He is something of a hero to me,” Shachar said. “He also wrote a guide to the entire Mishnah, in Arabic. He was born in Spain, you know.”
“Not Arabia?” she asked.
“No, no. His name was really Moses ben Maimon, but he had to flee when the Muslim overlord, Almohades, gave people no choice except to convert to Islam or be put to death.”
Anna shivered. “They’re to the south and to the west of us. And they seem to be getting more powerful all the time.”
Shachar made a gesture of dismissal. “There is enough evil and pain to fight today, don’t look for tomorrow’s. Now tell me about your medicine.”
It was with pleasure and some surprise that she realized he was interested in her growing practice. She found herself answering his questions about her treatment of Michael, although she was discreet enough to say only that she was afraid for him because of the anger among the people regarding the union with Rome.
“That is something of an honor for you to attend him,” he said gravely, but he looked more anxious than happy.
“It was Zoe Chrysaphes’s recommendation that earned it,” she assured him.
“Ah … Zoe Chrysaphes.” He leaned forward. “Tell her nothing you do not have to. While I know her only by repute, I cannot afford to be ignorant of where the power lies. I am a Jew in a Christian city. You would do well to be careful also, my friend. Do not assume that everything is as it seems.”
Why did he warn her? Surely she had been discreet enough with her inquiries. “I’m Byzantine, and Orthodox Christian,” she said aloud.
“And a eunuch?” he added softly, a question in his eyes. “Who uses Jewish herbs and practices medicine on both men and women, and who asks a lot of questions.” He touched her arm where her robe covered it, very lightly, barely enough for her to feel, and not on her skin, just as he would if she were a woman. Then he withdrew it and sat back.
She felt the horror surge through her and bring the sweat out on her body. Somewhere she had made mistakes, perhaps many. Who else knew she was a woman?
Seeing her fear and understanding it, he shook his head fractionally, still smiling. “No one,” he said gently. “But you cannot hide everything, especially from an herbalist.” His nostrils flared slightly. “I have a keener sense of smell than most men. I had sisters, and I have a wife.”
She knew with a rage of embarrassment what he