Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [72]
Walking away from the palace and back down the hill toward her own house, the wind in her face, Anna thought hard about the passions and the issues she had heard, both from Nicephoras and from the new patriarch.
There was ruthlessness in John Beccus she had not expected, yet she realized that without it he would be useless. Maybe she had been too emotional and simplistic in her judgment? Constantine might need to be just as devious to succeed, just as willing to use all the weapons he could reach.
And what of this Englishman who could see for miles, drive ships without wind or oar, and, perhaps worst of all, create a powder that exploded? Whose hands might that fall into? Charles of Anjou? If Nicephoras knew of it, who else did?
Now murder did not seem so unlikely, to get rid of both Bessarion and Justinian by murdering one and contriving that the other should be blamed for it. Antoninus might be incidental, not an intended victim at all. She shivered as she realized how much more likely it was that whoever had done this, one person or several, had actually intended Justinian to be the one executed.
When she knew just a little more, she must find a way to ask Nicephoras about the trial of Justinian and Antoninus. As one of the most intimate advisers of the emperor, he had to know. There was no office of prosecutor. The emperor himself was regarded as “living law,” and his word was final, as to both verdict and punishment. Michael had chosen to execute one man and yet only exile the other.
The punishment of Justinian and Antoninus not only would get rid of them from the scene, but would also frighten and confuse any other conspirators against union, leaving only Constantine and the leaderless masses who were against every disturbance and change.
Who was the real killer? A betrayer among them, an infiltrator or intruder? Even an agent provocateur on Michael’s behalf? It would be understandable. The emperor was embattled on all sides, surrounded by ambition, bigotry, religious fanaticism. Yet he alone was responsible to make the final decisions for his people’s survival, not only in the world, but perhaps in heaven also.
Twenty-two
ANNA CONTINUED TO WATCH AND LISTEN, BUT THE answer was always the same: She needed to know more about the people surrounding Bessarion in the last years of his life. Perhaps the women he had known might reveal more to her; she would certainly understand them better. Naturally she did not say this to Zoe when she visited her to offer her some new and interesting herbs, but she did ask her help in widening her practice.
Her reward came a week later, when Zoe asked her to call again. This time she was shown into a different room from the one in which she was usually received. This was more formal and beautiful in a traditional way. There was nothing here that seemed to reveal Zoe’s character, as if in this part of the house she received people whom she wished to keep at arm’s length.
Helena was there, exquisitely dressed in dark wine red set with jewels. Her hair was ornamented and gleamed like black silk. Clearly she was no longer in mourning. She watched Anna with an interest devoid of kindness.
There was another, older woman present of commanding demeanor, as different from Zoe as possible. She was barely of average height and uniquely ugly. Her expensively embroidered blue green dalmatica could not disguise her wide, bony, almost masculine shoulders or her lack of bosom. Her broad nose was too strong for her face. Her light eyes were brilliant with intelligence, and her mouth was delicate but without sensuality.
Zoe introduced her as Eirene Vatatzes, and only then, when she smiled, did she momentarily possess an illusion of loveliness. Then it was gone.
With her was a tall young man. His long, dark face was not quite handsome but held a promise of considerable power to come, perhaps in ten years’ time when he was in his late forties. He was a startling contrast to Eirene,