Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [91]
She thought for several minutes, turning away from him to stare at the window and the magnificent view across the rooftops toward the water.
“I assume that this addendum will never be added to the agreement,” she said at last. “At least the main body of it will not. Perhaps a sentence or two, with Cyril’s name, and those of as many of his followers as you may obtain?”
“Precisely,” he agreed. “But it will bring peace. We do not want any more martyrs to a cause which cannot succeed.”
She measured her words very carefully. “There are two of you, are there not? Legates from the pope in Rome?”
“Yes….”
“Is your companion aware that you have come to me with this?”
She might already have the answer, and to affirm it would be an unnecessary lie. “No. We are not allies. Why do you ask?” He kept the irritation out of his voice.
Her smile widened, vivid with amusement. “Cyril will not sign anything for you.”
He felt a chill and a sudden awareness that she was playing, manipulating him far more than he was her. “Have you some other suggestion?” he asked.
She turned to face him, looking up at last, her gaze steady. “What you need is Cyril’s silence, and word that he agreed, which he cannot contest.”
“Why would he not contest it, if as you say he will not agree?”
“He is ill. He is also old. Perhaps he will die?” She raised her superbly arched brows.
Was she really suggesting what he thought? Why would she? She was Byzantine to the core and against anything and everything Roman.
“I shall recommend Anastasius,” she went on. “He is known to be a clever physician, and still resolutely Orthodox. In fact, he is a good friend and something of a disciple of Bishop Constantine, the most Orthodox of all the bishops. I myself will provide him with a medicine to help poor Cyril.”
He let out his breath slowly. “I see.”
“Possibly you do,” she agreed skeptically. “Are you sure you would not prefer that Bishop Vicenze should take this document to Cyril after all? I shall suggest it to him, if you wish.”
“Perhaps that would be a good idea,” Palombara said slowly, the blood roaring in his ears. “I would owe you much.”
“Yes.” Her smile widened. “You would. But peace is in both our interests, even in that of Cyril Choniates, if he were but well enough to see it. We must do for him what he cannot do for himself.”
Twenty-nine
ANNA ENTERED ZOE’S ROOM EXPECTING TO FIND HER ill and was surprised when Zoe walked toward her with all the grace and vitality of a woman on the verge of a huge endeavor.
“I am obliged you came so quickly,” she said to Anna, regarding her with a slight smile. “Cyril Choniates is very ill indeed. He is a man I used to know, before his banishment, and for whom I had the greatest admiration.”
She regarded Anna with a sudden solemnity. “He needs a far better physician than his current exile affords him.” She frowned. “One who will disregard his sins, which I doubt are many, and anyway, sin is largely a matter of opinion. One man’s virtue may be another man’s vice.” She looked grave. “Anastasius, you can treat him with herbs and tinctures, medicines which will actually help his illness, or at the very least, if he is ill unto death, ease his distress. He deserves that. Do you take deserving into account?”
“No,” Anna replied with a faint gleam of humor herself. “You know that. As you say, it is often only a point of view anyway. I despise hypocrisy, which would place me against half of the most pious people I know.”
Zoe laughed. “Your frankness could prove your undoing, Anastasius. I advise you to watch your tongue. Hypocrites have absolutely no sense of humor at all, or they would see their own absurdity. Will you go and do what you can for Cyril Choniates?”
“Will I be allowed to?”
“I shall see to it,” Zoe replied. “He is at a monastery in Bithynia. And the papal legate Bishop Niccolo Vicenze will accompany you there. He has business with Cyril, which means