Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [92]
She moved slowly back across the room toward the table and smooth, comfortable chairs. “I have an herbal mixture I would like you to take for Cyril. He used to enjoy it when I knew him in the past. It is a simple restorative, but it will give him pleasure, and perhaps it will give him also an increase in strength. I will take a little myself. Perhaps you would like some also?”
Anna hesitated.
“As you please,” Zoe said lightly, reaching for the door of a carved wooden cabinet and opening it. Inside were many drawers, each only a few inches square. She pulled one open and took out a silk pouch full of fragments of leaves, crushed so finely as to be almost a powder. “One takes it in a little wine,” she said, suiting the action to the words. She poured two goblets of red wine and sprinkled a little powder into each. It dissolved almost immediately.
Her eyes met Anna’s as she picked up one of them and put it to her lips. “To Cyril Choniates,” she said softly, and drank.
Anna picked up the other and sipped. There was no alteration to the flavor; even the scent of the herb had vanished.
Zoe emptied her goblet and offered a honey cake, taking one herself and biting into it with pleasure.
Anna drained her goblet as well.
“Honey cake?” Zoe offered. “I recommend it. It will take the aftertaste away.”
Anna accepted and ate.
Zoe gave her the rest in the silk pouch.
“Thank you.” Anna took it. “I will offer it to him.”
Anna made the short journey across the Bosphorus to the Nicean shore, where she found Bishop Niccolo Vicenze waiting for her somewhat impatiently. He was pacing back and forth on the quayside, his pale hair gleaming in the cool, early light, his face set in harsh lines of displeasure. He was dressed for traveling, as she was, in shorter robes and soft leather boots covering his lower legs. Even so, he managed to look severely clerical, as if his office were part of himself.
Their greeting was brief, no more than an acknowledgment, then they mounted the waiting horses and began the long journey inland through country she already knew.
The sun rose in a clear sky and the day was warm with only the slightest breeze. But it was a long time since Anna had ridden a horse for more than a couple of miles, and she quickly grew both sore and tired, although Bishop Vicenze was the last person to whom she would have displayed any weakness.
She had ridden in this land before, years earlier, with Justinian. If she closed her eyes and felt the sun on her face, the strength of the animal beneath her, she could imagine it was he riding ahead of her.
But it was Vicenze who was there now along the track between the bracken, the wild blackberries, and the gorse, and he shared nothing. He never even looked back to see if she was keeping up.
It was familiar territory to her, at least to begin with. After that they followed Vicenze’s guidance from a map, which appeared to be perfect. It was fortunate, but somehow it gave her little pleasure. She had fully expected he would be infallible in such technical skills. Nevertheless, she thanked him, because she did not wish to be at fault in courtesy. It would be a sign of weakness, and although he was a priest, she sensed no mercy in him.
They arrived at the massive, fortresslike monastery after dark, on the third day, having found wayside lodging each night.
They were made welcome. Zoe’s messenger had arrived and left before them, and Anna at least was eagerly awaited. As soon as she had been given the barest food and water, and had washed her hands and face from the dust of the journey, she was taken to see Cyril.
With gratitude and anxiety, a young monk took her along the silent corridors to Cyril’s cool stone cell. It was a simple room, no more than five paces by five, the walls bare