Adora

Chapter Thirteen

Theadora settled quietly into a large apartment in the palace. True to his word, the emperor kept his wife from her younger sister for more than a week while Theadora ate and slept, regaining her strength and her peace of mind.

Ten days after her return to the city the emperor held a banquet and she was invited. She entered the great dining hall of the Blanchernae Palace to the warm welcome of people she had not seen since her childhood and, in most cases, barely remembered. It seemed that everyone was happy to see her. She was led to the main table where the emperor and empress awaited her. Smiling, Helena kissed her younger sister on both cheeks, murmuring in her ear, “Bitch! If you have put us in danger I will kill you!” Then the empress proclaimed loudly, “Thanks be to God, dear sister, for your safe return from the infidel!”

“Thanks be to God,” came the echoing reply from all those in the hall.

Theadora was seated on her brother-in-law’s left. The Byzantine nobles in the hall were forced to agree that they had never seen such beauty as the two sisters possessed between them. This was grudgingly conceded by their wives.

The empress was gowned in white silk heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread, turquoises, pearls, and pink diamonds sewn into exquisite floral designs upon the material. With her rose and white complexion, sky-blue eyes, and shining golden hair topped by a gilt crown, Helena was at the height of her beauty.

In striking contrast, but no less lovely, Theadora wore a simple pale-green silk gown that molded her high breasts and then fell away. The flowing sleeves of the gown were embroidered slightly at the edges in gold thread. There was a faint, very becoming flush to her creamy gardenia skin, and her amethyst eyes sparkled beneath their dark, gold-tipped lashes. Her shining dark hair was braided and looped about the sides of her face and held by golden cauls.

John Paleaologi leaned over and said quietly to Theadora, “I have never seen you look lovelier, my dear sister. You will simply captivate our guest of honor when he sets eyes on you. I have arranged that he sit next to you.”

“Are you trying to marry me off so soon?” she teased him.

“Would you not like to remarry, my dear?”

She was silent, and he saw the sadness in her lovely eyes.

“You love Murad, don’t you, Theadora? No, no, you need say nothing. Your eyes tell me all. Perhaps marriage to a good man and having several children would ease your pain.”

“Who is this man you would have me meet, John?”

“The new lord of Mesembria.”

“And he has no wife?”

“He had one in his youth, but she died and he never married again. He was not Mesembria’s lord then. In fact, that he is its lord today is a bitter twist of fate for him. He was a third son and when his father died his eldest brother inherited. He ruled well for us. Unfortunately, the elder brother had no sons. So his heir was the next brother. That man had two boys. Several months ago the palace in Mesembria caught fire and burned to the ground. The entire ruling family perished. Only this third brother, who lived in another city, was left alive. He was recalled, confirmed, and crowned despot of Mesembria. Though he has several illegitimate sons, he has no legal heir. So he must marry.”

“And you think to match me with him?”

“If it pleases you. Understand, my dear, that I will not force you to any marriage. I am not your father seeking aid or alliances. Perhaps you would remain single, or take the veil, or,” and his eyes twinkled, “perhaps you would choose your own husband. You may, however, like the lord Alexander. He has charm, and there is not a woman at my court who hasn’t thrown herself at him. But all to no avail.”

“He sounds unbearable and quite the peacock. If he avoids women, perhaps they are not to his taste. Are you sure he is a real man?”

John chuckled. “I am sure he is a real man, Thea, but I will allow you to judge for yourself. Here he is now.”

“Alexander, lord of Mesembria,” intoned the majordomo.

Theadora looked to the end of the hall and gasped, feeling as if she had been struck. The man striding toward them was the pirate she had known as Alexander the Great. Her mind frantically sought to assemble the few facts she recalled about him. He had told her he was the youngest son of a Greek noble, and his speech, taste and manners had certainly attested to that. But he had never named his father, and it had never occurred to her to ask him.

He bowed, flourishing his long cape elegantly as he reached the high table. He was tanned, his hair bleached to its usual golden color. His eyes were still pure aquamarine. She could hear the audible sighs from the other women and saw her own sister quickly assess the newcomer with speculative, lust-filled eyes.

“Come, Alexander,” welcomed the emperor, “join us. We have seated you next to our beloved sister, Theadora.”

A beaming John made the introductions and then left them to become acquainted. She was silent, and Alexander said softly, “Are you not glad to see me, beauty?”

“Does Helena know who you are-were?”

“No, beauty. No one does, not even your revered brother-in-law. I must rely on you to keep my secret. Will you-for old times’ sake?”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I never thought I would see you again,” she said.

He chuckled. “Yet here I am, turning up like a bad copperpiece. And what is worse, they are proposing a match between us.”

She blushed. “You know about that?”

He did not tell her that it had been his idea, and that he had approached the emperor about it first. “The emperor and I have discussed it, but he tells me it must be your decision.” He took her hand beneath the table, and his was warm and strong. “Do you think you could be my wife, beauty?”

Her heart quickened. “Do not hurry me, my lord Alexander. I know nothing really of you.”

“What would you know? My father was Theodore, despot of Mesembria. My mother was Sara Comnenus, a princess of Trebizond. I had two older brothers, Basil and Constantine. My mother has been dead for several years, my father nearly two years, and a fire in Mesembria’s palace several months ago left me bereft of family-and an unwilling ruler. The rest you know, beauty.”

“I am truly sorry for your great loss,” she said softly.

“As am I, beauty, for my brothers were good men. Yet, as in all situations, there is a good side. As the lord of Mesembria I am able to ask the emperor for his widowed sister-in-law’s hand in marriage. Look at me, Theadora!”

It was the first time he had ever called her by her name. Surprised, she raised her eyes to his.

“I am an impatient man, beauty. You cannot deny the attraction we felt for each other when I held you and your son captive in my city. I believe you could learn to love me. You know more of me than most women know of their bridegrooms. Say you will wed me.”

“My lord, you hurry me too quickly. I am confused. My husband is only recently dead, and I was forced to flee the unwelcome attentions of the new sultan. I do not even know if I wish to remarry.”

The hand holding hers beneath the table loosed it and moved to gently caress her thigh. She quivered. “Ah, beauty, you were not meant to live a celibate life. And you are not a wanton woman to take lovers like your sister. You are meant to be married, and to have children about you. I would have you, and I would have our children.”

“Give me but a little time, my lord Alexander,” she pleaded.

He did not press her further during the feast, turning instead to talk with the emperor. Yet he watched over her, seeing that she had the choicest viands and that her cup was kept filled with sweet wine. Toward midnight the emperor gave the signal that those who wished to leave might, and Theadora took the opportunity to flee the hall.

There was no doubt in her mind that Alexander attracted her, and he had been correct about one thing. She was meant to marry. Long ago her mother had promised her that when Orkhan died she would be brought home to Byzantium to make a good Christian marriage.

As a princess of Byzantium, however, she could not marry just anyone. There was no one within the emperor’s court who was of sufficient rank to be her husband. Among the city-states belonging to the empire, there was no prince other than Alexander who was not married, too old, or too young.

Practical considerations aside, Alexander was handsome, educated, and sensitive to her as a woman with a mind of her own. She did not think she loved him-but she thought she could. She was strongly attracted to him. He would not be a hard man to live with. And she did want more children.

Absently, she let her women disrobe her, sponge her with warm perfumed water, and slide a blossom-pink caftan over her. Dismissing them, she lay upon her bed.

If Murad had really loved her he would have offered marriage, not the shameful bondage he had suggested. Alexander offered her his heart and his throne.

She smiled to herself in the darkness. Alexander was a very stubborn man, and she did not think he would accept a refusal from her. A giggle of amusement escaped her. A determined Murad to her right, an equally determined Alexander to her left. The truth was that she had no other choice than to accept one of them.

It did not surprise her to see a shadow suddenly loom on the balcony behind the gently billowing sheer silk curtains. She had thought he might come to press his suit more forcefully. There were times when even the most enlightened of men fell back on sex as a persuader. She knew it would disappoint him to learn that she had already reached a decision in his favor, using logic to do so.

Entering the room he walked quickly to her bedside. “Are you really asleep, beauty?”

“No, Alexander. I am thinking.”

“Of what we spoke about this evening?”

“Yes.”

Without being asked he sat down on her bed. “I have not kissed you in so long,” he said. Reaching out, he drew her into his arms and kissed her gently.

He loosed her, and she said softly, “Is that how you would make love to me, Alexander? I remember my first night in Phocaea when you were far more articulate on much shorter acquaintance. Come, my lord, I am no easily broken toy. If your love is that tame then perhaps I should not marry you. I am no wanton, but even my elderly husband was more vigorous a lover.”

A deep rumble of delighted laughter echoed in the darkness. “So, beauty, you will not be put upon a pedestal and worshiped like some ancient goddess?”

“No, I will not, my lord, for I am a flesh-and-blood woman.”

She heard him moving about and soon one of the lamps by her bed was lit, and then another, and another. “I would see you when I make love to you,” he said, drawing her up from the bed. His fingers swiftly undid the pearl buttons on her caftan, sliding it from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His own robe quickly followed hers, sliding to the soft rugs.

Falling back on the bed, he held her above him, rubbing his smooth face against her breasts. Then he slowly lowered her, folding her into his strong arms. She sighed deeply. Expertly he reversed their positions, and she suddenly found herself lying beneath him. He gazed down at her and she blushed under his inspection.

“Christos, how beautiful you are,” he muttered hoarsely, and his hands stroked her breasts. His soft fingertips brushed against her skin again and again, and she could feel the familiar tension beginning. He sat up, pulling her back between his legs. He cupped the cones of her breasts, gently pulling and pinching the large coral nipples, and she could feel his maleness butting against her lower back. Now she lay across his lap, and the big hands caressed her belly with a strength of touch that made her shrink slightly.

He laughed softly. “So, beauty, you recognize your master. Did your greybeard husband ever make you feel this way? I’ll wager not! Marry me, my darling, and I will teach you to crave my touch. I can pleasure you as no man can, and no woman will ever please me as you do, beauty.”

“You talk a good deal, my lord,” she mocked him, and his mouth crushed against her lips, bruising them, his white teeth drawing salty blood, his tongue subduing hers. He trailed a path of fiery kisses across her breasts and belly, finding the softness of her inner thighs with his mouth.

Theadora stiffened with shock as his soft, insistent tongue reached where no one had ever ventured. Her body shrank from him, her voice shook with protest. “N-No!”

He raised his head and stared at her, his eyes glazed with passion. “Has no one ever tasted of you, beauty?”

“No!”

“But you are like honey. A woman is sweetest there, beauty.”

“I-it is w-wrong” she managed to gasp. “You must not!”

“Who tells you it is wrong? Does it not give you pleasure, my love? Whom do we hurt? I will soon teach you how to pleasure me in the same sweet way.” Then he lowered his head again and, pushing her legs up and apart, sought again the sweetness he craved.

At first she was tense beneath the velvety, probing tongue, but suddenly a wave of pure pleasure washed through her defenses and she groaned. Deep, deep within her she could feel the tenseness mounting until it was almost unbearable. She was desperate for release, but he withheld it. Instead, he carefully eased off so that the tension receded like a wave. It began to return as he pulled himself up and threw a leg over her.

With the instinct of Eve that is born into every woman she sought for his manhood with her hands and, capturing it, eagerly guided him to her. She wrapped her arms about him. At first he would not enter her but, instead, rubbed the tip of the turgid root against the soft, throbbing flesh until she thought she would scream with the intensity of the pleasure.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “I want to see you when we mate.”

Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to his, and he slowly entered her, gaining almost as much pleasure from watching the ecstasy that transformed her face, as from the act of possession itself.

To her shame she climaxed almost immediately, and he laughed gently. Tenderly, he said, “Ah, beauty, has it been that long for you? I will teach you how to prolong the pleasure, my darling. No, don’t turn away from me. Don’t you know how much I love you, beauty? Please don’t ever shut yourself away from me.”

From that moment on, her eyes never left his as he moved within her, the tempo of his passion increasing as the minutes passed. Then she surprised him by speaking, and so sensual did he find the sound of her voice that his hot seed thundered into the hidden valley of her womb.

“I will marry with you, my lord Alexander,” she said. “I will marry you, my darling, as soon as it can be arranged.”

Spent, he murmured, “Ah, beauty, how I love you!” and she held him close against her, smiling in the near darkness. He could not know it, for no man ever did-but in the end it was always the woman who was the victor.

In the early dawn he left her, and she slept peacefully and soundly for the first time in months. She had enjoyed his lovemaking very much. It was masterful and experienced, though he never gloated over his masculinity. In bed they were equals, each giving, and each taking.

On the following day they went to the emperor and asked his permission to marry. If John Paleaologi was surprised by this sudden turn of events, one look at Theadora’s face swept away his doubts. All the tension had gone from her. She was radiant.

“I gladly give you permission to wed with my dear sister,” the emperor told the lord of Mesembria. “But you must grant me a boon in return. You must remain in Constantinople while your palace in Mesembria is being rebuilt.”

“Agreed,” grinned Alexander. “There is a lovely villa down on the Bosphorus, at the narrow place between us and Asia. I have long admired it. Its owner recently died. I will arrange to buy it, and we may live there until we return to Mesembria.” He turned to Theadora, “Would that please you, beauty?”

She nodded, smiling. “If you buy me this villa I shall spend a great deal of money furnishing it.”

He chuckled and remarked mischievously, “It will be all right, Theadora. I once had some dealings with your late husband, Sultan Orkhan, and I made a great deal of money in the transaction.”

Theadora burst out laughing. The emperor looked puzzled but Alexander stopped his question by asking, “May we wed tomorrow, Majesty?”

“So soon, my impatient friend? What of the banns? You give us no time for preparations. Thea is, after all, a princess born.”

“I want no festivities, John. When I was wed to my lord Orkhan I was decked out like a heathen idol. There was a two-day festival. I hated it all! I would be married quietly with only you, the priest, and my dear Alexander present. Have the bishop waive the banns. Grant me this, my brother.”

So John Paleaologi acquiesced, and the following day at midmorning Theadora Cantacuzene and Alexander, despot of Mesembria, were wed before the high altar in the Church of St. Mary in Blanchernae. Their only witnesses were the emperor, the bishop who married them, the priest who assisted him, and two altar boys.

At the noonday meal, the emperor brought forth a roar of delight from the diners in the hall when he announced the surprise marriage. Though the noblewomen of the court were disappointed to see Alexander wed so quickly, their men were greatly pleased. Everyone crowded about the newlyweds, congratulating the lord of Mesembria, and claiming kisses from his blushing, rosy bride.

Only the empress looked sour. Even now Helena did not wish her sister well. Helena could not bear to see Theadora happy and now her sister was radiant. When the uproar had died down Helena said softly to her sister, “You have surprised me this time, Thea, but beware. Next time it will be I who will surprise you.”

Chapter Fourteen

The empress of Byzantium was in a cold rage. “Have you lost what little brains you possess?” she demanded of her husband. “God have mercy on us! You are just like your father-with one difference. He, at least, had my father to run the empire.”

The emperor was barely perturbed. “As I recall, you did not like it when we had your father running our empire. You could barely wait to get him out.”

She ignored his remark. “You have opened the city to attack, you fool! If Sultan Murad wants Theadora, he’ll have her, though why he would be interested in that skinny, purple-eyed bitch is beyond me! And you, you fool, have dared to marry her to the lord of Mesembria!”

“Murad is not going to war over a woman, Helena. This is Constantinople, not Troy. Your sister has been incredibly brave and damned clever in escaping the sultan. He has no legal right to her, and I did not force her to this new marriage. She and Alexander came to me. Yes, I gave them my blessing! Thea is entitled to some happiness. God only knows she got none with Orkhan. Your father sacrificed her to that old man in order to usurp my throne. I hope she is always happy. She deserves it.”

“She endangers us by her very presence here. And what of our daughter, alone in a hostile land and at the mercy of the Turks? Have you thought of Alexis, fool?”

“Your sister will be returning with her husband to Mesembria in a few months’ time. I hardly think she constitutes a danger. As to Alexis, Sultan Murad is an honorable man, and he assures me that she is safe and well at St. Anna’s.”

Helena threw up her hands in disgust. He refused to understand. Or else, the thought lingered in her mind, he was deliberately being obtuse, wanting to annoy her. John Paleaologi was a fool and always had been. He could not see that by annoying his overlord, the sultan, he practically invited Murad to attack the city. She would lose her throne because of this stupidity.

Byzantium stood alone, a faint, continuously threatened Christian light on the edge of the dark, infidel world. The rulers of Europe gave lip service to protecting Byzantium. This was due to squabbling over religion.

In fact, in the year 1203, the Fourth Crusade, originally dispatched to retake Jerusalem from the Saracen Muslims, diverted instead to Constantinople. This diversion was engineered by the Venetians and by their vengeful doge, Enrico Dandolo, who had been blinded thirty years earlier while being held hostage in Constantinople by the Greeks.

He had been allowed the freedom of the city, having given his word that he would not try to escape.

Escape was the furthest thing from Dandolo’s mind. The son of a noble merchant family, he was far more interested in wooing to Venice the foreign trading houses that were the strength of the Byzantine Empire.

Too, Dandolo had developed an unhealthy interest in Constantinople’s defenses. When his two breaches of conduct were discovered, he was punished by having his too-inquisitive eyes exposed to a concave mirror reflecting the sun. Blind, he was returned to Venice, where he spent years overcoming his handicap and dreaming of revenge. He was ultimately elected to the highest office in Venice, a position which offered him his opportunity for vengeance.

Besides his personal motives, the elderly doge wanted the destruction of Constantinople for the economic advantages that destruction would afford his own city.

The excuse for this betrayal of a Christian city by fellow Christians was the restoration of a deposed emperor. He was Alexius IV, though the Crusader lords knew he was already dead. He had been strangled by Alexius V, who then fled the city in the face of the oncoming European army, leaving his people to their terrible fate. Constantinople found itself taken in 1204 and mercilessly pillaged by soldiers, clerics, and nobles. No infidel city ever suffered at the hands of Christian invaders as did Constantinople, the capital city of Eastern Christianity.

What was not destroyed by fire or vandalism was carted off. Gold, silver, jewels, plate, silks, furs, statuary, and people-whatever held value, and could move or be moved. The city had never recovered, and Helena was terrified lest the next invasion be the last.

Her fears were increased considerably when Sultan Murad and a small but formidable army appeared outside the city’s walls.

“In God’s name give Thea back to the sultan,” Helena begged her husband.

“Do you think Murad will go away if I do?” mocked John Paleaologi. “Christos, Helena, do not be a bigger fool than you already are! Orkhan’s last words to his sons were to take Constantinople. He has not come for Theadora, my dear, but for my city. I shall not, however, let him have it.”

Helena did not know what to do, or even where she might turn. Her sister and her new bridegroom were the darlings of the city. The story of Thea’s escape was even being sung by the street minstrels.

Suddenly, it appeared that her prayers would be answered.

Into Helena’s presence came a tall, soft-looking man who quietly introduced himself. “I am Ali Yahya, Majesty, chief of the sultan’s household. I wish to see Princess Theadora and hope that you may arrange it.”

“My sister will not see you, Ali Yahya. She has recently been remarried to the lord of Mesembria. She honeymoons even now in a dear little villa on the sea.”

“What a pity, madame.”

Helena could not resist. “Does the sultan really want my sister in his harem?”

“He wishes the princess back with her family, and those who love her,” came the evasive reply.

Helena’s blue eyes narrowed. “Possibly,” she said, “it could be arranged. But it would have to be done my way.”

“And what way is that, Majesty?”

“With my father and brother no longer concerned with a secular life, I am head of the Cantacuzene family. In this capacity I am responsible for the fate of the members of this family. I will sell my sister to Sultan Murad for ten thousand gold Venetian ducats and one hundred of the finest Eastern pearls. The pearls, must be between one and two centimeters in size. My price is firm. I will not haggle.”

“And what of Her Highness’s new husband, Majesty? Our laws forbid taking the wife of a living man.”

“For that price, Ali Yahya, I will see that my sister is quickly widowed. Her new husband has offended me. He is an insolent man who lacks respect for the empire.”

What Helena did not say was that Alexander of Mesembria had insulted her unforgiveably by refusing to lie with her when she had offered herself to him. No man had ever refused Helena. Usually they were greatly overcome by the honor. Alexander, however, had gazed down on Helena from his great height and said coldly, “I choose my own whores, madame. They do not choose me.” Then he had walked away.

The eunuch suspected something of this sort and pitied both Theadora and her husband. Then he shrugged. It was not his place to feel anything. His first obligation was to his master, Sultan Murad, and his master had sent him for Theadora. Under these new circumstances, however, Ali Yahya was not sure if Murad would want her back. He would have to play for time until he could ascertain the sultan’s will.

“You will, of course, provide us with proper legal papers to verify such a sale,” he said smoothly.

“Naturally,” replied Helena calmly, “and I will make it possible for you to transport her quickly from the city before my husband discovers her gone.”

“Although I am empowered by the sultan to make whatever arrangements are necessary to assure the princess’s return, this is an unusual situation, majesty. I must speak with my master.”

Helena nodded. “I will give you two days, Ali Yahya. Come to me at this same hour. Remind your master that the longer he delays his decision, the longer the object of his lust lies in the arms of another man.” She laughed cruelly. “My sister’s new husband is quite handsome. The silly women of my court compare him to a Greek god.”

The eunuch withdrew from the empress’s private chamber. Two days later he returned and was again received.

“Well?” she demanded impatiently.

He reached into his robes and drew out two velvet bags. He opened the first and spilled some of its contents into a flat dish. Helena’s blue eyes widened with greedy delight at the perfectly sized and matched pearls. The other bag was opened to reveal a bar of gold.

“Have it weighed, Majesty. You will find it ten thousand ducats’ worth.” To his vast amusement, she went directly to a cabinet and drew out a scale. She weighed the gold.

“A trifle over,” she remarked knowledgeably. “The sultan is more than fair.” Returning the scale to the cabinet she drew out an unrolled parchment and handed it to Ali Yahya. “These papers give your master, the sultan, complete custody and legal ownership of a female slave known as Theadora of Mesembria. She and her bridegroom are still at their villa near the city. However, you cannot get her there without placing open, public suspicion on your master which I am sure he does not wish. The execution of my plan will take time. To act hastily would mean to risk questions, which your master certainly does not want. No, it is better if my sister is widowed in Mesembria. You see, no one there would think to harm Alexander. They all love him. For that very reason his death will look perfectly natural.

“When he does die, in a few months, I will beg my poor sister to come home. I will house her royally at the Boucolean Palace, which happens to be directly adjacent to the imperial yacht basin. You and I will arrange a time, and I will see that her wine is drugged on the appointed day. You and your men will then remove her through a secret passage which opens out by the harbor. The guards will be bribed. They will let you through without question.”

Ali Yahya bowed, filled with a grudging admiration for the empress. She was a wicked woman, but this knowledge allowed him to complete his mission. There would be no blood on his hands. “What drug will you use to put her to sleep?” he asked.

She reached once more into the cabinet and, drawing out a small vial, handed it to him. Uncorking it, he sniffed. Satisfied, he handed it back to her. “I do not have to tell you what will happen to you if you attempt to trick me, or if you harm the princess,” he said quietly.

She smiled nastily. “I will not harm her. Why? I will gain far more pleasure in the weeks ahead by knowing that she is a slave. She must obey her lord and master, or be punished. If she obeys, she suffers-for I believe she is a cold woman. But if she refuses her lord and master she will be beaten. I do not know which gives me more pleasure, the thought of Thea naked and enduring the sultan’s vigorous attentions, or Thea being whipped.”

“Why do you hate her so?” Ali Yahya was unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

For a moment Helena was silent. Then she said, “I am the elder, but my parents always preferred Thea. They never said so but I knew. When my mother died I nursed her, and what do you think her last words were? I will tell you, Ali Yahya! Her very last words to me were, ‘Theadora, my best loved! Now I will never see you again.’ No word for me! I loved her too! It was always Thea!

“Then there was my father, always talking about her intelligence, and how she should have been his heir. Such drivel! What has she won with her wonderful brain? Nothing! Nothing! Now she endangers my city, and my husband defends her every move, and grows soft-eyed at the mere mention of her name. I want her out of my life. Now! Forever!”

“You have gained your heart’s desire, Majesty. Within a few short months your sister will be back across the Marmara and well on her way to Bursa.” The eunuch rose and bowed. “How will I know the correct dock in the imperial yacht basin?”

“There is a wharf decorated with statues of lions and other animals in the Boucoleon Harbor. Have your galley wait there on the date we agree upon. The passageway exits just a few feet from that wharf.” She reached into her robes and drew out a red silk pendant with a two-headed imperial eagle embroidered on it. “Have your galley fly this from its mast and no one will challenge you coming or going.”

For the rest of the day Helena could barely contain her excitement. At last she would be rid of Thea. Never again would she have to fear her sister’s threat of so long ago…the threat of her returning to the sultan’s side, to snatch the city from Helena! Thea would finally be powerless! A slave! Why, when Sultan Murad tired of her, as he inevitably would, he might even sell her farther east! Helena laughed with joy. Her vengeance would be complete.

That night the empress sent for a man who was one of Byzantium’s most respected physicians. Julian Tzimisces occasionally enjoyed Helena’s favors. Tonight she awaited him in a loose robe of palest turquoise-blue gauze through which her lush body gleamed like mother-of-pearl. Her nipples were painted vermillion, and they were provocatively visible through the silk. By her side was a beautiful little girl who, like Helena, was a blue-eyed blonde. The child was garbed as the empress was, even to having the tiny buds of her unformed breasts painted vermillion. Tzimisces’ particular perversion was children.

Helena smiled a feline smile and said bluntly, “I need a very special poison, dear friend. It must kill quickly, harm only its intended victim, and leave no trace.”

“You ask a lot, Majesty.”

Again Helena smiled. “Do you like my little Julia?” she asked him. “She is a Georgian, and just ten. Such a sweet little girl,” and the empress kissed the child on her rosebud mouth.

Julian Tzimisces shifted nervously, his eyes moving rapidly from the child’s unformed body to the empress’s large, gleaming red nipples. Helena lay back, drawing the child with her, and slowly caressed the little slave’s body.

“I have something new from Italy,” said Julian Tzimisces a trifle breathlessly. “Is the victim male or female?” He was beginning to perspire beneath his robes, and he felt himself growing harder with each minute.

“Male.”

“It can be put in his bath water.”

“No! He may bathe with his wife, and I do not wish her harmed. In fact, it is vital that she not be harmed.”

“Then it can be put in his shaving water. It will take several days for the poison to be absorbed through the skin. There will be no signs of illness, nothing to raise suspicion. When the poison has been absorbed, the man will simply drop dead. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Yes, Julian, that will be very satisfactory.”

The physician could not take his eyes from the two females on the couch. He was in a terrible quandary for he wanted them both-the child first, then the woman. The empress laughed. She knew his tastes.

“You have been very cooperative, old friend, and you shall be rewarded. You may have my sweet Julia. But you must not spend, Julian! That joy you must save for me.”

The physician tore his robe open and flung himself on the child who, although she knew what to expect, nevertheless screamed in agony as the man drove himself into her. The screams continued for several moments, finally fading into pitiful little moans.

Beside them Helena crouched on her heels, her eyes shining, her lips wet and slack. “Yes, Julian! Yes! Yes! Hurt her! Hurt her!”

The child had fainted now, and Tzimisces’s passion was reaching its peak. Panting, Helena ripped her own robe off and, lying back, spread her legs wide. Shoving the child away, the man covered the eager woman’s body with his own. Together they writhed in an almost violent mortal combat until suddenly, with a shriek, the empress was spent. Her partner quickly followed.

A few minutes later, after the sounds of their rasping, panting breath had died away, Helena said, “You will bring me the poison tomorrow night, Julian. Without fail.”

“Yes, Majesty,” said the man by her side. “I will bring it. I swear!”

“Good,” purred the empress, “and when my enemy is dead I will have another sweet little present for you, dear Julian. Little Julia has a twin brother. I am saving him for you.”

Shortly thereafter the physician left the palace through a discreet side gate, and was carried in a litter through the silent night streets to his own residence. Once home, he entered his laboratory and searched in the cabinet. He drew forth the vial and held it up to the light. It glittered an evil yellow-green color. Placing the vial carefully on the table, he poured water from a pitcher into a small basin. Then, opening the vial, he allowed several drops of it into the water. The color disappeared as soon as it touched the clear water. The water remained colorless and odorless.

Julian Tzimisces recorked the vial and carefully disposed of the basin’s contents. Walking to the window of his laboratory he looked out. The sky was gray and the dawn was beginning to break. He wondered who the poor soul was who had so deeply offended Helena. It was not likely he’d ever know, and it was better that way. He could feel no guilt about aiding in the murder of a faceless, nameless person. Sighing, Julian left his laboratory and went to bed.

While the physician fell asleep, Theadora and Alexander were awakening in the bedchamber of their honeymoon villa, blissfully unaware of the destiny the empress had in store for them. Adora had never been happier in her whole life. In the few days of her marriage she had found an extraordinary peace of mind. There was no longer any conflict in her life. Alexander loved Theadora for herself alone. And she realized very quickly that she loved him. It was not at all as it had been with Murad. Murad had, after all, been her first love.

No, life with Alexander was filled with a calm sweet love, one of pleasure, without conflict. It would always be good with him. He was gentle with her, though masterful. He encouraged her wit and intellect, even suggesting that she might enjoy establishing a school of higher learning for females. How well Alexander understood his wife! Yes, what had begun as a marriage of convenience had indeed become a love affair!

Now, in the early morning, the lord of Mesembria turned in their bed to face his wife. For a moment he watched her sleeping face. Then he leaned over and kissed her gently. Slowly her violet eyes opened, and she smiled at him.

“Let us go to the sea and greet the dawn,” he said, rising up from their bed and drawing her after him. She reached for a pink gauze gown to cover her nakedness. “No, beauty. We will go as we are.”

“Someone will see us,” she protested shyly.

“No one will see us,” he answered firmly. Taking her hand, he led her out onto the terrace, through their small garden, and down a gently sloping incline to a little strip of sand that served them as a beach. They looked east across the Bosporus to the green hills of Asia tumbling down into the still, dark sea. Beyond, the pearl-gray sky was beginning to lighten and fill with color. Pinks and mauves mixed with the swirling oranges, lavenders, and golds.

The couple stood quietly in their nude perfection, like exquisite statues. A light wind played gently over their bodies. All was quiet about them. Only an occasional bird song broke the silence.

Slowly, Alexander turned his wife so that she faced him and, looking down at her, he said, “I have never known such happiness as I have these last few days with you. You are perfection, beauty, and I love you very much.”

Wordlessly her arms slipped about his neck, and she drew his head down so they might kiss. What began in tenderness quickly flared into passion as their desire for each other grew. Soon it could no longer be contained. She could feel his hardness pushing against her thigh, and she moaned against his mouth.

Their intertwined bodies fell slowly to the sand, and her legs opened eagerly. Slowly he entered into her. Her face was radiant with love. Their jewellike eyes locked onto one another, and Theadora felt her very soul being drawn from her body to meet with his in some star-filled place far beyond the mortal world. Together they floated until suddenly it was too sweet, too intense. Their passion crested, then broke over them like one of the waves that lapped at the sand just a few feet away.

When they had regained their senses, she spoke in a half-amused, half-shocked voice. “What if someone saw us, Alexander?’

He chuckled. “Then they will say that the lord of Mesembria serves his beautiful bride quite well.” He scrambled up, pulling her with him. “Let us bathe in the sea now, beauty. The beach is a very romantic place, but I have sand in the strangest places.”

Laughing, they plunged into the water. And later, if the servants saw them coming naked through the gardens, they said nothing, for they were enchanted by the love between their master and mistress.

Alexander was ambitious for his city and had plans to rebuild it. Mesembria had originally been colonized many centuries before by Ionian Greeks from Corinth and Sparta, and later it was conquered by Roman legions. The new lord of Mesembria spoke with his new wife of his plans to repave the broad avenues, restore the public buildings, and, after destroying the city’s slums, to build decent housing for the poor.

“The avenues must be lined with poplars,” said Theadora. “And the lady of Mesembria will plant flowers about the fountains for her people to enjoy.”

He smiled, pleased by her enthusiasm. “I want to make Mesembria so lovely that you will never miss Constantinople. I want it to be a happy city for you and for our people.”

“But, my love, this will cost a great deal of money.”

“I could not spend all the money I have if I lived to be a hundred, beauty. Before we return to Constantinople I must tell you where my funds are hidden so that, if anything should ever happen to me, you would not be dependent on anyone.”

“My lord, you are young. We are but newly married. Nothing will happen to you.”

“No,” he answered, “I don’t expect it will. Nevertheless what is mine, beauty, is yours as well.”

In Mesembria the city rejoiced in Alexander’s marriage to Theadora Cantacuzene. His family had ruled the city in an unbroken line for over five hundred years, and was loved by its citizens. Through good and bad times, through war and peace, Alexander’s family had always put the welfare of its people before their own. Their reward had been a fierce loyalty unequaled by any other city for its rulers.

Mesembria was set upon the shores of the Black Sea on a small peninsula at the northern end of the Gulf of Burgos. It was jointed to the mainland by a narrow isthmus which was fortified with guardtowers set into the walls every 25 feet. At the mainland end of the isthmus was a stone archway set with enormous bronze doors. These doors shut every day at sunset and opened at dawn. In time of war the doors remained closed. A matching gateway at the city end of the isthmus made the city a natural fortress.

Originally settled by the Thracians, the city had been colonized in the sixth century before Christ by a group of Ionian Greeks from the cities of Sparta and Corinth. Under their guidance, the little market town had become a cultured, elegant city which later became a jewel in the crown of the Byzantine Empire. In 812 A.D. the Bulgarians had managed to capture Mesembria briefly, looting it of its vast treasury of gold and silver and, more important, of its supply of Greek fire. The ruling family of the time had been entirely wiped out, and when the Mesembrians had finally rid themselves of the barbarian invaders they had elected as their ruler their most popular general, Constantine Heracles. He was Alexander’s ancestor. The Heracles family had ruled Mesembria ever since.

Now, with Alexander’s marriage, the populace became eager for their prince’s return. They set to work immediately to build a new palace worthy of Alexander and Theadora. The old royal residence had been located on a hill above the city. Knowing their lord’s love of the sea, and believing that rebuilding on the site of the old palace would be bad luck, the populace placed the palace in a newly created park on the water’s edge. The building was done similar to the classical Greek style. It was pale golden marble with porch pillars of an orange-red veined marble. It was not a large palace, for the Heracles had never been formal people. There was to be only one large reception hall where the lord of Mesembria might hold court, or render public judgements. The rest of the palace was to be private and was separated from this reception hall by a long open porchway.

Before the palace in the center of an oval of green lawn was a large oval pool tiled in turquoise blue. In the center of the pool was a solid gold dolphin, its mouth wide in laughter. The ancient seagod, Triton, cavorted on its back. From the sides of the oval, small whorled shells of gold sprayed toward the center, just missing the fish.

Behind the palace a beautiful garden stretched down to a finely graveled terrace which hung over a beach. In high tide, waves splashed the coral-colored marble balustrade.

Everyone in Mesembria from the greatest artisans to the simple folk worked steadily, completing the new palace in the astonishingly short time of three months. Even the children helped, carrying small things, bringing food and drink to the workers, running errands. The women, too, were a vital part of the city’s effort to bring their rulers home quickly. They worked side by side, maid and matron, the fishmon-ger’s wife and the noblewoman. With delicate strokes they painted frescos on the walls, wove coverlets and draperies of fine Bursa silk and sheer wools, and beautiful tapestries to grace the walls.

Alexander and Adora set sail for Mesembria a scant three months after the day of their wedding. The little villa on the Bosporus was closed, the servants sent overland to Mesembria. Only the couple who served the newlyweds as tiring woman and valet would accompany the prince and his bride aboard ship. Although she missed Iris, Adora felt fortunate in having Anna to serve her. A large, motherly woman who stood close to six feet tall, she treated her mistress lovingly, but with great respect. No one, Anna soon made plain to the other servants, could care for the mistress as she could. Her husband, Zeno, a thin man barely five-and-a-half feet tall, adored her unquestioningly. Anna ruled him with a benevolent iron hand.

Helena knew all this as she knew everything that might be of eventual use to her. As the despot and queen of Mesembria were not returning to Constantinople but sailing directly from their villa on the Bosphorus, the emperor and his wife paid them the compliment of coming to bid them a personal farewell. Seeing her younger sister‘s happiness made Helena alternate between frustrated rage and secret delight. She took great pleasure in knowing that she would, within a few months, destroy her sister‘s happiness.

Reclining on a couch in the lovely rooms assigned to her at the villa, Helena instructed her personal eunuch. “Fetch the lord Alexander’s man, Zeno, and bring him to me. Be sure that neither of you is seen. I want no questions.”

Her eyes glittered and the eunuch shivered inwardly. He had served the empress for five years and he knew her moods. She frightened him, especially when her eyes glowed with malicious glee. He had stood silently by her side on more than one occasion and watched while some unfortunate soul was tortured, often to death, simply to amuse Helena. The eunuch had survived by instant obedience, by doing his job very well, and by never voicing an opinion. Now he brought Zeno to his mistress and quickly left the room, grateful to escape.

Zeno knelt, terrified, before the empress, glad he did not have to stand. He did not believe his legs could have held him. His head was bowed, his eyes lowered. His heart hammered with sickening thuds against his narrow ribcage. The room was deathly silent as Helena rose languidly from her couch and walked slowly around the prostrate man. Had he dared to raise his eyes he would have beheld an incredible vision of beauty for the empress was gowned in soft tones of turquoise-colored Bursa silk, her well-fleshed arms gleaming like creamy polished marble through the sheer gauze sleeves of the gown. About her neck she wore a long double rope of pearls interspersed with round gold beads. But all Zeno could see was the silken hem of her gown and glimpse of gold-and silver-striped clog shoes.

She stood behind him and spoke softly, sweetly, in contrast to the meaning of her words. “Do you know, my friend Zeno, what the penalty for murder is in our realm?”

“M-Majesty?” His throat was constricted with fear, and he could barely force the word out.

“The penalty for murder,” Helena continued softly.

“Like the murder your good wife, Anna, committed. How old was your daughter, Zeno? Ten? Eleven?”

What composure had remained in the servant now vanished. No one had ever suspected that Anna had smothered Marie. The child had been dying of a wasting sickness of the blood. The doctors had been quite frank. There was no hope. Day after day she had faded before their anguished eyes. Finally one night when Marie had lain half in sleep, half in delirium, Anna had silently placed a pillow over the child’s face. When she finally lifted it, Marie was dead, a sweet smile on her little face. Man and wife had looked at each other with complete understanding and never spoken of it again. How this devil-woman had discovered their secret he knew not.

“The penalty for murder, Zeno, is death by public execution. It is not a pretty way to die, particularly for a woman. Let me tell you so you will understand what is facing Anna.

“The night before she is to die, the jailor and his men, as well as the most favored of their prisoners, will take turns using your wife. I have watched such sport occasionally, though I doubt you would find it very diverting. Come morning, her head will be shaved. She will be bound to the back of the wagon carrying her torturers and the executioner-and forced to walk behind it, to the place of her execution, barefoot and naked while being whipped. The crowds love a good show, and she will be pelted with all matter of debris and spit upon-”

“Mercy, Majesty!”

Moving around to stand before him Helena purred on with her recital. “Anna will, of course, be denied the last rites of our church for murder is forbidden by God’s commandments. The murder of a child in particular is a heinous enough crime to ensure eternal damnation.”

A sob escaped Zeno, and the empress smiled scornfully to herself. The plebes were all such weaklings! She continued.

“Anna will be bound, spread-eagled upon a rack. Her breasts will be torn off, her womb ripped out, her hands and feet cut off. She will be blinded with red-hot coals. Lastly, she will be hung by the neck, and she will be left hanging until the birds have picked her bones clean. Then the bones will be ground into powder and thrown to the four winds!”

Zeno finally dared raise his eyes to the queen.

“Why? Why do you tell me this, Majesty? If you wish my dear Anna’s death why do you torture me?”

Helena smiled her sweet smile, and Zeno was amazed. How could a woman who smiled so sweetly be so cruel? And then he saw her eyes. There was no smile in them. They were like polished blue stones. “What I have told you need not be, and your wife may yet live with you to a peaceful old age…if you but render me one small service.”

“Anything!”

Helena smiled again, this time showing her perfect little white teeth. “I am going to give you a box containing a small vial of liquid. In a few months’ time-and you will pick the time carefully-you will open the vial and begin to put a few drops each day into Alexander’s shaving water. Only his shaving water. Coat your own hands with scented oil so that, if the water should touch your own skin, there will be no harm to you. Wash them thoroughly immediately afterwards. When the vial is empty, throw it into the sea. That is all I require of you, Zeno. It is so little. Do it, and your wife’s, ah, indiscretion will be forgotten.”

“Is it poison, Majesty?”

She looked coldly at him. “Will you obey me?” Numbly, he nodded. “Very well then, Zeno, you are dismissed. Be sure that no one sees you leaving my suite.” He stumbled to his feet and fled toward the door. “Remember, Zeno,” she warned, “that Mesembria is yet a part of the empire, and my reach is a long one. My spies are everywhere.” The door closed.

Alone again, Helena laughed to herself. She had won. The serving man was terrified and would obey. She would dispose of him later.

On the following day Helena stood next to her husband and bade Theadora and Alexander farewell. She was calm and appeared most loving. Afterward Adora voiced her ever-present suspicion of her older sister, but Alexander laughed. “You will be far away from Constantinople to allay the royal virago’s fears. Soon something else will catch her eye-a fancied slight, or a young man with beautiful thighs.”

Now she laughed! His easy assessment of Helena’s character made Helena seem so unimportant that her fears slid entirely away. He slipped an arm about her waist, and they stood quietly watching their little villa recede until it seemed no larger than a toy. Ahead of them the Bosporus widened somewhat as it opened into the Black Sea. Adora felt her heart quicken at the great expanse of rolling dark-blue water. Sensing this, Alexander turned her to face him.

“Don’t be frightened, beauty. It is majestic and awesome and there are no tiny islands to give the comfort of constant land in sight. It is not like our turquoise Aegean. This great sea can be the most treacherous and wicked of bitches, but she can also be a good friend. The trick is not to take her for granted like a woman of the streets. But we will not venture out into her this time, my love. We follow the coastline to our own city.”

“This time, Alexander? Then you do not mean to give up the sea?”

“The sea is Mesembria’s lifeline, beauty. We cannot live on the profits of Phocaea forever. There are three trade routes across the Black Sea, the most important from my mother’s city of Trebizond. If I offer the merchant traders a better price for their goods than Constantinople and a shorter voyage to boot, they will come to me instead. We will then take these goods into Constantinople and they will have to pay our prices, for there will be no other choice.”

Adora’s eyes widened with surprise and admiration. “Is this the sort of thing a loyal subject of the emperor should do?”

“My first loyalty must be to Mesembria, beauty. For too long has Constantinople sucked her vassal cities dry and given very little in return. Young Emperor John has enough on his hands contending with the Turks. By the time Constantinople realizes what I have done, it will be too late for them to do anything.”

“You are ruthless, Alexander,” she smiled. “I had not realized it before.”

“I did not become the pirate king of Phocaea by chance, beauty. To survive in this world one must understand that it is populated for the most part by ruthless people. And one must think like them or else be eaten alive.” He fingered the silk of her gown, and his voice softened. “Enough of this debate, Adora. We are still on our honeymoon, and the ship is well captained. Let us amuse ourselves in our cabin for we are only in the way here.”

“Ship’s cabins are small, my lord, and bunks are hardly conducive to the sort of entertainment you propose,” she teased. “After all, Alexander, you have not the privilege of the captain’s cabin this time.”

“No, beauty, I don’t. I have instead the privilege of the prince’s cabin!” And he pulled her along up several steps to the deck above. The deck had only about six feet of open deck because a cabin took up the rest of the space. Two small arched doors of carved and gilded oak served as an entry. He turned the gold handles and ushered her into a room of unbelievable luxury.

Above the room was a cloth of aquamarine silk, woven with pale gold and silver stars. It gave the ceiling the appearance of a tent. The lamps that hung by thin gold chains from this silken ceiling were of light amber-colored Venetian glass. A bay window with leaded-crystal diamond panes, also of hand-blown Venetian glass, graced the wall opposite the door and offered them a private view of the sea. Built into the window alcove was a great bed covered in a deep blue coverlet embroidered with gold and silver scenes of Neptune and all his court. There were nymphs riding seahorses, mermaids combing their long hair while their mermen lovers watched, leaping dolphins, and flying fish all merrily cavorting across the rich dark-blue velvet. The deck beneath their feet had been covered entirely in the soft white fleece of unborn lambs. It seemed to Adora that she stood in a swirl of seafoam.

At the foot of the bed were two small flat-topped twin trunks lined in fragrant cedar, bound in polished brass. Atop each in goldleaf was the royal insignia of the House of Mesembria. Beneath were the words “Alexander, Despot” on one and “Theadora, Despoena” on the other. On the wall opposite the bed was a long rectangular table that jutted out into the room. It was made of highly polished ebony, and its legs were heavily carved. A great silver bowl with a raised relief design of Paris, the three goddesses, and the golden apple sat in the center and was filled with large round oranges, fat purple figs, and bunches of plump pale green grapes. On either side of the table were matching arm chairs with gold-colored velvet cushions.

It was an exquisite room and as her eyes swept over it they widened again and she cried out with delight, for on the wall to the left of the door was the most beautiful dressing table she had ever seen. Attached to the wall, it was an open, golden scallop shell. Its mirror, set into the upper half of the shell, was of highly polished silver. Its base in the shell’s lower half was carefully inlaid squares of pale pink mother-of-pearl. A smaller half-shell with a coral silk cushion filled with sweet lavender made the seat.

“From your people, beauty. I understand they made two. One for the ship and another with a glass mirror for your rooms in our palace. They already love you for you are going to be the mother of their ruling house.” His deep voice vibrated with passion, and she felt herself growing faint with the longing she had begun to know so well.

His aquamarine eyes held her spellbound, and she never even heard the doors to their little world close or the bolt click home. He reached out and drew her into the circle of his arms. She lay her dark head against the hollow of his shoulder-her breathing slow, but increasing in tempo as he began to undress her gently. When she finally stood naked before him he stepped back to view her, delighting in her rosy blushes. There were no worlds between them. The only sounds came from the distant voices and movement of those who ran the ship and from the slap of the waves and the gentle whoosh of the wake behind them.

She stepped forward now and began to remove his clothes. He stood quietly, a tender smile on his, lips, his eyes alight. But when he stood stripped and she slid to her knees and bent down to kiss his feet, her long dark hair swirling about his legs, he broke the silence.

“No, beauty!” He drew her to her feet. “You are not my slave or my chattel. You are my beloved wife, my queen, and my equal. We are two halves of a whole.”

“I love you, Alexander, yet words are simply not enough to express how I feel!”

“My foolish Adora,” he said tenderly. “What makes you think I do not know how you feel? When our bodies are one and I look into your beautiful eyes, I see all the love and hear with my heart all the words for which there are no words. I know these things because it is the same for me.”

Then their mouths met, and they soared together into that tumultuous world where only lovers are allowed. Their lips still joined, he picked her up and carried her to their bed. Cradling her with one arm, he drew the velvet coverlet back with the other and then placed her between the cream silk sheets.

She held her slender arms up to him, and he felt his desire quicken at the sight of her lovely body against the luxurious sheets. Her mahogany colored hair spread across the plump pillows like a floodtide upon the beach. Then he was astride her, his long legs with their soft golden down on either side of her. His hands played with her lovely breasts, touching with just the very sensitive tips of his fingers the smooth warm skin that seemed to vibrate beneath him. She placed her hands flat against his chest, rubbing lightly with little circular motions.

His eyes narrowed and he chided her laughingly, “Adora! Adora! You are such an impatient little vixen!”

She blushed furiously, but when she tried to turn her head away he caught it between his hands. With one smooth motion he thrust into her. “Oh, Alexander!” she breathed. “I am so shameless with you!” And he laughed happily. “True, beauty, but I am ever eager to oblige you in your naughtiness.”

Slowly her violet eyes closed, and she let her passions rule her, sweeping her away into a world of hungry sounds, sighs, and pleasures almost too sweet to bear.

Deep within her there lay the frightening sensation that none of this was real-that it was only a fantastic dream from which she would soon awake. She cried out his name and clung tightly to him, fiercely demanding reassurance. He gave it.

“Beauty, my beloved beauty,” he murmured against her ear, and she sighed contentedly. When she finally slept, he walked across the cabin and, opening a cabinet near the table, drew out a decanter of red wine and a stemmed silver goblet. He sipped reflectively as he watched Theadora sleep.

His first wife had been dead so long he could barely remember her. It had, at any rate, been a childhood romance.

His harem, left far behind in Phocaea, were of another world. He had married all his women to the most deserving of his lieutenants before turning the city over to his two eldest, nearly grown sons. From the night he had seduced Adora, he had never really been content with the gentle girls of his harem. He had determined to make Adora his wife one day, and Alexander would never tell her that the strange dream she believed she had had in Phocaea had been real.

The winds held fair and brisk and several days later the royal ship sailed into the walled harbor of Mesembria to be greeted by the cheering populace. The people stood on the shore waving colored silks and a small fleet of fishing boats clustered about the great vessel. From the rail, Adora had her first good glimpse of the city…her new home.

Strangely, it reminded her of Constantinople although it had been in existence longer. It was a walled city, a city of marble and stone amid which she could identify several churches, some pillared public buildings, and an ancient hippodrome. “Alexander!” she pointed.

He smiled down at her and then looked to where she pointed. Alexander swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. When he had left Mesembria the blackened ruins of the old palace had haunted him, sitting malevolently upon the crest of the city’s highest hill. Now the hill was crowned by a beautiful, tall marble cross, heavily gilded. It stood as a shining tribute to the memory of the Heracles family.

The ship’s captain spoke. “The city wanted to surprise you, my lord despot. The cross sits in a new park which, with your permission, will be opened to the people so they may pray there for the souls of your family.”

Alexander nodded, overcome. It was in that moment that Adora performed her first act as queen of Mesembria. “The people will have our permission, captain. We will so inform them, and we will publicly express our gratitude.”

The captain bowed. His fears for both his city and his lord vanished. Theadora was a gracious and gentle lady. She would rule well.

The barge arrived and bumped gently against the ship. Catching a rope, Alexander swung himself from the deck to the barge below. For Adora, however, a chair was rigged, and the new despoena of Mesembria was gently lowered from her ship into her husband’s waiting arms. Though his face was grave, his eyes brimmed with amusement, and she was hard-pressed not to laugh. Everyone about them was so serious, so carefully courteous.

The royal barge was elegant yet simple in its design. Two small gilt thrones had been placed beneath an azure-blue-and-silver-striped awning. Only one other person was aboard the barge, and Alexander introduced him as Basil, the royal chamberlain of Mesembria. Basil was a courtly older man whose white hair gave him a patriarchal air.

The rulers of the city seated themselves. Their chamberlain, standing, gave the command, and the barge moved toward shore.

“Is it always going to be this formal?” Adora asked desperately.

Alexander chuckled. “You have to understand, beauty, that receiving the new queen of the city, a princess of Byzantium, the daughter of an emperor, the sister of an empress-it is very heady for our people. They are, I am quite sure, terrified lest they displease you and make a bad first impression. Am I not right, Basil?”

“It is so, Highness. They want very much for the princess Theadora to like them and to like her new home.”

Silence descended again and Alexander noted with amusement that Adora’s brow was furrowed in concentration. He wondered what it was she was thinking about, but before he could ask, the barge arrived at the quay. He leaped to the steps and helped his lovely wife up. A beautifully caparisoned white stallion awaited him, pawing impatiently, and he saw a flower-decked, silk-draped cart for Adora. Beyond the end of the quay the first of the hushed crowds awaited them.

He turned to hand her up into the cart, but she shook her head. “No, my lord, let us walk among our people.”

His smile of approval warmed her. “You are the cleverest woman I have ever known, Adora. The people will take you to their hearts instantly.” He grasped her hand and they moved forward.

An expectant hum was beginning to race through the crowds that lined Mesembria’s main avenue, The Conqueror’s Path. Led by a troop of the royal guard, Alexander and Theadora walked to their palace-to the stunned delight of their people. A pretty young woman held a plump, rosy-cheeked baby, and waved its tiny hand at the couple. Adora took the baby from its surprised mother.

“What is her name?” she asked.

“Z-Zoe, H-Highness.”

“It was my mother’s name! May your Zoe grow up to be as good and loving as my mother was.” Adora kissed the baby’s downy head. “God’s blessings on you, little Zoe.” She handed the child back to its overcome mother.

The people of Mesembria roared their approval as their rulers continued to make their way around the city to their seaside palace. They stopped many times to speak with the citizens. Alexander was amazed to see Adora reach deep into her cloak pocket and offer the little ones sugared almonds. There were toothless elders smiling broadly, wishing them long life and many children. Adora blushed prettily to the glee of the old ones. The callused hands of workmen and the smooth hands of young matrons reached out to touch them.

After an hour they were prevailed upon by the captain of their guard to enter the cart. The procession was almost at a halt. Now more people could see them, and the cheers became louder. They were an outrageously handsome couple: the blond, blue-eyed Alexander dressed in the silver and blue colors of his House with the great sapphire seal of Mesembria upon his chest; Adora in creamy white velvet and gold, her violet eyes shining, wearing a small gold circlet on her dark head, her long hair loose.

At last they reached the gates of the new palace where they were greeted by Basil, representatives of Mesembria’s noble families, and officers of the city’s guilds. The royal couple descended from the cart and the chamberlain gravely handed them golden keys to the gates.

“The Palace of the Laughing Dolphin, my lord despot. From the loyal and loving people of your city. We wish you and our lady queen long life, good health, many strong sons and fair daughters. May the heirs of Alexander and Theadora rule over us for a thousand years!” he shouted, and the people roared their approval.

Alexander inclined his head to the representatives. “Our thanks to you all,” he said. “Let word go out through the city that we are pleased and will be ever grateful for the generosity of those we rule.

“We will show our gratitude by restoring the city to its former glory. No one in Mesembria will go hungry or homeless ever again. Taxes will be suspended for one year. Schools will be opened to all the children- even the maidens! This city will again flourish. On this you have our royal word!”

The gates to the palace swung open behind him, and Adora called in a ringing voice, “Come! Come and share a cup of wine with my lord and me. Celebrate with us a new golden age for the city of Mesembria!”

Again she felt his approval wash over her. Hand in hand, they led their guests through the palace grounds to the garden terrace. Tables had been set up and servants waited with food and drink. Toast after toast was drunk throughout the afternoon until the last guest finally departed.

Unable to believe they were really alone, the two stood gazing happily at one another.

“Will you be happy here?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she answered softly. “I am happy wherever we are together.”

“I want to make love to you,” he said evenly and then, looking helplessly about, complained, “but I do not even know where our bedchamber is!”

She began to laugh, and he joined her, the deep peals of his mirth booming over her bell-like amusement. “Anna!” she gasped out. “Anna!” and when her servant appeared Adora managed to say, “Our bedchamber? Where is it?”

The servant woman’s black eyes flashed delighted comprehension. “Come,” she said. “I was just coming to get you both. I have your bath ready, my princess, and Zeno waits to attend you, sire.”

They followed her into the palace through a corridor painted with frescos of the ancient Greek games. The ceiling beams were carved and gilded, the marble floors covered with thick blue and red rugs from Persia. At the end of the corridor was a double door marked with the Mesembrian coat of arms. Crowned Neptune, triton in hand, rose from the waves against a scallopshell background. Anna did not slacken her pace, and the soldiers standing guard on either side of the doors flung them wide.

Anna gestured. “My lord’s apartment is to the right. I am sure he will wish to bathe the salt and wind of the sea voyage from his skin. My lady’s apartment is here, and an oil bath awaits her.”

Biting her lip to keep from laughing Adora looked helplessly to her husband. He shrugged and, catching her hand, kissed it. “Until later, beauty,” he murmured. She nodded and followed Anna.

Theadora’s rooms included a sunny day room with a large marble fireplace, the side pillars of which were carvings of naked young goddesses. The leaping flames cast red and gold shadows over them, giving them a seductive appearance. The walls of the day room were hung with the most beautiful silk tapestries Adora had ever seen. There were twelve, each one depicting an event in the life of Venus. The marble floors were covered by thick rugs. The windows were hung with silken draperies and the furnishings were a mixture of Byzantine and Eastern styles. The colors of this day room were predominantly azure blue and gold.

Adora’s bedroom was done in shades of coral-pink and a pale cream color with the barest touch of gold. The matching dressing table from the ship was there, as Alexander had promised. But to her delight the big bed was also shaped like a huge scalloped shell. Its feet were made of gold dolphins who rested on their curved tails balancing the shell on their noses. The bed was topped by a golden coronet and hung with sheer silk gauze draperies of coral pink. This fairy-tale room looked out onto the sea. She felt a flush creep up her neck as she imagined Alexander and herself making love in that marvelous bed in this wonderful room.

“Your bath is through here, my princess.” She jumped at Anna’s voice.

They entered a blue-tiled room with a sunken bathing pool where several young maidservants waited. Within the hour she was bathed, her skin and hair free of salt. After donning a loose caftan of pale apricot-colored silk, she entered her day room again and found a supper table set up by the windows. The sky had begun to darken and the moon was rising, reflected in the calm sea.

Awaiting her, in a white silk caftan, was Alexander. The servants had magically disappeared. “Do you mind playing the maid-servant, my love?”

“No, I want to be alone with you. It has been hours since we were able to be together without a crowd.”

She poured him a goblet of golden Cyprus wine and then, giggling, filled his plate with raw oysters, breast of capon, and black olives. “Our cook lacks subtlety. Even the dessert is made of eggs!”

He laughed, then sobered and reminded her, “Mesembria does need an heir, Adora. I am the last of my line. There is no one left after me, no one who might rule if I died. The fire that killed my brothers and their families also took many of my uncles and cousins, all my father’s relatives. They were all there that night celebrating my eldest brother’s birthday. Until we have a son, I am the last of the Heracles.”

Standing beside him she drew his head against the scented softness of her breasts. “We will have a son, my lord. This I promise you!”

Looking up he let his aquamarine eyes lock onto her amethyst ones and saw mirrored there far greater promises: the promise of many happy years, of a large family to replace the one he had lost, of a thousand nights of delight followed by ten times a thousand. Standing up, he held her lightly by the shoulders and looked into her upturned face.

“The food will wait, my love,” said Alexander. And sweeping his wife into his arms, he carried her off to the great shell bed.

Chapter Fifteen

Theadora had fallen in love with Mesembria quite easily. But it did, as Alexander had said, need rebuilding. It was nineteen hundred years old. Its rulers studied an accurate scale model of the city and decided that, before the public buildings could be renovated, housing for the poor must be improved. There were at least three sections of wooden tenements that were always subject to fire, and a bad conflagration could do serious damage to the entire city.

Alexander arranged to have the owners of these buildings brought before him. Adora at his side, he quietly explained what he was going to do. The existing wooden buildings would be torn down and new brick buildings would be erected. The owners had a choice. They could sell to him if they wished, but he would set the price. Or they could bear half the expense of the new buildings. Those men who kept their buildings and worked with Alexander would be exempt from taxes for five years.

Only three old men chose to sell. Their buildings were quickly bought, not by Alexander, but by their fellows.

Only one section at a time would be done, and the residents of the section being worked on would be housed in a tent city.

Afterwards, the public buildings would be redone. And the parks would be done as well.

While this was going on, Alexander’s plans for turning Mesembria into a great commercial center would also be progressing. Already he was planning a trip to Trebizond to negotiate an agreement. Trebizond, one end of an overland route from the rich Far East, was a desirable location.

There was an already established trade route from the North: from Scandinavia across the Baltic into the Gulf of Finland, then overland to Lake Ladoga, Novgorod, and down to Smolensk, where it met with another route from across the Baltic into the Gulf of Riga, and then overland. Carefully hugging the shoreline, the trading fleets stopped at Tyras and Mesembria to take on water before going on to Constantinople.

This year, when the trading fleets put into Mesembria, their owners found themselves invited to dine with the new ruler. As Alexander was no polished Byzantine courtier who played at word games he always came right to the point. “Tell me,” he asked quietly, “what you’ll get for your cargos in Constantinople?”

One merchant, cannier than the rest, named a figure that the prince knew was double the actual figure. Alexander laughed. “Half your price, my greedy friend, and then add twenty-five percent to it. That is my offer to you. Take it either in gold or in trade goods, or in some of each. I can offer you the same fine quality merchandise that Constantinople does, and at less cost to you.”

For a moment the merchants were silent. Then one asked, “Why do you offer to buy our cargos at a price you know we would be foolish to refuse? Not only can we return home with fine merchandise to sell, but for the first time in years we will have gold in our pockets as well.”

“I wish to rebuild my city, friends,” replied Alexander. “For too long Constantinople has taken from us, yet we have received nothing in return. With your cooperation I shall make a great commercial center of Mesembria. Soon I go to Trebizond, the state from which my mother came. I shall speak with my uncle, its emperor. Already his emissaries have assured me of the emperor’s interest in my plan. When you come again next year the riches of the Far East-the silks, the jewels, the spices-will be here for you, for Trebizond will do business with me first. The Commenii family have little love for the Paleaologi family.”

“Let us see the quality of your goods, my lord,” said the merchants’ spokesman, and Alexander knew he had won this first round. Clapping his hands, he sent a servant to fetch Basil. “My chamberlain will take you,” he said. “I realize that my presence might intimidate you. Talk freely among yourselves. When you have seen my goods we will speak again.”

The merchants trooped out and Alexander sat back in his chair reflectively sipping wine from a Venetian crystal goblet set with silver and turquoise. The merchants would be foolish to refuse Alexander’s offer.

And when they saw his trade goods they would be more than anxious to come to Mesembria rather than go to Constantinople. Mesembria was a shorter trip, but the real savings in time was the fact that their entire cargos would be bought by Alexander. There would be no more haggling with Constantinople’s merchants for bits and pieces of cargos. There would be no port taxes, landing fees, or trading permits. There would also be no officials seeking bribes. And Mesembria offered sailors amusements just as varied as Constantinople’s.

Upon returning the merchants could not hide their enthusiasm. The bargain was quickly struck. The prince would personally inspect their cargos and then payment would be made. Alexander was jubilant. His dreams were beginning to come true.

Adora had been working hard to give substance to her dream of education for all the city’s youth. Schools were opened offering both classical and practical education. The new queen decreed that all the children of her city must learn to read and to write. From the age of six to the age of twelve they were expected to attend school six months of the year. People of any age, however, were welcome to attend.

Even little girls were expected to go to school. When at first a grumbling arose about the foolishness of educating women, Adora reminded the parents of Mesembria of their proud Greek heritage. The maidens of ancient Greece had been taught along with their brothers. She then offered to dower the ten best female students each year, thereby greatly enhancing the value of an educated wife!

The days moved swiftly in a haze of hard work, for neither Alexander nor Theadora was an idle ruler. The nights were slow passages of sensual delights. The lovers strove to found a new dynasty for Mesembria, but Adora did not conceive.

Two nights before he was to leave for Trebizond, Alexander surprised his wife by designating her his regent in his absence. Adora was furious. “But I want to go with you,” she protested. “I cannot bear to be separated from you! I will not be!”

He laughed and, pulling her down into his lap, kissed her angry mouth. “I cannot bear being separated from you either, beauty. But I must go, and we should not both be gone from our city at the same time.”

Her violet eyes were mutinous. “Why not?”

“What if you are with child? What if you came with me and the ship sank? Mesembria would be without a Heracles for the first time in five centuries.”

“Mesembria,” she answered with logic, “would be the poorer without the Heracles family. I will admit that. But it would survive. And besides, I have just finished my show of blood and so am not with child as you well know!”

“Ah, beauty, but we have tonight and tomorrow before us,” and indeed his hands were wandering provocatively.

“No!” She leapt from his lap. “I am not a brood mare! A wife’s place is by her husband’s side. I would go with you, and I will!”

He sighed. “You are behaving like a child, Adora.”

“And you, my lord husband, with all your talk of dynasties are sounding more like a pompous ass every minute. I am not with child, and the likelihood of my becoming so in these next two days is zero! However, if you will let me go with you we may return from Trebizond with not only a trade agreement but the hope of an heir as well. Or is it that you have some agreeable little creature who eagerly awaits your arrival in Trebizond?”

“Theadora!”

“Alexander!”

Her outrage and determination heightened her beauty, and he nearly succumbed. But a man must still be master in his own house. With a swiftness that quite surprised her, he caught her and, turning her over his knee, pulled up her gown and paddled her bare bottom. She shrieked, more with outrage than with pain.

“If you behave like a child you must be treated like one,” he said sternly, giving her a final swat. He turned her back over.

“I will never forgive you for this,” she sobbed.

“Yes, you will,” he answered with infuriating calm, and his mouth turned up in a mischievous smile as he bent to kiss her. She compressed her lips tightly together. Chuckling, he persisted, nibbling at her mouth while her eyes flashed outrage at him. Then he stopped and said quietly, “Theadora, my sweet Adora! I love you!”

“Damn you, Alexander,” she responded huskily, and her arms encircled his neck. “First you beat me, and then you want to make love to me. I have heard about men like you, and I do not know if I approve!”

He began to laugh. “Where on earth did you ever learn of such things, Adora?”

“The women in Orkhan’s harem may be cloistered, but they are quite knowledgeable, and there is little to do there but talk.”

“It is a husband’s duty to correct and chastise his wife,” he teased her.

“Not just before he wants to make love to her,” she teased him back.

That night he made love to her slowly and with such controlled passion that several times she screamed at him to take her now! She had never known him to be so deliberate. He used her body as he might have used a fine instrument-with great delicacy and with a skill that left her breathless and pleading for more.

His head moved slowly down her body, kissing softly, until he reached her secret place. He tasted her, and she moaned, her head thrashing wildly. He raised his golden head. “Do you remember the first time, beauty? The first time I loved you like this?”

“Y-Yes!”

He smiled tenderly down at her. “You’ve learned to like it, haven’t you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re like a fine sweet wine,” he said thickly, and then swung over her. She writhed beneath him, her amethyst eyes pleading, and he gently thrust into her.

“Oh, Alexander,” she breathed, eagerly receiving him. For the first time she used an ancient sexual art taught to her in the harem of her first husband. Her vaginal muscles tightened around him, gently at first, then with increasing pressure as the rhythm quickened. He groaned with surprised pleasure, murmuring against her ear, “Christos! You witch! Ah, stop-or there will be no time for you to reach the top of your own mountain!”

She was in control now, and the feeling of power was delicious. “Will you love me only once this night, my lord?” And she squeezed him tightly, almost hurting him. He cried out and, sobbing with relief, released his tortured seed. “Beloved,” she whispered, tenderly cradling his head against her breasts.

They lay quietly for some time, and then she felt him suddenly hard again against her leg. “Now, beauty,” he said, his voice strong again, “I shall have my sweet revenge!” And he was in her moving so rapidly that she could not grip him. Pleasure began to wash over her in wave after wave. Then she began to climb with him to the top of that mountain they both knew so well. Nothing mattered but the sweet, burning intensity between them. She could go no further, but he forced her onward until suddenly she was tumbling through a golden spiral, into a soft, perfect peace.

When she finally regained her senses she found herself in the warm, safe circle of his, arms. Raising her head, she gazed into his beautiful aquamarine eyes. He smiled. “We have loved each other well beauty, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she answered, “It is always good with us.”

“As I promised you,” he teased.

“Peacock,” she countered weakly. Then, in a more serious tone, she said simply, “I have never known such happiness, Alexander. I love you so very much!”

“And I love you, beauty! Without you there would be no place for me on this earth. You are my heartbeat, the very air I breathe.” Sighing happily, he nestled in the curve of his arm and fell asleep.

Alexander smiled down at her. She was so very lovely that his heart contracted painfully with the knowledge of what he must do. Slowly, his own eyes closed and he slept.

When Adora awoke several hours later the dawn was flooding her bedchamber. Alexander was gone. But he frequently rose before she did. Calling to Anna, she ordered her bath and spent a leisurely hour bathing. Afterwards, as Anna helped her into her gown, Adora asked, “Will my lord break his fast with me, Anna?”

“No, my lady.” The servant quickly turned away.

“Anna? What is it?”

“What is what, my lady?” The woman was being deliberately evasive.

“Where is my lord Alexander?” she asked evenly.

Anna sighed. Taking her mistress by the hand, she led her out onto the terrace and pointed seaward. “That dot out there, my princess, is the lord Alexander’s ship. He sailed before dawn.”

“Christos!” swore Adora angrily. “How could he? He promised I could go too!”

“He did?” Anna was amazed.

“Well,” hedged Adora, “I believed it was understood.”

“He left this for you, my princess.”

Adora snatched at the rolled parchment. Breaking the seal, she read, “Beauty, forgive me, but one more night such as the last and I could never have left you. What then would have become of our fair city? I shall return within two months. Each minute away from you will be like a full day, and each day will be an eternity. It is a far worse punishment I inflict upon myself than you could possibly inflict on me for this deception. Rule well in my absence. And never forget, my Adora, that I love you. Alexander.”

The parchment hung from her hand. Suddenly she laughed. Then, just as suddenly, she cried and cursed him. Catching the look of fright on Anna’s face, she explained. “Do not fear for my mind, my good Anna. I am all right. My lord has simply outmaneuvered me in this chess game we are constantly playing. I must take it with good grace, though I would sooner take a ship and go after him.”

A month passed, two months, and Alexander was due home. Then, one afternoon, there came word that the prince’s galley had been sighted a few miles off the coast. Adora ordered her barge readied. Gowned in pale-blue silk, her dark hair braided with gold ribbons and looped about her ears, she set out to meet her husband.

Seeing the little barge coming toward them over the deep-blue waves, Alexander’s men cheered their queen. When the two vessels met, Mesembria’s ruler swung himself down from the deck of his great ship to the highly-polished deck of the smaller boat. In one fluid movement he swept his beautiful wife into his arms. Their mouths met fiercely. Adora was faint with happiness. Finally he let her go. “It was not the minutes, but the seconds away from you that were like days. The minutes were like months.”

“For me also,” she answered softly, “but you were right.”

“Right? About what?”

“About the possibility of my conceiving a child.” His marvelous eyes widened, and she laughed at his look of delight. “Had a great storm taken you, my lord Alexander, Mesembria would still have had a Heracles to reign over it!”

“You are with child?”

“I am with child!” she answered proudly.

The barge lurched on the waves and Alexander quickly drew her down to the cushions. “Sit, beauty! I want neither you nor our son harmed.”

“You are very sure it is a son?”

“I have never had a daughter,” he said thoughtfully, “but if she were your daughter I could easily love her.” He put an arm about her. “A daughter with your violet eyes, beauty.”

“And your golden hair,” she answered.

”She will be like an ancient sea nymph,” he said, “and we will call her Ariadne.”

“Or,” replied Adora, “we will call him Alexander.” They laughed happily. Suddenly she exclaimed, “I have been so full of my own news that I forgot to ask of yours. Was your trip to Trebizond successful? Will the Comenii send their trading vessels to us?”

“Yes, beauty, they will! My uncle Xenos is happy to have the opportunity to work with Mesembria. He is, as you will remember, in complete charge of Trebizond’s trading concessions. His brother, the emperor, accepts his word on everything. I have brought back with me a signed agreement between Trebizond and Mesembria that will guarantee our superiority over Constantinople within the next two years. Our city will soon become a power to be reckoned with, beauty. Our children will not inherit only an empty eggshell.”

“Children, is it?” she teased him. “Am I to understand that one son is not enough for you, oh great and greedy despot of Mesembria?”

He chuckled. “Children seem to be a natural result of lovemaking, beauty. And since I will always want to love you, I assume our family will be a large one.”

Adora sighed. She was completely happy. So unbelievably happy. She loved and was loved in return. And now she was to have another child. She had been hesitant, but now that this new life nested within her, she realized how much she really wanted it. Smiling to herself, she wondered why the tangible proof of love, a child, was so important to a woman.

The autumn came. And as the fruits in the orchards ripened so did the queen of Mesembria ripen with her child. The people of the small city-state were overjoyed.

But in Constantinople the empress fretted angrily. Why had that frightened fool, Zeno, not destroyed Alexander? Now Thea was pregnant, and if Murad lost his passion for her then Helena’s revenge would be lost. She sent a spy to inquire and to further terrorize the prince’s servant. Her spy reported that Zeno felt the time was not right. Let the prince and princess feel totally secure in their lives lest the plot be discovered and Helena’s name revealed. The empress was forced to bide her time. She sent secret word to Ali Yahya, promising that soon her sister would be delivered into the sultan’s power.

In Bursa, Ali Yahya received the message and was very skeptical. His own spies told him that Theadora was happy, and soon to bear her husband a child. Still, he hoped for her return to Bursa for Murad longed desperately for her, so desperately that he would take no other women. This left the Ottoman Empire without heirs until Prince Halil and his wife were grown and had consummated their marriage.

In January of the new year-two months early- Theadora went into labor. She was quickly delivered of twins, a son and a daughter. The little boy Alexander Constantine died within the week.

The little girl survived. Both had been the image of their father, but as the little Ariadne grew her eyes became the wonderful amethyst color of her mother’s. Adored by both her parents, she was nursed only by her jealous mother who could hardly bear to have the child out of her sight. As the months passed, however, and Ariadne thrived, Theadora became less fiercely protective.

One early autumn afternoon when the baby princess was eight months old, the family sat upon the soft green lawn of the palace gardens and watched their daughter crawling about the grass. She sat on a pink silk square, clapping her hands and crowing delightedly at the darting butterflies. Finally she fell asleep, thumb in mouth, one finger hooked over her button nose, her dark gold lashes fanlike on her rosy cheeks.

“If only the boy had lived too,” said Adora sadly. She always called him the “boy”, unable to think of him as Alexander.

“It was God’s will, beauty. I do not understand it, but I must accept it.”

Why? she wanted to shout at him. But she only said, “Your faith is greater than mine.”

“You grieve for him yet, beauty?”

“I grieve for what he might have been. But I never knew him. Perhaps that is the reason for my sadness. Ariadne is already a complete person, but our poor little son will forever remain in my memory as an infant who had barely the strength to cry.”

“We will have other sons, beauty.”

Catching his hand, she held it to her heart. “I am selfish, my darling, for he was your son too. Yes! We will have other sons! Strong sons! And we are blessed in having an outrageously beautiful daughter.”

“If we are to have sons,” he said seriously, “you must stop nursing our daughter, beauty.”

Adora looked rueful. “She is too young to be weaned, Alexander.”

“Then get her a wetnurse. If you look carefully you can find a healthy young woman whose milk is fresh and wholesome. You spoil Ariadne. And,” he added plaintively, “I should like to be spoiled too.”

Adora laughed. But realizing his sincerity, she promised, “When you return from Trebizond Ariadne will have a wetnurse, my lord, and you will have your wife back again.” Then she asked, “Why must you go again, Alexander?”

“Because, beauty,” he explained patiently, “my uncle’s last message says that the last of the caravans from the East have arrived and are being transferred to the waiting ships. I must go to Trebizond as a matter of courtesy, and personally escort these ships back to Mesembria. Think of it, Adora! Those rich cargos are ours! Silks! Spices! Jewels! Slaves! Rare and exotic animals! Constaninople will pay dearly for these things. But this one time I must go or else those merchants may think I do not value them.”

“Go then,” she sighed, resigned. “But hurry back.”

“It will not be as long as the last time, beauty. Just long enough to sail to Trebizond, fête the merchants, and return to Mesembria. A month at the most, with favorable winds.”

“Take Zeno with you, Alexander. Ever since that poor servant girl was found at the back gate of the palace so hideously murdered he has been very nervous. Perhaps the sea voyage will soothe him.”

Alexander nodded. “I cannot understand why anyone would do something so horrible to a person of such little importance. Murder is one thing, but the terrible way in which the girl was mutilated and blinded-I was sickened by it. I think what frightened Zeno so badly was the fact that the girl was called Anna, like his wife. Yes. I will take him with me. Perhaps by the time we return his nerves will be sound again.”

That night they made love tenderly and slowly. When morning came Adora went with her husband to their daughter’s nursery and watched fondly as he bid the baby goodbye. He playfully nibbled at the little girl’s toes, eliciting delighted giggles. Picking her up, he inquired, “And what shall the mighty despot of Mesembria bring to the fairest of creatures, his princess Ariadne? Perhaps a porcelain bowl from Cathay filled with rare Persian tulips the color of your eyes? Or a carved golden goblet brimming over with Indian pearls that match your skin?”

“Da!” chortled the baby triumphantly. Then she cooed softly at her father. Adora’s heart contracted at the sight of the two identical golden heads pressed together. The only part of her in Ariadne was the color of the little girl’s eyes. Everything else, including the expression in those eyes, was Alexander.

Alexander kissed his daughter tenderly and then they left her to her nurse. Husband and wife went out to where the barge awaited them.

“Say goodbye to me here, beauty. If you come to the ship with me I shall not want to let you go.”

“Let me come this time!” she suddenly begged impulsively. “Should we not return, Mesembria has another Heracles to rule it.”

“But an heiress, beauty, not an heir. You must stay and protect our daughter. Should I not return, would you trust her fate to strangers?”

“No,” she replied sadly, “but promise me that after this voyage you will never leave me again.”

“I promise, beauty,” he answered her. Bending, he found her lips. Her arms slipped around his neck and she molded her body to his. As they kissed she felt tears rise unbidden to dampen and prick her closed eyes. Sensing her tears, he kissed her eyelids. “No, beauty, don’t weep. I will be home before you know it.” Then, tearing himself from her grasp, he leapt to the barge. It pulled away from the palace quay and toward the waiting galley in the harbor.

That afternoon Ariadne became feverish and fretful. Adora, Anna, and the baby’s nurse took turns sitting by the child’s cradle all night. The following morning the little princess’s face and body were covered in a mass of red spots, and she wailed plaintively. Her tiny fists covered her eyes to shield them from the sunlight. The doctors came in their long black robes to poke at the child and examine her urine.

“Smallpox?” whispered Adora fearfully.

“No, my lady. You may rest assured it is not the pox, but merely a childish complaint from which the lady Ariadne will undoubtedly recover.”

“Undoubtedly? You are not sure?”

“Highness, occasionally children expire from this spotted fever, but they are children of the poor, not well-cared-for babies like this one. It is very rare for a child of the privileged to die from this malady. Keep the room dark, for light bothers the eyes in this illness. See that the princess takes plenty of liquids. In a few days’ time all will be well.”

But all was not well, and Ariadne did not seem to respond to the prescribed treatment. She grew too weak to nurse and Adora, forcing the milk from her breasts, spoonfed it into her child’s mouth. Some of it got down Ariadne’s throat, but most of it drizzled out the side of her mouth. Adora never left her daughter‘s side.

Then, finally, Ariadne showed some improvement, and Anna was able to get Adora to rest. Exhausted, she slept around the clock.

Adora threw herself into a frenzy of work. But despite the strenuous schedule she set for herself she still had trouble sleeping at night. It was lonely in the great bed without Alexander.

A week passed. And then on the eighth day after Alexander’s departure for Trebizond, the dawn rose to reveal the royal ship sailing back into the palace harbor.

Anna frantically shook her mistress awake. “My princess! My princess! The prince’s ship has returned!”

Adora was instantly awake and off the bed, barely waiting for the green silk robe Anna helped her into. Barefoot, her long dark hair streaming behind her, she ran through the gardens and down to the beach below just in time to meet the ship’s little boat. There were three people in it; a sailor who rowed, the ship’s captain, and Zeno. The boat slid up onto the beach.

“What is the matter?” demanded Adora. “Where is my lord Alexander? Why have you returned?”

The captain and Zeno climbed from the boat. Zeno was pale, stooped. He looked yellow and very ill. The captain was somber.

Adora was becoming frightened. “Where is my lord Alexander?” she repeated.

Zeno began to weep and fell to his knees at her feet. Adora felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She looked to the captain. His eyes were filled with tears.

“My lord Alexander…?” she whispered.

“Dead.” The word came out cold and hard. “Ah, God, my princess! I should sooner be dead myself than bring you this news!”

Theadora looked at him hard and slowly the terrible comprehension filled her eyes. Zeno whimpered at her feet. “Dead?” she said. Slowly turning away, she crumpled to the beach. “No! Not dead! Not dead!”

Feeling a great deal older than his years the captain lifted the woman. She was now unconscious. He carried her into the palace to her frantic servants, then delivered the tragic news to the chamberlain.

Basil immediately called a meeting of the royal council. The stunned councilors decided to ask their queen, when she had recovered, if she would remain as their ruler. Theadora Cantacuzene had shown the Mesembrians that she was truly one of them, and they far preferred a known ruler, even a female, to a strange, foreign prince.

In the great bed the queen of Mesembria lay unconscious, watched over by her women. Assured that Adora would not yet waken, Anna slipped from the room to confront her husband. There was more to this than met the eye. She knew Zeno well. His grief was more than simple grief. He lay upon the bed in their room, staring at the ceiling with sightless eyes. Firmly she closed the door, sat next to him, and spoke. “What have you done, my husband?” she asked him quietly.

“I had to, Anna! She knew about our Marie. She said she would have you executed, and she described how they would do it! I couldn’t let that happen. I had to kill him for her!”

“Who, my husband? For whom did you do this terrible thing?”

“The empress Helena.”

“Tell me everything, Zeno, my love. Tell me now.”

She listened as her husband poured out his story When he had finished, she shook her head sadly. “Oh, Zeno, we are little people. Unimportant in the eyes of God and our fellow man. Prince Alexander was a great man. Better we had died instead of the prince. And all because of a wicked woman’s envy. May God forgive you, Zeno, for I never shall.”

“I did it to save you, Anna!”

“Save me? From what? Death? We must all die eventually, Zeno. I do not fear death. Far more do I fear having to live side by side with the princess, knowing what I do. Oh, my husband! Had you only had the wit to tell the prince when that evil creature approached you! He would have protected us, and been on his guard against her. Now he is needlessly dead, and who will protect you from the empress’s assassin? She must dispose of you, for only you can connect her with this terrible deed.” Anna stood up. “I must return to my princess. She is still unconscious.” And without even a backward glance at her husband, Anna left the room.

Several hours later the prince’s manservant, Zeno, was found in the gardens, hanging from a tree.

“He loved his lord deeply,” declared the widow. “He has chosen to follow him in death rather than remain without him. I would do the same for the princess.”

For two days Theadora lay unconscious on her bed while the royal council planned the state funeral. They feared they might have to bury Alexander without her presence, but on the afternoon of the second day she awoke, stared at the exhausted Anna, and whispered, “Is it true?”

“Aye, my princess.”

“How long have I been like this?”

“Two days.”

“What has been done in my illness?”

“The council has prepared for a state funeral. It is tomorrow. They have also appointed you their ruler.” Anna paused. There was no gentle way to tell her mistress the terrible thing she did not yet know, and so Anna simply gazed into the eyes of the princess and said, “I wish I had anything but this to tell you, my princess. Anything but this.”

“Not Ariadne?” murmured Adora, beginning to feel strangely numb. Anna nodded.

“It happened suddenly, at the moment the ship was spotted on the horizon.”

Adora nodded, now entirely devoid of feeling.

“I see. Thank you, Anna.” A moment later she asked, “Where is my lord?”

“His bier is in the palace audience chamber. The people have been passing through since yesterday.”

“Clear the hall. I would have a few minutes alone with my husband.”

Anna nodded and went silently out. She was worried by Theadora’s strange calm. The princess had yet to shed a tear. It was not natural.

Quickly she found Basil. “The princess has awakened from her swoon, my lord. She desires that the audience chamber be emptied so she may be alone with the prince.”

The chamberlain nodded. “It will be done immediately.”

Shortly after that Theadora walked alone to where her husband’s bier rested. She saw no one. In deference to her feelings even the guards had withdrawn. Pushing open the doors to the hail she entered the room. Alexander‘s bier had been placed in the center. The hall was filled with tall, beeswax candles that flickered in an oddly cheerful fashion. The room was cold.

Slowly Adora walked to the bier and gazed down at the body. They had dressed him in an azure-blue velvet robe, the Mesembrian arms embroidered in gold thread on the front of the robe. The robe cuffs, hem, and neckline were edged in ermine. Upon his softly curling blond hair they had placed the crown of Mesembria’s despot. On his chest was a gold chain and the city’s sapphire seal. His wedding ring was on his hand. On his feet were fine soft leather boots.

Adora viewed the body from all angles, walking slowly around the bier. What she saw convinced her firmly of the existence of a soul: for though the body was his, this was not truly Alexander. Without the spark of life this was only an empty shell, a cocoon without its butterfly.

She knelt at the prie-dieu set before the bier, but she did not pray. She spoke silently to him. I want to be with you. It is too great a burden to bear alone. I have not even the comfort of our child.

It is not meant to be, beauty, came his reply. Your fate is to follow a different path. I know that now.

“No!” she shouted aloud. “I will not accept that fate.”

Ah, beauty, he chided her, why do you always struggle so hard against your fate? What is meant will be. The logic of our Greek ancestors should tell you that.

Suddenly she began to weep. “Do not leave me, Alexander! Please do not leave me!”

Ah beauty, would you keep me a prisoner between the two worlds? I cannot go unless you let me. Release me from this earth of which I am no longer a part.

“No! No!”

I love you, beauty, and if you love me you must let me go. What has been between us can never be taken away. Our story is firmly engraved in the pages of the world’s history. You will always have your memories.

“Alexander!” It was an anguished cry.

Adora, please! She understood the plea. Tears poured down her face, but she did not feel them. Her heart ached so painfully that she thought it would burst. Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed to force the words out.

“Farewell, Alexander. Farewell, my beloved husband!”

“Farewell, beauty!” She heard his voice!

“Alexander!” she screamed then, but the room was silent. “Alexander!” came back the frantic, mocking echo. Slowly, she rose from her knees.

Tomorrow they would commend to God the soul of the last Heracles to rule in Mesembria, and then she would found a new dynasty whose first son, she vowed, would be called Alexander.

It rained heavily the next day, yet the streets of Mesembria were filled with silent mourners. They took strength from their queen. She sat straight on the white palfrey led by Basil. Her gown was black velvet-long-sleeved, plain, completely unadorned. She wore no jewelry but her wedding band and, upon her unbound dark hair, the small gold consort’s crown. The patriarch of Mesembria conducted the funeral mass in St. John the Baptist’s Cathedral, which had been built some four hundred years prior by Alexander’s ancestors.

Afterward the mourners made their way to the memorial park above the city where Alexander’s family had been buried. Here his coffin was placed in a marble tomb facing the sea. Ariadne’s little coffin was placed beside her father’s.

Adora performed her widow’s duties in stony silence. At the palace, she snapped when Anna questioned her. “Mourn for your husband in your way, old woman! I will mourn for mine in my way. And for my child, too, as I choose. Alexander has left me a great trust, and if I spend my time in idle weeping I shall fail him. I will never fail him!” But in the silent cold hours before dawn she wept secretly. Her grief was a private thing, not to be shared with anyone. From that moment on, Theadora refused to release herself from her feelings about either Alexander or Ariadne. What she felt about the loss of the two people closest to her heart was a matter she shared with nobody at all, from then until the day she died.

Each day she presided over her council, following the progress being made on the city’s renovations, meting out justice, working with the city’s merchants.

Then, one day, a delegation arrived from Constantinople led by a nobleman Lord Titus Timonides. Adora knew him to be an occasional lover of Helena’s. He brought two messages. The first, from Helena to her sister, was filled with a false sympathy Adora recognized immediately. She tossed the offending parchment aside and opened the second message. It was an imperial edict signed by the empress, appointing Lord Timonides governor of Mesembria. Wordlessly, Adora handed it to Basil. He quickly scanned it, then spoke aloud to the assembled council. “The empress wishes to appoint this man our governor.”

“No!” came the collective shout of outrage.

Basil turned to Timonides. “You see how it is, my lord. They do not want you. But far more important, the empress has no legal right to make such an appointment. Our charter, which is as old as this city and older than Constantinople itself, gives us the right to choose our own leaders. We have chosen the princess Theadora to rule over us.”

“But she is a woman,” came the condescending reply.

“Aye, my lord,” replied the old man. “How clever of you to notice that. She is a woman! A beautiful woman! Nonetheless a capable leader. She is Mesembria’s choice. It is not up to your empress to appoint us a ruler.”

“But the empress wants her sister to return home. In her great grief she surely needs the comfort of her family.”

Adora choked with outrage. “Helena has never had any but the most hostile feelings toward me, Titus Timonides. You know that. My beloved Alexander left me his city as a trust, and these good men of my royal council have confirmed that trust. I have not lived in Constantinople since was a child. With both my parents gone from there, the city holds no fascination for me. Mesembria is my true home, and here I will remain. Return to my sister, and tell her that. Also tell her that if she again attempts to interfere with our government, we will take the appropriate action.”

“You will regret this, princess,” snarled Timonides.

“Do you dare to threaten the queen of Mesembria?” thundered Basil. Timonides saw that about the council hands had gone to sword hilts. Their grim looks made it clear that he had gone too far. These men would not hesitate to kill him. “Get you back to your mistress, Byzantine, and give her our message. Mesembria will not be interfered with!”

Titus Timonides did not hesitate. Gathering up his party of idle courtiers and hangers-on, he returned to his ship. They sailed back to Constantinople where he sought immediate audience with the empress.

Helena received him in her bedchamber. She was looking particularly stunning in a chamber robe of sheer black silk with a painted gold design. Her long blond hair was loose about her shoulders. Reclining on one elbow on her side, she allowed the seductive outline of hip, thigh, leg and breast to be visible. Timonides felt a sense of frustrated lust, for, reclining next to Helena was the smiling current captain of her guard. While Timonides offered his report the handsome young soldier, naked save for a breechcloth, fondled the empress’s ripe breasts. At one point he even pushed his hand between Helena’s soft thighs, and dallied there.

“Why are you back here instead of in Mesembria? And where is my sister?” demanded Helena.

“Their charter allows them to choose their own ruler. They have chosen your sister. They expect her to eventually remarry, and found them a new dynasty.”

“In other words, Titus, they sent you packing. That is very unfortunate, Titus. You know how I dislike failure. Paulus, that is too delicious.” Helena stroked the soldier’s cheek. “However, Titus, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself,” she continued. “You will take a message from me to the Bulgarian general, Symeon Asen. He will take care of this troublesome matter, and my sister will return home to Constantinople. Go now and rest. You must go alone on this new journey.”

Titus Timonides bowed himself from the empress’s presence, thankful to still be alive. Helena did indeed dislike failure. It was reassuring to know that the bitch had some feeling for him.

In the royal bedchamber Paulus moved to mount his mistress but she pushed him aside. Rising from the bed, she began to pace. “You will have to go to Mesembria by sea, and rescue Theadora.”

“Rescue her?” He looked puzzled.

“Yes, rescue her. The message Titus carries offers our friend General Asen the city of Mesembria if he will but take it. The Bulgarians captured Mesembria over five hundred years ago but held it only for a short period. They have always coveted it. My note will explain to the general that he may have the city and its people. I only want my sister returned safely to me. Of course, if he should choose to amuse himself with her for a short bit before be returns her, I cannot prevent it. Your job, my brave Paulus, will be to bring your ship into the imperial boat basin and remove Thea from the mouth of danger. Do not fail me, Paulus!”

“It shall be done, my empress,” smiled the handsome soldier. He drew Helena back onto the bed and, opening her gown, rubbed his face against her breasts. “What of Timonides? He is no fool, and will quickly make the connection between his message and Mesembria’s downfall.”

The empress’s red nipples hardened. “Poor Titus will not be returning to us. My message also asks that the messenger be executed. There must be no connection between General Asen and me. Paulus, darling! Ohhh, yes!”

The empress lay on her back now, murmuring with pleasure as her lover‘s lips moved over her body. “Such a clever girl, my beautiful Helena,” whispered Paulus. And then they lost themselves in carnal pleasures.

Adora, her council, and the laborers all worked hard. The weeks sped by, and Alexander’s plans for the city began to take shape. Three districts which had contained wooden tenements were now completely rebuilt. The public buildings were now under renovations, with the city’s ancient Hippodrome to be the first completed. There were plans to celebrate the reconstruction with a series of games, as had been held in earlier times.

But suddenly one night the countryside about Mesembria erupted into flames. From the city walls the burning villages and fields could be seen for miles. The following day Mesembria’s gates remained closed, and Adora stood with her soldiers on the city walls staring out into the silent land. Nothing moved, not man nor beast. Even the birds had stopped singing. Within the city the people moved quietly, nervously, about their tasks. Their queen refused to leave the walls-but stood watching. Then, on the winds came the frightening booms of the war drums, the steady tramp of marching. Boom! The drums resounded through the city.

“Bulgars! Christos! Bulgars!” swore Basil.

“War?” asked Adora.

“I do not know, Highness, but do not fear. They have not taken the city since the year eight hundred and twelve, and we were not fortified then as we are now. And we have the sea. The Bulgars are not sailors.”

“What must we do, Basil?”

“Wait. We will wait to see what it is they want. I think, however, that you would be safer in your palace. Now, Highness, do not argue with this old man. You are Mesembria’s hope, and you must be protected at all costs.”

Theadora patted the old man’s cheek. “Basil, were you young enough to give me sons, I should name you my consort.”

He chuckled. “Nay, Highness, I should make a poor one. You need a strong hand, and I have not one where you are concerned.”

She laughed. Blowing him a kiss, she climbed into her litter and returned to the palace. Several hours later an explosion shattered the city. At almost the same time a white-faced Basil arrived in Theadora’s private chamber.

“What has happened?”

“I cannot explain it, Highness. The Bulgars arrived at our outer gates. They sent no heralds with messages, they did not even fire upon us. Of course our archers held their fire.

“A strange looking little man-his skin yellow!-was escorted to our gates. We could not see what he was doing but he stepped back, dragging what looked like a soft rope with him. A torch was set to the rope, and there was this terrible explosion. When the smoke cleared our great bronze gates were open. Fortunately, I was on the upper walls, and leapt upon my horse to hurry here. There is little time. Whatever magic they used to get through the outer gate they will use to get through the inner gate. You must flee now, my princess! The sea is your best escape!”

At that moment another explosion rocked the city, and they could hear the triumphant shouts of the invading army, the screams and shrieks of the frightened people. Fires began to spring up, the flames pointing toward the palace.

Adora shook her head. “I will not leave my people, Basil. The Bulgars will not harm me. I am the ruler of this city and the emperor’s sister. They seek only to pillage and loot. We will pay whatever ransom they demand, and then they will go.”

“Nay, my princess. They want the city, and with Alexander gone they feel you are easy prey. I know not by what magic they gained entry through our bronze gates, but it is a stronger magic than we possess. You must leave!”

They argued, not even hearing the approaching Bulgars until the screams of the women in the outer chamber alerted them. Anna burst through the door and shielded Theadora with her big body. Between Anna’s tall body and Basil’s, Adora could see nothing, but she could hear the shrieks and moans of her abused women, and the cruel shouts of laughter from the Bulgars who attacked them. Then, as if they had been struck by the hand of God himself, both Anna and Basil crumbled to the floor leaving Adora visible.

She stared, horrified, at her two friends. Their murderers were casually wiping their bloodied swords on Anna’s skirts. Adora’s senses returned at the appearance of a huge bearlike man. He stood close to seven feet tall with arms and legs like tree trunks. He had a huge head and dark red hair, with a full red beard.

“Princess Theadora?” said a harsh voice. “I am General Symeon Asen.”

She did not know where her own voice came from.

“Why have you attacked my city?”

“Your city? No, princess, my city! However, I fancy it will be a lot easier to subdue the people with you at my side, so let us say I have come courting.” He nodded almost imperceptibly at his two men. Before she realized what they were doing, her gown was being torn off. In seconds she was naked, and when she sought to cover herself her arms were brutally pinioned back. The look in General Asen’s eyes terrified her, and she struggled not to faint. “By God!” swore the Bulgarian, “Even naked you can tell she’s a princess. What skin!” He reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. She struggled, which only seemed to amuse the men. Asen licked his lips. “See if you can find a priest left alive in this city. He’ll marry us in the morning. And get those bodies out of here. They disturb my bride-to-be.”

The two men released her arms and dragged the lifeless Anna and Basil from the room. Adora was left alone with her captor.

She backed away from him, and he laughed. “There’s no place to run, Theadora. But you are right to fear me. I am not an easy man to please. But somehow,” his voice became soft, “I think you’ll please me well. Come and give me a kiss now. I must see to my men before we can take our ease. Who is to criticize if we celebrate the wedding night before the wedding? Rulers, after all, set the fashions.”

Wordlessly she shook her head, but the general simply laughed. “A shy widow? It speaks well of your virtue, Theadora, and that, too, pleases me.” He reached out and drew her struggling body to him. His chain mail cut her breasts, and she cried out. Ignoring her, he pressed his open mouth on her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She gagged at the taste of sour wine and garlic. His mouth was wet and slimy, and his lips moved swiftly to race over her shrinking breasts. One arm about her waist, he bent her body this way and that as suited him, his other huge paw clasping one of her buttocks, kneading it more frantically as his excitement grew. She fought harder and, to her growing horror, felt his engorged maleness butting against her thigh. He laughed huskily. “Would that I could bury my giant’s spear in you right now, Theadora. But alas, duty first. That is why I am a good general.” He released her so suddenly that she fell to the rug. “Yes,” he murmured, “that is a woman’s place-at a man’s feet. I will be back shortly, my bride. Do not grow overeager,” he laughed uproariously as he left the room.

She did not know how long she lay there, but suddenly she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. Raising her head, she stared into the blue eyes of a Byzantine captain of the Imperial Guard. He put a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then helped her up. He wrapped a dark cloak about her swiftly and led her through the terrace doors. They ran through the gardens, down the terrace steps, and onto the beach where the silent captain lifted her into a waiting boat.

In total silence he rowed out into the dark of the imperial yacht basin. Theadora saw a ship looming in the blackness. It showed no lights. The small boat bumped the sides of the ship softly, and the captain noiselessly shipped the oars. He pointed to a rope ladder hanging from the ship. Silently Theadora climbed up into the dark and was lifted over the ship’s rail. Her rescuer came up behind her. Taking her hand, he led her to a large cabin. Inside, he checked to be sure the porthole was covered, then lit a small lamp.

“Welcome aboard, Princess Theadora. Captain Paulus Simonides of the Imperial Guard, at your service.”

The cold night air had cleared her head and she had lost her fear. “How came you here, captain, in time to rescue me? I cannot believe in that kind a fate.”

The captain laughed. God, she was beautiful. Even more so than Helena. And intelligent, too. “The empress was informed by an old friend in the Office of Barbarians of General Asen’s impending attack on your city. She was also informed that he had with him a great magician from Cathay, one who could open even great doors of bronze-doors like your city gates. She dispatched me at once to aid you, should you need it. I regret I was not sooner, Highness. When I arrived the general was already in your room, and I had to wait until I was sure he was gone.”

Theadora nodded. “I have no clothes, not even shoes.”

“In the trunk, Highness. The empress has been quite thorough.”

“Helena is always quite thorough, captain,” replied Theadora dryly.

The captain bowed. “By your leave, Highness,” he said, backing out the cabin door. Once outside, he chuckled. The princess had wit as well as intelligence and beauty. Perhaps he would attempt to become her lover. If she were also as passionate, uninhibited, and inventive as Helena, then God had truly created the perfect woman.

Mesembria was in flames. Watching by the rail, Paulus marveled. The empress’s hatred of one woman had destroyed a whole city, and the princess wasn’t even aware of it. He wondered what fate Helena had in store for her sister, but then he shrugged. That was not his business. He had done his job and the empress would be pleased. Especially when he told her of the general’s intention to marry the princess. He had rescued her just in time.

When the vessel docked in the yacht basin of the Boucoleon Palace several days later, Helena was waiting eagerly. Unknowing onlookers attributed her excitement to relief and joy at her sister’s successful escape from the fallen city The truth was far different. Soon…soon… thought Helena exultantly. Soon I shall be free of her forever!

Enfolding Theadora to her ample bosom, the empress said, “Thank God and the blessed Maria that you’re safe!”

Theadora pulled away from her sister. One perfect eyebrow arched, she said calmly, “Come now, Helena, I think I fear your concern more than truthful wrath.”

Helena laughed in spite of herself. Sometimes Thea’s quick tongue was amusing. “We may not always like each other, Thea,” she replied, “but you are my sister.”

“And now that you have me safe, Helena, what comes next?”

“That is up to you, sister. Your husbands all seem to have such brief lives. Perhaps it would be better if you rested for a time before you chose another mate.”

“I shall never marry again, Helena.”

“Then you will take lovers.”

“No, sister, I shall not take lovers. No man will ever have me again. After I have rested I shall consider entering the Convent of St. Barbara. There is no life for me without Alexander.”

It was all Helena could do to conceal her joy. It was going to be better even than she had hoped. In Murad’s harem Theadora would suffer the tortures of the damned. It was simply too delicious. Helena nodded soberly. “I thought you might still feel bereaved, Thea, and so I have arranged for you to stay here in the Boucolean Palace rather than come home with me to the Blanchernae, to our noisy court. Will that be satisfactory, or do you prefer the Blanchernae?”

Adora was surprised by Helena’s thoughtfulness. “No, I am content to remain here, Helena. It is not simply Alexander’s death that torments me but the capture of Mesembria by the Bulgars. It was so quick! So devastating! They destroyed in a few hours all the work we had done to restore the city. Work of months!”

“Sister, I would not pain you…but how exactly did Alexander die? The only word we received from your council was of his death.”

Even now Adora knew she dare not tell Helena of Alexander’s trip to Trebizond. “The doctors,” she replied with perfect honesty, “believed that he had a weakness of the heart. His man went to awaken him; and he was dead. Poor Zeno. He was so heartbroken he hanged himself.”

Good! thought Helena. “Did his wife not serve you?”

“Anna? Yes. The Bulgars killed her.”

Excellent! the empress thought to herself. No loose ends. “Ah, sister, surely you have seen enough tragedy to last a lifetime. Rest here. I will come in a few days’ time to see how you are.”

Once again the sisters publicly embraced, then parted. Helena climbed into her barge to be rowed up the Golden Horn to her palace, and Theadora was escorted to her apartments.

For several days Adora abandoned herself to total rest. She slept. She bathed. She ate. She saw only the servants. She spoke to no one except to ask for something. Slowly her mind began to clear.

Several months ago Theadora had been an ecstatic bride, queen of a beautiful and ancient city. She had been a mother again after all these years. Then suddenly she had lost her child and her husband. But at least she had then looked forward to a future as the ruler of Mesembria.

Then suddenly everything in her life was gone. Everything.

The empress allowed her younger sister a week to rest. Twice she sent Adora small gifts: once a silver dish of honeyed dates and figs; then a crystal flacon of perfume. Adora took one sniff and laughingly disposed of that.

Like a spider, Helena spun her wicked web about her unsuspecting sister. Ali Yahya was secretly sent for and a time was arranged for the abduction. The eunuch asked, “She is not with child, is she? If this prince was the stallion you claim, she could well be.”

“No, thank God, else I should have had to arrange an abortion too. No, eunuch, set your mind at ease. She has just finished her show of blood,” replied the empress.

Two hours after midday on the appointed day, Helena, Ali Yahya, and two other eunuchs entered the royal bedchamber in the Boucoleon Palace. They found Theadora sleeping peacefully on the bed. Gently they tied her ankles and wrists together with silken cords and bound a soft gauze handkerchief about her mouth. She was next wrapped in a large, dark, hooded cloak.

The empress opened the secret passageway. Preceded by one eunuch and followed by the other, Ali Yahya picked up Theadora and traveled the length of the passage. They emerged within a few yards of his galley. They boarded the ship quickly, the oars-master began the measured beat that set the pace for the rowers, and they were swiftly out of the little walled harbor and into the Sea of Marmara. A brisk breeze filled their sails and they were soon safely on the other side, back in Turkish territory.

The still unconscious princess was then placed carefully in an awning-covered wagon to begin her journey back to Bursa. There was some daylight left in which to travel, and Ali Yahya was not very surprised to see a troop of imperial Janissaries ride up to escort them. Their captain sought him out and said, “The sultan is encamped but a short distance from here, sir. We are to lead you there.”

The chief white eunuch was most distressed. Damn Murad’s lust! He was so overeager for the princess that he would spoil everything. Ali Yahya had not even been aware that the sultan had crossed back over the Sea of Marmara from his minor siege of Constantinople. He had hoped to get Theadora safely back to Bursa where he could calm her fears, deal with her anger, and reason with her. With time, he could convince her of the great opportunities opening to her. Why, if she bore Murad a son, the boy might well be the next sultan!

But the grieving princess would awaken to find herself in the presence of the very man she had fled. Allah! There were times when Ali Yahya blessed the stroke of fate that had rendered him free of a man’s passion. He knew he would not be able to keep Murad from the princess long. But if he could tell the sultan-even briefly-of the princess’s unhappy sexual experiences with Orkhan, then perhaps Murad would be compassionate and alleviate Theadora’s fears. Ali Yahya had not been able to explain things properly to Murad since Theadora had fled.

Too soon they were entering the sultan’s campsite, and Ali Yahya looked down at his helpless captive. Though she still slept it was no longer a deep sleep. She would soon awaken. He had little time. The wagon stopped, and before he could move, the curtains were impatiently flung back and the sultan climbed inside.

“Is she all right? Why is she so still? Does she understand her position?”

“Please, my lord, let us go into your tent. The princess is fine, but she is still under the influence of the sleeping draught the empress gave her. I do not want her to awaken prematurely. She knows nothing of what has happened. It will all be a terrible shock to her, especially the knowledge that her sister has sold her into slavery.” He turned to the two eunuchs who had accompanied him. “Take Princess Theadora to her tent,” he commanded them. “And have someone keep watch. Send for me when she appears to be ready to awake.”

The sultan leapt from the wagon and helped Ali Yahya down. Together they entered his large, luxurious tent and settled themselves about the coffee burner. The chief eunuch reached into his voluminous robes and drew out a rolled parchment, which he handed to the sultan.

Breaking the red wax seal the sultan unrolled it and read. A slow smile lit his face. “She is mine now!” he exulted. “She belongs to me alone! No man will ever have her again but me!”

Ali Yahya looked puzzled and the sultan’s dark eyes fastened directly on his servant. “You wonder if I am mad, do you not, oh keeper of imperial secrets? Well, I shall give you another secret to hoard to yourself. One day many years ago, as I walked past the Convent of St. Catherine, I heard a cry. I looked up to see a girl falling from the wall. It was the princess, and she had been in the orchard stealing peaches. I caught her and returned her safely over the wall.

“She was alone in those days, without friends. We struck up a friendship and, may Allah have mercy, we fell in love. We dared to hope that my father with his vast harem had forgotten her and would die leaving her a virgin widow. Then I intended to make her mine. But Orkhan had not forgotten her, and she quickly yielded to his wishes, giving him a son. When my father died I told her she would have a month to mourn him, and then she would join my harem. Instead she fled me and rashly married with a Greek lord. How can I forgive her, though I still love her and desire her? I cannot! But I will have her, Ali Yahya! She’ll belong to me, and pleasure me, and by Allah she’ll give me sons. She is mine, and always will be.”

For the first time in his forty years Ali Yahya was truly surprised. This new knowledge made clear so many things that had previously puzzled him. Now he must tell the sultan of the princess’s wedding night with Orkhan so Murad would not rape the girl in his angry passion. Murad must understand how the innocent girl had been treated by her jaded husband. What had happened had not been her fault. She could not be blamed for hating the Ottomans and fleeing them. Obviously, Theadora had been too proud to tell Murad the truth about her marriage to Orkhan. Even the most intelligent woman occasionally betrayed a streak of stupidity.

“My padishah,” he began, “there is something that you should be aware of-” But he was interrupted by one of the lesser eunuchs who arrived to announce that the princess was awakening.

Sultan Murad sprang to his feet and Ali Yahya, forgetting his dignity and court protocol, cried out, “Master! Let me go to her first, I beg you! The shock will be terrible. Forgive me for saying it, but if she sees you first-” He let the unspoken words hang between them.

Murad stopped. “How long?” he demanded.

“Just a little while longer, my lord,” said Ali Yahya, and he quickly hurried from the sultan’s tent to Theadora’s quarters.

They had placed her on a wide divan within the luxurious tent. Now she was stirring restlessly. Ali Yahya drew up a chair and sat by the princess’s side. Slowly her violet eyes opened. Heavy-lidded, she looked about her. That she was at first confused was obvious, then suddenly fear began to creep into her face.

“Ali Yahya?”

“Yes, Highness. It is I.”

“Wh-where am I, Ali Yahya? I last remember visiting with my sister, Helena. I grew sleepy.”

“That was several hours ago, Highness. We are encamped on the Bursa road now. The sultan is here, and he wishes to see you.”

“No!”

“You cannot refuse him, Highness.”

“I can! I do not wish to see him ever again!” She rose from her couch and began pacing back and forth. “Oh, Ali Yahya! Why have you brought me back? I wanted to remain in Constantinople! What is there for me here?”

“The sultan loves you, Highness.”

“The sultan merely desires me,” she moaned hopelessly. “Why cannot he let another woman satisfy his lust?”

“The sultan loves you, my princess, and has from the very beginning.” She looked sharply at him, wondering how he knew. He continued. “He loves you enough that he threatened Constantinople to gain your return.”

“Had my beloved Alexander not died I should be safe in Mesembria.” She sighed, then a strange gleam. came into her eyes. “Just how did Murad gain my return, Ali Yahya? It was not my dear brother-in-law, John, who betrayed me, was it?”

“No, madame.”

“My loving sister, Helena,” said Theadora quietly. The eunuch nodded. “And what concession did she wring from the sultan? What was so important to her that she betrayed me in such a fashion? Did she convince him to lift his siege? The return of her daughter? What, Ali Yahya? What has my sister gained for this?”

This was the moment he had dreaded, the moment in which he must tell her. There was no way to soften the blow he must inflict on her proud spirit. “Highness,” he began, “do you acknowledge that your sister is the current head of the Cantacuzene family, now that your father and brother have left the public life?” She nodded, puzzled. “Then I must tell you,” he hesitated a moment, drawing a deep breath, “I must tell you that in her capacity as head of your family the empress has sold you into bondage for ten thousand gold Venetian ducats and one hundred perfectly matched Indian pearls. You are now, legally, Sultan Murad’s slave,” he finished.

She could only gape at him. Fearful for her sanity, he reached out and touched her gently. She started, then turned her beautiful eyes on him. “My sister has sold me into slavery?”

“Yes, Highness. It is all…quite legal.”

“I never realized that she hated me so much. I thought- She is my sister, flesh of my flesh, we have the same mother and father. To sell me into slavery-” A violent spasm shook her and she turned a frightened face on the eunuch. “Give me a dagger, old friend! A bit too much of the poppy!” She was begging, desperate. “Don’t make me live in shame. I loved my lord Alexander. I can never love Sultan Murad like that. He hates me, hates me for something I could not prevent. Help me, Ali Yahya! Please.”

But he was firm. She was in shock. When she regained her composure she would accept the situation and avail herself of the opportunity offered her. She might have loved the Greek lord to whom she had been married, but he also knew that, despite her denials to the contrary, she loved the young sultan. If Murad would but reassure her-and Ali Yahya would try and see to that-all would be well between them.

“There is no shame,” he said, “in being the sultan’s favorite.”

“Are you mad?” She began to sob. “I was wife to a sultan. I was wife to the despot of Mesembria. I will not be Sultan Murad’s whore!”

“You will be whatever I desire and command,” came Murad’s voice from the entry. “Leave us, Ali Yahya!” He strode forward.

“No!”

He laughed at her cruelly. “You may have been born a princess, Adora, but you are now my slave. It is time you began to behave like one. It will give me great pleasure to school you properly. Neither of your husbands did. They indulged you, but I will not.”

He turned again to the eunuch. Ali Yahya bowed and departed.

For a moment they stood surveying each other. Her heart was pounding wildly. She looked hard at him, desperately trying to find any sign of the tender young man who had once loved her. He was handsomer than he had ever been. The years he had spent as a soldier had hardened his body. His dark hair showed no sign of gray.

His jet eyes frightened her. There was no warmth in them. They surveyed her coolly, as they would any possession. And suddenly it hit her that that was exactly what she was-his property. She shuddered.

He laughed. It was a mirthless sound. “I will come to you tonight,” he said quietly.

“No,” she could barely speak, and her voice was a whisper.

“Come here to me,” he commanded coldly.

“No!” She defied him.

Suddenly he laughed gently. “In the end,” he said softly, “you will have to obey me, my dove. I can make you, you know.”

Her violet eyes were dark with fright, yet she wordlessly fought with him. Murad was both pleased and amused. Whatever happened between them, he did not want to break her spirit. But she would obey him. Her reluctance surprised him. She was no virgin. And he was not aware that she had loved either of her husbands. Why must she play the reticent widow?

Holding her gaze in his like a wolf with a lamb, he slowly narrowed the space between them. She could not move. Her legs had become paralyzed. His arm reached out and tightened about her. A strong, square hand imperiously lifted her chin up. His mouth swooped down and closed over her lips.

Deep within her he touched a familiar chord. Unable or perhaps unwilling to struggle, she let him claim momentary possession of her very soul. At first his mouth was warm and surprisingly gentle but then his kiss deepened, becoming demanding, almost brutal. With a sudden cry she struggled to escape him, and when she scratched him he swore angrily, “Little bitch! You belong to me now. You’ll soon learn that, Adora! You are mine! Mine!” And he turned furiously and left the tent.

She sank to her knees, shaking uncontrollably. How long she huddled there, clutching herself and sobbing pitifully for Alexander, she did not know. Then strong arms raised her. She saw that a large oaken tub had been brought into her quarters and filled with steaming water and fragrant oils. Her clothes were stripped away and she was lifted into the tub. The slavewomen who served her were all older than she. They treated her gently as they scrubbed the dust of her journey from her body and hair. She was then seated and a pink paste, smelling of roses, was rubbed over the haired areas of her body. Her long, dark hair was rubbed with a linen towel and then brushed and rubbed with silk until it was dry, soft, and shone with reddish-blonde lights.

The depilatory paste was rinsed from her body, her hair was pinned atop her head with jeweled pins, and she was stood in the tub while cool, scented water was sluiced over her. A warm towel was wrapped about her. She was carefully dried, then led to a bench where she was stretched prone and massaged with a pale green cream smelling of nightblooming lilies.

Theadora was weak with shock and the kindly attentions of the bath attendants when Ali Yahya entered the tent carrying a garment. She flushed under his careful scrutiny. Although she should have long been used to these maleless men viewing her nudity, she was not. At a glance from the eunuch, the slavewomen quickly departed.

Ali Yahya shook his head in disbelief as he ran a soft hand over her body. “You are perfection, Highness. Your body is without flaw. Magnificent! The sultan will be very pleased.” He bent and fastened a thin gold chain about her just above the curve of her hips. From this he hung two ankle-length pink gauze veils shot through with silver threads. One covered her buttocks, its mate covered her lower belly and thighs. Kneeling, the eunuch slipped several gold bangles about her ankles. Then he stood and nodded, satisfied.

“The sultan will join you momentarily, Highness,” he said formally. Then, lowering his voice, he said urgently, “If this were not your fate, princess, it would not be happening! Accept it, and climb to greatness.”

“In the sultan’s bed?” she asked scornfully.

“It has been the way of women since the world began. Are you any more or less than other females?”

“I have a mind, Ali Yahya. In my Greek heritage, women of intelligence were sought after, appreciated. Here a woman is a body upon which a man may sate his lust and nothing more. I will not be just a body.”

“You are still very young, my princess,” smiled the eunuch. “What does it matter the road one takes as long as one arrives safely at one’s destination?

“You say you do not wish to be just a body, but what is it you do wish to be? Win the sultan first with your beautiful body, my princess. Then use your intelligence to gain whatever goal it is you seek-if you even know what it is you seek.” He then turned abruptly and left her alone to contemplate his words.

“You look ready to do battle, Adora.”

She whirled about, forgetful of the fact that her breasts were naked. Briefly his eyes caressed the proud high, coral-tipped cones, bringing an unwilling flush to her cheeks. He laughed. “How will you fight me, Adora?” he asked mockingly.

“What kind of a man are you?” she hissed at him. “Knowing that I hate you, you would still take me?”

“Yes, my dove, I would!” His even white teeth flashed in his wind-bronzed face, and he stripped off the red-and-gold-striped robe he wore, baring an equally bronzed chest with its tangled mat of dark hair. Beneath the robe he wore soft white wool pantaloons and dark leather boots. Seating himself on a chair he commanded her, “Take off my boots.”

She looked shocked. “Call a slave to do it. I do not know how.”

“You are my slave,” he said deliberately, his voice even. “I will show you how.” He stuck out his foot. “Turn your back to me, and take my leg between your legs. Then simply pull the boot off.”

Hesitantly she obeyed him, and to her secret delight the boot easily slid off. Confidently, she grasped the other boot and pulled, but this time the sultan mischievously placed the sole of his boot on her pretty bottom and pushed, sending her sprawling into a pile of cushions. She had no time to voice her outrage for, laughing, he was atop her. Quickly turning her over, he kissed her slowly and deliberately until she scrambled to her feet, her eyes large with a mixture of outrage and fear.

She backed away from him. His black eyes narrowed dangerously. Standing up, he stalked her slowly across the tent. The situation was ridiculous. She had no place to run. Sobbing involuntarily, she stood waiting for him to reach her. He towered over her, looking sternly down at her. His hand reached out to snap the thin gold chain above her hips, allowing the gauze to slide to the floor. She was completely naked. The big hand moved up to pluck the jeweled pins from her head, and dark hair swirled about her down to her waist.

Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode across the tent through silken hangings and deposited her on the bed. “If you make any further move to escape me, Adora, I’ll beat you myself.” He began to slip his pantaloons off.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she snarled at him. “You’d like an excuse to beat me!”

He bent and thoughtfully stroked her round bottom. “It’s tempting, I will admit, my dove. But there are other things I would far rather do. Things I’ve waited ten years to do.”

“You’ll have no joy of me, infidel!” she spat.

“I think I will,” he countered. Naked now, he stood over her, a mocking smile on his handsome face.

She looked him over as boldly as he did her. Dear heaven, he was magnificent! There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the tall, well-formed body. His legs were firm, rising up into shapely thighs, slim hips, a flat belly, and the broad hairy chest. Between those beautiful thighs, within a dark triangle, nestled his manhood and, as she had suspected, he was large even at rest. When excited he would be enormous, like a damned stallion. She flushed with her thoughts and the sultan laughed as if reading her mind.

He lay down next to her and drew her into his arms. She stiffened, but he did nothing further. This only increased her suspicions. Then suddenly one hand began a gentle stroking motion, soothing the tenseness from her back and buttocks. She was confused. He should be ravaging her now. Her eyes sought his, silently questioning.

“Once long ago,” he said quietly, “in a moonlit orchard I loved an innocent maiden. She was taken from me once, and then I lost her another time. But now she is once more in my arms. This time no one will take her from me!”

She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. “I am no longer an innocent maiden, my lord,” she whispered. Why was he doing this to her?

“No, Adora, you are not innocent in the true sense of the word. You were brutally robbed of your maidenhead. You lived as my father’s wife and bore him a son. As to the Greek lord, he could not love you as I do. I believe that in your heart you are yet a virgin.”

“How can you know of these things?” she asked him tremulously. Tell him nought of Alexander, an inner voice warned her.

“Am I not correct, my dove?” And when she did not answer him he continued, “I am a fool, Adora! Knowing you, how could I believe you had betrayed our love? Yet I did. I believed you ambitious, and when I thought of you coupling with that obscene old man I nearly went mad! There was nothing l could do.”

“There was nothing I could do either, my lord,” she answered.

They lay quietly for a few more minutes, and her heart sang with joy. It was going to be all right. She knew the reason for his change of attitude. Ali Yahya had obviously told him what she had been too proud to tell him. Knowing the truth of her marriage to Orkhan, Murad’s anger had dissolved. She would be his wife now. She glanced at him shyly. “Will we be wed as soon as we return to Bursa, or have you already wed me?” she asked him.

She felt him start against her. “I will take no wife in either the Christian or Muslim sense and neither will my descendants. The Ottomans grow more powerful each day, and no longer need make political alliances through marriage. I will take kadins as did my ancestors.”

Angry, disappointed, and hurt, she pulled away from him. “Two men have wanted me enough to wed with me, my lord Murad! I will not be your whore!”

“You will be what I want you to be! Adora, Adora, my sweet, little love! Why do you deny the truth of your feelings for me? Will some words mumbled over us by a holy man make those feelings any different?”

“I am not some ignorant peasant girl to be honored by the sultan’s attentions,” she raged. “I am Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium!”

He laughed. “You are first a woman, Adora. And second, my dove, though you are not used to it yet, you are legally my slave. It is,” he teased her, “your duty to please me.” Pulling her back into his arms he kissed her. But it was like kissing a doll for she stiffened her body and compressed her lips tightly together.

Tenderly he rained kisses on her face, hoping to weaken her. It took every ounce of willpower she had to remain impassive to the soft lips that gently touched her closed eyelids, her forehead, the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth, her stubborn chin. Angrily she turned her head away from him, foolishly exposing her slim, white neck to his mouth, and he quickly availed himself of the opportunity she presented. Deep within herself she felt the beginnings of a tremor as his lips moved swiftly down to nibble on her earlobe, then further down to her breasts. She managed to fight down the trembling, but panic was fast setting in, and her hands tried to push him away.

“No! No!” Her voice shook. “No! I won’t let you do this to me!”

He raised his head, and his black eyes looked deep into her amethyst ones. “You belong to me,” he said quietly in his deep voice. “I do not need papers of ownership to know that. You long to yield to me as much as I long to possess you. Why are you fighting me, my foolish love? Already you tremble with desire, and soon you will cry out your pleasure at the sweetness we will make between us.”

His dark head lowered again, and his mouth fastened over a taut nipple, sucking at it gently, tearing a sob from her unwilling throat. Her walls breached, he now increased his attentions, spreading her thighs so quickly that she had no time to fight him. Kneeling between them, he gained greater access to her lovely body.

Leaning forward, he found her lips once more. This time her sweet mouth was soft beneath his, the lips parting easily. Their tongues stroked each other until she tore her head away with a moan that he recognized as pure passion, and his desire for her flamed higher.

While his lips once more teased at her breasts she felt his great manhood growing hard against her and, unable to restrain herself, she reached down and grasped him in her hands. A groan of agonized pleasure escaped him as she caressed him. She felt his fingers seeking her, sighing with impatient pleasure to find her ready to receive him.

He could wait no longer. Slipping his hands beneath her buttocks he drove fiercely into her-again and again-until finally she cried out, “I yield, my lord!” Only then was he purged of the cruelty that had built up in him. Now she felt his hardness tenderly caressing her, moving with a voluptuous abandon that brought complete pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Oh, please don’t stop!” she was horrified to hear herself beg him. Her own body would not lie still. It moved frantically, seeking to absorb him. It was too intense, too sweet. “God! God!” she cried out, “you will kill me with it, Murad!”

“No, my insatiable little sweet,” she heard him mutter huskily, “I will only love you with it.”

She knew she should fight him, for he was using her shamelessly. Yet she could not fight him. She wanted his bigness, his hardness within her. She could deny no longer the desire racing through her veins and, with a sob of despair, she surrendered herself to him completely.

Through a half-conscious mist she heard him saying her name. Slowly she opened her eyes to find him looking passionately down at her. Color flooded her face.

“I will never forgive you for this, nor myself,” she whispered fiercely, the tears filling her eyes.

“For what?” he demanded. “For making you admit the truth to yourself? That you are a beautiful, desirable woman and that, though you deny it, you love me.”

“For making me your whore!”

“Allah, Adora! Why do you refuse to understand? You are my favorite. Bear me a son, and I will make you my kadin. I will set you above all other women in my kingdom.”

“No!” She scrambled off the bed.

“Stop!” Strangely, she obeyed the angry voice. “Now, slave, come to your master.” For a moment she remained frozen, and his voice cracked sharply again, “To your master, slave!” Reluctantly she turned back to him. “Now, slave, kneel and beg my pardon.”

“Never! Never!”

He quickly pulled her back into his strong arms and began kissing her passionately. She struggled fiercely and he laughed. “I’ll keep kissing you as a punishment until you obey me, Adora.”

“I apologize!”

“I said kneel and beg my pardon.”

She shot him a furious look. “I would rather kneel to you, you lecher, than endure your kisses.” She struggled from his grasp and, falling to her knees, burlesqued the humblest slave. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“My lord, and master, Adora.”

She grit her teeth in rage. “My lord and master,” she finally managed to say.

He pulled her up and kissed her again.

“You promised!” she shrieked, outraged that he would break his promise so quickly. “You promised not to kiss me again!”

“I did not,” he chuckled, pleased at having made her obey him. “I said I would not kiss you as punishment. Now I kiss you to reward your improving behavior.”

“I hate you!” she wailed.

“Do you?” His black eyes sparkled maliciously. “Then perhaps that explains why you begged me not to stop making love to you just a while ago. Little fool! Tonight is just the beginning for us, Adora.”

Then his mouth closed savagely over hers again. And looking deep into his dark, passionate eyes she knew that she was lost. The miracle of her short-lived marriage to Alexander was gone forever. This was a new life, and she had no choice but to face it.