The Sheen of the Silk

Twenty-two

ANNA CONTINUED TO WATCH AND LISTEN, BUT THE answer was always the same: She needed to know more about the people surrounding Bessarion in the last years of his life. Perhaps the women he had known might reveal more to her; she would certainly understand them better. Naturally she did not say this to Zoe when she visited her to offer her some new and interesting herbs, but she did ask her help in widening her practice.

Her reward came a week later, when Zoe asked her to call again. This time she was shown into a different room from the one in which she was usually received. This was more formal and beautiful in a traditional way. There was nothing here that seemed to reveal Zoe’s character, as if in this part of the house she received people whom she wished to keep at arm’s length.

Helena was there, exquisitely dressed in dark wine red set with jewels. Her hair was ornamented and gleamed like black silk. Clearly she was no longer in mourning. She watched Anna with an interest devoid of kindness.

There was another, older woman present of commanding demeanor, as different from Zoe as possible. She was barely of average height and uniquely ugly. Her expensively embroidered blue green dalmatica could not disguise her wide, bony, almost masculine shoulders or her lack of bosom. Her broad nose was too strong for her face. Her light eyes were brilliant with intelligence, and her mouth was delicate but without sensuality.

Zoe introduced her as Eirene Vatatzes, and only then, when she smiled, did she momentarily possess an illusion of loveliness. Then it was gone.

With her was a tall young man. His long, dark face was not quite handsome but held a promise of considerable power to come, perhaps in ten years’ time when he was in his late forties. He was a startling contrast to Eirene, and Anna was surprised when he was introduced as her son, Demetrios.

They spoke politely of trivial matters until finally Zoe mentioned that she had been badly burned in an accident. She told how Anna had healed her, holding out her arm to display the unblemished skin for Eirene’s appreciation. She also looked at Helena with a flash of amusement that was very easy for Anna to read.

From then on, the conversation was less comfortable. Helena was sharp, walking across the room with an exaggeratedly graceful movement as if to display her youth in front of the two older women. She did not even glance at Demetrios, but she might as well have stared at him. It was for his attention; she clearly did not care in the least what Anna thought of her. She passed by her as if she barely existed.

Suddenly, Anna found the muted blues of her own tunic and the necessity of her eunuch mannerisms more than usually imprisoning. She felt as if she stood on the edge of the room like a cipher, while the exchanges, spoken and unspoken, passed in front of her. Did all eunuchs feel like this? Did a woman as unlovely as Eirene Vatatzes feel a little of the same thing?

She saw Zoe looking at her with bright, clever eyes. Too much understanding.

The conversation turned to religion, as sooner or later every conversation in Byzantium did. Helena had no particular faith, which was clear from her manner as much as her words. She was beautiful, physically very immediate, but there was no soul in her. Anna could see that, but was it invisible to a man?

She listened to them, averting her eyes slightly so as not to be noticed.

“Very tedious,” Zoe said with a shrug. “But it all comes to money, in the end.” She was looking at Eirene.

Helena looked from her mother to Eirene and back again. “With Bessarion, it was the faith, pure and simple,” she contradicted.

Eirene’s face flickered with impatience, but she kept it in check. “To organize a faith and keep it alive you need a Church, and to keep a Church you need money, my dear.” The words were gentle, even affectionate, but there was a condescension in them of the highly intelligent to the intellectually shallow. “And to defend a city we need both faith and armaments. Since the Venetians stole our relics we have far fewer pilgrims, even since our return in 1262. And most of the silk trade has gone to Arabia, Egypt, and Venice. Trade may be tedious to you, and perhaps to many of those who buy the artifacts, the games, and the fabrics. Perhaps you find blood messy, it smells ugly, it soils the linen, it attracts flies-but try living without it.”

Helena wrinkled her nose in slight revulsion at the simile, but she did not dare argue.

Amusement flashed in Zoe’s eyes. “Eirene understands finances better than most men do,” she observed, not entirely with kindness. “In fact, I have sometimes wondered if Theodorus Doukas really runs the Treasury, or if it is you, most discreetly, of course.”

Eirene smiled, a faint flush in her sallow cheeks. Anna had the sudden thought that there was much truth in Zoe’s remark, and the fact that she perceived it was not entirely displeasing to Eirene.

Conspicuously, Helena said nothing.

Anna became aware that Zoe was watching her, half smiling.

“Do we bore you with our talk of doctrine and politics?” Zoe asked her. “Perhaps we should ask Demetrios for some tales of his Varangian Guard? Colorful men, from all sorts of barbarous places. Lands where the sun shines at midnight in the summer, and it is dark all winter long.”

“One or two of them,” Demetrios agreed. “Others are from Kiev, or Bulgaria, or the principalities of the Danube, or the Rhine.”

Zoe shrugged. “You see?”

Anna felt herself blushing. She had not been listening. “I was thinking,” she lied. “Realizing how much I still have to learn of politics.”

“Well, if you’ve learned that, I suppose you have achieved something,” Helena said waspishly.

Zoe did not hide her laughter, but there was a crackle of ice in her voice when she turned to Helena. “Your tongue is sharper than your mind, my dear,” she said softly. “Anastasius knows how to dissemble, and mask his intelligence with humility. You would do well to learn the same trick. It is not always wise to appear clever.” She blinked. “Even if you were.”

Eirene smiled, then instantly looked away, and the moment after, Anna found her bright, clear eyes fixed steadily on her, curious and interested.

Helena was talking again, looking at Demetrios.

Antoninus might have loved her because he alone could find the tenderness in her. Anna had no idea what they might have shared. Helena might suffer alone now, not daring to let anyone else see, least of all her mother or this other clever, ugly woman who carried such hurt in her face.

Anna looked across to where Helena was standing with Demetrios. She was smiling, and he appeared self-conscious.

“He is beginning to look like his father,” Zoe observed, glancing sideways at Eirene, then back at Demetrios. “Have you heard from Gregory lately?” she continued.

“Yes,” Eirene said tersely.

Anna saw that she stiffened, her body becoming more angular just in the way she stood.

Zoe seemed amused. “Is he still in Alexandria? I see no reason for him to remain there now. Or does he believe we are going to be decimated by the Latins again? I never knew him to care a jot about the intricacies of religion.”

“Really?” Eirene said with raised eyebrows, her brilliant eyes ice cold. “But then perhaps you did not know him nearly as well as you imagined.”

The color was brighter in Zoe’s cheeks. “Perhaps not,” she agreed. “We had some wonderful conversations, but I cannot recall that they were ever about religion.” She smiled.

“Hardly the circumstances conducive to matters of the spirit,” Eirene agreed. She turned to look at Demetrios again. “Yes, he does look like his father,” she said. “A pity you did not have a son… by any of your… lovers.”

Zoe’s face tightened as if she had been slapped. “I would not advise allowing Demetrios to admire Helena too much,” she said softly, in little more than a whisper. “It could be… unfortunate.”

Eirene lost the last trace of blood from beneath her skin. She stared at Zoe, then turned with a freezing look to Anna. “It is agreeable to make your acquaintance, Anastasius, but I shall not be availing myself of your services. I do not put potions on my face in a desperate attempt to cling to youth, and fortunately my health is excellent, as is my conscience. Should it not be, I have my own physician to consult. A Christian one. I have heard that you use Jewish remedies on occasion. I prefer not to. I am sure you will understand, especially in these strange and disloyal times.” Without waiting for Anna to reply, Eirene nodded briefly to Zoe and took her leave, Demetrios following after her.

Helena looked at her mother, appeared to consider picking a quarrel over the issue, and decided better of it. “So much for your further clientele,” she said to Anna. “I don’t know what you were hoping for, but Mother seems to have made it impossible.” She smiled brightly. “You will have to seek your business elsewhere.”

Anna excused herself also and left. There had been no possible retaliation she could afford to make, dearly as she would have liked to.

She spent a long evening turning over and over in her mind what bound these people together who seemed to have so little in common. Anna could not believe it was faith, but it could perhaps be hatred of Rome.

The following morning was Sunday, and she walked alone to the Hagia Sophia to attend the Mass. She wanted to be where neither Simonis nor Leo could see her or question her mood. Perhaps the glory of the building and the power of the familiar words would comfort her, remind her of the certainties that mattered.

On the steps almost in the shadow of the dome, she nearly bumped into Zoe. It was impossible to avoid her without being both rude and slightly absurd.

“Ah, Anastasius,” Zoe said blandly. “How are you? I apologize for Eirene’s odd manners. She is a woman of peculiar moods. Perhaps you could treat her for it? She would benefit greatly.” She fell into step beside Anna as they moved toward the Tarsus doors. “As would all those around her,” she added.

Once they entered the building, it was as if Anna had ceased to exist. Zoe was as wrapped in the intensity of her thoughts as she was in the dark folds of her robe. Zoe stepped to one side, at the tomb of Doge Enrico Dandolo. A look of scalding hate filled her face; her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a snarl. Her body clenched, and she spat violently onto the cursed name. Then, chin high, she moved away.

Without looking to left or right, she went straight to one of the outer colonnades of arches and found an icon of the Virgin. She stood before it with her head bowed.

Anna was a little to the left of her and saw her face, eyes closed, mouth soft, and lips slightly parted, as though she breathed in the essence of a holy place. Anna believed she prayed quite genuinely, several times repeating the same words over and over.

Anna looked at the Madonna holding her child, the calm joy radiating from her face more than from the gold of the mosaic creator’s art. There was something purely human in it, a power of the spirit to which she had been a witness.

Anna felt it like an ache within herself for something forever lost, a grief for what could not be. And she felt guilt because she herself had given it away, not in generosity or sacrifice, but in fury and in a revulsion so savage that she had allowed it to possess her. Was there forgiveness for that? She left, tears spilling hot on her face, all but choking her.

As she passed the tomb of Enrico Dandolo on the way out, she saw a man there, a cloth in his hand, carefully wiping away the spittle where Zoe, and others, had vented their hatred. He stopped and looked up at her, his dark eyes finding hers, recognizing the pain but puzzled.

Another woman walked past and, disregarding him, spat on the tomb.

He turned back to it and began patiently cleaning it again.

Anna stood and watched. His hands were beautiful, strong and slender, working as if nothing had happened.

She regarded his face, knowing he was unaware of her, set on his task. There was power in the line of his bones, vulnerability in his mouth. She would like to think he could laugh, quickly, easily if the wit was good, but there was nothing of ease in him now, only an intense loneliness.

Anna felt it also, an ache inside her almost beyond bearing, because outwardly she was neither man nor woman, only a solitary person loved perhaps only by God-but not yet forgiven by Him.