The Sheen of the Silk

Thirty-two

HELENA HAD A MILD BUT EMBARRASSING AILMENT THAT she preferred Anna to treat rather than the physician she usually called.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Simonis woke Anna from a briefly snatched rest. She was exhausted from treating the mutilated and dying, and her first instinct when Simonis told her Helena had sent for her was to refuse. How could she ever keep patience with a little irritation to the skin when men were being tortured to death?

“Bessarion’s widow,” Simonis said sharply, looking at Anna’s face. “I know you’re tired.” Her voice softened, but there was still urgency in it and an edge of fear. “You haven’t slept properly for weeks. But you can’t afford to refuse Helena Comnena. She knew Justinian.” She said his name gently. “And his friends.” She did not add any more, but it hung in the air between them.

Helena received Anna in a newly painted, lush room next to her bedchamber. The murals had been redesigned, far closer to the erotic than Bessarion would have allowed. Anna hid her smile.

Helena was dressed in a loose tunic. She had an ugly rash on her arms. At first, she was frightened and polite. Then, as the herbs and advice began to take effect, she was no longer so concerned and her natural arrogance reasserted itself.

“It still hurts,” Helena said sharply, pulling her arm away.

“It will hurt for a little while longer,” Anna told her. “You must keep the ointment on it, and take the herbs at least twice a day.”

“They’re disgusting!” Helena responded, curling her lip. “Haven’t you got anything that doesn’t taste as if you’re trying to poison me?”

“If I were trying to poison you, I would make it sweet,” Anna replied with a slight smile.

Helena paled. Anna saw it and her interest sharpened. Why had Helena mentioned poison so easily? She looked away and allowed the silk of Helena’s robes to fall back into a more modest position.

“Do you really have any idea what you’re doing?” Helena snapped.

Anna decided on the risk. “If you are worried, I know other physicians who might suit you. And I am sure Zoe would know even more.”

Helena’s eyes were bright and hard, her cheeks flushed. She swallowed as if there were something rank in her throat. “I’m sorry. I spoke in haste. Your skill is quite sufficient. I am unused to pain.”

Anna kept her eyes lowered in case Helena saw in them the contempt she felt. “You are right to be apprehensive. Such things, if not treated quickly, can become serious.”

Helena drew in her breath with a little hiss. “Really? How quickly?”

“As you have done.” Anna had exaggerated the danger. “I have another herb here which will help, but if you wish, I will stay with you, so that if it should have any ill effects in other ways, I can give you the antidote.” That was an invention, but it would take time even to broach the subjects she wished to explore.

Helena gulped. “What sort of effects? Will it make me ill?”

“Faint,” Anna replied, thinking of something not too distressing. “Perhaps a little hot. But it will pass quickly, if I give you the herb which counteracts it. You mustn’t take it if it isn’t needed. I’ll stay with you.”

“And charge extra, no doubt!” Helena snapped.

“For the herb, not for the time.”

Helena considered for several seconds, then accepted. Anna mixed a number of herbs for her and had them steeped in hot water. It would be relaxing, good for the digestion. She soothed her conscience by telling herself she had kept her oath: If she was doing no good, at least she was doing no harm.

Helena saw Anna’s eyes on the murals. “Do you like them?” she asked.

Anna drew in her breath. “I’ve seen nothing like them before.”

“Nor in the flesh, I suppose,” Helena observed with a sneer.

Anna longed to say that she had tended patients in a brothel once and seen something of the sort, but she could not afford to. “No,” she said, clenching her teeth.

Helena laughed.

The servant returned with the steeped herbs in a glass.

Helena sipped it. “It’s sour,” she remarked. She looked at Anna over the top of the glass.

Anna could not afford to delay any longer. “You should look after yourself,” she said, trying to invest her expression with concern. “You have suffered a good deal.” She realized with a jolt that for all she knew, that could be true.

Helena struggled to mask her surprise, not entirely successfully. “My husband was murdered. Of course it is not easy.”

As Anna stood looking at her, she knew it was perfectly possible Helena had actually assisted in his murder, but she hid her disgust behind a pretense of anxiety. “Surely it was worse than that? Was he not killed by men you had supposed to be his friends, and yours?”

“Yes,” Helena said slowly. “I had thought so.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna murmured. “I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you.”

“Of course you can’t,” Helena agreed, a shadow across her face that might have been contempt or only a movement of the light. “Justinian was in love with me, you know?”

Anna gulped. “Really? I had heard it was Antoninus, but perhaps I misunderstood. It was only gossip.”

Helena did not move. “No,” she denied. “Antoninus admired me, perhaps, but that is hardly love, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Anna lied.

Helena smiled. “It isn’t. It is a hunger. Or don’t you know what I mean?” She turned and looked at Anna appraisingly. “It was a euphemism for lust, Anastasius.”

Anna lowered her eyes to prevent Helena from reading them.

“Do I embarrass you?” Helena asked with obvious pleasure.

Anna ached to fight back, to blaze at her that no, she didn’t, she revolted her with greed, manipulation, and lies. But she could not afford to.

“I do embarrass you,” Helena concluded happily. “But you didn’t know Antoninus. He was handsome, in a fashion,” she continued. “But he had not the depth of character of Justinian. He was extraordinary…” She let it hang in the air, the suggestion infinite.

“Were they friends?” Anna asked.

“Oh yes, in many things,” Helena replied. “But Antoninus liked parties, drinking, games, horses, that sort of thing. He was a good friend of Andronicus, the emperor’s son-although perhaps not as much as Esaias. Justinian was an excellent rider, too, but he had more intelligence. He read all sorts of things. He liked architecture, mosaics, philosophy, things that were beautiful.” Regret touched her face, only momentarily, but it was deep.

Anna was touched by it also, with pity, and with a closeness so in that instant she cared for Helena as if they had been one in grief, and perhaps they were.

Then the mood shattered, before she was ready for it.

“You’re right,” Helena said huskily. “I have suffered far more than most people realize. You must take care of me. Don’t look so crushed. You’re a good physician.”

Anna forced her attention back to the present. “I didn’t know that Justinian loved you,” she said, hearing her own voice artificial in her ears. She remembered Constantine saying how Justinian had been revolted by Helena’s advances and rebuffed her. Surely that was the truth? “You must miss him,” Anna added.

“I do,” Helena said with a tight, gleaming smile, unreadable except as a mask for something else. Anna was a servant and a eunuch; why should Helena show her anything she did not have to?

“And your husband, too,” Anna added judiciously.

Helena shrugged. “He was a bore. He was always talking about religion and politics. Away with the damn bishop half the time.”

“Constantine?” Anna said in surprise.

“Of course Constantine,” Helena snapped. She looked at the glass in her hand. “This is disgusting, but it doesn’t make me feel ill. You don’t need to stay,” she dismissed her. “Come again in three days. I’ll pay you then.”

When Anna returned, she had been with Helena only ten minutes when another visitor was announced, Eulogia Mouzakios. Helena had little choice but either to invite her in as soon as she was dressed again or to allow Eulogia to know that she had a physician present-or, more dangerous than that, some other caller she did not wish her to meet.

“If you dare tell her what you came to treat me for, I shall see you never work again,” she snarled. “Do you understand me?”

“Say you have sprained your ankle,” Anna advised. “She will smell the unguent in the air. I will not contradict you.”

Helena straightened her tunic. She did not bother to answer.

Eulogia came in a few moments later, bearing a gift of honeyed fruit. She was an elegant woman, fair-haired and a little thin, several inches taller than Helena. There was a jolting familiarity about her that froze Anna in sudden confusion. She searched her mind for the name and found nothing.

“My physician,” Helena said, waving an arm at Anna after she had greeted her guest. “Anastasius.” She gave a slight smile, infinitely condescending. She was saying the name so Eulogia would recognize Anna instantly as a eunuch, a womanish creature with a man’s name and no gender at all.

Eulogia stared at Anna for a moment, then looked away, entering conversation with Helena as if Anna had been a servant.

In that instant, Anna recognized her. Eulogia was Catalina’s sister. They had met several times in Nicea years ago, when Catalina was alive. No wonder Eulogia had been disturbed by memory at first.

The sweat broke out on Anna’s skin, and her breath was shaky, her hands trembling. She must watch every gesture. Nothing must remind Eulogia of Justinian’s sister.

She had not finished prescribing for Helena, who would be angry if she left. She was imprisoned here by obligation and circumstance.

Helena sensed her discomfort and smiled. She turned to Eulogia. “Have some wine, and figs. These are very good, very quickly dried to produce excellent humors. It’s kind of you to call.”

She ordered the servant to bring refreshments, including a glass for Anna. It seemed to amuse her.

Anna considered refusing. Eulogia was watching her, the puzzled look in her face again. Anna dared not let Helena believe she was afraid of staying. “Thank you,” she accepted, smiling back. “I’ll have time to prepare your… herbs.”

“Ointment!” Helena snapped, then blushed, aware she might have made a mistake. “I have a sprain,” she said to Eulogia.

Eulogia nodded and offered her sympathy. They moved to sit together, leaving Anna to look in her bag for the appropriate items.

“How is Demetrios?” Eulogia inquired.

“Well, I imagine,” Helena said casually. The wine, figs, and nuts came. She poured, leaving aside a glass for Anna but not offering it.

“I imagine Justinian will not be returning,” Eulogia remarked, looking obliquely at Helena.

Helena allowed herself to look sad. “No. They believe he was deeply implicated in Bessarion’s death. Of course he wasn’t!” She smiled. “Whoever it was tried before, you know, when Justinian was in Bithynia, miles from here.”

Anna’s hand froze over the herbs. Fortunately her back was to the room, and neither Helena nor Eulogia could see her face.

“Tried to kill him?” Eulogia said in amazement. “How?”

“Poison,” Helena said simply. “I’ve no idea who it was.” She took a bite out of a dried fig and chewed it slowly. “And Bessarion was attacked in the street a few months after that, also. It looked like an attempted robbery, but afterward Bessarion himself thought it was one of his own men. But Demetrios found them for him, from friends of his-the Varangian Guard, so it seems unlikely.”

Eulogia was curious. “Demetrios Vatatzes has friends in the Varangian Guard? How interesting. Unusual, for a man of an old imperial family. But then his mother, Eirene, is unusual.”

Helena shrugged it off. “That’s what I thought he said. Perhaps I was wrong.”

Eulogia was concerned. “That’s dreadful. Why would anyone wish to harm Bessarion? He was the noblest of men.”

Helena hid her impatience. “It was always religion with him, so it was probably something to do with that. Of course, he and Justinian quarreled terribly about it, twice that I know of, and then Justinian went to Eirene. Heaven knows why! After that, of course, Bessarion really was killed by Antoninus. Funny thing is that I never knew that Antoninus cared about religion all that much. He was a soldier, for heaven’s sake!”

Anna turned around, the herbs in her hand and a small jar of ointment. She held them out.

“Why, thank you, Anastasius,” Helena said charmingly, meeting Anna’s eyes. “I’ll pay you if you come tomorrow, when I’m not busy.”

Anna returned as commanded to collect the money.

When she arrived, Helena received her after only fifteen minutes’ wait and made her almost welcome. They were in the newly decorated room with its exotic murals. She was dressed in a soft deep plum color that became her excellently. She had a minimum of jewelry, but with her warm skin and rich hair, she did not need it. The silk of her dalmatica billowed around her as she came across the room. It was one of the rare moments when Helena was as beautiful as her mother.

“Thank you for coming,” she said warmly. “My ankle is so much better, I shall recommend you to everyone I know.” She smiled, but she made no reference to the money.

“Thank you,” Anna replied, taken by surprise.

“Odd that Eulogia should call just as you were here,” Helena went on. “She was related to Justinian Lascaris, you know?”

Anna felt herself tense. “Was she?”

“He was married, some time ago.” Helena’s tone dismissed it as if it were not relevant anymore. “She died. She was Eulogia’s sister.” She was watching Anna’s face as she spoke.

Anna stood motionless, awkward. Her hands seemed clumsy and in the way, as if she had no idea what to do with them. She swallowed. “Really?” She tried to sound uninterested. She was trembling.

Helena picked up a small jeweled box from the table. It was exquisite, silver set with chalcedony and surrounded by pearls. Anna could not help looking at it.

“You like it?” Helena held it out for Anna to see.

“It’s very beautiful,” Anna replied sincerely.

Helena smiled. “Justinian gave it to me. Unwise, I suppose, but as I told you, he loved me.” She said it with satisfaction, but still looking at Anna under her eyelashes. “Bessarion gave me very little that I can recall. If he had chosen anything, it would have been books, or icons; dark ones, of course, heavy and very serious.” She looked back at Anna. “Justinian was fun, you know? Or don’t you know that? He had an elusive quality about him, as if you could never really know all of him. He would always surprise you. I like that.”

Anna’s sense of discomfort grew. Why was Helena telling her all this? Surely it was lies, as Constantine had said? Helena was beautiful and profoundly sensuous, but Justinian must have seen what was ugly inside her, if not immediately, then soon after. Helena turned the box in her hand, its pearls catching the light. Why had Justinian spent so much on her? Or was that a lie, too?

Helena was watching her. There was an intensity in her gaze that was almost mesmeric. The light was shining on the box, on the plum silk of her dalmatica, on the gloss of her hair. “Do you like beautiful things, Anastasius?” she asked.

There was only one possible answer to that. “Yes.”

Helena’s winged eyebrows rose, her eyes wide and dark. “Just ‘yes’? How unimaginative of you. What kinds of beautiful things?” she insisted. “Jewelry, ornaments, glass, paintings, tapestries, statuary? Or do you like music, and good food? Or something you can touch, like silk or fur? What gives you pleasure, Anastasius?” She put the box on the table and walked three steps closer to Anna. “Do eunuchs have pleasure?” she said softly.

Was this what had happened to Justinian? Anna felt the sweat run down her body and the blood hot in her face. Helena was trying to awaken her sexually for entertainment, power, simply to see if she could.

The air in the room prickled as if a storm were about to break. Anna would have given anything on earth to escape. It was excruciating.

Helena’s eyes swept down Anna’s body. “Do you have anything left, Anastasius?” she asked, her voice soft not with pity, but with a sharp and curiously coarse interest. Her small hand reached out to touch Anna’s groin where her male organs would have been, had she had them. They met nothing.

Anna panicked, and hysteria welled up as if she were going to choke. Helena’s eyes were bright, laughing, at once both inviting and contemptuous.

No man, however mutilated, would refuse to speak at all. And whatever Anna said, it must be what a man would say, not the revulsion that was beating inside her now like a huge bird trapped and breaking itself to force a way out.

Helena was still waiting. She would never either forget or forgive a rebuff. She was so close, Anna could feel the warmth of her and see the pulse beating in her throat.

“Pleasure must be mutual, my lady,” Anna said, her voice catching in her throat. “I think it would take a remarkable man to please you.”

Helena stood absolutely still, her features slack with surprise and disappointment. Anastasius had been polite to her, flattering, yet she knew she had been robbed of something. She made a sharp little sound of annoyance and stepped back. Now it was she who did not know how to answer without giving herself away.

“Your money is on the table by the door,” she said between her teeth. “You bore me. Take it and go.”

Anna swiveled and went out, forcing herself not to run.