The Sheen of the Silk

Forty-four

FROM MAY TO NOVEMBER, THERE WAS ANOTHER LONG VOID in struggle between Rome and Byzantium until Pope Nicholas III was elected toward the end of November. He was Italian, passionately so. He dispossessed Charles of Anjou of his position as senator of Rome, so he could vote in no future papal elections, thus considerably reducing his power. He packed the high offices close to him with his own brothers, nephews, and cousins, gaining a stronghold on Rome.

He also required yet another affirmation of the union between Rome and Byzantium. This time it was not Michael and his son who should sign the promises of the new restrictions, it was all the bishops and senior clergy in what remained of the empire.

Anna found Constantine in despair.

“I shouldn’t have done it!” he said hoarsely. “But how could I have been wrong?” He seemed almost on the edge of tears, his eyes hot, beseeching escape from a reality he could not bear. He flung out his hands in a gesture of pleading. “Pope John forced the emperor into signing the promise to obey Rome, and a month afterward-just a month-the ceiling of his palace fell in on him. It was an act of God, it had to be.”

She did not argue.

“I told the people so,” he went on urgently. “Even the cardinals in Rome must have seen it. What more do they need as a sign? Do they not believe it was God who brought down the walls of Jericho on the sinners within?” His voice was rising in a wild plea. “I told them it was the miracle we had waited for. I had promised them that the Blessed Virgin would save us, if only we had faith.” He choked, gagging for breath. “I have betrayed them.”

She was embarrassed for him. This was the sort of crisis of faith one should have alone and afterward be able to pretend had not happened. “No one said it would be easy,” she began. “At least no one who tells the truth. Or that it wouldn’t hurt, and we would always win. The crucifixion must have looked like the end of everything.”

He breathed out heavily. “We must keep on fighting, to the death, if necessary. We must find new heart somehow. If we haven’t the truth, then we have nothing at all.” The faintest flicker of a smile touched his eyes, and he moved absently to straighten his robe. “Thank you, Anastasius. Your faith in me has given me strength. This is a setback, it is not a defeat. Tomorrow will see the resurrection, if we have faith.” He straightened his shoulders. “I shall begin immediately.”

“Your Grace…” She reached out as if to touch him, then dropped her hand at the last moment. “Be careful,” she warned, thinking of his arrest, perhaps worse. “If you speak out too clearly against the union, you will be thrown out of office,” she said urgently. “And then who will minister to the poor and the sick? You will end up in exile, like Cyril Choniates, and what good will that do?”

“I have no intention of being so impractical,” he promised her. “I shall walk quietly and keep the faith.”

Constantine was on the steps of the Church of the Holy Apostles. A crowd was pressing forward anxiously, looking to Constantine, waiting for him to speak and reassure them, tell them that their ancient comforts were not empty. He was not aware of Anna in the shadow a few yards behind him. His eyes and his mind were on the eager faces in front of him.

“Be patient,” he said quietly. In order to hear him, they ceased talking to one another, and gradually the silence spread. “We are entering a difficult time,” he went on. “We must be outwardly obedient, or we will cause dissension in the community, perhaps violence. Old ways vie with new ones, but we know the truth of our faith, and we will practice virtue in our homes, even should it become impossible in our streets or churches. We will keep the faith and abide in hope. God will yet rescue us.”

The panic ebbed away. Anna could see the faces begin to smile, the jostling cease.

“God bless the bishop!” someone called out. “Constantine! Bishop Constantine!” The cry was taken up and repeated like an incantation.

Constantine smiled. “Go in peace, my brethren. Never lose faith. To the true heart there is no such thing as defeat, only a time of waiting, an exercise of trust, and a keeping of God’s Commandments, until the dawn.”

Again the cry came, his name, blessings, then again his name, over and over. Anna looked at him and saw the humble bearing of his head, the gesture of declining the praise. But she also saw his body shiver, his fist half-hidden in his robes tighten into a clench, and the sheen of sweat on his skin. When he turned toward her, modestly withdrawing from the adulation, his eyes were shining and his cheeks were flushed. She had seen the same look on Eustathius’s face the first time he had made love to her, back in the beginning, when the hunger and the anticipation had burned through both of them, before the bitterness.

Suddenly she was revolted and ashamed, wishing she had not seen it, but it was too late. The look in Constantine’s face was printed on her mind.

He did not notice. He was reveling in being adored.

She stood in the shadow and was hot with guilt because she was aware of the ugliness in him, the doubt and then the lust, and she had not the honesty to tell him.

Constantine had given her a link to the vast body of the Church again, a purpose to strive for beyond the daily healing of the sick. To separate from him irrevocably-and it would be irrevocable-would mean standing alone.

Which was the greater betrayal, to face him with the truth or not to face him? She turned and walked away, ahead of him, so she could not see his eyes nor he see hers.