Anna of Byzantium (8 page)

“Are you really a princess?” she asked.

“I am,” I answered, trying to hide my pride at her obvious awe. “I am the daughter of Emperor Alexius Comnenus, who conquered the empire when he was only twenty-four. And when I am older, in a year or two, I will marry Constantine Ducas, a relative of the emperor my father deposed. I haven’t yet decided whether I will let him be emperor or not. In either case, I will then be empress.”

“I too am betrothed,” broke in the girl eagerly. “I am to marry the son of our neighbor, Malik. He is older than
I, but very kind, and when he finds me, we will wed, and go live with his brother in the mountains—”

“What do I care about your peasant alliances?” I burst out, astonished that she was addressing me so familiarly. “Do you dare compare this farmer’s son to Constantine Ducas? Do you not know that one day I will be ruling the entire empire while you dream of living with your brother-in-law? And what makes you think you will be released from your servitude to marry?”

Her face clouded over, but she wore a resolute expression. “I just know it will happen,” she said. “And how do you know that someday you will rule all these lands? Other kings have had their thrones taken away from them, or so I hear. And if you do rule, how will you know what to do?”

Despite my grandmother’s reassurances, I still felt uneasy at the thought of governing the vast Byzantine Empire. But I hid my feelings and answered as casually as I could, “I have already learned much about statesmanship, and will have many advisors to help me. My grandmother, Anna Dalassena, is so trusted by my father that when he is away she rules in his place. And she will help me.”

“How can someone help the empress?” asked the girl.

“Why—she will tell me what to do. And I will do it,” I said. It seemed obvious.

“Then won’t she really be the empress, and not you?” persisted Sophia.

I did not like the direction this conversation was taking. Who was this infidel, this slave, this representative of a conquered race, to be questioning me? And what did she
mean by that question? Surely if I were sitting on the throne and if it were up to me to follow or not to follow the advice given me, I would still be the ruler. My grandmother would just be my advisor, as she was for my father. My mother, I had convinced myself, was wrong. My father made up his own mind, and he merely took his mother’s advice because it made the most sense. I would do the same, and if I didn’t like what she said, I would do something else.

“Enough chatter,” I said. “Leave now, and take my sister with you.”

“Where do you want me to put this?” Sophia said, indicating her pocket. I had forgotten the chalice. I made up my mind to deal with it as quickly as possible to avoid detection.

“I’ll take it,” I said. “You’re not allowed to go where it belongs.”

She handed me the chalice, then stood waiting for further orders.

“You are dismissed,” I said. “Take Maria to our chamber. And girl—you are to call me Your Majesty, not Your Grace.”

Sophia nodded as if this did not concern her greatly, and reached down to Maria. Before I could stop her, Maria had slipped her small white hand into the thin brown one and went trotting off toward the women’s side of the palace. It was not strictly proper for the two of them to be touching, but Maria was still child enough that I supposed it was all right. More important at this moment was my mission of returning the chalice to its proper place in the chapel.

I walked quickly through the corridor and slipped through the chapel’s open door. I stood still for a moment, allowing my eyes to get accustomed to the darkness, resting my hand on the cold stone. It was a short run down the aisle to put the chalice back in its case. But before I could take even one step, I heard angry voices coming from the area near the altar, exactly where I had to go myself. Panicked but suddenly curious, I slipped silently behind a tapestry and listened, trying not to sneeze as the dusty fabric pressed against my face. I wanted to see who it was that dared violate the sanctity of the chapel.

At first I could make out only enough to recognize the voices. It was my mother and—could it be?—my father! I almost leaped out from my hiding place until I remembered the chalice I held. At all costs, I wanted to avoid being punished for having borrowed it. So despite my eagerness to see him again, I stayed where I was, and listened.

As my parents talked, they appeared to forget that they were in a holy sanctuary, and their voices rose with anger. I shrank back farther behind the tapestry, desperate now to avoid detection.

“A fine welcome!” my father was saying. “I have been away for nearly a year, and the first thing you tell me after thanking God for my safe return is that my mother must go!”

“Husband …” My mother’s voice was more pleading than angry, although I recognized a determination in her tone. “If you knew what she was doing, how she was turning our own daughter against us—”

“Turning which daughter against us? Little Maria?” I almost laughed at the thought of my grandmother having any interest at all in my little sister. But my mother’s voice held no humor as she replied.

“Anna, our firstborn, your heir—she is becoming hard and cold like your mother, she thinks only of the glory of her future—”

“And it is about time she thought of that, rather than of the studies that that silly little eunuch sets her.”

“Simon is not silly, husband, and he is an able tutor. Even your mother admits that the children are better schooled than any she has seen elsewhere. But we were not talking of Simon; we were talking of the way your mother—”

“And I find it hard to believe what you are telling me. I left her in charge of the empire while I was at war, and from all reports things have been running smoothly. Anna is growing up, wife, and it is time she learns what her future holds.”

“Her future? Is that all you can think of? And even if it is, what kind of ruler will she be if that harpy squeezes the goodness, the kindness out of her?”

I could tell from the scraping sound that my father had stood up, pushing his chair out from under him. When he spoke next, his voice was cold.

“Her Imperial Majesty Anna Dalassena is not a harpy. If anyone but you had referred to her in such a way, I would have him put to death. You must reflect how much of your hatred toward her goes back to the past, when she tried to convince me not to marry a Ducas, and then not
to have you crowned queen, but kept as a secondary wife. That is all long past.”

A little laugh, with no humor in it, escaped from my mother.
“Long
past, you say? I did not know that I was allowed to resent her actions for only a limited time. But as you say, this is in the past. What she is doing to the princess is in the present. You must see our daughter, and judge for yourself.”

“I intend to do that, madam,” said my father. “Let me bathe and rest from my journey, and then after a meal, you will bring the children to me. I will, as you suggest, judge for myself.”

I heard him leave the chapel, and then such a long silence fell that I thought my mother must have slipped out unheard by me. But then I heard a heavy sigh, the rustle of silk, and the sound of her feet moving quickly down the aisle toward the door. As soon as she had left, I remembered the chalice. Thank God they had not noticed its absence! I slipped in and placed the chalice as near to its accustomed place as I could in my haste, not bothering to open its wooden case. Let them wonder why it was out; no one had any reason to think I had been in there.

I turned to flee. But as I spun around I caught sight of the embroidered altar cloth, which hung over the high table at which Father Agathos performed the services. The cloth seemed to be bulging in an odd way. I froze as my mind raced for an explanation. Was someone there? But who would hide under the altar? As I stared, the cloth moved a little. But there was no wind in the closed room. The thought came to me that a demon was waiting for me
to get near, so he could pounce and bear me to Hell for my theft. I felt frozen, but I forced myself to back slowly away, keeping my gaze fixed on the cloth (which had not moved again), until I nearly stumbled over the threshold of the door as the back of my heel hit it. Then I turned, and ran as fast as I could through the courtyard and back into the door that led to my bedchamber.

stopped for a moment to catch my breath, pressing flat against the wall to avoid the people hurrying through the halls. All was bustle and confusion; I could tell that a great feast was being prepared. Already the smell of roasting meats and vegetables sizzling in oil wafted from the kitchens. People were shouting orders, slaves were running to obey them. Maids bearing heavy buckets of hot water and thick towels hastened past to prepare baths for the weary travelers. A pair of long-bearded priests hurried past me, bearing incense and fine cloths; I realized that they were heading toward the chapel to prepare a Mass of thanksgiving so that we all could give thanks publicly for my father’s safe return. I
sent up my own prayer of thanksgiving that I had been successful in returning the chalice to its proper place before they arrived there.

I hoped to find peace to reflect on what I had heard in the chapel when I entered my room, but as soon as she caught sight of me, Sophia grabbed my arm and pulled me in. “Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Sophia …” I started automatically to reprimand her for her familiarity, but stopped. It seemed, after all, a losing battle, and in any case, she was not listening to me.

“Your father has returned from the war,” she said, and I tried to look surprised. Fortunately, no one was paying much attention to me. Maria was already propped up on a high stool while her maid endeavored to coax her fine red hair into some kind of order, and before I knew what was happening, Sophia had pushed me down into a chair and was pulling the combs and ribbons out of my own black hair. She handed me a mirror, fresh ribbons, and pins, commanded, “Hold these!” and started brushing the snarls out my hair, muttering to herself at the mess she was finding there.

“If you do not look proper at the reception, it will be I who takes the blame, and I who receive the whipping. Where have you been?”

I didn’t answer, merely squirmed away as her too-harsh treatment yanked my scalp.

“Hold still!” she said. Her deft fingers found the source of the knot she was working on, and quickly smoothed it out. Finally the brush finished its work, but not before my head was burning. Sophia started making the tiny braids
all over my head that my mother found most suitable for her daughters, weaving gold beads and bright ribbons in among the strands. Until we were married, we would of course wear our hair down, and it was a challenge for Sophia and Dora, Maria’s maid, to find hairstyles ornate enough to set us apart from the common women, without having recourse to the knots and coils that married women could use.

Now that the tangles were out, the feel of Sophia’s fingers began to be soothing, and I leaned back against her and closed my eyes. Seeing how still I was, she stopped scolding and continued her work, occasionally pushing me forward, away from her, to work on my back hair.

Finally, silence to reflect. I uncomfortably recalled what I had heard, and knew that I could never ask about it without giving away my presence in the chapel. What had my mother been talking about? My grandmother was not teaching me anything unseemly. Indeed, she was even more strict and rigid than my mother herself, and certainly more proper than Simon, with his scandalous tales of the old gods. She was teaching me the arts of diplomacy, leadership, finance—certainly all skills that I would need in the future. I still did not understand why my mother objected to these studies.

And meanwhile, I was continuing my lessons with Simon. I was easily the best reader in the school, and could memorize long passages from both the Bible and pagan writers. My mathematical skills were good, and I loved to study the orderly, predictable rhythms of the stars when
Simon would wake us all up late at night and take us out on the battlements to watch the heavens in their dance.

I had heard of the bad blood between Anna Dalassena and the Ducas family, but had always thought that my mother was somehow exempt from that hatred, being her daughter-in-law and the mother of the future ruler. I squirmed again as I realized that the discomfort I always felt when in the presence of the two of them together was more than just the lack of ease I experienced in my grandmother’s presence. There obviously was a deep dislike—even hatred—there, and it made for a tension that I had felt, even while not understanding its source.

My squirming brought another rebuke from Sophia. “Do you not see how your sister sits so still that Dora is almost through with her hair?”

I glanced sidelong at Maria, who indeed was sitting with her usual serenity. She smiled at me, then turned her eyes in Sophia’s direction and made a mocking scowl, imitating Sophia’s displeased countenance. Without moving her head, she stretched out a hand in my direction, and I clasped it, glad that she had the forbearance not to appear smug at being praised while I was being scolded. And so we sat, her small hand in mine, until both of us were declared fit to be robed.