“He is not a victim,” Anastasius said. “The authorities have concluded that Gregory’s death was a tragic accident. He was apparently struck by a horse and cart, in the darkness, of course, and the unfamiliar streets.”
“And it tore his throat out?” Zoe said incredulously. “Was it the horse which did that, or the cart?”
Anastasius’s face was unreadable. “It looks as if he was in the middle of the street and was knocked down. The wheels of the cart went over Gregory’s throat. At least that is what it looked like to me.”
“And the Dandolo dagger?” Zoe asked sarcastically. “Was the horse carrying that as well? Or the driver, perhaps?”
“That would have been someone else, who left the scene,” Anastasius said. “But since the dagger has disappeared, it doesn’t really matter. No one else saw it, and I daresay Giuliano has it back by now, and will take better care of it in future.”
Zoe had to control her eyes, her mouth, even the pallor in her face. Anastasius must see nothing.
She stood staring at him, his blazing eyes, the face so strong yet so un-masculine with its soft mouth, passionate and vulnerable. He could not be related to Dandolo. There was no resemblance. Dandolo’s mother’s family, perhaps? There was no one of his generation except Giuliano himself. Eudoxia had become a nun. Maddalena was dead.
Love? A physically immature eunuch, with a man like Dandolo?
Then like lightning, a wild idea cut across the darkness, dazzling Zoe with its obviousness, and she began to laugh. Perfectly clear now-and yet impossible. But she believed it: Anastasius was not a eunuch at all-he was as much a woman as Zoe herself! Her love for Dandolo was just the same love Zoe would have had for him, had she been the right age and he not a Venetian. Or maybe even if he had been, just not a Dandolo.
Anastasius, or whatever her name was, stood frozen to the floor, staring.
Zoe went on laughing. This person who had been so sad and confusing as half a man was infinitely understandable as a woman.
Finally, Zoe regained control of herself and walked over to the wine and the glasses. She poured a glass to the brim and held it out, offering it.
“No, thank you,” Anastasius said coldly.
Zoe shrugged and drank the glass half-empty herself, then filled the other glass. She offered the first glass again.
This time Anastasius took it, drank it to the lees, then put it down and turned on her heel and walked out.
Zoe drank her own glass slowly, savoring it, thinking. She had learned something of delicious and immeasurable value. The power it gave her over Anastasius-no, Anastasia-was limitless. But before she attempted to use it, she would learn all she could about this woman who had chosen to deny herself the greatest natural asset she had. What did she want that she would pay this terrible price for it?
Zoe’s mind raced. She had said she was from Nicea, but was that true? Probably. Only a fool created unnecessary lies. The more Zoe thought about it, the more it intrigued her. What passion was immense enough for such a masquerade?
Anastasia was interested in Justinian Lascaris. Was Zarides her true name, or was she too a Lascaris, part of another imperial family? Wife of Justinian? If so, she did not love him, or she would not have so rashly risked her life to save the Venetian. Beyond doubt, she loved the Venetian.
Sister of Justinian! That was what Zoe had glimpsed before. A sister wanting to prove his innocence.
And was Justinian innocent? Zoe had thought not, but could she be wrong? Was there something else she had not guessed at?
The more Zoe could learn about Anastasia the better.
She would also learn more about Giuliano Dandolo’s mother and her life and death, so she could twist the knife of pain in his heart. Anything that he could not disprove would do.
Fifty-three
A WEEK AFTER THAT, ANNA RETURNED HOME TO FIND SIMONIS waiting for her with a strip of paper in her hand.
“From Zoe Chrysaphes,” Simonis said, pursing her lips.
“Thank you.” She put down her bag of herbs and oils and opened the paper.
Anastasius,
Unfortunately I have a slight wound in my leg which needs a surgeon’s attention. Please call on me immediately you receive this.
Zoe Chrysaphes
“When did this come?” Anna asked.
“Less than an hour ago. Half an hour, perhaps.” Simonis raised her eyebrows. “Are you going?”
“I am,” Anna replied. Simonis knew perfectly well that ethically she could not do anything else, nor would she easily survive the damage to her reputation were she to refuse.
What she found upon her arrival at Zoe’s was the one thing Anna had never considered. Giuliano was there, leaning casually against the sill of the great window that looked across to the Bosphorus. He straightened up with slight discomfort when Anna came in, and she saw the flush on his cheeks. He acknowledged her courteously, with no shadow in his face from their last conversation or Gregory’s murder.
“Ah!” Zoe said with clear pleasure. “Thank you for coming, Anastasius. I have a deep spelk in my leg. I am afraid if it is not removed and treated, it may poison me.” She pulled the hem of her gold-colored tunic higher and exposed an angry wound with a spelk of wood sticking out of it and a crust of dried blood around the edges.
“When did it happen?” Anna put her bag on the floor and bent to examine the leg.
“I was walking in the courtyard last night,” Zoe replied. “After dark. It did not seem serious enough to call you then, but this morning I realized the spelk was still there.”
“Perhaps I should leave you…” Giuliano’s voice came from behind Anna, the reluctance so sharp that he could not disguise it. “I can return on another occasion.” He moved away from the window.
“Not at all,” Zoe dismissed the idea. “It is only my ankle. It would be pleasanter for me to have company to take my mind off what Anastasius must do. Please.”
Anna looked up and saw Zoe smiling, and inside her own mind she could hear her wild, almost delirious laughter, completely out of control. The sound of it had haunted Anna.
Giuliano relaxed. “Thank you.”
Zoe looked at Anna again. “Tell me what you need, and I shall send my maid for it. Hot water, bandages?”
“Yes, please.” Anna tried to concentrate her attention on the wound. “And salt.”
“You are not one to put salt in anyone’s wounds, are you, Anastasius?” Zoe said lightly
“Not so far,” Anna replied. “But the thought has occurred to me once or twice. The salt is to clean my knife when I use it, and the ointment for the first layer of bandages. It will be less painful if they do not cling to the flesh, especially if it bleeds.”
Thomais brought the water in several dishes, and the salt and a pile of clean linen bandages, then Zoe dismissed her. She rested her leg on a stool, leaving Anna to work on it, ignoring her, and turned to Giuliano.
“I have learned a great deal more about Maddalena Agallon.” She said it softly, dropping her voice as if in deep emotion and causing Giuliano to move closer to her and into Anna’s range of vision.
“Most of it concerns her life after she left her husband and her infant son.” Zoe’s face was full of pain, but it was impossible to tell if it was pity for that long ago abandoned child or from the prick of the blade in Anna’s hand as she pierced the angry flesh around the spelk of wood.
“Why did she go?” Giuliano forced the words from deep inside him.
Zoe hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said gently to Giuliano, ignoring the wound as if she could not even feel the blade. “It seems she did not want the responsibility of caring for a small boy. She became bored with it. She returned to the life she had had before, but no decent man would have her.”