"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.
Forty-five
ANNA STOOD IN EIRENE VATATZES'S ELEGANT, QUIET bedroom and looked down at the woman lying on the bed. Her clothes were rumpled and marked with blood, and around her neck there were stains of an ointment. In two places was also the yellow mucus of suppuration. There was an open ulcer on her cheek and another just under her jawline on the opposite side. Her hands were covered in red weals, some already swollen where the pus was gathering into a head.
Anna knew from her son, Demetrios, that his father, Gregory, was due to return shortly from Alexandria, this time to remain indefinitely. Eirene was in physical pain, but her distress was greater.
"Is the rest of your body affected as well?" Anna asked gently.
Eirene glared at her. "That doesn't matter." She made a sharp gesture with her hands. "Cure my face. Do whatever you have to. The cost is unimportant." She drew in a long breath. "So is the pain." Her voice was brittle; Anna could hear the edges of the words like shards of glass grating together.
Anna's mind raced over every possibility she could think of, every treatment, however radical-Christian, Jewish, or Arabic. Were any of them of use if the source of the illness was the fear in Eirene's mind?
Anna's imagination flew to the wounds she guessed at: the rejection of clever, ugly, vulnerable Eirene for the sensuous Zoe, who would laugh and enjoy, then leave, taking whatever she wanted and needing nothing. Was Gregory a man bored by what he could have and fascinated by what he could not? How shallow. How cruel. And yet how desperately understandable.
What was the point in healing the skin from outside, only to have it erupt again a day later?
"Don't stand there like a fool!" Eirene snapped, twisting a little to look at her. "If you don't know what to do, say so. I'll call someone else. If you're in poverty, for God's sake take some money, but don't stare at me as if you expected me to heal