to the task. We will not cease until we are," Vicenze said slowly, giving each word weight. Perhaps he had a sense of humor after all.
Palombara stood in the sun and watched Vicenze walk down the steps and into the square with a slight swagger, papers in his hand. Then he turned and went up past the guard and into the coolness of the shadowed hall.
Chapter 11-12
Eleven
BY SEPTEMBER, ANNA HAD DISCOVERED MORE INFORMATION about both Antoninus and Justinian himself, but what she had found all seemed superficial, and she could see in it no meaning or connection with the murder of Bessarion. There seemed nothing the three men all had in common except a dislike for the proposed union with Rome.
From all accounts, Bessarion had been not only serious-minded, but extremely sober of nature and spoke often and with great passion about the doctrine and history of the Orthodox Church. While respected, even admired, he allowed no intimacy. She felt an unwilling flicker of sympathy for Helena.
Like Bessarion, Justinian was a member of an imperial family, but much further from the center of it. Unlike Bessarion, he had no inherited wealth. His importing business was necessary for his survival, and he appeared to have succeeded with it, although with his exile all his property had been forfeited. The merchants of the city and ships' captains in the harbors all still knew his name. They were shocked that he had stooped to murder Bessarion. They had not only trusted Justinian, they had liked him.
It was hard for Anna to listen and control her sense of loss. The bitter loneliness inside her was so vast, it threatened to tear through her skin.
Antoninus had been a soldier. It was far more difficult for her to learn more of him. The few soldiers she treated spoke well of him, but he had been their senior in rank, and all they knew was repute and hearsay. He was strict and he was unquestionably brave. He enjoyed wine and a good joke-not the sort of man Bessarion would have liked.
But Justinian would. It made no sense, no pattern.
She sought the only person she trusted-Bishop Constantine. He had helped Justinian, even at risk to his own safety.
He welcomed her into a smaller room in his house than the warm, ocher one with the marvelous icons. This had cooler earth tones and looked down at a courtyard. The murals were pastoral, with muted colors. The floor was green-tiled, and there was a table set for dining and two chairs beside it. At his insistence, she sat in one of them to leave sufficient space for him to walk gently back and forth, deep in thought.
"You ask about Bessarion," he said, absentmindedly smoothing his fingers over the embroidered silk of his dalmatica. "He was a good man, but perhaps lacking the fire to stir men's souls. He weighed, he measured, he judged. How can a man be at once so passionate of mind and so indecisive?"
"Was he a coward?" she asked quietly.
A look of sadness came across Constantine's face. It was several moments before he spoke again. "I presumed he was simply cautious." He crossed himself. "God forgive them all. They wished for so much, and all to save the true Church from the dominion of Rome, and the pollution of the faith that will bring."
She echoed his sign of the cross. She wanted more than anything else to lay the burden of her own guilt at God's feet and seek His absolution. She remembered her dead husband, Eustathius, with a coldness that still struck: the quarrel, the isolation, the blood, and then the never-ending grief. She would never carry another child. She was fortunate to have healed without crippling. She ached to tell Constantine, to spread all her guilt before him and be cleansed, whatever penance was necessary. But the confession of her imposture would rob her of any chance to help Justinian. There was no punishment fixed for such an offense, it would fall under other laws, but it would be harsh. No one liked to be made a fool of.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. A young priest came in, white-faced and struggling to control his emotion.
"What is it?" Constantine said. "Are you ill? Anastasius is a physician." He gestured briefly to include Anna.
The priest waved a thin hand. "I am well enough. No physician can heal what ails us all. The envoys are back from Lyons. It was a complete