capitulation! They gave up everything! Appeals to the pope, money, the filioque clause." Tears glistened in his eyes.
Constantine stared at the priest, his face white with horror. Then slowly the blood suffused his skin. "Cowards!" he snarled between his teeth. "What did they bring back with them-thirty pieces of silver?"
"Safety from the crusading armies when they pass this way on their path to Jerusalem," the priest said wretchedly, his voice quavering.
Anna knew this was a higher reward than perhaps this young priest understood. With a chill passing through her, she remembered Zoe Chrysaphes and the terror that so clearly still haunted her when she felt the flame sear her skin, seventy years afterward.
Constantine was watching her. "They have no faith!" he snapped, his lips drawn back in contempt. "Do you know what happened when we were besieged by barbarians, but kept our faith with the Holy Virgin, and carried her image in our hearts and before our eyes? Do you?"
"Yes." Anna's father had told her the story many times, his eyes wistful, half smiling.
Constantine was waiting, standing with his arms spread out, his pale robes splendid in the light. He looked enormous, intimidating.
"The barbarian armies stood before the city," Anna recounted obediently. "We were vastly outnumbered. Their leader rode forward on his horse, a huge, heavy man, savage as an animal. The emperor went out to meet him, carrying the icon of the Virgin Mary before him. The barbarian leader was struck dead on the spot, and his army fled. Not one of our men was injured and not a stone of the city broken." Such perfect faith still gave her a strange bubble of excitement inside, as if a warmth had broken open within her. She did not know if the year or the details were exact, but she believed the spirit of it.
"You knew it," Constantine said triumphantly. "And also when we were besieged by the Avars in 626, we carried the icon of the Blessed Virgin along the halls, and the siege was raised." He turned to the priest, his face glowing. "Then why is it that the envoys of our emperor, who styles himself 'Equal of the Apostles,' do not? How can he even bargain with the devil, let alone yield to him? It's not the barbarians who will defeat us this time, it's our own doubt."
His hands clenched. "We are not conquered by the hordes of Charles of Anjou, or even the liars and hucksters of Rome, but betrayed by our own princes who have lost their faith in Christ and the Holy Virgin." He swung around to Anna. "You understand, don't you?"
She saw a desperate loneliness in his eyes. "Michael does not speak for the people," he said in little more than a whisper. "If we believe enough, we'll be strong; we may persuade them to trust in God."
Emotion thickened his voice. "Help me, Anastasius. Be strong. Help me keep the faith we have nurtured and guarded for a thousand years."
The passions churned inside her, conflicting faith and guilt, love of the beautiful and loathing of the darkness within herself, the memories of hate.
Constantine was quick, sensitive, as if he could taste Anna's turmoil, even without understanding it. "Be strong," he urged, his voice now gentle. "You have a great work in your hands. God will help you, if only you believe."
She was startled. "How? I have no calling."
"Of course you have," he answered. "You are a healer. You are the left hand of the priest, the mender of the body, the comforter of pain, the silencer of fears. Speak truth to those to whom you minister. The word of God can heal all ills, protect from the darkness without-but even more, from that within."
"I will," she whispered. "We can turn the tide. We will look to God, not to Rome."
Constantine smiled. He lifted his large white hand in the sign of the cross.
Behind him, the thin young priest echoed it.
"We'd know what to do about it if Justinian were here," Simonis said grimly as Anna later stood in the warm, herb-scented kitchen, telling her the news. "It's a disgrace, a blasphemy." Simonis took a deep breath and turned away from the table to face Anna. "What else have you learned about this Bessarion? We've been here almost a year and a half, and his real murderer is still free. Someone must know!" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her face pinched with guilt. She resumed her work slicing onions