which will cleanse and strengthen you. You must eat, but with care. Bread that has been well kneaded, hens' eggs lightly boiled, not goose or duck eggs. You may eat lightly boiled meat of partridge or francolin, or young kid, not older animals. A little stewed apple with honey would be good, but avoid nuts. Then when you are ready, in two or three days, take a little fish; gray mullet is good. Mostly you must drink water with juice mixed in. Have your servant wash you and bring you clean linen. Have him help you so you do not fall. You are weak. I shall give him a list of what other food to buy."
She saw in his face that he wished to ask more. Afraid it would be questions she could not answer without causing him confusion or distress, she gave him no time, bidding him good-bye and promising to return soon.
Early the following morning, she went to check his progress. He looked gaunt in the full daylight, his cheeks sunken, his skin colorless, papery; oddly like a very large old woman. His pale hands on the bedcover seemed enormous, his arms fleshy. She was moved with a wave of intense pity for him but was careful that he should not see it in her eyes.
"The people are praying for you," she told him. "Philippos, Maria, and Angelos stopped me when they heard I had called on you. They are very concerned."
He smiled, the light returning to his eyes. "Really?"
Did he fear she was saying it to please him? "Yes, some even fast and keep vigil. They love you, and I think also they are very afraid of facing the future without you."
"Tell them I need their support, Anastasius. Thank them for me."
"I will," she promised, embarrassed by his need for so much reassurance. When he was better, would he remember this and hate her for having seen too much?
The following day, Manuel once again opened the door to Anna. His eyes went immediately to the basket she was carrying: strengthening foods prepared by Simonis for the ailing bishop.
"Food for the bishop," she explained. "How is he?"
"Much better," Manuel replied. "The pain is less, but he is still very weak indeed."
"It will take time, but he will recover." She passed him the soup with instructions to heat it and left the bread on the table. She went through to Constantine's bedroom, knocking on the door and waiting for his answer before she went in.
While he was sitting up in bed, he still looked hollow-eyed and pale. A whole man would have been stubble-chinned by now, but Constantine's face looked curiously soft.
"How are you?" she asked.
"Improved," he replied, but she could see he was tired.
She felt his brow, then his pulse, then gently pinched the skin on his forearm again. He was still clammy and his flesh slack, but his pulse was steadier. She made a few more inquiries about his pain, by which time Manuel arrived with the soup and bread. She sat beside Constantine, steadying his hand as he ate, gently helping him, steeling herself to ask the questions.
"Please eat," she encouraged. "We need you to be strong. I do not wish to be governed by Rome. It will destroy a great deal of what I believe to be true, and of infinite value. It is a tragedy that Bessarion Comnenos was murdered." She hesitated. "Do you think that could have been prompted by Rome?"
His eyes widened and his hand stopped with the spoon in the air. The thought had not occurred to him. She could see him searching for the answer he wanted to give.
"I had not considered it," he admitted finally. "Perhaps I should have."
"Would it not have served their interest?" she pressed. "Bessarion was passionately against union. He was of imperial blood. Might he have led a resurgence of faith among the people that would have made union impossible?"
He was still staring at her, the last of the soup temporarily forgotten. "Have you heard anyone say so?" he asked, his voice low and with a sudden, sharp note of fear in it.
"If I were of the Roman faith, perhaps hoping to assist the union myself, either for religious reasons or ambition, I would not want a leader such as Bessarion alive and well," she said urgently.
A curious look passed over Constantine's face, a mixture of surprise and wariness.
She plunged on. "Might Justinian Lascaris have been in the pay of Rome, do you suppose?"
"Never," he