a slight smile. "Cyril Choniates is very ill indeed. He is a man I used to know, before his banishment, and for whom I had the greatest admiration."
She regarded Anna with a sudden solemnity. "He needs a far better physician than his current exile affords him." She frowned. "One who will disregard his sins, which I doubt are many, and anyway, sin is largely a matter of opinion. One man's virtue may be another man's vice." She looked grave. "Anastasius, you can treat him with herbs and tinctures, medicines which will actually help his illness, or at the very least, if he is ill unto death, ease his distress. He deserves that. Do you take deserving into account?"
"No," Anna replied with a faint gleam of humor herself. "You know that. As you say, it is often only a point of view anyway. I despise hypocrisy, which would place me against half of the most pious people I know."
Zoe laughed. "Your frankness could prove your undoing, Anastasius. I advise you to watch your tongue. Hypocrites have absolutely no sense of humor at all, or they would see their own absurdity. Will you go and do what you can for Cyril Choniates?"
"Will I be allowed to?"
"I shall see to it," Zoe replied. "He is at a monastery in Bithynia. And the papal legate Bishop Niccolo Vicenze will accompany you there. He has business with Cyril, which means he will organize and pay for the travel and the lodging. That seems a good arrangement. The weather is pleasant. The journey on horseback will take you a few days, but it will not be over-arduous. You know Bithynia better than he can. You will leave tomorrow morning. There is no time to waste."
She moved slowly back across the room toward the table and smooth, comfortable chairs. "I have an herbal mixture I would like you to take for Cyril. He used to enjoy it when I knew him in the past. It is a simple restorative, but it will give him pleasure, and perhaps it will give him also an increase in strength. I will take a little myself. Perhaps you would like some also?"
Anna hesitated.
"As you please," Zoe said lightly, reaching for the door of a carved wooden cabinet and opening it. Inside were many drawers, each only a few inches square. She pulled one open and took out a silk pouch full of fragments of leaves, crushed so finely as to be almost a powder. "One takes it in a little wine," she said, suiting the action to the words. She poured two goblets of red wine and sprinkled a little powder into each. It dissolved almost immediately.
Her eyes met Anna's as she picked up one of them and put it to her lips. "To Cyril Choniates," she said softly, and drank.
Anna picked up the other and sipped. There was no alteration to the flavor; even the scent of the herb had vanished.
Zoe emptied her goblet and offered a honey cake, taking one herself and biting into it with pleasure.
Anna drained her goblet as well.
"Honey cake?" Zoe offered. "I recommend it. It will take the aftertaste away."
Anna accepted and ate.
Zoe gave her the rest in the silk pouch.
"Thank you." Anna took it. "I will offer it to him."
Anna made the short journey across the Bosphorus to the Nicean shore, where she found Bishop Niccolo Vicenze waiting for her somewhat impatiently. He was pacing back and forth on the quayside, his pale hair gleaming in the cool, early light, his face set in harsh lines of displeasure. He was dressed for traveling, as she was, in shorter robes and soft leather boots covering his lower legs. Even so, he managed to look severely clerical, as if his office were part of himself.
Their greeting was brief, no more than an acknowledgment, then they mounted the waiting horses and began the long journey inland through country she already knew.
The sun rose in a clear sky and the day was warm with only the slightest breeze. But it was a long time since Anna had ridden a horse for more than a couple of miles, and she quickly grew both sore and tired, although Bishop Vicenze was the last person to whom she would have displayed any weakness.
She had ridden in this land before, years earlier, with Justinian. If she closed her eyes and felt the sun on her face, the strength of the animal beneath her, she could imagine it was he riding ahead of