The younger woman smiled and made way for them, nodding approval.

Nevertheless, afterward, Anna arrived home trembling with relief. Simonis looked at her anxiously, knowing there was something wrong, but Anna was too ashamed of her stupidity to tell her what it was.

“Have you found anything further?” Simonis asked, holding out a goblet of wine and placing a dish of bread and chives in front of Anna.

“No,” Anna said quietly. “Not yet.”

Simonis said nothing, but her look was eloquent. They were not here risking their lives a hundred miles from home so Anna could gain a new medical practice. In Simonis’s opinion, there was nothing wrong with the one Anna had had in Nicea. Their only reason for leaving it, and the places and friends they had known all their lives, was to rescue Justinian.

“My tunics are very good,” Simonis said quietly. “Thank you. You must be getting new patients. Rich ones.”

Anna could see the disapproval in her stiff shoulders and the way she pretended to be concentrating on grinding the mustard seeds to make the sauce for the flatfish she would cook tomorrow.

“Rich is incidental,” she told her. “They knew Justinian and the other people around Bessarion. I am learning about his friends, and perhaps Bessarion’s enemies.”

Simonis looked up quickly, her eyes bright. She smiled briefly; it was as far as she dared go, in case her belief invited bad luck, and the prize slipped away. “Good.” She nodded. “I see.”

“You don’t like the city much, do you?” Anna said softly. “I know you miss the people you knew at home. So do I.”

“It’s necessary,” Simonis replied. “We’ve got to find the truth of what happened, and get Justinian back. You just keep trying. I’ll make new friends. Now go to bed. It’s late.”

IN EARLY OCTOBER, ZOE SENT A MESSENGER TO ANNA, REQUESTING that she attend her immediately. Zoe drew her like a flame that was dangerous, unpredictable, at times destructive, but above all a blazing light, and Anna was in urgent need of more information.

When she arrived Zoe received her at once, which was in itself a compliment. Today she was dressed in a wine red tunic with a lighter red dalmatica over it, clasped at the shoulder with an enormous gold-and-amber jewel. More gold and amber hung on her ears and around her neck and was echoed at the embroidered hems of her garments. With her topaz eyes and deep bronze hair, Zoe was breathtaking.

“Ah! Anastasius,” she said eagerly, walking toward Anna, smiling. “How is your business? I hear good reports of you from my friends.” It was a courteous question and asked with enthusiasm. It was also a reminder that most of Anna’s best patients-the ones with money who paid on time and recommended her further-had come because of Zoe.

“Good, and getting better all the time,” Anna answered. “I thank you for your recommendations.”

“I am happy they have been useful.” Zoe waved one elegant hand, sharp-nailed and decorated with rings, indicating the table with a jug of wine, several goblets, and a green glass bowl of almonds.

“Thank you,” Anna said, as if accepting, but she made no move toward it. She was too tense with expectation as to what Zoe wanted. She looked in good health, even if some of it was achieved with her own salves and potions and a great deal of willpower.

“How can I be of service?” Anna asked. She had learned not to compliment women as if she were a whole man or to commiserate as if she were another woman.

Zoe smiled, amused. “Quick to the point, Anastasius. Have I drawn you away from another patient?” She was probing, seeing how Anastasius would walk the razor’s edge between flattery and truth, keeping his own dignity, maintaining the respect for his skill, yet also being available to do whatever Zoe wished. He could not yet afford to refuse, and they both knew it. Zoe was not a patient in this instance, yet it would be absurdly arrogant for Anastasius ever to imagine they were social acquaintances. He was a eunuch from the provinces who earned his own living; Zoe was of an aristocratic family and not just a native of the city, but almost an embodiment of its soul.

Anna measured her words, smiling a little. “Is this not business?”

Zoe’s golden eyes flashed with laughter. “Of course. It is a friend, a young woman named Euphrosane Dalassena. She has a disease of the skin, and it is somewhat embarrassing to her. You seem to be skilled in such things. I have told her you will come.”

Anna swallowed the sting of arrogance at being so taken for granted. Even so, Zoe saw the flicker and knew what it meant. It pleased her.

“If you tell me where I may find her, I shall call,” Anna answered.

Zoe nodded slowly, satisfied, and named the house and the street. “Urgently, if you please. Study her carefully, consider her mind as well as her body. It is of concern to me how she progresses. Do you understand?”

“I shall be happy to tell you that she is doing well, or not so well,” she replied.

“I don’t care about her skin!” Zoe snapped. “You can take care of that, I have no doubt. She is recently widowed. I am interested in her state of mind, the strength of her character.”

Anna hesitated on the brink of further restrictions on what she felt free to say, then decided it would be pointless. It would anger Zoe for no reason. She would decide how much to tell her later.

“I’ll go straight away,” she said graciously.

Zoe smiled. “Thank you.”

Euphrosane Dalassena was in her late twenties, but at first she seemed younger. Her features were excellent and she should have been lovely, but there was a certain insipidity about her, and Anna wondered if it were due to illness. She lay on a couch, her light brown hair unadorned, her skin a little waxy. Anna had been shown in by a serving woman, who remained in the unimaginatively ornamented room, standing by the doorway.

Anna introduced herself and asked all the usual questions about symptoms. Then she examined the painful rash that spread across Euphrosane’s back and lower abdomen. She seemed to have a slight temperature and was clearly both embarrassed and distressed by her condition. Her eyes never left Anna’s face, always waiting for the verdict, trying to interpret every expression.

Finally she could bear it no longer. “I go to confession every other day, and I know of no sin of which I have not repented,” she exclaimed. “I’ve fasted and prayed, but nothing comes to my mind. Please help me!”

“God does not punish you for what you can’t help,” Anna said quickly, then immediately wondered at her daring. That was her own conviction, but was it the doctrine of the Church? She felt the blood burn up her face.

Euphrosane’s logic was perfect. “Then I must be able to help it,” she said plaintively. “What haven’t I done? I have prayed to Saint George, who is the patron saint of skin diseases, but he is patron saint of a lot of things. So I have also prayed to Saint Anthony the Abbot, just in case I should be more specific. I attend Mass every day, I go to confession, I give alms to the poor and offerings to the Church. Where have I fallen so far short that this has happened to me? I don’t understand.” She lay back on the couch.

Anna drew in her breath to say that it was nothing to do with sin of any kind, omission or commission, but realized that that might be viewed as heresy.

Euphrosane was still watching her, the sweat dampening her skin and making her hair lank. Anna must answer or lose Euphrosane’s faith in her.

“Could it be that your sin lies in not trusting God’s love enough?” she said, shocked at her own words. “I will give you medicine to take, and ointment to have your maid put on the blisters. Each time you do so, pray, and believe that God loves you, personally.”