Helena laughed.

The servant returned with the steeped herbs in a glass.

Helena sipped it. “It’s sour,” she remarked. She looked at Anna over the top of the glass.

Anna could not afford to delay any longer. “You should look after yourself,” she said, trying to invest her expression with concern. “You have suffered a good deal.” She realized with a jolt that for all she knew, that could be true.

Helena struggled to mask her surprise, not entirely successfully. “My husband was murdered. Of course it is not easy.”

As Anna stood looking at her, she knew it was perfectly possible Helena had actually assisted in his murder, but she hid her disgust behind a pretense of anxiety. “Surely it was worse than that? Was he not killed by men you had supposed to be his friends, and yours?”

“Yes,” Helena said slowly. “I had thought so.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna murmured. “I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you.”

“Of course you can’t,” Helena agreed, a shadow across her face that might have been contempt or only a movement of the light. “Justinian was in love with me, you know?”

Anna gulped. “Really? I had heard it was Antoninus, but perhaps I misunderstood. It was only gossip.”

Helena did not move. “No,” she denied. “Antoninus admired me, perhaps, but that is hardly love, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Anna lied.

Helena smiled. “It isn’t. It is a hunger. Or don’t you know what I mean?” She turned and looked at Anna appraisingly. “It was a euphemism for lust, Anastasius.”

Anna lowered her eyes to prevent Helena from reading them.

“Do I embarrass you?” Helena asked with obvious pleasure.

Anna ached to fight back, to blaze at her that no, she didn’t, she revolted her with greed, manipulation, and lies. But she could not afford to.

“I do embarrass you,” Helena concluded happily. “But you didn’t know Antoninus. He was handsome, in a fashion,” she continued. “But he had not the depth of character of Justinian. He was extraordinary…” She let it hang in the air, the suggestion infinite.

“Were they friends?” Anna asked.

“Oh yes, in many things,” Helena replied. “But Antoninus liked parties, drinking, games, horses, that sort of thing. He was a good friend of Andronicus, the emperor’s son-although perhaps not as much as Esaias. Justinian was an excellent rider, too, but he had more intelligence. He read all sorts of things. He liked architecture, mosaics, philosophy, things that were beautiful.” Regret touched her face, only momentarily, but it was deep.

Anna was touched by it also, with pity, and with a closeness so in that instant she cared for Helena as if they had been one in grief, and perhaps they were.

Then the mood shattered, before she was ready for it.

“You’re right,” Helena said huskily. “I have suffered far more than most people realize. You must take care of me. Don’t look so crushed. You’re a good physician.”

Anna forced her attention back to the present. “I didn’t know that Justinian loved you,” she said, hearing her own voice artificial in her ears. She remembered Constantine saying how Justinian had been revolted by Helena’s advances and rebuffed her. Surely that was the truth? “You must miss him,” Anna added.

“I do,” Helena said with a tight, gleaming smile, unreadable except as a mask for something else. Anna was a servant and a eunuch; why should Helena show her anything she did not have to?

“And your husband, too,” Anna added judiciously.

Helena shrugged. “He was a bore. He was always talking about religion and politics. Away with the damn bishop half the time.”

“Constantine?” Anna said in surprise.

“Of course Constantine,” Helena snapped. She looked at the glass in her hand. “This is disgusting, but it doesn’t make me feel ill. You don’t need to stay,” she dismissed her. “Come again in three days. I’ll pay you then.”

When Anna returned, she had been with Helena only ten minutes when another visitor was announced, Eulogia Mouzakios. Helena had little choice but either to invite her in as soon as she was dressed again or to allow Eulogia to know that she had a physician present-or, more dangerous than that, some other caller she did not wish her to meet.

“If you dare tell her what you came to treat me for, I shall see you never work again,” she snarled. “Do you understand me?”

“Say you have sprained your ankle,” Anna advised. “She will smell the unguent in the air. I will not contradict you.”

Helena straightened her tunic. She did not bother to answer.

Eulogia came in a few moments later, bearing a gift of honeyed fruit. She was an elegant woman, fair-haired and a little thin, several inches taller than Helena. There was a jolting familiarity about her that froze Anna in sudden confusion. She searched her mind for the name and found nothing.

“My physician,” Helena said, waving an arm at Anna after she had greeted her guest. “Anastasius.” She gave a slight smile, infinitely condescending. She was saying the name so Eulogia would recognize Anna instantly as a eunuch, a womanish creature with a man’s name and no gender at all.

Eulogia stared at Anna for a moment, then looked away, entering conversation with Helena as if Anna had been a servant.

In that instant, Anna recognized her. Eulogia was Catalina’s sister. They had met several times in Nicea years ago, when Catalina was alive. No wonder Eulogia had been disturbed by memory at first.

The sweat broke out on Anna’s skin, and her breath was shaky, her hands trembling. She must watch every gesture. Nothing must remind Eulogia of Justinian’s sister.

She had not finished prescribing for Helena, who would be angry if she left. She was imprisoned here by obligation and circumstance.

Helena sensed her discomfort and smiled. She turned to Eulogia. “Have some wine, and figs. These are very good, very quickly dried to produce excellent humors. It’s kind of you to call.”

She ordered the servant to bring refreshments, including a glass for Anna. It seemed to amuse her.

Anna considered refusing. Eulogia was watching her, the puzzled look in her face again. Anna dared not let Helena believe she was afraid of staying. “Thank you,” she accepted, smiling back. “I’ll have time to prepare your… herbs.”

“Ointment!” Helena snapped, then blushed, aware she might have made a mistake. “I have a sprain,” she said to Eulogia.

Eulogia nodded and offered her sympathy. They moved to sit together, leaving Anna to look in her bag for the appropriate items.

“How is Demetrios?” Eulogia inquired.

“Well, I imagine,” Helena said casually. The wine, figs, and nuts came. She poured, leaving aside a glass for Anna but not offering it.

“I imagine Justinian will not be returning,” Eulogia remarked, looking obliquely at Helena.

Helena allowed herself to look sad. “No. They believe he was deeply implicated in Bessarion’s death. Of course he wasn’t!” She smiled. “Whoever it was tried before, you know, when Justinian was in Bithynia, miles from here.”

Anna’s hand froze over the herbs. Fortunately her back was to the room, and neither Helena nor Eulogia could see her face.

“Tried to kill him?” Eulogia said in amazement. “How?”

“Poison,” Helena said simply. “I’ve no idea who it was.” She took a bite out of a dried fig and chewed it slowly. “And Bessarion was attacked in the street a few months after that, also. It looked like an attempted robbery, but afterward Bessarion himself thought it was one of his own men. But Demetrios found them for him, from friends of his-the Varangian Guard, so it seems unlikely.”

Eulogia was curious. “Demetrios Vatatzes has friends in the Varangian Guard? How interesting. Unusual, for a man of an old imperial family. But then his mother, Eirene, is unusual.”

Helena shrugged it off. “That’s what I thought he said. Perhaps I was wrong.”