James Heneage - The Walls of Byzantium

‘You’ve done this before, I think,’ said Suleyman thickly.

Zoe was guiding him between her thighs, stroking him as she did so.

Then he was inside her and the hard edge of the table was digging into her back as his rhythm became more urgent. His arms were either side of her head and she could see the fine knots of muscle in his upper arms, feel their tension in every part of the body above her.

She opened her legs wider, gathering him deeper, deeper, feeling him move inside against her bottom as it rose to meet him.

As the surge swept over her, she felt his body go rigid and he arced away from her, his bearded chin rising as if in summons. He grunted once, twice, then let out a long, long sigh as his body came to rest against hers.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then he rose, letting his caftan fall. He made a little bow.

‘Zoe Mamonas, I think we will be friends.’

MISTRA, SPRING 1394

Anna sat on the balcony of her home in Mistra with an untouched meal on the table beside her. It was her favourite: garon , a fish soup, followed by Cretan cheese and pancakes with honey.

But Anna wasn’t hungry. She was too miserable to eat.

Her brother Alexis sat on the other side, staring hard at the floor and tracing the delicate curve of the tesserae with his left shoe.

Neither of them spoke. It had all been said.

It wasn’t that Anna had expected to escape marriage. She’d always known that it would be required of her one day, and very likely that it would be to someone she’d never set eyes on. But was she really ready to take on the duties of matrimony?

What those duties entailed had been revealed to her by her mother over the weeks following the dreadful announcement. And although she’d known most of it, having spent much of her youth in the company of her brother’s friends, it still came as a shock that she was now so close to realising it.

It was two years since her encounter with Suleyman and the time had been spent in a mood of wild exhilaration at having escaped death so closely. She’d even thrown herself into her lessons with an enthusiasm that had unnerved the monks.

And now this. In a week’s time she was to be married to Damian Mamonas, a boy a year her senior whom she’d never met and had heard only bad things about. Even now, her father would be riding by his side, accompanying him to Mistra.

To take her away.

Forever .

What made it worse was that it was one of those spring days in Mistra when she felt that she lived in the most glorious place on God’s earth. The sky was an unblemished blue and the midmorning sun shone down upon the hill and its people as if it was their own, lending all the individual colours of house, square and garden a brightness that Anna hoped would stay in her memory forever.

My God, I love this place .

Even the people seemed intoxicated by the day. Since the siege, they’d seen Anna as something of a patron saint to the city, which embarrassed her and the Metropolitan of St Demetrius Cathedral in equal degree. And if half of them were sad to lose their icon, the other half were filled with pride that her illustrious match would make their despotate safer. At any rate, not one of them wanted to miss the entry into their city of the Mamonas heir and they chattered excitedly to one another as they gathered flowers to shower upon the bridegroom.

Anna had already made her peace with St Demetrius that morning. Before first light, when the streets were deserted, she’d walked down to the cathedral and sat alone in the front pew to watch the bright frescoes of the Blessed Family and saints reveal themselves in the tiptoed light of the rising sun. Every child of Mistra knew the story of St Demetrius, how he’d been cast into a dungeon in Thessaloniki by the Romans and speared to death for refusing to abjure his faith. She’d never much liked the saint but she found herself beseeching him to grant the same protection to her as he did to her city.

Now she sat with her brother, awaiting her future husband and wondering what she should say to him when they first met.

Alexis looked up. ‘Sister, you look beautiful,’ he said, taking Anna’s hand in his.

Indeed she did. Anna was dressed in a long red dress of finest Cypriot silk damask, tight-fitted at the bosom, with a deep neckline fastened at the front with cross-laces of gold thread. The long, triangular sleeves were decorated at the edges with an elaborate floral design and the effect of the red and gold against her fair skin was dramatic. On her head was a simple diadem of cream silk cord and her luxuriant hair had been braided into a single strand at the back, with two further plaits framing her face. From her ears hung crescent-shaped earrings of silver decorated with the monogram of the Palaiologoi, a gift to her from the Despoena.

She was lovelier than her brother had ever seen her and now, as he looked into those green, green eyes, he realised how much he was going to miss her.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said again, this time in a whisper, and squeezed her hand.

Anna looked into his clear, kind eyes and felt herself on the edge of tears. She bit her lip.

Then, mercifully, there was distraction.

Commotion came from the town below. The two of them moved to look over the balcony and saw people flocking through the streets to the city gate where the flag of the Palaiologoi flew. A ragged cheer went up from the crowd but they could see little beyond the houses around them. Anna’s heart quickened as she realised that the man whom she was to marry was fast approaching the house.

Her mother appeared at the door to the balcony.

Maria Laskaris was a woman of legendary poise but the events of the past weeks had tested her to the limits. Her daughter was so young — but Maria herself had been far younger when she’d married and hadn’t she been happy? And she knew about duty. When she and Simon Laskaris had wed, it was to seal a peace agreement between her father, a powerful Norman lord with extensive lands in the north, and the then Despot Manuel. Now her dead father’s lands were part of the despotate.

She looked at her daughter and marvelled again at what had happened to her over the past two years. She had grown up, not just in body, but in mind as well. She was still impulsive and stubborn, but there was also a wisdom that her mother found reassuring given what might lie ahead. She’d not heard good things about her future son-in-law.

‘Come, Anna,’ she said. ‘We’d better go down to the courtyard to wait for them.’

She took her daughter’s arm and led her through the triclinium, down the stone steps and into the large courtyard with its imposing gateway on to the square. A tall cedar stood in the middle.

Outside the gate, they could hear the procession drawing nearer, the cheers and laughter of the crowd giving way to the sound of hoof on stone. And then Simon Laskaris was there, riding under the arch in his rich tunic and tall hat, with an uncertain smile pinned to his face.

Beside him rode Damian Mamonas, whose own face was set fast in a smile of no warmth and whose dark eyes immediately sought Anna out as they accustomed themselves to the shade of the cedar tree. Whether what he saw pleased him, Anna couldn’t tell, for his expression remained fixed. She felt sick.

He looked less than impressive. While handsome, he had a livid scar down one cheek and a pallor that suggested long hours indoors. His long black hair, which fell almost to his waist, seemed too heavy for his head and he rode awkwardly.

Damian dismounted in front of her and stumbled, waving away the arm of a servant. He fixed his gaze on Anna and she smiled back. Then he walked towards her, his limp causing one side of his body to dip low with every step. Anna looked hard into his face and still she smiled. She extended a hand.