"The prince was not the actor's lover any longer," said Dagda. "He was faithful to my mistress from the day they wed. They were looking forward to leaving the Boucoleon for their own home across the water in just another day or two."

"Then it is likely that Bellisarius, learning of this, and having been ignored by Prince Basil these last months, lured him here with the intention of murdering him, and taking his own life," said Demetrios.

"Will you swear to it?" demanded Dagda. "The prince's death will break my lady's heart for she loved him with all her being. She never knew of his prior relationships. Not in her wildest imaginings would she believe that Prince Basil would have loved a man. It is not our way."

The physician nodded with understanding. "There is no need, my friend, to distress the poor lady, any more than she will be. I will attest to the fact that Bellisarius murdered Prince Basil before taking his own life. I cannot stop the gossip that will ensue, Dagda, and believe me there will be gossip. The prince's previous relationships are well known. Though your lady has been fortunate to escape the rumors until now, she will no longer have that luxury. There will be those who will not believe that Bellisarius murdered the prince. They will say that the two men, lovers still, decided to die together rather than be separated, which they would have been when Prince Basil and his wife left Constantinople. This is a cruel court."

"I must go and tell my mistress," said Dagda.

"She does not yet know?"

Dagda shook his head in the negative, and for a moment his shoulders slumped wearily. "She is like my own child," he said. "Her mother gave her to my care upon her deathbed. I have protected and cared for her all her life, but I cannot keep her from this pain, Demetrios. Even now I feel as if a sword is piercing my own heart."

"Let me come with you," said the physician. "The princess may need a sedative for the shock, but do not fear, my friend. She is young and healthy, and time will heal this terrible wound even as it heals all others. Tell me though, is she with child?"

"No," said Dagda. "Of that I am certain."

"What a pity. Sometimes a baby gives a widow an even greater reason for living."

Quickly the two men made their way back to Mairin.

"Where have you been?" demanded Nara. "The princess is just now coming from her bath. She has asked if he is back yet. Are they really dead? What happened? If she sees this boy she will want to know who he is. What am I to say?"

"You are to say nothing, Nara," said Dagda, and he turned to Paul. "You will now serve the court physician, Master Demetrios, boy. You will say nothing of this matter to anyone. Nor will you speak of the prince's past relationship with your former master. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," said the boy, his dark eyes large and frightened. He considered himself lucky to have gotten off so easily. It was not unusual for slaves who had witnessed sensitive matters to be blinded, have their tongues torn out, or be otherwise maimed or killed to silence them. He could not suppress a shudder, which both men saw.

"You will not be harmed, Paul," said Demetrios. "You have but to be discreet. I have need of a bright boy like yourself. I shall teach you to grind medicines for me."

"We must tell her," said Dagda, and the physician nodded.

"Shall I fetch the lady Eada and our lord Aldwine, Dagda?" asked Nara.

"Yes," he answered her. "Tell them that the prince has been murdered. They must come quickly for their daughter's sake."

"Dagda!"

They turned to find Mairin standing in the doorway between the bedchamber and the anteroom. Nara gave a little shriek, and ran from the room.

"Dagda, what is this that you say? Where is my husband?" Mairin was paler than he had ever seen her. "Where is Basil?" Mairin repeated.

There was no easy way. "He is dead," Dagda said quietly.

"No!" She reached out to cling to the doorframe for her knees felt weak, and she wasn't certain she was capable of standing by herself any longer. "You lie!"

His eyes filled with tears which he quickly blinked back as he said quietly to her, "Have I ever lied to you, my child? Would I willingly hurt you?"

"No!" This time her voice became a whimper. "Not dead, Dagda. Please, not dead!"

With a groan of pain, for his own heart was breaking, Dagda took Mairin in his arms. Holding her protectively within his embrace he begged her, "Weep, child. Weep!"

Mairin pulled from his grasp. Her violet eyes were dark with her anguish. She was ashen in color. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound issued forth. Then without warning she crumpled unconscious to the floor.

Chapter 7.

"My son is dead! It is your daughter's fault!" Ileana Ducas accused. Her dark eyes were spilling over with pain. "Oh, Basil, I loved you," she wept, "but you never really understood how I adored you. Now you are gone!"

"My daughter's fault?" Eada was outraged! "It was not my daughter who administered poison to Basil. It was his lover!"

"If your daughter had truly made my son happy he would not have returned to Bellisarius! What kind of a woman was she to drive him into the arms of another man? What terrible things did she do to Basil that he sought solace elsewhere?"

"Mairin loved Basil, and he loved her," said Eada in a quiet voice. "She is innocent in this matter. You, I am told, are not. Whatever Basil was, you as his mother are partly responsible."

"What do you dare imply?" demanded Ileana coldly.

"I imply nothing, princess. It is common knowledge in Constantinople that your late husband kept half a dozen young boys for his pleasure. He openly consorted with men of such foul reputation that even the church could not ignore it, and so they excommunicated him. Did you blame yourself for your husband's behavior as you attempt to blame Mairin for Basil's behavior? Did you think that because we are strangers here we would not eventually learn your family's history? Had we known it before our daughter's marriage to your son took place there would have been no marriage.

"In our land pa.s.sion such as Basil shared with Bellisarius is considered illicit, unG.o.dly, and shameful. Even with all my years I did not know of such things until my husband was forced to explain them to me.

"How dare you come into my home and accuse my poor child of causing your son's demise. In the four days since Basil's death Mairin has lain unconscious. She is devastated by what has happened to her husband. Her husband, who was murdered by his male lover! Where is my child's crime, princess? She is as innocent as a newborn lamb! Would that Basil, may G.o.d a.s.soil his tormented soul, have been so innocent! Beware lest anything happen to my daughter because of your wanton disregard for her happiness. I shall lay a curse upon your family that shall not be lifted until after our Lord's second coming!

"Now get from my sight! Never again do I wish to lay eyes upon you! You but remind me of the terrible suffering Mairin has been caused. May G.o.d and his Blessed Mother help you! If she does not regain consciousness I will kill you with my bare hands! I swear it!"

Ileana Ducas' composure left her as she stared horrified at Eada. Never before had she noticed how big the Saxon woman was. But how could she not see it now as Eada towered over her, her long dark red hair unbound, and swirling about her in her pa.s.sionate rage; her blue, blue eyes flashing with menace. Ileana believed Eada when the Saxon threatened her with death. With a shriek she turned and fled the furious woman.

"Good riddance!" Eada ground out through clenched teeth as her husband put gentle calming hands upon her shoulders.

"I do not think she will be back," said Aldwine. "You have quite frightened her, my love. It reminds me of a time not so long ago when the women of our people were as fierce fighters as the men."

"Fiercer," said Eada emphatically.

He laughed softly, turning her toward him to hold her against his chest. It was that familiar gesture of comfort that caused Eada to burst into tears. "No, no, my love," he soothed her. "Do not cry. I bring good news. Mairin awoke a short while ago. Before she might remember and question, Demetrios gave her a calming draught. She is now sleeping a natural sleep."

"Th-thank G.o.d!" Eada sobbed, and cried all the harder.

Aldwine Athelsbeorn allowed his wife to vent her relief. When her weeping finally eased he said, "When Mairin is strong enough to travel, I want you to take her home to England, Eada. I do not want her remaining in Constantinople. Everything she knows here would be a reminder of Basil. He saw her when she first arrived, monopolized her time, and then quickly married her. Our daughter had no time to make other friends, have other memories of this city.

"For her Constantinople is Basil, and Basil Constantinople. If she remains she will pine away. I have no doubt she loved him, but I will not allow her to waste her life mourning him. He was a charming man. His intentions toward her were good, but he was not worthy of her, Eada. Prince or no, he was not worthy of her!

"I should not have given my consent to their marriage. My ambition for Mairin blinded me. I must bear the greater responsibility for the pain she has been caused, but I will not let her be pained further.

"This is not the city I remember as a youth. Perhaps, though, my young eyes saw only the beauty of Constantinople. Now I see its decay. It will soon be spring, Eada. Take our daughter and travel with the troop of Varangian Guards who are returning to England for home leave. I will make all the arrangements."

"But what of you?" she asked. "Can you not come home with us? Surely under these circ.u.mstances you can leave the delegation in other hands, Aldwine. Your work here is almost done. You have said it yourself!"

"That is true, my love," he agreed, "but hammering out the last bits of a trade treaty is perhaps the trickiest part of all. It is what I was sent here for, and I cannot go until it is done. The latest messages from Brand say that as the king grows weaker, the queen continues to agitate for the succession of her brother. I would prefer that you and Mairin were safely at Aelfleah should Edward die. Brand has done well, but in my absence he will need your guidance should he be forced to defend our holding."

"But if the king dies," fretted Eada, "how will you return to us?"

"It will be easier to reach England without the burden of two women," he replied. "It took us over two months to reach Constantinople, Eada. I can cut that time in half traveling without you. Send me word of the king's death, and I will be home within the month. I swear it!"

"I dislike being apart from you, my husband, but it is now our daughter for whom I must be concerned. When Mairin is able to travel we will leave."

It was not until the second week in April that they departed Constantinople. At first when Mairin had fully awakened she could not remember anything of what had happened since her arrival in Constantinople. She was once again half-child, half-woman. That, said the physician Demetrios, was not a good thing. Pain blocked her memories of Basil and their marriage and her avoidance of the truth could have resulted in an even worse trauma. Mairin had to be made to remember so she might face her anguish honestly and overcome it.

The emperor insisted Demetrios move into the Garden Palace so he might treat Mairin, who at first could not understand why the physician was there. Then the dawning knowledge within her that almost eighteen months had pa.s.sed since her arrival in Constantinople, months that were blank to her, frightened her into cooperation with Demetrios. Slowly the memories began to return. With them came the pain.

Mairin, her hair braided up and covered, was accompanied by Eada and Demetrios as she began to revisit all the places she had first seen with Basil. One afternoon they entered into Hagia Eirene. Looking around her in the soft golden light Mairin unexpectedly burst into tears. Confused, she could only look to her mother for rea.s.surance. Gathering her daughter into her arms Eada crooned rea.s.suringly. Then suddenly one evening several days later as they all sat at the evening meal Mairin looked up and said calmly to Demetrios, "My husband is dead, isn't he?"

About the table they all froze, shocked with the suddenness of her question.

Regaining his senses first Demetrios answered her, "Yes, highness. Prince Basil is dead these two months past."

"How did he die?" she asked, her voice still frighteningly calm.

"He was murdered. Poisoned by his old friend the actor Bellisarius, who then took his own life."

"Why?" The single word was sharp.

There was a deep silence within the room. Then Eada said, "Dearest, does it matter now? Poor Basil is dead and buried. You are a widow. I thank G.o.d you have at last remembered it! It is time to begin to forget once more. To start your life anew."

"Why did Bellisarius kill my husband?" demanded Mairin again, a hard edge to her voice now. "I want to know! I want to know why my husband is dead!"

Aldwine Athelsbeorn looked at his daughter seeing suddenly that the child he had so dearly loved and protected was gone. It was an adult face that looked directly at them. It was adult eyes that questioned, and demanded answers to those questions. "Tell her the truth," he said.

"No!" Eada whispered, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. "Do not pain her further! How much more can you ask her to bear?"

"Do you want her mourning him forever?" demanded Aldwine angrily. "I do not! I want her to be free to renew her life, and go forward. She cannot if she does not know the truth."

"Yes! Tell me the truth," said Mairin fiercely.

"Once, before you were married," began Demetrios, "your husband and Bellisarius were lovers. There are some men who cleave only to women. There are some who can cleave only to other men. Then there are men like your husband who first enjoy women, but occasionally need the diversion of a male lover. When Prince Basil married you he had fallen in love with you. In marrying you he deserted Bellisarius.

"To our knowledge, never in the months of your marriage did the prince visit his former lover. We can only guess why he went the day of his death. We believe it was to tell Bellisarius that it was indeed finished between them. Certainly Bellisarius must have felt betrayed and hurt by the prince's words. Perhaps he was even angry. We must a.s.sume that Bellisarius hid his true feelings. Unknown to the prince he poisoned two goblets of wine, and then cajoled your husband into a farewell drink. Both died swiftly, and relatively without pain."

Mairin nodded as if the physician's explanation was totally plausible and acceptable to her. "Thank you," she said. There was a frightening remoteness about her.

"Will you not weep for your husband, princess?" questioned Demetrios gently.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I cannot weep for Basil. Your explanation of his death is pure conjecture, Demetrios, for you were not there. You cannot be certain that my husband deserted his lover upon our marriage. My marriage was never consummated. I shall spend my life wondering if Basil's reasons for it were honest. Did he really love me? Was his concern truly for my well-being? Or perhaps having gained possession of his perfect princess was he repelled by her? I shall always wonder when I remember our short time together where he went each time he left me. Was he really where he said he had been, or was he with Bellisarius? I shall always wonder if he really meant to leave Constantinople for our own home, or if it was to merely be a gilded prison for me. Was the thought of being separated so terrible that Basil and Bellisarius died together rather than be parted?

"Basil said he loved me. In my innocence I believed him. There are other things I will remember. I will remember his kisses, and his hands upon my body. Having this new knowledge you have given me, Demetrios, I will wonder if he truly enjoyed the innocent lovemaking that we shared. Or whether each time he touched me he but held back his disgust, and wished I were the actor. Perhaps one day when my pain is not so great I will weep for my husband, physician. I may even forgive him, but now is not the time. I cannot waste my precious tears upon a man who has brutalized my innocence and destroyed my dreams."

Demetrios nodded his understanding. "Someday you will love anew, princess. When you do, these memories will fade in their importance for you. It is then that you will weep for Prince Basil. As for me my task is finished. You have faced the truth, and can heal. Now leave Constantinople, and return to your England. You will find happiness again one day."

"Yes," said Mairin, "I want to go home to England. I shall never leave Aelfleah again."

"You will leave Aelfleah when you marry to go to your husband's home," said Aldwine.

"Marry?" said Mairin bitterly. "I will never marry again, father! Never!"

The thegn silenced his wife's impending protest with a look. He put an arm about his daughter, gently hugging her. "We need make no decisions now," he said. "In time you will change your mind, Mairin. Basil's death has left you a wealthy woman. That wealth will buy you a good match."

"I want nothing of Basil's wealth!" she cried.

"Do not be foolish," he replied sharply. "As his legal widow that wealth is now yours. Wealth will buy you a secure future."

"Give it to his mother! I want nothing but to go home and live out my days in peace!"

"Take your daughter to her bed," said Aldwine sternly to Eada. "She is hysterical, and obviously still not herself."

In the end, however, the thegn compromised with his stubborn daughter. He took from the prince's treasury enough gold to give Mairin a dowry worthy of a princess. He took for his child all the fabulous jewelry that her husband had lavished upon her. Everything else he gave at Mairin's request to Princess Ileana. Everything but the palace that Basil had built for his bride across the Bosporus. That Mairin ordered torn down, and the land donated in Basil's memory to the church.

"Why do you simply not sell it?" Eada asked her daughter.

"Sell a monument to a love that never really existed?" she said scornfully and bitterly. "No one should ever live in it, mother. It is curst!" That was the last she spoke of it, but her final days in Constantinople were spent on a terrace overlooking the sea where she watched for hours with grim satisfaction the destruction of the palace that Basil Ducas had built for her.

She shed no tears as she and Eada left Constantinople. Indeed having bid her father a tender farewell she never once looked back as they pa.s.sed through the Golden Gate out onto the road that led west and away from the city. She rode upon a new horse, a delicately built two-year-old dappled gray stallion that the emperor had given to Mairin as a parting gift. The animal, called Thunderer, had been bred from a pair of horses that Constantine had received in tribute from an Arabian king. He was exquisitely and finely made, having as much if not more stamina as the large beasts that they usually rode.

"I hope." the emperor wrote to Mairin, "that you will enjoy Thunderer, and that therefore your memories of Constantinople will be happier than they might have been."

"A stallion," said Eada, who was slightly shocked. "Why has he sent her a stallion? A mare would have been far more suitable."

"But the stallion is more valuable," said Aldwine, "for we can breed him with our own mares. It is a generous, nay, a very generous gift."

"Blood money," said Eada. "He feels guilty, for Basil was his cousin."

The horse was beautifully trained. The lightest touch of the rein brought obedience to whatever command Mairin might make. The first morning as they left the city she gave Thunderer his head, allowing him a leisurely gallop, and quickly leaving the main party behind her. Half a dozen Varangians rode with her because she was a woman who they felt needed their protection. Mairin thought it ridiculous. The highways and roads of Byzantium were the safest in the world. It was said that a virgin might traverse their length in safety without ever being accosted.

As she rode Mairin realized how confined and constricted her life in Constantinople had actually been. It had been almost two years since she had ridden free. Her rides with Basil had been sedate ones. Now she might gallop with the wind in her hair. She realized how much she had missed her freedom. She had been like some rare and beautiful creature to Basil, a creature to be kept within lavish confines, to never be released from its golden leash to roam free. She let Thunderer gallop on for several more miles. Then as Mairin felt the animal tiring she slowed him to an easier pace.

"You ride like a Valkyrie," said a voice by her side.

She turned to see an attractive guardsman riding knee to knee with her. He seemed vaguely familiar. Her brow furrowed in an attempt to place him.

"Eric Longsword, princess." His voice jogged her memory.

Of course! The bold young guardsman who had first looked upon her as a woman when they came to Constantinople. When she was so innocent of the pain that men can cause women. She acknowledged him with a curt nod of her head. She had once thought him daring, but now she realized he was naught but opportunistic. He would have ogled any pretty girl.

He was not daunted. "I was sorry to hear of your great loss," he said.

"I am not sorrowful, Eric Longsword," she answered. "I am glad to be going home to England."