by David Capel
He nodded, half in my direction, and placed his hand none too gently on Maria’s shoulder. Her face snapped shut, her lovely smile vanished from the man in front. She turned to the Caesar and a frown creased her perfect brow as she listened to him, and glanced in my direction.
And then I came to the nub of it. I realised that the only reason I was in this place, walking unthinkingly into a role and a life that held no appeal for me, was because I wanted to see Maria. I have heard often enough, and seen with my own eyes, that tendency for a man to undertake the most foolish things in the vain hope of a kiss from a beautiful woman. All calculation, all power of reason, all ability to weigh the likely outcomes and benefits of a particular course of action are foregone. Nature asserts itself over humanity for long enough to achieve its aims.
Maria looked at me, and for a split second her expression remained unchanged from when her husband’s uncle had interrupted her a moment ago. Serious, strained, focussed. I looked into her eyes across that golden room and saw two black hollows, cold in their darkness, and as tired as the night.
I was aware of those around me, silly young men, or sillier older ones, cast under the spell of her beauty and the lust for power. Well, it would not conquer me, however temporarily. What could I possibly hope for from an Empress? Would she present herself to me, like Jalila, or succumb in maidenly innocence as Safia had? How absurd were the unconscious fantasies of my imagination. Instead I would be a fluttering courtier, dazzled by her golden throne and the occasional flattering glance and laugh. Thus would I be entranced until betrayal and danger of death ensnared me once more.
Her faced changed under instruction, his and hers. Her mouth widened in a broad smile, her perfect teeth flashing in welcome, the skin around here eyes wrinkling through the paint in friendship. She nodded to a servant, then beckoned to me, spreading her arms wide in welcome.
Not for me! All I wanted then was my own catharsis. I drained my cup, turned and hurried back through the throng. I stumbled in my haste to leave that golden place, heedless of what was past, or passing, or to come. Past the guards I walked, then ran down the avenue into the countless people of Byzantium.
Table of Contents
Editor’s Note
Προλογος
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