‘If the bearers can manage us.’
Theodora leaned back against the padded seat and listened to the mutterings as Sophia spoke to the slaves. Then Sophia climbed in, squeezing in next to her.
‘Are you sure there is room?’
‘I do not wish to ride to the church alone.’
The litter shifted and swayed, and they were on their way. Soon she would be married; soon she would feel as though she belonged again. Theodora shivered.
Naturally, Sophia noticed. ‘That wind is very strong,’ she murmured, reaching to close the curtains.
Theodora held out a staying hand, her bangles clinked. ‘Leave them, Sophia. The Court expects a show and a show we must give them.’
It was easier than she had imagined, sitting in the gently rocking palanquin as her wedding party wound its slow way to church. Theodora’s other ladies processed on foot behind, betraying their presence with the odd muffled squeal as one lady stepped in a puddle; as another got her gown wet; as another slipped on wet paving...
Theodora leaned forward to smile at some women gathered in one of the gardens; she lifted a hand to acknowledge the bowing noblemen by the bronze fountain. Moving inexorably towards her marriage, her smile never faltered, her face felt stiff, but she smiled on. Her heart thudded, her mouth was dry.
The litter-bearers bore the palanquin with scarcely a jolt under the shadow of the Palace gate and out into the square outside Hagia Sophia. More people—the square was crammed.
‘Holy Mother, half the City is staring at us,’ she murmured.
‘The people love you, my lady,’ Sophia said.
They do not know what they are looking at. Would they love me if they knew the truth? I doubt it.
If only she did not feel so alien, so distanced from everyone. She reminded herself she would feel more at home after the ceremony. ‘They do not know me, Sophia.’ Careful, be careful what you say.
‘My lady?’
‘I mean only that I have been out of the Empire so long, how can they love me?’
‘They love you.’ Sophia’s voice rang with sincerity.
Theodora was beginning to feel that her face would crack with the effort of smiling. ‘If they knew what they were looking at, they might not be so pleased.’ Sophia’s eyes became thoughtful and Theodora fell silent—she had said too much.
Outside the Palace grounds, lines of soldiers flanked the way, keeping it clear for the palanquin. The Empire’s regiments were out in force for the wedding of their Commander-in-Chief. First there were foot soldiers, she glimpsed the red dress uniform of the Varangian Guard, grey clouds reflected in the blades of their battle-axes. Rank after rank of them. Hoofbeats announced the arrival of the Immortals, a white standard flew from a cavalry officer’s lance—silver and gold swirled at the edge of her sight. They must almost be there. Her heart banged against her ribs.
‘That’s the Duke’s regiment.’ By now her face—the face with the smile on it—felt as if it was no longer hers.
‘Yes, my lady.’
The litter moved gently on. Theodora smiled. Sprays of flowers were tossed through the doorway—lilies, rosemary, bay. She no longer saw the onlookers; she no longer noticed the regiments forming her guard.
And then it happened.
Her eyes locked on a pair of hard, dead eyes. Boda!
Her skin iced over. Boda’s smile was cold as a glacier. Something thudded on to the floor, missing a purple slipper by an inch. A stone with a scrap of vellum tied to it. The litter seemed to lurch.
Sophia frowned and made to kick the stone out.
‘No. If someone has sent me a message, it is my duty to read it,’ Theodora said, amazed that her smile was still in place. She held out her hand.
‘Princess, I do not advise...’
Theodora flexed her fingers. ‘Sophia, if you please.’
Sophia picked up the stone and handed it over.
Remembering to nod brightly at the passing crowd, Theodora loosed the vellum from the stone and smoothed it out on her purple skirts.
Bold black ink jumped out at her—We know your secret.
She swallowed down a gasp. ‘Close the curtains!’ Which secret?
‘But, despoina, I thought—’
‘Close the curtains!’ Which secret?
Sophia whipped the curtains closed. The light dimmed.
The palanquin rocked, they had come to a halt.
On the right side, a masculine hand reached in and shoved back the curtain. Theodora forgot to breathe. The sleeve was dazzlingly white and edged with gold braiding. Warm dark eyes met hers. Questioning, steady eyes.
‘Duke Nikolaos!’ Theodora’s breath released in a rush, she had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life. Not Boda, it is the Duke.
The Duke was on foot, his wide shoulders blocked Hagia Sophia from view. He extended his hand. ‘Princess, with your permission, I wish to enter the church at your side.’
For a moment, Theodora could only sit with her hands clasped at her breast, while her heartbeat settled. Not Boda. The Duke had such a warm, reassuring gaze. She had seen the warmth before and had no difficulty understanding it—it was the warmth a man felt when he was looking at a woman he desired. The kiss they had shared in the Fountain Court had revealed that. Further, it had revealed that she desired him, she wanted to trust him.
In contrast with his officers, Duke Nikolaos was not wearing heavy armour. He was bareheaded and had come to marry her in a white silk tunic emblazoned with the silver and gold braiding of his regiment.
Slowly, for she felt as though she was crossing an impassable gulf, Theodora gave him her hand.
It wasn’t the warmth she had seen that enabled her to take his hand, nor was it the steadiness. Oddly, it was that questioning look. Theodora’s past was littered with many mistakes, but she knew her judgement of this man was sound. Duke Nikolaos had the strength one would expect to find in the Commander-in-Chief of the Tagmata. It was a subtle strength she had not thought to look for in a military man. It was most attractive. Impossibly compelling. Her hand trembled with a curious mixture of relief and apprehension. And, if she were honest, anticipation...
Soon, we shall be married. This man desires me—ours will not be a marriage in name only.
Sophia hurried to help her from the palanquin. A cheer went up. People began clapping and stamping. The clouds were starting to part and a spear of sunlight gilded Hagia Sophia’s domes and the mosaics over the doors. An awning and covered walkway had been rigged up so they would not get wet if the rain returned. Theodora noted these things with part of her mind, the rest was focused on the Duke. He was every inch the warrior in his blindingly white uniform, a tall distinctive officer whose presence filled her mind with dark desires and secret longings that she, as an Imperial princess, had never thought to experience.
A sudden shyness took her and she could no longer look at him, not properly. Her gaze fixed on the gold braid on his sleeve, on the possessive strength of the hand holding hers. When Sophia had finished arranging her skirts and train, she forced herself to overcome her shyness and shot him a glance from under her lashes.
Her mouth went dry and her belly seemed to turn over. The Commander-in-Chief of the Tagmata was so handsome. It was impossible to ignore the fluttering in her belly...
What will it be like when I bed with this man?
What was the matter with her? Rather than thinking about the marriage bed, she ought to be contemplating the sacred nature of the vows she was about to make. Thank the Lord, she would have eight days to get used to the idea of sharing a bed with him, the fluttery sensation was bound to go away. She had never felt it with Peter, nor had she ever been troubled with such...unseemly thoughts.
Theodora had never really understood the nature of lust—she had assumed it was an affliction only suffered by men. The Duke was giving her reason to doubt this. The thoughts and responses Duke Nikolaos evoked in her were surely sinful. And entirely inappropriate. T
he Church Fathers knew what they were doing, the decree that married couples should remain chaste for eight days after their wedding was designed to quell troublesome desires.
It would be eight days before she and the Duke would be permitted to share their bodies with each other.
Eight days...eight days...
Princess Theodora Doukaina was getting ahead of herself.
It was with such inappropriate thoughts in mind that she turned to give the citizens of Constantinople a last, brilliant smile before turning to enter the great domed church.
Chapter Eight
Nikolaos glanced down at his bride, dismayed by the way she had recoiled at first sight of him. When he had opened the curtain of her palanquin, the Princess had shrunk back into the shadows, scowling up him as though he were a monster. If she had tried, she could not have made it more plain—she was being forced into this marriage.
He wished he could fathom her. The marriage had been brought forward at her urging; she had returned his kiss in the Fountain Court—he had not imagined that slender body melting against him. His blood heated at the memory.
And now she was looking...hunted was the word that sprang to mind. Princess Theodora looked as though she were being pushed to marry the Minotaur.
Only a few moments ago, as the palanquin had approached the church, she had been smiling. Playing the part of the beautiful, happy Princess. And she had looked happy. That had not been wishful thinking on his part.
She looked happy until she saw me. Then she had her lady whisk back the curtain to shut me out.
Nikolaos kept smiling as she stepped out of the palanquin, it was the best way to hide a welter of confusing thoughts. Lord, she was lovely—he ached to possess her. The simple golden circlet suited her better than the amethyst-encrusted diadem. He liked the simplicity of the violets, too. Princess Theodora’s quiet, dark beauty did not need heavy ornament. This woman could command attention without the Imperial robes, without the jewels; she had a glow that was all of her own.
As her lady shook out her purple skirts, a lily fell to the ground; the people had been honouring her with flowers. The people loved her.
‘With your permission, Princess,’ Nikolaos said, setting her hand firmly on his arm. She was trembling and that clear olive skin was drawn beneath the rouge her ladies had put on her cheeks. He prayed that she was not afraid of him. A cold band tightened about his chest—had she
really looked at him as though she loathed him?
She is a virgin—can she be worrying about what will happen when we consummate the marriage?
Princess Theodora had no mother to advise her on what would happen between her and her husband. Had her ladies advised her? Nikolaos understood that the Princess’s closest ladies were unmarried, so that seemed unlikely. Who could say what she knew or did not know? It might be better if he consummated their marriage sooner rather than later, then her fears would not have chance to build. If he could teach her that she had nothing to fear from the marriage bed...if he could teach her that it was safe for her to enjoy her body with him and for him to enjoy his with her...
Cleo had enjoyed his body, but Cleo had been a woman with a tarnished reputation. He was marrying a princess, a shy and innocent princess—a princess might not respond as enthusiastically as Cleo had done.
His officers saluted. A horn sounded. Silver trumpets flashed in the brightening day and a fanfare rang out. More flowers were strewn in their path.
‘Princess?’
She swallowed. Her kohl-lined eyes were not fixed on him, but on the mill of people beyond the awning. ‘Out there...’ she murmured.
The moment she spoke, Nikolaos realised that someone else was at the root of her anxiety, someone in the crowd. The tight band fell away from his chest. It was not me pushing back the curtain that wiped the smile from her face...it was not me...
He bent his head towards her, smiling for the crowd, playing the part of the loving bridegroom. If she, a bundle of nerves, could play her part, he would play his. ‘You saw Prince Djuradj’s man?’
‘I saw Boda.’ she spoke quickly and quietly. ‘Prince
Djuradj definitely has men in the City.’
Nikolaos guided her on to the Persian carpet that led under the awning. Her hand was icy—this Boda had scared her half out of her wits. That was what Nikolaos wanted to believe and today, that was what he would believe. Today, he would not listen to the tiny voice inside him, the one constantly urging him to caution. He was not going to wonder whether the Princess might be colluding with Prince Djuradj in some way, and that guilt might be the cause of her unease. Not today. It was their wedding day.
‘Boda will not be allowed into Hagia Sophia, Princess, only those who have been invited may enter the church today.’
* * *
It was cool inside the church of Hagia Sophia and the air resonated with the chanting of monks. Theodora swallowed and repressed a shiver. The ancient dome and mosaic walls transported the monks’ voices and sent otherworldly echoes back to them—it sounded as though choirs of angels were singing up in the galleries.
I do not deserve angels.
As Theodora and her bridegroom made their way across the tiled floor, Theodora focused on the sound of their footsteps, on the rustling of her gown. Simple, everyday sounds which made a soft counterpoint to the unearthly voices.
Hagia Sophia was a vast dusky cavern of a church where countless flickering lights pushed back shadows. It was a palace for God in all His mystery. Gold winked out from a myriad mosaics; it gleamed in the halo of a seraph high in the dome; it dazzled in an Emperor’s crown glimpsed behind a marble pillar; it twinkled in an Empress’s collar. Glass tesserae fractured and trapped the light—the blue in the Saviour’s robe, a green gem in an Empress’s ring, the red of a chair...
Theodora and the Duke came to a halt beneath one of a hundred hanging lamps suspended from the dome. Standing at the heart of the Empire, they were handed candles. They bowed their heads before the Bishop of Constantinople—the Patriarch. Silver threads glittered in the Patriarch’s vestments and in the robes of the attending priests.
Absurdly conscious of the man standing calmly at her elbow, Theodora focused on the flame of her candle and her coming vows. She would not think about the past. The enormity of what she was doing hovered at the back of her mind. She would not think about Peter; she would not think about Župan Djuradj. I am marrying Duke Nikolaos of
Larissa. The heat from the candle warmed her face.
She needed this marriage to work, and she would make it work. Župan Peter had not been strong; the Duke, however, was. Martina and I need this man; this marriage will be a success.
The ceremony passed in a haze of incense smoke and painstaking ritual. Theodora had forgotten how long the full rites took. The prayers. The speaking of vows and exchanging of rings. Theodora kept her eyes on her candle, watching the yellow flame as it wavered in a draught and strengthened again.
Behind her, someone in the congregation coughed; she heard the shuffling of feet. More prayers were accompanied by several swirls of incense. There was more chanting. The Patriarch blessed the wedding crowns and she felt the weight of hers being set on her head. The Duke’s hand was warm.
‘Princess?’ His voice. The voice of her new husband.
Theodora tore her gaze from the yellow flame. Even though she knew what to expect, it gave her a jolt seeing him in his wedding crown. He was so much the warrior that it had been hard to imagine what he would look like wearing one. He bore it well. That dark head was held high and proud, he was smiling and the gems in the rim of the crown sparkled and flashed. Vine leaves etched into the gold promised fruitfulness; olive leaves promised peace. He looked distinctive. Genuinely happy.
‘Princess, with your permission, we should walk round the church,’ he murmured.
Theodora smiled her agreement and that strong warrior’s hand tightened on hers as they processed round the church in ceremonial ritual. The
re was more smiling for the benefit of the congregation. Clouds of incense rose into the dome. More chanting. More angelic echoes from the galleries.
She had done it, she was married to the Duke. They had got through the ceremony without any interruptions—there had been no last-minute revelations courtesy of Prince
Djuradj. I am married to the Emperor’s Commander-in-Chief. At last I am truly home.
There were more prayers, some of them for fertility. Theodora felt herself flush. Did the Duke want a fertile bride? Did he worry that she might not be able to conceive? She hated that she had not been able to be frank with him. She hated that she must make her vows to him when he knew so little about her. He had no idea about her child; he had no idea of the guilt she was feeling being married to him. She did not know him well enough to have told him what it had been like being bound to another man.
She pushed Peter from her mind.
Wreaths of incense coiled around them, catching in her nostrils. Was it guilt that made the service seem interminable? There was yet more chanting and more prayers and then the rites were over and they were walking back to the purple palanquin. They would ride in it together back to the Palace.
It was bright outside, and the wind had swept the clouds from the sky. As they stood in the doorway facing the Imperial Gate, a cheer went up.
‘Theodora! Nikolaos!’
Flowers flew through the air. The Duke caught a lily and, bowing, handed it to her.
The people went wild. ‘A kiss! A kiss!’ they shouted.
Theodora gripped the lily and smiled, even as she scoured the crowd for Boda. Where is he? Is he still there? What might he do? It was all very well for common sense to tell her that, with the army out in force, Boda and his henchmen could do nothing. The familiar dread was back, a cold lump in the pit of her stomach.
Duke Nikolaos interposed himself between her and the crowd. ‘No one will disturb us, my lady,’ he murmured. ‘Come.’
And then they were sitting alone in the palanquin, he had dismissed Sophia.
Betrothed to the Barbarian Page 13