Adora

by Bertrice Small

  Ali Yahya bowed, filled with a grudging admiration for the empress. She was a wicked woman, but this knowledge allowed him to complete his mission. There would be no blood on his hands. “What drug will you use to put her to sleep?” he asked.

  She reached once more into the cabinet and, drawing out a small vial, handed it to him. Uncorking it, he sniffed. Satisfied, he handed it back to her. “I do not have to tell you what will happen to you if you attempt to trick me, or if you harm the princess,” he said quietly.

  She smiled nastily. “I will not harm her. Why? I will gain far more pleasure in the weeks ahead by knowing that she is a slave. She must obey her lord and master, or be punished. If she obeys, she suffers—for I believe she is a cold woman. But if she refuses her lord and master she will be beaten. I do not know which gives me more pleasure, the thought of Thea naked and enduring the sultan’s vigorous attentions, or Thea being whipped.”

  “Why do you hate her so?” Ali Yahya was unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

  For a moment Helena was silent. Then she said, “I am the elder, but my parents always preferred Thea. They never said so but I knew. When my mother died I nursed her, and what do you think her last words were? I will tell you, Ali Yahya! Her very last words to me were, ‘Theadora, my best loved! Now I will never see you again.’ No word for me! I loved her too! It was always Thea!

  “Then there was my father, always talking about her intelligence, and how she should have been his heir. Such drivel! What has she won with her wonderful brain? Nothing! Nothing! Now she endangers my city, and my husband defends her every move, and grows soft-eyed at the mere mention of her name. I want her out of my life. Now! Forever!”

  “You have gained your heart’s desire, Majesty. Within a few short months your sister will be back across the Marmara and well on her way to Bursa.” The eunuch rose and bowed. “How will I know the correct dock in the imperial yacht basin?”

  “There is a wharf decorated with statues of lions and other animals in the Boucoleon Harbor. Have your galley wait there on the date we agree upon. The passageway exits just a few feet from that wharf.” She reached into her robes and drew out a red silk pendant with a two-headed imperial eagle embroidered on it. “Have your galley fly this from its mast and no one will challenge you coming or going.”

  For the rest of the day Helena could barely contain her excitement. At last she would be rid of Thea. Never again would she have to fear her sister’s threat of so long ago…the threat of her returning to the sultan’s side, to snatch the city from Helena! Thea would finally be powerless! A slave! Why, when Sultan Murad tired of her, as he inevitably would, he might even sell her farther east! Helena laughed with joy. Her vengeance would be complete.

  That night the empress sent for a man who was one of Byzantium’s most respected physicians. Julian Tzimisces occasionally enjoyed Helena’s favors. Tonight she awaited him in a loose robe of palest turquoise-blue gauze through which her lush body gleamed like mother-of-pearl. Her nipples were painted vermillion, and they were provocatively visible through the silk. By her side was a beautiful little girl who, like Helena, was a blue-eyed blonde. The child was garbed as the empress was, even to having the tiny buds of her unformed breasts painted vermillion. Tzimisces’ particular perversion was children.

  Helena smiled a feline smile and said bluntly, “I need a very special poison, dear friend. It must kill quickly, harm only its intended victim, and leave no trace.”

  “You ask a lot, Majesty.”

  Again Helena smiled. “Do you like my little Julia?” she asked him. “She is a Georgian, and just ten. Such a sweet little girl,” and the empress kissed the child on her rosebud mouth.

  Julian Tzimisces shifted nervously, his eyes moving rapidly from the child’s unformed body to the empress’s large, gleaming red nipples. Helena lay back, drawing the child with her, and slowly caressed the little slave’s body.

  “I have something new from Italy,” said Julian Tzimisces a trifle breathlessly. “Is the victim male or female?” He was beginning to perspire beneath his robes, and he felt himself growing harder with each minute.

  “Male.”

  “It can be put in his bath water.”

  “No! He may bathe with his wife, and I do not wish her harmed. In fact, it is vital that she not be harmed.”

  “Then it can be put in his shaving water. It will take several days for the poison to be absorbed through the skin. There will be no signs of illness, nothing to raise suspicion. When the poison has been absorbed, the man will simply drop dead. Will that be satisfactory?”

  “Yes, Julian, that will be very satisfactory.”

  The physician could not take his eyes from the two females on the couch. He was in a terrible quandary for he wanted them both—the child first, then the woman. The empress laughed. She knew his tastes.

  “You have been very cooperative, old friend, and you shall be rewarded. You may have my sweet Julia. But you must not spend, Julian! That joy you must save for me.”

  The physician tore his robe open and flung himself on the child who, although she knew what to expect, nevertheless screamed in agony as the man drove himself into her. The screams continued for several moments, finally fading into pitiful little moans.

  Beside them Helena crouched on her heels, her eyes shining, her lips wet and slack. “Yes, Julian! Yes! Yes! Hurt her! Hurt her!”

  The child had fainted now, and Tzimisces’s passion was reaching its peak. Panting, Helena ripped her own robe off and, lying back, spread her legs wide. Shoving the child away, the man covered the eager woman’s body with his own. Together they writhed in an almost violent mortal combat until suddenly, with a shriek, the empress was spent. Her partner quickly followed.

  A few minutes later, after the sounds of their rasping, panting breath had died away, Helena said, “You will bring me the poison tomorrow night, Julian. Without fail.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” said the man by her side. “I will bring it. I swear!”

  “Good,” purred the empress, “and when my enemy is dead I will have another sweet little present for you, dear Julian. Little Julia has a twin brother. I am saving him for you.”

  Shortly thereafter the physician left the palace through a discreet side gate, and was carried in a litter through the silent night streets to his own residence. Once home, he entered his laboratory and searched in the cabinet. He drew forth the vial and held it up to the light. It glittered an evil yellow-green color. Placing the vial carefully on the table, he poured water from a pitcher into a small basin. Then, opening the vial, he allowed several drops of it into the water. The color disappeared as soon as it touched the clear water. The water remained colorless and odorless.

  Julian Tzimisces recorked the vial and carefully disposed of the basin’s contents. Walking to the window of his laboratory he looked out. The sky was gray and the dawn was beginning to break. He wondered who the poor soul was who had so deeply offended Helena. It was not likely he’d ever know, and it was better that way. He could feel no guilt about aiding in the murder of a faceless, nameless person. Sighing, Julian left his laboratory and went to bed.

  While the physician fell asleep, Theadora and Alexander were awakening in the bedchamber of their honeymoon villa, blissfully unaware of the destiny the empress had in store for them. Adora had never been happier in her whole life. In the few days of her marriage she had found an extraordinary peace of mind. There was no longer any conflict in her life. Alexander loved Theadora for herself alone. And she realized very quickly that she loved him. It was not at all as it had been with Murad. Murad had, after all, been her first love.

  No, life with Alexander was filled with a calm sweet love, one of pleasure, without conflict. It would always be good with him. He was gentle with her, though masterful. He encouraged her wit and intellect, even suggesting that she might enjoy establishing a school of higher learning for females. How well Alexander understood his wife! Yes, what had begun as a marri
age of convenience had indeed become a love affair!

  Now, in the early morning, the lord of Mesembria turned in their bed to face his wife. For a moment he watched her sleeping face. Then he leaned over and kissed her gently. Slowly her violet eyes opened, and she smiled at him.

  “Let us go to the sea and greet the dawn,” he said, rising up from their bed and drawing her after him. She reached for a pink gauze gown to cover her nakedness. “No, beauty. We will go as we are.”

  “Someone will see us,” she protested shyly.

  “No one will see us,” he answered firmly. Taking her hand, he led her out onto the terrace, through their small garden, and down a gently sloping incline to a little strip of sand that served them as a beach. They looked east across the Bosporus to the green hills of Asia tumbling down into the still, dark sea. Beyond, the pearl-gray sky was beginning to lighten and fill with color. Pinks and mauves mixed with the swirling oranges, lavenders, and golds.

  The couple stood quietly in their nude perfection, like exquisite statues. A light wind played gently over their bodies. All was quiet about them. Only an occasional bird song broke the silence.

  Slowly, Alexander turned his wife so that she faced him and, looking down at her, he said, “I have never known such happiness as I have these last few days with you. You are perfection, beauty, and I love you very much.”

  Wordlessly her arms slipped about his neck, and she drew his head down so they might kiss. What began in tenderness quickly flared into passion as their desire for each other grew. Soon it could no longer be contained. She could feel his hardness pushing against her thigh, and she moaned against his mouth.

  Their intertwined bodies fell slowly to the sand, and her legs opened eagerly. Slowly he entered into her. Her face was radiant with love. Their jewellike eyes locked onto one another, and Theadora felt her very soul being drawn from her body to meet with his in some star-filled place far beyond the mortal world. Together they floated until suddenly it was too sweet, too intense. Their passion crested, then broke over them like one of the waves that lapped at the sand just a few feet away.

  When they had regained their senses, she spoke in a half-amused, half-shocked voice. “What if someone saw us, Alexander?’

  He chuckled. “Then they will say that the lord of Mesembria serves his beautiful bride quite well.” He scrambled up, pulling her with him. “Let us bathe in the sea now, beauty. The beach is a very romantic place, but I have sand in the strangest places.”

  Laughing, they plunged into the water. And later, if the servants saw them coming naked through the gardens, they said nothing, for they were enchanted by the love between their master and mistress.

  Alexander was ambitious for his city and had plans to rebuild it. Mesembria had originally been colonized many centuries before by Ionian Greeks from Corinth and Sparta, and later it was conquered by Roman legions. The new lord of Mesembria spoke with his new wife of his plans to repave the broad avenues, restore the public buildings, and, after destroying the city’s slums, to build decent housing for the poor.

  “The avenues must be lined with poplars,” said Theadora. “And the lady of Mesembria will plant flowers about the fountains for her people to enjoy.”

  He smiled, pleased by her enthusiasm. “I want to make Mesembria so lovely that you will never miss Constantinople. I want it to be a happy city for you and for our people.”

  “But, my love, this will cost a great deal of money.”

  “I could not spend all the money I have if I lived to be a hundred, beauty. Before we return to Constantinople I must tell you where my funds are hidden so that, if anything should ever happen to me, you would not be dependent on anyone.”

  “My lord, you are young. We are but newly married. Nothing will happen to you.”

  “No,” he answered, “I don’t expect it will. Nevertheless what is mine, beauty, is yours as well.”

  In Mesembria the city rejoiced in Alexander’s marriage to Theadora Cantacuzene. His family had ruled the city in an unbroken line for over five hundred years, and was loved by its citizens. Through good and bad times, through war and peace, Alexander’s family had always put the welfare of its people before their own. Their reward had been a fierce loyalty unequaled by any other city for its rulers.

  Mesembria was set upon the shores of the Black Sea on a small peninsula at the northern end of the Gulf of Burgos. It was jointed to the mainland by a narrow isthmus which was fortified with guardtowers set into the walls every 25 feet. At the mainland end of the isthmus was a stone archway set with enormous bronze doors. These doors shut every day at sunset and opened at dawn. In time of war the doors remained closed. A matching gateway at the city end of the isthmus made the city a natural fortress.

  Originally settled by the Thracians, the city had been colonized in the sixth century before Christ by a group of Ionian Greeks from the cities of Sparta and Corinth. Under their guidance, the little market town had become a cultured, elegant city which later became a jewel in the crown of the Byzantine Empire. In 812 A.D. the Bulgarians had managed to capture Mesembria briefly, looting it of its vast treasury of gold and silver and, more important, of its supply of Greek fire. The ruling family of the time had been entirely wiped out, and when the Mesembrians had finally rid themselves of the barbarian invaders they had elected as their ruler their most popular general, Constantine Heracles. He was Alexander’s ancestor. The Heracles family had ruled Mesembria ever since.

  Now, with Alexander’s marriage, the populace became eager for their prince’s return. They set to work immediately to build a new palace worthy of Alexander and Theadora. The old royal residence had been located on a hill above the city. Knowing their lord’s love of the sea, and believing that rebuilding on the site of the old palace would be bad luck, the populace placed the palace in a newly created park on the water’s edge. The building was done similar to the classical Greek style. It was pale golden marble with porch pillars of an orange-red veined marble. It was not a large palace, for the Heracles had never been formal people. There was to be only one large reception hall where the lord of Mesembria might hold court, or render public judgements. The rest of the palace was to be private and was separated from this reception hall by a long open porchway.

  Before the palace in the center of an oval of green lawn was a large oval pool tiled in turquoise blue. In the center of the pool was a solid gold dolphin, its mouth wide in laughter. The ancient seagod, Triton, cavorted on its back. From the sides of the oval, small whorled shells of gold sprayed toward the center, just missing the fish.

  Behind the palace a beautiful garden stretched down to a finely graveled terrace which hung over a beach. In high tide, waves splashed the coral-colored marble balustrade.

  Everyone in Mesembria from the greatest artisans to the simple folk worked steadily, completing the new palace in the astonishingly short time of three months. Even the children helped, carrying small things, bringing food and drink to the workers, running errands. The women, too, were a vital part of the city’s effort to bring their rulers home quickly. They worked side by side, maid and matron, the fishmon-ger’s wife and the noblewoman. With delicate strokes they painted frescos on the walls, wove coverlets and draperies of fine Bursa silk and sheer wools, and beautiful tapestries to grace the walls.

  Alexander and Adora set sail for Mesembria a scant three months after the day of their wedding. The little villa on the Bosporus was closed, the servants sent overland to Mesembria. Only the couple who served the newlyweds as tiring woman and valet would accompany the prince and his bride aboard ship. Although she missed Iris, Adora felt fortunate in having Anna to serve her. A large, motherly woman who stood close to six feet tall, she treated her mistress lovingly, but with great respect. No one, Anna soon made plain to the other servants, could care for the mistress as she could. Her husband, Zeno, a thin man barely five-and-a-half feet tall, adored her unquestioningly. Anna ruled him with a benevolent iron hand.

  Helena
knew all this as she knew everything that might be of eventual use to her. As the despot and queen of Mesembria were not returning to Constantinople but sailing directly from their villa on the Bosphorus, the emperor and his wife paid them the compliment of coming to bid them a personal farewell. Seeing her younger sister‘s happiness made Helena alternate between frustrated rage and secret delight. She took great pleasure in knowing that she would, within a few months, destroy her sister‘s happiness.

  Reclining on a couch in the lovely rooms assigned to her at the villa, Helena instructed her personal eunuch. “Fetch the lord Alexander’s man, Zeno, and bring him to me. Be sure that neither of you is seen. I want no questions.”

  Her eyes glittered and the eunuch shivered inwardly. He had served the empress for five years and he knew her moods. She frightened him, especially when her eyes glowed with malicious glee. He had stood silently by her side on more than one occasion and watched while some unfortunate soul was tortured, often to death, simply to amuse Helena. The eunuch had survived by instant obedience, by doing his job very well, and by never voicing an opinion. Now he brought Zeno to his mistress and quickly left the room, grateful to escape.

  Zeno knelt, terrified, before the empress, glad he did not have to stand. He did not believe his legs could have held him. His head was bowed, his eyes lowered. His heart hammered with sickening thuds against his narrow ribcage. The room was deathly silent as Helena rose languidly from her couch and walked slowly around the prostrate man. Had he dared to raise his eyes he would have beheld an incredible vision of beauty for the empress was gowned in soft tones of turquoise-colored Bursa silk, her well-fleshed arms gleaming like creamy polished marble through the sheer gauze sleeves of the gown. About her neck she wore a long double rope of pearls interspersed with round gold beads. But all Zeno could see was the silken hem of her gown and glimpse of gold-and silver-striped clog shoes.