“Aye, my princess.”
“How long have I been like this?”
“Two days.”
“What has been done in my illness?”
“The council has prepared for a state funeral. It is tomorrow. They have also appointed you their ruler.” Anna paused. There was no gentle way to tell her mistress the terrible thing she did not yet know, and so Anna simply gazed into the eyes of the princess and said, “I wish I had anything but this to tell you, my princess. Anything but this.”
“Not Ariadne?” murmured Adora, beginning to feel strangely numb. Anna nodded.
“It happened suddenly, at the moment the ship was spotted on the horizon.”
Adora nodded, now entirely devoid of feeling.
“I see. Thank you, Anna.” A moment later she asked, “Where is my lord?”
“His bier is in the palace audience chamber. The people have been passing through since yesterday.”
“Clear the hall. I would have a few minutes alone with my husband.”
Anna nodded and went silently out. She was worried by Theadora’s strange calm. The princess had yet to shed a tear. It was not natural.
Quickly she found Basil. “The princess has awakened from her swoon, my lord. She desires that the audience chamber be emptied so she may be alone with the prince.”
The chamberlain nodded. “It will be done immediately.”
Shortly after that Theadora walked alone to where her husband’s bier rested. She saw no one. In deference to her feelings even the guards had withdrawn. Pushing open the doors to the hail she entered the room. Alexander‘s bier had been placed in the center. The hall was filled with tall, beeswax candles that flickered in an oddly cheerful fashion. The room was cold.
Slowly Adora walked to the bier and gazed down at the body. They had dressed him in an azure-blue velvet robe, the Mesembrian arms embroidered in gold thread on the front of the robe. The robe cuffs, hem, and neckline were edged in ermine. Upon his softly curling blond hair they had placed the crown of Mesembria’s despot. On his chest was a gold chain and the city’s sapphire seal. His wedding ring was on his hand. On his feet were fine soft leather boots.
Adora viewed the body from all angles, walking slowly around the bier. What she saw convinced her firmly of the existence of a soul: for though the body was his, this was not truly Alexander. Without the spark of life this was only an empty shell, a cocoon without its butterfly.
She knelt at the prie-dieu set before the bier, but she did not pray. She spoke silently to him. I want to be with you. It is too great a burden to bear alone. I have not even the comfort of our child.
It is not meant to be, beauty, came his reply. Your fate is to follow a different path. I know that now.
“No!” she shouted aloud. “I will not accept that fate.”
Ah, beauty, he chided her, why do you always struggle so hard against your fate? What is meant will be. The logic of our Greek ancestors should tell you that.
Suddenly she began to weep. “Do not leave me, Alexander! Please do not leave me!”
Ah beauty, would you keep me a prisoner between the two worlds? I cannot go unless you let me. Release me from this earth of which I am no longer a part.
“No! No!”
I love you, beauty, and if you love me you must let me go. What has been between us can never be taken away. Our story is firmly engraved in the pages of the world’s history. You will always have your memories.
“Alexander!” It was an anguished cry.
Adora, please! She understood the plea. Tears poured down her face, but she did not feel them. Her heart ached so painfully that she thought it would burst. Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed to force the words out.
“Farewell, Alexander. Farewell, my beloved husband!”
“Farewell, beauty!” She heard his voice!
“Alexander!” she screamed then, but the room was silent. “Alexander!” came back the frantic, mocking echo. Slowly, she rose from her knees.
Tomorrow they would commend to God the soul of the last Heracles to rule in Mesembria, and then she would found a new dynasty whose first son, she vowed, would be called Alexander.
It rained heavily the next day, yet the streets of Mesembria were filled with silent mourners. They took strength from their queen. She sat straight on the white palfrey led by Basil. Her gown was black velvet—long-sleeved, plain, completely unadorned. She wore no jewelry but her wedding band and, upon her unbound dark hair, the small gold consort’s crown. The patriarch of Mesembria conducted the funeral mass in St. John the Baptist’s Cathedral, which had been built some four hundred years prior by Alexander’s ancestors.
Afterward the mourners made their way to the memorial park above the city where Alexander’s family had been buried. Here his coffin was placed in a marble tomb facing the sea. Ariadne’s little coffin was placed beside her father’s.
Adora performed her widow’s duties in stony silence. At the palace, she snapped when Anna questioned her. “Mourn for your husband in your way, old woman! I will mourn for mine in my way. And for my child, too, as I choose. Alexander has left me a great trust, and if I spend my time in idle weeping I shall fail him. I will never fail him!” But in the silent cold hours before dawn she wept secretly. Her grief was a private thing, not to be shared with anyone. From that moment on, Theadora refused to release herself from her feelings about either Alexander or Ariadne. What she felt about the loss of the two people closest to her heart was a matter she shared with nobody at all, from then until the day she died.
Each day she presided over her council, following the progress being made on the city’s renovations, meting out justice, working with the city’s merchants.
Then, one day, a delegation arrived from Constantinople led by a nobleman Lord Titus Timonides. Adora knew him to be an occasional lover of Helena’s. He brought two messages. The first, from Helena to her sister, was filled with a false sympathy Adora recognized immediately. She tossed the offending parchment aside and opened the second message. It was an imperial edict signed by the empress, appointing Lord Timonides governor of Mesembria. Wordlessly, Adora handed it to Basil. He quickly scanned it, then spoke aloud to the assembled council. “The empress wishes to appoint this man our governor.”
“No!” came the collective shout of outrage.
Basil turned to Timonides. “You see how it is, my lord. They do not want you. But far more important, the empress has no legal right to make such an appointment. Our charter, which is as old as this city and older than Constantinople itself, gives us the right to choose our own leaders. We have chosen the princess Theadora to rule over us.”
“But she is a woman,” came the condescending reply.
“Aye, my lord,” replied the old man. “How clever of you to notice that. She is a woman! A beautiful woman! Nonetheless a capable leader. She is Mesembria’s choice. It is not up to your empress to appoint us a ruler.”
“But the empress wants her sister to return home. In her great grief she surely needs the comfort of her family.”
Adora choked with outrage. “Helena has never had any but the most hostile feelings toward me, Titus Timonides. You know that. My beloved Alexander left me his city as a trust, and these good men of my royal council have confirmed that trust. I have not lived in Constantinople since was a child. With both my parents gone from there, the city holds no fascination for me. Mesembria is my true home, and here I will remain. Return to my sister, and tell her that. Also tell her that if she again attempts to interfere with our government, we will take the appropriate action.”
“You will regret this, princess,” snarled Timonides.
“Do you dare to threaten the queen of Mesembria?” thundered Basil. Timonides saw that about the council hands had gone to sword hilts. Their grim looks made it clear that he had gone too far. These men would not hesitate to kill him. “Get you back to your mistress, Byzantine, and give her our message. Mesembria will not be interfered wit
h!”
Titus Timonides did not hesitate. Gathering up his party of idle courtiers and hangers-on, he returned to his ship. They sailed back to Constantinople where he sought immediate audience with the empress.
Helena received him in her bedchamber. She was looking particularly stunning in a chamber robe of sheer black silk with a painted gold design. Her long blond hair was loose about her shoulders. Reclining on one elbow on her side, she allowed the seductive outline of hip, thigh, leg and breast to be visible. Timonides felt a sense of frustrated lust, for, reclining next to Helena was the smiling current captain of her guard. While Timonides offered his report the handsome young soldier, naked save for a breechcloth, fondled the empress’s ripe breasts. At one point he even pushed his hand between Helena’s soft thighs, and dallied there.
“Why are you back here instead of in Mesembria? And where is my sister?” demanded Helena.
“Their charter allows them to choose their own ruler. They have chosen your sister. They expect her to eventually remarry, and found them a new dynasty.”
“In other words, Titus, they sent you packing. That is very unfortunate, Titus. You know how I dislike failure. Paulus, that is too delicious.” Helena stroked the soldier’s cheek. “However, Titus, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself,” she continued. “You will take a message from me to the Bulgarian general, Symeon Asen. He will take care of this troublesome matter, and my sister will return home to Constantinople. Go now and rest. You must go alone on this new journey.”
Titus Timonides bowed himself from the empress’s presence, thankful to still be alive. Helena did indeed dislike failure. It was reassuring to know that the bitch had some feeling for him.
In the royal bedchamber Paulus moved to mount his mistress but she pushed him aside. Rising from the bed, she began to pace. “You will have to go to Mesembria by sea, and rescue Theadora.”
“Rescue her?” He looked puzzled.
“Yes, rescue her. The message Titus carries offers our friend General Asen the city of Mesembria if he will but take it. The Bulgarians captured Mesembria over five hundred years ago but held it only for a short period. They have always coveted it. My note will explain to the general that he may have the city and its people. I only want my sister returned safely to me. Of course, if he should choose to amuse himself with her for a short bit before be returns her, I cannot prevent it. Your job, my brave Paulus, will be to bring your ship into the imperial boat basin and remove Thea from the mouth of danger. Do not fail me, Paulus!”
“It shall be done, my empress,” smiled the handsome soldier. He drew Helena back onto the bed and, opening her gown, rubbed his face against her breasts. “What of Timonides? He is no fool, and will quickly make the connection between his message and Mesembria’s downfall.”
The empress’s red nipples hardened. “Poor Titus will not be returning to us. My message also asks that the messenger be executed. There must be no connection between General Asen and me. Paulus, darling! Ohhh, yes!”
The empress lay on her back now, murmuring with pleasure as her lover‘s lips moved over her body. “Such a clever girl, my beautiful Helena,” whispered Paulus. And then they lost themselves in carnal pleasures.
Adora, her council, and the laborers all worked hard. The weeks sped by, and Alexander’s plans for the city began to take shape. Three districts which had contained wooden tenements were now completely rebuilt. The public buildings were now under renovations, with the city’s ancient Hippodrome to be the first completed. There were plans to celebrate the reconstruction with a series of games, as had been held in earlier times.
But suddenly one night the countryside about Mesembria erupted into flames. From the city walls the burning villages and fields could be seen for miles. The following day Mesembria’s gates remained closed, and Adora stood with her soldiers on the city walls staring out into the silent land. Nothing moved, not man nor beast. Even the birds had stopped singing. Within the city the people moved quietly, nervously, about their tasks. Their queen refused to leave the walls—but stood watching. Then, on the winds came the frightening booms of the war drums, the steady tramp of marching. Boom! The drums resounded through the city.
“Bulgars! Christos! Bulgars!” swore Basil.
“War?” asked Adora.
“I do not know, Highness, but do not fear. They have not taken the city since the year eight hundred and twelve, and we were not fortified then as we are now. And we have the sea. The Bulgars are not sailors.”
“What must we do, Basil?”
“Wait. We will wait to see what it is they want. I think, however, that you would be safer in your palace. Now, Highness, do not argue with this old man. You are Mesembria’s hope, and you must be protected at all costs.”
Theadora patted the old man’s cheek. “Basil, were you young enough to give me sons, I should name you my consort.”
He chuckled. “Nay, Highness, I should make a poor one. You need a strong hand, and I have not one where you are concerned.”
She laughed. Blowing him a kiss, she climbed into her litter and returned to the palace. Several hours later an explosion shattered the city. At almost the same time a white-faced Basil arrived in Theadora’s private chamber.
“What has happened?”
“I cannot explain it, Highness. The Bulgars arrived at our outer gates. They sent no heralds with messages, they did not even fire upon us. Of course our archers held their fire.
“A strange looking little man—his skin yellow!—was escorted to our gates. We could not see what he was doing but he stepped back, dragging what looked like a soft rope with him. A torch was set to the rope, and there was this terrible explosion. When the smoke cleared our great bronze gates were open. Fortunately, I was on the upper walls, and leapt upon my horse to hurry here. There is little time. Whatever magic they used to get through the outer gate they will use to get through the inner gate. You must flee now, my princess! The sea is your best escape!”
At that moment another explosion rocked the city, and they could hear the triumphant shouts of the invading army, the screams and shrieks of the frightened people. Fires began to spring up, the flames pointing toward the palace.
Adora shook her head. “I will not leave my people, Basil. The Bulgars will not harm me. I am the ruler of this city and the emperor’s sister. They seek only to pillage and loot. We will pay whatever ransom they demand, and then they will go.”
“Nay, my princess. They want the city, and with Alexander gone they feel you are easy prey. I know not by what magic they gained entry through our bronze gates, but it is a stronger magic than we possess. You must leave!”
They argued, not even hearing the approaching Bulgars until the screams of the women in the outer chamber alerted them. Anna burst through the door and shielded Theadora with her big body. Between Anna’s tall body and Basil’s, Adora could see nothing, but she could hear the shrieks and moans of her abused women, and the cruel shouts of laughter from the Bulgars who attacked them. Then, as if they had been struck by the hand of God himself, both Anna and Basil crumbled to the floor leaving Adora visible.
She stared, horrified, at her two friends. Their murderers were casually wiping their bloodied swords on Anna’s skirts. Adora’s senses returned at the appearance of a huge bearlike man. He stood close to seven feet tall with arms and legs like tree trunks. He had a huge head and dark red hair, with a full red beard.
“Princess Theadora?” said a harsh voice. “I am General Symeon Asen.”
She did not know where her own voice came from.
“Why have you attacked my city?”
“Your city? No, princess, my city! However, I fancy it will be a lot easier to subdue the people with you at my side, so let us say I have come courting.” He nodded almost imperceptibly at his two men. Before she realized what they were doing, her gown was being torn off. In seconds she was naked, and when she sought to cover herself her arms were brutally pinioned back. The look in Genera
l Asen’s eyes terrified her, and she struggled not to faint. “By God!” swore the Bulgarian, “Even naked you can tell she’s a princess. What skin!” He reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. She struggled, which only seemed to amuse the men. Asen licked his lips. “See if you can find a priest left alive in this city. He’ll marry us in the morning. And get those bodies out of here. They disturb my bride-to-be.”
The two men released her arms and dragged the lifeless Anna and Basil from the room. Adora was left alone with her captor.
She backed away from him, and he laughed. “There’s no place to run, Theadora. But you are right to fear me. I am not an easy man to please. But somehow,” his voice became soft, “I think you’ll please me well. Come and give me a kiss now. I must see to my men before we can take our ease. Who is to criticize if we celebrate the wedding night before the wedding? Rulers, after all, set the fashions.”
Wordlessly she shook her head, but the general simply laughed. “A shy widow? It speaks well of your virtue, Theadora, and that, too, pleases me.” He reached out and drew her struggling body to him. His chain mail cut her breasts, and she cried out. Ignoring her, he pressed his open mouth on her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She gagged at the taste of sour wine and garlic. His mouth was wet and slimy, and his lips moved swiftly to race over her shrinking breasts. One arm about her waist, he bent her body this way and that as suited him, his other huge paw clasping one of her buttocks, kneading it more frantically as his excitement grew. She fought harder and, to her growing horror, felt his engorged maleness butting against her thigh. He laughed huskily. “Would that I could bury my giant’s spear in you right now, Theadora. But alas, duty first. That is why I am a good general.” He released her so suddenly that she fell to the rug. “Yes,” he murmured, “that is a woman’s place—at a man’s feet. I will be back shortly, my bride. Do not grow overeager,” he laughed uproariously as he left the room.
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