Free The Walls of Byzantium by James Heneage

marry was fast approaching the house.
    Her mother appeared at the door to the balcony.
    Maria Laskaris was a woman of legendary poise but the events of the past weeks had tested her to the limits. Her daughter was so young – but Maria herself had been far younger when she’d married and hadn’t she been happy? And she knew about duty. When she and Simon Laskaris had wed, it was to seal a peace agreement between her father, a powerful Norman lord with extensive lands in the north, and the then Despot Manuel. Now her dead father’s lands were part of the despotate.
    She looked at her daughter and marvelled again at what had happened to her over the past two years. She had grown up, not just in body, but in mind as well. She was still impulsive and stubborn, but there was also a wisdom that her mother found reassuring given what might lie ahead. She’d not heard good things about her future son-in-law.
    ‘Come, Anna,’ she said. ‘We’d better go down to the courtyard to wait for them.’
    She took her daughter’s arm and led her through the triclinium, down the stone steps and into the large courtyard with its imposing gateway on to the square. A tall cedar stood in the middle.
    Outside the gate, they could hear the procession drawing nearer, the cheers and laughter of the crowd giving way to the sound of hoof on stone. And then Simon Laskaris was there, riding under the arch in his rich tunic and tall hat, with an uncertain smile pinned to his face.
    Beside him rode Damian Mamonas, whose own face was setfast in a smile of no warmth and whose dark eyes immediately sought Anna out as they accustomed themselves to the shade of the cedar tree. Whether what he saw pleased him, Anna couldn’t tell, for his expression remained fixed. She felt sick.
    He looked less than impressive. While handsome, he had a livid scar down one cheek and a pallor that suggested long hours indoors. His long black hair, which fell almost to his waist, seemed too heavy for his head and he rode awkwardly.
    Damian dismounted in front of her and stumbled, waving away the arm of a servant. He fixed his gaze on Anna and she smiled back. Then he walked towards her, his limp causing one side of his body to dip low with every step. Anna looked hard into his face and still she smiled. She extended a hand.
    ‘My lord, you are most welcome.’
    Damian did not reply. He merely took her hand and bowed to kiss it. His lips were cold.
    There was an awkward silence in which Anna looked at her father and then her brother who was now by his side. Alexis gave the merest hint of a shrug.
    Then her father said: ‘Anna, Damian has had a long ride. Why don’t you take him inside where we can sit?’
    Damian turned to him. ‘Sir, the ride was not hard. I ride further than that daily. I’m just hot.’
    The Protostrator gestured towards the stone steps leading up to the door to the house. ‘Of course, of course. Please do me the honour of entering my house.’
    But Damian didn’t move. He was staring at the steep steps.
    Anna stepped forward. ‘Sir, I fear the heat is affecting me also. Would you help me in climbing these steps?’
    Then she took his arm and began, slowly, to mount the steps.
    Inside the triclinium, laid out on a long table that ran the length of the room, was a spread of cold game birds, fish, cheeses, fruit and sweetmeats all displayed on plate of gold and silver. At intervals stood jugs of cool Cypriot wine surrounded by bunches of grapes and twisted vines. Servants, dressed in the Laskaris livery, stood against the walls.
    Damian was shown to his chair by Anna, who then sat down beside him. She poured him wine.
    ‘Was your ride pleasant, lord?’ she ventured.
    But Damian was looking around him curiously, searching the faces of the guests who had started to arrive. ‘I don’t see the Despot.’
    Anna wondered what she should say. It would be inconceivable for the royal couple to attend. Surely Damian must know this?
    She decided to lie.