A Triple-headed Serpent. Marié Heese

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      “More of a clairvoyant, and not a gypsy. One is told that she is of aristocratic descent. She is reported to have given many clients valuable advice.”

      “She’ll recognise me at once, and then she’ll simply tell me whatever she thinks I wish to hear. And demand a fortune for doing so.”

      “She will not recognise you, Despoina.”

      “Even in a veil …”

      “Despoina,” said Narses, “she is blind.”

      “Oh. Well, then … But she can’t be brought to the palace. And I can’t be seen to go to her … rooms. Everyone will …”

      “I can arrange a neutral venue, and you can be discreetly transported to it,” said Narses.

      “Well … perhaps … What will you tell her? About me?”

      “Merely that you are a lady of standing in society, who has a desire to consult her about the best route to the future.”

      Theodora sighed deeply. “Very well, then. Arrange it. I’ll go.”

      “Despoina,” said Narses, “do not allow your ladies to apply your attar of roses. Nor any unguent containing myrrh. It will betray you as a very rich person. One would not want to provide clues.”

      Theodora walked alone through an archway into a small room that was shuttered against the daylight and peering eyes. An oil lamp made a dusty gold patch in the resultant gloom. The sibyl was seated at a round table, her hands folded on the linen cloth that covered it. She lifted her head with its braided crown of white hair and tilted it alertly.

      “Ah,” she said. “Good day.”

      Such hearing she must have, thought Theodora. I have stepped very softly on thick carpet. Surely she could hear a canary breathe. There was the scent of incense in the air, and burning oil from the slightly smoky lamp.

      “Good day,” said Theodora. “I give you no name. Call me Kyria. What should I call you?”

      “I am Alicia, Kyria. You should please be seated, and give me your hands. That is how I work.”

      “So I have been told,” said Theodora, doing as she was instructed, with some trepidation.

      The woman’s touch was cool. The milky pearls that were her eyes seemed to be directed over Theodora’s shoulder, perceiving images invisible to ordinary sight. She turned Theodora’s hands palms up and moved her fingers across them, then gave a slight shiver.

      “Kyria, your life has been an extraordinary journey. A journey of extremes. You have experienced the heights and depths of fortune. Much travail and pain, and also great joy.”

      Theodora made an indeterminate sound, having decided not to offer responses that might provide clues to her real identity.

      Then the woman said: “Three. A number of supreme importance in your life. For instance … You are one of three.”

      “Sisters,” said Theodora inadvertently.

      “Ah. Yes. One of three. Also … You have been … previously … possessed by three.”

      Three men, thought Theodora, but she did not assent. Before Justinian. Yes, three. The champion charioteer who had taken her virginity had never possessed her. But after that she had indeed been a courtesan, kept by three men in turn. “Ummm,” she murmured.

      “Then there are three others who have recently been important in your life. In the position of … servants, perhaps? No, officials, I think.”

      Eudaemon, Tribonian and Cappadocian John, thought Theodora. All sacked at the demand of the rioting mob. “What of them?” she asked.

      “One of them is treacherous. Powerful and treacherous. If you do not rid yourself of him soon, it will come to a showdown between the two of you.”

      Cappadocian John, thought Theodora immediately. He’s the one. “And who will triumph?” she asked.

      “The one with the stronger will.”

      Oh, typical, thought Theodora. She’s just like the old gypsies who used to hang around the Hippodrome. She expresses her statements in such a way that she must be right, whatever happens.

      “He will do battle by devious and underhand means. You should be prepared.”

      “I hear,” said Theodora. “I’ll keep a close watch.”

      There was a pause.

      Then the woman said: “Why did you come to see me, Kyria? Everyone has a particular question in mind.”

      “What about … children? What do you see?”

      She stroked the palms of Theodora’s upturned hands. “Again, three … vaguely. But only one is clear.”

      “Shall I have a son?” demanded Theodora, voicing her deepest desire.

      The sibyl frowned. She took Theodora’s hands in a firm clasp. “Kyria is strong, with vibrant life,” she said. “I feel it … it is not too late. It is possible … possible … but it is not clear.”

      “Oh, anyone could say it is possible,” said Theodora furiously. “You’re just being vague and evasive. Tell me something that is not general knowledge, something you could not just guess.”

      The woman continued: “Recently there has been great drama, and much blood. Yes, of course the entire city lived through this, I know it and you know it. But, Kyria, it has distressed you particularly. At the present time, you feel lost. Lost and … devastated. That is why, really, you have come to me.”

      Theodora struggled against tears. She said nothing, biting back a flood of words she was tempted to spill to a sympathetic ear. She swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered. “I didn’t realise … I didn’t mean …” Her words during the insurrection, aimed at strengthening the resolve of Justinian, counselling against flight, had not been intended to be transformed into swords that cut down thirty thousand men. Yet that had happened. And now she could not sleep. “What can I do?”

      “If there has been sin, let the heart repent. A broken and contrite heart, the Lord will not despise.”

      “I didn’t … intend …” But what did you expect? asked her accusing conscience. You convinced the Emperor to take a stand, to put down the rebellion. How did you imagine he was going to do that? Without bloodshed? “It was so … extreme,” she said, shivering at the dreadful image of the Hippodrome painted red with blood. She had not seen it, but the word had spread throughout the cowed and shattered city.

      “Whatever your transgressions, Kyria, the greatness of His compassion will blot them out.”

      “Can it be so great?” whispered Theodora.

      “The greatness of His compassion knows no bounds. Only repent, and live to serve the Christ.”

      Wise words, thought Theodora, even if one did not СКАЧАТЬ