“They may desert you in your hour of need, not being God as He has been revealed to us,” said the Patriarch.
“Then your blessing may provide what my gods lack,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, keeping the irony out of his voice.
Patriarch Stavros completed the blessing and then shifted his chair a short distance as if to lessen his contact with Ragoczy Franciscus. “May God show you favor.”
Ragoczy Franciscus rose and went to stand beside the fireplace. “I would have been most upset not to have had the opportunity to make your acquaintance while you were here, Patriarch Stavros.”
Hrisoula giggled and was shushed by her brother.
“You have shown this woman and her family much benefaction, foreigner,” said the Patriarch, not quite making this an accusation.
“They are my neighbors and we are all foreigners in this town, subjected to the Master of Foreigners.” Ragoczy Franciscus glanced once at Thetis. “I would not like to see a widow of this woman’s quality turned out of her house in winter.”
“Nor would anyone who knows her, or knew her husband,” said Patriarch Stavros.
Aethalric came into the reception room bearing a tray. “There is food for all here; come and take your pick of what I’ve brought,” he announced, with a swift flick of his eyes toward Ragoczy Franciscus as he set down his burden. “Wine, and almond milk. Two kinds of cheese, flat bread, eggplant crushed with garlic and herbs, butter, smoked duck sausages.” He pointed out various dishes, then reverenced the Patriarch, Ragoczy Franciscus, and Thetis before he withdrew.
“Patriarch, if you will take what you want?” Ragoczy Franciscus invited. “Enjoy what my house can offer you.”
Patriarch Stavros took his cup and his knife from his sleeve and pulled his chair nearer the table where the large tray waited. “How do you manage so much when most of us are forced to live on nuns’ rations?” The suspicion was back in his voice, and he made no apology for it.
“My wants are few and very simple,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “It allows me to provide well for my household and my guests.”
“Commendable,” the Patriarch said as if by rote as he cut himself a wedge of cheese.
“My cook is very pleased to have those in the house who appreciate his skills,” Ragoczy Franciscus went on. “I fear he despairs of me.”
Thetis rose, her self-possession once again secure. “I will give the children sausages and butter,” she said to Ragoczy Franciscus as she reached down. “They may pour almond milk for themselves.”
Ragoczy Franciscus said, “You may do just as you like.”
She nodded to him, taking care not to make too much of this offer, for fear that Patriarch Stavros would misread her intentions. “I think Dasur has done well.”
“He will be glad to know you are satisfied,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, stepping away from the tray; he soon made his excuses to the Patriarch, saying that he had work in his study that required his immediate attention. Returning to his study, he checked on the two flasks of moldy bread that were sitting on the trestle table where he worked. The process was coming along satisfactorily; he moved the flasks to a rack he had improvised. “Another two weeks and it will be finished,” he remarked to the air. Sitting down on the single stool in the room, he brought out the parchment sheet on which he had been drawing a map of his westward journey, making notes of events and observations along the course he had traveled. Soon he was caught up in his labors, and the time passed swiftly.
“Ragoczy Franciscus?” The voice at his door surprised him.
“Thetis Krisanthemenis?” he replied, setting his quill aside and rising from the stool. The study was sunk in evening shadows, and he took flint-and-steel to spark the wicks of his oil-lamps before opening the door.
Her eyes were wide with curiosity and something more intense. She favored him with an automatic smile, saying, “I wanted to thank you for the hospitality you extended to Patriarch Stavros. He is a well-meaning man, but the trials of the last two years have worn him down.”
“He has a difficult task,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, standing aside so that she could see his study. “Would you like to come in?”
“May I?” Her face brightened with excitement.
“Do, please,” said Ragoczy Franciscus with a casual reverence. “As you see, there is nothing compromising here, no matter what they say in the kitchen.”
Her confusion revealed she had heard the speculation of the servants; she shook her head once. “I do not listen to gossip.”
“Of course you do,” he said, no suggestion of condemnation in his remark. “It would be unwise not to, considering that you are my guest.” He paused. “Is it gossip that brings you here?”
“No, it does not,” she said too quickly. “And if you fear that my coming would lead to rumors, it should not.”
He smiled, his dark eyes softening. “I am sorry, however, that you have decided to forgo the evening meal in order to speak with me privately.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“You are not hungry?” he asked.
“Not very. We had a lot to eat while the Patriarch was here, all of it excellent,” she said. “You have fed us very well, given what there is in the markets.”
“This last year, no one has fed well,” said Ragoczy Franciscus with feeling.
She hesitated. “You do not join us at table. Rojeh says it is the custom of those of your blood to dine privately.”
“Yes; it is,” he said.
“I have wondered if you would sometime allow me to join you,” she ventured, uncertainty making her speak softly. “I used to dine privately with my husband upon occasion, and I find I miss the—”
Ragoczy Franciscus shook his head. “I regret to tell you: I believe you would find the experience not what you expect.”
She mustered her courage and looked him directly in the eye. “That doesn’t concern me. It’s all coming to an end, isn’t it? Well, I would like to have a little companionship with a man before I die.”
“We must be speaking of two different things, you and I,” he said with a slight, sardonic smile.
“No,” she said, reaching up to put her fingers against his lips, silencing him. “I don’t care anymore. I have been a prudent woman all my life. I have lived as I have been expected to live and earned the good opinion of others for doing it.” Sighing suddenly, she moved away from him. “I thought that was what I had to do to be safe, but I have learned it is not.”
“The death of your husband came at a bad time,” he said, watching her move about the room; she reminded him of a caged animal.
“There would have been no good time for it,” she declared, stopping abruptly and rounding on him. “I was fond of him, and I respected him. He was a good man; my father chose well for me when he married me to Eleutherios Panayiotos. He cared for me and for our children with kindness and affection, which is more than many wives and children receive.” Thetis crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. “I thought there would be no reason for me to have to worry about what would become of us. My husband had money and position. But I haven’t the authority to use the money: my brother will have to do that, and he is in Constantinople. Only the smallest allowance is granted me. So I am wholly at the mercy of those willing to help me. You have been willing.” She came up to him again.
He did not speak for a while. “You owe me nothing, Thetis.”
“On the contrary, I owe you everything. Now that I fear death is coming, I long for—” She blushed. “I did not understand how rare a thing benevolence is until I had need of it.”
“You owe me nothing,” he repeated.
“I am grateful to you, Ragoczy Franciscus: whether the Patriarch approves or not, I am grateful.” She was half a head shorter than he, so she rose on tiptoe as she leaned forward to kiss him, lightly, on the mouth. “I would like to show you how grateful, to touch some measure of hope, or—”
“Gratitude can be burdensome,” he said.
“You have given us so much, the least I can do is offer as much as I have in return.” She looked at him. “And I don’t want to die completely alone. If only for comfort, would you?”
“I do not ask that of you,” he said gently, all the while feeling her desire fueling his own.
“I know.” She kissed him again, this time longer and with more intensity.
Slowly he embraced her, his esurience surging in response to her long-denied ardor. When they broke apart, he whispered, “You do not know what you are playing with.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, wrapping her arms around him as if he were a floating log and she a drowning sailor. “I want you, and I want you to take me.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Thetis, I have no wish to impose on you,” he said, his fervor now completely banked; he had not visited her in her dreams, and now he realized it might have been better if he had. “It would serve neither of us if I tried.”
“I am not a clumsy woman in such arts. My husband taught me skills that should please you,” she said, on her mettle.
He regarded her steadily. “I do not seek … entertainment.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted me to please you in strange ways—foreigners often have such desires, or so my husband told me.” She tried to kiss his lips again and got his cheek. “You would not trouble me if you—”
He shook his head once more. “No, Thetis. As desirable as you are—and you are very desirable—my bed is not a marketplace, where you may barter your security with your flesh and blood.” His face revealed very little of his emotions.
She considered him as if trying to decide if she had been insulted. “That wasn’t why I came to you.”
“Very well: why did you come?”
She remained clinging to him. “You must know why. I know you understand what I’m enduring. Do not tell me you aren’t lonely. I can see it in your eyes. I know what it is because I am lonely, too.”
“Ah, Thetis,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“Why not assuage your loneliness, and mine, before we die?” she persisted, her hold on him unbroken. “What is the harm in that?”
“What of your husband’s memory?” he asked when he could. “You revere him. I would become an interloper.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she insisted, holding him as tightly as she could. “You would be anodyne to my grieving if you would but—” She attempted another kiss but without success.
“Are you so sure of that?” He touched her cheek, his fingers soft as the brush of a feather.
“I know I don’t want to remain alone, on the eve of dying,” she said, continuing in a strained way. “If you don’t lie with me, I will tell Patriarch Stavros you’ve made advances to me.”
“That would be a mistake,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, taking a step back from her and moving out of her arms without any apparent difficulty.
“Would being your lover be as much a mistake?” she asked, trying not to be dismayed.
“If you fear more than you love, very possibly,” he said.
“But—” She began to weep. “I am so afraid. Can’t you let me have some respite from it?”
“If I thought I could.” He took her hand. “I wish I could banish your fear, but that is beyond my skills.”
With a little cry of dismay, she shied away from him. “If you do not want me, then say so and spare me any more embarrassment.”
“It is not a question of wanting you,” he said. “Never think that.”
“What else am I to assume, since I am willing?” She had begun to weep and now made an exasperated swipe at her eyes. “Am I repugnant to your, or do you think I would demand more than you are able to give?”
“Neither of those things,” he said. “I am afraid that what I want you would not want to part with.”
She laughed suddenly. “What could that be? What would I refuse you?”
“Your blood,” he said deliberately peremptorily.
She stood still, her eyes fixed upon him. “Blood?” she echoed at last. “Why?”
“Because it is the essence of you.” He managed a lopsided smile and his voice had become deeper and more mellifluous.
“What do you do with the blood?” she asked.
“Drink it,” he said, offering no softening, no disguising of his especial requirement. “Not very much; enough to convey the knowledge of you to me.”
Staring at him with eyes huge, Thetis stammered, “I … What … what knowledge?”
“The knowledge of what you are, all of you,” he said.
“You taste my …
soul?”
It was impossible to determine if this prospect fascinated or repelled her.
“It is the culmination of touching, of intimacy, taking some of your blood.” He waited while a log in the fireplace spat sparks, crackling. “So you see, it is not something I would ask of you.”
She blinked twice as if waking from sleep. “Does it hurt when you take it?”
“A little, I suspect,” he answered.
“Then have what you want,” she said, thrusting her arms toward him, wrists exposed. “If it will bring you joy, then have what you need.”