ship and prepare to sail. We leave tonight.'
'Where will you be?'
'At the royal palace. I should pay my respects to the empress-mother. With the emperor dead, she may have need of our services.' Sofia stood at the window of her bedroom within the women's quarters of the Blachernae Palace and looked out at the market square beyond the palace courtyard. The view — normal people going about their lives — had always comforted her, but it could not do so now. Many of the people she saw were dressed in black, returning her thoughts to the grim events of the past few days. It was less than a week since the funeral of Emperor John VIII, and her future and the future of the empire were both uncertain. Constantine, the eldest of John's brothers, was far away in Mistra, at the heart of the Peloponnesian peninsula. The second brother, Thomas, was rumoured to be closer. As for Demetrius, the youngest and most ambitious of the three, nobody knew where he was.
The sound of a horse's hooves interrupted Sofia's thoughts, and she looked out to see a man approaching the palace. He was tall and rode with a warrior's ease, a sword swinging at his side. His hair was light and even from a distance Sofia could see that he was not Greek. He was a Latin, perhaps northern Italian, Sofia guessed as the man drew nearer. He was strikingly handsome, but hard, too. There was something about his face, the grim set of his lips… her uncle's face had been like that.
Who was he? she wondered. The Italian ambassadors had already been to the palace, expressing their grief at the death of the emperor and making empty promises of assistance. This Italian would not be coming on behalf of Genoa or Venice. Why, then? Sofia watched him enter the palace courtyard and dismount. She prayed that he was not bringing more bad news.
The Italian looked up suddenly, and his gaze landed on Sofia in her tower room. Their eyes met, and he did not look away. Sofia stepped back from the window and drew the curtain shut. When she looked out again, the Italian had gone. 'Count Giovanni Giustiniani Longo of Genoa and Chios.'
Longo followed the herald's voice into the great octagonal hall of the palace. Its bright interior was ringed with high windows and the walls were lined with Varangian soldiers — the royal family's private guard. Before him, the Empress-Mother Helena sat upon an ornate throne, the back styled as a lion's head, the arms its clawed feet. Over seventy, white-haired and wrinkled, Helena nevertheless held her head high and sat straight, conveying an air of command. To her left and right stood members of the royal court. Longo recognized the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church by his tall conical hat, and the captain of the Varangian guard, a stern, square-built man bearing the insignia of the emperor's personal bodyguard. Near the empress-mother stood the woman that Longo had seen in the tower as he arrived. She was slim and carried herself with a dancer's grace. Her olive skin was flawless, and she had wavy chestnut brown hair, and bewitching eyes of light brown shot through with flecks of gold and green. Longo realized that he was staring at her and turned his attention back to the empress-mother.
'Your Highness,' he said in Greek and bowed with a flourish, his right foot forward and his head lowered to his knee. With a wave of her hand, Helena bade him stand. 'I am honoured to be allowed into you august presence,' Longo continued. 'My condolences on the death of your son, God rest his soul.'
'I have had enough of condolences, Signor Longo,' Helena replied in flawless Italian. Longo was surprised, as much by her directness as by her command of his language. 'You speak Greek well,' Helena continued, this time in Greek.
Longo bowed again in recognition of the compliment. 'Thank you, Your Highness. I spent my childhood in Thessalonica.'
'Ah, yes, before the wars no doubt,' Helena murmured, her eyes closed in memory. When she opened them again, they were cold and stern. 'But you did not come here to discuss your childhood.'
'No, Your Highness. I come bearing important news and to offer you my services, if you have need of them.'
'Very noble of you, Signor Longo,' Helena said. 'What then is your news?'
'Forgive my presumption,' Longo replied. 'But I wish to speak to Your Highness privately.'
Helena studied him closely, her eyes narrow. She nodded, satisfied with the results of her inspection. 'Leave us,' she ordered. The courtiers and soldiers filed quietly from the room. Only the captain of the private guard and the beautiful young woman stayed. Who was she?
'The Princess Sofia is very wise,' Helena said, answering his unspoken question. 'You may speak freely in her presence.' She gestured to the captain of the private guard. 'And I would trust John Dalmata with my life. Your secrets are safe here.'
'Of course, Your Highness,' Longo replied.
'Very good,' Helena said. 'You may proceed, Signor Longo.'
'I come bearing unwelcome news, Your Highness. The crusade led by King Ladislas and John Hunyadi of Hungary is no more. Their armies were surprised and routed by the Turks at Kossova. King Ladislas is dead, and Hunyadi has returned to Hungary to rule as regent. He will no doubt be forced to make peace with the sultan.'
Helena was silent. To her left, Sofia's eyes were wide with disbelief. It was Dalmata, the captain of the guard, who spoke first. 'Hunyadi defeated? We have heard nothing of this.'
'I witnessed the defeat with my own eyes,' Longo responded. 'My men rode hard to reach Constantinople. We arrived only today.'
'If Hunyadi has been defeated,' Sofia began, 'then there is no one left to stand between us and the Turkish army. They will not be quick to attack so soon after a major campaign, but if they sense any weakness — a struggle for succession, civil war — then they will strike.' Longo nodded. The girl's grasp of the situation was perfect.
'And Constantinople would fall,' Helena concluded. Good, Longo thought. They understand the danger. 'I will see to it that the succession is handled swiftly,' Helena continued. 'My oldest son, Constantine, shall be named emperor, and there will be no dissension, no civil war. I thank you for your news, Signor Longo. We are in your debt.'
'You do me too much honour, Your Highness,' Longo said. 'But I have one more piece of news to deliver. My men and I passed through Selymbria on our way to Constantinople. Your son, Demetrius, was there. He will arrive before Constantine even knows of the emperor's death.'
'Of course,' Helena replied coolly. 'We are expecting Demetrius any moment now. But do not fear. I will deal with my son when he arrives, and I will send a messenger to Constantine informing him that he is now the emperor.'
'Demetrius will no doubt arrive with force, Your Highness,' Longo said. 'My men are at your disposal, if you have need of us when he arrives.'
Helena shook her head. 'Thank you, Signor Longo, but I believe I know how to handle my son.'
'Then may I offer the services of my ship? She is fast, and Mistra is on the way to Italy. Allow me to carry your message to Constantine.'
'I accept your gracious offer,' Helena replied. 'John Dalmata will travel with you. Constantine trusts him. I will send two officials, Alexius Philanthropenus and George Sphrantzes, with the crown. Constantine shall be crowned emperor as soon as you arrive.'
Longo nodded his agreement. 'I will await Lord Dalmata and the officials at my ship. It is harboured in the Golden Horn, at the Port of Pera. We will set sail this very night.'
'Very well,' Helena said. 'May God go with you, Signor Longo.' The sun had set by the time Longo's ship, la Fortuna, got under way. Tristo and the other soldiers were already below decks, drinking and playing dice. The ship's crew scurried about the deck, preparing the rigging. The two ambassadors from Constantinople were in their cabin, suffering from seasickness. Longo had stayed on deck to talk with Dalmata. He was a man of few words, but forthright and intelligent. Like all of the Varangians, Dalmata's ancestors were Saxon nobles who had come to Constantinople generations ago, after King William conquered England, and Dalmata retained the brown hair, grey eyes and lighter skin of his kinsmen. He had been raised in the imperial household and trained in combat by his father, the emperor's personal bodyguard before him. Dalmata told Longo that Constantine was a strong man and would be a good emperor. They had grown up together in the palace, and Dalmata counted Constantine as a friend. Longo was glad to hear that Constantine was capable. He would need to be if his empire were to survive.
Dalmata excused himself to see after the two ambassadors, and Longo was left alone on deck. He stood near the rail, alone with his thoughts as a strong westerly wind hurried la Fortuna across the Sea of Marmora. Longo had been campaigning with Hunyadi for nearly a year, and it had been much longer since he had last set foot in Italy. He was eager to feel the warm sunshine of his homeland, eager to walk his fields once more and to watch his grapes
