A Place Called Armageddon Read Online Free Page B

wardrobe to fetch his tunic and cloak. Laying them carefully across the arms of a chair, she straightened and looked at him. ‘Theon … Husband.’
    His reflected eyes flicked to her. ‘Sofia. Wife,’ he replied, a slight smile for the formality.
    Her hands clasped and unclasped before her. ‘I wish to know … I wish to ask …’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I wish to ask if I may go home before you.’
    His blade paused at his throat. ‘Go home? When my mission here is not complete?’
    She swallowed. ‘I do not see … I am not sure what use I am. You do not seem to need me here.’
    ‘Need? Does a man not always need his loving wife beside him?’ His voice was uninflected, all the more mocking for that.
    She breathed, spoke softly. ‘You said that my presence would aid the cause you plead. That I would make the Genoese think on chivalry, when they considered the fate of the women of Constantinople if they do not act.’
    He resumed shaving. ‘I think your appearance at the welcoming feast did that. For about a minute. After which these Italians briefly focused on your voluptuousness and envied the Turks their possible fortune.’ He laughed. ‘Then once chivalry and lust were dealt with, they reverted to the only thing truly important to them. Profit.’
    She was no longer shocked by his levity – even when he was discussing the possible rape of his wife by infidels. But she had hoped for better from the men of Genoa. ‘Are they not concerned about God?’
    ‘God?’ Theon laughed. ‘I think he ranks somewhere down their list of priorities.’
    Maybe it was her own self-doubt before the altar. Or maybe her noble parents stirred in her. For she felt her first flush of anger in a long while. ‘And yet you spend much of your time in discussing how we can sell our vision of God for Roman gold, do you not, husband?’
    He turned to look at her. ‘Well, well,’ he said softly, ‘I think that is the first passion I have seen from you in an age. I certainly saw none this morning.’ He waved his razor at the other room, turned again to the mirror and his toilet. ‘So are you come to the belief of your cousin Loukas Notaras? Would you rather see a turban in the Hagia Sophia than a Roman mitre?’
    As quickly as her anger came, it went. Though she had been educated like any noblewoman – she could read and write well – her husband had been trained almost from birth. Years of schooling under rigorous tutors, university and a dozen diplomatic missions had honed his mind far sharper than the razor he wielded. There was no point in arguing with him. Besides, she didn’t believe, like so many did, that to give up aspects of the Orthodox faith and reunite the Churches of East and West was a sin. She still trusted in God to save her city. But unlike many there, she knew that God needed men’s help. Men in armour, with cannon and crossbow.
    ‘You know I do not. All …’ she hurried over his interruption, because she knew if she gave him a chance he would use her like a whetstone for the wit he would deploy in the confrontations of the day, ‘all I now ask is that you consider letting me return. Our children need me. And I believe I can be more use to our city there than here. As you have said, I have already fulfilled my … meagre purpose.’ She lowered her eyes.
    ‘Well.’ He considered, looking above her. ‘I do need to send messages back to the Council. My talks here are almost concluded and then I must go briefly on to Rome and rejoin the main embassy.’ He studied her for a moment, then returned to the mirror. ‘I will think on it.’
    She turned to the bedroom, unwilling to show him hope on the open book of her face. His voice halted her. ‘But you can do something for me.’
    She did not turn. ‘Of course. What?’
    ‘That enkolpia you wear. Give it to me.’
    She looked down. Fool that she was, she had not tucked her amulet away within her tunic. ‘It is my protection and … and my mother gave it to