There are some things here I'm not fully satisfied with, but here goes chapter one. And I can always revise it in the future after all.
Chapter 1
Maria
When Princess Maria first learned of the Davanian army massing near the border, news relayed by her half-sister the Princess Joanna, she did not think much of her own safety, assured within the walls of Juvenopolis, but only of the poor souls living in the frontier, caught at the mercy of that devilish race from the East. There had been three great Muhammedan campaigns into imperial territory in her lifetime, and none had ever come within a hundred kilometers of Juvenopolis, as she was sure to remind her sister. The princesses strolled in the citadel’s rose garden, with their ladies-in-waiting a respectable distance behind them, giving them privacy.
They were both ready for mass, radiant in their finery as they enjoyed the peace and seclusion of the walled garden. Joanna wore a mint satin dress with red gold and silver embroidery, and a sleeveless caftan of snow leopard fur. Her black hair was in a spherical white silk coif streaked with purple ribbons and pearls.
Maria was in a yellow satin dress, embroidered with silver, with pearl buttons in a row down the front. Her shining caftan was white satin with gold thread, fringed with double rows of pearls. Her hair, as black as Joanna’s and just as chastely arranged, was tucked fully into a white satin veil that fell below her shoulders from an emerald-and-pearl diadem. An engraved badge of amethyst with the effigy of the Virgin Mary was pinned at the collar of her dress.
“But what do they want?” asked Joanna “they cannot hope to assail us here, or can they?”
Joanna was barely of marriageable age, doe-eyed and impressionable, and she had been reading about the last siege of Juvenopolis, three hundred years prior. If fell to Maria, long married and with two children of her own, to assuage her half-sister. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“They ride across the border hunting for… prisoners and cattle,” she said, carefully avoiding the term ‘slaves’; a dirty, shameful term for a Christian “and commit all manners of crimes and sins on the God-fearing subjects of the frontier… by all means my dear, let us commit our devotion to Our Lord Christ and to the Virgin Mary that they may be spared. But you and I, and Juvenopolis, have nothing to fear. Only pity should occupy our thoughts. And most importantly, Our August Basileos will not suffer his domains be violated. He will not sit idly by.”
“Will he fight them himself?”
“Oh, that is very unlikely. These are little more than bandits, emboldened by the acquiescence of a so-called emperor - an infidel and a rebel, mind you, emperor through injustice and not divine grace - they will be responded to in kind. By the governors, who will nonetheless receive reinforcements by the Basileos’s hand, no doubt.”
It seemed to have some effect on Joanna.
“Let us go pray now,” said Maria.
Joanna did not follow immediately. She opened her mouth, silently, once, before saying:
“Would you indulge me in staying here, in the perfume of the rose-beds a moment longer, sister? We have mass in but an hour.”
Maria took Joanna’s hand. Sweet little Joanna, always more eager to bask in beauty than to care after her soul.
But I should not be harsh on her; she has never neglected her piety, even as she only fulfills the requirements of her station, and not beyond.
Maria smiled.
“An excellent reason for cleansing our souls before stepping into the Lord’s House. We can come here after noon again, if my husband the Despot will permit me, and embroider, and read Lisandro Ticino’s poetry.”
“Will you sing while I play?”
“Of course my dear. For now, come with me to the Hagia Klarissa Chapel, and let us light candles to Our Holy Mother Mary.”
She called the ladies over, maidens from of the empire’s greatest families. Even more than Joanna they looked up to the Princess Maria. Their eyes sparkled every time she address them, and they waited on her every word, anxious to learn from her all the could on matters of regal bearing, piety and feminine virtue. Even Joanna’s ladies wished they were Maria’s ladies.
They all went together to the Hagia Klarissa.
It was the citadel’s chapel, of pristine white marble and purple tiles on a domed roof, with a golden cross at the pinnacle. The chaplain, Father Isaac, greeted them by bowing. They returned the gesture by holding their skirts and curtsying, as was the usage of the Lerdan princely courts which had made their way to Juvenopolis. Feeble light waited inside. Their shoes tapped on the malachite floor, and sandalwood incense wafted to the cavernous ceiling. They lit two dozen candles for the Virgin Mary, who as an icon of gems and gold leaf stood majestic and pale-faced before them. The gold tiles of the ceiling shimmered like fish in the twilight. The princesses elegantly knelt on a blue velvet cushion, their ladies behind them, and the Father asked if they wanted to read the Gospel.
“We were hoping to beg Our Holy Mother for mercy upon the souls of the imperial borders, Father, whom now must be in the throes of terror, if news has spread of the Surafani intentions.”
“Then let us pray for them, Revered Princesses. And in this matter, I beg that you share with us some of your wisdom. It is a testament to your virtue how well you know the Christian faith. What would you have us pray?”
Maria, normally grave serious with men and women of God, allowed herself a pinched smile, and blushed.
“You honor me Father, to hold me in that regard.”
Then thinking, she said:
“There is the prayer of Saint Eugenios of Tylas, for intercession in the face of the enemy.”
The priest found it a splendid choice, and after it, they prayed ten devotionals to the Virgin Mary, and Maria sang three hymns.
Before leaving they kissed the icon’s feet.
The Basileos’s party was gathered in the main atrium, but the Basileos himself was not yet there. So when Maria entered and Joanna entered through the door held by a servant, all eyes turned on them. But above all, on Maria. She was greeted with reverence and praise by the notables of the empire, and the ambassadors of Hicamora, Ochariste, Torrecillas and the papal legate, Cardinal Uzerno. Most graciously, the sisters acknowledged the honors, Joanna, as usual, following her half-sister’s lead.
Maria found her son, Lord Omeros, waiting in the atrium for his father, Mikhael, Despot of Boenia and Megas Dux of the Empire. She parted with Joanna and walked up to him.
Omeros looked a little like his father and much like his mother, which accounted for the handsomeness of his features. He and Maria had long, well-chiseled noses, clear brown eyes like big almonds, elegant eyebrows and the hint of a strong jaw. Omeros bowed to her mother, and she curtsied, propriety hiding her smile.
“Father is with His Majesty,” he said “they are talking about war, Mother. War against the Davani.”
“Ah, yes my dear, a most unsightly affair-”
It was then she realized, with horror, that Omeros was a man now. If any major response was being planned, the Megas Dux would be part of it. And he would not leave his son behind with the women. Dread settled on Maria’s chest, like a black moth fluttering inside it. She looked at Omeros from head to toe as if for the first time.
He was very dashing in his peach-colored satin doublet with onyx and black pearls, black hose and a white silk bonnet. His caftan of green silk was lined with white fox fur; in the masculine style it reached only to his knees, while Maria’s fell to her ankles. Yes, he was a man.
He became one, Holy Virgin Mary, right before my eyes and I was blind to it.
It was then the Basileos and Basilea appeared, followed by Mikhael. A murmur spread through the atrium as all those present bowed to them.
They stopped before Maria, who had not straightened up from her curtsy. Not until the Basileos bid her.
“Your Majesties,” she said and kissed his signet ring, then her mother’s. They were both dazzling in their cloaks of gold, so heavy with metal and gemstones two black slaves followed each, lifting up the hems. Emeralds, rubies, amethysts, topazes, chalcedonies, beryls and lynxstones studded the chest of the Basileo’s blood-purple doublet, like a shapeless mosaic.
“Her Highness shines like the moon in our presence,” said he. It was his turn to taking her hand and kiss it.
Demurely, she let her eyes meet his, to be relieved or aggrieved by what she saw. But it was not his eyes that stoked her fear, for he said, loud so it would escape none:
“There is not a court in Ecumene that can deny the admirable virtue of our Princess Maria, and I am sure, not an angel in Heaven that would be unmoved by her devotion. If Juvenopolis was a den of inequity and sin, save for her, our Lord God would still preserve it, solely for her sake. I trust your prayers and piety, Your Highness, will see us prevail against our enemies in the East-”
The murmur was renewed. He was speaking of the Hagarids.
Of war, she thought.
When he said:
“I intend for Lord Omeros to ride with the Imperial Guard-”
Everything else faded away.
