Byzantine Empire -- History -- John V Palaeologus, 1341-1391 -- Fiction; Zeno, Carlo, 1334-1418 -- Fiction
For Zeno was conscientious, and held Marco Pesaro's letter in his hand
while he questioned the Bokharian in regard to the various points in
succession, lest he should forget any one of them. He did not in the
least believe a word that Rustan said, of course. The East was never
the land of simple, trusting faith between man and man. He would even
have wagered that Rustan had nothing in his prison of the sort Pesaro
wanted, and at the moment of the interview he would have been quite
right. But he was tolerably sure that if he insisted on having the
best, the best to be had would be forthcoming in a week at the utmost.
Satisfied with this prospect, he dismissed Rustan and thought no more
about the matter, except to wish that Marco Pesaro had not troubled
him with such an absurd commission.
A fine young gentleman of later times would probably have thought few
quests more amusing than this, and would have dreamt that night of the
beauties he intended to see before at last deciding upon the purchase.
Doubtless, there were young Venetians even then in Constantinople who
would have envied Zeno the amusing task of criticising pretty faces,
hands, and ankles.
But he was not of the same temper or disposition as those gay youths.
He could not remember that any woman had ever made a very profound
impression on him, even in his boyish days. When he was in Greece, it
had been suggested to him that he might as well marry, like other
young men, and he had allowed himself to be betrothed to a sleepy
Greek heiress who had conceived an indolent but tenacious admiration
for his fighting qualities; but it had pleased the fates that she
should die before the wedding-day of a complication of the spleen
superinduced by a surfeit of rose-leaf jam and honey-cakes. He was
rather ashamed to own to himself that her translation to a better
world had been a distinct relief to his feelings, for he had soon
discovered that he did not love her, though he had been too kind to
tell her so, and too honourable to think of breaking his promise of
marriage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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