The wind whipped their rough, dark skirts about them. Large fat raindrops were beginning to spatter them. Helena whined and was firmly told to be quiet. Theadora kept her head down, walking doggedly along. The months during which her father had besieged the city had been a blessed reprieve for her. At the final end of this journey waited her bridegroom, the sultan. Theadora dreaded it. Despite her mother’s reassurances she could not rid herself of Helena’s evil words, and she was frightened. She did not reveal it, however. She would neither give Helena the satisfaction nor grieve her mother further.

The tower of the Fifth Military Gate loomed above them, and Zoe fumbled in her robes for their pass. It had been signed by a Byzantine general within the city-a man friendly to John Cantacuzene. Zoe checked to be sure that the girls’ faces were covered by their heavy black head veiling. “Remember,” she warned them, “keep your eyes lowered at all times, your hands hidden in the sleeves of your robes, and speak not! Helena, I know that you have reached an age where young men fascinate you, but remember that nuns are not interested in men. If you flirt, if you attract attention, we will be captured. You will never get to be empress then, so mind my words.”

A moment later came the challenge, “Halt! Who goes there?” A young soldier blocked their way.

They stopped. Zoe said, “Sister Irene of St. Barbara’s Convent. My two assistants and I are bound outside the walls to help a woman in labor. Here is my pass.”

The guard glanced briefly at the parchment, then said, “My captain will see you in the guardroom, good sister. You and your nuns may pass through my checkpoint,” and he pointed the way up the steps of the tower to a landing with a door.

They climbed the unrailed stone steps slowly, clinging in the strong wind, to the side of the tower. Once Helena slipped, and she whimpered in fright. Theadora grasped her older sister and shoved her to her feet. Finally they reached their goal. Pushing the door open, they entered the guardroom.

The captain took the parchment from Zoe’s slim white hand.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked. In Byzantium it was not unusual for women to be doctors.

“Yes, captain.”

“Would you look at one of my men? I think he may have broken a bone in his wrist today in a fall.”

“Of course, captain,” said Zoe kindly, and with more assurance than she felt. “But might I do so on my return? Your man’s case is not desperate, and the woman we go to attend is the young wife of a childless old merchant. The gentleman has always been very generous to St. Barbara’s, and his anxiety is great.”

Theadora listened in utter amazement. Zoe’s voice was calm, and her story plausible. At that moment Theadora’s respect for her mother increased a hundredfold.

“He is in pain, sister,” said the captain.

Zoe drew a small box from her robes and shook out two small gilded pills. “Have your man take these,” she said. “It will ease his pain, and he will sleep until I return.”

“My thanks, good sister. Trooper Basil! Escort the doctor and her nuns out the moat postern.” Saluting neatly, the captain bade them a safe journey.

Silently they followed the soldier down several flights of stairs into a long stone corridor, the walls of which were wet and green with slime. It was damp and bone-chilling cold in the tunnel. The corridor was lit at intervals by smoking pitch torches stuck into rusting iron wall holders.

“Where are we?” asked Zoe of their guide.

“Beneath the walls, sister,” came the reply. “I’ll let you out a small postern gate on the other side of the moat.”

“We pass beneath the moat?”

“Aye, sister,” he grinned at her. “Just a couple of feet of dirt and a few tiles between us and nearly a sea of water!”

Plodding along behind her mother, Theadora felt a swelling of panic in her chest, but she bravely fought it down. Beside her, a white-faced Helena was barely breathing. That’s all we need, thought Theadora, Helena fainting! She reached out and pinched her older sister hard. Helena gasped and shot her a venomous look, but the color began to creep back into her face.

Ahead of them was a small door set into the wall. The soldier stopped, relit Zoe’s lantern, fit a large key into the lock, and slowly turned it. The door swung silently open, allowing the wind to rush into the tunnel, blowing their robes about them. The lantern flickered.

“Good luck, sisters,” said the soldier as they stepped out into the night. The door closed quickly behind them.

For a moment they stood silent, then Zoe raised her lantern, and said, “Here is the path. Your father said we were to follow it until we were met by his men. Come, my daughters, it cannot be far.”

They had walked a few minutes when Theadora begged, “Stop a moment, Mama. I would look a final time upon the city.” Her young voice shook. “I may never see it again.” She turned, but could see nothing more than the great walls and towers, dark against a darker sky. Sighing with disappointment, she said sadly, “Let us go on.”

The windy rain was falling harder now. They walked and walked. Their heavy robes grew heavier with the rain and their shoes were soaking. Each step was torture. Then suddenly, ahead of them, they saw bobbing lights. And soon they were surrounded by soldiers and there was Leo’s friendly face.

“Majesty! Praise God you are finally safe with us, and the princesses too! We were not sure you would come tonight because of the weather.”

“The weather was God’s blessing on the venture, Leo. There was no one on the streets to observe our passage. We have seen only three people since we left the convent. All soldiers.”

“There was no difficulty, Majesty?”

“None, Leo. But I am eager to see my husband. Where is he?”

“He is waiting at his main camp a few miles from here. If Your Majesty will allow me, I will help you into the wagon. I regret the crude transport, but it is better than walking.”

The next few days were a blur for Theadora. They had arrived safely at her father’s camp where warm, dry clothes and hot baths waited. She slept a few hours and then was awakened for the march to Selymbria, where her father had his temporary capital. The journey took two long days in the wagon, plowing through muddy paths beneath torrential rains.

It had been almost six years since she and her father had seen one another. John Cantacuzene embraced his daughter and then held her back so he could look at her. Satisfied with what he saw, he smiled and said, “Orkhan Gahzi will be very pleased with you, Thea. You are becoming a real beauty, my child. Have you yet begun your show of blood?”

“No, Papa,” she said calmly. And may I not for many years, she thought!

“A pity,” replied the emperor. “Perhaps I should send your sister instead. The Turks like blonds, and she is now a woman.”

Yes! Yes! thought Theadora. Send Helena!

“No, John,” said Zoe Cantacuzene, looking up from her embroidery. “Thea is content to do her duty by our family. Are you not, my love?”

“Yes, Mama,” came the whispered reply.

Zoe smiled. “The young Paleaologi is seventeen-a man ready to bed his wife. Helena is fourteen and ready to receive a husband. Leave things as they are, my lord.”

“You are right, my love,” John said, nodding. And several days later Theadora’s wedding took place.

The bridegroom was not present but was represented by a Christian proxy. Afterward, the bride was taken to the emperor’s military encampment where she ascended a jeweled throne atop a carpeted pavilion sent by the sultan for the occasion. The throne was surrounded by curtains of red, blue, green, silver, purple, and gold silk. Below, the armies of Christian and Muslim soldiers stood proudly under arms. Only John, as the emperor, was on horseback. At his signal the curtains of the pavilion were opened to reveal the bride surrounded by kneeling eunuchs and hymeneal torches.

Flutes and trumpets proclaimed that Theadora Cantacuzene was now Sultan Orkhan’s wife. While the assembled choir sang joyous songs of the bride’s happiness, of her great charity, and of her devotion to her church, Theadora stood quietly, alone with her thoughts. In the church she had been sulky, but her mother warned her afterward that if she did not appear happy she would disappoint the troops. So she wore a fixed smile.

The following morning, as she was about to be taken away, she had a fit of weeping and was comforted by her mother one last time.

“All princesses feel this way when they leave their families for the first time,” said Zoe. “I did. But you must not give in to self-pity, my child. You are Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium. Your birth sets you above all others, and you must never show weakness to your inferiors.”

The child shuddered and drew a deep breath. “You will write to me, Mama?”

“Regularly, my dearest. Now, wipe your eyes. You would not insult your lord by weeping.”

Theadora did as she was bid and was then led to a purple and gold draped palanquin. This litter was to carry her to the ship, which would then take her to Sultan Orkhan who awaited her across the Sea of Marmara in Scutari. The sultan had sent a full troop of cavalry and thirty ships to escort his bride.

Theadora looked small and vulnerable in her pale blue tunic dress, despite the elegant gold floral embroidery adorning it at the cuffs, hem, and neck. Zoe nearly wept at the sight of her child. The girl seemed sophisticated and yet touchingly young!

Neither the emperor nor his wife accompanied their child to the ship. From the moment Theadora entered the royal palanquin, she was alone. It was to remain that way for many years.

One year later the gates of Constantinople opened to John Cantacuzene. Several weeks after that, his daughter Helena was married to John’s young co-emperor, John Paleaologi. The wedding was celebrated with the full pomp offered by the Orthodox Church.