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.