The three Emperors had been hunting that day, and afterwards there was a mighty feast; Eudocia sat by Basil at the table and often whispered to him.
I was one of those who carried Michael senseless with wine to his chamber and laid him on his bed with the vermilion cushions. As I came out I saw the bolts of the door were broken, but I thought nothing of it, as it was Theodora’s house. On a low couch with silver and amber legs lay Basiliskian, with his red hair and his yellow robes tumbled about him; I lay in the outer chamber.
Beautiful were those two rooms, tiled with blue, patterned with carnations and curtained with silks stiff with fruits and flowers of gold; above the couch were saints with long eyes and raised hands, the elders praying all in white on the daisied floor of Heaven, this in mosaic, glittering, and a lamp with square-cut green stones round the base, hanging before.
Flat on his back lay Michael, with his head slipping from the pillows and the roses slipping from his black hair; his white silk robe flowed open on his coat of silver and the clusters of topaz shone in the crossings of his gilt sandals.
The window was wide on the night; there was a moon above the tamarisk trees and a nightingale singing fitfully.
It was very silent after all the noise and riot, and I was half asleep when the door was pushed open and some men entered. There was the third Emperor Basil, a head above them all, the Persian Apelates, Bardas the father of Basil, his brother Marinos, a cousin of his, all peasants these, Peter of Bulgaria and John of Chaldia.
Now I rose up softly and got before them and stood in front of the bedchamber door; for I saw they were all sober.
Basil put out his great hand and gripped my shoulder.
“Basil or Michael?” he asked, and drew his scimitar.
“Michael,” I answered him, for I hated him–the Greek groom!