The Tale of Krispos (102 page)

“You’ll spoil his supper,” Iliana said. Then she remembered to whom she was speaking, and hastily added, “Your Majesty.”

“One spoiled supper won’t matter,” Krispos said. He knew that was true, but also wondered how often it was wise to say such things. He suspected no one had ever said no to Anthimos about anything. He didn’t want Phostis to grow up that way.

Barsymes stuck his head into the nursery. “As the afternoon is drawing on, Your Majesty, Phestos the cook wishes to know how you care to dine this evening.”

“By the good god, one big, fine supper won’t spoil me either, not after eating camp food ever since I left the city,” Krispos said. “Tell Phestos to let himself go.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear that, Your Majesty,” Barsymes said. “He told me that if you asked him to do up a pot of army stew, he’d leave the palaces.”

“He’d better not,” Krispos exclaimed, laughing. “I like good food all the time, and I’ve come to enjoy fancy meals now and again, too. This one will be the more welcome after eating plain for so long.”

The vestiarios hurried away to carry his word back to the kitchens. Krispos tossed Phostis in the air again. “And what do you want to eat tonight, Your Majesty?”

Phostis pointed to the pocket where Longinos kept the candied apricots. With a frown of regret, Longinos turned the pocket inside out. “I’m dreadfully sorry, young Majesty,” he said. “I have no more.” Phostis started to cry. Krispos tried cuddling him. Against the tragedy of no more candied fruit, cuddling did no good. Krispos turned him upside down. He decided that was funny. Krispos did it again. Phostis chortled.

“I wish we could so easily forget the things that hurt us,” Dara said.

Krispos thought that
we
was really an
I.
He said, “We can’t forget. The best we can do is not let them rankle.”

“I suppose so,” Dara said, “though vindictiveness has a bittersweet savor in which so many Videssians delight. Many nobles would sooner forget their names than a slight.” Krispos knew some small measure of relief that she did not include herself in that number.

Just then Evripos woke up with a whimper. Phostis pointed to the cradle. “Baby.”

“That’s your baby brother,” Krispos said.

“Baby,” Phostis repeated.

Evripos cried louder. Iliana picked him up. Krispos turned Phostis upside down again, lowered him to the floor, and set him down. “Let me hold Evripos,” he said.

Iliana passed him the baby. He took a gingerly grip on his son. “Put one hand behind his head, Your Majesty,” Iliana said. “His neck still wobbles.”

Krispos obeyed. He examined Evripos anew. The cheek on which the baby had been sleeping was bright red. Evripos’ eyes would be brown; already they were several shades darker than the blue-gray of a newborn’s. He looked at Krispos. Krispos wondered if he’d ever seen anyone with a beard before. Then he wondered if the baby was old enough even to notice it.

Evripos’ eyes opened wide, as if he was really waking up now. His face worked—“He smiled at me!” Krispos said.

“He’s done it a few times,” Dara said.

“Give him to me, if you please, Your Majesty,” Iliana said. “He’ll be hungry.” Krispos returned the baby to her. He averted his eyes as she undid her smock. He did not want Dara to see him look at another woman’s breasts, not now of all times. Evripos seized the wet nurse’s nipple and started making sucking and gulping noises.

“Milk,” Phostis said. “Baby.” He stuck out his tongue.

“You were fond of it till not so long ago,” Iliana told him, a smile in her voice. Phostis paid no attention to her. With such delicious things as candied apricots in the world, he cared for the breast no more.

“Well, what do you think of your son?” Dara asked.

“I think well of both my sons,” Krispos said.

“Good.” Dara sounded truly pleased. Maybe she knew the words were an offer of truce, but they were the right one to make. She went on, “Evripos should stay awake for a while. Do you want to play with him a bit longer when he’s done nursing?”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” Krispos said.

Soon Iliana presented him with the baby. “See if you can get him to burp,” she said. He patted Evripos on the back. At the same time as Iliana said, “Not so hard, Your Majesty,” Evripos let out a surprisingly deep belch. Krispos grinned a vindicated grin.

He held the baby for a while. Evripos was still too small to give back very much. Every so often his eyes would focus intently on Krispos’ face. Once, when Krispos smiled at him, he smiled back, but his attention drifted away again before long.

Phostis tugged at Krispos’ robe. “Up,” he demanded. Krispos passed Evripos back to Iliana and lifted Phostis. After the baby, the older boy seemed to weigh quite a lot. He threw himself backward to show he wanted to play the upside-down game again.

Krispos lowered him to the floor, then picked him up so they were nose to upside-down nose. “You trusted me there, didn’t you?” he said.

“Why shouldn’t he?” Dara said. “You never dropped him on his head.” Krispos clicked tongue between teeth, hearing her unspoken
as you did me.

Before long Phostis got bored with going upside down. Krispos returned him to solid ground. He ran over to a toy chest, where he drew out a carved and painted wooden horse, dog, and wagon. He neighed, barked, and did an alarmingly realistic impression of the squeak of a big wagon’s ungreased wheels.

Krispos bent down. He barked and neighed, too. He made the dog chase the horse, then made the horse jump into the wagon. Phostis laughed. He laughed louder when Krispos made loud wheel-squeaks and had the toy dog run off in pretended terror.

He played with Phostis a bit longer, then held Evripos again until the baby started to fuss. Iliana took him back and gave him her breast. He fell asleep while he was nursing. She set him in the cradle. By then Krispos was playing with Phostis again.

Dara said, “This must be your most domestic afternoon in a long time.”

“This is my most domestic afternoon ever,” Krispos said. “It has to be. I never had two sons to play with before.” He thought for a few seconds. “I like it.”

“I see that,” Dara said quietly.

Barsymes came into the nursery. “Your Majesty, Phestos is ready for you and your lady.”

“Is it that time already?” Krispos said, startled. He looked at where the sunlight stood on the nursery wall, considered his stomach. “By the good god, so it is. All right, esteemed sir, we’ll come with you.” Dara nodded.

Phostis started to wail when Krispos and Dara walked to the door. “He’s tired, Your Majesties,” Longinos said apologetically. “He should have had a nap some time ago, but he was too excited playing with his father.”

Dara’s eyes flickered to Krispos. All he said was, “I enjoyed it, too.” No matter who Phostis’ father was, he was a delightful little boy. Krispos realized he should have noticed that long ago. In the end, it was what counted.

Barsymes took Krispos and Dara to the smallest of the several dining chambers in the imperial residence. Lamps already burned there against the coming of evening. A jar of wine stood in the center of the table, a silver goblet before each place. As he sat, Krispos glanced down into his. “White wine,” he observed.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Barsymes said. “As you’ve been so long inland, Phestos thought all the courses tonight should come from the sea, to welcome you back to the fare of Videssos the city.”

When the vestiarios had gone, Krispos raised his goblet to Dara. “To our sons,” he said, and drank.

“To our sons.” She also held the cup to her lips. She looked at Krispos over it. “Thank you for picking a toast I can drink to.”

He nodded back. “I did try.” He was glad to have any truce between them, no matter how fragile.

Barsymes brought in a crystal bowl. “A salad with small squid sliced into it,” he announced. “Phestos bids me tell you it is dressed with olive oil, vinegar, garlic, oregano, and some of the squids’ own ink: thus the dark color.” He served a portion to Krispos, another to Dara, and bowed his way out.

Krispos picked up his fork and smiled, trying to remember the last time he’d used any utensil but spoon or belt knife. The last time he’d been in the city, he decided. He ate a forkful of salad. “That’s very good.”

Dara tasted hers, too. “So it is.” As long as they talked about something safe like the food, they were all right together.

At precisely the proper moment, Barsymes reappeared to clear away the salad. He came back with soup bowls and a gold tureen and ladle. A wonderful odor rose from the tureen. “Prawns, leeks, and mushrooms,” he said, ladling out the soup.

“If this tastes as good as it smells, tell Phestos I’ve just raised his pay,” Krispos said. He dipped his spoon and brought it to his lips. “It does. I have. Tell him, Barsymes.”

“I shall, Your Majesty,” the vestiarios promised.

The sharp taste of leeks, though lessened by their being boiled, made a perfect contrast to the prawns’ delicate flavor. The mushrooms added the earthy savor of the woods where they’d been picked. Krispos used the ladle himself, until the tureen was empty. When Barsymes returned to take it away, Krispos held out his bowl to him. “Take this back to the kitchens and fill it up again first, if you please, esteemed sir.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. If I may make so bold, though, do not linger with it overlong. The other courses advance apace.”

Sure enough, as soon as that last bowl was done, Barsymes brought in a covered tray. “What now, esteemed sir?” Krispos asked him.

“Roast lampreys stuffed with sea urchin paste, served on a bed of cracked wheat and pickled grape leaves.”

“I expect I’ll grow fins by the time I’m done,” Krispos said with a laugh. “What’s that old saying? ‘When in Videssos the city, eat fish,’ that’s it. Well, no one could hope to eat better fish than I am tonight.” He raised his cup to salute Phestos. When he set it down, it was empty. He reached for the jar. That was empty, too.

“I’ll fetch more directly, Your Majesty,” Barsymes said.

“Can’t go through a feast like this without wine,” Krispos said to Dara.

“Indeed not.” She drained her own cup, put it down, then stared across the table at Krispos. “As well I hadn’t had any to drink earlier this afternoon, though. I’d have tried to put a knife in you, I think.” Her eyes fell to the one with which she’d been cutting her lamprey.

“You—didn’t do badly as it was,” he said cautiously. He looked at her knife, too. “You’re not trying to carve me now. Does that mean—I hope that means—you forgive me?”

“No,” she said at once, so sharply that he grimaced. She went on, “It does mean I don’t want to kill you just this minute. Will that do?”

“It will have to. If we had some wine, I’d drink to it. Ah, Barsymes!” The vestiarios brought in a new jar and used a knife to slice through the pitch that held the stopper in place. He poured the wine. Krispos said, “Here’s to letting knives cut up fish and not people.”

He and Dara both drank. Barsymes said, “That, Your Majesty, is an excellent toast.”

“Isn’t it?” Krispos said expansively. He touched the end of his nose. It was getting numb. He smiled. “I can feel that wine.” He took another sip.

Barsymes cleared the table. “I shall return shortly with the main course,” he said. As usual, he was as good as his word. He set down the latest tray with a flourish. “Tuna, your majesties, poached in resinated wine with spices.”

“I
will
grow fins,” Krispos declared. “I’ll enjoy every bit of it, too.” He let Barsymes serve him a large piece of flaky, pinkish-white fish. He tasted it. “Phestos has outdone himself this time.” Dara was busy chewing, but made a wordless noise of agreement.

“He will be pleased to know he has pleased you, Your Majesties,” Barsymes said. “Now, would you care for some boiled chickpeas, or beets, or perhaps the parsnips in creamy onion sauce?”

After the tuna, Barsymes brought in a bowl of red and white mulberries. Krispos was normally fond of them. Now he rolled his eyes and looked over at Dara. She was looking at him with a similarly overwhelmed expression. They both started to laugh. In an act of conscious—and conscientious—bravery, Krispos reached for the bowl. “Have to eat a few, to keep from hurting Phestos’ feelings.”

“I suppose so. Here, let me have some, too.” Dara washed them down with another swallow of wine. She set down her cup harder than she might. “Strange you worry about the cook’s feelings more than mine.”

Krispos grunted, looking down at the mulberries. “It wasn’t something I made a habit of.”

“Bad enough once,” she said.

Being without a good answer to that, Krispos kept quiet. Barsymes came in and took away the bowl of fruit. He seemed willing not to see that it had hardly been touched. “Would you care for anything else, your Majesties?” he asked.

Dara shook her head. “No, thank you, esteemed sir,” Krispos said. The vestiarios bowed to him and Dara, then strode silently out of the dining chamber. Krispos hefted the wine jar. “Would you like some more?” he asked Dara.

She pushed her cup toward him. He filled it, then poured what was left in the jar into his own. They drank together. Only the lamps lit the dining chamber; the sun was long down.

“What now?” Krispos asked when the wine was gone.

Now Dara would not look at him. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s go to bed,” he said. Seeing her scowl, he amended, “To sleep, I mean. I’m too full and too worn to think about anything else tonight anyway.”

“All right.” She pushed her chair back from the table and got up. Krispos wondered if he ought to check the cutlery to make sure she hadn’t secreted a knife up her sleeve.
You’re being foolish,
he told himself as he, too, rose from the table. He hoped he was right.

In the bedchamber, he pulled off the imperial boots, then let out a long sigh of relief as he clenched and unclenched his toes. He took off his robe and noticed he hadn’t spilled anything on it at dinner—Barsymes would be pleased. He lay down on the bed, sighing again as the mattress enfolded him in softness.

Dara was also undressing, a little more slowly; she’d always had the habit of sleeping without clothes. Krispos remembered the first time he’d been her, the first time he’d come into this chamber as Anthimos’ vestiarios. Her body had been perfect then. It wasn’t quite perfect anymore. After two births, her waist was thicker than it had been. And with the second one so recently past, the skin on her belly hung a little loose, while her breasts drooped softly.