The Tale of Krispos (19 page)

Krispos snorted. “I’m no miracle.” But he found himself grinning back. Mavros would make him a lively brother. He turned to Tanilis. “My lady, may I beg an escort from you? Otherwise, in the dark, I’d need a miracle to get back to Opsikion, let alone the city.”

“Stay the night,” she said. “I expected you would; the servants have readied a chamber for you.” She rose and walked over to the dining room’s doors. The small noise of their opening summoned two men. She nodded to one. “Xystos, please lead the eminent sir to his bedchamber.”

“Certainly.” Xystos bowed, first to Tanilis, then to Krispos. “Come with me, eminent sir.”

As Krispos started to follow the servant away, Tanilis said, “Since we are become partners in this enterprise, Krispos, take a partner’s privilege and use my name.”

“Thank you, uh, Tanilis,” Krispos said. Her encouraging smile seemed to stay with him after he turned a corner behind Xystos.

The bedroom was larger than the one Krispos had at Bolkanes’ inn. Xystos bowed again and shut the door behind him. Krispos used the chamber pot. He took off his clothes, blew out the lamp Xystos had left, and lay down on the bed. It was softer than any he’d known before—and this, he thought, was only a guest room.

Even in darkness, he did not fall asleep at once. With his mind’s eye, he kept seeing the smile Tanilis had given him as he left the dining room. Maybe she would slip in here tonight, to seal with her body the strange bargain they had made. Or maybe she would send in a serving girl, just as a kindness to him. Or maybe…

Maybe I’m a fool,
he told himself when he woke the next morning, still very much alone in bed. He used the chamber pot again, dressed, and ran fingers through his hair.

He was going to the door when someone tapped on it. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Mavros said when he opened it a moment later. “If you don’t mind breakfasting on hard rolls and smoked mutton, we can eat while we ride back to town.”

“Good enough.” Krispos thought of how often he’d gone out to work in the fields after breakfasting on nothing. He knew Mavros had never missed a meal. He kept quiet, not just for politeness’ sake but also because he’d long since decided hunger held no inherent virtue—life was better with a full belly.

They washed down the rolls and mutton with a skin of wine. “That’s a very nice animal you’re riding,” Krispos said after a while.

“Isn’t he?” Mavros beamed. “I’m not small, but my weight doesn’t faze him a bit, not even when I’m in mail shirt and helmet.” He took the reins in his left hand so he could draw a knife and make cut-and-thrust motions as if it were a sword. “Maybe one of these days I’ll ride him to war against Makuran or Kubrat—or even Khatrish, if your master’s mission fails. Take that, vile barbarian!” He stabbed a bush by the side of the road.

Krispos smiled at his enthusiasm. “Real fighting’s not as…neat as you make it out to be.”

“You’ve fought, then?” At Krispos’ nod, Mavros’ eyes went big and round. “Tell me about it!”

Krispos tried to beg off, but Mavros kept urging him until he baldly recounted the villagers’ massacre of the Kubrati raiders. “Just our good luck there was only the one little band,” he finished. “If the riders a couple of days later had been wild men instead of Videssian cavalry, I wouldn’t be here now to give you the tale.”

“I’ve heard true warriors don’t speak much of glory,” Mavros said in a rather subdued voice.

“What they call glory, I think, is mostly the relief you feel after you’ve fought and lived through it without getting maimed. If you have.”

“Hmm.” Mavros rode on in silence for some time after that. Before he and Krispos got to Opsikion, though, he was slaying bushes again. Krispos did not try to dissuade him. He suspected Mavros would make a better soldier than he did himself—the young noble seemed inclined to plunge straight ahead without worrying about consequences, a martial trait if ever there was one.

They got to Opsikion a little before midmorning. Being with Mavros got Krispos through the south gate with respectful salutes from the guards. When they came to Bolkanes’ inn, they found Iakovitzes just sitting down to breakfast—unlike most folk, he did not customarily rise at dawn.

He fixed Krispos with a glare. “Nice of you to recall who your master is.” His eyes flicked to Mavros. Krispos watched his expression change. “Or have you been cavorting with this magnificent creature?”

“No,” Krispos said resignedly. “Excellent sir, let me present Mavros to you. He is the son of the noblewoman Tanilis, and is interested in returning to Videssos with us when your mission is done. He’d make a fine groom, excellent sir; he knows horses.”

“Tanilis’ son, eh?” Iakovitzes rose to return Mavros’ bow; he’d evidently learned who Tanilis was. But he went on, “When it comes to grooms for my stables, I don’t care if he’s the Avtokrator’s son, not that Anthimos has one.”

He shot several searching questions at Mavros, who answered them without undue trouble. Then he went outside to look over the youth’s mount. When he came back, he was nodding. “You’ll do, if you’re the one who’s been tending that animal.”

“I am,” Mavros said.

“Good, good. You’ll definitely do. We may even get to leave before fall comes; Lexo may see reason after all. At least I’m beginning to hope so again.” Iakovitzes looked almost cheerful for a moment as he sat down. Then he found something new to complain about. “Oh, a plague! My sausage is cold. Bolkanes!”

As the innkeeper hurried up, Mavros whispered to Krispos, “Is your master always like that?”

“Now that you mention it, yes,” Krispos whispered back.

“I wonder if I want to see Videssos the city enough to work for him.” But Mavros was joking. He raised his voice to a normal level. “I’m going to ride home now, but I’ll be in town a lot. If I’m not, just send a messenger for me and I’ll come ready to travel.” Bowing again to Iakovitzes, he left the taproom.

Around a mouthful of fresh, steaming sausage, Iakovitzes said, “So now you’re hobnobbing with young nobles, are you, Krispos? You’re coming up a bit in your choice of friends.”

“If I hadn’t spent these last months with you, excellent sir, I wouldn’t have had any idea how to act around him,” Krispos said. Flattery that was also true, he’d found, worked best.

It worked now. Iakovitzes’ gaze lost the piercing quality it had when he was suspicious about something. “Hrmp,” he said, and went back to his breakfast.

T
HREE DAYS LATER, MAVROS BROUGHT KRISPOS ANOTHER DINNER
invitation. Krispos went out and bought a new tunic, a saffron-yellow one that went well with his olive skin. After he paid for it, he felt odd. It was the first time he’d got a shirt just for the sake of having something new.

Tanilis’ admiring glance that evening made the purchase seem worthwhile. She was worth admiring herself, in a thin dress of white linen that emphasized how small her waist was. More gold shone on her wrists and around her neck.

“You are welcome, as always,” she said, holding out her hand.

Krispos took it. “Thank you, my…Tanilis.” His tongue slipped by accident, but he watched her eyes fall as she heard the last two words together. Maybe his hope of the previous visit had not been so foolish after all.

But if that was so, she gave no hint of it during dinner. Indeed, she said very little. Mavros did most of the talking; he bubbled with excitement at the prospect of heading west for the city. “When will we leave?” he asked. “Do you know? How fare Iakovitzes’ talks with the Khatrisher?”

“Better, I think,” Krispos said. “He’s hardly swearing at all when he gets back from the eparch’s residence these days. With him, that’s a very good sign.”

“I’ll start packing, then.”

“Go ahead, but don’t pack anything you might want before you go. He was like this once before, weeks ago, and then things fell apart again.” Krispos took a last luscious bite of blackberry tart and turned to Tanilis. “I wish your cook could come with me along with your son. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so well.”

“I’ll tell Evtykhes you said so,” she said, smiling. “Your praise will please him more than what he gets from us—you’re not obliged to say kind things to him for politeness’ sake.”

Krispos had not thought about that. The servants at Iakovitzes’ home were the only ones he’d known, and he was one among them. For that matter, Iakovitzes did not say kind things to anyone for politeness’ sake. He used the rough edge of his tongue, not the smooth, to keep his people in line.

Tanilis said, “Though I must keep Evtykhes, Krispos, you will need more than you have if what we hope is to be accomplished. When you and Mavros do at last depart for the imperial city, I will send gold with you.”

“My lady”—this time Krispos deliberately used her title rather than her name—“even with Mavros with me in Videssos, what’s to keep me from spending the gold just on women and wine?”

“You are.” Tanilis looked him full in the face. Those huge dark eyes held his; he had the uneasy feeling she could peer deeper into him than he could himself. Now he was the first to lower his gaze.

Mavros rose. “I’m off. If I’m to be leaving soon, I have some farewells to make.”

Tanilis watched him go. “What was it you said about wine and women?” she asked Krispos. “Most of his farewells will be of that sort, I expect.”

“He’s coming into a man’s years and a man’s pleasures,” Krispos replied from the peak of maturity that was twenty-two.

“So he is,” Tanilis’ voice was musing. Her eyes met Krispos again, but she looked through him rather than into him, back toward the past. “A man. How strange. I must have been about the age he is now when I bore him.”

“Surely younger,” Krispos said.

She laughed, without mirth but also without bitterness. “You are gallant, but I know the count of years. They are part of me; why should I deny them?”

Instead of answering, Krispos took a thoughtful sip from his wine cup. He’d made a mistake by breaking the rule of flattery he’d used on Iakovitzes. With someone like Tanilis, it did not do to make mistakes.

Before long, Krispos got up to go, saying, “Thank you again for inviting me here, and for the aid you promise, and for this second wonderful feast.”

“Truly, if it does not unduly anger your master, you would be well advised to stay till morning,” Tanilis said. “The ride back to Opsikion will be twice as long in the darkness, and there are brigands in the hills, try as we will to keep them down.”

“Iakovitzes is angry most of the time, it seems. Unduly?” Krispos shrugged. “I expect I can talk him round. Thank you once more.”

Tanilis called for Xystos. The servant took Krispos to the same guest chamber he had used before. That soft bed beckoned. He stripped off his clothes, slid under the single light blanket that was all he needed on a warm summer night, and fell asleep at once.

He was a sound sleeper, a legacy of the many years he had gone to bed every night too tired to wake to anything less than an earthquake. The first he knew of anyone else’s being in the room was the bed shifting as the weight of another body settled onto it.

He jerked upright. “Wha—” he said muzzily.

Even the small, flickering flame of the lamp Tanilis held was enough to dazzle his sleep-dulled eyes. A secret smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s—all right,” he answered after a moment, when he had full control of himself. Still not altogether sure why she had come—and not daring to be wrong here, where his head might answer for it—he pulled the blanket up to cover more of himself.

That secret smile came out in the open. “Wise to be cautious. But never mind.” Then her expression changed. “What is that coin you wear round your neck?” she asked, her voice suddenly sharp and interested.

“This?” Krispos’ hand closed over the goldpiece. “It’s just for luck.”

“For more than luck, I think,” Tanilis said. “Please, if you would, tell me how you came by it.”

He told her how Omurtag had given him the coin at the ransoming ceremony back when he was a boy. Her eyes glittered in the lamplight as she followed his account. When he thought he was done, she questioned him about the incident as closely as Iakovitzes had grilled Mavros on horses.

Prodded so, he recalled more than he’d imagined he could, even to things like the expression on the Kubrati
enaree
’s face. The more he answered, though, the more glumly certain he became that she’d forgotten why she’d come to his bedroom in the first place.
Too bad,
he thought. The lamp’s warm light made her especially lovely.

But she certainly seemed indifferent to their both being on the same bed. When she could pick no more memories from him, she said, “No wonder I saw as I did. The seeds of what you may be were sown long ago; at last they have grown toward the light of day.”

He shrugged. At the moment, he cared little for the nebulous future. He was too busy thinking about what he wished he was doing in the very immediate present.

“You’re rather a young man still, though, and not much worried about such things,” Tanilis said. He gulped, wondering if she could read his mind. Then he saw she was looking down at the thin blanket, which revealed his thoughts clearly enough. He felt himself flush, but the smile was back on her face. “I suppose that’s as it should be,” she said, and blew out the lamp.

For a whole series of reasons, the rest of the evening proved among the most educational of Krispos’ life. Every woman he’d been with before Tanilis suddenly seemed a girl by comparison. They
were
girls, he realized: his age or younger, chosen for attractiveness, kept for enthusiasm. Now for the first time he learned what polished art could add.

Looking back the exhausted morning after, he supposed Tanilis had taken him through his paces like Iakovitzes steering a jumper around a course. Had she taught him anything else that way, he was sure he would have resented her. He still did, a little, but resentment had to fight hard against languor.

He’d wondered for some little while if art was all she brought to the game. She moved, she stroked, she lay back to receive his caresses in silence, a silence that persisted no matter what he did. And though all her ploys were far more than just enjoyable, he also thought they were rehearsed.