The Tale of Krispos (24 page)

The second the box was in his hand, its weight told him Tanilis’ gift was the more pragmatic one she’d promised. “Gold?” he said.

“A pound and a half,” Mavros agreed. “If you’re going to be—what you’re going to be—this will help. Money begets money, my mother says. And this will grow all the better since no one knows you have it.”

A pound and a half of gold—the box fit easily in the palm of Krispos’ hand. For Tanilis, it was not enough money to be missed. Krispos knew that if he were to desert his master and Mavros and make his way back to his village, he would be far and away the richest man there. He could go home as something close to a hero: the lad who’d made good in the big city.

But his village, he realized after a moment, was not home anymore, not really. He could no more go back now than he could have stayed in Opsikion. For better or worse, he was caught up in the faster life of Videssos the city. After a taste of it, nothing less could satisfy him.

Rustlings from the bushes announced Iakovitzes’ return. Krispos hastily stowed away the box of coins. With a hundred and eight goldpieces in his hands, he thought, he did not need to keep working for Iakovitzes anymore, either. But if he stayed on, he wouldn’t have to start spending them. He didn’t need to decide anything about that right away, not when he was only a short day’s journey out of Opsikion.

“I may live,” Iakovitzes said. He grimaced as he sat down on the ground and started pulling off his boots. “Eventually, I may even want to. What have we for supper?”

“About what you’d expect,” Krispos answered. “Twice-baked bread, sausage, hard cheese, and onions. We have a couple of wineskins, but it’s a ways to the next town, so we ought to go easy if we want to make it last. I hear a stream off that way—we’ll have plenty of water to wash things down.”

“Water. Twice-baked bread.” The petulant set of Iakovitzes’ mouth showed what he thought of that. “The next time Petronas wants me to go traveling for him, I’ll ask if I can bring a chef along. He does, when he’s out on campaign.”

“There ought to be crawfish in the stream, and trout, too,” Mavros said. “I have a couple of hooks. Shall I go see what I can come up with?”

“I’ll start a fire,” Krispos said. “Roast fish, crawfish baked in clay…” He glanced over to see how Iakovitzes liked the idea.

“Could be worse, I suppose,” the noble said grudgingly. “See if you can find some early marjoram, too, why don’t you, Mavros? It would add to the flavor.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mavros rummaged through his gear till he found the hooks and some light line. “A chunk of sausage should be bait enough for the fish, but what do you suppose I should use to lure out the marjoram?”

Iakovitzes threw a boot at him.

O
NE DAY WHEN HE WAS CLOSE TO HALFWAY BACK TO THE CITY
, Krispos came across the coral pendant he’d brought for Sirikia. He stared at it; the seamstress hadn’t crossed his mind in months. He hoped she’d found someone new. After Tanilis, going back to her would be like leaving Videssos for his farming village: possible, but not worth thinking about.

He was no monk on the journey westward; abstinence was not in his nature. But he had finally learned not to imagine himself in love each time his lust needed slaking. Mavros still sighed whenever he left behind another barmaid or dyeshop girl.

The travelers lay over in a town called Develtos to rest their horses. Iakovitzes surveyed the place with a jaundiced eye. His one-sentence verdict summed it up perfectly. “By the good god, it makes Opsikion look like a metropolis.”

Mavros spluttered at that, but Krispos knew what his master meant. Develtos boasted a stout wall and had little else about which to boast. Seeing how small and gloomy a town the works protected, Krispos wondered why anyone had bothered to build them in the first place.

“The road does need strongpoints every so often,” Iakovitzes told him when he said that aloud. The noble took another long look, sighed in despair. “But we’ll have to make our own fun, that’s for certain. Speaking of which…” His gaze traveled back to Krispos.

It was the groom’s turn to sigh. Iakovitzes had not bothered him much since Mavros joined them. So far as Krispos knew, he hadn’t made advances at Mavros, either. Had Krispos not seen a good-looking young stablehand a couple of towns back wearing one of the noble’s rings the morning they set out, he would have wondered if Iakovitzes was fully healed. He’d enjoyed the peace while it lasted.

The inn Iakovitzes picked proved livelier than the rest of Develtos, whose people seemed as dour as the grim gray stone from which their wall and buildings were made. That was not the innkeeper’s fault; he was as somber as any of his townsfolk. But a group of close to a dozen mother-of-pearl merchants from the eastern island of Kalavria made the place jolly in spite of its proprietor. Krispos had even met one or two of them back at Opsikion; they’d landed there before heading inland.

“Why didn’t you just sail straight on to Videssos the city?” he asked one of the traders over a mug of wine.

“Bring mother-of-pearl to the city?” exclaimed the Kalavrian, a hook-nosed fellow named Stasios. “I might as well fetch milk to a cow. Videssos has more than it needs already. Here away from the sea, though, the stuff is rare and wonderful, and we get good prices.”

“You know your business best,” Krispos said. From the way the merchants were spending money, they’d done well so far.

The taproom grew gloomy as evening came on. The innkeeper waited longer than Krispos liked before lighting candles; likely he’d hoped his guests would go to bed when it got dark and save him the expense. But the Kalavrians were in no mood for sleep. They sang and drank and swapped stories with Krispos and his companions.

After a while, one of the traders took out a pair of dice. The tiny rattle they gave as he rolled them on the table to test his luck made Iakovitzes scramble to his feet. “I’m going upstairs,” he told Krispos and Mavros, “and if the two of you have any sense you’ll come with me. You start gambling with Kalavrians and you’ll still be at it when the sun comes up again.”

The merchants laughed. “So they know our reputation even in the city?” Stasios said. “I’d have bet they did.”

“I know you would,” Iakovitzes said. “You’d bloody well bet on anything. That’s why I’m heading off to bed, to keep from having to stay up with you.”

Mavros hesitated, then went upstairs with him. Krispos decided to stay and play. The stakes, he saw with some relief, were pieces of silver, not gold. “We’re all friends,” one of the traders said, noticing his glance at the money they’d got out. “There’d be no joy in breaking a man, especially since he’d have to stay with us till fall even so.”

“Good enough,” Krispos answered. Before long, the man to his left threw double sixes and lost the dice. They came to him. He rattled them in his hand, then sent them spinning across the tabletop. Twin ones stared up at the gamblers. “Phos’ little suns!” Krispos said happily. He collected all the bets.

“Your first throw!” a Kalavrian said. “With luck like that, no wonder you wanted to stay down here. You knew you’d clean us out.”

“They’re your dice,” Krispos retorted. “For all I knew, you’d loaded them.”

“No, that’d be Rhangavve,” Stasios said. “He’s not with us this year—somebody back home on the island caught him at it and broke his arm for him. He’s richer than any of us, though, the cheating bastard.”

Krispos won a little, lost a little, won a little more. Eventually he found himself yawning and not being able to stop. He got up from the table. “That’s enough for me,” he said. “I want to be able to ride tomorrow without falling off my horse.”

A couple of Kalavrians waved as he headed for the stairs. More had eyes only for the spinning bone cubes. Behind the bar, the innkeeper sat dozing. He jerked awake every so often. “Aren’t you gents tired, too?” he asked plaintively, seeing Krispos leave. The traders laughed at him.

Krispos had just got to the head of the stairs when he saw someone quietly emerging from Iakovitzes’ room. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. Then he relaxed. Though only a couple of tiny lamps lit the hall, he recognized Mavros. The youth leaned back into the doorway for a moment, murmured something Krispos could not hear, and went to his own room. It was farther down the hall than Iakovitzes’, so he turned his back on Krispos and did not notice him.

Krispos frowned as he opened his door, then barred it behind him. He tried to tell himself what he’d seen didn’t mean what he thought it did. He could not make himself believe it. He knew what a good-night kiss looked like, no matter who was giving it.

He asked himself what difference it made. Living in Iakovitzes’ household had taught him that the grooms who let the noble take them to bed were not much different from the ones who declined, save in their choice of pleasures. If Mavros enjoyed what Iakovitzes offered, it was his business and none of Krispos’. It did not make him any less cheerful, clever, or enthusiastic.

That thought consoled Krispos long enough to let him undress and get into bed. Then he realized it was his business after all. Tanilis had charged him to treat Mavros as a younger brother. No matter how his perspective had changed, he knew it would not be easy if his younger brother acted as Mavros had.

He sighed. Here was something new and unwelcome to worry about. He had no idea what to say to Mavros or what to do if, as seemed likely, Mavros answered, “So what?” But he found he could not sleep until he promised himself he would say something.

Even getting the chance did not prove easy. Some of the Kalavrians were still gambling when he and Mavros came down for breakfast the next morning, and this was one conversation he did not want overheard.

For that matter, some of the Kalavrians were still gambling when Iakovitzes came down for breakfast quite a bit later. He rolled his eyes. “You’d bet on whether Phos or Skotos will triumph at the end of time,” he said in disgust.

Stasios and a couple of others looked up from the dice. “You know, we just might,” he said. Soon the bleary-eyed merchants started arguing theology as they played.

“Congratulations,” Mavros told Iakovitzes.

“By the ice, what for?” Iakovitzes was listening to the Kalavrians as if he could not believe his ears.

With a sly grin, Mavros answered, “How many people can boast they’ve invented a new heresy before their morning porridge?”

Krispos swallowed wrong. Mavros pounded him on the back. Iakovitzes just scowled. Through the rest of the day, he remained as sour toward Mavros as he was with anyone else. Krispos began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. But no, he knew what he’d seen.

As the last of the all-night gamblers among the Kalavrians went upstairs, the traders who had gone to bed began drifting down once more. The game never stopped. Krispos fretted. Having to wait only made him more nervous about what he’d say to Mavros.

After checking the horses the next morning, Iakovitzes decided to ride on. “Another day wouldn’t hurt the beasts, I suppose, but another day stuck in Develtos with those gambling maniacs would do me in,” he said.

He was too good a horseman to push the pace with tired animals and rested them frequently. When he went off to answer nature’s call at one of those stops, Krispos found himself with the opportunity he’d dreaded. “Mavros,” he said quietly.

“What is it?” Mavros turned toward him. When he saw the expression on Krispos’ face, his own grew more serious. “What is it?” he repeated in a different tone of voice.

Now that he was at the point, Krispos’ carefully crafted speeches deserted him. “Did you end up in bed with Iakovitzes the other night?” he blurted.

“What if I did? Are you jealous?” Mavros looked at Krispos again. “No, you’re not. What then? Why should you care?”

“Because I was bid to be your brother, remember? I never had a brother before, only sisters, so I don’t quite know how to do that. But I do know I wouldn’t want any kin of mine sleeping with someone just to get in his good graces.”

If Mavros knew about him and Tanilis, Krispos realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he’d throw that right back at him, no matter how unfairly. But Mavros must not have. He said, “Why do I need to get in Iakovitzes’ good graces? Aye, he lives at the capital, but I could buy and sell him. If he gives me too bad a time, I’d do it, too, and he knows it.”

Krispos started to answer, abruptly stopped. He’d judged Mavros’ situation by his own, and only now did he see the two were not the same. Unlike him, Mavros had a perfectly satisfactory life to return to if the city did not suit him. With such independent means, though, why had he yielded to Iakovitzes? That was a question Krispos could ask, and did.

“To find out what it was like, why else?” Mavros said. “I’ve had plenty of girls, but I’d never tried it the other way round. From the way Iakovitzes talked it up, I thought I was missing something special.”

“Oh.” The straightforward hedonism in the reply reminded Krispos of Tanilis. He needed a moment to get up the nerve to ask, “And what did you think?”

Mavros shrugged. “It was interesting to do once, but I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it. As far as I’m concerned, girls are more fun.”

“Oh,” Krispos said again. He felt foolish. “I guess I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

“Probably you should have.” But Mavros seemed to reconsider. “No, I take that back. If we are to be brothers, then you have the right to speak to me when something troubles you—and the other way round, too, I suppose.”

“That’s only fair,” Krispos agreed. “This whole business takes some getting used to.”

“Things my mother arranges usually do,” Mavros said cheerfully, “but they have a way of working out right in the end. And if this particular arrangement works out right in the end—” He broke off. They were altogether alone except for Iakovitzes off somewhere in the bushes, but he was still wary of speaking about what Tanilis had seen. Krispos thought the better of him for it. He was a good deal more than wary himself.

“What were you two gossiping about?” Iakovitzes asked when he came back a couple of minutes later.