The Tale of Krispos (40 page)

L
EAVES GLOWED GREEN UNDER THE SPRING SUN’S CHEERFUL RAYS
. The chatty trills of newly returned wagtails and chiffchaffs came through the open windows of the imperial residence along with the sunbeams and the sweet scent of the cherry blossoms now in riotous pink bloom all around the building.

Krispos fetched a tray of wine and sweet pastries in to Anthimos and Petronas, then contrived to hang about in the hallway outside the chamber where they were talking. He had a dust rag and every so often made a swipe at one of the antiquities there, but no one would have thought he was doing anything but eavesdropping.

The Avtokrator and Sevastokrator exchanged pleasantries before they got down to business. Krispos’ dusting hand jerked when Petronas asked after Dara. “She’s quite well, thanks,” Anthimos answered. “She seems happy these days.”

“That’s good,” his uncle said. “May she give you a son soon.”

As he cleaned the helmet of the long-ago King of Kings of Makuran, Krispos thought with a small smile that the odds of Dara’s conceiving had improved these days. She had called him back to her bed after that first time, again and again. They still had to be cautious, they took all the chances they could.

After more inconsequential talk, Anthimos said, “Uncle, may the good god grant you victory in your wars on Makuran, but are you certain you have left behind enough forces to hold back the Kubratoi if they attack?” Krispos stopped dusting altogether and craned his neck to make sure he heard Petronas’ reply.

It took a while to come. At last the Sevastokrator said, “I do not think the Kubratoi will launch any serious assaults this year.”

“But they’ve already begun, it seems to me.” Anthimos rustled parchments. “See, here I have two reports that have just arrived, one from near Imbros, the other some distance farther east, of raids by the wild men, cattle and sheep stolen. I don’t like such reports. They concern me.” Under most circumstances, the young Emperor did not hear news of things that went wrong. Krispos, though, had made sure these reports came to his attention.

“Let me see them.” Another pause, presumably while Petronas skimmed through the documents. The Sevastokrator snorted. “These are pinpricks, as you must see, Anthimos. The frontier guards drove off both bands without difficulty.”

“But what if they grow worse?” Anthimos persisted. “The guards you’ve left behind would not be able to drive them off then.” Krispos nodded to himself. He’d managed to get his own urgency through to the Emperor, sure enough.

“I consider that most unlikely, Your Majesty,” Petronas said.

“Uncle, I’m afraid I don’t,” Anthimos said. “If these attacks have begun already, they will only get larger. I really must insist that you strengthen the northern frontier with some of the troops you’ve shifted toward the westlands.”

This time, Petronas was silent a long while. “Insist?” he said, as if he did not believe his ears. He repeated the word. “Insist, nephew?” Now he sounded as if he had caught Anthimos in an obvious error and was waiting for the Emperor to fix it.

But Anthimos, though his voice wobbled—Krispos knew his own would have wobbled, too, confronting Petronas’ formidable presence—said, “Yes, I really must.”

“Even if that means gutting the campaign against Makuran?” Petronas asked softly.

“Even then,” Anthimos said, more firmly now. “After all, I am the Avtokrator.”

“Certainly you are,” Petronas said. “It’s only that I’m surprised to find you taking so sudden an interest in the conduct of matters military. I’d thought I enjoyed your trust in such things.” His voice was a finely tuned instrument, projecting now nothing but patience and reason.

“You do hold my trust. You know you do, Uncle,” Anthimos said. Krispos feared he was weakening. But he went on, “In this particular case, though, I think your own eagerness for the fight makes you less cautious than you have been in the past.”

“This is your final word, Your Majesty?”

“It is.” Anthimos could sound most imperial when he cared to, Krispos thought. He wondered if that would be enough for him to impose his will on the Sevastokrator.

It was, and then again it was not. After yet another long, thoughtful pause, Petronas said, “Your Majesty, you know your word is my command.” Krispos knew what a lie that was; he wondered if Anthimos did. He got no chance to find out, for the Sevastokrator continued, “Perhaps, though, you will be gracious enough to let me propose a solution that permits me to keep the entire army, yet will confound the Kubratoi.”

“Go ahead,” Anthimos said cautiously, as if, like Krispos, he was wondering how Petronas proposed to accomplish the two goals that seemed incompatible.

“Thank you, Anthimos; I will. Perhaps you remember hearing of a Haloga mercenary band led by a northerner called Harvas Black-Robe.”

“Well, yes, now that you mention it. They’ve been making mischief for a while in Khatrish, haven’t they?”

“Thatagush actually, Your Majesty. I’ve taken the liberty of inquiring of this Harvas what he would require to fall upon Kubrat instead. If his northerners do that, Malomir will be far too occupied with them to give us any trouble for some time to come, all without the use of a single good Videssian soldier. What say you to that?”

It was the Avtokrator’s turn to hesitate. Out in the hall, Krispos kicked at the polished marble floor. Petronas had indeed had a scheme in reserve, and a good scheme to boot. Krispos learned what being outmaneuvered felt like.

“Uncle, I’ll have to give that some thought,” Anthimos said at last.

“Go ahead, but I hope you’ll think quickly, for now that the weather is fine once more, every campaigning day lost counts against me,” Petronas said.

“You’ll know my decision tomorrow,” the Avtokrator promised.

“Good enough,” Petronas said jovially.

Krispos heard him set down his cup, then heard the chair shift under him as he got to his feet. He started to duck into another room—he did not want to face the Sevastokrator right now. But he was either too slow or too noisy, for Petronas came in after him. As protocol required, he went to one knee before the man with the second highest rank in the Empire of Videssos. “Your imperial Highness,” he said, eyes on the ground.

“Look at me, esteemed and eminent sir,” Petronas said. Unwillingly, Krispos obeyed. The Sevastokrator’s face was hard and cold, his voice flat. “I did not intend throwing a fox out of the vestiarios’ chamber only to replace him with a lion. I’ve warned you, not once but many times, that you would pay for disobeying me. All that remains is deciding how to punish you for your disobedience.”

“I thought you were wrong to bare the border with Kubrat,” Krispos said stubbornly. “I told you as much, and I still think so. I don’t like your new plan much better. How much harm can a mercenary company do to a big country like Kubrat? Probably not enough to keep the wild men from going on with their raids against us.”

“Thatagush is twice the size of Kubrat, and Harvas’ raiders have kept it in chaos for years.” Petronas nodded to Krispos. “That you don’t grovel before me speaks well of you. Given age and experience, you could grow to be truly dangerous. I doubt you’ll have the chance to gain them, though.”

Krispos started to say that Anthimos would protect him against the Sevastokrator. He stopped—he knew better. The Sevastokrator’s will was far stronger than his nephew’s. One way or another, even if Anthimos ordered him not to, he would strike at Krispos. Anthimos might be sorry Krispos was gone, at least until he got used to the quiet, safe eunuch who would undoubtedly replace him. Dara would miss him more. But neither of them could keep Petronas from doing as he liked in the city.

Flight? If anyone in the Empire could track him down, Petronas could. Besides, he thought, what good was it to run away from the friends and allies he had? Getting rid of him might be harder here than on some lonely country road. Better to stay and do what he could. Now, still on that one knee, he met Petronas’ eyes. “May I rise, your Highness?”

“Go ahead,” Petronas said. “You’ll fall again, soon enough.”

K
RISPOS DID HIS BEST TO TALK ANTHIMOS OUT OF LETTING
Petronas use Harvas Black-Robe’s Halogai instead of Videssian troops against the Kubratoi. Anthimos listened and shook his head. “But why, Your Majesty?” Krispos protested. “Even if the mercenaries do turn Kubrat topsy-turvy, Kubrati raiders will still wound your northern provinces.”

Even being reminded by that “you” that the Empire was his personally did not change Anthimos’ mind. “Maybe they will, but not that badly. Why should a little trouble on the frontier concern me? It can be set to rights later.”

What was to Anthimos “a little trouble on the frontier” seemed a disaster in the making to Krispos. He wondered how the Avtokrator would have felt if he had a sister, nieces, a brother-in-law only too close to the wild men. But nothing that did not directly affect Anthimos was real to him.

With as much control as he could muster, Krispos said, “Your Majesty, truly the invasion you admit will happen could be stopped if we put our soldiers back where they belong. You know it’s so.”

“Maybe it is,” Anthimos said. “But if I let Petronas go ahead, he’ll be out of my hair for months. Think of the revels I could enjoy while he’s not around.” The Avtokrator leered in anticipation. Krispos tried to hide his disgust—was this the way an Emperor chose war or peace? Then Anthimos’ face changed. All at once, he was as serious as Krispos had ever seen him. He went on quietly, “Besides, when it comes right down to it, I don’t dare tell my uncle not to use the soldiers he’s spent all this time mustering.”

“Why not?” Krispos said. “Are you the Avtokrator or aren’t you?”

“I am
now,
” Anthimos answered, “and I’d like to keep being the Avtokrator a while longer, too, if you know what I mean. Suppose I order my uncle not to take his army to Makuran. Don’t you think the first thing he’d use it for after that would be to throw me down? Then he’d march on Makuran anyway, and I’d miss all those lovely revels I saw you sneering about a moment ago.”

Abashed, Krispos hung his head. After a little thought, he realized Anthimos was right. He was surprised the Emperor could see so clearly. When Anthimos wanted to be, he was able enough. Trouble was, most of the time he didn’t bother. Krispos mumbled, “Thank you for backing me as far as you did then, Your Majesty.”

“When I thought taking so many men west would pose a bad risk in the north, I was willing to argue with Petronas. But since he’s managed to find a way to enjoy himself and have a good chance of checking the Kubratoi at the same time, why not let him have his fun? He doesn’t begrudge me mine.”

Krispos bowed. He knew he’d lost this duel with Petronas. “As Your Majesty wishes, of course,” he said, yielding as graciously as he could.

“That’s a good fellow. I don’t want to see you glooming about.” Anthimos grinned at Krispos. “Especially since there’s no need for gloom. A good carouse tonight to wash the taste of all this boring business we’ve had to do out of our mouths, and we’ll both feel like new men.” The grin got wider. “Or, if you feel like a woman instead, I expect that can be arranged.”

Krispos did feel like a woman that evening, but not one of the complacent girls who enlivened the Avtokrator’s feasts. He wished he could talk with Tanilis, to find out how badly she thought being bested by Petronas would hurt him. Since Tanilis was far away, Dara would do. Though he still thought her chief loyalty lay with Anthimos rather than with him—Anthimos was Avtokrator, and he was not—he was sure she preferred him to Anthimos’ uncle.

But when, as he had a good many times before, he tried to leave the revel early, the Emperor would not let him. “I told you I didn’t want you glooming about. I expect you to have a good time tonight.” He pointed to a statuesque brunette. “She looks like she’d be a good time.”

The woman Krispos wanted was back at the imperial residence. Telling the Emperor so seemed impractical. Krispos had taken a couple of girls at the revels, just so Anthimos would not notice anything out of the ordinary. But now he said, “I’m not in the mood for it this evening. I think I’ll go over to the wine and drink for a while.” Without a doubt, drinking fell within the Emperor’s definition of a good time.

“
I
know what you need!” Anthimos exclaimed. He snatched the clear crystal bowl out of Krispos’ hands. “Here, take a chance. You’ve been dealing them out for so long, you haven’t been able to be on the grabbing end.”

Obediently Krispos reached into the bowl and drew out a golden ball. He undid it, then unfolded the parchment inside. “Twenty-four pounds of horse manure,” he read. Anthimos laughed so hard, he almost dropped the bowl. Grinning servants presented Krispos with his prize. He looked at the stinking brown mound and shook his head. “Well, it’s been that kind of day.”

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS NO BETTER. HE HAD TO GREET PETRONAS
when the Sevastokrator came to hear what Anthimos had decided. Then he had to endure Petronas’ smirk of triumph after the Emperor’s uncle emerged from being closeted with his nephew. “His Majesty is delighted that I set out for the westlands within the week,” Petronas said.

Of course he is—this way you won’t kill him and stick his head on the Milestone in the plaza of Palamas for the crowds to gape at,
Krispos thought. Aloud he said, “May you triumph, your illustrious Highness.”

“Oh, I shall,” Petronas said. “First into Vaspurakan; the ‘princes,’ good soldiers all, will surely flock to me, for they follow Phos even if they are heretics, and will be glad to escape from the rule of those who worship the Four—false—Prophets. And then—on toward Mashiz!”

Krispos remembered what Iakovitzes had said about the centuries of inconclusive warfare between Videssos and Makuran. Petronas’ planned trip to Mashiz would be quick and easy if his foes cooperated. If not, it was liable to take longer than the Sevastokrator expected. “May you triumph,” he said again.

“What a smooth liar you’ve turned into, when you’d sooner see me ravens’ meat. That’s not likely, though, I’m afraid. No indeed. And in any event, as I told you before, your punishment awaits you. I don’t think it will wait long enough for you to see me at all anymore, let alone in my victorious return. A very good afternoon to you, esteemed and eminent sir.” Petronas swaggered away.