The Tale of Krispos (50 page)

“You made him do it,” she said.

He had to nod. At the end, Anthimos had been badly rattled, too, or likely he never would have made his fatal blunder. “Without you, I never would have known, I wouldn’t have been there…” This time Krispos hugged Dara, acknowledging the debt he owed, the gratitude he felt.

She must have sensed some of that. She looked up at him; her eyes searched his face. “We need each other,” she said slowly.

“Very much,” he agreed, “especially now.”

She might not have heard him. As if he hadn’t spoken, she repeated, “We need each other,” then went on, maybe as much to herself as to him, “We please each other, too. Taken together, isn’t that a fair start toward…love?”

Krispos heard her hesitate before she risked the word. He would also have hesitated to speak it between them. Having been lovers did not guarantee love; that was another of Tanilis’ lessons. Even so…“A fair start,” he said, and did not feel he was lying. Then he added, “One thing more, anyhow.”

“What’s that?” Dara asked.

“I promise you won’t have to worry about minnows with me.”

She blinked, then started to laugh. But her voice had a grim edge to it as she warned, “I’d better not. Anthimos didn’t have to care about what I thought, whereas you…”

She stopped. He thought about what she hadn’t said: that he was a peasant-born usurper with no right to the throne whatever, save that his fundament was on it. He knew that was true. If he ruled well, he also knew it eventually would not matter. But eventually was not now. Now anything that linked him to the imperial house he had just toppled would help him hold power long enough for it to seem to belong to him. He could not afford to antagonize Dara.

“I said not a minute ago that you didn’t need to worry about such things,” he reminded her.

“So you did.” She sounded as if she were reminding herself, too.

He kissed her, then said with mock formality so splendid Mavros might have envied it, “And now, Your Majesty, if you will forgive me, I have a few small trifles to attend to before the night is through.”

“Yes, just a few,” she said, smiling, her mood matching his. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Your Majesty.”

He kissed her again, then hurried away. The Halogai outside the imperial residence swung their axes to the ready in salute as he came out. A few minutes later, Mavros rode up, leading Krispos’ horse Progress on a line. “Here’s your mount, Kris—uh, Your Majesty. Now—” His voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. “—what do you need the beast for?”

“To ride, of course,” Krispos said. While his foster brother sputtered, he turned to Thvari and spoke for a couple of minutes. When he was done, he asked, “Do you have that? Can you do it?”

“I have it. If I can do it, I will. If I can’t, I’ll be dead. So will you, not much later,” the northerner answered with the usual bloodthirsty directness of the Halogai.

“I trust you’ll do your best, then, for both our sakes,” Krispos said. He swung himself up onto Progress’ back and loosed the lead line. “Now we ride,” he told Mavros.

“I did suspect that, truly I did,” Mavros said. “Do you have any place in particular in mind, or shall we just gallivant around the city?”

Krispos had already urged his bay gelding into a trot. “Iakovitzes’ house,” he said over his shoulder as he rode west toward the plaza of Palamas. “I just hope he’s there; the only person I can think of who likes—liked—to carouse more than he does is Anthimos.”

“Why are we going to Iakovitzes’ house?”

“Because he’s still in the habit of keeping lots of grooms,” Krispos answered. “If I’m to be Avtokrator, people will have to know I’m Avtokrator. They’ll have to see me crowned. That will have to happen as fast as it can, before anyone else gets the idea there’s a throne loose for the taking. The grooms can spread word through the city tonight.”

“And wake everyone up?” Mavros said. “The people won’t love you for that.”

“The people of this town love spectacle more than anything else,” Krispos said. “They wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t wake them up for it. Look at Anthimos—you can be anything in Videssos the city, so long as you’re not dull.”

“Well, maybe so,” Mavros said. “I hope so, by the Lord with the great and good mind.”

They reined in in front of Iakovitzes’ house, tied their horses to the rail, and went up to the front door. Krispos pounded on it. He kept pounding until Iakovitzes’ steward Gomaris opened the little grate in the middle of the door and peered through it. Whatever curses the steward had in mind got left unsaid when he recognized Krispos; he contented himself with growling, “By the good god, Krispos, have you gone mad?”

“No,” Krispos said. “I must see Iakovitzes right now. Tell him that, Gomaris, and tell him I won’t take no for an answer.” He waited tensely—if Gomaris said his master was out, everything was up for grabs again. But the steward just slammed the grate shut and went away.

He returned in a couple of minutes. “He says he doesn’t care if it’s the Emperor himself who wants to see him.”

“It is,” Krispos said. “It is the Emperor, Gomaris.” The little grate did not show much of Gomaris’ face, but he saw the steward’s right eye go wide. A moment later, he heard the bar lift. The door swung open.

“What’s happened in the palaces?” Gomaris asked eagerly. No, he was more than eager, he was all but panting to hear juicy news before anyone else did. That, to an inhabitant of the city, was treasure more precious than gold.

“You’ll know when Iakovitzes does,” Krispos promised. “And now, hadn’t you better run ahead and tell him you let Mavros and me in after all?”

“Aye, you’re right, worse luck,” the steward said, his voice suddenly glum. He hurried off toward his master’s bedchamber. Krispos and Mavros, who still knew their way around the house where they had once served, followed more slowly.

Iakovitzes met them before they got to his bedroom. The fiery little noble was just knotting the sash of his dressing gown when he came up to his former protégés. He stabbed out a finger at Krispos. “What’s this nonsense about the Emperor wanting to see me? I don’t see any Emperor. All I see is you, and I wish I didn’t.”

“Excellent sir, you do see the Emperor,” Krispos answered. He touched his own chest.

Iakovitzes snorted. “What
have
you been drinking? Go on home now, and if Phos is merciful I’ll fall back to sleep, forget all about this, and never have to tell Anthimos.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Krispos said. “Anthimos is dead, Iakovitzes.”

As Gomaris’ had just before, Iakovitzes’ eyes went wide. “Hold that torch closer to him, Gomaris,” he told his steward. Gomaris obeyed. In the better light, Iakovitzes examined Krispos closely. “You’re not joking,” he said at last.

“No, I’m not.” Almost by rote, Krispos told the story he had already told four times that night. He finished, “That’s why I’ve come to you, excellent sir, to have your grooms and servants spread word through the city that something extraordinary has happened and that people should gather at the High Temple to learn what.”

To his surprise and indignation, Iakovitzes started to laugh. The noble said, “Your pardon, Your Majesty, but when you first came here, I never thought I had a future Avtokrator shoveling out my horseshit. Not many can say that, by Phos. Oh, no indeed!” He laughed again, louder than before.

“You’ll help, then?” Krispos said.

Iakovitzes slowly sobered. “Aye, Krispos, I’ll help you. Better you with the crown than some dunderheaded general, which is the other choice we’d likely have.”

“Thanks, I suppose,” Krispos said—Iakovitzes never gave praise without splashing vinegar on it.

“You’re welcome, I’m sure,” the noble said. He sighed. “And to think that with a little luck I could have had an Avtokrator in my bed as well as in my stables.” Iakovitzes turned a look that was half glower, half leer on Mavros. “Why didn’t you overthrow the Emperor?”

“Me? No, thank you,” Mavros said. “I wouldn’t take the job on a bet. I want to go through life without food tasters—and without using up a few of them along the way.”

“Hrmmp.” Iakovitzes gave his attention back to Krispos. “You’ll have plenty to keep you occupied tonight, won’t you? I suppose you’ll want me to go and wake up everyone in the household. I may as well. Now that you’ve ruined my hope for a decent night’s sleep, why should I let anyone else have one?”

“You’re as generous and considerate as I remember you,” Krispos said, just to see him glare. “By the good god, I promise you won’t be sorry for this.”

“If both our heads go up on the Milestone, I’ll make sure mine reminds yours of that,” Iakovitzes said. “Now get moving, will you? The faster this is done, the better the chance we all have of avoiding the chap with the cleaver.”

Since Krispos had come to the same conclusion, he nodded, clasped Iakovitzes’ hand, and hurried away. He and Mavros were just climbing onto their horses when Iakovitzes started making a horrible racket inside the house. Mavros grinned. “He doesn’t do things by halves, does he?”

“He never did,” Krispos said. “I’m only glad he’s with us and not against us. Gnatios won’t be so easy.”

“You’ll persuade him,” Mavros said confidently.

“One way or another, I have to,” Krispos said as they rode through the dark, quiet streets of the city. Only a few people shared the night with them. A couple of courtesans beckoned as they trotted by; a couple of footpads slunk out of their way; a couple of staggering drunks ignored them altogether. Once, off in the distance, Krispos saw for a moment the clump of torches that proclaimed respectable citizens traveling by night. He rounded a corner and they were gone.

More torches blazed in front of the patriarchal mansion. Krispos and Mavros tied their horses to a couple of the evergreens that grew there and walked up to the entrance. “I am heartily tired of rapping on doors,” Krispos said, rapping on the door.

Mavros consoled him. “After this, you can have servants rap on them for you.”

The rapping eventually had its result—the priest Badourios opened the door a crack and demanded, “Who dares disturb the ecumenical patriarch’s rest?” Then he recognized Krispos and grew more civil. “I hope it is not a matter of urgency, esteemed and eminent sir.”

“Would I be here if it weren’t?” Krispos retorted. “I must see the patriarch at once, holy sir.”

“May I tell him your business?” Badourios asked.

Mavros snapped, “Were it for you, be assured we would consult you. It is for your master, as Krispos told you. Now go and fetch him.” Badourios glared sleepy murder at him, then abruptly turned on his heel and hurried away.

Gnatios appeared a few minutes later. Even fresh-roused from sleep, he looked clever and elegant, if none too happy. Krispos and Mavros bowed. As Gnatios responded with a bow of his own, Krispos saw him take in their dirty faces and torn robes. But his voice was smooth as ever as he asked, “What has so distressed his Majesty that he must have a response in the middle of the night?”

“Let us speak privately, not in this doorway,” Krispos said.

The patriarch considered, then shrugged. “As you wish.” He led them to a small chamber, lit a couple of lamps, then closed and barred the door. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “Very well, let me ask you once more, if I may, esteemed and eminent sir: what theological concern has Anthimos so vexed he must needs rout me out of bed for his answer?”

“Most holy sir, you know as well as I that Anthimos never worried much about theology,” Krispos said. “Now he doesn’t worry about it at all. Or rather, he worries in the only way that truly matters—he’s walking the narrow bridge between the light above and the ice below.” He saw Gnatios’ eyebrows shoot up. He nodded. “Yes, most holy sir, Anthimos is dead.”

“And you, most holy sir, have been addressing the Avtokrator of the Videssians by a title far beneath his present dignity,” Mavros added. His voice was hard, but one corner of his mouth could not help twitching upward with mischief.

Suave and urbane as he normally was, the patriarch goggled at that. “No,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Krispos said, and for the half-dozenth time that night told how Anthimos had perished. Listening to himself, he discovered he did have the story down pat; only a few words were different from the ones he’d used with Iakovitzes and Dara. He finished, “And that is why we’ve come to you now, most holy sir: to have you set the crown on my head at the High Temple in the morning.”

Gnatios had regained his composure while Krispos spoke. Now he shook his head and repeated, “No,” this time loudly and firmly. “No, I will not crown a jumped-up stableboy like you, no matter what has befallen his Majesty. If you speak the truth and he has died, others are far more deserving of imperial rank.”

“By which you mean Petronas—your cousin Petronas,” Krispos said. “Let me remind you, most holy sir, that Petronas now wears the blue robe.”

“Vows coerced from a man have been set aside before,” Gnatios said. “He would make a better Avtokrator than you, as you must admit.”

“I admit nothing of the sort,” Krispos growled, “and you’re mad if you think I’d give over the throne to a man whose first act upon it would be to take my head.”

“You’re mad if you think I’ll crown you,” Gnatios retorted.

“If you don’t, Pyrrhos will,” Krispos said.

That ploy had worked before with Gnatios, but it failed now. The ecumenical patriarch drew himself up. “Pyrrhos is but an abbot. For a coronation to have validity, it must be at my hands, the patriarch’s hands, and they shall not grant it to you.”

Just then Badourios knocked urgently on the door. Without waiting for a reply, the priest tried the latch. When he found the door barred, he called through it: “Most holy sir, there’s an unseemly disturbance building in the street outside.”

“What’s happening in the street outside does not concern me,” Gnatios said angrily. “Now go away.”

Krispos and Mavros looked at each other. “Maybe what’s happening in the street
does
concern you, most holy sir,” Krispos said, his voice silky. “Shall we go and see?”

The lines on Gnatios’ forehead and those running down from beside his nose to the outer ends of his mouth deepened in suspicion. “As you wish,” he said reluctantly.