The Tale of Krispos (14 page)

Not only that, he got himself listened to, where before the other grooms had paid no attention to what he thought. Thus when they were hashing over the best way to treat a horse with a mild but stubborn fever, one of them turned to Krispos and asked, “What would you have done about this in that backwoods place you came from?”

“The green forage is all very well,” he said after a little thought, “and the wet, sloppy food and gruel, but we always said there was nothing like beer to speed things along.”

“Beer?” The grooms whooped.

Barses asked, “For us or the animal?”

Krispos laughed, too, but said, “For the animal. A bucket or three ought to do the job.”

“He means it,” Meletios said in surprise. He turned thoughtful. He was all business where horses were concerned. Iakovitzes tolerated no groom who was not, whatever other charms he might have. In a musing tone, Meletios went on, “What say we try it? I don’t see how it could do any harm.”

So a couple of buckets of beer went into the horse’s trough every morning, and if the grooms bought a bit more than the sick animal really needed, why, only they knew about that. And after a few days, the horse’s condition did improve: his breathing slowed, his eyes brightened, and his skin and mouth lost the dry look and feel they’d had while he was ill.

“Well done,” Barses said when the horse was clearly on the mend. “Next time I take a fever, you know what to do with me, though I’d sooner have wine, I think.” Krispos threw a clod of dirt at him.

Iakovitzes had watched the treatment with as much interest as any of the grooms. When it succeeded, he handed Krispos a goldpiece. “And come sup with me this evening, if you care to,” he said, his sharp voice as smooth as he could make it.

“Thank you very much, sir,” Krispos said.

Meletios sulked for the rest of the day. Krispos finally asked him what was wrong. He glared. “If I told you I was jealous, you’d probably beat on me again.”

“Jealous?” Krispos needed a few seconds to catch on. “Oh! Don’t worry about that. I only fancy girls.”

“So you say,” Meletios answered darkly. “But Iakovitzes fancies you.”

Krispos snorted and went back to work. Around sunset, he walked over to Iakovitzes’ main house. This was the first meal he’d eaten there since his breakfast of lobster tail; the grooms had their own dining hall. Like as not, he thought, Meletios was fretting over nothing; if some big banquet was planned, Krispos might not even be at the same table as his master.

As soon as Gomaris led him to a chamber large enough only for two, Krispos knew Meletios had been right and he himself wrong. A small lamp on the table left most of the room in twilight. “Hello, Krispos,” Iakovitzes said, rising to greet him. “Here, have some wine.”

He poured with his own hand. Krispos was used to the rough vintages the villagers had made for themselves. What Iakovitzes gave him slid down his throat like a smooth whisper. He would have thought it mere grape juice but for the warmth it left in his middle.

“Another cup?” Iakovitzes asked solicitously. “I’d like the chance to toast you for your cleverness in dosing Stormbreeze. The beast seems in fine fettle again, thanks to you.”

Iakovitzes raised his cup in salute. Krispos knew drinking too much with his master was not a good idea, but had no polite way to do anything else. The wine was so good, he scarcely felt guilty about soaking it up.

Gomaris fetched in supper, a platter of halibut grilled with garlic and leeks. The herbs’ sharp flavors reminded Krispos of his home, but the only fish he’d had there was an occasional trout or carp taken from a stream, hardly worth mentioning beside a delicacy like this. “Delicious,” he mumbled in one of the few moments when his mouth was not full.

“Glad you enjoy it,” Iakovitzes said. “We have a proverb hereabouts: ‘If you come to Videssos the city, eat fish.’ At least this fish is to your liking.”

After the fish came smoked partridges, one little bird apiece, and, after the partridges, plums and figs candied in honey. The grooms ate well enough, but not fare like this. Krispos knew he was stuffing himself. He found he did not care; after all, Iakovitzes had invited him here to eat.

His master rose to fill his cup again, then sent him a reproachful look when he saw its contents hardly touched. “Dear boy, you’re not drinking. Does the vintage fail to suit you?”

“No, it’s very good,” Krispos said. “It’s just that”—he groped for an excuse—“I don’t want to get all sozzled and act the fool.”

“A commendable attitude, but you needn’t worry. I recognize that part of the pleasure of wine is not worrying so much over what one does. And pleasures, Krispos, do not come to us so often in this life that they are to be lightly despised.” Remembering the troubles that had made him leave his village, Krispos found some truth in Iakovitzes’ words. Iakovitzes went on, “For instance, I am sure, though you do not complain of it, that you must be worn from your toil with the horses. Let me soothe you if I can.”

Before Krispos could reply, Iakovitzes hurried round behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders. He knew what he was about; Krispos felt the tension flowing out of him.

He also felt, though, the quivering eagerness Iakovitzes could not keep from his hands. He knew what that meant; he had known when he was nine years old. Not without some reluctance, he twisted in his seat so he faced Iakovitzes. “I said when you took me on that I didn’t care for these games.”

Iakovitzes kept his aplomb. “And I told you that wouldn’t stop me from being interested. Were you like some I’ve known, I could offer you gold. Somehow, though, with you I don’t think that would do much good. Or am I wrong?” he finished hopefully.

“You’re not wrong,” Krispos said at once.

“Too bad, too bad.” The dim lamplight caught a spark of malice in Iakovitzes’ eye. “Shall I turn you out on the street, then, for your obstinacy?”

“Whatever you like, of course.” Krispos kept his voice as steady as he could. He refused to give his master such a hold on him.

Iakovitzes sighed. “That would be ungrateful of me, wouldn’t it, after what you did for Stormbreeze? Have it as you wish, Krispos. But it’s not as if I were offering you anything vile. Many enjoy it.”

“I’m sure that’s true, sir.” Krispos thought of Meletios. “I just don’t happen to be one of those folk.”

“Too bad,” Iakovitzes said. “Here, have some more wine anyhow. We might as well finish the jar.”

“Why not?” Krispos drank another cup; it was too good to decline. Then he yawned and said, “It must be late. I’d best get back to my own chamber if I’m going to be worth anything in the morning.”

“I suppose so,” Iakovitzes said indifferently—one hour was as good as another to him. When he tried to kiss Krispos good night, Krispos thought he made his sidestep seem completely natural until he saw his master raise an ironic eyebrow.

After that, Krispos retreated in some haste. To his surprise, he found Barses and a couple of the other grooms waiting up for him. “Well?” Barses said.

“Well, what?” Krispos set himself. If Barses wanted revenge for their fight, he might get it. Three against one, in fact, just about guaranteed he would.

But that was not what Barses had in mind. “Well, you and Iakovitzes, of course. Did you? No shame to you if you did—the only reason I want to know is that I have a bet.”

“Which way?”

“I won’t tell you that. If you say it’s none of my business, the bet waits until Iakovitzes makes things clear one way or the other. He will, you know.”

Krispos was sure of that. The wine he’d drunk weakened whatever urge he had to keep the evening a secret. “No, we didn’t,” he said. “I like girls too well to be interested in the sports he enjoys.”

Barses grinned and clapped him on the back, then turned to one of the other grooms with his palm up. “Pay me that goldpiece, Agrabast. I told you he wouldn’t.” Agrabast gave him the coin. “Next question,” Barses said. “Did he toss you out for turning him down?”

“No. He thought about it, but he didn’t.”

“Good thing I didn’t let you double the bet for that, Barses,” Agrabast said. “Iakovitzes loves his beasts about as well as he loves his prick. He wouldn’t throw away anybody who’d shown he knew something about horseleeching.”

“I figured that out,” Barses said. “I was hoping you hadn’t.”

“Well, to the ice with you,” Agrabast retorted.

“To the ice with all of you, if you don’t get out of my way and let me have some sleep.” Krispos started to push past the other grooms, then stopped and added, “Meletios can stop worrying now.”

Everyone laughed. When the chuckles died down, though, Barses said, “You
are
from the country, Krispos; maybe we look at things a little different from you. I meant what I said before—there’d be no shame in saying yes to Iakovitzes, and Meletios isn’t the only one of us who has.”

“I never said he was,” Krispos answered. “But as far as I can see, he’s the only one who’s put some worry into it. So now he can stop.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose,” Barses said judiciously.

“Whether it is or whether it’s not, out of my way before I fall asleep where I’m standing.” Krispos made as if to advance on the other grooms. Laughing again, they moved aside to let him by.

A
LL WINTER LONG, IAKOVITZES CAST LONGING LOOKS KRISPOS
’ way. All winter long, Krispos pretended he did not see them. He tended his master’s horses. Iakovitzes usually took along a groom when he went to a feast, Krispos as often as anyone else. And when he feasted other nobles in turn, all the grooms attended so he could show them off.

At first, Krispos viewed the Empire’s nobility with the same awe he had given Videssos the city when he was just arrived. His awe for the nobles soon wore off. He found they were men like any others, some clever, some plain, some downright stupid. As Barses said of one, “It’s a good thing for him he inherited his money, because he’d never figure out how to make any on his own.”

By contrast, the more Krispos explored the city, the more marvelous he found it. Every alleyway had something new: an apothecary’s stall, perhaps, or a temple to Phos so small only a double handful of worshipers could use it.

Even streets he knew well gave him new people to see: swarthy Makuraners in caftans and felt pillbox hats, big blond Halogai gaping at Videssos just as he had, stocky Kubratoi in furs. Krispos kept his distance from them; he could not help wondering if any had been among the riders who’d kidnapped him and his family or plundered the village north of the mountains.

And there were the Videssians themselves, the people of the city: brash, bumptious, loud, cynical, nothing like the farm folk among whom he’d grown up.

“To the ice with you, you blithering, bungling booby!” a shopkeeper shouted at an artisan one afternoon. “This pane of glass I ordered is half a foot too short!”

“Up yours, too, friend.” The glassblower pulled out a scrap of parchment. “That’s what I thought: seventeen by twenty-two. That’s what you ordered, that’s what I made. You can’t measure, don’t blame me.” He was yelling, too. A crowd began to gather. People poked their heads out of windows to see what was going on.

The shopkeeper snatched the parchment out of his hand. “I didn’t write this!”

“It didn’t write itself, friend.”

The glassblower tried to snatch it back. The shopkeeper jerked it away. They stood nose to nose, screaming at each other and waving their fists. “Shouldn’t we get between them before they pull knives?” Krispos said to the man beside him.

“And wreck the show? Are you crazy?” By the fellow’s tone, he thought Krispos was. After a moment, he grudgingly went on, “They won’t go at it. They’ll just yell till it’s out of their systems, then go on about their business. You wait and see.”

The local proved right. Krispos would have admitted it, but the man hadn’t stayed to see the results of his prediction. After things calmed down, Krispos left, too, shaking his head. His home village hadn’t been like this at all.

He was almost to Iakovitzes’ house when he saw a pretty girl. She smiled when he caught her eye, strode up to him bold as brass. His home village hadn’t been like that, either.

Then she said, “A piece of silver and I’m yours for the afternoon; three and I’m yours for the whole night, too.” She ran her hand along his arm. Her nails and lips were painted the same shade of red.

“Sorry,” Krispos answered. “I don’t feel like paying for it.”

She looked him up and down, then gave a regretful shrug. “No, I don’t expect you’d need to very often. Too bad. I would’ve enjoyed it more with someone who didn’t
have
to buy.” But when she saw he meant his no, she walked on down the street, swinging her hips. Like most people in the city, she didn’t waste time where she had no hope of profit.

Krispos turned his head and watched her till she rounded a corner. He decided not to go back to Iakovitzes’ right away after all. It was too late for lunch, too early for supper or serious drinking. That meant a certain pert little barmaid he knew ought to be able to slip away for—for just long enough, he thought, grinning.

S
NOW GAVE WAY TO SLEET, WHICH IN TURN YIELDED TO RAIN
. By the standards Krispos used to judge, Videssos the city had a mild winter. Even so, he was glad to see spring return. Iakovitzes’ horses were, too. They cropped the tender new grass till their dung came thin and green. Shoveling it made Krispos less delighted with the season.

One fine morning when such shoveling was someone else’s concern, he started out on an errand of his own—not the little barmaid, with whom he had broken up, but a more than reasonable substitute. He opened Iakovitzes’ front door, then drew back in surprise. What looked like a parade was coming up to the house.

The city folk loved parades, so this one, not surprisingly, had a fair-sized crowd around it. Krispos needed a moment to see that at its heart were bearers with—he counted quickly—eleven silk parasols. The Avtokrator of Videssos rated only one more.

As Krispos realized who Iakovitzes’ visitor had to be, a gorgeously robed servitor detached himself from the head of the procession. He declared, “Forth comes his illustrious Highness the Sevastokrator Petronas to call upon your master Iakovitzes. Be so good, fellow, as to announce him.”