The Tale of Krispos (28 page)

By the time the tour was nearly done, Stotzas and Krispos were at the far end of the stables, well away from the other hands. The graybeard gave Krispos a sidelong look. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, his voice sly.

“I’ll try. What more can I say right now? I only wish you could tell me about the people the same way you did about the horses.”

Stotzas’ shoulders shook. After a moment, Krispos realized the groom was laughing. “Ah, so you’re not just a young fool with more muscles than he needs. I hoped you weren’t. Aye, the people’ll drive you madder than the beasts any day, but if you keep ’em happy and keep ’em tending to their jobs, things’ll run smooth enough. If you have that trick, sonny, you’ll do right well for yourself.”

“I hope I do.” Krispos met Stotzas’ eyes. “I hope you’ll help me, too.”

“Won’t stand in your road, anyhow,” Stotzas said after a brief, thoughtful pause. “Any youngster who admits he don’t know everything there is to know is worth taking a chance on, you ask me. And you handled Onorios pretty well. Reckon he’ll be buying you wine a month from now instead of the other way round.”

“That he will,” Krispos promised.

“Well, let’s head back,” Stotzas said. As they walked down the center aisle of the stable toward the knot of expectantly waiting hands, the senior groom raised his voice a little to ask, “So what do you think we ought to do about that hunter with the sore shins?”

“You’ve been resting him, you said, and putting cold compresses on his legs?” Krispos waited for Stotzas’ nod, then went on, “He doesn’t look too bad. If you keep up with what you’re doing for a few more days, then start exercising him on soft ground, he should do all right.”

Neither of them let on that they’d quietly talked about the horse’s problem in front of its stall. Stotzas rubbed his chin, nodded sagely. “Good advice, sir. We’ll take it, I expect.” He turned to the crowd of stable hands. “He’ll do.”

Allies made life easier, Krispos thought.

F
OR THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS, KRISPOS SPENT MOST OF HIS
waking hours in the stables. He learned more about horsemanship than he’d ever known, and more about the sometimes related art of guiding men, as well. When he collected his bet from Onorios, he made a point of also buying wine for the burly groom. After they drank together, Onorios hurried to do whatever Krispos needed and did it gladly. Stotzas said nothing, but a glint of amusement showed in his eyes once in a while.

Because he was working so hard, Krispos needed a while to notice how his life had changed since he moved to his apartment in the Grand Courtroom. At Iakovitzes’, he’d been a servant. Here he had servants of his own. His bed linen was always clean; his clothes seemed to wash themselves as if by magic and reappear, spotless, in his closet.

He also learned that any small valuables he left out might disappear, as if by magic. He was glad he’d hidden Tanilis’ gift behind a piece of molding he’d loosened. Every so often, he would move the small cabinet he’d put in front of the loose place and add more money to his store. He lived frugally. He was too busy to do anything else.

He was about to go to sleep one warm summer night when someone tapped on his door. He scratched his head. His acquaintance with the officials and courtiers who lived in the other apartments down this hall was nodding at best; he’d been at the stables too much to get to know them well. “Who is it?” he called.

“Eroulos.”

“Oh!” Krispos had not seen Petronas’ steward since the day he came to Iakovitzes’ house for him. After hastily throwing his tunic back on, he unbarred the door. “Come in!”

“No, you come out with me,” Eroulos said. “I am bidden to bring you downstairs to the Sevastokrator. His Imperial Highness is entertaining…a guest. He would like to have him meet you.”

“A guest?”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Come along, if you please.”

Krispos followed Eroulos down the hall and down the stairs. Petronas’ guards gave the steward and him a thorough patting down at the doorway to the Sevastokrator’s suite. Krispos let himself be searched without complaint; after all, he had never passed through this entrance before. But he was surprised Eroulos got the same treatment. If Petronas did not trust his own steward, whom did he trust?
Maybe no one,
Krispos thought.

Finally, nodding, the guards stood aside. One of them opened the door. Eroulos waved Krispos in ahead of him. Krispos had wondered how the Sevastokrator lived. What he saw reminded him of Tanilis’ villa: a mix of great wealth and quiet good taste.

An icon of Phos arrested his eye. Respect for both the good god and the artist made him sketch the sun-sign over his heart; he’d never seen Phos portrayed with such perfectly mingled sternness and kindness. Eroulos followed his gaze. “That is the image, they say, after which the Phos in the dome of the High Temple is modeled,” the steward remarked.

“I can well believe it,” Krispos said. Even after he’d walked by, he had the uneasy feeling the god in the icon was still looking at him.

“Here we are,” Eroulos said at length, halting before a door inlaid with lacy vines of gold and ivory. He tapped at it. For a moment, the two voices coming through it did not pause. One was Petronas. The other sounded lighter, younger. Eroulos tapped again. “All right, all right,” Petronas growled.

The steward swung the door open. It moved silently, on well-greased hinges. “Here is Krispos, your Highness.”

“Good.” The Sevastokrator turned to the man sitting across a small table from him. “Well, nephew, I suppose the argument can wait a few minutes before we pick it up again. You wanted to see the fellow who overthrew the famous Beshev and sent Gleb back to Kubrat less high and mighty than he came here. This is Krispos.”

Petronas’ nephew! Krispos bowed low before the younger man, then went to his knees and down flat on his belly. “Your Majesty,” he whispered.

“Up, up! How can I shake your hand when you’re lying there?” Anthimos III, Avtokrator of the Videssians, waited impatiently while Krispos scrambled to his feet. Then he did as he’d said, giving Krispos’ hand several enthusiastic pumps. “Nothing could be more boring than listening to the Kubratoi going on about how wonderful they are. Thanks to you, we don’t have to for a while. I am in your debt, which means, of course, that all Videssos is in your debt.” He cocked his head and grinned at Krispos.

Krispos found himself grinning back; Anthimos’ slightly lopsided smile was infectious. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. For the moment, he was an awestruck peasant again. No matter what Tanilis might have foreseen, a big part of him had never really imagined he would feel the Emperor’s flesh pressing his own, be close enough to smell wine on the Emperor’s breath.

“Nephew, you might want to present Krispos with some tangible token of your gratitude,” Petronas said smoothly.

“What? Oh. Yes, so I might. Here you are, Krispos.” He chuckled as he pulled a golden chain from around his neck and put it over Krispos’ head. “I do apologize. Having the imperial treasury to play with, I’m apt to forget that other people don’t.”

“You’re very generous, Your Majesty,” Krispos said, feeling the weight of the metal on his shoulders. “A poor man could feed himself and his family for a long time with so much gold.”

“Could he? Well, I hope you’re not a poor man, Krispos, and that my uncle is doing a satisfactory job of feeding you.”

“Krispos is making a valued place for himself here as chief groom,” Petronas said. “He might have treated the post as a sinecure, and the same gratitude you feel toward him, nephew, would have compelled me to let him retain it all the same. But he has plunged in, instead; indeed, his working with such diligence is the chief reason I have not been able to present him to you before—I seldom find him away from the stables.”

“Good for him,” Anthimos said. “A spot of work never hurt anyone.”

Krispos wondered what Anthimos knew about work—by the look of him, not much. Though his features proclaimed him Petronas’ close kin, they lacked the hard purpose that informed the Sevastokrator’s face. That was not just youth, either; had Anthimos been Petronas’ age rather than Krispos’, he still would have looked indolent. Krispos could not decide what to make of him. He’d never known anyone who could afford the luxury of indolence except Tanilis and Petronas, and they did not indulge it.

Petronas said, “Wine, Krispos?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The Sevastokrator poured for him. “For me once more, as well, please,” Anthimos said. Petronas handed him a cup, as well. He tossed the wine down and held out the cup for a refill. Petronas poured again, and then again a moment later. He took occasional sips from his own cup, as did Krispos. They did not come close to emptying theirs.

The next time the Avtokrator held out his cup to his uncle, wine slopped over the rim and down onto his fingers when he pulled it back. He licked them off. “Sorry,” he said with a slightly unfocused smile.

“No matter, Your Majesty,” his uncle answered. “Now, if we may pick up the discussion in which we were engaged when Krispos came in, I still respectfully urge you to set your signature to the order I sent you last week for the construction of two new fortresses in the far southwest.”

“I don’t know that I want to sign it.” Anthimos stuck out his lower lip. “Skombros says they probably won’t ever be needed, because the southwest is a very quiet frontier.”

“Skombros!” Petronas lost some of the air of urbanity Krispos had always seen from him before. He did not try to hide his contempt as he went on, “Frankly, I can’t imagine why you even think of listening to your vestiarios on these matters. What a eunuch chamberlain knows of the proper placement of fortresses would fit into the ballocks he does not have. By the good god, nephew, you’d be better advised asking Krispos here what he thinks of the whole business. At least he’s seen more of the world than the inside of the palaces.”

“All right, I will,” Anthimos said. “What
do
you think of the whole business, Krispos?”

“Me?” Krispos almost spilled his own wine. Drinking with the Sevastokrator and Avtokrator made him feel proud and important. Getting into the middle of their argument was something else again, something terrifying. He was all too conscious of Petronas’ gaze on him as he picked his words with the greatest of care. “In matters of war, I think I would sooner rely on a warrior’s judgment.”

“Do you recognize plain truth when you hear it, Anthimos?” Petronas demanded.

The Avtokrator rubbed his chin. The tip of his beard was waxed to a point. Sounding faintly surprised, he said, “Yes, that is sensible, isn’t it? Very well, Uncle, I’ll sign your precious order.”

“You will? Excellent!” Petronas sprang to his feet and slapped Krispos on the back hard enough to stagger him. “There’s another present you’ll have from me, Krispos, and another one you’ve earned, too.”

“Your Highness is very kind,” Krispos said.

“I reward good service,” Petronas said. “Don’t forget that. I also reward the other kind, as it deserves. Don’t forget that, either. Now run along, why don’t you? You’ll just be bored if you hang about longer.”

“Good to meet you, Krispos,” Anthimos said as Krispos bowed his way out. Even half sozzled, the Avtokrator had a charming smile.

Petronas’ voice came clearly through the door Krispos closed behind him: “There, you see, Anthimos? That groom has a better notion of what needs doing than your precious vestiarios.” The Sevastokrator paused. His voice turned musing. “By Phos, so he does—”

“Here, I’ll show you out,” Eroulos said. Krispos jumped. He hadn’t heard the steward come up behind him.

“The Emperor. You didn’t tell me you were taking me to see the Emperor,” Krispos said accusingly as Eroulos took him past the guards.

“I was told not to. The Sevastokrator wanted to see how you would react.” Eroulos started up the stairs with Krispos. “Truly, though, you should not have been surprised. Petronas once ruled for the Avtokrator, and still rules—with him.”

Krispos caught the tiny pause.
Through him,
Eroulos had started to say. But a man discreet enough to be the Sevastokrator’s steward was too discreet to say such things aloud.

Something else turned Krispos’ thoughts aside. “
Why
did he want to see how I’d react?”

“I do not presume to speak for his Imperial Highness,” Eroulos answered discreetly. “Would you not think it wise, though, to learn what you can of the quality of men who serve you, not least those you appoint to responsible posts on brief acquaintance?”

That means me,
Krispos realized. By then, he and Eroulos were at his door. He nodded thoughtfully as he went inside. Tanilis would have done the same sort of thing. And if Petronas thought like Tanilis—Krispos could find no higher compliment to pay the Sevastokrator’s wits.

T
ANILIS WOULD NEVER HAVE FORGOTTEN A PROMISED REWARD
. Nor did Petronas. More, he gave it to Krispos publicly, coming to the stables to present him with a dagger whose hilt was lavishly chased with rubies. “For your quick thinking the other night,” he said in a voice that carried.

Krispos bowed low. “You honor me, Highness.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Onorios suddenly become very busy with his scissors as he trimmed a horse’s mane. Krispos smiled to himself.

“You deserve it,” Petronas said. “You’re doing well here, from all I’ve heard, and from what I’ve seen of the condition of my animals.”

“It’s not all my doing. You had fine horses and fine hands long before you ever noticed me—not that I’m not grateful you did, Highness,” Krispos added quickly.

“I’m glad you noticed, and also that you have the sense to share the credit. I know I am not in the habit of employing fools, and I’m increasingly pleased to discover I have not broken my rule with you.” Petronas glanced into a stall, smiled a little at what he saw, and took a few paces to the next one. “Come, Krispos, walk with me.”

“Of course, Highness.”

As Stotzas had a few weeks before, the Sevastokrator waited until he and Krispos were out of earshot of most of the stable hands. Then he said, “Tell me what you know of a body servant’s tasks.”