The Tale of Krispos (44 page)

Krispos wore a wide-brimmed hat of woven straw to keep off the worst of the rain as he watched Petronas dismiss his soldiers to their barracks once they had traversed the plaza of Palamas and gotten out of the public eye. Then the Sevastokrator, cold water dripping from his beard, booted his horse into a slow trot—the only kind the animal possessed—and rode for his lodging in the building that housed the Grand Courtroom.

Anthimos received Petronas the next day. At Krispos’ suggestion, he did so in the Grand Courtroom. Seated on the throne, decked in the full gorgeous imperial regalia, with chamberlains and courtiers and Haloga guardsmen formed up on all sides, the Avtokrator stared, still-faced, as Petronas walked up the long aisle toward him.

As custom required, Petronas halted about ten feet from the base of the throne. He went to his knees and then to his belly in full proskynesis before his nephew. As he started to go down, he spied Krispos, who was standing to the Emperor’s right. His eyes widened, very slightly. Krispos’ lips curved open in a show of teeth that was not a smile.

Petronas kept control of his voice. “Majesty,” he said, face to the marble floor.

“Arise,” Anthimos answered, a beat later than he might have: a subtle hint that Petronas did not enjoy his full favor, but one no courtier would fail to notice.

Petronas could not have failed to notice either, but gave no sign as he got to his feet. Nor did he give any sign that he had failed to accomplish all he’d hoped in the west. “Your Majesty, a promising start has been achieved against the vain followers of the Four Prophets,” he declared. “When weather permits us to resume the campaign next spring, even grander triumphs will surely follow.”

Standing close by Anthimos, Krispos stiffened. He had not thought the Sevastokrator would so boldly try to brazen out his failure and go on as if nothing had happened. The whispers that ran through the Grand Courtroom, soft as summer breeze through leaves, said the same. But while Anthimos sat on the imperial throne, Petronas had in truth controlled the Empire for well over a decade. How would the Avtokrator respond now?

Not even Krispos knew. The ancient formality of the court kept his head still, but his eyes slid toward Anthimos. Again the Emperor hesitated, this time, Krispos was sure, not to make a point but because he was uncertain what to say. At last he replied, “Next year’s campaigning season is still a long way away. Between now and then, we shall decide the proper course to take.”

Petronas bowed. “As Your Majesty wishes, of course.” Krispos felt like cheering. For all his encouragement, and for all that he knew Dara had given, even getting Anthimos to temporize was a victory.

The rest of the court sensed that, too. Those soft whispers began again. Petronas withdrew from before the imperial throne, bowing every few paces until he had retreated far enough to turn and march away. But as he strode from the Grand Courtroom, he did not have the air of a defeated man.

K
RISPOS SHOOK HIS HEAD. “PLEASE GIVE MY REGRETS TO HIS
Imperial Highness, excellent Eroulos. I was ill almost all summer, and I fear I am too feeble to travel to the Sevastokrator’s lodgings.” That was the politest way he could find to say he did not trust Petronas enough to visit him.

“I will pass your words on to my master,” Eroulos said gravely. Krispos wondered what part Petronas’ steward had played in the sorcerous attempt on his life. He liked Eroulos, and thought Eroulos liked him. But Eroulos was Petronas’ man, loyal to the Sevastokrator. Faction made friendship difficult.

Petronas did not deign to come to the imperial residence to visit Krispos. He was frequently there nonetheless, trying to talk his nephew round to letting him continue his war against Makuran. Whenever he saw Krispos, he stared through him as if he did not exist.

Despite all Krispos’ urging, he could tell Anthimos was wavering. Anthimos was far more used to listening to Petronas than to Krispos…and Petronas commanded his armies. Glumly, Krispos braced himself for another defeat, and wondered if he would keep his post.

Then, much delayed on account of the vile winter weather, word reached Videssos the city from what had been the frontier with Kubrat. Bands of Harvas Black-Robe’s Halogai had crossed the border in several places, looted villages on Videssian soil, massacred their inhabitants, and withdrawn.

Krispos made sure Anthimos read through the reports, which described the slaughter of the villagers in lurid detail. “This is dreadful!” the Emperor exclaimed, sounding more than a little sickened. He shoved the parchments aside.

“So it is, Your Majesty,” Krispos said. “These northerners seem even more vicious than the Kubratoi.”

“They certainly do.” With a sort of horrid fascination, Anthimos picked up the reports and read them again. He shuddered and threw them down. “By the sound of things, they might have been doing Skotos’ work.”

Krispos nodded. “That’s well put, Your Majesty. They do seem to be killing just for the sport of it, don’t they? And remember, if you will, whose advice caused you to make those butchers the neighbors of the Empire. Also remember who wants you to go right on ignoring them so he can keep up his pointless war with Makuran.”

“We’ll have to find you a wife one day, Krispos,” Anthimos said with a dry chuckle. “That was one of the smoothest ‘I told you so’s’ I’ve ever heard.” Krispos dutifully smiled, thinking it was not in the Avtokrator to stay serious about anything for long.

But Anthimos was serious. The next day, Petronas came to talk about the campaign he planned in the west. Anthimos wordlessly handed him the dispatches from the northern frontier. “Unfortunate, aye, but what of them?” Petronas said when he was done reading. “By the nature of things, we’ll always have barbarians on that border, and barbarians, being barbarians, will probe at us from time to time.”

“Exactly so,” Anthimos said. “And when they probe, they should run up against soldiers, not find all of them away in the west. Uncle, I forbid you to attack Makuran until these new barbarians of yours learn we will respond to their raids and can keep them in check.”

Out in the corridor, Krispos whistled a long, low, quiet note. That was stronger language than he’d ever expected Anthimos to use to Petronas. He plied his dust rag with new enthusiasm.

“You forbid me, Your Majesty?” Petronas’ voice held a tone Krispos had heard there before, of grown man talking to beardless youth.

Usually Anthimos either did not catch it or paid it no mind. This time, it must have rankled. “Yes, by the good god, I forbid you, Uncle,” he snapped back. “I am the Avtokrator, and I have spoken. Do you propose to disobey my express command?”

Krispos waited for Petronas to try to jolly him round, as he had so often. But the Sevastokrator only said, “I will always obey you, Majesty, for as long as you are Emperor.” The feet of his chair scraped on polished marble as he rose. “Now if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”

Petronas walked past Krispos as if he were not there; had he stood in the middle of the corridor, he suspected the Sevastokrator would have walked over him rather than swerve aside. A couple of minutes later, Anthimos came out of the room where he’d met with Petronas. In a most unimperial gesture, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

“Whew!” he said. “Standing up to my uncle is bloody hard work, but by Phos, I did it! He said he’d obey.” He sounded proud of himself. Krispos did not blame him.

Being who he was, Anthimos celebrated what he saw as his triumph over Petronas with a jar of wine, and then with another one. Thus fortified, he headed off for an evening of revels, dragging Krispos along.

Krispos did not want to revel. The more he listened to Petronas’ words in his mind, the less they seemed a promise to obey. He had no trouble escaping the carouse; for one of the rare times since Krispos had known him, Anthimos drank himself insensible. Krispos ducked out of the feast and hurried back to the imperial residence.

Seeing a light under the closed door of the bedchamber the Emperor and Empress used, he softly tapped at the door. Dara opened it a moment later. She smiled. “You grow bold,” she said. “Good.” She pressed herself against him and tilted her face up for a kiss.

He gladly gave it, but then stepped away from her. “Tell me what you think of this,” he said, and repeated Anthimos’ conversation with Petronas as exactly as he could.

By the time he was done, Dara’s expression had gone from lickerish to worried. “He’ll obey as long as Anthimos is Emperor, he said? What happens if Anthimos isn’t Emperor anymore?”

“That’s just what I thought,” Krispos said. “I wanted to be sure I wasn’t imagining things. If Petronas wants to overthrow the Avtokrator, it shouldn’t be hard for him. Most of the soldiers and almost all the high officers look to him, not to Anthimos. Till now, though, he hasn’t wanted to.”

“Why should he have bothered?” Dara said. “Anthimos was always pliant enough to suit him—till now, as you say. How are we going to stop him?” Her worry was fast becoming fear.

“We have to convince Anthimos that his uncle hasn’t meekly backed down,” Krispos said. “We ought to be able to manage that, the more so since I’m sure it’s true. And if we do—” He paused, thinking hard. “How does this sound…?”

Frowning, Dara listened to what he proposed. At one point, she raised a hand to stop him. “Not Gnatios,” she said.

“No, by the good god, and I’m twice an idiot now for thinking of him,” Krispos exclaimed, mentally kicking himself. Dara looked a question at him, but he did not explain. Instead, he went on, “I keep forgetting that even holy men have politics. The abbot Pyrrhos would serve as well, then, and he’d leap at the chance.” He finished setting forth his scheme.

“Maybe,” Dara said. “Maybe. And maybe, right now, looks better than any other chance we have. Let’s try it.”

“H
OW MAY I SERVE YOU, YOUR MAJESTY?” PETRONAS ASKED
offhandedly. His indifference, Krispos thought, was enough by itself to damn him and confirm all suspicions. If the Sevastokrator no longer cared what Anthimos did, that could only be because he was preparing to dispense with him.

“Uncle, I think I may have been hasty the other day,” Anthimos said. Dara had suggested that he sound nervous; he was having no trouble following the suggestion.

“You certainly were,” Petronas rumbled. No, no sign of give there, Krispos thought. The Sevastokrator went on, “That’s what you get for heeding the rascal who keeps pretending to dust outside there.” Krispos felt his ears blaze. So he hadn’t gone unnoticed, then. Even so, he did not stop listening.

“Er, yes,” Anthimos said—nervously. “Well, I hope I can make amends.”

“It’s rather late for that,” Petronas said. Krispos shivered. He only hoped he and Dara were not too late to save Anthimos’ crown.

“I know I have a lot to make amends for,” the Emperor said. “Not just for ordering you to stand down the other day, but for all you’ve done for me and for the Empire as regent when my father died and also since I’ve come of age. I want to reward you as you deserve, so, if it please you, I’d like to proclaim you co-Avtokrator before the whole court three days from now. Having done so much of the work for so long, you deserve your full share of the title.”

Petronas stayed quiet so long that Krispos felt his hands curl into tight fists, then his nails biting into his palms. The Sevastokrator could seize the full imperial power for himself—would he be content with the offer of part of it, legally given? He asked, “If I am to rule alongside you, Anthimos, does that mean you’ll no longer try to meddle in the army and its business?”

“Uncle, you know more of such things than I do,” Anthimos said.

“You’d best believe I do,” Petronas growled. “High time you remembered it, too. Now the question is, do you mean all you say? I know how to find out, by the lord with the great and good mind. I’ll say yes to you, lad—if you cast that treacherous scoundrel of a Krispos from the palaces.”

“The moment I set the crown on your head, Uncle, Krispos will be cast not only from the palaces but from the city,” Anthimos promised. Krispos and Dara had planned to have the Emperor tell Petronas just that. The risk remained that Anthimos would do exactly as he’d promised. If he feared Petronas more than he trusted his wife, his chamberlain, and his own abilities, he might pay the price for what he reckoned security.

“Hate to wait that long,” Petronas said; then, at last, “Oh, very well, nephew, keep him another three days if it makes you happy. We have ourselves a bargain.” The Sevastokrator got to his feet and triumphantly strode out of the chamber in which he had talked with Anthimos. Seeing Krispos outside, he spoke to him for the first time since he’d returned from the west: “Three days, wretch. Start packing.”

His head lowered, Krispos dusted the gilded frame of an icon of Phos. He did not reply. Petronas laughed at his dismay and strutted past him down the corridor.

F
INE SNOW FELL OUTSIDE THE GRAND COURTROOM AS THE GRANDEES
and high ministers of the Empire gathered to see Petronas exalted. Inside, heat ducts that ran under the floor from a roaring furnace kept the throne room warm.

When all the officials and nobles were in their places, Krispos nodded to the captain of Anthimos’ Haloga bodyguards. The captain nodded to his men. Axes held at present-arms before them, they slow-marched out in double row to form an aisle down the center of the hall, through which the Avtokrator and his party would advance. Their gilded chain mail glittered in the torchlight.

Once that aisle was made, Anthimos, Dara, Pyrrhos, and Krispos walked along it toward the throne—no, thrones now, Krispos saw, for a second high seat had been placed beside the first; if there were to be co-Avtokrators, each required his own place of honor. A crown lay on that second seat.

Silks rustled as courtiers prostrated themselves when Anthimos passed them. As they rose, the nobles whispered among themselves. “Where’s Gnatios?” Krispos heard one say to the fellow beside him. “Ought to have the patriarch here to crown a new Emperor.”