The Tale of Krispos (47 page)

“Because I put his back up, that’s why. He just won’t take care of things in the north, since I’m the one who argued too hard that he ought to,” Krispos answered. “I’d sooner wait till he comes round on his own, but I don’t think we have the time. Do you?”

“No,” Agapetos answered at once. “I know we don’t. I’m only surprised you do, too. After what befell the Sevastokrator, like I said before, if you’ll excuse me for speaking out so plainly, I would’ve figured you to be out to weaken the army more, not give it useful work to do.”

“Petronas did not fall because he was a soldier,” Dara said. “He fell because he was a rebellious soldier, one who valued his own wishes above those of his overlord. Surely the same is not true of you, excellent sir?”

Agapetos’ chuckle was more grim than amused. “If it were, Your Majesty, do you think I’d be dunce enough to admit it? All right, though, I take your point. But what happens to me when the Avtokrator finds out I’ve obeyed the two of you rather than him?”

“If you win, how can he blame you?” Krispos asked. “Even if he tries, we and your success will both shield you from him. And if you lose, you may well end up dead, in which case you’ll worry about Phos’ wrath, not Anthimos’.”

“For all those fancy robes, you think like a soldier,” Agapetos said. “All right, we’ll try it your way. Anthimos said he wouldn’t mind having you as Emperor, didn’t he? I can see why. And I wouldn’t mind having a go at the Halogai, truth to tell. Those axes the imperial guardsmen carry are fearsome enough, aye, but how would they fare against cavalry that knows something of discipline? It will be interesting to find out, yes it will.”

Krispos could see him planning his new campaign, as if he were a carpenter picturing a new chair in his mind before he built it. “How many men will you take?” he asked.

“My whole army,” Agapetos answered. “Say, seventy-five hundred troopers. That’s plenty and then some to control raiding bands like the ones I expect we’ll be seeing. The only time you need more is if you try to do something really enormous, the way Petronas did last year against Makuran. And look what that got him—no headway to speak of, and a blue robe and a cell at the end of it.”

“His ambition earned him that, excellent Agapetos,” Dara said. “I already asked you once if you had that kind of ambition, and you said no. You should be safe enough then, not so?”

The general said, “I expect you’re right. Besides, from everything I’ve heard, this is something that needs taking care of, the sooner the better. If I set out inside the next ten days, will that suit you?”

Krispos and Dara looked at each other. Krispos had hoped for something more rousing, perhaps a cry of,
I’ll ride for the frontier before the sun sets!
But he had seen enough since he came to the capital to understand that large organizations usually moved slower than small ones. “It will do,” he said. Dara nodded.

“Well, with your leave, I’ll be off, then,” Agapetos said, rising from his chair. “I’ve a deal to make ready before we ride out.” He dipped his head to Krispos, bowed deeply to Dara, and stamped away.

“I hope he’ll serve,” Krispos said when the general was gone. “From everything Harvas has done, he’s a soldier who fights hard and moves fast. I just hope Agapetos understands that.”

“The Halogai are foot soldiers,” Dara said. “How can they move faster than our horsemen? More likely they’ll flee at word of Agapetos’ approach.”

“You’re probably right,” Krispos said. He could not help thinking, though, that Harvas Black-Robe’s Halogai had already beaten the Kubratoi, and the Kubratoi raised no mean cavalry, even if, as Agapetos had said, they lacked discipline.

He made himself shake off his worries. He’d done the best he could to protect the northern frontier. He’d certainly done more than Anthimos had. If Agapetos’ army did not suffice, then Videssos would have a full-sized war on its hands. Not even Anthimos could ignore that—he hoped.

K
RISPOS GOT MORE AND MORE USED TO WORKING AROUND
Anthimos rather than through him. Petronas had managed for years. But Petronas had been Sevastokrator, of the imperial family and with prestige almost imperial—sometimes more imperial than Anthimos’. Because he was only vestiarios, Krispos had to work harder to convince people to see things his way.

Having Dara with him when he saw Agapetos had helped persuade the general to go along. Sometimes, though, Krispos needed to beard officials in their own lairs. Much as he wanted to, he could not bring the Empress along.

“You have my sincere apologies, esteemed and eminent sir, but without his Imperial Majesty’s seal or signature I cannot implement this new law on codicils to bequests,” declared a certain Iavdas, one of the aides to the logothete of the treasury.

Krispos stared. “But you’re the one who asked for it. I have your memorandum here.” He waved the parchment at Iavdas. “It’s a good law, a fair law. It should go into effect.”

“I quite agree, but for it to do so, seal or signature must be affixed. That, too, is the law, and I dare not disobey it.”

“His Majesty isn’t signing or sealing much these days,” Krispos said slowly. The more he urged Anthimos to do, the less the Emperor did, a defense of principle that would have been admirable had the principle defended been more noble than Anthimos’ right to absolute laziness. “I assure you, though, that I do have the authority to tell you to go ahead with this.”

“Unfortunately, I must disagree.” Like most treasury officials Krispos had met, Iavdas owned a relentlessly literal mind. He went on, “I must follow the letter of the law, not the spirit, for spirit, by its nature, is subject to diverse interpretations. Without formal imperial approval, I cannot proceed.”

Krispos almost told him to go to the ice. He bit back his anger. How could he get Iavdas to do what even Iavdas admitted needed doing? “Suppose we don’t call this a new law?” he said after some thought. “Suppose we just call it an amendment to a law that’s already there. Would my say-so be enough then?”

Iavdas’ eyes got a faraway look. “I suppose it would be technically accurate to term this a correction of an ambiguity in the existing law. It was not framed so, but it could be reworked to appear as a revised chapter of the present code on codicils. And for a mere revision, no, seal and signature are not required.” He beamed at Krispos. “Thank you, esteemed and eminent sir. An ingenious solution to a complex problem, and one that evades not only the defects in current legislation but also those posed by the Avtokrator’s obstinacy.”

“Er—yes.” Krispos beat a hasty retreat. Talking with high functionaries reminded him of the limits of his own education. He could read and write, add and subtract, but he still felt at sea when people larded their talk with big words for no better reason than to hear them roll off their lips. Why, he wondered, couldn’t they say what they meant and have done? He did understand that Iavdas liked his plan. That would do.

But, as he complained to Dara when she called him to her bedchamber some time past midnight, “We shouldn’t have to go through this rigmarole every time we need to get something done. I can’t always come up with ways of getting around Anthimos, and because I can’t, things don’t happen. If only Anthimos would—” He broke off. Lying in Anthimos’ bed with Anthimos’ Empress, he did not want to talk about the Avtokrator. Sometimes, though, like tonight, he got too frustrated with Anthimos to stop himself.

Dara put the palm of her hand on his bare chest, felt his heartbeat slow toward normal after their coupling. Smiling, she said, “If he hadn’t neglected me, we wouldn’t have happened. Still, I know what you mean. Just as you did, I hoped he’d rule for himself once his uncle was gone. Now—

“Now he’s so annoyed with me for trying to get him to rule that he won’t even see to the little he did before.”
You were the one who made me keep pushing at him, too,
he thought. He kept that to himself. Dara had been doing her best for her husband and the Empire. Had Anthimos responded, all would have been well.

“Never mind Anthimos now,” Dara whispered, perhaps feeling some of the same awkwardness he had. She held him to her. “Do you think we can try again if we hurry?”

Krispos did his best to oblige. One did not say no, not to the Empress. Then he got out of bed and into his clothes.
Which turns me from lover back to vestiarios,
he thought with a touch of irritation. He slipped from the imperial bedchamber, shutting the doors behind him. He started to go back to his own room, then changed his mind and decided to have a snack first. He walked down the hall to the larder.

He was coming back, munching on a roll sticky with honey, when he saw a disembodied head floating toward him. His mouth dropped opened; a bit of roll fell out and landed on the floor with a wet smack. He needed a moment to gain enough control of himself to do anything more than stand, stare, and gurgle. In that moment of terror, before he could scream and flee, he recognized the head. It was Anthimos’.

The head recognized him, too. Winking, it spoke. Krispos frowned, tried to read its silent lips. “You’d eat better than that if you were with me,” he thought it said.

“I s-suppose I would, Your Majesty,” he got out. If Anthimos could work magic this potent while at a revel, he was turning into a very impressive sorcerer indeed, Krispos thought. Aloud, he added, “You almost scared me to death.”

The Emperor’s head grinned. As he looked at it, he realized it was not physically there; he could see through it. That made it a trifle easier to take—he did not have to imagine an acephalous Anthimos lying on a couch among his cronies. He tried to smile back.

Grinning still, the Avtokrator—or as much of him as was present—moved past Krispos. The head came to the door of the imperial bedchamber. Krispos expected it to drift through the wood. Had it come a few minutes earlier—he shivered. He knew what it would have seen.

But instead of sailing ghostlike through the closed doors, the Emperor’s projected head fetched up against them with a bump that was immaterial but nonetheless seemed to hurt, judging by the expression the slightly misty face wore and the words it was mouthing.

Krispos fought to keep his own face straight; Anthimos might be turning into a powerful mage, but he was still a careless one. “Would you like me to open it for you, Your Majesty?” he asked politely.

“Piss off,” Anthimos’ head snarled. An instant later, it vanished.

Krispos leaned against the wall and let out a long, slow sigh. He suddenly realized his right hand was sticky—he’d squeezed that honeyed bun to pieces without even remembering he had it. He threw away what was left and went back to the larder for some water to wash his fingers. He did not take another bun. He’d lost his appetite.

O
NE OF THE HALOGAI STANDING GUARD OUTSIDE THE IMPERIAL
residence turned and spotted Krispos in the hallway. “Someone out here to see you,” he called.

“Thanks, Narvikka. I’ll be there in a minute.” Krispos put away the armful of newly washed robes he was carrying, then went out onto the steps with the guardsmen. He blinked several times, trying to get his eyes used to the bright afternoon sunshine outside.

He did not recognize the worn-looking man who sat waiting for him on a worn-looking horse. “I’m Krispos,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

The worn-looking man touched a finger to the brim of his straw traveler’s hat. “My name’s Bassos, esteemed and eminent sir. I’m an imperial courier. I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”

“Go ahead. Give it to me.” Krispos held his voice steady, wondering what had gone wrong now. His imagination painted plenty of possibilities: earthquake, pestilence, famine, rebellion, even invasion from Makuran in spite of the peace he thought he’d patched together.

But Bassos had meant bad news for
him,
not for the Empire. “Esteemed and eminent sir, the gold you sent up to your sister and brother-in-law…” The courier licked his lips, trying to figure out how to go on. At last he did, baldly: “Well, sir, we couldn’t deliver that gold, on account of there wasn’t much left of the village there after these new stinking barbarians we’re mixed up with went through it. I’m sorry, esteemed and eminent sir.”

Krispos heard himself say “Thank you” as if from very far away. Bassos pressed a leather pouch into his hands and made him count the goldpieces inside and sign a receipt. The Emperor’s vestiarios was too prominent to be cheated. The courier remounted and rode away. Krispos stood on the steps looking after him. Evdokia, Domokos, two little girls he had never seen…He never would see them now.

Narvikka walked over to him, setting a large hand on his shoulder. “Their time came as it was fated to come, so grieve not for them,” the Haloga said. “If the gods willed it, they took foes with them to serve them forever in the world to come. May it be so.”

“May it be so,” Krispos agreed. He had never had any use for the northerners’ wild gods and fatalistic view of the world, but suddenly he very much wanted his family to have servants in the afterlife, servants they had slain with their own hands. That would be only just, and if justice was hard to come by in this world, he could hope for it in the next.

But was their time fated? Had Domokos been less proud…had Petronas not made his too-clever bargain with Harvas…had Anthimos listened and sent troops north in good time—had Anthimos listened even once, curse him…

Thinking of the Emperor’s failing filled Krispos with pure and frightening rage. His fists clenched. Only then did he notice he was holding the gold-filled leather pouch. He gave it to Narvikka, saying “Take it. I never want to see these coins again.”

“I take it, I share them with the rest of the lads here.” The Haloga nodded at the rest of his squad of guardsmen, who were watching him and Krispos. “Each of us, he takes a piece of your ill luck for himself.”

“However you like,” Krispos said mechanically. Much as he wanted not to, part of him responded to the Haloga’s gesture. He found himself saying “My thanks. That’s kind of you, to do such a thing for me.”