Krispos Rising

IX

Mavros, as was his way, heard the news first. "Skombros resigned his position last night."

"What, the esteemed sir?" Krispos whistled the choral response.

"Aye, the very same." Mavros laughed—that story had spread through the palace complex like wildfire. "Not only that, he's had himself tonsured and fled into a monastery. So, they tell me, have his nephew Askyltos and his brother-in-law Evmolpos."

"If I were wearing their robes, I'd flee to a monastery, too,' Krispos said. "Petronas respects the good god's followers, so he might leave them there and not take their heads now that their protector's fallen."

"So he might." Mavros sound regretful. Then he brightened. "Now that their protector's fallen, who's to be the new vestiarios?" Grinning, he pointed at Krispos.

"We'll see. It's the Avtokrator's choice, of course." For all his own good times with Anthimos, for all Petronas' urging, he knew the Emperor might just choose another eunuch as his new chamberlain. That would be easiest, and Anthimos liked doing things the easiest way.

But a couple of hours later, while Krispos was making sure the new horseshoes on Petronas' favorite hunter were firmly nailed in place, Onorios came up to him and said, "There's a eunuch outside who wants to talk with you."

"Thanks. I'll see him in a minute." Krispos had one more hoof to check. As he'd expected, the blacksmith had done a good job. Knowing was better than expecting, though. When he was through, he walked out to see the Emperor's servant.

It was the tall, thin eunuch who had taken Krispos to his first revel with Anthimos the summer before. Now the fellow made no snide remarks about the smell of the stables. Instead, he bowed low. "Krispos, his Imperial Majesty bids you join his household as vestiarios, head of his domestic staff."

"He honors me. Tell me your name, please, esteemed sir. If we are both of His Majesty's household, I should know you."

The eunuch straighted. "I am called Barsymes," he said with the first approval Krispos had heard from him. "Now if you will follow me, ah—" He stopped, frowning. "Should I call you 'esteemed sir' or 'eminent sir'? You are vestiarios, a post traditionally held by an esteemed sir, and yet you—" He hesitated again, "—you have a beard. The proper protocol is a puzzlement. "

Krispos started to laugh, then realized he would be worrying about just such concerns himself in his new post. "Either way is all right with me, Barsymes," he said.

"I have it!" The eunuch looked as pleased as his doleful features would allow. "Now if you will come with me, esteemed and eminent sir..."

Krispos obediently followed. If Barsymes had found a formula that satisfied him, well and good. They scuffed through snow together for a while before Krispos said, "I hope you and your comrades will not be troubled, serving with ... serving with someone who has a beard."

"It is the Avtokrator's will," Barsymes said, which was no answer at all. He walked on, not looking at Krispos. After a while, he decided to continue. "We do remember that you mocked Skombros for being a eunuch."

"Only when he mocked me first for being a groom," Krispos said.

"Yes, there is some truth in that," Barsymes said judiciously, 'though by now you will have noted, esteemed and eminent sir, that your condition is rather easier to change than Skombros'." Being without any better reply, Krispos could only nod. He felt a little easier when Barsymes went on, half to himself, "Still, you may indeed be entitled to the benefit of the doubt." They passed through a grove of cherry trees, bare-branched and skeletal with winter. Armed Halogai stood outside the entrance to the elegant little building in the center of the grove.

Krispos had seen some of them before, guarding Anthimos' revels. Most of them had been drunk then. Now they looked sober and reliable. He knew little of soldiers' ways, but the difference seemed remarkable.

As if reading his mind, Barsymes said, "Any guard who fails of alertness while protecting their Majesty's residence is forthwith banished back to Halogaland, forfeiting all pay and benefactions earned here."

"A good plan." Krispos wondered why it didn't hold wherever the Emperor was. Knowing Anthimos, probably because when he was having a good time, he wanted everyone else to have one, too.

The Halogai nodded to Barsymes and gave Krispos curious looks as he walked up the stairs with the eunuch. One of the guards said something in his own language. The others laughed. Krispos had no trouble imagining several rough jokes, most of them at his expense. He sighed. However much it meant to him, this business of taking over a eunuch's post brought complications.

His eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dimmer light inside the imperial residence, and a moment more to notice that what light there was came neither from torches nor, for the most part, from windows. Instead, panes of alabaster scraped to translucent thinness were set into the ceiling.

The pale, clear light that filtered through them displayed to best advantage the treasures set along both sides of the central hallway. Barsymes pointed to some of them as he led Krispos past. "Here is the battle helmet of a Makuraner King of Kings, taken centuries ago after a tremendous victory not far from Mashiz... . This is the chalice from which the assembled prelates of Phos drank together in ritual renunciation of Skotos at the great synod not long after the High Temple was built... • Here is a portrait of the Emperor Stavrakios, most often called the Conqueror. ..."

The portrait drew Krispos' eye. Stavrakios wore the red boots, the imperial crown, and a gilded mail shirt, but he did not look like an Emperor to Krispos. He looked like a veteran underofficer about to give his troops a hard time for a sloppy piece of drill.

"Come along," Barsymes said when Krispos paused to study that tough face. He followed the eunuch down the hall, thinking that Anthimos did not look like his idea of an Emperor, either.

He laughed at himself. Maybe he just didn't know what an Emperor was supposed to look like.

Another eunuch heard Barsymes and Krispos coming and stuck his head out a doorway. "You have him, eh?" he said. "Very well. His Majesty will be glad to see him." If the eunuch himself was glad to see Krispos, he concealed it magnificently.

The fellow's head disappeared again. Krispos heard his voice, too low to make out words, then Anthimos', louder: "What's that, Tyrovitzes? He's here? Well, bring him in." Barsymes heard, also, and led Krispos forward.

Anthimos sat at a small table eating cakes. Krispos went down on his belly in a full proskynesis. "Your Imperial Majesty," he murmured.

"Get up, get up," the Emperor said impatiently. "The bowing and scraping can stop when you're in here. You're part of my household now. You didn't bow and scrape when you were in your parents' household, did you?"

"No, your Majesty," Krispos said. He wondered what his father would have made of having his household compared to the Avtokrator's. Most likely, Phostis would have laughed himself silly. That Anthimos could make the comparison only showed how little he realized what a special life he led.

The Emperor said, "Anything special you think you'll need, Krispos?"

"Having you remember I'm more used to tending horses than people would help a lot, your Majesty," Krispos answered. Anthimos stared at him, then let out a startled laugh. Krispos went on, "I'm sure your other servants will help me learn what I need to know as fast as I can."

Anthimos glanced toward Barsymes. "Of course, your Majesty," the eunuch said in his neutral voice.

"Good. That's settled, then," the Emperor said. Krispos hoped it was. Anthimos went on, "Take Krispos to his room, Barsymes. He can have the rest of today and tomorrow to move in; I expect the rest of you will be able to care for me and Dara till morning after next."

"We shall manage, your Majesty," Barsymes agreed. "Now if you will excuse us? This way, Krispos." As he led Krispos down the hall, he explained, "The vestiarios' bedchamber is next to that of the Avtokrator, so that he may most conveniently attend his master at any hour of the day or night." The eunuch opened a door. "You will stay here."

Krispos gasped. He'd never seen such a profusion of gold and fine silks. Petronas surely had more, but did not flaunt it so. And the featherbed in the center of the room looked thick enough to smother in.

"You will understand, I hope," Barsymes said, seeing his expression, "that Skombros, having no hope of progeny, saw no point in stinting his personal comfort. The failing is not unique to us eunuchs, but is perhaps more common among us."

"I suppose so," Krispos said, still stunned by the room's opulence. Near that fabulous featherbed, a little silver bell hung from a red cord that ran up into the ceiling and disappeared. He pointed to it. "What's that for?"

"The cord runs to the imperial bedchamber next door. When that bell rings, you must attend."

"All right." Krispos hesitated, then went on, "Thanks, Barsymes. You've helped." He held out his hand.

The eunuch took it. His palms were smooth, but his grip showed surprising strength. "Not all of us were enamored of Skombros," he remarked. "If you do not despise us for what we are, we may be able to work together well enough."

"I hope so." Krispos was not making idle chitchat; as at Petronas' stables, he knew he would fail if the people he was supposed to oversee turned against him. And eunuchs, unlike the straightforward stable hands, moved with proverbial guile; he was not sure he was ready to counter their machinations. With luck, he wouldn't have to.

He was relieved to escape the room that had been Skombros' and was now his, though he wondered how the ex-vestiarios enjoyed a bare monastery cell, so different from this splendor. The image of Stavrakios caught his eye again as he walked down the hall. Imagining what that warrior-Emperor would have said about Skombros' luxuries—or Anthimos'—gave him something to smile about while he went back to say good-bye to his friends and collect his belongings.

At the stables, after the inevitable round of congratulations and backslapping, he managed to get Stotzas off to one side for a few minutes. "Do you want my job now that I'm leaving?" he asked the senior groom. "The good god knows you're the best man with horses here, and I'd be pleased to speak with Petronas for you."

"You're a gentleman, lad, and I'm pleased you asked, but no thanks," Stotzas said. "You're right, it's the horses I fancy, and I'd have less time for 'em if I had to worry about bossing the men around instead."

Krispos nodded. He'd thought Stotzas would say that, but he hadn't been sure; if the graybeard wanted the job, he deserved it. Since he didn't, Krispos had someone else in mind to recommend to the Sevastokrator.

When he got back to his apartment in the Grand Courtroom, he discovered he needed more than one duffel bag for what he had inside. He smiled to himself as he went back to the stables to borrow Petronas' brown gelding one last time. The horse snorted reproachfully as he loaded it with his worldly goods.

"Oh, hush," he told it. "Better your back than mine." The horse did not seem convinced, but let him lead it over to the imperial residence.

The bell beside Krispos' bed rang. At first, he tried to fit the sound into his dream. The bell kept ringing. He woke with a start. Anthimos was calling him!

He sprang out of bed naked, threw on a robe, shoved his feet into sandals, and dashed for the imperial bedchamber. "Your Majesty," he said, puffing. "How may I serve you?"

Wearing no more than Krispos had, Anthimos was sitting up in bed—a bed that looked comfortable enough, but not nearly so magnificent as the one Krispos had appropriated from Skombros. The Avtokrator grinned at his new vestiarios. "I'll have to get used to your appearing so quickly," he said, which eased Krispos' mind—he hadn't taken too long to wake, then. Anthimos went on, "Time to face the day."

"Certainly, your Majesty." The eunuchs had spent the previous afternoon talking themselves hoarse about the Emperor's routine. Krispos hoped he remembered it. Beside the bed stood a chamber pot; first things first, for Emperor as for peasant. Bowing, Krispos lifted it and handed it to Anthimos.

While the Avtokrator stood up and used it, Krispos got him clean drawers and a fresh robe. He helped Anthimos dress, then ceremoniously escorted him to a mirror of polished silver. Anthimos made a face at his reflection while Krispos combed his hair and beard. "Looks like me," the Emperor said when he was done. "Eyes aren't even too bloodshot—but then, I got to sleep early last night." He turned back to the bed. "Didn't I, Dara?"

"What's that?" Buried in blankets to the crown of her head, Anthimos' Empress sounded more than half asleep herself.

"Didn't I get to bed early last night?" the Avtokrator repeated. "I've even found an advantage to it—my eyes look much clearer than usual this morning."

Dara rolled over and sat up. Krispos did his best not to stare-like Anthimos, she slept nude. Then she noticed him, squeaked, and yanked the blankets up to her chin.

Anthimos laughed. "No need for such worries, my dear. This is Krispos, the new vestiarios."

Keeping his eyes on his own toes, Krispos said in his most formal voice, "I did not mean to startle you, your Majesty."

"It's—all right," Dara said after a moment. "Seeing the beard caught me by surprise, that's all. His Majesty said you were a whole man, but it must have slipped my mind. Go ahead with what you were doing; I'll summon a maidservant." She had a bellpull on her side of the bed, too, with a green cord. She held the blankets in place with one hand, reached out with the other.

Krispos fetched the Emperor's red boots from the closet and helped Anthimos into them. They were tight, and pulling them onto the imperial feet took some work. The maidservant came in while he was still fighting to get them on. She paid no attention to Krispos' beard. Indeed, with him bent down in front of the Emperor, she could hardly have noticed whether he had one—or whether he had horns and fangs, for that matter. She chose a gown from Dara's closet and whisked away the bedclothes so she could dress the empress.

Dara again glanced nervously toward Krispos, but relaxed when she saw him intent on his own duties. He did his best to take no special notice of her. If she had been easy in the presence of the former vestiarios, he did not want to rob her of that ease.

At the same time, even the brief, self-conscious glimpses he'd had of her showed she was a dazzling young woman. She was small and dark, with lustrous, almost blue-black hair that crackled as her maidservant brushed it. She had an aquiline profile, with high, sculptured cheekbones and a strong, rather pointed chin. Her body was as lovely as her face.

Krispos wondered why Anthimos, having such an Empress, also bedded any girl who caught his eye. Maybe Dara lacked passion, he thought. Or maybe Anthimos was like some of Petronas' stable hands, unable to pass up any opportunity he found.

And unlike them, he found plenty—few would say no to the Avtokrator of the Videssians.

Such wherefores were not his concern, though. Getting the Emperor's boots on was. Grunting with effort, he finally succeeded. "Good job," Anthimos said, laughing and patting him on the head. "From all I've heard, you had a tougher time wrestling with my boots than you did with that giant Kubrati."

"Different sort of wrestling, Majesty." Krispos had to remind himself what came next in the routine. "And now, with what would you and your lady care to break your fast?"

"A bloater for me," Anthimos said. "A bloater and wine. How about you, my dear?"

"Just porridge, I think," Dara said. Krispos' sympathies lay with her. Smoked and salted mackerel was all very well, but not his idea of breakfast food.

He carried the imperial couple's requests back to the kitchens and had a bowl of porridge himself while the cook fixed a tray. "The good god be thanked his Majesty's in a simple mood today," the fellow said as he poured wine from an amphora into a silver carafe. "Have you ever tried fixing shrimp and octopus stew while he's waiting? Or, worse, had to go running out to try to buy oranges out of season because it crossed his mind he wanted some?"

"Did you find any?" Krispos asked, intrigued.

"Aye, there's a shop or two that sells 'em preserved by magic, for those who have the urge and the money at the same time. Didn't cost me above twenty times what they usually run, and what sort of thanks did I get? Precious little, I'll tell you."

Carrying the tray to a dining hall not far from the imperial bedchamber, Krispos wondered if Anthimos had even known the fruit was out of season. When would he have occasion to learn? All he needed to do was ask for something to have it appear before him.

The Emperor devoured his bloater with lip-smacking gusto. Now, my dear," he said to Dara, "why don't you go and tend to your embroidery for a while? Krispos and I have some serious business to discuss."

Krispos would have resented such a cavalier dismissal. Whatever Dara felt, she did not let it show. She rose, nodded to Anthimos, and left without a word. She took as much notice of Krispos as of the chair on which he sat.

"What business is there, your Majesty?" Krispos asked, curious and a little worried; none of the Emperor's eunuchs had warned him anything special was in the wind.

But Anthimos answered, "Why, we have to decide what the chances will be for tonight's festivities."

"Oh," Krispos said. Following the Emperor's pointing finger, he saw the ball-filled crystal bowl sitting on a shelf. He got it down, took apart the balls, and set their halves on the table between himself and Anthimos. "Where can I find pen and parchment, your Majesty?"

"Somewhere around here," Anthimos said vaguely. While Krispos poked through drawers in a sideboard, Anthimos continued, "I think the number tonight will be eleven, after the paired single pips on the dice when someone throws Phos' little suns. What goes well with eleven?"

Krispos found writing materials at last. "Eleven dice, your majesty, since the number is taken from gambling?"

"Excellent! I knew you were clever. What else?"

"How about—hmm—eleven mice?"

"So you want to rhyme tonight, do you? Well, why not? I expect the servants can find eleven mice by evening. What else?"

They came up with eleven pounds of ice, eleven grains of rice, eleven lice—"I know the servants can find those," Anthimos said—eleven drams of spice, eleven things nice, and eleven kinds of vice. "Both of those will send the winner to the stews," the Avtokrator declared.

"How about eleven goldpice?" Krispos suggested when their inspiration began to flag. "It's not a perfect rhyme—"

"It is if you write it that way," Anthimos said, so Krispos did.

"Your Majesty, could I get you to think on something else about these chances for a moment?" Krispos asked. At the Emperor's nod, he went on, "You might want to give them out to the entertainers along with your guests. They're not rich; think how overjoyed they'd be to pick one of the good chances."

Anthimos' answering smile was not altogether pleasant. "Yes, and think how downcast they'd be if they didn't. That could be amusing, too. We'll give it a try."

Krispos knew he hadn't got his way for the reason he wanted, but he'd got it. Some of the jugglers and musicians and courtesans would end up better off, and even the ones who came away from the chances disappointed would actually be in no worse state than before, he told himself.

"What's next?" the Avtokrator asked.

"I am given to understand a new Makuraner embassy has come to the city," Krispos said carefully. "If you cared to, I suppose you could meet the high ambassador."

Anthimos yawned. "Another time, perhaps. Petronas will tend to them. That's his proper function, seeing to such tiresome details."

"As you wish, your Majesty." Krispos did not press the issue. He'd done his best to make the meeting sound dull. He knew Petronas wanted to keep his own hands firmly on the Empire's relations with its neighbors.

Instead of meeting with the Makuraner high ambassador, Anthimos went to the Amphitheater. He ate the coarse, greasy food the vendors sold there; he drank rough wine from a cracked clay cup; he awarded five hundred goldpieces to a driver who'd brought his chariot from the back of the pack to first in the last couple of laps. The crowd cheered his generosity. It all worked well enough, Krispos thought; they had a symbol, Anthimos had fun, and Petronas had the government.

And what do I have? Krispos wondered. Part of the answer was plain enough: good food, good lodging, even the ear of the Avtokrator of the Videssians—for such matters as chances at revels, anyhow. All that was marvelously better than the nothing with which he'd arrived at Videssos the city a few years before.

He was discovering, though, that the more he had, the more he wanted. He'd read two or three chronicles of the Empire's past. None of them recorded the name of a single vestiarios.

A few days later, Anthimos went hunting. Krispos stayed behind. Running the imperial residence, even with the Emperor absent, was a full-time job. He was not unduly surprised when Eroulos came by a little before noon. This time Petronas' steward bowed to him. "His Imperial Highness the Sevastokrator would be pleased to take lunch with you, esteemed and eminent sir, your duties permitting."

"Of course." Krispos gave Eroulos a quizzical look. "So you've heard my new title?"

Eroulos sounded surprised that Krispos need ask. "It's my business to hear such things." Petronas had heard it, too. "Ah, the esteemed and eminent vestiarios," he said, bowing back when Krispos went on one knee before him. "Here, have some wine. How fares my nephew?"

"Well enough, Highness," Krispos said. "He showed no great interest in making the acquaintance of the new envoy from Makuran."

"Just as well," Petronas said, scowling. "There will be war soon—if not this year, then the next. Probably next year. I'll have to take the field in person, and to do that, I need you solidly in place with Anthimos so he won't listen to too much nonsense while I'm away from the city in the westlands."

There lay the weakness in Petronas' position, Krispos thought: while he ruled, he was not Videssos' ruler. If Anthimos ever decided to take up the reins of power for himself, or if someone else steered him, the prestige that went with the imperial title might well make officials follow him rather than his uncle.

Krispos said, "I'm glad you place such confidence in me, Highness."

"We've discussed why I do." Petronas suavely changed the subject, "Anthimos' gain is my loss, I'm finding. The stable hands still do their individual work well enough, but there's less overall direction to things without you. I asked Stotzas if he wanted your job, but he turned me down flat."

"He did the same with me when I asked him if he wanted me to mention him to you." Krispos hesitated. "May I suggest someone else?"

"Why not? Whom do you have in mind?"

"How about Mavros? I know he's even younger than I am, but everyone likes him. And he wouldn't be slack; he takes horses seriously. He's more a real horseman than I, as a matter of fact. I got to the point where I knew what I was doing, but he comes by it naturally."

"Hmm." Petronas stroked his beard. At last he said, "You may have something there. He's likelier than anyone I'd thought of, at any rate. I'll see what Eroulos has to say; he's not Mavros' personal friend, as you are. If he thinks the youngster will answer, I may well give him a try. My thanks."

"I'm pleased to help, even if I'm not part of your household any more." Krispos doubted Eroulos would have anything bad to say about Mavros. All the same, he took note of Petronas caution. Knowing Krispos' advice was not disinterested, the Sevastokrator would not move until he heard some that was.

Another bit of business worth remembering, Krispos thought. He wondered if he'd ever have a chance to use it.

The chance came sooner than he'd expected. A few days later, he received a letter from a certain Ypatios, asking if the two of them could meet to "discuss matters of mutual interest." Krispos had never heard of Ypatios. Some discreet inquiry among the eunuchs let him find out that the fellow headed a large trading house. Krispos arranged a meeting at the imperial residence on an afternoon when Anthimos was watching the chariots.

Barsymes ushered Ypatios into the antechamber where Krispos sat waiting. The man bowed. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, esteemed sir," he began, and then stopped, seeming to notice Krispos' beard for the first time. "I meant no offense by that title, I want you to know. You are vestiarios, after all, but I see—"

"I'm usually styled 'esteemed and eminent.' " This routine, Krispos realized, was one he'd need to get used to.

Ypatios quickly recovered his poise. " 'Esteemed and eminent' it is. Very good." The merchant was about fifty, well fed and shrewd-looking. "As I said in my letter, esteemed and eminent sir, I believe we have interests in common."

"You said so," Krispos agreed. "You didn't say what they were, though."

"One can never tell who all reads a letter," Ypatios said. "Let me explain: my sons and I specialize in importing fine furs from the kingdom of Agder. For some time his Imperial Majesty, may his years be many, has had under consideration a law to lower the import duties upon such furs. His favorable action upon this law would, I'll not deny, work to our advantage."

"Would it?" Krispos steepled his fingertips. He began to see in which quarter the wind lay.

Ypatios nodded solemnly. "It would indeed. And my sons and I are prepared to be generous in our appreciation. As you are in such intimate contact with his Imperial Majesty, surely you might find occasion to suggest a course of action to him. Our own humble requests, expressed in written form, perhaps have not had the good fortune to come under his eyes."

"Maybe not," Krispos said. It occurred to him that even had Anthimos been the most conscientious ruler Videssos ever knew, he would have had trouble staying up with all the minutiae of the Empire. Since Anthimos was anything but, he undoubtedly had never seen the law he was supposed to be considering. Krispos went on, "Why are the duties against the furs so high now?"

Ypatios' lip curled in a fine round sneer. "Who can say why stupid laws remain in force? To make beggars of me and my family, I suspect." He did not look as if he'd be whining for crusts on a street corner any time soon. His next words confirmed that. "Still, I might see my way clear to investing twenty pieces of gold to repair the injustice presently on the books."

"I will be in touch with you" was all Krispos said. Ypatios' florid face fell. He bowed his way out. Krispos tugged at his beard and thought for a while. The gesture reminded him of Petronas. He decided to call on the Sevastokrator.

"And how may I help the esteemed and eminent sir this day?" Petronas asked. Krispos explained. Petronas said, "He only offered you twenty? Stick him for at least a pound of gold if you decide to do it. He may squeal a bit, but he can afford to pay you."

"Should I do it, though?" Krispos persisted.

"For things like that, make up your own mind, lad. I don't care one way or the other—too small to worry about. If you're not just out for the cash, maybe you should find out why the law is the way it is. That will give you a clue as to whether it needs changing."

Krispos did some digging, or tried to. Navigating the maze of Videssian bureaucracy proved anything but easy. The clerk of the courts referred him to the master of the archives. The master of the archives sent him to the office of the eparch of the city. The eparch of the city's adjutant tried to send him back to the clerk of the courts, at which point Krispos threw a tantrum. The adjutant had second thoughts and suggested he visit the customs commissioner.

The customs commissioner was not in his office and would not be back for a week; his wife had just had a baby. As Krispos grumpily turned to go, someone called, "Excellent sir! May I help you, excellent sir?"

Turning, Krispos found himself face to face with the customs agent whose scheme he'd urged on Anthimos outside the Amphitheater. "Maybe you can," he said, not bothering to correct the fellow's use of his title. "Here's what I need ..."

"Yes, I can find that," the customs agent said when he was done. "A pleasure to be able to repay your kindness in some small way. Wait here if you would, excellent sir." He vanished into a room filled with boxes of scrolls. At last he reemerged, wiping dust from his hands and robe. "Sorry to be so long; things are in a frightful muddle back there. The law you mention turns out to have been promulgated to protect the livelihood of trappers and hunters who lived by the Astris River from competition from Agderian furs."

"By the Astris?" Krispos said. "But the Kubratoi have ruled the lands around there for hundreds of years."

"You know that, and I know that, but the law doesn't seem to have heard the news."

"It will," Krispos promised. "Thanks for your help."

"After what you did for me, excellent sir, it was my privilege."

Krispos went back to the imperial residence and scribbled a note to Ypatios. "Though your case has weight, it does not yet have enough weight to go forward." He was sure the merchant would be able to figure out that he was talking about the weight of coins.

Sure enough, when Ypatios met him again, the first thing he asked was, "Just how heavy does our case have to be?"

"A pound would do nicely," Krispos said, remembering Petronas' guess. He kept his voice bland, but waited nervously for Ypatios to scream at him.

The fur seller only sighed. "A pound it is, esteemed and eminent sir. You're still cheaper to do business with than Skombros was."

"Am I?" When Skombros became a priest, all his worldly possessions were forfeited to the imperial fisc. They would likely keep Anthimos in revels a good long time, Krispos thought, wondering just how many bribes the former vestiarios had taken.

After the gold changed hands, Krispos put the proposed change to Anthimos. "Why not?" the Avtokrator said. "Huzza" for cheaper furs!" Krispos produced the necessary document. Anthimos signed it with ink of imperial scarlet.

Krispos sent Petronas a dozen goldpieces. The Sevastokrator returned them with a note saying, "You need these more than I do, but I'll remember the thought." Since that was true, Krispos was glad to have them back. And since Petronas understood why he'd sent them, he got all the benefits of generosity without actually having to pay for it.

The singer opened the golden ball, read "Fourteen pieces of gold," screamed—right on key—and kissed Krispos on the mouth. He would have enjoyed the kiss more had the singer been a woman. Other than that, the performer's reaction left nothing to be desired. The fellow ran through the hall, musically shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Fourteen goldpieces was nothing worth shrieking about for most of Anthimos' guests. As Krispos had expected, seeing someone get so excited about what they thought of as so little amused them mightily. Moreover, what the singer now had wasn't so little for him at all.

Laughing at himself—he hadn't had to worry about kisses from men since he left Iakovitzes' service—Krispos took a long pull at his wine. He'd learned to nurse his cups at Anthimos' affairs. Tonight, though, he hadn't done as good a job as usual; he could feel his head starting to spin.

He picked his way through the crowd back to the Emperor. "May I be excused, your Majesty?"

Anthimos pouted. "So early?" It was somewhere near midnight.

"You have a midmorning meeting with Gnatios, if you'll remember, Majesty." Krispos grinned a wry grin. "And while you may be able to sleep until just before the time, or even to keep the most holy sir waiting, I have to be up early to make sure everything is as it should be."

"Oh, very well," Anthimos said grouchily. Then his eyes lit up. "Here, give me the bowl. I'll hand out chances myself for the rest of the evening." That was entertainment far less ribald than most of what he favored, but it was something new and therefore intriguing.

Krispos gladly surrendered the crystal bowl. The cool, sweet air of the spring night helped clear his head. The racket from the revel faded behind him as he walked to the imperial residence. The Haloga guards outside the entrance nodded as he went by them; they were long since used to him now.

He had just climbed into bed when the bell on the scarlet cord rang. He scowled as he scrambled into his robe in the dark; what was Anthimos doing back in his bedchamber already? The only thing he could think of was that the Emperor had sneaked after him to twit him for going to sleep so soon. That was the sort of thing Anthimos might do, but not when he'd been so excited about dealing out little gold balls.

Several lamps glowed in the imperial bedroom, but Anthimos was not there. The Empress sat up in bed. "I can't seem to get to sleep tonight, Krispos," Dara said. "Could you please fetch me a cup of wine? My serving maids are all asleep, and I heard you just coming in. Do you mind?"

"Of course not, Majesty," Krispos said. He told the truth—a vestiarios had better not mind doing what the Empress of Videssos asked of him. "I'll be back directly."

He found a jar of wine in the dining room and poured a cup from it. "My thanks," Dara said when he brought it to her. She tossed it down almost as quickly as Anthimos might have. She was as bare as she'd been the morning Krispos first came into the imperial bedchamber, but did not bother to pull up the sheet; to her, he might as well have been a eunuch. Holding out the cup, she told him, "Fetch me another, please."

"Of course," he repeated.

She drained the cup a second time as fast as she had the first, set it down empty on the night table by the bed. "Tell me," she said, "do you expect his Imperial Majesty to return any time soon?"

"I don't know when his Majesty will come back," Krispos answered. "When I left the feast, he still seemed to be enjoying himself."

"Oh," Dara said tonelessly. "He usually returns not long after you do, I've noticed. Why not tonight?"

"Because I have to be up early tomorrow morning, to make sure everything is ready for his Majesty's meeting with the patriarch. His Majesty was kind enough to let me leave before him."

"Oh," Dara said again. Without warning, tears started streaming from her eyes. They ran down her cheeks and splashed on her uncovered breasts. That Krispos should see her upset bothered her more than him seeing her nude; she choked out, "Go away!"

He all but fled. One foot was already out in the hall when the Empress said, "No, wait. Come back, please."

Reluctantly he turned. He would sooner have faced a wolf alone and unarmed than the distraught Empress. But he did not dare disobey her, either. "What's wrong, your Majesty?" he asked in the same soft, calm tone he would have used to try to talk the wolf out of ripping his throat open. Now she raised the sheet to her neck; if not as a man, she was aware of him as a person rather than a faceless servant.

"What's wrong?" she echoed bitterly. "What could possibly be wrong, with me trapped here in the imperial residence and my husband at hunts or the horse races by day and his cursed revels by night?"

"But—he is the Avtokrator," Krispos said.

"And so he can do just as he pleases. I know," Dara said. "Sometimes I think he is the only free man in all the Empire of Videssos. And I am his Empress. Am I free? Ha! A tradesman's wife has more freedom than I do, far more."

Krispos knew she was right. Except for rare ceremonial appearances in the Grand Courtroom, the Empress lived a sheltered, indeed a sequestered life, always screened away from the wider world by her maidservants and the palace eunuchs. As gently as he could, he said, "But surely you knew this would be so when you consented to be his Majesty's bride?"

"There wasn't much consent to it," Dara said. "Do you know what a bride show is, Krispos? I was one of a long line of pretty girls, and Anthimos happened to pick me. I was so surprised, I couldn't even talk. My father owns estates in the westlands, not far from the border with Makuran. He was thrilled—he'd have an Avtokrator for a grandson. But I—haven't even managed—to do that as I—should have." She started to cry again.

"You still have time," Krispos said. "You're younger than I am."

That distracted her, as he'd hoped it would. She gave him a sharp look, gauging his years. "Maybe a little," she said at last, not fully convinced.

"I'm certain you are. And surely his Majesty still—" He paused to make sure he used the right words, "—cares for you."

Dara understood. "Oh, aye, when he's here and not drunk asleep, or when he hasn't futtered himself out with one of his doxies—or with six of them." Fire flashed through her tears; Krispos saw she had a temper when she let it loose. Then her shoulders sagged and she bent her head. "But what's the use? I haven't given him a child, and if I don't he'll cast me out one of these days."

Again, Krispos knew she was right. Even Emperors like Anthimos, who worried about nothing, sooner or later worried about an heir. But Dara already felt far too hurt for him simply to agree with her. Instead, he said, "For all you know, you may be carrying the Avtokrator's son right now. I hope you are."

"I may be, but I don't think I am," Dara said. She studied him, curiosity on her face. "You sound as if you mean it. Skombros said the same thing, but I was always sure he was lying."

"Skombros was ambitious for his own nephew," Krispos said. With that, he thought of his niece—no, nieces now, he'd heard—back in his own village. He sent gold every year to his sister Evdokia and Domokos. Now that he had more, he resolved to send more.

"Yes, he was," Dara said distantly. "I'm glad he's gone." After a little while, she went on, "If you fetched me one more cup of wine, I think I could sleep now, Krispos."

He brought the jar into the bedchamber. "If you find you need a bit more, your Majesty, here it is."

"Thank you, Krispos." She gave him the cup to fill. When he handed it back, her fingers closed over his for a moment. "Thank you, also, for listening to me. I think you're kind."

"I hope you do sleep, Majesty, and sleep well. Shall I blow out the lamps?"

"If you would. Leave the one on my night table burning, though, please. I'll tend to it when I'm ready." As Krispos bowed his way out of the bedchamber, Dara added, "I hope you sleep well, too."

Krispos bowed again. "Thank you for thinking of me, Majesty." He went back to his own room. Despite the wine he'd drunk at the Emperor's feast, he lay awake for a long time.

Anthimos rose from his chair. "Care to come for a stroll with me, Gnatios?"

Krispos felt like pounding his head against a wall. If the Avtokrator and the ecumenical patriarch were going out walking, then three parts in four of his preparations for this meeting had been wasted effort. More to the point, he could have slept an extra hour or two. A dull headache and scratchy eyes told him he should have.

Gnatios also rose. "Whatever your Majesty wishes."

Maybe, Krispos thought hopefully, he could doze for a bit while his master and the patriarch talked. Then Anthimos said, "You come along too, Krispos."

Thinking resentful thoughts, Krispos came. A couple of imperial guards attached themselves to the party as the Emperor and his companions walked outside.

Anthimos made cheerful small talk as he led his little party through the palace complex. Gnatios' replies were polite enough, but also increasingly curious, as if he were unsure where the Emperor was going, either in the stroll or the conversation. Krispos quietly fumed. If Anthimos was only going to burble on about the weather, why did he need to see the patriarch at all?

The Avtokrator finally stopped in front of a tumbledown building set apart from its nearest neighbors—not that any were very near—by a thick grove of dark-green cypresses. "I've decided to study sorcery," he declared. "After you left last night, Krispos, a mage worked such marvelous feats that I decided then and there to learn how they were done."

"I see," Krispos said. He did, too; it was just like Anthimos to seize on a momentary enthusiasm and ride it till he got bored.

Gnatios said, "Forgive me, your Majesty, but may I ask what your sudden interest in sorcery has to do with this elderly temple here?"

"You see what it is, then, or was? Good." Anthimos beamed. "Not all sorcery is easy or safe—you know that as well as I. What I propose to do, Gnatios, is knock the building down and replace it with a proper magical study. The site is ideal, you will agree, being isolated from the rest of the palaces."

"You want to tear the temple down?" the patriarch echoed.

"That's right. No one's used it for what must be decades. You should see the spiderwebs inside. Some of them could catch birds, I expect. It wouldn't be sacrilege or anything, really it wouldn't." The Emperor smiled his most engaging smile at Gnatios.

The ecumenical patriarch was more than twice his sovereign's age, and a good deal more than twice as serious as Anthimos. Nevertheless, the Emperor charmed him almost as if he were already using magic. Gnatios was shaking his head, but he answered, "Pyrrhos and his narrow-minded followers will rail at me, but technically, your Majesty, I suppose you are correct. Very well, I agree; you may demolish this unused temple to employ the area for your own purposes."

"Perhaps, your Majesty, you could have another temple built somewhere else in the city to make up for tearing down this one," Krispos put in.

"An excellent notion," Gnatios said. "Will you pledge to do that, your Majesty?"

"Oh, certainly," Anthimos said. "Krispos, see to it that the logothetes at the treasury know to set aside funds for a new temple. We'll knock down this old ruin one day next week, then. Gnatios, I want you to be here."

Gnatios ran a hand over his shaven head. "As you wish, your Majesty, but why am I required?"

"Why, to say a prayer while the temple gets demolished, of course." Anthimos flashed his charming smile again.

This time, it did not work. Gnatios slowly shook his head. "Your Majesty, I fear I cannot. There is in the liturgy a prayer for the construction of a temple, but we have not inherited from our forefathers a prayer over the demolition of a temple."

"Then invent one," Anthimos said. "You are a great scholar, Gnatios. Surely you can find words that will please the good god."

"How can he be pleased that one of his temples is destroyed?" the patriarch said. "Because the temple is old and has long stood vacant, he may tolerate it, but I dare not ask him to do more than that."

"Because this one is being torn down, he'll soon have a new one that won't be empty," Krispos said.

Gnatios gave him an unfriendly look. "I will joyfully pray at the erection of the new. I would do so in any event. But at the loss of a temple—no, I cannot pray over that."

"Maybe Pyrrhos would," Krispos said.

"No. Here we would agree ... or would we?" Gnatios was as much politician as prelate. That undid him now. More to himself than to Krispos or Anthimos, he went on, "Who knows what Pyrrhos might do to gain imperial favor for his fanaticism?" After another pause, he said sourly, "Oh, very well, your Majesty, you shall have your prayer from me."

"Splendid," Anthimos said. "I knew I could rely on you, Gnatios."

The patriarch set his jaw and nodded. Happily clapping him on the shoulder, Anthimos started back to the imperial residence. Gnatios and Krispos trailed along behind the Emperor. Gnatios said softly, "I wish you would have kept your mouth shut, vestiarios."

"I serve my master," Krispos said. "If I can help him get what he wants, I will."

"He and I will both look like fools because of this ceremony he's asked for," Gnatios said. "Is that your idea of good service?"

Krispos thought Gnatios worried more about Gnatios than about Anthimos, but all he said was, "His Majesty doesn't seem worried." Gnatios sniffed and stamped on ahead of him, blue boots scuffing flagstones.

A week later, a small crowd of priests and officials gathered for the function the Emperor had demanded. Petronas was not there; he was closeted with the Makuraner envoys. He had real work to do, Krispos thought.

Anthimos walked up and said, "Krispos, this chap with me is Trokoundos, the mage who will be instructing me. Trokoundos, this is my vestiarios, Krispos. If Trokoundos needs funds to secure apparatus or mystical goods, Krispos, make sure he has what he asks for."

"Very well, your Majesty." Krispos eyed Trokoundos with suspicion. Someone else who wants a grip on the Emperor, he thought indignantly. The anger that surged through him brought him up short; all at once, he understood how Petronas felt about his nephew.

Trokoundos looked straight back at Krispos, his eyes heavy-lidded and clever. "I will see you often, for I have much to teach his Majesty," he said. His voice was deep and rich. It did not suit his frame—he was only of medium height and on the thin side. He shaved his head like a priest, but wore a robe of a most unpriestly orange.

"A pleasure to meet you, mage." Krispos' cool voice gave his words the lie.

"And you, eu—" Trokoundos stopped short. He'd started the same rude rejoinder Krispos had used against Skombros, only to notice, too late, that it did not apply. "And you, vestiarios," he amended lamely.

Krispos smiled. He was glad to find the mage human enough to miss things. "My title is esteemed and eminent sir," he said, rubbing Trokoundos' nose in the mistake.

"Ah, here comes Gnatios," Anthimos said happily. Krispos and Trokoundos both turned to watch the patriarch approach.

Gnatios stopped in front of the Avtokrator and prostrated himself with grim dignity. "I have composed the prayer you required of me, your Majesty," he said as he rose.

"By all means say it, then, so the workmen may begin," the Emperor said.

Gnatios faced the temple to be torn down. He spat on the ground in rejection of Skotos, then raised his hands to the sky.

"Glory to Phos the long-suffering at all times," he declared, "now, forever, and through eons upon eons. So may it be."

"So may it be," the assembled dignitaries echoed. Their voices were less hearty than they might have been; Krispos was not the only one who glanced over to see how the Emperor would respond to a prayer that as much as said Phos had to be patient to put up with his whims.

The implied criticism sailed past him. He bowed to Gnatios. "Thank you, most holy sir. Just what the occasion demanded." Then he called, "Go to it, lads," to the band of workmen standing by the temple.

The workers attacked the dilapidated old building with picks and crowbars. The ceremony over, court officers and prelates began drifting away. Krispos started to follow Anthimos back to the imperial residence when Trokoundos put a hand on his arm. He pulled free. "What do you want?" he asked roughly.

"I need enough money to purchase several hundred sheets of parchment," the mage answered.

"What do you need with several hundred sheets of parchment?"

"I have no need of them," Trokoundos said. "His Majesty does. If he would be a mage, he first must need copy out in his own hand the spells he will thereafter employ." He set hands on hips, plainly expecting Krispos to say no—and ready to go to Anthimos with the tale.

But Krispos said, "Of course. I'll have the money sent to you straightaway."

"You will?" Trokoundos blinked. His belligerent air vanished.

"In fact," Krispos went on, "if you want to come to the residence with me, I'll give you the gold right now; I'll take it from the household chest."

"You will?" Trokoundos said again. Those heavy-lidded eyes widened. "Thank you very much. That's most gracious of you."

"I serve his Majesty," Krispos said, as he had to Gnatios. "How much do you think you'll need?" However much it was, he would cheerfully pay it. If Trokoundos was going to set Anthimos to transcribing several hundred pages' worth of magical spells, he thought, the Avtokrator would not stay interested in sorcery for long. And that suited Krispos just fine.

"Gnatios is not happy with you," Petronas said a couple of days later, when Krispos found a chance to tell him how the ceremony had gone.

"Why, Highness?" Krispos asked. "I didn't think it was a matter of any importance, especially since Anthimos is going to build another temple to take the place of the one that got knocked down."

"Put that way, you're right." Despite reassuring words, Petronas still studied Krispos through narrowed eyes. "My cousin the patriarch, though, is, shall we say, unused to being faced down in front of the Emperor and having to do something he did not care to do in consequence."

"I wasn't trying to embarrass him," Krispos protested.

"You succeeded nevertheless," Petronas said. "Well, let it go. I'll soothe Gnatios' ruffled feathers for him. I didn't think you were quite so good at getting folk—especially a strong-willed fellow like my cousin—to go along with you."

"Oh," Krispos said. "You wanted me to be vestiarios because you thought I'd be able to help get Anthimos to do what you wanted. Why are you angry if I can do the same thing with someone else for his Majesty?"

"I'm not angry. Merely ... thoughtful," the Sevastokrator said.

Krispos sighed, but consoled himself by remembering that Petronas never had trusted him much. He didn't think this latest brush would hurt his standing with Anthimos' uncle.

Petronas went on, "What's this I hear about some wizard sucking up to the Emperor?"

"Oh, that. I think I took care of that." Krispos explained how he'd given Trokoundos exactly what he wanted.

The Sevastokrator laughed out loud. "You'd kill a cat by drowning it in cream. That's better than I would have done; I'd have just sent the beggar packing, which would have made Anthimos sulk. And I don't need him sulking right now."

"The talks with the Makuraners aren't going well?" Krispos asked.

"They're not the problem," Petronas said. "The Makuraners like talk as much as we Videssians, and that's saying something. I just need to keep them talking a while longer, till I'm ready to fight. But I don't like the rumbles I hear out of Kubrat. Malomir's stayed quiet ever since old Omurtag died. If he decided to start raiding us now, then the war with Makuran might have to wait, and I don't want it to wait. I've waited too long already. " He pounded a fist down on the padded arm of his chair.

Krispos nodded. Thinking of nomad horsemen sweeping down from the north could make him shiver even now. And if Videssos' armies were fully engaged in the far west, raids from Kubrat could reach all the way down to the walls of Videssos the city. The capital had stood Kubrati siege a couple of times. He wondered if the frontier with Kubrat wasn't more important than the one with Makuran, which would stay peaceful for a while if Petronas didn't stir it up.

Was he right? He wasn't sure himself; as the Sevastokrator had warned him, he'd had no practice making that kind of judgment. Maybe it wouldn't matter either way; maybe the Kubratoi would let themselves be bought off, as they sometimes did. He hoped so. Things would be simpler that way.

The higher he'd risen, though, and the closer he'd come to real power, the more complicated things looked.

Anthimos kept at his magical studies with a persistence that startled Krispos. While his new sanctum rose from the ruins of the temple, he transcribed texts at the imperial residence. Krispos had to go over to the clerks who scribbled by the Grand Courtroom to find out how they got ink off their fingers. When he fetched back some small pumice stones, Anthimos praised him to the skies.

"That's plenty for today," the Emperor said one hot, muggy summer afternoon, coming out of his study wringing his writing hand. "All work makes a man dull. What do we have laid on for tonight?"

"The feast features a troupe that performs with large dogs and tiny ponies," Krispos answered.

"Does it? Well, that should give the servants something new to clean up." Anthimos started down the hall. "Which robe have you chosen for me?"

"The blue silk. It should be coolest in this weather. Excuse me, your Majesty," Krispos called to the Emperor's retreating back, "but I believe you've forgotten something."

Anthimos stopped. "What's that?"

"Your fingers are still stained. You forgot to pumice them, you want people to say the Avtokrator of the Videssians is his own secretary? Here, let me fetch you a stone."

Anthimos looked down at his right hand. "I did forget to clean off, didn't I?" Now it was his turn to make Krispos pause. "You needn't bring me the pumice stone. I can take care of this myself, I think."

Intense concentration on his face, the Emperor spread the ink-stained fingers of his writing hand. He waved his left hand above it and raised his voice in a rhythmic chant. Suddenly he cried out and clenched both hands into fists. When he opened them, they were both clean.

Krispos made the sun-sign over his heart. "You did it!" he exclaimed, then hoped he didn't sound as surprised as he felt.

"I certainly did," Anthimos said smugly. "A small application of the law of contagion, which states that objects once in contact may continue to influence one another. As that pumice had so often scoured my fingers, I simply re-created the cleansing action by magical means."

"I didn't realize you could start working magic before you had all your spells copied out," Krispos said. "Do you want me to take the pumice stones back to the clerks I got them from?"

"No, not yet. For one thing—" The Emperor grinned a small-boy grin, "—Trokoundos doesn't know I am working magic. I don't think I'm supposed to be. For another, cleaning my hands that way was a lot harder than simply scraping off the ink. I wanted to show off for you, but it wore me out. And I don't want to be worn out, not when there will be so many interesting women at the revels tonight. There will be, won't there, Krispos?"

"Of course, your Majesty. I always try to please you that way." Once more, Krispos wondered why Anthimos couldn't give, if not all, at least most of his attention to Dara. If nothing else, he'd have a better chance of begetting a legitimate heir if he spent some time with his own wife. It was not as if she were undesirable, Krispos thought—quite the opposite, in fact.

Whatever Anthimos' newfound sorcerous talents, he could not read minds. At the moment, perhaps, that was just as well. The Avtokrator went on, "I can hardly wait to show off my magecraft at a feast. For that, though, I'll need something rather more impressive than cleaning my hands without pumice. I tried something once, and it didn't work."

"You did?" Now Krispos didn't care if he sounded appalled. A mage who botched a spell was apt to be in even more immediate need of an heir than an Avtokrator. "What did you do?"

Anthimos looked sheepish. "I tried giving wings to one of the little tortoises that crawl through the gardens. I thought it would be amusing, flying around inside the hall where I usually have my feasts. But I must have done something wrong, because I ended up with a pigeon with a shell. Promise me you won't tell Trokoundos?"

"You're lucky you didn't end up shifting the shell to your own foolish face," Krispos said sternly. Anthimos shifted from foot to foot like a schoolboy taking a scolding he knew he deserved. As had happened so often before, Krispos found he could not stay angry at him. Shaking his head, he went on, "All right, I won't tell Trokoundos if you promise me you'll stop mucking about with things you don't understand."

"I won't," Anthimos said. He had gone off to look at the robe he would wear to the evening's festivities before Krispos noticed he hadn't quite made a promise. Even if he had, Krispos doubted he would have taken it seriously enough to keep. Anthimos just did not believe anything bad could ever happen to him.

Krispos knew better. If growing up on a farm had done nothing else for him, it had done that.