Krispos Rising

by Harry Turtledove

  In their duel, they'd so completely forgotten about Krispos that they both stared at him when he asked, "Is age the most important thing that goes into a precedent?"

  "Yes," Lexo said in the same breath Iakovitzes used to say, "No."

  "If it is," Krispos went on, "shouldn't Videssos claim all of Khatrish? The Empire ruled it long before the Khatrishers' forefathers arrived there."

  "Not the same thing at all—" Lexo began, while Iakovitzes burst out, "By the good god, so we—" He, too, stopped before his sentence was done. Sheepishness did not suit his sharp-featured face, but it was there. "I think we've just been whirled round on ourselves," he said, much more quietly than he had been speaking.

  "Perhaps we have," Lexo admitted. "Shall we thank your spatharios for the treatment?" He nodded to Krispos. "I must also crave your pardon, young sir. I see you do have some use beyond the ornamental."

  "Why, so he does." Krispos would have been happier with Iakovitzes' agreement had his master sounded less surprised.

  Lexo sighed. "If you set aside your folder there, eminent sir, I will sing you no more lays."

  "Oh, very well." Iakovitzes seldom yielded anything with good grace. "Now, though, I have to find some other way to make you see that those herders you spoke of will have to fare north of the Akkilaion where they belong."

  "I like that." Lexo's tone said he did not like it at all. "Why shouldn't your farmers be the ones to move?"

  "Because nomads are nomads, of course. It's much harder to pack up good farmland and ride away with it."

  The bargaining began again, in earnest this time, now that each man had seen he could not presume too far on the other. That first session yielded no agreement, nor did the second, nor the sixth. "We'll get our answer, though," Iakovitzes said one evening back at Bolkanes' inn. "I can feel it."

  "I hope so." Krispos picked at the mutton in front of him—he was tired of fish.

  Iakovitzes eyed him shrewdly. "So now you are bored, eh? Didn't I warn you would be?"

  "Maybe I am, a little," Krispos said. "I didn't expect we would be here for weeks. I thought the Sevastokrator sent you here just because Sisinnios wasn't making any progress with Lexo."

  "Petronas did, Sisinnios wasn't, and I am," Iakovitzes said. "These disputes take years to develop; they don't go away overnight. What, did you expect Lexo all of a sudden to break down and concede everything on account of the brilliance of my rhetoric?"

  Krispos had to smile. "Put that way, no."

  "Hrmmp. You might have said yes, to salve my self-respect. But schedules for how the Khatrishers withdraw, how much we pay them to go, and whether we pay the khagan or give the money direct to the herders who will be leaving—all such things have plenty of room in them for horse trading. That's what Lexo and I are doing now, seeing who ends up with a swaybacked old nag."

  "I guess so," Krispos said. "I'm afraid it's not very interesting to listen to, though."

  "Go ahead and do something else for a while, then," Iakovitzes said. "I expected you to give up long before this. And you've even been useful in the dickering a couple of times, too, which I didn't expect at all. You've earned some time off."

  So Krispos, instead of closeting himself with the diplomats, went wandering through Opsikion. After those of Videssos the city, its markets seemed small and for the most part dull. The only real bargains Krispos saw were fine furs from Agder, which lay in the far northeast, near the Haloga country. He had more money now than ever before, and less to spend it on, but he could not come close to affording a snow-leopard jacket. He came back to the furriers' stall several times, to peer and to wish.

  He bought a coral pendant to take back to his seamstress friend. He almost paid for it with his lucky goldpiece. Since it had stopped being his only goldpiece, he'd kept it wrapped in a bit of cloth at the bottom of his pouch. Somehow it got loose. He noticed just in time to substitute another coin.

  The jeweler weighed that one to make sure it was good. When he saw it was, he shrugged. "Gold is gold," he said as he gave Krispos his change.

  "Sorry," Krispos said. "I just didn't want to part with that one."

  "I've had other customers tell me the same thing," the jeweler said. "If you want to make sure you don't spend it by mistake, why not wear it on a chain around your neck? Wouldn't take me long to bore through it, and here's a very nice chain. Or if you'd rather have this one ..."

  Krispos came out of the shop with the lucky goldpiece bumping against his chest under his tunic. It felt odd there for the first few days. After that, he stopped noticing he was wearing it. He even slept with it on.

  By that time, Iakovitzes had lost some of his earlier optimism. "That pox-brained Khatrisher is a serpent," he complained.

  "Just when I think I have something settled, he throws a coil around it and drags it back into confusion."

  "Do you want me to join you again?" Krispos asked.

  "Eh? No, that's all right. Good of you to ask, though; you show more loyalty than most your age. You'd probably be more help if you spent the time praying for me. Phos may listen to you; that stubborn donkey of a Lexo surely won't."

  Krispos knew his master was just grumbling. He went to the temple across from Sisinnios' residence just the same. Phos was the lord of the good; Videssos' case here, he was convinced, was good; how, then, could his god fail to heed him?

  The crowd round the temple was thicker than he'd seen it before. When he asked a man why, the fellow chuckled and said, "Guess you're not from these parts. This is the festal day of the holy Abdaas, Opsikion's patron. We're all come to give thanks for his protection for another year."

  "Oh." Along with everyone else—everyone in the whole town, he thought, as three people stepped on his toes, one after the other—Krispos filed into the temple.

  He had worshiped at the High Temple in the capital several times. The sternly beautiful gaze of the mosaic image of Phos in the dome there never failed to fill him with awe. Opsikion was only a provincial town. As he was depicted here, the lord with the great and good mind looked more cross than majestic. Krispos did not much care. Phos was Phos, no matter what his image looked like.

  Krispos feared, though, that he would have to pay homage to the good god standing up. The benches had all but filled by the time he got to them. The last few rows had some empty places, but the press of people swept him past them before he could claim one. He was still a villager at heart, he thought wryly; a born city man would have been quicker.

  Too late—by now he was most of the way down toward the altar. With sinking hope, he peered around for some place, any Place, to sit. The woman sitting by the aisle was also looking around, perhaps for a friend who was late. Their eyes met.

  "Excuse me, my lady." Krispos looked away. He knew a noblewoman when he saw one, and knew better than to bother her by staring.

  Thus he did not see her pupils swell till, like a cat's, each filled for a moment its whole iris, did not see her features go slack and far away in that same instant, took no notice of the word she whispered. Then she said something he could not ignore: "Would you care to sit here, eminent sir?"

  "My lady?" he said foolishly.

  "There's room by me, eminent sir, I think." The woman pushed at the youth next to her, a lad five or six years younger than Krispos: a nephew, maybe, he thought, for the boy resembled her. The push went down the row. By the time it reached the end, there was indeed room.

  Krispos sat, gratefully. "Thank you very much, ah—" He stopped. She might—she probably would—think him forward if he asked her name.

  But she did not. "I am Tanilis, eminent sir," she said, and modestly cast down her eyes. Before she did, though, he saw how large and dark they were. With them still lowered, she went on, "This is my son Mavros."

  The youth and Krispos exchanged nods. Tanilis was older than he'd thought; at first glance, he'd guessed her age to be within a few years of his.

  He was still not used to being called sir. Eminent sir was fo
r the likes of Iakovitzes, not him: how could he become a noble? Why, then, had Tanilis used it? He started to tell her, as politely as he could, that she'd made a mistake, but the service began and robbed him of the chance.

  Phos' creed, of course, he could have recited asleep or awake; it was engrained in him. The rest of the prayers and hymns were hardly less familiar. He went through them, rising and taking his seat at the proper times, most of his mind elsewhere. He barely remembered to ask Phos to help Iakovitzes in his talks with Lexo, which was why he had come to the temple in the first place.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he kept watching Tanilis. Her profile was sculptured, elegant; no loose flesh hung under her chin. But, though artfully applied powder almost hid them, the beginnings of lines bracketed her mouth and met at the corners of her eyes. Here and there a white thread ran through her piled-up curls of jet. He supposed she might be old enough to have a son close to his age. She was beautiful, even so.

  She seemed to take no notice of his inspection, giving herself wholly to the celebration of Phos' liturgy. Eventually Krispos had to do the same, for the hymns of praise for the holy Abdaas were Opsikion's own; he had not met them before. But even as he stumbled through them, he was aware of her beside him.

  The worshipers spoke Phos' creed one last time. From his place at the altar, the local prelate lifted up his hands in blessing. "Go now, in peace and goodness," he declared. The service was over.

  Krispos rose and stretched. Tanilis and her son also stood up. "Thanks again for making room for me," he told them, as he turned to go.

  "The privilege was mine, eminent sir," Tanilis said. Her ornate gold earrings tinkled softly as he looked down to the floor.

  "Why do you keep calling me that?" he snapped, irritation getting the better of his manners. "I'm just a groom, and glad to be one—otherwise I expect I'd be starving somewhere. Come to think of it, I've done that, too, once or twice. It doesn't make you eminent, believe me."

  Before he was halfway through, he knew he ought to keep quiet. If he offended a powerful local noblewoman like Tanilis, even Iakovitzes' connections at the capital might not save him. The capital was too far away for them to do him much good here. Even as that thought ran through his mind, though, he kept on till he was done.

  Tanilis raised her head to look at him again. He started to stutter out an apology, then stopped. The last time he had seen that almost blind stare of perfect concentration was on the face of the healer-priest Mokios.

  This time he watched her eyes go huge and black, saw her expression turn fixed. Her lips parted. This time ice ran through him as he heard the word she whispered: "Majesty."

  She slumped forward in a faint.

  V

  Krispos caught her before she hit her head on the bench in front of her. "Oh, Phos!" her son Mavros said. He rushed up to help take her weight. "Thanks for saving her there, uh, Krispos. Come on, let's get her out of the temple. She should be better soon."

  He sounded so matter-of-fact that Krispos asked, "This has happened before?"

  " Yes." Mavros raised his voice to speak to the townsfolk who came hurrying up after Tanilis fell. "My mother just got out of her seat too quickly. Let us by, please, so we can get her to fresh air. Let us by, please."

  He had to repeat himself several times before people moved aside. Even then, several women and a couple of men stayed with him. Krispos wondered why he did not shoo them away too, then realized they had to be part of Tanilis' retinue. They helped clear a path so Krispos and Mavros could carry the noblewoman up the aisle.

  Tanilis muttered and stirred when the sun hit her face, but did not wake at once. Krispos and Mavros eased her to the ground. The women stood over her, exclaiming.

  One of the servants said to Mavros, "I wish we'd come from the house in town today, young master. Then she could go in the sedan chair."

  "That would make fetching her home again easier, wouldn't it? However ..." Mavros shrugged whimsically. He turned to Krispos. "My mother sometimes ... sees things, and sees them so strong she can't withstand the force of the vision. I've grown used to it, watching it happen over the years, but I do wish she wouldn't always pick such awkward times and places. Of course, what I wish has very little to do with anything." He gave that shrug again.

  "That's the way things often work." Krispos decided he thought well of Mavros. The youngster had not only kept his head coping with an awkward situation, but was even able to make light of it. From everything Krispos had ever seen, that was harder.

  Mavros said, "Genzon, Naues, fetch the horses here from round the corner. The crowd's thinning out; you shouldn't have much trouble now."

  "I'll go with them, if you like," Krispos said. "That way each man won't have to lead so many."

  "Thanks, that's generous of you. Please, a moment first, though." Mavros took a couple of steps away from his retinue and motioned for Krispos to follow. In a low voice, he asked, "What did my mother say to you, there in the temple? Her back was to me; I didn't hear."

  "Oh, that." Krispos scratched his head, looking embarrassed. "Do you know, in all the hubbub since, it's gone clean out of my mind."

  He hurried after Genzon and Naues. He was unhappy about lying to Mavros, but he'd lied without hesitation. He needed to think much more about the unbelievably fascinating, unbelievably dangerous word Tanilis had spoken before he admitted to himself—let alone to anyone else—that he'd heard it.

  Most of the horses the servants loosed from the hitching rail were ponies for Tanilis' female attendants. The four that were not were animals fine enough to have belonged in Iakovitzes' stables. Four—that meant Tanilis was no mean rider, then. Krispos found himself unsurprised. She was plainly a woman of many accomplishments.

  She had managed to sit up by the time Krispos, Genzon, and Naues brought the horses back to the temple, but still did not seem fully aware of herself or her surroundings. Mavros clasped Krispos' hand. "Thank you again. I'm grateful for all your help."

  "My pleasure." Krispos heard the dismissal in Mavros' voice. He dipped his head and went back to Bolkanes' inn.

  Iakovitzes was not there; he was closeted with Lexo again. Krispos hoped his absentminded prayer had done his master some good. He went down to the taproom for some wine and for a chance to pick Bolkanes' brain.

  Both came slower than he wanted. The inn was crowded with people celebrating the holy Abdaas' festal day less piously than those who had gone to the temple. The tables were all filled. Working his way up to the bar took patience, but patience Krispos had. "Red wine, please," he told Bolkanes.

  The innkeeper dipped out a measure and filled an earthenware mug. Only when he slid it across the counter did he look up to see whom he was serving. "Oh, hello, Krispos," he said and then, to the next man who'd wormed his way forward, "What'll it be for you today, Rekilas?"

  Having gained his spot at the bar, Krispos did not give it up. He waited while Bolkanes served two more men, then said, "I saw a truly striking noblewoman at the temple today. A man told me her name was—"

  He broke off; someone had asked Bolkanes for a cup of something finer than he kept in the barrels at the bar, and the innkeeper had to hurry away to get what the fellow wanted. When he returned—and after he dealt with another customer—Krispos started to repeat himself, but Bolkanes had been listening, even if he was too busy to talk. He broke in: "That'd be Tanilis, I expect."

  "Yes, that was the name," Krispos said. "Sounds like she's well known hereabouts."

  "I should say so," Bolkanes agreed. "She has—hello, Zernes, more of the white for you? Coming right up." Zernes not only wanted more white wine but needed change from a goldpiece, and counted it three times once he got it. Half a dozen men were waiting by the time he got done. Eventually Bolkanes resumed. "Tanilis? Aye, she has huge tracts of land hereabouts. A good many said she'd lose everything, trying to run 'em herself after her husband—what was her husband's name, Apsyrtos?"

  "Vledas, wasn't it?" Apsyrtos answer
ed. "Let me have a cup of mead this time, will you?"

  "You head'll hurt come morning, mixing 'em that way," Bolkanes warned, but he plied the dipper. When he was done, he turned back to Krispos. "Vledas, that was it. He died ten, twelve years ago now, it must be, and she's prospered since. Done well in good years and bad, they say, though naturally I couldn't testify to that. But her estates do keep growing. It's almost uncanny—just a woman, you know."

  "Mm-hmm," Krispos said, though he had the feeling Tanilis was just a woman in the same way that Videssos was just a city.

  Iakovitzes came in a little later. His good nature, always unreliable, had vanished altogether by the time he worked his way to the bar through the press of holiday drinkers. "Just because a holy man once cured a horse of fleas is no reason to turn a town on its ear," he growled.

  "Is that what the holy Abdaas did?" Krispos asked.

  "How should I know? In a backwoods bastion like this, I doubt one would need do much more to be reckoned a miracle-worker." Iakovitzes gulped his wine, then slammed the mug down on the bar for a refill.

  Krispos thought of Tanilis again. He'd seen more than horse-doctoring. He wondered how he could find out more about her. If she was as grand a noblewoman as Bolkanes made her out to be—and nothing Krispos had seen left him doubting it—he could not just go and seek a meeting with her. She'd slap him down for such presumption. Approaching through her son seemed a better bet. Mavros, on brief acquaintance, had the feel of being someone Krispos could like. Bolkanes might know the amusements the youth favored when he came into town... .

  Iakovitzes had said something that Krispos missed in his musing. "I crave pardon."

  His master frowned. "For all the attention you paid me there, I thought for a moment I was back talking with Lexo. He started in on his stinking tribal lays again today, the blackguard, until I asked him if he was willing to listen while I read to him from the histories of the reign of Stavrakios the Great. After that he came rather closer to reason, though not close enough. By Phos, I'll poison the bastard if his delays make me spend the winter in this miserable place."