“Let’s head back toward the city,” Anthimos said. “This time I really mean it.” One of the young nobles had recaptured the Emperor’s horse. He grimaced as he got into the saddle, but rode well enough.
All the same, the hunting party remained unusually subdued, even when they were back inside the palace quarter. They all knew they’d had a brush with disaster.
Krispos tried to imagine what Petronas would have done if they’d come back with the news that Anthimos had got himself killed in some fribbling hunting accident. Of course, the accident would have made the Sevastokrator Emperor of Videssos. But it would also have raised suspicions that it was no accident, that Petronas had somehow arranged it. Under such circumstances, would the Sevastokrator be better off rewarding the witnesses who established his own innocence or punishing them to show they should have protected Anthimos better?
Krispos found himself unsure of the answer and glad he did not have to find out.
As the hunting band broke up, a noble leaned over to Krispos and said quietly, “I think I’d give a couple of inches off my prong to have saved the Avtokrator the way you did.”
Krispos looked the fellow over. He was scarcely out of his teens, yet he rode a fine horse that he surely owned, unlike Krispos’ borrowed gelding. His shirt was silk, his riding breeches fine leather, and his spurs silver. His round, plump face said he’d never known a day’s hunger. Even if he hadn’t saved Anthimos, he was assured a more than comfortable life.
“I mean no disrespect, excellent sir, but I’m not sure the price you name is high enough,” Krispos answered after a moment’s pause. “I need the luck more than you do, you see, having started with so much less of it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my master’s stables.”
The noble stared after him as he rode away. He suspected—no, he was certain—he should have held his tongue. He was already far better at that than most men his age. Now he saw he would have to grow better still.
“SO WHEN DOES THE MOST HOLY GNATIOS SET THE CROWN ON your head?” Mavros asked when he saw Krispos coming out of Petronas’ stables a couple of days after the hunt.
“Oh, shut up,” Krispos told his adopted brother. He was not worried about Mavros’ betraying him; he just wanted him off his back. Mavros’ teasing was the most natural thing in the world. Though Krispos hadn’t bragged about what he’d done, the story was all over the palaces.
“Shut up? This humble spatharios hears and obeys, glad only that your magnificence has deigned to grant him the boon of words.” Mavros swept off his hat and folded himself like a clasp knife in an extravagant bow.
Krispos wanted to hit him. He found himself laughing instead. “Humble, my left one.” He snorted. Mavros had trouble taking anything seriously; after a while, so did anyone who came near him.
“Your left one would look very fine in a dish of umbles,” Mavros said.
“Someone ought to run a currycomb over your tongue,” Krispos told him.
“Is this another of your innovations in equestrian care?” Mavros stuck out the organ in question and crossed his eyes to look down at it. “Yes, it does seem in need of grooming. Go ahead; see if you can put a nice sheen on its coat.”
Krispos did hit him then, not too hard. They scuffled good-naturedly for a couple of minutes. Krispos finally got a hammerlock on Mavros. Mavros was whimpering, without much conviction, when Eroulos came up to the two of them. “If you’re quite finished…” the steward said pointedly.
“What is it?” Krispos let go of Mavros, who somehow contrived to look innocent and rub his wrist at the same time.
The theatrics were wasted; Eroulos took no notice of him. He spoke to Krispos instead, “Go back to the Grand Courtroom at once. One of his Imperial Majesty’s servants is waiting for you there.”
“For me?” Krispos squeaked.
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself,” Eroulos said. Krispos waited no longer. He dashed for the Grand Courtroom. Mavros might have waved good-bye. Krispos did not turn his head to see.
The guards outside Petronas’ wing of the Grand Courtroom swung down their spears when they saw someone running toward them. Recognizing Krispos, they relaxed. One of them pointed to a man leaning against the side of the building. “Here’s the fellow been waiting for you.”
“You are Krispos?” Anthimos’ servitor was tall, thin, and erect, but his hairless cheeks and sexless voice proclaimed him a eunuch. “I was given to understand that you were the Sevastokrator’s chief groom, not that you would stink of horses yourself.” His own scent was of attar of roses.
“I work,” Krispos said shortly.
The eunuch’s sniff told what he thought of that. “In any event, I am commanded to bid you come to a festivity his Imperial Majesty will hold tomorrow evening. I shall return then to guide you. I most respectfully suggest that, no matter how virtuous you deem your labors, the odor of the stables would be out of place.”
Krispos felt his cheeks heat. Biting back an angry retort, he nodded. The eunuch’s bow was fluid perfection, or would have been had he not made it so deep as to suggest scorn rather than courtesy.
“You don’t want to get into a meaner-than-thou contest with a eunuch,” one of the guards remarked after the Avtokrator’s servant was too far away to hear. “You’ll regret it every time.”
“You’d be mean, too, if you’d had that done to you,” another guard said. All the troopers chuckled. Krispos also smiled, but he thought the guard was right. Having lost so much, eunuchs could hardly be blamed for getting their own back in whatever petty ways they could devise.
He knocked off a little early the next afternoon to go from the stables to a bathhouse; he would not give that supercilious eunuch another chance to sneer at him. He oiled himself, scraped his skin with a curved strigil, and paid a boy a copper to get the places he could not reach. The cold plunge and hot soak that followed left him clean and helped loosen tired, tight muscles. He was all but purring as he walked back to the Grand Courtroom.
This time he waited for the Avtokrator’s eunuch to arrive. The eunuch gave a disapproving sniff; perhaps, Krispos thought, he was seeking the lingering aroma of horse. “Come along,” he said, sounding no happier for failing to find it.
Krispos had never been to—had never even seen—the small building to which his guide led him. He was not surprised; the palace quarter held dozens of buildings, large and small, he’d never been to. Some of the large ones were barracks for the regiments of imperial guards. Some of the small ones held soldierly supplies. Others were buildings former Emperors had used, but that now stood empty, awaiting the pleasure of an Avtokrator yet to come. This one, secluded among willows and pear trees, looked to be where Anthimos himself awaited pleasure.
Krispos heard the music when he was still walking the winding path under the trees. Whoever was playing, he thought, had more enthusiasm than skill. Raucous voices accompanied the musicians. He needed a moment to recognize the tavern song they were roaring out. Only when they came to the refrain—” The wine gets drunk but you get drunker!”—was he sure. Loud applause followed.
“They seem to have started already,” he remarked.
The eunuch shrugged. “It’s early yet. They’ll still have their clothes on, most of them.”
“Oh.” Krispos wondered whether he meant most of the revelers or most of their clothes. He supposed it was about the same either way.
By then they were at the door. A squad of guardsmen stood just outside, big blond Haloga mercenaries with axes. An amphora of wine almost as tall as they were stood beside them, its pointed end rammed into the ground. One of them saw Krispos looking at it. The northerner’s wide, foolish grin said he’d already made use of the dipper that stuck out of the jug, and his drawling Haloga accent was not the only thing that thickened his speech. “A good duty here, yes it is.”
Krispos wondered what Petronas would do if he caught one of his own guards drunk on duty. Nothing pleasant, he was certain. T
hen the eunuch took him inside, and all such musings were swept away.
“It’s Krispos!” Anthimos exclaimed. He set down the flute he’d been playing—no wonder the music sounded ragged, Krispos thought—and rushed up to embrace the newcomer. “Let’s have a cheer for Krispos!”
Everyone obediently cheered. Krispos recognized some of the young nobles with whom he’d hunted, and a few people who had been at some of the wilder feasts he’d gone to with Iakovitzes. Most of the folk here, though, were strange to him, and by the look of some of them, he would have been as glad to have them stay so.
Torches of spicy-smelling sandalwood lit the chamber. It was strewn with lilies and violets, roses and hyacinths, which added their sweet scents to the air. Many of the Emperor’s guests were also drenched in perfume. Krispos admitted to himself that his eunuch guide had been right—the odor of horse did not belong here.
“Help yourself to anything,” Anthimos said. “Later you can help yourself to anybody.” Krispos laughed nervously, though he did not think the Avtokrator was joking.
He took a cup of wine and a puffy pastry that proved to be stuffed with forcemeat of lobster. As Petronas had in the Hall of the Nineteen Couches, a noble rose to give a toast. He had to wait a good deal longer for quiet than the Sevastokrator had. Getting some at last, he called, “Here’s to Krispos, who saved his Majesty and saved our fun with him!”
This time the cheers were louder. No one here, Krispos thought, would be able to revel like this without Anthimos’ largess. Had the wolf killed Anthimos, Petronas would surely have taken the throne for himself. After that, most of the people here tonight would have counted themselves lucky not to be whipped out of the city.
Anthimos set down his golden cup. “What goes in must come out,” he declared. He picked up a chamber pot and turned his back on his guests. The chamber pot was also gold, decorated with fancy enamelwork. Krispos wondered how many like it the Avtokrator had. For golden chamber pots, he thought, he’d been taxed off his land.
The notion should have made him furious. It did anger him, but less than he would have thought possible. He tried to figure out why. At last he decided that Anthimos just was not the sort of young man who inspired fury. All he wanted to do was enjoy himself.
A very pretty girl put her hand on Krispos’ chest. “Do you want to?” she asked, and waved to a mountain of pillows piled against one wall.
He stared at her. She was worth staring at. Her green silk gown was modestly cut, but thinned to transparency in startling places. But that was not why he gaped. His rustic standards had taken a beating since he came to Videssos. Several times he’d gone off with female entertainers after a feast, and once with the bored wife of one of the other guests. But “In front of everyone?” he blurted.
She laughed at him. “You’re a new one here, aren’t you?” She left without even giving him a chance to answer. He took another cup of wine and drank it quickly to calm his shaken nerves.
Before long, a couple did avail themselves of the pillows. Krispos found himself watching without having intended to. He tore his gaze away. A moment later, he found his eyes sliding that way again. Annoyed at himself, he turned his back on the whole wall.
Most of the revelers took no special notice of the entwined pair, by the way they went on about their business, they’d seen such displays often enough not to find them out of the ordinary. A few offered suggestions. One made the man pause in what he was doing long enough to say, “Try that yourself if you’re so keen on it. I did once, and I hurt my back.” Then he fell to once more, matter-of-fact as if he were laying bricks.
Not far from Anthimos sat one who did nothing but watch the sportive couple. The robes he wore were as rich as the Avtokrator’s and probably cost a good deal more, for they needed to be larger to cover his bulk. His smooth, beardless face let Krispos count his chins. Another eunuch, he thought, and then, Well, let him watch—it’s probably as close as he can come to the real thing.
Some of the entertainment was more nearly conventional. Real musicians took up the instruments Anthimos and his cronies had set down. Acrobats bounced among the guests and sometimes sprang over them. The only thing remarkable about the jugglers, aside from their skill, was that they were all women, all lovely, and all bare or nearly so.
Krispos admired the aplomb one of them showed when a man came up behind her and fondled her breast. The stream of fruit she kept in the air never wavered—until a very ripe peach landed splat! on the fellow’s head. He swore and raised a fist to her, but the storm of laughter in the room made him lower it again, his dripping face like thunder.
“Zotikos draws the first chance of the evening!” Anthimos said loudly. More laughter came. Krispos joined in, though he wasn’t quite sure what the Avtokrator meant. Anthimos went on, “Here, Skombros, go ahead and give him a real one.”
The eunuch who had stared so avidly at the couple making love now rose from his seat. So this was Petronas’ rival, Krispos thought. Skombros walked over to a table and picked up a crystal bowl full of little golden balls. With great dignity, he carried it over to Zotikos, who was trying to comb peach fragments out of his hair and beard.
Krispos watched curiously. Zotikos took one of the balls from the bowl. He twisted it between his hands. It came open. He snatched out the little strip of parchment inside. When he scanned it, his face fell.
Skombros delicately plucked the parchment from his fingers. The eunuch’s voice was loud, clear, and musical as a middle-range horn’s as he read what was written there: “Ten dead dogs.”
More howls of laughter, and some out-and-out howls. Servants brought Zotikos the dead animals and dropped them at his feet. He stared at them, at Skombros, and at the bare-breasted juggler who had started his humiliation for the evening. Then, cursing, he stormed out of the hall. A chorus of yips pursued him and sped him on his way. By the time he got to the door, he was running.
“He didn’t seem to want his chance. What a pity,” Anthimos said. The Emperor’s smile was not altogether pleasant. “Let’s let someone else have a go. I know! How about Krispos?”
Anger filled Krispos as Skombros approached. Was this his reward for rescuing Anthimos—a chance to be one of the butts for the Avtokrator’s jokes? He wanted to kick the crystal bowl out of Skombros’ hands. Instead, grim-faced, he drew out a ball and opened it. The parchment inside was folded.
Skombros watched, cool and contemptuous, as Krispos fumbled with it. “Do you read, groom?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.
“I read, eunuch,” Krispos snapped. Nothing whatever changed in Skombros’ face, but Krispos knew he had made an enemy. He finally got the parchment open. “Ten”—his voice suddenly broke, as if he were a boy—“ten pounds of silver.”
“How fortunate of you,” Skombros said tonelessly.
Anthimos rushed up and planted a wine-soaked kiss on Krispos’ cheek. “Good for you!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping you’d get a good one!”
Krispos hadn’t known there were any good ones. He stood, still dazed, as a servant brought him a fat, jingling sack. Only when he felt the weight of it in his hands did he believe the money was for him. Ten pounds of silver was close to half a pound of gold: thirty goldpieces, he worked out after a little thought.
To Tanilis, a pound and a half of gold—108 goldpieces—had been enough to set up Krispos as a man with some small wealth of his own. To Anthimos, thirty goldpieces—and belike three hundred, or three thousand—was a party favor. For the first time, Krispos understood the difference between the riches Tanilis’ broad estates yielded and those available to a man with the whole Empire as his estates. No wonder Anthimos thought nothing of a chamber pot made of gold.
A couple of more chances were given out. One man found himself the proud possessor of ten pounds of feathers—a much larger sack than Krispos’. Another got ten free sessions at a fancy brothel. “You mean I have to pay if I want to go back a second night?” the braggart asked, whereupon
the fellow who had won the feathers poured them over his head.
Ten pounds of feathers let loose seemed plenty to fill up the room. People flung them about as if they were snow. Servants did their best to get rid of the blizzard of fluff, but even their best took a while to do any good. While most of the servitors plied brooms and pillowcases, a few brought in the next courses of food.
Anthimos pulled a last bit of down from his beard and let it float away. He looked over toward the new trays. “Ah, beef ribs in fish sauce and garlic,” he said. “My chef does them wonderfully well. They’re far from a neat dish, but oh so tasty.”
The ribs would be anything but neat, Krispos thought as he walked toward them—they were fairly swimming in the pungent fermented fish sauce—but they did smell good. One of the men with whom he’d hunted got to them first. The fellow picked up a rib and took a big bite.
The rib vanished. The young noble’s teeth came together with a loud click. He’d drunk enough wine that he stared foolishly at his dripping but otherwise empty hand. Then his gaze swung to Krispos. “I did have one, didn’t I?” He sounded anything but sure.
“I certainly thought you did,” Krispos said. “Here, let me try.” He took a rib off the tray. It felt solid and meaty in his hand. He lifted it to his mouth. As soon as he tried to bite it, it disappeared.
Some of the people watching made Phos’ sun-sign. Others, wiser in the ways of Anthimos’ feasts, looked to the Avtokrator. A small-boy grin was on his face. “I told the cooks to make them rare, but not so rare as that,” he said.
“I suppose you’re going to say you told them to get the plaster goose livers you served last time well done,” someone called out.
“Half a dozen of my friends broke teeth on those livers,” the Emperor said. “This is a safer joke. Skombros thought of it.”
The eunuch looked smug and also pleased that Krispos had been one of the people his trick had deceived. Krispos stuck his fingers in his mouth to clean them of fish sauce and juice from the ribs. What he was able to taste was delicious. He thought how unfair it was for some sneaky bit of sorcery to deprive him of the tender meat.
The Tale of Krispos Page 24
