Maniakes bit his lip. The case cried out for slow, careful investigation, but that was the last thing the people of Patrodoton wanted. They were out for vengeance. The question was, did they deserve to get it?
Since he couldn't be sure, not on what he'd heard so far, he didn't give it to them, saying, «I'll be gone from here tomorrow, but from this day forth the land here is under Videssian rule once more. I swear by the good god—» He sketched the sun-circle over his heart. «—to send in a team of mages to learn the truth here by sorcery. When they do, I shall act as their findings dictate, with double punishment for the side that turns out to have been lying to me.»
Both Gesios and Pousaios complained about that, loud and long. At last, Maniakes had to turn his back on them, a bit of dramatic rudeness that silenced them where nothing else had.
When he got up the next morning, one of his guardsmen, a Videssian named Evethios, said, «Your Majesty, half the people from this little pisspot of a town have been trying to wake you up since a couple of hours before sunrise. Finally had to tell 'em I'd shoot arrows into 'em if they didn't shut up and go away and leave you alone till you decided all by your lonesome to get out of bed. Nothing—» He spoke with great conviction. «—nothing that happens here is worth getting you out of bed two hours before sunrise.»
«You're probably right, but don't tell the Patrodotoi I said so,» Maniakes answered. Through Evethios' laughter, he went on, «I'm up now, so bring them on. I expect the army can get ready to move out without my looking at everything every moment.»
«If we can't, we're in trouble, your Majesty, and not just with you,» Evethios said, the last few words delivered over his shoulder as he went off to fetch the contingent from Patrodoton.
They came on at a dead run, almost as if they were so many Makuraner boiler boys charging with leveled lances. As soon as Maniakes saw Gesios baying in the van, he knew what must have happened. He could have delivered the village headman's speech for him, idea for idea if not word for word. He tried to tell that to the local, but Gesios was in no mood to listen.
«Your Majesty, Pousaios has run off, the son of a whore!» the headman cried.
«Run off!» the villagers behind him echoed, as if he were soloist and they chorus.
«His house is empty, and his stable's empty, too.» «Empty,» the villagers agreed.
«He's fled to the Makuraners, may the ice take them, him, and all his worthless clan.» «Fled to the Makuraners.»
«That proves what I was telling you last night was so, don't it?» «Don't it?»
The choral arrangement got disconcerting in a hurry. Maniakes' head kept whipping back and forth between Gesios and his followers. But the message, delivery aside, was clear enough. He didn't even have to turn his back to get Gesios to stop; holding up a hand sufficed.
«By his own actions, Pousaios has proved himself a traitor,» he said. «Let his lands and house and other property be divided equally among all those who have plots adjoining his, with no tax on those lands for two years.»
«You can catch him now!» Gesios exclaimed, clenching his fists with bloodthirsty glee. «Catch him and kill him!» The chorus broke down. Instead of speaking as one, the villagers each suggested some new and different way to dispose of Pousaios. Before long, they got ingenious enough to have horrified Sharbaraz's executioners.
«Wait,» Maniakes said again, and then again, and then again. Eventually, the Patrodotoi waited. Into something resembling silence, save that it was a good deal noisier, the Avtokrator went on, «As far as I'm concerned, the Makuraners are welcome to as many of our traitors as they want to keep. Sooner or later, they'll be sorry they have them. Traitors are like adulterers: anyone who cheats on one wife will likely cheat on another one, too.»
What that got him was an earful of village gossip, some of it going back a couple of generations. The scandals of Patrodoton, he discovered without any great surprise, were much the same as those that titillated Videssos the city. The only differences he noted were that less money was involved here and that fewer people talked about these.
Thinking of traitors, inevitably, made him think of Tzikas. Every couple of days, Abivard would send a courier up to the Makuraner army with news of what he'd learned of the location of the Videssian renegade and the Makuraner Tzikas had talked into riding with him. Every couple of days, the answer was the same: nothing. That didn't strike Maniakes as answer enough.
Although the Patrodotoi would cheerfully have gone on telling him who'd been sleeping with whom and why and sometimes for how much till everything turned blue, he brought that to a halt, saying, «I'm sorry, my friends, but this isn't the only town in the Empire whose affairs—however you want to take that—I have to settle.» They gaped at him: surely he could see they were the true center of the world?
He couldn't. The army moved out on time, and he rode with it. Pousaios had given the villagers some tasty new scandal with which they could regale visitors a hundred years from now. And, for all he knew, a couple of his cavalry troopers might have caused some adultery during their brief stay here, women being no more immune to it than men.
West of Patrodoton, a wooden footbridge had spanned the Eriza. Only burned remnants on either side of the river stood now. He didn't think the retreating garrison had torched the bridge; it looked to have been down longer than that. Ypsilantes was of the same opinion. «Aye, your Majesty,» the chief engineer said. «Likely tell, some band of Videssian irregulars did the job, one of those years when the boiler boys were lording it over the westlands. Well, no matter.»
Some of the timbers his men used to build the temporary bridge were still stained with the mud of the Land of the Thousand Cities. Since it wasn't being built against opposition, the bridge swiftly crossed the Eriza. Waiting, Maniakes reflected that he could have listened to more gossip from Patrodoton, after all.
Ypsilantes was the first to cross by the temporary bridge, to show it could be safely done. The rest of the army followed. Antelope snorted and shied, as he always did when setting foot on a bridge, especially one where the timbers shifted under his hooves as these did. But, having let his master know what he thought of things, he crossed when he found out Maniakes insisted. Maniakes looked back over the Eriza with something like amazement. «One corner of the westlands ours again,» he said, and rode on.
X
Abivard's army, on reaching the Eriza at a place a couple of days' march south of Patrodoton, did not cross the river. Instead, it proceeded south along the Eriza's eastern bank till it came to Garsavra, which lay at the confluence of the Eriza and the Arandos, where the lush coastal lowlands gave way to the westlands' central plateau.
Maniakes hovered northwest of Garsavra, waiting to see what the garrison there would do. It was one of the shackles the Makuraners had used to bind the westlands to them; if the soldiers in the town declared for Sharbaraz, the Makuraners were liable to start fighting their civil war on Videssian soil, which was not what Maniakes wanted.
But the messenger Abivard sent to the Videssian encampment was all smiles. «The garrison unites in denouncing and renouncing Sharbaraz Pimp of Pimps,» he said, spitting on the ground in a gesture of rejection he'd surely learned inside Videssos. «Nowhere has anyone a good word to say for the tyrant who sent us forth in this useless war.»
«Good news, and I'm glad to hear it,» Maniakes said. The phrase this useless war, though, would not leave his mind once heard. Had the Makuraners taken Videssos the city along with their Kubrati allies, no one among them, not even Abivard, would be cursing Sharbaraz now. They cared nothing about the injustice of his invasion of Videssos. All that mattered to them was his angry reaction when they failed to bring the war to a satisfactory end. And even that, unbeknownst to them, Maniakes had needed to amplify.
He shrugged, not feeling the least bit guilty about his own chicanery. When he tossed the Makuraner messenger a goldpiece, the fellow praised him as if he were somewhere in rank between the King of Kings and one of the Four
Prophets. That was chicanery, too, designed to squeeze another goldpiece—or maybe even two– out of him at the messenger's next visit. Pretending to believe it, Maniakes waved the rider out of his camp.
He stayed in that camp for the next several days. While there, he got another reassuring sign, for Abivard recalled to his own army the force that had been shadowing the Videssians as the Videssians had shadowed his main body. Augmented by those men and by the Garsavra garrison, Abivard began his journey up the Arandos toward Amorion. «When he gets to Amorion—better yet, when he leaves the place—we'll truly have come full circle,» Maniakes told Rhegorios.
«Aye, that's the truth,» his cousin answered. «That's the town that held the Makuraners out of the Arandos valley for so long. Once it's in our hands, where it belongs, we can hold them out again if they ever try to come back.»
«That's so,» Maniakes said. «And the general who held them out before was Tzikas. He's bound to have friends there still. I wonder if he'll be waiting for Abivard—or for us.»
«Now there's an interesting thought.» Rhegorios raised an eyebrow. «Whom do you suppose he hates worse, you or Abivard?»
«Good question.» Maniakes plucked at his beard as he thought. «I have the title he wanted most, of course, but, to balance that, Abivard is going after a title he can't hope to claim. Both of us should have executed him when we had the chance, and neither one of us did it, the bigger fools we. Dishonors are about even, I'd say.»
«I'd say you're right,» his cousin answered. «I'd also say that means you and Abivard had both better watch yourselves.»
«Oh, yes.» Maniakes nodded vehemently. «Phos only knows what would happen to the Makuraner army if Abivard came down with a sudden case of loss of life.»
He didn't know what would happen in Videssos if he himself vanished from the scene without warning, either. He didn't bring that up with Rhegorios for a couple of reasons. For one, he wouldn't be around to worry about it if that did happen. For another, the succession would be disastrously complicated. Likarios was his legal heir, but Likarios' mother was years dead. Lysia might push her children's claims instead. But they were all young, young. And Rhegorios, as cousin to the Avtokrator, brother to the Empress, and Sevastos in his own right, would have a formidable claim of his own: certainly more formidable in law than Abivard's to the throne of Makuran.
Rhegorios said, «Here's hoping he's not lurking there. Here's hoping he's not lurking anywhere. Here's hoping his horse slipped on a mountainside road and he broke his snaky neck in a fall. Here's hoping you never have to worry about the two-faced son of a whore again.»
«Aye, here's hoping,» Maniakes said. «But something tells me that's too much to hope for. Tzikas is too much of a nuisance to disappear just because we wish he would.»
Abivard's army stuck close to the northern bank of the Arandos, eating their way along the river like a swarm of locusts. His riders were not the only ones who came north bringing news to Maniakes. Several peasants and herders came up, begging him to keep the Makuraners from emptying the countryside of everything edible.
He sent them away unhappy, saying, «Abivard's men are our allies now, and I do not begrudge our allies the supplies they need.» Having to answer in that way left him unhappy, too. How many times have the Makuraners despoiled the westlands since Likinios fell? he wondered. At last, though, his distress eased. However many times, this is the last.
He kept his army a couple of days' march north of the Arandos. Up on the plateau, that meant making sure he had enough grain and water before he crossed one south-flowing tributary to be certain he could reach the next. The country was scrubby between streams.
In spite of complaints from his countrymen, he admitted to himself that Abivard could have done far worse than he was doing. The Makuraner wanted to give Maniakes no excuse to attack him, just as the Avtokrator wanted to give him no excuse to break their partnership. Mutual fear might have made a strange foundation for an alliance, but it seemed to work.
The Arandos and the Ithome joined east of a range of hills, the Arandos flowing up from the southwest, the Ithome down from the northwest. Amorion lay on the north bank of the Ithome, three or four days' travel west of the meeting place of the two rivers. It was the most important town in the westlands, even if the Garsavrans probably would have argued the distinction. It had anchored Videssian possession of the Arandos valley and, once lost to Makuran, anchored the invaders' occupation.
For all those reasons, and also because of its central location, it held the largest Makuraner garrison in the westlands. Maniakes worried that the garrison would stay loyal to Sharbaraz and require a siege to make it yield. The siege wouldn't be Abivard's problem, either—the Makuraner marshal would no doubt keep on moving west against the King of Kings he'd renounced. Amorion was Maniakes' city, and it would likely be Maniakes' job to take it back.
And so, when a rider from Abivard came up to the Videssian army, the Avtokrator tensed. But the horseman cried, «Good news twice, your Majesty! The garrison of Amorion joins everyone else in rejecting Sharbaraz. And the soldiers of the garrison captured the second Makuraner rider who went with Tzikas the traitor to let the Pimp of Pimps know his murderous wickedness has been laid bare before the entire world.»
«That is good news,» Maniakes agreed. «What happened to this second rider?»
«Nothing lingering or unusually interesting.» The messenger sounded almost disappointed. «The garrison commander, knowing Abivard's reputation for leniency, questioned him for a time and then took his head. Very simple, very neat.»
Maniakes wasn't used to thinking of the esthetics of executions. «All right,» he answered, faintly bemused. «Did he learn by which roads Tzikas was going, so we can send pursuit down them?»
«Not in all the detail he should have liked, Majesty,» the Makuraner answered. «The two of them had separated some time before. The rider believed Tzikas was traveling south of the Arandos, but knew no more than that.»
«All right,» Maniakes said. It wasn't, but he couldn't do anything about it. He knew too well how little Tzikas could be relied upon once out of sight. Like as not, the renegade had headed north as soon as he thought his departing comrade thought he was going south. He was a connoisseur of deceit, as some men were connoisseurs of wine, and had a fine and discriminating palate for it.
Or, of course, knowing Maniakes knew of his deceitfulness, he might have thought to deceive by doing exactly what he'd said he would do, reckoning the Avtokrator would assume he'd done the opposite. Or… Maniakes shook his head. Once you started floundering in those waters, the bewildering whirlpool would surely drag you under.
Maniakes did move down to Amorion once Abivard's forces and the Makuraner garrison abandoned it. Not only did he intend to place a small garrison of his own there, he also wanted to see the town for the first time since becoming Avtokrator. His previous push up the Arandos toward Amorion had been rudely interrupted by Abivard's capture of the place.
Finding the wall intact was the first surprise. The Makuraners had breached it, after all; otherwise, they never would have taken the city. Afterward, they'd repaired the breaches with new stone, easy to tell from what had been there before because it was so much less weathered. One of the city gates was also new, and arguably stronger than the Videssian work it replaced.
Once inside Amorion, though, Maniakes saw what several years of occupation by hostile masters had done. A good many buildings had been burned or otherwise wrecked in the sack. If any of them had been repaired since, he would have been astonished. And many of the buildings that had survived the Makuraners' entry were simply empty. Maybe the people who had lived in them had fled before the Makuraners stormed in. Maybe they had been expelled afterward, or simply left. Maybe they were dead.
«We're going to have to rebuild,» Maniakes said. «We're going to have to bring in people from parts of the Empire that haven't taken such a beating.»
«We're going to have to find parts of the Empi
re that haven't taken such a beating,» Rhegorios said, exaggerating only a little.
«There'll always be Vaspurakaners trickling out of their mountains and valleys, too,» Maniakes said. «The Makuraners don't treat them well enough to make them want to stay… and after a while, they start turning into Videssians.»
«Can't imagine what you're talking about,» his cousin said with a chuckle.
Here and there, people did come out and cheer the return of Videssian rule—or at least acknowledge it. «Took you long enough!» an old man shouted, leaning on his stick. «When Tzikas was here, things was pretty good—not perfect, mind you, but pretty good. You'll have to go some to beat him, whatever your name is, and that's a fact.»
«I'll do my best,» Maniakes answered. Riding along next to him, Rhegorios giggled: not the sort of noise one would expect to come from the august throat of a Sevastos. The Avtokrator ignored him.
When he got to what had been the epoptes' palace, he found it in better shape than any other building he'd seen. The servants who trooped out to greet him looked plump and prosperous, where everyone else in the city seemed skinny and shabby and dirty. In answer to Maniakes' question, one of them said, «Why, yes, your Majesty, the Makuraner garrison commander did live here. How did you know?»
«Call it a lucky guess,» Maniakes answered dryly.
Across the central square from the residence, the chief temple to Phos seemed to have taken all the abuse and neglect the residence had avoided. Like a lot of chief temples in provincial towns, it was modeled after the High Temple in Videssos the city. It hadn't been the best of copies before; now, with weeds growing all around, with the stonework of the exterior filthy and streaked with bird droppings, and with every other windowpane bare of glass, it was nearer nightmare vision than imitation.
A blue-robed priest came out of the temple and looked across the square at Maniakes. Recognizing the Avtokrator's raiment, he dashed over the cobblestones toward him, sandals flapping on his feet. When he got close, he threw himself down on the cobblestones in front of Maniakes in a proskynesis so quick and emphatic, he might almost have fallen on his face rather than prostrating himself.
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