«I am told,» Maniakes said carefully, «you may have something to do with the recent discord among the palace eunuchs here.»
Yeliif's large, dark eyes widened. He looked convincingly astonished. «I, Majesty? How could such a thing be possible? I am but the humblest of refugees at your court, beholden to you for all the many kindnesses you have been generous enough to show me. How can you imagine I would so repay that generosity?»
«Considering the way you talk about everyone you knew back in Mashiz, esteemed sir, I must tell you these reports don't altogether astonish me,» Maniakes said. «The next good word you have for anybody will be the first.»
The beautiful eunuch shook his head in vigorous disagreement. «Majesty, like so many others, you misunderstand me. I speak nothing but the truth, the plain, unvarnished truth. If this pains people, am I at fault?»
«Maybe,» Maniakes said. «Probably, in fact. Have you ever known anyone who prides himself on what he calls frankness but only uses that frankness to tear down those around him, never to build them up?»
«Oh, yes,» Yeliif replied. «I have suffered at the hands of such scorpions many times—and now, it would seem, again, or why would you have called me before you to tax me with these baseless calumnies?»
Had Maniakes been listening to Yeliif in isolation, he might well have been convinced the beautiful eunuch was telling the truth. He was convinced Yeliif thought he was telling the truth. Musingly, he said, «One measure of a man is the enemies he makes.
Among yours, esteemed sir, you seem to number both Abivard King of Kings and my vestiarios, the esteemed Kameas.»
«They are prejudiced against me,» Yeliif replied.
«It may be,» Maniakes said. «It may be. Nevertheless…» Unlike Yeliif, he was not so frank as to declare that he trusted Abivard and Kameas' opinions further than those of the beautiful eunuch. Instead, still in musing tones, he went on, «Perhaps we would all be better served if you were to take a position somewhat removed from the contentious air of the palaces.»
«I do not believe this to be in any way necessary,» Yeliif said, more than a little asperity in that bell-like voice. After a moment, he realized he'd gone too far. «You are, of course, the sovereign, and what pleases you has the force of law.»
«Yes.» Maniakes drove that point home before turning conciliatory. «The post I have in mind is in no way dishonorable. I have received word that the city governor of Kastavala died of some illness this past summer. I think I shall send you there, complete with a suitable retinue, to take his place. Kastavala, you should know, is the capital of the province of Kalavria, where my father served as governor before I became Avtokrator.»
«Ah.» Yeliif bowed. «That is indeed a post of honor. I thank you, Majesty; I shall do everything in my power to ensure you have no cause to regret the trust you repose in me.»
«I'm sure I won't,» Maniakes answered. Being a Makuraner, Yeliif would not be overfamiliar with the geography of Videssos, especially that of the eastern portions of the Empire. Maniakes hadn't lied, not in any particular. He also had not mentioned that Kalavria was the easternmost island under Videssian rule: the easternmost island under anyone's rule, so far as anyone knew. No ship had ever sailed out of the east to Kalavria. No ship sailing east from Kalavria had ever came back. Once Yeliif went east to Kalavria, he was not likely to come back, either. Maniakes didn't think he would have any cause to regret that.
«Since this is a position of such importance, I do not think it should long remain vacant,» the beautiful eunuch said. «If, Majesty, you are serious about entrusting it to me—» He made it sound as if he did not truly believe that. «—you will send me to it forth with, permitting no delays whatever.»
«You're right,» Maniakes said, to Yeliif's evident surprise. «If you can be ready to depart from the imperial city tomorrow, I shall have an armed escort to convey you to Opsikion, from which place you can take ship to Kastavala.»
«Take—ship?» Yeliif said, as if the words weren't any part of the Videssian he'd learned.
«Certainly.» Maniakes made his voice brisk. «It's too far to swim from Opsikion, and the water's much too cold for swimming this time of year, anyhow. I dismiss you now, esteemed sir; I know you'll have considerable packing to do, and you'll need an early start tomorrow, with the days so short now. Thanks again for your willingness to fill the post on such short notice.»
Yeliif started to say something. Maniakes turned away from him, signifying that the audience was over. Trapped in the web of court etiquette, the beautiful eunuch had no choice but to withdraw. From the corner of his eyes Maniakes noted Yeliif's expression. It was more eloquently venomous than any of his sweet-sounding words.
Kameas came into the audience chamber a few minutes later. «Is it true, your Majesty? The island of Kalavria?» Maniakes nodded. The eunuch sighed. His kind might not know physical ecstasy, but this came close. «From the bottom of my heart, your Majesty, I thank you.»
«You thank me,» Maniakes demanded, «for doing that to poor, sleepy, innocent Kastavala?»
Avtokrator and vestiarios looked at each other for a moment. Then, as if they were two mimes taking the same cue, they both began to laugh.
Midwinter's Day dawned clear and cold. The cold had nothing to do with why Maniakes would sooner have stayed in bed. «There was a time,» he said in wondering tones, «when I used to look forward to this holiday. I remember that, but I have trouble making myself believe it.»
«I know what you mean,» Lysia said. «No help for it, though.»
«No, not when you're the Avtokrator,» Maniakes agreed. «One of the things by which the city mob judges you is how well you can take the flaying the mime troupes give out.» That they had extra reason to flay him because he was wed to Lysia went without saying. His wife who was also his cousin understood that as well as he did.
«As long as we're not in the Amphitheater, we can try to enjoy the day,» she said, and Maniakes nodded.
«Well, yes,» he admitted. «The only trouble with that is, we have to be in the Amphitheater a good part of the day.»
«But not all of it.» Lysia sounded determined to make the best of things. The past few years, that had been Maniakes' role, with her reluctant to go out in public. But now she tugged at his arm. «Come on,» she said.
He came, then suddenly stopped. «I know what it is,» he said. «You're so glad you can be up and about after you had Savellia anything but the inside of the imperial residence would look good to you.»
«I suppose you're right,» she said. Then she stuck out her tongue at him. «So what?» She pulled him again. This time, he let himself be dragged along.
When he and Lysia left the hypocaust-heated residence, breath puffed from their mouths and noses in great, soft-looking clouds of fog. Frost glittered on the dead, yellow-brown grass of the lawns between buildings. As if to fight the chill, a big bonfire blazed on the cobbles of the path leading east toward the plaza of Palamas.
A crowd of palace servants and grooms and gardeners, plus a leavening of ordinary city folk in holiday finery, stood around the fire. Some huddled close, spreading out their hands to warm them. Then a laundress dashed toward the flames, long skirts flapping about her ankles. As she leapt over the bonfire, she shouted, «Burn, ill-luck!» She staggered when she landed; a groom in a gaudy tunic caught her around the waist to steady her. She repaid him with a kiss. His arms tightened around her. The crowd whooped and cheered and offered bawdy advice.
Lysia's eyes sparkled. «Anything can happen on Midwinter's Day,» she said.
«I know what that fellow hopes will happen,» Maniakes answered. He tilted Lysia's face up to his for a brief kiss. Then he made his own run at the bonfire. People shouted and got out of his way. He leapt. He soared. «Burn, ill-luck!» he shouted. All over Videssos the city, all over the Empire of Videssos, people were leaping and shouting. Priests called it superstition and sometimes inveighed against it, but when Midwinter's Day came, they leapt and shouted, too.
The sound of determined running feet made Maniakes look back. Here came Lysia, her shape shifting oddly when seen through the heat-ripples of the fire. «Burn, ill luck!» she shouted as she sprang. Making sure nobody beat him to it, Maniakes eased her landing. «Why, thank you, sir,» she said, as if she'd never seen him before. The crowd whooped again when he gave her another kiss. The suggestions they called were no different from the ones they'd given the groom and laundress.
Arm in arm, Maniakes and Lysia strolled toward the plaza of Palamas. An enterprising fellow had set up a table with a big jar of wine and several earthenware cups. Maniakes glanced toward Lysia, who nodded. The wine was no better than he'd expected it to be. He gave the wineseller a goldpiece. The fellow's eyes went big. «I'm s-sorry, your Majesty,» he said, «but I can't change this.»
«Don't be foolish,» Maniakes told him. «It's Midwinter's Day. Anything can happen on Midwinter's Day.» He and Lysia strolled on.
«Phos bless you, your Majesty,» the wineseller called after him. He smiled at Lysia. He hadn't heard that in the city, not often enough.
Lysia must have been thinking along with him, for she said,"After that, it seems a shame to have to go on to the Amphitheater.»
«It does, doesn't it?» the Avtokrator said. «No help for it, though. If I don't sit up there on the spine and watch the mime troupes mocking me, half the city will think I've been overthrown and the other half will think I ought to be. I rule every day of the year but one, and I can't—or I'm not supposed to—complain about what goes on then. Anything can happen on Midwinter's Day.» Now he gave the saying an ironic twist.
The plaza of Palamas, out beyond the palace quarter, was packed with revelers—and with winesellers, foodsellers, and harlots to help them enjoy themselves more… and, no doubt, with cutpurses and crooked gamblers to help them enjoy themselves less. Maniakes and Lysia leapt over several more fires. No one cursed them. Maniakes saw a couple of priests in the crowd, but one was falling-down drunk and the other had his arm around the waist of a woman who was probably not a lady. The Avtokrator shrugged and kept on toward the Amphitheater. He supposed even priests deserved a day off from holiness once a year.
People streamed into the Amphitheater, the enormous soup bowl of a building where horse races were held through most of the year. Just before Maniakes and Lysia got to the gate through which, on most days, the horses entered, the Empress let out an indignant squeak. «Someone,» she said darkly, «has hands that need a lesson in manners, but, in this crowd, to the ice with me if I know who.» She sighed in something approaching resignation. «Midwinter's Day.»
«Midwinter's Day,» Maniakes echoed. Men had no shame during the festival. For that matter, neither did women. A fair number of babies born around the time of the autumnal equinox bore no great resemblance to their mothers' husbands. Everyone knew as much. Remarking on it was bad form.
Kameas, Rhegorios, the elder Maniakes, Symvatios, Agathios the patriarch, assorted courtiers and functionaries, a squad of Imperial Guards in gilded mail and scarlet cloaks, and the full twelve imperial parasol-bearers stood waiting by the gate. Rhegorios patted Kameas on the shoulder. «There. You see, esteemed sir? I told you they'd be here.»
«They had no business wandering off on their own and leaving me to fret,» the vestiarios said petulantly, giving Maniakes a severe look.
«Anything can happen on Midwinter's Day—even an escape from ceremonial,» the Avtokrator said. Kameas shook his head, plainly disagreeing. He would have his way now; Maniakes was caught in the net once more. With a gesture more imperious than any to which the Avtokrator could aspire, Kameas ordered the procession into the Amphitheater.
The crowd in there fell silent for a moment, then burst into loud cheers, knowing the day's main entertainment was about to begin. Maniakes' father and Lysia's both drew prolonged applause; they'd made themselves popular in the city. So did Rhegorios, who was popular wherever he went. Marching along behind the parasol-bearers, Maniakes knew a moment's jealousy. Had Rhegorios wanted to usurp his place, he probably could have done it.
Then, Lysia beside him, the Avtokrator strode out into full view of the crowd. He was braced for the curses and jeers to come cascading down on the two of them, as they had on Midwinter's Days past. And there were curses and jeers. He heard them. But, to his delighted astonishment, a great torrent of cheers almost drowned them out.
Lysia reached out and squeezed his hand. «We've finally managed it, haven't we?» she said.
«Maybe we have,» Maniakes answered. «By the good god, maybe we have.»
Behind the parasol-bearers, they stepped up onto the spine of the Amphitheater. The Avtokrator's seat, set in the center, had a special property: a trick of acoustics let everyone in the enormous structure hear the words he spoke there. The converse was that he heard, or thought he heard, all the racket inside the Amphitheater, every bit of it seeming to be aimed straight at him. Sitting in that seat, he sometimes wondered if his head would explode.
When he held up his hand for quiet, he got… a little less noise. After a bit, he got still less, and decided that would have to do. «People of Videssos the city!» he called, and then, taking a chance, «My friends!» No great torrent of hisses and catcalls rained down on him, so he went on, «My friends, we've been through a lot together these past few years, and especially this past summer. The good god willing, the hard times are behind us for a while. In token of that, and in token of Phos' sun turning once more to the north after this day, let us rejoice and make merry. Anything can happen on Midwinter's Day!»
The applause almost took off the top of his head. He had to lean away from the exact focus of sound to save his ears. Then the first troupe of mimes swaggered out onto the race track. The frenzied cheers they got made what he'd received seem tepid by comparison. His grin was wry. That showed him where he stood in the hearts of the city—better than ever before, but still behind the entertainment.
He knew that would slip if he didn't at least look amused at every skit the mime troupes presented, regardless of whether it was aimed at him. The first one wasn't: it showed Etzilios fleeing up to Kubrat like a dog with its tail between its legs, and pausing to relieve himself as he went. It was crude, but Maniakes was glad enough to laugh at any portrayal of an old foe's discomfiture.
The next skit seemed to be about tavern robberies. The crowd ate it up, though it went past Maniakes. «That happened while you were in the westlands,» his father said.
After that troupe came several men with shaved faces, one of whom set about poisoning the others and stabbing them in the back.
Kameas and the rest of the eunuchs on the spine of the Amphitheater laughed themselves silly over that one. Yeliif was already on the way to Opsikion. Maniakes doubted he would have been amused. The Avtokrator wondered how much the eunuchs had paid the mimes to get them to cut off their beards for their roles.
Another skit suggested that Sharbaraz, rather than thinking himself the God incarnate, thought he was the ecumenical patriarch, a dignity the mummers reckoned much more impressive. What he did when he discovered the patriarch had to be celibate made Agathios wince and giggle at the same time. Everyone was fair game on Midwinter's Day.
A new troupe came on and presented the spectacle of the Kubrati monoxyla being sunk and going up in flames. The mimes really did set one of their prop boats on fire, then leapt over it as if it were a good-luck blaze out on the plaza of Palamas.
Yet another troupe had a boiler boy obviously supposed to be Abivard trying to decide whether he should put on robes like those of the Videssian Avtokrator or the Makuraner King of Kings. When he decided on the latter, the mime who had been wearing the Videssian getup chased him around the track, to the loud delight of the crowd. Maniakes leaned over to Lysia and said, «I wish it had been that easy.»
«Everything is easy—if you're a mime,» she answered.
Maniakes thought he and Lysia would get away scot-free, but one mime troupe did lampoon them—an
d Agathios, too, for good measure. Glancing over at the patriarch, Maniakes saw him fume. That made it easier for the Avtokrator to sit and pretend he enjoyed the insults that made the city mob chortle.
But his good mood was quite restored when, in the next—and last—skit, he realized the nasty little man who kept getting kicked back and forth between mimes dressed as Videssians and others intended to be Makuraners, neither side wanting him, was Tzikas. The crowd laughed louder at that than they had at the lewd skit skewering him.
And then it was over. He got cheers when he dismissed the crowd: cheers, no doubt, from many of the people who'd jeered him during the mimes' mockery a few minutes before. He moved away from the seat at the acoustical heart of the Amphitheater and said, «That wasn't too bad—and now it's over for another year.»
«Phos be praised!» Lysia said. «But you're right; it wasn't too bad.» As they were making their way out of the great arena behind the parasol-bearers, she asked, «What do you want to do now?» – their ceremonial duties for the day were over.
He slipped his arm around her waist. «I know it's a little early after Savellia was born, but it is Midwinter's Day. People will be too busy looking for their own good times even to think of bothering us,» Maniakes said hopefully.
«Maybe.» Lysia didn't sound as if she believed that, but her arm went around his waist, too. Together, they walked through the plaza of Palamas and the palace quarter, back toward the imperial residence.
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Document ID: 4b0beb57-7bd4-45f3-9895-8f1bbe726f60
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Document creation date: 2005-03-10
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Александр Васильев (Consul)
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