The Tale of Krispos

by Harry Turtledove

  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 los
s, 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 anymore.” 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. “Huzzah 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 i
t.

  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.