The Tale of Krispos

by Harry Turtledove

  He found he did not want to know, not right away. He set down the letter from Dara and broke the seals on the one from Gnatios. It was daubed with as much wax as if it had come from the imperial chancery. When at last he could unroll it, he held it close to a lamp to read:

  “Gnatios, ecumenical patriarch of the Videssians, to the eminent and noble sir Rhisoulphos: Greetings. As you know, I have suffered many indignities at the hands of the peasant whose fundament currently defiles the imperial throne. I have long believed that those of noble birth, confident in their own excellence, can best rule the state without feeling the constant and pressing need to interfere in the affairs of the temples. Thus, eminent sir, should any accident, genuine or contrived, befall Krispos, rest assured that I shall be delighted to proclaim your name from the altar at the High Temple.”

  Krispos tossed the letter aside. Sure enough, Gnatios could no more turn away from treachery than a fat man could turn away from sweetness. A fat man’s taste just made him heavier. Gnatios, though, would soon be lighter—by a head, Krispos promised himself, not without regret. But he had forgiven his patriarch too many times already.

  What of his wife? What was he to do if he found her plotting against him? He put his hands over his face—he had no idea. At last he made himself unseal the letter. He recognized Dara’s smooth-flowing script at once:

  “Dara to her father: Greetings. May Phos keep you safe through all the fighting that is to come and may he give Krispos the victory. I am well, though enormous. The midwife says second births are easier than first. The good god grant that she be right. Phostis has another tooth, and says mama plain as day. I wish you and Krispos could see him. Give Krispos my love and tell him I will write to him tomorrow. Love to you as well, from your affectionate daughter.”

  Ashamed of his worries, Krispos rolled up the letter. To be Avtokrator was to be schooled in suspicion. Had he not been suspicious, he might not have found Rhisoulphos’ plot till it found him. But to suspect his wife flayed his conscience, all the more so since she had but written her father an innocent, friendly letter.

  Fool, Krispos said to himself, would you rather have discovered she was guilty?

  He stepped out into the night. His Haloga guard stiffened to attention. “I’m going over to Mammianos’ tent,” Krispos said. The guardsman nodded and saluted.

  Mammianos’ guards were Videssians. They, too, saluted as Krispos came up. “I’d like to see your master,” he said. One of the guards went into the tent. He emerged a moment later and held the flap wide.

  Mammianos had a roasted chicken leg in one hand and a cup of wine in the other. He gestured to a platter on the ground in front of him. “Plenty more where this came from, Your Majesty. Help yourself.”

  “Later, maybe,” Krispos said. “First I want to known the latest word on Harvas’ movements.”

  “I talked with some scouts not a quarter of an hour ago.” Mammianos paused for another bite. “They’ve pushed into the woods that start north of Imbros. By all the signs, Harvas’ raiders are in full retreat. The men had that Zaidas with them, so I don’t think Harvas could have cozened them the way he did poor Mavros.”

  “If they aren’t making a stand in the woods, that means they have to go all the way back to the mountain pass, doesn’t it?”

  “I think so, yes.” Mammianos paused again, this time thoughtfully. “Once past the woods, there’s no place between here and the mountains where I’d care to fight with foot soldiers against horse, at any rate.”

  “Good enough,” Krispos said. “I’m going to leave the army in your hands for a while, then—maybe a week, maybe a little longer. I have to get back to Videssos the city as fast as I can; I’ve had word of a plot against me.”

  Too late, he wondered if Mammianos was part of the conspiracy. If so, the army might not be his when he came back to it. But the fat general had certainly had countless chances to overthrow him and had used none of them. Now he only nodded gravely and said, “Gnatios has decided he’d sooner be Emperor-maker than patriarch after all, has he? Or is it someone new this time?”

  “No, it’s Gnatios,” Krispos said. He doubted Mammianos once more, but only for a moment. The general needed no guilty knowledge to make that guess, just the keen political sense he’d shown as long as Krispos had known him.

  Mammianos sighed. “He’s just like Petronas, Gnatios is: thinks he’s cleverer than anyone else. Will you finally go and settle him for good?”

  “Yes,” Krispos said. “He’s wriggled out of what he deserves too often, and then gone and deserved it again. I’ll ride the courier relays down to the city and drop on him before he realizes I’ve come. Meanwhile, I want you to press ahead. If Harvas has fallen back to the pass, don’t try to force your way through into Kubrat. We came to grief with that last year. But don’t let him back into Videssos, either. With the men and mages you have, that should be no problem.”

  “No indeed, Majesty,” Mammianos agreed. “But it’s an expensive way to keep him out, if you’ll forgive my being so bold as to say so.”

  “I know,” Krispos said. “I’m beginning to have an idea about that, but it’s not ripe yet. I’ll talk more about it with you after I get back.”

  “As you say, Majesty.” Mammianos tossed aside a bare bone. “Now, would you care for a chunk of this bird? The white wine I have here goes nicely with it, too. You wouldn’t want to set out riding on an empty stomach, would you?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Krispos ate and drank with Mammianos. Through a mouthful of meat, he said, “I’ll even sleep here through the night. Can’t go far in the darkness, anyhow.”

  “True, true. If you don’t want anything more there, I’ll finish that off for you. Ah, thanks very much.” With a little help from Krispos, Mammianos had completely devoured the chicken. He sighed. “I’m still hungry.”

  “I envy you your appetite,” Krispos said.

  Mammianos chuckled hoarsely. “I’m getting old, Your Majesty. Nice that one of my appetites works as it did when I was young, or maybe even better. It’s not the one I would have chosen, but then, the choice wasn’t up to me.”

  Krispos went back to his own tent a few minutes later. “I want to be roused at first light,” he told the guard. “Tell your relief to have Progress saddled and ready for me.”

  “It shall be done, Majesty,” the guardsman promised.

  Done it was, but when Krispos went to climb aboard Progress, he found the scout commander Sarkis and a squad of his men waiting, each of them already mounted. “Best we ride back to the city with you, Your Majesty, to keep you safe.”

  Krispos glared. “By the good god, excellent sir, can I do nothing secret?”

  “Not if it puts you in danger,” Sarkis answered firmly. His men nodded. Krispos glared again. It did no good. He spurred Progress, moving quickly into a trot and then a gallop. The scouts’ horses were nothing special to look at, but had no trouble keeping pace.

  Every couple of hours, he and his unwanted companions changed mounts at a courier relay station. His backside and inner thighs grew chafed and sore long before the end of the first day in the saddle—riding hard from dawn to dusk was far different from ambling along at the slow pace of the imperial army. But the miles melted away.

  That night Krispos slept like a dead man. The attendants at the relay station had to shake him awake when morning came. He rose grumpily from his bedroll, but managed to say, “Thanks for not worrying about my imperial dignity there.”

  One of the attendants grinned. “Majesty, right now you smell more like a horse than an Avtokrator, if you know what I mean.”

  “I hadn’t even noticed,” Krispos said; after so long in close contact with horses, his nose no longer reported their presence. “It’s not a bad smell.” He’d spent years in the stables, first for Iakovitzes, then for Petronas.

  Sarkis and the scouts were ready to go when Krispos mounted his latest horse. He scowled at them for being so fresh. His own rear end gave a pai
nful protest as he settled himself in the saddle. He did his best to ignore it. His best was not good enough.

  His eyes blurred with tears from the wind of his passage. He rode on. One of the horses he took had a gait hard enough to shake his teeth and his kidneys loose. He rode on. A scout’s horse went lame. The fellow rode double to the next station. He got a fresh animal and they all rode on.

  When Krispos stopped at last on that second day, he dismounted with the slow, brittle caution of a man twice his age. Even the iron-arsed scouts were less limber than when they’d set out. But Sarkis said, “One day more and we’re in the city.”

  “A good thing, too,” Krispos said feelingly, “for I’d never make two days more.” None of the scouts laughed at him. That was the best sign he’d done enough to win their respect.

  Everyone grumbled the next morning, but everyone wearily scrambled onto a horse and rode south. The horses were fresh. They went hard to the next station, but then got to rest. There was no rest for Krispos and the scouts.

  Just when he was convinced he’d been on horseback forever and would stay on horseback forevermore, the walls of Videssos appeared on the southwestern horizon ahead. It was late afternoon. “Under three days,” Sarkis said. “Your Majesty, were I the head of the imperial courier service, I’d hire you.”

  “Oh, no you wouldn’t, for it’s not work I’d ever seek,” Krispos retorted. The scouts laughed. Krispos spurred his horse on toward the capital.

  Chapter X

  GNATIOS STOOD AT THE ALTAR IN THE CENTER OF THE HIGH Temple, chanting the sunset prayers that thanked Phos for the day’s light and bid the sun to return safely on the morrow. The benches were mostly empty; only a few pious souls joined him in the day’s last liturgy.

  Still wearing the trousers and tunic in which he’d ridden, Krispos strode up the temple aisle toward the ecumenical patriarch. He felt bowlegged and wondered if it showed. Behind him, sabers drawn, came Sarkis and the squad of scouts. Behind them tramped a squad of Halogai, part of the company that had been left behind to protect Dara and Phostis.

  Krispos waited in grim silence until Gnatios finished the prayer that was last as well as first: “We bless thee, Phos, lord with the great and good mind, watchful beforehand that the great test of our life may be decided in our favor. This liturgy now is ended. May Phos be with us all.” One or two worshipers got up to go. The rest stayed in their seats, curious to see what would happen next. Gnatios bowed to Krispos. “I thought you with the army, Your Majesty. How may I serve you?”

  “You may not,” Krispos said curtly. He turned to the Halogai. “Arrest him. The charge is treason.” The guardsmen swarmed forward. Gnatios turned as if to run, then considered their upraised axes and thought better of it. They seized him; their big hands wrapped round his forearms in an unbreakable grip. “Take him to the Grand Courtroom.”

  The priests and worshipers in the High Temple cried out in dismay as the imperial guards dragged Gnatios away, but the weapons the Halogai and Sarkis’ scouts carried kept them from doing anything more than cry out. Krispos had counted on that.

  The streets of the city were never empty, but they were less crowded after the sun went down. The party of soldiers marched back to the palace quarter unimpeded. Surrounded by tall Halogai, Gnatios was almost invisible in their midst. Krispos had counted on that, too.

  A bonfire blazed in front of the Grand Courtroom. By its light, nobles, courtiers, and high-ranking bureaucrats filed into the building. “Well done, Barsymes,” Krispos said. “You look to have gotten just about everyone here.”

  “I did my best on short notice, Your Majesty,” the vestiarios said.

  “You did fine. Take charge of the guards and Gnatios here, would you? You’ll know when to send them out where people can see them.”

  “Oh, indeed, Your Majesty.” Barsymes gestured to the Halogai. “Wait here in this alcove for the time being, gentlemen. I shall tell you when to proceed.”

  Krispos walked down the long central aisle toward the throne. The officials who had been chattering among themselves, wondering why they’d been so abruptly summoned, fell silent when they saw him. They resumed once he was past, this time in whispers.

  Closest to the throne stood Iakovitzes. He knew what was toward. “Everything all right at your end?” Krispos asked. At the Sevastos’ nod, he went on, “We’ll settle that later tonight, with more privacy. Meanwhile”—He climbed the steps to the throne, turned, sat, and looked out at the assembled grandees. They looked back at him.

  “Noble sirs,” he said, “I apologize for ordering you together so quickly this evening, but what has arisen will not wait. I must get back to the army as soon as I can; we’ve won a victory against Harvas and hope to win more.”

  “Thou conquerest, Krispos! Thou conquerest!” the courtiers shouted in union. Echoes reverberated from the high ceiling of the Grand Courtroom. The acclamation sounded more fulsome than usual. News of the victory could only have beaten Krispos to the city by a day, and it was the first victory ever over Harvas.

  The outcry ceased at Krispos’ upraised hand. He said, “In spite of that victory, I had to leave the army to come here to deal with a dangerous case of treason. That is why you are gathered together now.” Somehow, without moving a muscle, on hearing the word treason the assembled nobles all contrived to look perfectly innocent. Saddened and amused at the same time, Krispos went on, “Here is the prisoner.”

  At a slow march, the Halogai led Gnatios, still in his patriarchal robes, down the long aisle to the imperial throne. Gusts of whispers trailed him. No one, though, exclaimed in horror or amazement. That, too, saddened Krispos, but did not surprise him. Everybody knew what Gnatios was like. The guardsmen shoved him forward. He prostrated himself before Krispos.

  “I will read a letter Gnatios sent to an officer in the imperial army.” Krispos drew Gnatios’ letter to Rhisoulphos from his belt pouch and read it without naming Rhisoulphos. Then he cast the letter in front of Gnatios. He also threw down the fragments of the patriarch’s seal of sky-blue wax. “Can you deny these are your words, written in your hand, sealed with your seal?”

  Gnatios stayed on his belly and did not dare even to raise his head. “Majesty, I—” he began. Then he stopped, as if realizing nothing could save him now.

  “Gnatios, you are guilty of treason,” Krispos declared. “I have forgiven you before, twice over. I cannot, I do not, I will not forgive you again. Tomorrow morning you will meet the headsman, and your head will go up on the Milestone as a warning to others.”

  A voiceless sigh rose throughout the Grand Courtroom. Again, though, none of the courtiers seemed surprised or dismayed. Softly, Gnatios began to weep.

  “Take him away,” Krispos said. The guardsmen lifted Gnatios. They had to bear most of his weight as they marched him back along the central aisle, for his legs could hardly carry him. “Thank you for witnessing the sentence,” Krispos told the grandees. “You may go, and may Phos bless you all.”

  The nobles filed out of the Grand Courtroom, talking quietly among themselves. Krispos picked up the damning letter, then caught Iakovitzes’ eye. Iakovitzes nodded.

  Krispos went back to the imperial residence. Dara stood in the entranceway, waiting for him. She looked uncomfortable, not least because she also looked as if she could have her baby at any moment. “What did you do with Gnatios?” she asked as he came up the steps.

  “He loses his head tomorrow,” Krispos said. He walked down the hall.

  “Good. He should have lost it a long time ago,” Dara said with a vigorous nod of approval. Then she let worry enter her voice. “Now, what didn’t you tell me this afternoon, when you rode in with such a rush?”

  Krispos sighed. He’d always been glad Dara was clever. Now he wished, just a little, that she wasn’t. He took out Gnatios’ letter to Rhisoulphos and showed it to her. She carefully read it through. When she was done, she sagged against him. “No,” she whispered. “Not Father.”

  �
��I’m afraid so.” He drew out the other letter his pouch contained, the one from Rhisoulphos to Gnatios. He handed it to her. “Dara, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head back and forth, back and forth, like a wild creature thrashing in a trap. “What will you do?” she asked at last. “Not—” Her voice broke. She could not say the word, but Krispos knew what she meant.

  “Not if he doesn’t force me to it,” he promised. “I have something else in mind.” He was glad word of Rhisoulphos’ disappearance hadn’t yet got back to the imperial city.

  A few minutes later the eunuch Tyrovitzes came in and said, “Your Majesty, the Sevastos Iakovitzes is outside the entrance, along with several of his, ah, retainers.” The chamberlain sniffed; he had a low opinion of the handsome youths with whom Iakovitzes surrounded himself.

  “I’ll come out.” Krispos turned to Dara. “Wait here, if you would. This has to do with you and with your father. I’ll be back in just a moment.” He left before she could argue.

  Iakovitzes’ grooms, all of them stalwart and muscular young men, bent themselves double in deep bows to Krispos. Iakovitzes also bowed, less deeply. That left one man standing straight in the middle of the crowd. Bowing would have been hard for him in any case, for his hands were tied behind his back. He did nod, politely. “Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Hello, Rhisoulphos,” Krispos said. “I daresay you’re glad to be anyplace outside of Iakovitzes’ basement.”

  “Yes and no. Given a choice between the basement and the chopping block, I prefer the basement. In fact, I also like the basement rather better than the rolled-up carpet in which I was brought to it.”

  “You don’t need to worry about the carpet anymore. The chopping block is something else again,” Krispos said. “Come along with me—you and I and your daughter have a few things to discuss. You come, too, Iakovitzes, if you please.”

  Iakovitzes nodded. He pulled out his tablet and wrote, “That’s all, lads,” and showed it to the grooms. They nodded and started away from the imperial residence and out of the palace quarter. Iakovitzes wrote something else and passed the tablet to Krispos. “Such a pity—these days I can only pick from among lads who know how to read.” Krispos screwed up his face and gave the tablet back.