The Tale of Krispos

by Harry Turtledove

  “What’s there to listen to, curse you?” Dara tried to kick him in the shins. “Did you take her to bed with you or not?”

  “Yes, but—” She punctuated the sentence by trying to kick him again. This time she succeeded.

  “Aii!” he said. The pain roused his own anger. When she started screaming at him again, he outyelled her. “If it weren’t for Tanilis, I’d be dead now, and the whole army with me.”

  “Bugger the army, and bugger you, too.”

  “Why are you so furious at me?” he demanded. “Anthimos was unfaithful to you twice a day—three or four times, when he could manage that many—and you put up with him for years.”

  Dara opened her mouth to screech more abuse at him but hesitated. He enjoyed a moment of relief—the first moment he’d enjoyed since he walked into the imperial residence. In slightly softer tones than she’d used thus far, she said, “I expected it from Anthimos. I didn’t expect it from you.”

  Krispos heard the hurt in her voice along with the outrage. “I didn’t expect it from me, either, not exactly,” he said. “It’s just that, well, Tanilis and I knew each other a long time ago, before I ever came to the palaces.”

  “Knew each other?” Now it was all outrage again. “That makes it worse, not better. If you missed her so much, why didn’t you just send for her when you got the urge?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Krispos protested. “And it wasn’t as if I set out to seduce her for the first time. It was just—” The more he talked, the deeper in trouble he found himself. He gave up and spread his hands in defeat. “I made a mistake. What can I say? The only thing I can think of is that it’s not the sort of mistake I’m likely to make again.”

  Dara twisted the knife. “There aren’t another threescore women you knew in those long-lost and forgotten days out there pining for you now?” But then she hesitated again. “I don’t think I ever heard Anthimos say he made a mistake.”

  One of the things Krispos had learned from repeated meetings with his officers was to change the subject when he didn’t have all the answers. He said, “Dara, could I please see my new son?”

  He’d hoped that would further soften her. It didn’t work. Instead, she flared up again. “Your new son? And what were you doing while I was panting like a dog and screaming like a man on the rack to make your son come into the world? You don’t need to tell me with whom you were doing it. I already know that.”

  “By the letter you sent, on the day Evripos was born, the army was fighting its way north from the mountains into Kubrat. And I wasn’t doing anything more with Tanilis then than traveling in the same army.” What he’d been doing when her letter arrived…but she hadn’t asked him that.

  “Then,” she said, a word that spoke volumes all by itself. She went on bitterly, “You even had the brass to acclaim her to the people today.”

  He wondered how she’d learned that. Nothing in Videssos the city flew faster than gossip. He said, “Whatever you think of me, whatever you think of her, she deserved to be acclaimed to them. I told you once, you’d be a widow now if not for her.”

  Dara gave him a long, cold, measuring stare. “That might be better. I warned you not to trifle with me.”

  Krispos remembered what Rhisoulphos had asked him—how would he dare fall asleep beside her? He said, “Careful, there. You’d have had no joy bargaining with Harvas Black-Robe over the fate of the Empire.”

  “I would have bargained with someone besides Harvas.” She was angry enough to add one thing more: “I still may. I brought you the throne, after all.”

  “And you think you can take it away again, is that what you’re saying? That the only reason I belong on it is because I married you?” He shook his head. “Maybe that was so two years ago. I don’t think it is anymore. I beat Petronas, I beat Harvas. People are used to me with a crown on my head, and they see I can manage well enough.” Now he glared coldly at her. “And so, if I wanted to, I expect I could send you to a convent, go on about my affairs here, and get away with it quite handily. Do you doubt me?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “To save myself, I would. But I don’t want to. If we only had a marriage of convenience”—as he groped for the phrase, he remembered Tanilis using it. He shook his head, wishing he hadn’t come up with the memory at exactly this moment—“I think I could put you aside now and not have much trouble over it. I just told you that. I could have arranged it as I was on the way home from Kubrat. I came back here, though, because I love you, curse it.”

  Dara was not ready to give in, or to let him down easy. “I suppose you’d say the same thing if Tanilis had come back with you.”

  He winced, as if from a low blow. For all his wishing that Tanilis had lived, he hadn’t thought about how he would handle her and Dara both. Badly was the answer that sprang to mind; between the two of them, they’d have made mincemeat of him in short order. Dara was doing a good job by herself.

  He answered as best he could: “Might-have-beens don’t matter. They aren’t real, so how can you tell what’s true about them? That just makes for more arguments. We don’t need more arguments right now.”

  “Don’t we? I trusted you, Krispos. How am I ever supposed to trust you again, now that I know you’ve been unfaithful?”

  “It comes in time, if you give it a chance,” he said. “I grew to trust you, for instance.”

  “Me? What about me?” Dara’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t go twisting things. I’ve never been unfaithful to you, by the good god, and you’d better know it, too.”

  “I’m not twisting things, and I do know that,” Krispos said. “But you were unfaithful to Anthimos with me, so I’ve known all along that you could be unfaithful to me, too. It used to worry me. It used to worry me a lot. It took a long time for me to decide I didn’t need to worry about it anymore.”

  “You never let on,” Dara said slowly. She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “You never let on at all.”

  “What would have been the point? I always figured that showing I was worried would have made things worse, not better, so I just kept quiet.”

  “Yes, that’s like you, isn’t it? You would have just kept quiet about Tanilis, too, and gone about your business.” But some of the heat finally left Dara’s voice. She kept studying Krispos. In spite of her temper—and in spite of the good reason he’d given her for losing it—she was thoroughly practical down deep. Krispos waited. At last she said, “Well, you may as well have a look at Evripos.”

  “Thank you.” The two words took in much more than her last sentence alone. He’d known her a long time. He counted on her to hear that.

  Not a servant was in sight when Krispos and Dara emerged from the imperial bedchamber. His mouth twisted wryly. He said, “All the eunuchs and women must be afraid to get anywhere near us. What with the row we were having, I can’t blame them.”

  “Neither can I,” Dara said, with the first half smile she’d given him. “They’re probably waiting to find out which one of us comes out of there alive—if either of us does.”

  The nursery was around a couple of corners from the bedchamber. Only when Krispos and Dara rounded the last corner did they encounter Barsymes in the hallway. The vestiarios bowed. “Your Majesties,” he said. With the subtle shifts of tone of which he was a master, he managed to make the innocuous greeting mean something like, Are your majesties done sticking knives in each other yet?

  “It’s—” Krispos started to say it was all right, but it wasn’t. Maybe in time it would be. “It’s better, esteemed sir.” He glanced toward Dara, wondering if she would make a liar of him.

  “It’s some better, esteemed sir,” she said carefully. Krispos clicked his tongue between his teeth. That would have to do.

  “I’m pleased to hear it, Your Majesties.” Barsymes actually did sound pleased. He had to see the palm-sized patch of red on Krispos’ cheek, but he made sure he did not notice it. He bowed again. “If you
will excuse me—” He walked past Krispos and Dara. Palace servants had a magic all their own. Within minutes everyone in the imperial residence would know what the vestiarios knew.

  Krispos opened the nursery door and let Dara precede him through it. The woman sitting inside quickly got up and started to prostrate herself. “Never mind, Iliana,” Krispos said. The wet nurse smiled, pleased he remembered her name. He went on, “Everything’s quiet, so Evripos must be asleep.”

  “So he is, Your Majesty,” Iliana said. She smiled again, in a different way this time: the haggard smile of anyone who takes care of a baby. She pointed to the cradle against one wall.

  Krispos walked over to it and peered in. Evripos lay on his stomach. His right thumb was in his mouth. His odor, the peculiar mix of inborn baby sweetness and stale milk, wafted up to Krispos. Krispos said the first thing that came into his mind. “He doesn’t have as much hair as Phostis did.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Dara agreed.

  “I think he’s going to look like you, Your Majesty,” Iliana said to Krispos. She seemed oblivious to the fight he and Dara had just had. If she’d been here by herself with Evripos all the while, maybe she was. If so, she had to be the only person in the imperial residence who was. She continued, “His face is longer than Phostis’ was at the same age, and I think he’ll have your nose.”

  Krispos examined Evripos again. He found himself shrugging. For one thing, he’d been in the field when Phostis was this age, so comparing the two little boys was hard for him. For another, he didn’t think Evripos’ button of a nose looked anything like his own formidable beak. He asked, “How old is he now?”

  “Six weeks, a couple of days more,” Dara answered. “He’s a bigger baby than Phostis was.”

  “Second babes often are,” Iliana put in.

  “Maybe he does look like me,” Krispos said. “We’ll have to train him to be always at his brother’s right hand when the time comes for Phostis to rule.” That won him a genuinely grateful look from Dara: here with a son surely his, he said nothing of removing Phostis from the succession.

  The nursery door opened. Phostis came in, accompanied by Longinos the eunuch. The little boy was much more confident on his feet than he had been when Krispos set out on campaign. He looked at Krispos, as much at his robes as at his face. “Dada?” he said, tentatively.

  Maybe he’s not sure, either, Krispos thought. He scowled at himself, then smiled his biggest smile at Phostis. “Dada,” he said. Phostis ran to him and hugged him around the legs. He reached down to ruffle Phostis’ hair. “How does he know who I am?” he asked Dara. “Do you suppose he remembers? I’ve been gone a long time, and he’s not very big.”

  “Maybe he does. He’s clever,” Dara said. “But I’ve also shown him the pictures of old-time Avtokrators in their regalia and said ‘Emperor’ and ‘dada.’ If he didn’t recognize you, I wanted to be sure he recognized the robes.”

  “Oh…That was thoughtful of you,” Krispos said. Dara didn’t answer. Just as well, Krispos thought. If she had answered, she’d have been only too likely to come back with something like, Yes, and look what you were doing while I was busy reminding him who you were.

  “Up,” Phostis said. Krispos picked him up and held him out at arm’s length so he could look him over. Phostis kicked and giggled. Krispos had no idea whom Evripos looked like. Phostis looked like Dara: his coloring, the shape of his face, that unusual small fold of skin at the inner corner of each eyelid all recalled her.

  Krispos tossed him a couple of feet into the air, caught him, then gently shook him. Phostis squealed with glee. Krispos wanted to shake him harder, to shake out of him once and for all who his father was.

  “Dada,” Phostis said again. He stretched out his own little arms to Krispos. When Krispos drew him close, he wrapped them around Krispos’ neck. Krispos hugged him, too. From whosever seed he sprang, he was a fine little boy.

  “Thank you for helping him to keep me in mind,” Krispos said to Dara. “He seems happy to see me.”

  “Yes, so he does.” Dara’s voice softened, most likely because she was talking about Phostis.

  Longinos handed Krispos an apricot candied in honey. “The young Majesty is especially fond of these.”

  “Is he?” Krispos held the fruit where Phostis could see it. The toddler wiggled in delight and opened his mouth wide. Krispos popped in the apricot. Phostis made small nyum-nyum-nyum noises as he chewed. Krispos said, “I think he has more teeth than he did when I left the city.”

  “They do keep growing them,” Dara said.

  Phostis finished the candied apricot. “More?” he said hopefully. Laughing, Krispos held out his hand to Longinos. The chamberlain produced another apricot. Krispos gave it to Phostis. “Nyum-nyum-nyum.”

  “You’ll spoil his supper,” Iliana said. Then she remembered to whom she was speaking, and hastily added, “Your Majesty.”

  “One spoiled supper won’t matter,” Krispos said. He knew that was true, but also wondered how often it was wise to say such things. He suspected no one had ever said no to Anthimos about anything. He didn’t want Phostis to grow up that way.

  Barsymes stuck his head into the nursery. “As the afternoon is drawing on, Your Majesty, Phestos the cook wishes to know how you care to dine this evening.”

  “By the good god, one big, fine supper won’t spoil me either, not after eating camp food ever since I left the city,” Krispos said. “Tell Phestos to let himself go.”

  “He’ll be pleased to hear that, Your Majesty,” Barsymes said. “He told me that if you asked him to do up a pot of army stew, he’d leave the palaces.”

  “He’d better not,” Krispos exclaimed, laughing. “I like good food all the time, and I’ve come to enjoy fancy meals now and again, too. This one will be the more welcome after eating plain for so long.”

  The vestiarios hurried away to carry his word back to the kitchens. Krispos tossed Phostis in the air again. “And what do you want to eat tonight, Your Majesty?”

  Phostis pointed to the pocket where Longinos kept the candied apricots. With a frown of regret, Longinos turned the pocket inside out. “I’m dreadfully sorry, young Majesty,” he said. “I have no more.” Phostis started to cry. Krispos tried cuddling him. Against the tragedy of no more candied fruit, cuddling did no good. Krispos turned him upside down. He decided that was funny. Krispos did it again. Phostis chortled.

  “I wish we could so easily forget the things that hurt us,” Dara said.

  Krispos thought that we was really an I. He said, “We can’t forget. The best we can do is not let them rankle.”

  “I suppose so,” Dara said, “though vindictiveness has a bittersweet savor in which so many Videssians delight. Many nobles would sooner forget their names than a slight.” Krispos knew some small measure of relief that she did not include herself in that number.

  Just then Evripos woke up with a whimper. Phostis pointed to the cradle. “Baby.”

  “That’s your baby brother,” Krispos said.

  “Baby,” Phostis repeated.

  Evripos cried louder. Iliana picked him up. Krispos turned Phostis upside down again, lowered him to the floor, and set him down. “Let me hold Evripos,” he said.

  Iliana passed him the baby. He took a gingerly grip on his son. “Put one hand behind his head, Your Majesty,” Iliana said. “His neck still wobbles.”

  Krispos obeyed. He examined Evripos anew. The cheek on which the baby had been sleeping was bright red. Evripos’ eyes would be brown; already they were several shades darker than the blue-gray of a newborn’s. He looked at Krispos. Krispos wondered if he’d ever seen anyone with a beard before. Then he wondered if the baby was old enough even to notice it.

  Evripos’ eyes opened wide, as if he was really waking up now. His face worked—“He smiled at me!” Krispos said.

  “He’s done it a few times,” Dara said.

  “Give him to me, if you please, Your Majesty,” Iliana said. “He’ll be
hungry.” Krispos returned the baby to her. He averted his eyes as she undid her smock. He did not want Dara to see him look at another woman’s breasts, not now of all times. Evripos seized the wet nurse’s nipple and started making sucking and gulping noises.

  “Milk,” Phostis said. “Baby.” He stuck out his tongue.

  “You were fond of it till not so long ago,” Iliana told him, a smile in her voice. Phostis paid no attention to her. With such delicious things as candied apricots in the world, he cared for the breast no more.

  “Well, what do you think of your son?” Dara asked.

  “I think well of both my sons,” Krispos said.

  “Good.” Dara sounded truly pleased. Maybe she knew the words were an offer of truce, but they were the right one to make. She went on, “Evripos should stay awake for a while. Do you want to play with him a bit longer when he’s done nursing?”

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” Krispos said.

  Soon Iliana presented him with the baby. “See if you can get him to burp,” she said. He patted Evripos on the back. At the same time as Iliana said, “Not so hard, Your Majesty,” Evripos let out a surprisingly deep belch. Krispos grinned a vindicated grin.

  He held the baby for a while. Evripos was still too small to give back very much. Every so often his eyes would focus intently on Krispos’ face. Once, when Krispos smiled at him, he smiled back, but his attention drifted away again before long.

  Phostis tugged at Krispos’ robe. “Up,” he demanded. Krispos passed Evripos back to Iliana and lifted Phostis. After the baby, the older boy seemed to weigh quite a lot. He threw himself backward to show he wanted to play the upside-down game again.

  Krispos lowered him to the floor, then picked him up so they were nose to upside-down nose. “You trusted me there, didn’t you?” he said.

  “Why shouldn’t he?” Dara said. “You never dropped him on his head.” Krispos clicked tongue between teeth, hearing her unspoken as you did me.

  Before long Phostis got bored with going upside down. Krispos returned him to solid ground. He ran over to a toy chest, where he drew out a carved and painted wooden horse, dog, and wagon. He neighed, barked, and did an alarmingly realistic impression of the squeak of a big wagon’s ungreased wheels.