gums enjoyed such a visible sign of prolixity.'
'Ah, but if they did, they'd spend their increased silent time thinking up new ways to commit mischief,' Krispos said.
'You're likely right,' Iakovitzes answered. He studied Krispos for a few seconds, then reclaimed the tablet. 'You're more cynical than you used to be. Is that all good? I do admit it's natural enough, for from the throne you've likely heard more drivel these last twenty years than any other man alive, but is it good?'
Krispos thought about that for some little while before he answered. In different forms, the question had arisen several times lately, as when he gave that first Thanasiot prisoner over to torture after Zaidas' magic failed to extract answers from him. He'd not have done that so readily when he was younger. Was he just another Emperor now, holding to power by whatever means came to hand?
'We're none of us what we were awhile ago,' he said, but that was not an answer, and he knew it. By the way Iakovitzes raised an eyebrow, cocked his head, and waited for Krispos to go on, he knew it was no answer, too. Floundering, Krispos tried to give one: 'The temples will never venerate me as holy, I daresay, but I hope the chroniclers will be able to report I governed Videssos well. I work hard at it, at any rate. If I'm harsh when I have to be, I also think I'm mild when I can be. My sons are turning into men, and not, I can say, the worst of men. Is it enough?' He heard pleading in his voice, a note he'd not found there in some years: the Avtokrator heard pleas; he did not make them.
Iakovitzes bent over the writing tablet. When the stylus was done racing back and forth, he passed the tablet to Krispos, who received it with some anxiety. He knew Iakovitzes well enough to be sure his old companion would be blunt with him. He had no trouble reading it, at any rate; constant poring over documents had kept his sight from lengthening with age as much as most men's.
'That you can ask the question after so long on the throne speaks well for you,' Iakovitzes wrote. 'Too many Avtokrators forget it exists within days of their anointing. As for the reply you gave, well, Videssos has had the occasional holy man on the throne, and most turned out bad, for the world is not a holy place. So long as you remember now and again what an innocent—and attractive—boy you once were, you'll not turn out too badly.'
Krispos nodded slowly. 'I'll take that.'
'You'd better,' Iakovitzes replied after more scribbling. 'I flatter only when I hope to entice someone under the sheets with me, and after all our years of acquaintance I'm at last beginning to doubt I'll ever have much luck with you.'
'You're incorrigible,' Krispos said.
'Now that you mention it, yes,' Iakovitzes wrote. He beamed, taking it for a compliment. Then he covered his mouth with a hand while he yawned; the empty cavern within was an unpleasant sight, and he made a point of not displaying it. He wrote some more. 'By your leave, your Majesty, I'll take my own leave now, to rest at home after my travels. Do you still take supper just past sunset?'
'I have enough years on me now to have become a creature of habit,' Krispos answered, nodding. 'And with which of your handsome grooms do you intend to rest until supper-time?'
Iakovitzes assumed a comically innocent look, then bowed his way out of the little dining chamber. Krispos guessed his barb had struck home—or at least given Iakovitzes an idea. Krispos finished his mulled wine, then set the silver goblet down beside Iakovitzes'. The wine hadn't stayed warm, but the ginger and cinnamon stirred into it nipped his tongue pleasantly.
Barsymes came in with a tray on which to carry away the goblets. Krispos said, 'Iakovitzes will join me for supper this evening. Please let the cooks know he'll like seafood in as many courses as possible—he says he's tired of Makuraner mutton.'
'I shall convey the eminent sir's request,' Barsymes agreed gravely. 'His presence will allow the kitchen staff to display their full range of talents.'
'Hrmp,' Krispos said in mock indignation. 'I can't help being raised on a poor farm.' While he enjoyed fancy dishes well enough, he more often preferred the simple fare he'd grown up with. More than one cook had complained of having his wings clipped.
Dusk was settling over the city when Iakovitzes returned, resplendent and glittering in a robe shot through with silver thread. Barsymes escorted him and Krispos to the small dining room where they'd taken wine earlier in the day. A fresh jar awaited them, cooling in a silver bucket of snow. The vestiarios poured a cup for each man. Iakovitzes wrote, 'Ah, it's pale. Perhaps someone listened to me.'
'Perhaps someone did, eminent sir,' Barsymes said. 'And now, if you will excuse me—' He glided away, to return with a bowl. 'A salad of lettuce and endives, dressed with vinegar flavored by rue, dates, pepper, honey, and crushed cumin—a garnish said to promote good health—and topped with anchovies and rings of squid.'
Iakovitzes rose from his chair and gave Barsymes a formal military salute, then kissed him on each beardless cheek. The vestiarios retreated in order less good than was his wont. Krispos hid a smile and attacked the salad, which proved tasty. Iakovitzes cut his portion into very small bits. He had to wash each one down with wine and put his head back to swallow.
His smile was blissful. He wrote, 'Ah, squid! Were you to offer one of these tentacled lovelies to Rubyab King of Kings, your Majesty, without doubt he would flee faster than from an invading Videssian army. The Makuraners, when it comes to food, live most insular—or perhaps I should say inlandsular— lives.'
'The more fools they.' Krispos ate slowly, so as not to get ahead of Iakovitzes. Barsymes cleared away the plates. Krispos said, 'Tell me, eminent sir, did you ever find out what was making Rubyab's mustaches quiver with secret glee?'
'Do you know, I didn't, not to be sure of it,' Iakovitzes answered. He looked thoughtful. 'Terrible, isn't it, when a Makuraner outdoes me in deceit? I must be getting old. But I tell you this, your Majesty: one way or another, it concerns us.'
'I was sure it would,' Krispos said. 'Nothing would make Rubyab happier than buggering Videssos.' He caught Iakovitzes' eye. 'In the metaphorical sense, of course.'
Iakovitzes gobbled laughter. 'Oh, of course, your Majesty,' he wrote.
Barsymes returned with a fresh course. 'Here we have leeks boiled in water and olive oil,' he declared, 'and then stewed in more oil and mullet broth. To accompany them, oysters in a sauce of oil. honey, wine, egg yolks, pepper, and lovage.'
