Politics was a religion of its own in Videssos; before long, many of those officials would figure out what was going on. Something obviously was, or the Avtokrator would not have left so unceremoniously. For the moment, though, they were at a loss as to what.
Iakovitzes half trotted along in Krispos' wake. He knew what was going through the Emperor's mind. Barsymes plainly didn't, but he would sooner have gone before the torturers in their red leather than question Krispos where anyone else could hear him. What he'd have to say in private about cutting short the Khatrisher's audience was liable to be pointed.
Krispos swept across the rain-slicked flags of the path that led through the cherry orchard and to the imperial residence. The cherry trees were still bare-branched, but before too long they'd grow leaves and then the pink and white blossoms that would make the orchard fragrant and lovely for a few brief weeks in spring.
As soon as he was inside, Krispos burst out, 'That bastard! That sneaky, underhanded son of a snake, may he shiver in the ice for all eternity to come.'
'Surely Tribo did not so offend you with his remark concerning the throne?' Barsymes asked. No, he didn't know why Krispos had left on the run.
'I'm not talking about Tribo, I'm talking about Rubyab the fornicating King of Kings,' Krispos said. 'Unless I've lost all of my mind, he's using the Thanasioi for his stalking horse. How can Videssos hope to deal with Makuran if we tie ourselves up in knots?'
Barsymes had been in the palaces longer than Krispos; he was anything but a stranger to devious machinations. As soon as this one was pointed out to him, he nodded emphatically. 'I have no doubt but that you're right, your Majesty. Who would have looked for such elaborate deceit from Makuran?'
Iakovitzes held up a hand to gain a pause while he wrote something in his tablet. He passed it to Krispos. 'We Videssians pride ourselves as the sneakiest folk on earth, but down deep somewhere we ought to remember the Makuraners can match us. They're not barbarians we can outmaneuver in our sleep. They've proved it, to our sorrow, too many times in the past.'
'That's true,' Krispos said as he handed the tablet to Barsymes. The vestiarios quickly read it, then nodded his agreement. Krispos thought back over the histories and chronicles he'd read. He said, 'This seems to me to be something new. Aye, the King of Kings and his folk have fooled us many times, but mainly that's meant fooling us about what Makuran intends, to do. Here, though, Rubyab's seen deep into our soul, seen how to make ourselves our own worst foes. That's more dangerous than any threat Makuran has posed in a long time.'
Iakovitzes wrote, 'There was a time, oh, about a hundred fifty years ago, when the men from Mashiz came closer to sacking Videssos the city than any Videssian likes to think about. Of course, we'd been meddling in their affairs before then, so I suppose they were out for revenge.'
'Yes, I've seen those tales, too,' Krispos said, nodding. 'The question, though, is what we do about it now.' He eyed Iakovitzes. 'Suppose I send you back to Mashiz with a formal note of protest to Rubyab King of Kings?'
'Suppose you don't, your Majesty,' Iakovitzes wrote, and underlined the words.
'One thing we ought to do is get this tale told as widely as possible.' Barsymes said. 'If every official and every priest in every town lets the people know Makuran is behind the Thanasioi, they'll be less inclined to go over to the heretics.'
'Some of them will, anyhow,' Krispos said. 'Others will have heard too many pronouncements from the pulpit and from the city square to take special notice of one more. No, don't look downhearted, esteemed sir. It's a good plan, and we'll use it. I just don't want anyone here expecting miracles.'
'No matter what the priests and the officials say, what we must have is victory,' Iakovitzes wrote. 'If we can make the Thanasioi stop hurting us, people will see us as the stronger side and pretend they never had a heretical notion in all their born days. But if we lose, the rebels' power will grow regardless of who's behind them.'
'Not so long till spring, either,' Krispos said. 'May the good god grant us the victory you rightly say we need.' He turned to Barsymes. 'Summon the most holy patriarch Oxeites to the palaces, if you please. What words can do. they shall do.'
'As you say, your Majesty.' The vestiarios turned to go.
'Wait.' Krispos stopped him in midstride. 'Before you draft the note, why don't you fetch all three of us a jar of something sweet and strong? Today, by the good god, we've earned a taste of celebration.'
'So we have, your Majesty,' Barsymes said with the hint of a smile that was as much as he allowed himself. 'I'll attend to that directly.'
The jar of wine became two and then three. Krispos knew he would pay for it in the morning. He'd been a young man when he discovered he couldn't come close to roistering with Anthimos. Older now, he had less capacity than in those days, and less practice at carousing, too. But every so often, once or twice a year, he still enjoyed letting himself go.
Barsymes, abstemious in pleasure as in most things, bowed his way out halfway down the second jar, presumably to write the letter ordering Oxeites to appear at the palace. Iakovitzes stayed and drank: he was always game for a debauch, and held his wine better than Krispos. The only sign he gave of its effects was that the words he wrote grew large and sprawling. Syntax and venom remained unchanged.
'Why don't you write like you're drunk?' Krispos asked some time after dinner; by then he'd forgotten what he'd eaten.
Iakovitzes replied, 'You drink with your mouth and then try to talk through it; no wonder you've started mumbling. My hand hasn't touched a drop.'
As the night hours advanced, one of the chamberlains sent to Iakovitzes' house. A couple of his muscular grooms came to the imperial residence to escort their master home. He patted them both and went off humming a dirty song.
The hallway swayed around Krispos as he walked back from his farewells to Iakovitzes at the entrance: he felt like a beamy ship trying to cope with quickly shifting winds. In such a storm, the imperial bedchamber seemed a safe harbor.
After he closed the door behind him, he needed a few seconds to notice Drina smiling at him from the bed. The night was chilly; she had the covers drawn up to her neck. 'Barsymes is up to his old tricks again,' Krispos said slowly, 'and he thinks I'm up to mine.'
