«What is he up to?» Maniakes asked. «Does he think that, by sowing discord, he'll make me want to supplant you as vestiarios? If he does, esteemed sir, believe me, he's mistaken.»
«Your Majesty is gracious.» Kameas bowed. «In point of fact, though, I would doubt that. As best I can see, Yeliif stirs up hatreds for no better reason than that he enjoys stirring up hatreds. It being winter, there are no flies whose wings he can pull off like a small, nasty boy, so he torments the servitors around him instead.»
That was franker speech than Maniakes had ever imagined from Kameas. «We'll get to the bottom of this,» he assured the vestiarios. «Summon the esteemed Yeliif. I will not condemn him without hearing what he says in his own behalf.»
«Guard your ears well against his deceits, your Majesty,» Kameas said, but he went off happier than he had approached the Avtokrator.
As they had been whenever Maniakes saw him, Yeliif's manners were impeccable. After prostrating himself with liquid grace, he inquired, «In what manner may I serve you, Majesty?»
«I am told,» Maniakes said carefully, «you may have something to do with the recent discord among the palace eunuchs here.»
Yeliif's large, dark eyes widened. He looked convincingly astonished. «I, Majesty? How could such a thing be possible? I am but the humblest of refugees at your court, beholden to you for all the many kindnesses you have been generous enough to show me. How can you imagine I would so repay that generosity?»
«Considering the way you talk about everyone you knew back in Mashiz, esteemed sir, I must tell you these reports don't altogether astonish me,» Maniakes said. «The next good word you have for anybody will be the first.»
The beautiful eunuch shook his head in vigorous disagreement. «Majesty, like so many others, you misunderstand me. I speak nothing but the truth, the plain, unvarnished truth. If this pains people, am I at fault?»
«Maybe,» Maniakes said. «Probably, in fact. Have you ever known anyone who prides himself on what he calls frankness but only uses that frankness to tear down those around him, never to build them up?»
«Oh, yes,» Yeliif replied. «I have suffered at the hands of such scorpions many times—and now, it would seem, again, or why would you have called me before you to tax me with these baseless calumnies?»
Had Maniakes been listening to Yeliif in isolation, he might well have been convinced the beautiful eunuch was telling the truth. He was convinced Yeliif thought he was telling the truth. Musingly, he said, «One measure of a man is the enemies he makes.
Among yours, esteemed sir, you seem to number both Abivard King of Kings and my vestiarios, the esteemed Kameas.»
«They are prejudiced against me,» Yeliif replied.
«It may be,» Maniakes said. «It may be. Nevertheless…» Unlike Yeliif, he was not so frank as to declare that he trusted Abivard and Kameas' opinions further than those of the beautiful eunuch. Instead, still in musing tones, he went on, «Perhaps we would all be better served if you were to take a position somewhat removed from the contentious air of the palaces.»
«I do not believe this to be in any way necessary,» Yeliif said, more than a little asperity in that bell-like voice. After a moment, he realized he'd gone too far. «You are, of course, the sovereign, and what pleases you has the force of law.»
«Yes.» Maniakes drove that point home before turning conciliatory. «The post I have in mind is in no way dishonorable. I have received word that the city governor of Kastavala died of some illness this past summer. I think I shall send you there, complete with a suitable retinue, to take his place. Kastavala, you should know, is the capital of the province of Kalavria, where my father served as governor before I became Avtokrator.»
«Ah.» Yeliif bowed. «That is indeed a post of honor. I thank you, Majesty; I shall do everything in my power to ensure you have no cause to regret the trust you repose in me.»
«I'm sure I won't,» Maniakes answered. Being a Makuraner, Yeliif would not be overfamiliar with the geography of Videssos, especially that of the eastern portions of the Empire. Maniakes hadn't lied, not in any particular. He also had not mentioned that Kalavria was the easternmost island under Videssian rule: the easternmost island under anyone's rule, so far as anyone knew. No ship had ever sailed out of the east to Kalavria. No ship sailing east from Kalavria had ever came back. Once Yeliif went east to Kalavria, he was not likely to come back, either. Maniakes didn't think he would have any cause to regret that.
«Since this is a position of such importance, I do not think it should long remain vacant,» the beautiful eunuch said. «If, Majesty, you are serious about entrusting it to me—» He made it sound as if he did not truly believe that. «—you will send me to it forth with, permitting no delays whatever.»
«You're right,» Maniakes said, to Yeliif's evident surprise. «If you can be ready to depart from the imperial city tomorrow, I shall have an armed escort to convey you to Opsikion, from which place you can take ship to Kastavala.»
«Take—ship?» Yeliif said, as if the words weren't any part of the Videssian he'd learned.
«Certainly.» Maniakes made his voice brisk. «It's too far to swim from Opsikion, and the water's much too cold for swimming this time of year, anyhow. I dismiss you now, esteemed sir; I know you'll have considerable packing to do, and you'll need an early start tomorrow, with the days so short now. Thanks again for your willingness to fill the post on such short notice.»
Yeliif started to say something. Maniakes turned away from him, signifying that the audience was over. Trapped in the web of court etiquette, the beautiful eunuch had no choice but to withdraw. From the corner of his eyes Maniakes noted Yeliif's expression. It was more eloquently venomous than any of his sweet-sounding words.
Kameas came into the audience chamber a few minutes later. «Is it true, your Majesty? The island of Kalavria?» Maniakes nodded. The eunuch sighed. His kind might not know physical ecstasy, but this came close. «From the bottom of my heart, your Majesty, I thank you.»
«You thank me,» Maniakes demanded, «for doing that to poor, sleepy, innocent Kastavala?»
Avtokrator and vestiarios looked at each other for a moment. Then, as if they were two mimes taking the same cue, they both began to laugh.
Midwinter's Day dawned clear and cold. The cold had nothing to do with why Maniakes would sooner have stayed in bed. «There was a time,» he said in wondering tones, «when I used to look forward to this holiday. I remember that, but I have trouble making myself believe it.»
«I know what you mean,» Lysia said. «No help for it, though.»
«No, not when you're the Avtokrator,» Maniakes agreed. «One of the things by which the city mob judges you is how well you can take the flaying the mime troupes give out.» That they had extra reason to flay him because he was wed to Lysia went without saying. His wife who was also his cousin understood that as well as he did.
«As long as we're not in the Amphitheater, we can try to enjoy the day,» she said, and Maniakes nodded.
«Well, yes,» he admitted. «The only trouble with that is, we have to be in the Amphitheater a good part of the day.»
«But not all of it.» Lysia sounded determined to make the best of things. The past few years, that had been Maniakes' role, with her reluctant to go out in public. But now she tugged at his arm. «Come on,» she said.
He came, then suddenly stopped. «I know what it is,» he said. «You're so glad you can be up and about after you had Savellia anything but the inside of the imperial residence would look good to you.»
«I suppose you're right,» she said. Then she stuck out her tongue at him. «So what?» She pulled him again. This time, he let himself be dragged along.
When he and Lysia left the hypocaust-heated residence, breath puffed from their mouths and noses in great, soft-looking clouds of fog. Frost glittered on the dead, yellow-brown grass of the lawns between buildings. As if to fight the chill, a big bonfire blazed on the cobbles of the path leading east toward the plaza of Palamas.
A crowd of palace servants and grooms and gardeners, plus a leavening of ordinary city folk in holiday finery, stood around the fire. Some huddled close, spreading out their hands to warm them. Then a laundress dashed toward the flames, long skirts flapping about her ankles. As she leapt over the bonfire, she shouted, «Burn, ill-luck!» She staggered when she landed; a groom in a gaudy tunic caught her around the waist to steady her. She repaid him with a kiss. His arms tightened around her. The crowd whooped and cheered and offered bawdy
