was done, the abbot took a chair opposite him. The lamplight failed to fill his eyesockets or the hollows of his cheeks, leaving his face strange and not quite human as he studied Krispos.
'What am I to do with you, young man?' he said at last.
Krispos shook his head in bewilderment. 'I couldn't begin to tell you, holy sir. You called, so I answered; that's all I know about it.' He fought down a yawn. He would sooner have been back in the common room, asleep.
'Is it? Is it indeed?' The abbot leaned forward, voice tight with suppressed eagerness. It was as if he were trying to find out something from Krispos without letting on that he was trying to.
By that sign, Krispos knew him. He had been just so a dozen years before, asking questions about the goldpiece Omurtag had given Krispos—the same goldpiece, he realized, that he had in his pouch. Save for the passage of time, which sat lightly on it, Pyrrhos' gaunt, intent face was also the same.
'You were up on the platform with Iakovitzes and me,' Krispos said.
The abbot frowned. 'I crave pardon? What was that?'
'In Kubrat, when he ransomed us from the wild men,' Krispos explained.
'I was?' Pyrrhos' gaze suddenly sharpened; Krispos saw that he remembered, too. 'By the lord with the great and good mind, I
It sounded like an accusation. As if to remind himself it was true no more, Krispos touched the hilt of his sword. Thus reassured, he nodded.
'But boy no more,' Pyrrhos said, agreeing with him. 'Yet here we are, drawn back together once more.' He made the sun-sign again, then said something completely obscure to Krispos: 'No, Gnatios will not laugh.'
'Holy sir?'
'Never mind.' The abbot's attention might have wandered for a moment. Now it focused on Krispos again. 'Tell me how you came from whatever village you lived in to Videssos the city.'
Krispos did. Speaking of his parents' and sister's deaths brought back the pain, nearly as strong as if he felt it for the first time. He had to wait before he could go on. 'And then, with the village still all in disarray, our taxes went up a third, I suppose to pay for some war at the other end of the Empire.'
'More likely to pay for another—or another dozen—of Anthimos' extravagant follies.' Pyrrhos' mouth set in a thin, hard line of disapproval. 'Petronas lets him have his way in them, the better to keep the true reins of ruling in his own hands. Neither of them cares how they gain the gold to pay for such sport, so long as they do.'
'As may be,' Krispos said. 'It's not why we were broken, but that we were broken that put me on my way here. Farmers have hard enough times worrying about nature. If the tax man wrecks us, too, we've got no hope at all. That's what it looked like to me, and that's why I left.'
Pyrrhos nodded. 'I've heard like tales before. Now, though, the question arises of what to do with you. Did you come to the city planning to use the weapons you carry?'
'Not if I can find anything else to do,' Krispos said at once.
'Hmm.' The abbot stroked his bushy beard. 'You lived all your life till now on a farm, yes? How are you with horses?'
'I can manage, I expect,' Krispos answered, 'though I'm better with mules; I've had more to do with them, if you know what I mean. Mules I'm good with. Any other livestock, too, and I'm your man. Why do you want to know, holy sir?'
'Because I think that, as the flows of your life and mine have come together after so many years, it seems fitting for Iakovitzes' to be mingled with the stream once more, as well. And because I happen to know that Iakovitzes is constantly looking for new grooms to serve in his stables.'
'Would he take me on, holy sir? Someone he's never—well, just about never—seen before? If he would ...' Krispos' eyes lit up. 'If he would, I'd leap at the chance.'
'He would, on my urging,' Pyrrhos said. 'We're cousins of sorts: his great-grandfather and my grandmother were brother and sister. He also owes me a few more favors than I owe him at the moment.'
'If he would, if you would, I couldn't think of anything better. ' Krispos meant it; if he was going to work with animals, it would be almost as if he had the best of farm and city both. He hesitated, then asked a question he knew was dangerous: 'But why do you want to do this for me, holy sir?'
Pyrrhos sketched the sun-sign. After a moment, Krispos realized that was all the answer he'd get. When the abbot spoke, it was of his cousin. 'Understand, young man, you are altogether free to refuse this if you wish. Many would, without a second thought. I don't know if you recall, but Iakovitzes is a man of—how shall I say it?— uncertain temperament, perhaps.'
Krispos smiled. He did remember.
The abbot smiled, too, but thinly. 'That is one reason, of course, why he constantly seeks new grooms. Truly, I may be doing you no favor, though I pray to Phos that I am.'
'Sounds to me like you are,' Krispos said.
'I hope so.' Pyrrhos made the sun-sign again, which puzzled Krispos. Pyrrhos hesitated, then went on, 'In justice, there is one other thing of which I should warn you: Iakovitzes is said sometimes to seek, ah, services from his grooms other than caring for his beasts.'
'Oh.' That made Krispos hesitate, too. His memory of the way Iakovitzes had touched him was inextricably joined to the mortification he'd known on that Midwinter's Day when the villagers poked fun at him and Idalkos. 'I don't have any leanings that way myself,' he said carefully. 'But if he pushes too hard, I suppose I can always quit—I'd be no worse off then than if I hadn't met you.'
'What you say has a measure of truth in it,' Pyrrhos said. 'Very well, then, if it is your wish, I will take you to meet Iakovitzes.'
'Let's go!' Krispos leaped to his feet.
