Krispos Rising

'Not this early, he isn't.' Petronas' voice was dry.

From his perch on one knee, Krispos glanced up at the most powerful man in the Empire of Videssos. The images he'd seen back in his village hadn't suggested that the Sevastokrator owned a sense of humor. They also made him out to be a few years younger than he was; Krispos guessed he was past fifty rather than nearing it. But his true features conveyed the same sense of confident competence as had his portraits.

Now he reached out to tap Krispos on the shoulder. 'Come on, young fellow, take me to him. What's your name, anyhow?'

'Krispos, Highness,' Krispos said as he got to his feet. 'This way, if you please.'

Petronas fell into step with him. 'Krispos, while I'm engaged with your master, can you see to it that my retinue gets some wine, and maybe cheese or bread, as well? Just standing there and waiting for me to finish is boring duty for them.'

'I'll take care of it,' Krispos promised.

Iakovitzes, he saw as he led the Sevastokrator into the waiting room, had slipped into a new robe himself. It was also crimson, but not so deep and rich a shade as Petronas'. Moreover, while Iakovitzes still wore sandals, Petronas had on a pair of black boots with red trim. Only Anthimos was entitled to boots scarlet from top to toe.

When Krispos stuck his head into the kitchen with word of what Petronas wanted, the cook who had fixed Iakovitzes' breakfast yelped in dismay. Then he started slicing onion rolls and hard cheese like a man possessed. He shouted for someone to give him a hand.

Krispos filled wine cups—cheap earthenware cups, not the crystal and silver and gold from which Iakovitzes' fancy guests drank—and set them on trays. Other servants whisked them away to Petronas' men. Having done his duty, Krispos slipped out a side door to go meet his girl.

'You're late,' she said crossly.

'I'm sorry, Sirikia.' He kissed her, to show how sorry he was. 'Just as I was leaving to see you, Petronas the Sevastokrator came to visit my master, and they needed my help for a little while.' He hoped she would imagine more intimate help than standing in the kitchen pouring wine.

Evidently she did, for her annoyance vanished. 'I met the Sevastokrator once,' she told Krispos. She was just a seamstress. Though he would not have said so out loud, he doubted her until she proudly explained: 'On Midwinter's Day a couple of years ago, he pinched my bottom.'

'Anything can happen on Midwinter's Day,' he agreed soberly. He smiled at her. 'I thought Petronas was a man of good taste.'

She thought that over for a moment, blinked, and threw her arms around his neck. 'Oh, Krispos, you say the sweetest things!' The rest of the morning passed most enjoyably.

Gomaris spotted Krispos on his way back to the grooms' quarters that afternoon. 'Not so fast,' the steward said. 'Iakovitzes wants to see you.'

'Why? He knows this was my morning off.'

'He didn't tell me why. He just told me to look out for you. Now I've found you. He's in the small waiting room—you know, the one next to his bedchamber.'

Wondering what sort of trouble he was in, and hoping his master did remember he'd had the morning free, Krispos hurried to the waiting room. Iakovitzes was sitting behind a small table with several thick scrolls of parchment, looking for all the world like a tax collector. At the moment, his scowl made him look like a tax collector visiting a village badly in arrears.

'Oh, it's you,' he said as Krispos walked in. 'About time. Go pack.'

Krispos gulped. 'Sir?' Of all the things he'd expected, being so baldly ordered to hit the streets was the last. 'What did I do, sir? Can I make amends for it?'

'What are you talking about?' Iakovitzes said peevishly. After a few seconds, his face cleared. 'No, you don't know what I'm talking about. It seems there's some sort of squabble going on between our people and the Khatrishers over who owns a stretch of land between two little streams north of the town of Opsikion. The local eparch can't make the Khatrishers see sense—but then, trying to dicker with Khatrishers'd drive Skotos mad. Petronas doesn't want this mess blowing up into a border war. He's sending me to Opsikion to try to make sense of it.'

The explanation left Krispos as confused as before. 'What does that have to do with me packing?'

'You're coming with me.'

Krispos opened his mouth, then closed it again when he discovered he had nothing worthwhile to say. This would be travel on far more comfortable terms than the slog from his village to Videssos the city. Once he got to Opsikion, he could also hope to learn a good deal about what Iakovitzes was doing and how he did it. The more he learned, he was discovering, the more possibilities opened up in his life.

On the other hand, Iakovitzes would surely use the trip as one long chance to try to get him into bed. He had trouble gauging just how big a nuisance that would be, or how annoyed Iakovitzes might get when he kept saying no.

An opportunity, a likelihood of trouble. As far as he could tell, they balanced. He certainly had no other good options, so he said, 'Very well, excellent sir. I'll pack at once.'

The road dipped one last time. Suddenly, instead of mountains and trees all around, Krispos saw ahead of him hills dipping swiftly toward the blue sea. Where land and water met stood Opsikion, its red tile roofs glowing in the sun. He reined in his horse to admire the view.

Iakovitzes came up beside him. He also stopped. 'Well, that's very pretty, isn't it?' he said. He let go of the reins with his right hand. As if by accident, it fell on Krispos' thigh.

'Yes, it is,' Krispos said, sighing. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks. It started forward, almost at a trot.

Also sighing, Iakovitzes followed. 'You are the most stubborn man I've ever wanted,' he said, his voice tight