Krispos Rising

Had Phostis died while he was young, say in Kubrat, who would have been there to keep him from doing all sorts of stupid things later? Most likely he would have ended up marrying Zoranne and staying a farmer all his life. A good part of a year away from the ceaseless labor that was farming, he no longer thought it the only right and proper way to live.

'You will see Videssos one day, too, son.' Tanilis' voice was hollow; her eyes did not quite focus on Mavros. Krispos felt the hair on his arms trying to prickle upright. The oracular tone faded as she went on, 'But for now, a shorter journey. Shall we go inside and eat?'

The cook, a nervous little man named Evtykhes, stopped fidgeting and sighed with relief as he saw his charges sit down around a small table topped with mother-of-pearl—it shimmered and almost seemed to shift in the glow of the lamps other servants set out.

'Soup?' Evtykhes asked. At Tanilis' nod, he dashed back to the kitchen. A boy appeared with the steaming bowls so quickly that Krispos suspected the cook was trying to make sure everyone kept sitting.

Back in his village, Krispos would have lifted the soup bowl straight to his lips. In taverns and eateries in the city, he still did. But he had learned to use a spoon at Iakovitzes'. Since Tanilis and Mavros ate with theirs, he imitated them. By the time he got to the bottom of the bowl, the soup was cold. Maybe the nobles didn't mind that, but he did. His breath went out in a silent sigh.

He was more used to his fork and was reaching for it when he saw Tanilis and Mavros pick up asparagus with their fingers. He imitated them again. Manners were confusing things.

The food kept coming: broiled duck in a glaze of candied berries, mushrooms stuffed with turtle meat, pureed chestnuts, a salad of oranges and apples, and at last a roast kid with a sweet-and-sour sauce and chopped onions. Mavros and Krispos ate ravenously, the one because he was still growing, the other because he'd learned to do so whenever he got the chance as a hedge against the hunger that was sure to follow. Tanilis sampled a little of every course and sent warm praise back to the cook after each one.

'By the good god,' she said, watching her son and Krispos devastate the plate of cheese and strawberries that appeared after the kid, 'I could get fat just from being in the same room with the two of you.'

'You'd have to blame Krispos, then,' Mavros said—rather blurrily, as his mouth was full. 'If it came from being in the same room with me, it would've happened long ago.'

Krispos eyed Tanilis, who was so perfectly and elegantly shaped that she might have been turned on a lathe. The phrase fit in more ways than one, he thought, for she plainly maintained her figure with a craftsman's disciplined artifice. He told her, 'I don't think Phos—or you—would allow such a mishap.'

She looked down at her wine cup. 'A compliment and a truth together—indeed, the good god aids a man who helps himself.'

'Then he aids me now.' Mavros popped the last strawberry into his mouth.

'Son, you are incorrigible,' Tanilis said fondly.

'It does seem that way,' Mavros agreed.

Krispos sipped his own wine: something thick and sweet now, to complement the sharp taste of the cheese. He said, 'Phos is the only one who knows why he does as he does. My lady, I hope you will be kind enough to tell me why you've been so good to me. I told you at the temple, I'm only a groom, and lucky to be that. I feel I'm taking advantage of you.' And if one day you feel the same way, he did not add, you could cause me untold grief.

Tanilis waited until a servant left with the last plates. She got up and closed the door to the small dining chamber after the man departed. Only then did she answer, her voice low, 'Tell me truly, Krispos, have you never wondered if you might one day be more than what you are now? Truly?'

Despite that double admonition, 'No' was the first answer that rose to his lips. But before he spoke it aloud, he thought of Pyrrhos calling his name that rainy night in the monastery. A moment later, he remembered how both Pyrrhos and the Kubrati enaree had looked at him during the ceremony when Iakovitzes ransomed the stolen peasants. The word Tanilis had spoken in the temple also echoed in his head.

'I've ... wondered,' he said at last.

'And that you should wonder is plain to anyone who can ... see as I do.' Tanilis used the same sort of hesitation he had.

Mavros looked ready to burst from curiosity. 'What did you say to him back in the temple?' he asked her. 'I think you know again.'

Instead of answering, she glanced toward Krispos. He hesitated, then gave his head a tiny shake. New-come from the farm though he might be, he knew that word was dangerous. Tanilis' nod of understanding was equally small. 'I do, and you will, too, son,' she said. 'But not yet.'

'Thank you so much,' Mavros said. The words were sarcastic; the tone was not. Krispos decided Mavros was too good-natured ever to grow skilled at using the stinging wit Iakovitzes relished.

'Since you did see ... what you saw, what do you want from me?' Krispos asked Tanilis.

'To profit from your rise, of course,' she answered. He blinked; he had not expected her to be so direct. She went on, 'For me, for my family, what we have now is as much as we ever will have. That, too, I have seen— unless we tie ourselves to one with higher hopes. That one, I think, is you.'

Krispos looked around the room. He thought of the house of which that rich room was a part, of the vast estates surrounding that house. Why, he wondered, would anyone want more than this? He still wanted more than he had, but he did not have much, and that at the whim of his bad-tempered master. If Tanilis would help him get more, he'd play along. If she thought him a hand-puppet to move only at her bidding, she might get a surprise one day.

He knew better than to say that aloud. 'What do you want from me?' he repeated. 'And how will you help in this ... rise ... you saw?'

'The first thing I want is that you not grow too confident in your rise,' she warned. 'Nothing seen ahead of time is definite. If you think a thing will come to pass without your working toward it, that is the surest way I know to make certain it will never be.'