Iakovitzes paused for an ostentatious sniff, '—splendor.' He turned to his grooms. 'Eroulos is steward of the household of his Imperial Highness the Sevastokrator Petronas.'
Krispos bowed low. 'Excellent sir,' he murmured.
Mavros bowed even lower. 'How may we serve you, eminent sir?'
'You will not serve me, but rather the Sevastokrator,' Eroulos answered at once. He was still straight and alert, with the competent air Krispos would have expected from one of Petronas' aides. He went on, 'His Imperial Highness promised you a reward for your courage last night, Krispos. He has chosen to appoint you chief groom of his stables. You, Mavros, are bidden to come to the palaces, as well, out of the respect the Sevastokrator bears for your mother.'
While Krispos and Mavros gaped, Iakovitzes said gruffly, 'You should both know I wouldn't permit such a raid on my staff from anyone less than Petronas. Even from him, I resent it. That's a waste of time, though; what the Sevastokrator wants, he gets. So go on, and show him and his folk what kind of people come from this house.' That was Iakovitzes to the core, Krispos thought: as kind a farewell as the noble had in him, mixed with bragging and self-promotion.
Then Krispos stopped worrying about what suddenly seemed the past. Going to the household of the Sevastokrator! He felt like shouting. He made himself stay calm. 'Could we have a little time to pack our belongings?'
'And bathe?' Mavros added plaintively.
Eroulos unbent enough to smile. 'I expect so. If I send a man for you tomorrow morning, will that be all right?'
'Yes, eminent sir.'
'That would be fine, excellent sir.'
'Until tomorrow, then.' Eroulos rose, bowed to Iakovitzes. 'Always a pleasure to see you, excellent sir.' He nodded to Gomaris. 'If you will be so kind as to show me out?'
When Eroulos had gone, Iakovitzes said, 'I trust neither of you young gentlemen, now having risen higher, will forget whose house was his first in the city.'
'Of course not,' Krispos answered, while Mavros shook his head. Krispos heard something new in Iakovitzes' voice. All at once, his master—or rather, he thought dizzily, his former master—spoke to him as to a person of consequence instead of taking his obedience for granted. Iakovitzes never wasted respect where it was not needed. That he gave it now was Krispos' surest sign of what Eroulos' visit meant.
The news of that visit had reached the grooms' quarters by the time Krispos and Mavros got back there. The other grooms waylaid them with a great jar of wine. Krispos did not start packing until late that night. He finished quickly—he did not have a lot to pack—and fell sideways across his bed.
'You can throw that sack onto one of my horses, if you like,' Mavros said the next morning.
'They're loaded enough already, thanks. I can manage.' But for the spear he'd brought to the city from his village, everything Krispos owned fit into a large knapsack. He paced back and forth with the sack slung over his shoulder. 'So where is this man of Petronas'?'
'Probably in a tavern, drinking his breakfast. When you're the Sevastokrator's man, who this side of the Emperor is going to complain that you're late?'
'No one, I suppose.' Krispos kept pacing.
The promised servant did show up a little later. 'May I carry that for you?' he asked, pointing to Krispos' knapsack. He seemed surprised when Krispos turned him down. With a shrug, he said, 'Follow me, then.'
He led Krispos and Mavros through the plaza of Palamas and into the palace quarter. The palaces, Krispos discovered, were a secret city unto themselves, with rows of carefully planted trees screening buildings from one another. He soon found himself in a part of the quarter he had never seen before. 'What's that building over there, the one by the cherry trees?' he asked.
'Nothing for the likes of you to worry about—or me, either, come to that,' the fellow answered, grinning. 'That's the Avtokrator's private residence, that is, and his Imperial Majesty has his own imperial servants, believe you me. They think they're better'n anyone else, too. Of course,' he went on after a brief pause, 'most of 'em are eunuchs, so I suppose they have to have something to be proud of.'
'Eunuchs.' Krispos wet his lips. He'd seen eunuchs a few times here in the city, plodding plumply about their errands. They made him shiver; more than once, unbuttoning his fly or Pulling up his robe to relieve himself, he'd thanked Phos he was a whole man. 'Why eunuchs?'
The Sevastokrator's man chuckled to hear such naivete. 'For one thing, they can't go plotting to make themselves Avtokrator—having no stones disbars 'em. For another, who better to trust to serve the Emperor's wife?'
'Nobody, I suppose.' What the servant said made sense. All the same, Krispos fingered his thick, dark, curly beard, gladder than glad he could grow it.
The servitor led Mavros to a building not far from the Emperor's private chambers. 'You'll be quartered here, with Petronas' other spatharioi. Find an empty suite and get yourself comfortable there.'
'So I'm to be a spatharios, am I?' Mavros said. 'Well, there are spatharioi and then there are spatharioi, if you know what I mean. Which sort does Petronas have in mind for me to be, useful or just decorative?'
'Whichever sort you make yourself into, I expect,' the servant answered. 'I'll tell you this, though, for whatever you think it's worth: Petronas isn't ashamed to get his own hands dirty when he needs to.'
'Good. Neither am I.' When Mavros grinned, he looked even younger than he really was. 'And if you doubt me, ask your Eroulos how I smelled when he came to Iakovitzes' yesterday.'
'Will I stay here, too?' Krispos asked.
'Eh? No. You come on with me,' Petronas' man said.
With a quick wave to Mavros, Krispos obeyed. The servant took him to one of the larger and more splendid
