'I hope I do.' Krispos met Stotzas' eyes. 'I hope you'll help me, too.'
'Won't stand in your road, anyhow,' Stotzas said after a brief, thoughtful pause. 'Any youngster who admits he don't know everything there is to know is worth taking a chance on, you ask me. And you handled Onorios pretty well. Reckon he'll be buying you wine a month from now instead of the other way round.'
'That he will,' Krispos promised.
'Well, let's head back,' Stotzas said. As they walked down the center aisle of the stable toward the knot of expectantly waiting hands, the senior groom raised his voice a little to ask, 'So what do you think we ought to do about that hunter with the sore shins?'
'You've been resting him, you said, and putting cold compresses on his legs?' Krispos waited for Stotzas' nod, then went on, 'He doesn't look too bad. If you keep up with what you're doing for a few more days, then start exercising him on soft ground, he should do all right.'
Neither of them let on that they'd quietly talked about the horse's problem in front of its stall. Stotzas rubbed his chin, nodded sagely. 'Good advice, sir. We'll take it, I expect.' He turned to the crowd of stable hands. 'He'll do.'
Allies made life easier, Krispos thought.
For the next several weeks, Krispos spent most of his waking hours in the stables. He learned more about horsemanship than he'd ever known, and more about the sometimes related art of guiding men, as well. When he collected his bet from Onorios, he made a point of also buying wine for the burly groom. After they drank together, Onorios hurried to do whatever Krispos needed and did it gladly. Stotzas said nothing, but a glint of amusement showed in his eyes once in a while.
Because he was working so hard, Krispos needed a while to notice how his life had changed since he moved to his apartment in the Grand Courtroom. At Iakovitzes', he'd been a servant. Here he had servants of his own. His bed linen was always clean; his clothes seemed to wash themselves as if by magic and reappear, spotless, in his closet.
He also learned that any small valuables he left out might disappear, as if by magic. He was glad he'd hidden Tanilis' gift behind a piece of molding he'd loosened. Every so often, he would move the small cabinet he'd put in front of the loose place and add more money to his store. He lived frugally. He was too busy to do anything else.
He was about to go to sleep one warm summer night when someone tapped on his door. He scratched his head. His acquaintance with the officials and courtiers who lived in the other apartments down this hall was nodding at best; he'd been at the stables too much to get to know them well. 'Who is it?' he called.
'Eroulos.'
'Oh!' Krispos had not seen Petronas' steward since the day he came to Iakovitzes' house for him. After hastily throwing his tunic back on, he unbarred the door. 'Come in!'
'No, you come out with me,' Eroulos said. 'I am bidden to bring you downstairs to the Sevastokrator. His Imperial Highness is entertaining ... a guest. He would like to have him meet you.'
'A guest?'
'You'll see for yourself soon enough. Come along, if you please.'
Krispos followed Eroulos down the hall and down the stairs. Petronas' guards gave the steward and him a thorough patting down at the doorway to the Sevastokrator's suite. Krispos let himself be searched without complaint; after all, he had never passed through this entrance before. But he was surprised Eroulos got the same treatment. If Petronas did not trust his own steward, whom did he trust?
Finally, nodding, the guards stood aside. One of them opened the door. Eroulos waved Krispos in ahead of him. Krispos had wondered how the Sevastokrator lived. What he saw reminded him of Tanilis' villa: a mix of great wealth and quiet good taste.
An icon of Phos arrested his eye. Respect for both the good god and the artist made him sketch the sun-sign over his heart; he'd never seen Phos portrayed with such perfectly mingled sternness and kindness. Eroulos followed his gaze. 'That is the image, they say, after which the Phos in the dome of the High Temple is modeled,' the steward remarked.
'I can well believe it,' Krispos said. Even after he'd walked by, he had the uneasy feeling the god in the icon was still looking at him.
'Here we are,' Eroulos said at length, halting before a door inlaid with lacy vines of gold and ivory. He tapped at it. For a moment, the two voices coming through it did not pause. One was Petronas. The other sounded lighter, younger. Eroulos tapped again. 'All right, all right,' Petronas growled.
The steward swung the door open. It moved silently, on well-greased hinges. 'Here is Krispos, your Highness.'
'Good.' The Sevastokrator turned to the man sitting across a small table from him. 'Well, nephew, I suppose the argument can wait a few minutes before we pick it up again. You wanted to see the fellow who overthrew the famous Beshev and sent Gleb back to Kubrat less high and mighty than he came here. This is Krispos.'
Petronas' nephew! Krispos bowed low before the younger man, then went to his knees and down flat on his belly. 'Your Majesty,' he whispered.
'Up, up! How can I shake your hand when you're lying there?' Anthimos III, Avtokrator of the Videssians, waited impatiently while Krispos scrambled to his feet. Then he did as he'd said, giving Krispos' hand several enthusiastic pumps. Nothing could be more boring than listening to the Kubratoi going on about how wonderful they are. Thanks to you, we don't have to for a while. I am in your debt, which means, of course, that all Videssos is in your debt.' He cocked his head and grinned at Krispos.
Krispos found himself grinning back; Anthimos' slightly lopsided smile was infectious. 'Thank you, your Majesty,' he said. For the moment, he was an awestruck peasant again. No matter what Tanilis might have foreseen, a big part of him had never really imagined he would feel the Emperor's flesh pressing his own, be close enough to smell wine on the Emperor's breath.
'Nephew, you might want to present Krispos with some tangible token of your gratitude,' Petronas said smoothly.
