Harry Turtledove - Time of Troubles 2 - Hammer and Anvil

HAMMER AND ANVIL

The Time of Troubles, vol. 2

I

When the younger Maniakes looked west from the governor's residence—a polite

name for a fortress—in Kastavala, he could see only ocean. Even so, staring

out at that ocean did not bother him unduly: he knew that beyond it lay the

town of Opsikion, and beyond Opsikion the rest of the Empire of Videssos.

He and his father, from whom he drew his name, had lived on the island of

Kalavria half a dozen years now. It was exile, but polite, honorable exile:

the elder Maniakes was governor of the island. The Avtokrator Likinios had

named him to the post, and Genesios, after murdering Likinios and all his sons

and seizing the imperial throne for himself, had seen fit to leave him

undisturbed. In his day, the elder Maniakes had been a soldier to reckon with;

Genesios was no doubt just as glad to keep him busy far, far away from

Videssos the city, the great capital of the Empire.

The younger Maniakes stirred restlessly. He knew just how far Kalavria was

removed from the center of the imperial stage. In his six years here, he had

ridden over almost every inch of the island. He had camped by a fire on the

eastern shore and looked out to where the Sailors' Sea ran on . . . forever,

as far as anyone knew. The view east shouldn't have looked different from the

view west, but somehow it did. Realizing you had your back to everything you

would ever know seemed to change the way your eyes worked.

A voice came from behind him: "Woolgathering again, I see."

"Father! I didn't hear you come up," the younger Maniakes said.

"Proves my point, doesn't it?" The elder Maniakes chuckled raspily. He was a

solidly made man in his middle sixties. A great fleshy beak of a nose

dominated the rest of his features. He had aged about as well as he could for

a man of his years. He still had most of his teeth, and his eyes and ears

worked well enough. Along with his big, thick, bushy beard, his hair was

white, but he had most of it, too. His wits, if anything, were sharper than

they had ever been.

"I wasn't woolgathering," the younger Maniakes insisted, though his voice rose

a little in embarrassment. "I was thinking." He had fewer than half his

father's years, but most of the same features, including the impressive nose

and the heavy beard that grew up almost to his eyes. Both were signs of the

Vaspurakaner blood the two Maniakai shared: the elder Maniakes' father had

left the land of the princes to take service with Videssos, and his scions had

prospered there.

Now the elder Maniakes laughed out loud. "And what were you thinking that was

so all-fired important you didn't even notice me?"

The younger Maniakes looked around, and listened, too. No, no servants were in

earshot. You couldn't be too careful these days. Lowering his voice, he said,

"About Genesios."

That got his father's attention. "Were you?" the elder Maniakes said, also

quietly. He strode forward to stand by his son and look west with him. The

governor's residence stood on a height above the town of Kastavala proper.

From it, the red tile roofs of houses and shops and the golden spheres that

topped Phos' temples seemed spread out as if on a chart of parchment.

Beyond the houses, beyond the temples, lay the harbor that was Kastavala's

true reason for being. By the sea squatted sun-bleached wooden warehouses and

fish-drying sheds. When the wind blew out of the west, as it did more often

than not, everyone in Kastavala was reminded of those sheds without any need

to see them.

Wooden piers jutted into the sea. Most of the vessels tied up at them were

fishing boats. The men who took them out day after day brought back the

mackerel and squid that helped feed Kastavala. The merchant ships that came

from Opsikion and sometimes even from Videssos the city loomed over them like

bulls over calves.

At the base of one of those piers stood a spear, its butt jammed into the

sand. Suspended from the point of the spear was a skull. A little skin, a

little hair still clung to it. At Genesios' command, that spear and its burden

had stood in place there for more than five years. When it came to Kastavala,

the skull had been a head: the head of Hosios, eldest son and heir to the

overthrown Avtokrator Likinios.

Softly still, the younger Maniakes said, "Genesios Avtokrator hasn't done all

the things he might have for Videssos."

Beside him, his father snorted. "Tell the truth, son. As far as I can see,

Genesios Avtokrator hasn't done any of the things he might have for Videssos."

Scorn filled his voice. Even so, he did not raise it. One thing Genesios was

good at: scenting treason growing and rooting it out before it came to flower.

The younger Maniakes said, "Between the civil war, the Kubratoi, and the

Makuraners, I wonder if there will be anything left of Videssos after a few

more years. Here on this island, we're away from trouble, too."

"If it hadn't been for the Kubratoi, Likinios would still be Emperor today, or

Hosios after him," the elder Maniakes said with a sigh. "Better he should have

lost against the nomads than won a victory that made him think he could win

more by ordering his troops to stay north of the Astris River through the

winter and live off the land." He shivered at the thought of it "If I'd been

in that army, I might have rebelled, too."

His son shook his head, not believing it for a moment. The elder Maniakes had

the grace to look abashed. Duty ran deep in him. He might complain about the

onerous parts of a soldier's life, but he would never shirk them.

The younger Maniakes said, "Since Likinios fell, it hasn't been just the

Kubratoi running wild up in the northeast." He stopped, bemused by a

perspective based on the view from Videssos the city. Kubrat lay north of

Kalavria, but also west, not east. But then, from Kalavria just about

everything lay to the west. He went on, "The men of Makuran have caused the

Empire even more grief, I think."

"And whose fault is that?" The elder Maniakes pointed first at his son, then

at himself. "Ours, no one else's."

"No, Likinios', too," the younger Maniakes said. "If he hadn't ordered us to

help Sharbaraz—" In Videssian fashion, he pronounced the name of the Makuraner

King of Kings as if it were Sarbaraz. "—get his throne back from that usurper,

Makuran would be in no position to fight a war against Videssos. They'd have

their own troubles to deal with, out there in the far west."

"Likinios Avtokrator may have ordered it, but we accomplished it, you and I,"

his father answered. "Sharbaraz was properly grateful, too; I'll say so much

for him. And now he uses gratitude as an excuse to avenge his benefactor—and

swallow up as much of the Videssian westlands as he can."

The younger Maniakes turned and stared out the window again. At this distance,

the standing spearshaft and the skull on it were invisible, but he knew where

they stood. Half to himself, he said, "I wonder if the Hosios Sharbaraz claims

to have with him might actually be Likinios' son."

"No." The elder Maniakes' voice was hard and flat. "Whatever else Genesios

Avtokrator may be, he is an effective butcher. If he claims he massacred

Likinios' whole clan, you may rely on him to speak the truth there—even if

nowhere else. And I recognized that head when it still had flesh on it. Didn't

you?"

"Yes," the younger Maniakes admitted unwillingly. "But still—"

"—You wish we had some legitimate choice besides Genesios and his endless

murders and betrayals," his father finished for him. "By Phos the lord with

the great and good mind, so do I. But with Genesios holding Videssos the city,

we don't, so what point even to thinking about it?"

The younger Maniakes left the window. His sandals clicked over the mosaic

tiles of a hunting scene as he walked to the doorway. He looked out into the

hall. It was empty in both directions. All the same, he closed the door before

he went back to his father. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. "We could go

into rebellion."

"No, by the good god," the elder Maniakes said, almost as quietly. "Do you

know how many rebels' heads adorn the Milestone in the plaza of Palamas these

days? A couple of dozen, maybe more. If an Avtokrator who holds the capital is

even slightly awake to the world around him, a revolt in the

provinces—especially in a Phos-forsaken province like Kalavria—is foredoomed

to failure. Videssos the city is too hard a nut to crack."

"Yes, Father." The younger Maniakes sighed. They had this discussion about

twice a year, or whenever word of some new disaster of Genesios' came into

Kastavala, whichever was more frequent. By now, they both knew all the steps

in it as well as a standard opening sequence in the Videssian board game.

But now, like a skilled player trying a variation on one of those sequences,

the elder Maniakes said, "Or are you still pining for that fiancée of yours

back in Videssos the city?"

Swarthy though he was, the younger Maniakes knew he was flushing. "You know

bloody well it's not that," he said. He had been engaged to Niphone, the

daughter of Likinios' logothete of the treasury, and assotted of her, as well.

But when Likinios named his father governor of Kalavria and packed both

Maniakai off to the island, they had had to leave in too much haste for a

wedding. The younger Maniakes had wept bitter tears most of the way to

Kastavala.

"I didn't think that was it," his father said with a twinkle in his eye, "but

I did want to check. I'm sure Rotrude will be glad to hear it."

The younger Maniakes flushed again. Rotrude had been his leman for four years

now. She had stayed behind in Kastavala when her husband, a trader in furs and

amber from up in cold Halogaland, died of a flux of the bowels. Her exotic

good looks had caught the younger Maniakes' eye: almost no Videssians had

golden hair and eyes the green-blue color of the sea.

"Hard to believe Atalarikhos will be three soon," he said. He gave the boy's

name the Videssian pronunciation and ending. Rotrude had wanted to name her

son after her dead husband, and in the Haloga fashion simply called him

Athalaric.

"He's a likely enough lad, but one of these days you should get yourself a

legitimate heir," the elder Maniakes said.

His son turned that one against him like a board-game player bringing a

captured piece back into action on his own side. "By the good god, where am I

to find a girl of proper noble birth here on Kalavria?"

"A point." The elder Maniakes conceded that it was a good one by dipping his

head and changing the subject. He pointed out to sea and said, "Isn't that a

sail coming in from the west?'

"By Phos, I think it is," the younger Maniakes answered. "Nothing wrong with

your eyes, Father, that's plain enough."

"Nothing wrong for looking out over the ocean, anyhow. When I try to read,

it's another matter. I have to hold everything at arm's length, and then, half

the time, the letters are too small to make out."

"That's a good-sized ship," the younger Maniakes said, gauging it against a

fishing boat bobbing in the chop not far away. "I think I'll go down to the

pier and see what cargo it brings." Watching a merchantman unload was more

interesting than most things that happened in Kastavala.

"Pick up the news from the mainland, too," his father said. "It won't be

good—it never is any more—but we should have it."

"I'll do as you say, Father."

The younger Maniakes hurried downstairs. At the doorway that opened onto the

path leading down into town, he almost ran into his cousin Rhegorios. The two

of them looked enough alike to be brothers: not surprising, since Rhegorios'

father Symvatios, the elder Maniakes' younger brother, could almost have been

his twin.

"Where away in such a hurry?" Rhegorios asked.

"Down to the harbor. I was on the top floor and saw a merchantman coming in,"

the younger Maniakes said. "Want to come along?"

"Why not?" his cousin answered. "Wait here a moment—let me get my swordbelt."

He trotted down the hall toward his chamber.

Maniakes was already wearing his sword, belted on over a robe of brocaded

silk. When winter came and snowstorms rolled across the sea and into

Kastavala, he changed to tunic and trousers and thick sheepskin jacket, as did

everyone else in town. Many men, maybe most, wore tunic and trousers the year

around, but nobles were expected to be respectably conservative.

Rhegorios hurried back, still closing the heavy gold buckle on his swordbelt.

He liked display better than Maniakes did. But then, he'd seen less fighting

than his cousin: a fancy-decked soldier only made a juicier target for his

foes.

A servant came up to bar the door behind Maniakes and Rhegorios. The wind was

rising, and from out of the west. Maniakes coughed a little—it threw the reek

of the fish-drying sheds full in his face. Rhegorios laughed, understanding

him. "Think on the bright side, cousin," he said. "It stinks, aye, but it

brings that ship in faster."

"True enough," Maniakes said. The slope of the rise lengthened his strides and

sped his pace into town. He knew the slog back would be long, but was young

enough not to worry about that till he had to do it.

Kastavala had no wall. Danger here came from the sea, not from the island.

Soon Maniakes and Rhegorios were in among houses, most presenting to the world

only whitewashed fronts with narrow, shuttered windows and stout doors;

taverns and inns and brothels that catered to sailors; eateries smelling of

fried fish; and shops of all sorts, most with trades connected to the

sea—sailweavers, ropemakers, carpenters, coopers, with here and there a

silversmith or a jeweler: a good many sailors carried their wealth on them.

Sailors and artisans, merchants and farmers from the hinterland crowded

Kastavala's narrow, winding streets. Only the road that led from the harbor up

to the governor's residence was cobbled; dust rose from the others in a

hovering, eye-stinging cloud. Maniakes and Rhegorios picked their way through

the crowd, now and then dodging a wagon heading up from the quays with a

rattle of iron-clad wheels and horseshoes on cobbles and the hideous squeak of

ungreased axles.

In dodging, Maniakes almost bumped into a priest. "Your pardon, holy sir," he

said.

"No harm done. Phos bless you, young man." The priest sketched the good god's

sun-circle above his left breast He wore a gold-embroidered circle there on an

otherwise plain robe of sky-blue wool. That garb, his shaven pate, and an

untrimmed beard normal for a Vaspurakaner but unusual among all Videssians

save clerics were the badges of his office.

Maniakes and Rhegorios returned the gesture and pressed on. A moment later,

Maniakes glanced around and saw his cousin was no longer with him. He whirled

around. There stood Rhegorios, ogling a pretty girl. By her plain linen tunic

and disordered hair, she was probably a laundress or cook rather than a tart

seeking to draw men's eyes.

"Come on," Maniakes called.

Rhegorios came, still looking back over his shoulder. "I want to see which

shop she goes into," he said. The road bent. He sighed. "She's gone—lost

forever." He clapped a melodramatic hand over his heart.

Maniakes let out a snort. "You can take a pandoura into a tavern here and sing

of your vanished love. Bring a sailor's cap along and you'll cadge enough

coppers for a night's worth of wine. Meanwhile, watch where you're going. You

almost stepped into a pile of horse turds there, and didn't even know it."

"You're a cruel, hard man, cousin of mine." Rhegorios staggered, as if

wounded.

"What are you miming—being pierced by the arrow of common sense?" Maniakes

asked. Rhegorios poked him in the ribs with an elbow. They half wrestled their

way down to the piers.

Aboard the approaching merchantman, the sailors had put sweeps into the

oarlocks fore and aft and were using them to guide the ship toward a

good-sized open space on one of the quays. "Pull, lads, pull!" the captain

called, his voice easily audible across a narrowing gap of water. "A little to

port on the steering oars . . . a little more. Now—back water!" The ship

stopped smoothly by the quay. Sailors jumped across to hold it in place with

lines.

Rhegorios pointed to a knot of well-dressed men who stood close by the ship's

near rail. "Not the usual sort of crowd you find at sea," he remarked. "Wonder

what it means that they're here?"

"It means trouble," Maniakes replied. "You see that one in the saffron robe

with the red and black brocade?" Without waiting for his cousin to nod, he

went on, "That's Kourikos, the logothete of the treasury."

"Your fiancée's father." Rhegorios' eyes widened.

"That's right," Maniakes answered grimly. "Him I'd know anywhere. The

others—it's been six years, but I recognize half of them, maybe more. All the

ones I do recognize are men who ran things back in Videssos the city before

Genesios overthrew Likinios. The ones I don't know have the same look to them,

too; I'd bet they're Genesios' appointees to fill the jobs of men he's killed.

But your question was the right one: what are they doing here?"

Rhegorios drew his sword. He held it with the point down by his right foot,

but seemed ready to raise it and strike at any provocation—or none. "You gave

it the right answer, cousin: they're bringing trouble."

A little more slowly than Maniakes had spotted him, Kourikos recognized his

daughter's betrothed. He waved frantically at Maniakes, then turned and said

something to his companions. In an instant, they, too, were waving like men

possessed. At the captain's orders, a couple of sailors extended a gangplank

from the ship to the pier. The richly dressed men almost fought one another to

be first across it; Maniakes was surprised no one fell—or got elbowed—off the

plank and into the sea.

Kourikos in the lead, the nobles and government ministers rushed toward

Maniakes and Rhegorios. "Eminent, most noble Maniakes!" his fiancée's father

cried, bowing low before him. "Take us at once to the dwelling of your wise

and heroic father, that we may pour out for him our tale of the woe and horror

and despair that have fallen on the city, the queen of cities—" He meant the

imperial capital but, like many Videssian nobles, preferred talking around

something to coming right out and saying it. "—and have overwhelmed the

Empire!"

One of the other men—Maniakes thought his name was Triphylles—said, "Only your

father can rescue Videssos from our present calamity!" Everyone else nodded

emphatically.

"What's gone and fallen to the Makuraners now?" Rhegorios asked.

"The Makuraners?" Now Kourikos, evidently spokesman by virtue of his

relationship to the younger Maniakes, shook his head. "The Makuraners outside

the city do dreadful things, too, seizing our land and carrying off prisoners

innumerable, but that murderous Genesios does worse than they within."

Triphylles tapped him on the arm and said, "Eminent Kourikos, if you go

through the whole tale of woe here, it will delay us in reaching the elder

Maniakes, whereupon we shall just have to retail it over again."

"What you say is true, excellent sir," Kourikos answered. He turned back to

the younger Maniakes. "Phos grant that you forgive my cutting short

intercourse with you here, that we may speak to your magnificent father as

soon as is practicable."

"Yes, certainly," Maniakes said after a moment—he was no longer used to the

flowery language in vogue among the upper classes at the capital and had to

make sure he knew what Kourikos meant. But instead of leading the delegation

of grandees straight back toward the governor's residence, he held up a hand.

"First you must tell me whether Niphone is safe and well."

"She was well when I left Videssos the city," Kourikos answered, "and as safe

as she could make herself: she and her mother have both entered the convent

dedicated to the holy Phostina. We all pray that even the monster Genesios

will hesitate before dragging out anyone, female or male, who has taken

service with the good god."

"May it be so," Maniakes said, and sketched Phos' sun-circle over his heart.

With any Avtokrator he had ever heard of, the safety of those mured up in

monasteries or convents would have been a given. If Kourikos still worried

about what Genesios would do, then Genesios probably was a monster. Maniakes

took a step toward the base of the pier. "Come with me, excellent sirs,

eminent sirs." He pointed toward the mansion on the high ground in back of

town. "There dwells my father. He will hear you with great attention, I am

sure."

Together, he and Rhegorios led the nobles from Videssos the city back through

Kastavala. The Kastavalans stared curiously at the newcomers, who stood out

not only because they were strangers but also by virtue of their rich and

splendid robes. Seeing such obvious wealth, a couple of tarts called

sweet-voiced invitations. The nobles took no notice; they were undoubtedly

used to better.

By the way they looked at Kastavala, that attitude applied to more than just

the easy women of the town. Next to the capital, Kastavala was small and drab

and dirty and smelly. Maniakes knew that perfectly well. But the same applied

to any provincial center. He had seen a great many such towns, all through the

Empire of Videssos; Kastavala was typical of the breed. After a while, he

realized some of the grandees hadn't seen anything outside Videssos the city

save perhaps their country estates and hunting lodges. For them, a provincial

town had to be something of a shock.

"Coming out!" somebody called from a second-story balcony, and emptied a jar

of slops, splat! in the middle of the street. Kourikos and the rest jumped

back in alarm and disgust, tugging at the hems of their robes to makes sure

the stinking stuff didn't splash them.

"That woman should be clapped in irons," the logothete of the treasury

declared.

"Why?" Maniakes asked. "She warned us before she let fly."

Kourikos stared at him in horror that only grew when he realized his

prospective son-in-law was serious. Most of the houses and blocks of flats in

Videssos the city had drains that connected them to underground sewers. That

was an unimagined luxury in Kastavala.

Several of the grandees from the capital were puffing and red in the face by

the time they reached the governor's residence. Maniakes didn't need to open

the door and usher them inside: someone had seen them coming, and quite a

crowd had gathered in front of the residence to greet them and learn what word

they brought.

Voice doubtful, Kourikos asked, "Eminent Maniakes, is that your father there?"

Maniakes didn't blame him for being wrong; the resemblances was striking. "No,

that's my uncle Symvatios, father to Rhegorios here. He and my father have

always been like as two peas in the pod. And that's his daughter there beside

him—my cousin Lysia."

Lysia was still too far away to have heard him speak her name, but chose that

moment to wave to him. He waved back, smiling as he did so. He had hardly

known her before Symvatios and his family sailed with the Maniakai to the

island of Kalavria, but the two of them had grown close since: so close that

Rotrude had teased him about it once or twice. He hadn't risen to the teasing

as he usually did; it left him nervous.

As Maniakes and the nobles drew near, Lysia called, "What interesting people

you've brought us, cousin! Phos' blessing on you for that." Symvatios nodded

vigorously. So did more than a few of the grooms and cooks and serving women

who had come out with their masters. The prospect of fresh faces and fresh

news piqued everyone's curiosity.

Maniakes pointed to a servant. "Aplakes, go fetch my father at once. The

eminent Kourikos here and these other excellent sirs and eminent sirs have

come from Videssos the city to confer with him on an urgent matter."

Aplakes dashed back into the mansion. Everyone else started buzzing. The

grandees looked like important people. Hearing just how important they were

set tongues wagging. Lysia stared at Maniakes, her eyes shining in a face

slightly rounder and less craggy than that of her brother Rhegorios. Better

than the servants, she could guess one reason why the nobles might have come

from the capital to Kastavala.

Aplakes hadn't bothered closing the entry door after him. He soon emerged, the

elder Maniakes a pace behind. As soon as the elder Maniakes appeared, Kourikos

and his companions, instead of bowing as the younger Maniakes had expected,

dropped first to their knees and then to their bellies, touching their

foreheads to the dirt in the full proskynesis normally reserved for honoring

the Avtokrator of the Videssians alone.

The younger Maniakes simply gaped. His father's bushy white eyebrows climbed

toward his hairline. He spat on the ground, as if in rejection of the dark god

Skotos. "Get up, the lot of you," he growled, anger and fear in his voice. "If

you think you'll trick me thus into treason against Genesios Avtokrator, you

can bloody well think again."

As the grandees rose, they looked at one another with mixed horror and dismay.

"Most noble Maniakes, you misunderstand," Kourikos said, a quaver in his

voice. "We are the ones guilty of treason, at least in Genesios' eyes. We have

fled here from Videssos the city to beg you to take the crown and save the

Empire. Without you, it will surely fall, either from the ravages of the

Makuraners or simply from the insane excesses of the tyrant whose bloodstained

backside now defiles the imperial throne."

The two Maniakai exchanged glances. Not long before the ship that had brought

Kourikos and his comrades to Kastavala came into sight, they had talked about

rebellion against Genesios. The elder Maniakes had rejected it then. Now—now

he looked thoughtfully at the group of nobles and asked, "What has Genesios

done to turn you against him after you followed him like dogs these past

half-dozen years?"

Several of the grandees hung their heads. Kourikos had more spirit—or perhaps

more desperation—than most; he said, "If you speak of following like dogs,

Lord Maniakes, I noticed you've not taken poor Hosios' head down off its pike

in all these years. D'you bark with the rest of us, then?"

"Mm, put that way, maybe I do." The elder Maniakes stroked his beard. "Very

well, eminent sir, say on: why would you sooner see my backside on the throne

than Genesios'?"

"Why?" Kourikos clapped a dramatic—and possibly rehearsed—hand to his

forehead. "Were Skotos to come up to Videssos from his hell of ice—" He spat

as the elder Maniakes had. "—he could hardly serve it worse than Genesios the

poxed, the madman, the butcher, the blundering, bungling idiot who is about to

cast centuries of imperial splendor onto the dungheap forever."

The elder Maniakes bowed slightly. "You can curse with any man, eminent sir.

But what has Genesios actually done?"

Kourikos took a deep breath, "Let us leave to one side the disasters against

Makuran and the misfortunes against Kubrat. You surely know of those already.

Not long ago, Genesios spoke to the city mob in the Amphitheater, currying

favor with them because he knew everyone else hated him. But some of their

leaders jeered him because of his many failings. He sent soldiers in among the

seats, seized a dozen men, maybe more, ordered them stripped naked, and put

them to the sword in front of the crowd.

"When the general Sphrantzes failed against the Makuraners—and how could he do

otherwise, with neither men nor money enough to fight?—Genesios whipped him to

death with leather lashes. Elpidios the prefect of the city exchanged letters

with Tzikaste, Likinios' widow. Genesios cut off his hands and feet and then

his head. Then he slew Tzikaste herself and both her daughters at the same

spot where he'd murdered Likinios Avtokrator and his sons. At this rate, not a

man nor woman will be left alive in Videssos the city by the time winter

comes, save only the tyrant and his toadies. Save us, save Videssos, I beg

you, most noble Maniakes!"

"Save us!" the rest of the nobles chorused.

"Eminent sirs, excellent sirs, if you expect me to jump into your ship and

sail back to Videssos the city with you, I'm afraid I'm going to leave you

disappointed," the elder Maniakes said. "But I'll not deny you've given me

much to think on." He peered down toward the harbor. "Will your servants be

fetching your baggage here to the residence?"

"Most eminent Maniakes, we found the opportunity to flee, and we took it,"

Kourikos answered. "We brought no servants; the more who knew of our plan, the

likelier we were to be betrayed to the monster. As for baggage, what you see

is what we have."

The elder Maniakes' eyebrows rose again. For Videssian nobles to travel

without baggage was a truer measure of desperation than any woeful tale, no

matter how heartrending. The revelation startled the younger Maniakes, too. He

did notice the grandees had fat leather pouches at their belts, pouches that

might well be filled with goldpieces. They might have come as fugitives, but

they probably weren't beggars.

"Well, well," the elder Maniakes said. "In that case, come in and be welcome.

I shan't turn you over to Genesios; that much I promise you. If he has a ship

on your heels, you can flee into the countryside and escape. For now, though,

more gladsome things: Aplakes and the other servants will show you to

chambers. We have room and to spare, that we do, by Phos. And at supper in the

courtyard this evening, we'll speak further on these matters. Meanwhile . . ."

He used his eyes to gather up his son, Rhegorios, and Symvatios.

The servants led the nobles into the governor's residence. As the younger

Maniakes went up to his father, Lysia set a hand on his arm. "Isn't it

marvelous!" she exclaimed, her black eyes flashing with excitement. "At last,

Phos willing, Genesios will get what he's long deserved. And then—"

"And then," Symvatios broke in, his voice almost eerily like that of the elder

Maniakes, "we have to figure out what to do next, if we decide to do anything

at all. Are you going to plot with us here?"

Lysia made a face at her father. "I would if you'd let me, but I don't suppose

you will." Symvatios slowly shook his head. His daughter made another face.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss the younger Maniakes on the end of his nose—he was

used to that; because his beard was so thick and full, she did it a lot—then

went into the residence herself.

The two older brothers and their sons put their heads together. Rhegorios

said, "Uncle, they aim to set you on the throne." His eyes snapped with the

same high spirits that had filled Lysia's.

"I know that," the elder Maniakes answered matter-of-factly. "What I don't

know is whether I want to sit there. Way things look to me now, I have my

doubts, and big ones."

His son, brother, and nephew all gaped in amazement. In the middle of their

gaping, the door to the mansion opened. The cook came out. He sent the elder

Maniakes a dirty look and headed down the slope toward the markets of

Kastavala almost at a run. Symvatios laughed. "That's what you get for

inviting a whole raft of people to supper on short notice," he said, resting a

hand on his paunch for a moment; he was heavier than his brother.

"If a glare is all I get, I'll count myself lucky." The elder Maniakes

chuckled. "I just hope it's not nightshade in the soup, or some such." He

sobered. "Back to it. Look at me, all of you. I'm an old man. I've done

nothing but fight since I was fifteen years old, except these past few years

here in Kalavria. I hated Likinios when he sent me here, but do you know what?

I've come to like this place and to enjoy the easy life. I don't want to fight

any more, and I don't care to sit on a throne and know half the people

watching me are trying to figure out how to throw me off it. What do you think

of that?" He looked defiantly at his kinsmen.

"Let it all be as you say, Father," the younger Maniakes answered. "Can we sit

out here on this island and watch the Empire get dragged down to the ice? If

Genesios is as bad as this, even Videssos the city may fall to the

Makuraners—or to the Kubratoi. One day a fleet may sail for Kalavria with the

red lion of the King of Kings of Makuran painted on the sails."

The elder Maniakes chuckled again, but without humor. "And wouldn't that be

strange, when the two of us led the Videssian army that helped put Sharbaraz

back on his throne? But you're right. If he saw the chance, he wouldn't

hesitate, not even for a heartbeat."

"Well, then," the younger Maniakes and Rhegorios said together.

"Well, then—what?" the elder Maniakes answered.

"You have to take the throne," his son explained, as if the necessity were as

obvious as a geometric proof.

Harry Turtledove - Time of Troubles 2 - Hammer and Anvil

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: