Harry Turtledove - Krispos 2 - Krispos Of Videssos

Krispos of Videssos

by Harry Turtledove

To Constantine VII

(who liked rice pudding)

and Leo the Deacon

I

The gold flan was flat and round, about as wide as Krispos' thumb—a blank surface, about to become a

coin. Krispos passed it to the mintmaster, who in turn carefully set it on the lower die of the press. "All

ready, your Majesty," he said. "Pull this lever here, hard as you can."

Your Majesty. Krispos hid a smile. He'd been Avtokrator of the Videssians for only eight days, and still

was far from used to hearing his new title in everyone's mouth.

He pulled the lever. The upper die came down hard on the flan, whose soft gold was squeezed and

reshaped between it and the one beneath.

The mintmaster said, "Now if you please, your Majesty, just ease back there so the die lifts again." He

waited until Krispos obeyed, then took out the newly struck goldpiece and examined it. "Excellent! Had

you no other duties, your Majesty, you would be welcome to work for me." After laughing at his own

joke, he handed Krispos the coin. "Here, your Majesty, the very first goldpiece of your reign."

Krispos held the coin in the palm of his hand. The obverse was uppermost: an image of Phos, stern in

judgment. The good god had graced Videssos' coinage for centuries. Krispos turned the goldpiece over.

His own face looked back at him, neatly bearded, a bit longer than most, nose high and proud. Yes, his

image, wearing the domed imperial crown. A legend ran around his portrait, in letters tiny but perfect:

Krispos Avtokrator.

He shook his head. Seeing the goldpiece brought home once more that he was Emperor. He said,

"Thank your die-maker for me, excellent sir. To cut the die so fast, and to have the image look like

me—he did splendidly."

"I'll tell him what you've said, your Majesty. I'm sure he'll be pleased. We've had to work in a hurry here

before, when one Avtokrator replaced another rather suddenly, so we, ah—"

The mintmaster found an abrupt, urgent reason to stare at the coin press. He knew he'd said too much,

Krispos thought. Krispos' own ancestry was not remotely imperial; he'd grown to manhood on a peasant

holding near Videssos' northern frontier—and spent several years north of that frontier, as a serf toiling

for the nomads of Kubrat.

But after a cholera outbreak killed most of his family, he'd abandoned his village for Videssos the city, the

great imperial capital. Here he'd risen by strength and guile to the post of vestiarios—chamberlain—to

the Emperor Anthimos III. Anthimos had cared for pleasure more than for ruling; when Krispos sought to

remind him of his duties, Anthimos tried to slay him by sorcery. He'd slain himself instead, with a bungled

spell... And so, Krispos thought, my face goes on goldpieces now.

"We're cutting more dies every day, both for this mint and those out in the provinces," the mintmaster

said, changing the subject. "Soon everyone will have the chance to know you through your coins, your

Majesty."

Krispos nodded. "Good. That's as it should be." He'd been a youth, he remembered, when he first saw

Anthimos' face on a goldpiece.

"I'm glad you're pleased, your Majesty." The mintmaster bowed. "May your reign be long and happy, sir,

and may our artisans design many more coins for you."

"My thanks." Krispos had to stop himself from bowing in return, as he would have before the crown

came to him. A bow from the Avtokrator would not have delighted the mintmaster; it would have

frightened him out of his wits. As Krispos left the mint, he had to hold up a hand to keep all the workers

from stopping their jobs to prostrate themselves before him. He was just learning how stifling imperial

ceremony could be for the Emperor.

A squad of Halogai stood outside the mint. The imperial guardsmen swung up their axes in salute as

Krispos emerged. Their captain held his horse's head to help him mount. The big blond northerner was

red-faced and sweating on what seemed to Krispos no more than a moderately warm day; few of the

fierce mercenaries took Videssos' summer heat well.

"Where to now, Majesty?" the officer asked.

Krispos glanced down at a sheet of parchment on which he'd scrawled a list of the things he had to do

this morning. He'd had to do so much so fast since becoming Avtokrator that he'd given up trying to keep

it all in his head. "To the patriarchal mansion, Thvari," he said. "I have to consult with Gnatios—again."

The guardsmen formed up around Krispos' big bay gelding. He touched the horse's flanks with his heels,

twitched the reins. "Come on, Progress," he said. The imperial stables held many finer animals; Anthimos

had fancied good horseflesh. But Progress had belonged to Krispos before he became Emperor, and

that made the beast special.

When the Halogai reached the edge of the palace quarter and came to the plaza of Palamas, they

menacingly raised their axes and shouted, "Way! Way for the Avtokrator of the Videssians!" As if by

magic, a lane through the crowded square opened for them. That was an imperial perquisite Krispos

enjoyed. Without it, he might have spent most of an hour getting to the other side of the plaza—he had,

often enough. Half the people in the world, he sometimes thought, used the plaza of Palamas to try to sell

things to the other half.

Though the presence of the Emperor—and the cold-eyed Halogai—inhibited hucksters and hagglers, the

din was still dreadful. He rubbed an ear in relief as it faded behind him.

The Halogai tramped east down Middle Street, Videssos the city's chief thoroughfare. The Videssians

loved spectacle. They stopped and stared and pointed and made rude remarks, as if Krispos could not

see or hear them. Of course, he realized wryly, he was so new an Avtokrator as to be interesting for

novelty's sake, if nothing else.

He and his guards turned north toward the High Temple, the grandest shrine to Phos in all the Empire.

The patriarch's home stood close by. When it came into view, Krispos braced himself for another

encounter with Gnatios.

The meeting began smoothly. The ecumenical patriarch's aide, a lesser priest named Badourios, met

Krispos at the mansion door and escorted him to Gnatios' study. The patriarch sprang from his chair,

then went to his knees and then to his belly in full proskynesis—so full, indeed, that Krispos wondered,

as he often did with Gnatios, if he was being subtly mocked.

Though his shaven pate and bushy beard marked him as a cleric, they did not rob the patriarch of his

individuality, as often happened with priests. Krispos always thought of him as foxlike, for he was clever,

elegant, and devious, all at the same time. Had he been an ally, he would have been a mighty one. He

was not an ally; Anthimos had been a cousin of his.

Krispos waited for Gnatios to rise from his prostration, then settled into a chair across the desk from the

patriarch. He motioned Gnatios to sit and plunged in without preamble. "I hope, most holy sir, you've

seen fit to reverse yourself on the matter we discussed yesterday."

"Your Majesty, I am still engaged in a search of Phos' holy scriptures and of canon law." Gnatios waved

to the scrolls and codices piled high in front of him. "But I regret to say that as yet I have failed to find

justification for performing the ceremony of marriage to join together you and the Empress Dara. Not

only is her widowhood from his late Majesty the Avtokrator Anthimos extremely recent, but there is also

the matter of your involvement in Anthimos' death."

Krispos drew in a long, angry breath. "Now see here, most holy sir, I did not slay Anthimos. I have

sworn that again and again by the lord of the great and good mind, and sworn it truthfully." To emphasize

his words, his hand moved in a quick circle over his heart, the symbol of Phos' sun. "May Skotos drag

me down to the eternal ice if I lie."

"I do not doubt you, your Majesty," Gnatios said smoothly, also making the sun-sign. "Yet the fact

remains, had you not been present when Anthimos died, he would still be among men today."

"Aye, so he would—and I would be dead. If he'd finished his spell at leisure, it would have closed on me

instead of him. Where in Phos' holy scriptures does it say a man may not save his own life?"

"Nowhere," the patriarch answered at once. "I never claimed that. Yet a man may not hope to escape the

ice if he takes to wife the widow of one he has slain, and by your own statements you were in some

measure a cause of Anthimos' death. Thus my continued evaluation of your degree of responsibility for it,

as measured against the strictures of canon law. When I have made my determination, I assure you I shall

inform you immediately."

"Most holy sir, by your own statements there can be honest doubt about this—men can decide either

way. If you find against me, I am sure I can discover another cleric to wear the patriarch's blue boots and

decide for me. Do you understand?"

"Oh, indeed, painfully well," Gnatios said, putting a wry arch to one eyebrow.

"I'm sorry to be so blunt," Krispos said, "But it strikes me your delays have more to do with hindering me

than with Phos' sacred words. I will not sit still for that. I told you the night you crowned me that I was

going to be Emperor of all Videssos, including the temples. If you stand in my way, I will replace you."

"Your Majesty, I assure you this delay is unintentional," Gnatios said. He gestured once more to the

stacks of volumes on his desk. "For all you say, your case is difficult and abstruse. By the good god, I

promise to have a decision within two weeks' time. After you hear it, you may do with me as you will.

Such is the privilege of Avtokrators." The patriarch bowed his head in resignation.

"Two weeks?" Krispos stroked his beard as he considered. "Very well, most holy sir. I trust you to use

them wisely."

"Two weeks?" Dara gave her head a decisive shake. "No, that won't do. It gives Gnatios altogether too

much time. Let him have three days to play with his scrolls if he must, but no more than that. Tomorrow

would be better."

As he often had, Krispos wondered how Dara fit so much stubbornness into such a small frame. The

crown of her head barely reached his shoulder, but once she made up her mind she was more immovable

than the hugest Haloga. Now he placatingly spread his hands. "I was just pleased I got him to agree to

decide within any set limit. And in the end I think he'll decide for us—he likes being patriarch and he

knows I'll cast him from his throne if he tells us we may not wed. That amount of time we can afford."

"No," Dara said, even more firmly than before. "I grudge him every grain of sand in the glass. If he's going

to find for us, he doesn't need weeks to do it."

"But why?" Krispos asked. "Since I've already agreed to this, I can't change my mind without good

reason, not unless I want him preaching against me in the High Temple as soon as I leave him."

"I'll give you a good reason," Dara said: "I'm with child."

"You're—" Krispos stared at her, his mouth falling open.

Then he asked the same foolish question almost every man asks his woman when she gives him that

news: "Are you sure?"

Dara's lips quirked. "I'm sure enough. Not only have my courses failed to come, but when I went to the

privy this morning, the stench made me lose my breakfast."

"You're with child, all right," Krispos agreed. "Wonderful!" He took her in his arms, running a hand

through her thick black hair. Then he had another thought. It was not suited for the moment, but passed

his lips before he could hold it back: "Is it mine?"

He felt her stiffen. The question, unfortunately, was neither idle nor, save in its timing, cruel. Dara had

been his lover, aye, but she'd also been Anthimos' Empress. And Anthimos had not been immune to the

pleasures of the flesh—far from it.

When at last she looked up at him, her dark eyes were troubled. "I think it's yours," she said slowly. "I

wish I could say I was certain, but I can't, not really. You'd know I was lying."

Krispos thought back to the time before he'd seized the throne; as vestiarios, he'd had the bedchamber

next to the one Dara and Anthimos had shared. The Emperor had gone carousing and reveling many

nights, but not all. Krispos sighed, stepping back and wishing life did not give him ambiguity where he

most wanted to be sure.

He watched Dara's eyes narrow and her mouth thin in calculation. "Can you afford to disown a child of

mine, no matter who it looks like in the end?" she asked.

"I just asked myself the same question," he said, respect in his voice. Nothing was wrong with Dara's

wits, and just as Gnatios liked being patriarch, she liked being Empress. She needed Krispos for that, but

he knew he also needed her— because she was Anthimos' widow, she helped confer legitimacy on him

by connecting him to the old imperial house. He sighed again. "No, I don't suppose I can."

"By the good god, Krispos, I hope it's yours, and I think it is," Dara said earnestly. "After all, I was

Anthimos' Empress for years without quickening. I never knew him to get bastards on any of his tarts,

either, and he had enough of them. I have to wonder at the strength of his seed."

"That's so," Krispos said. He felt relieved, but not completely. Phos he took on faith. His years in

Videssos the city had taught him the danger of similar faith in anything merely human. Yet even if the child

was not his by blood, he could set his mark on it. "If it's a boy, we'll name him Phostis, for my father."

Dara considered, nodded. "It's a good name." She touched Krispos' arm. "But you do see the need for

haste, not so? The sooner we're wed, the better; others can count months as well as we can. A babe a

few weeks early will set no tongues wagging. Much more, though, especially if the child is big and

robust—"

"Aye, you're right," Krispos said. "I'll speak to Gnatios. If he doesn't like being hurried, too bad. It's just

deserts for surprising me and making me speak unprepared when he was crowning me. By the good god,

I know he was hoping I'd flub."

"Just deserts for that piece of effrontery would be some time in the prisons under the government office

buildings on Middle Street," Dara said. "I've thought so ever since you first told me of it."

"It may come to that, if he says me nay here," Krispos answered. "I know he'd sooner see Petronas

come out of the monastery and take the throne than have me on it. Being Anthimos' cousin means he's

Anthimos' uncle's cousin, too."

"He's not your cousin, that's for certain," Dara said grimly. "You ought to have your own man as

patriarch, Krispos. One who's against you can cause you endless grief."

"I know. If Gnatios does tell me no, it'll give me the excuse I need to get rid of him. Trouble is, if I do, I'd

likely have to replace him with Pyrrhos the abbot."

"He'd be loyal," Dara said.

"So he would." Krispos spoke without enthusiasm. Pyrrhos was earnest and able. He was also pious,

fanatically so. He was a far better friend to Krispos than Gnatios ever would be, and far less comfortable

to live with.

Dara said, "Now I hope Gnatios does stand up on his hind legs against you, if you truly mean to slap him

down for it."

All at once, Krispos was tired of worrying about Gnatios and what he might do. Instead he thought of the

child Dara would have—his child, he told himself firmly. He stepped forward to take her in his arms

again. She squeaked in surprise as he bent his head to kiss her, but her lips were eager against his. The

kiss went on and on.

When at last they separated, Krispos said, "Shall we go to the bedchamber?"

"What, in the afternoon? We'd scandalize the servants."

"Oh, nonsense," Krispos said. After Anthimos' antic reign, nothing save perhaps celibacy could

scandalize the palace servants, though he did not say so aloud. "Besides, I have my reasons."

"Name two," Dara said, mischief in her voice.

"All right. For one, if you are pregnant, you're apt to lose interest for a while, so I'd best get while the

getting's good, as they say. And for another, I've always wanted to make love with you with the sun

shining in on us. That's one thing we never dared do before."

She smiled. "A nice mix of the practical and the romantic. Well, why not?"

They walked down the hall hand in hand. If maidservants or eunuch chamberlains gave them odd looks,

neither one noticed.

Barsymes bowed to Krispos. "The patriarch is here, your Majesty," the eunuch vestiarios announced in

his not-quite-tenor, not-quite-alto voice. He did not sound impressed. Few things impressed Barsymes.

"Thank you, esteemed sir," Krispos answered; palace eunuchs had their own honorifics, different from

those of the nobility. "Show him in."

Gnatios prostrated himself as he entered the chamber where Krispos had been wrestling with tax

documents. "Your Majesty," he murmured.

"Rise, most holy sir, rise by all means," Krispos said expansively. "Please be seated; make yourself

comfortable. Shall I send for wine and cakes?" He waited for Gnatios' nod, then waved to Barsymes to

fetch the refreshments.

When the patriarch had eaten and drunk, Krispos proceeded to business. "Most holy sir, I regret

summoning you so soon after I promised you would have your two weeks, but I must seek your ruling on

whether Dara and I may lawfully wed."

He had expected Gnatios to splutter and protest, but the patriarch beamed at him. "What a pleasant

coincidence, your Majesty. I was going to send you a message later in the day, for I have indeed reached

my decision."

"And?" Krispos said. If Gnatios thought this affable front would make a rejection more palatable,

Krispos thought, he was going to get a rude awakening.

But the ecumenical patriarch's smile only grew broader. "I am delighted to be able to inform you, your

Majesty, that I find no canonical impediments to your proposed union with the Empress. You may

perhaps hear gossip at the haste of the match, but that has nothing to do with its permissibility under

ecclesiastical law."

"Really?" Krispos said in glad surprise. "Well, I'm delighted to hear you say so, most holy sir." He got up

and poured more wine for the two of them with his own hands.

"I am pleased to be able to serve you with honor in this matter, your Majesty," Gnatios answered. He

lifted his cup. "Your very good health."

"And yours." Avtokrator and patriarch drank together. Then Krispos said, "From what you've just told

me, I don't suppose you'd mind celebrating the wedding yourself." If Gnatios was just going along for the

sake of going along, Krispos thought, he ought to balk or at least hesitate.

But he replied at once, "It would be my privilege, your Majesty. Merely name the day. From your

urgency, I suppose you will want it to come as soon as possible."

"Yes," Krispos said, still a bit taken aback at this wholehearted cooperation. "Will you be able to make

everything ready in—hmm—ten days' time?"

The patriarch's lips moved. "A couple of days after the full moon? I am your servant." He inclined his

head to the Emperor. "Splendid," Krispos said. When he rose this time, it was a sign Gnatios' audience

was done. The patriarch did not miss the signal. He bowed himself out. Barsymes took charge of him and

escorted him from the imperial residence.

Krispos gave his attention back to the cadasters. He smiled a little as he took up his stylus to scrawl a

note on a waxed tablet. That had been easier than he'd figured it would be, he thought with a twinge of

contempt for Gnatios. The patriarch seemed willing to pay whatever price he had to in order to keep his

position. A firm line with him would get Krispos anything he required.

Nice to have one worry settled, he thought, and went on to the next tax register.

"Don't worry, your Majesty. We have plenty of time yet," Mavros said.

Krispos looked at his foster brother with mixed gratitude and exasperation. "Nice to hear someone say

so, by the good god. All of Dara's seamstresses are having kittens, wailing that they'll never be able to

have her dress ready on the day. And if they're having kittens, the mintmaster is having bears—big bears,

with teeth. He says I can send him to Prista if I like, but that still won't get me enough goldpieces with my

face on them to use for largess."

"Prista, he?" Amusement danced in Mavros' eyes. "Then he probably means it." The lonely outpost on

the northern shore of the Videssian Sea housed the Empire's most incorrigible exiles. Few people went

there willingly.

"I don't care if he means it," Krispos snapped. "I need to have that gold to pass out to the people. We

grabbed power too quickly the night I was crowned. This is my next good chance. If I don't do it now,

the city folk will think I'm mean, and I'll have no end of trouble from them."

"I daresay you're right," Mavros said, "but does it all have to be your gold? Aye, that would be nice, but

you hold the treasury as well as the mint. So long as the coin is good, no one who gets it will care whose

face it bears."

"Something to that," Krispos said after a moment's thought. "The mintmaster will be pleased. Tanilis

would be, too, to hear you; you're your mother's son after all."

"I'll take that for a compliment," Mavros said.

"You'd better. I meant it for one." Krispos had nothing but admiration for Mavros' mother. Tanilis was

one of the wealthiest nobles of the eastern town of Opsikion, and seer and mage, as well. She'd foretold

Krispos' rise, helped him with money and good advice, and fostered Mavros to him. Though she was a

decade older than Krispos, they'd also been lovers for half a year, until he had to return to Videssos the

city—Mavros did not know about that. She was still the standard by which Krispos measured women,

including Dara— Dara did not know about that.

Barsymes politely tapped at the open door of the chamber where Krispos and Mavros were talking.

"Your Majesty, eminent sir, your presence is required for another rehearsal of assembling for the

wedding procession." In matters of ceremony, the vestiarios ordered the Avtokrator about.

"We'll be with you shortly, Barsymes," Krispos promised. Barsymes withdrew, a couple of paces' length.

He did not go away. Krispos turned back to Mavros. "I think I'll use the wedding to declare you

Sevastos."

"You will? Me?" Mavros was in his mid-twenties, a few years younger than Krispos, and had a more

openly excitable temperament. Now he could not keep his surprised delight from showing. "When did

you decide to do that?"

"I've been thinking about it ever since this crown landed on my head. You act as my chief minister, so

you should have the title that says what you do. And the wedding will be a good public occasion to give it

to you."

Mavros bowed. "One of these days," he said slyly, "you ought to tell your face what you're thinking, so

it'll know, too."

"Oh, go howl," Krispos said. "Naming you Sevastos will also make you rich, even apart from what you

stand to inherit. It'll also set you up as my heir if I die without one." As he said that, he wondered again

whether Dara's child was his. He suspected—he feared—he would keep on wondering until the baby

came, and perhaps for years afterward as well.

"I see that, since you're Emperor, you don't have to listen to people anymore," Mavros said. Realizing he

hadn't been listening and had missed something, Krispos felt himself flush. With the air of someone doing

an unworthy subject a great favor, Mavros repeated himself. "I said that if you die without an heir, it will

likely mean you've lost a civil war, in which case I'll be a head shorter myself and in no great position to

assume the throne."

In his breezy way, Mavros had probably hit truth there, Krispos thought. He said, "If you don't want the

honor, I could bestow it on Iakovitzes."

They both laughed. Mavros said, "I'll take it, then, just to save you from that. With his gift for getting

people furious at him, you'd lose any civil war where he was on your side, because no one else would

be." Then, as if afraid Krispos might take him seriously, he added, "He is in the wedding party, isn't he?"

"Of course he is," Krispos answered. "Do you think I want the rough side of his tongue for leaving him

out? He gave it to me often enough in the days when I was one of his grooms— and to you, too, I'd bet."

"Who, me?" Mavros assumed a not altogether convincing expression of innocence.

Before Krispos could reply, Barsymes stepped back into view. Implacably courteous, he said, "Your

Majesty, the rehearsal will commence at any moment. Your presence—and yours, eminent sir—" He

turned to Mavros, "—would be appreciated."

"Coming," Krispos said obediently. He and Mavros followed the vestiarios down the hall.

Barsymes bustled up and down the line, clucking like a hen not sure all her chicks were where they

belonged. His long face was set in doleful lines made more than commonly visible by his beardless

cheeks. "Please, excellent sirs, eminent sirs, your Majesty, try to remember all we've practiced," he

pleaded.

"If the army had its drill down as well as we do, Videssos would rule the bloody world," Iakovitzes said,

rolling his eyes. The noble stroked his graying beard. "Come on, let's get this nonsense done with, shall

we?"

Barsymes took a deep breath and continued as if no one had spoken. "Smooth and steady and stately

will most properly awe the people of Videssos the city."

"Phos coming down from behind the sun with Skotos all tied up in colored string wouldn't properly awe

the people of Videssos the city," Mavros said, "so what hope have we?"

"Take no notice of any of my comrades," Krispos told Barsymes, who looked about ready to burst from

nerves. "We are in your capable hands."

The vestiarios sniffed, but eased a little. Then he went from mother hen to drillmaster in one fell swoop.

"We begin—now," he declared. "Forward to the plaza of Palamas." He marched east from the imperial

residence, past lawns and gardens and groves, past the Grand Courtroom, past the Hall of the Nineteen

Couches, past the other grand buildings of the palace quarter.

Dara and her companions, Krispos knew, were traversing the quarter by another route. If everything

went as planned, his party and hers would meet at the edge of the plaza. It had happened in rehearsals.

Barsymes acted convinced it would happen again. To Krispos, his confidence seemed based on sorcery,

but so far as he knew, no one had used any.

Magic or not, when his party turned a last corner before the plaza of Palamas, he saw Dara and the

noblewomen with her round an outbuilding and come straight toward him. Once they got a few steps

closer, he also saw the relief on her face; evidently she'd worried, too, about whether their rendezvous

would go as planned.

"You look lovely," he said as he took her right hand with his left. She smiled up at him. A light breeze

played with her hair; like him, she wore no golden crown today. Her gown, though, was of dark gold silk

that complemented her olive complexion. Fine lace decorated cuffs and bodice; the gown, cinched tight

at the waist, displayed her fine figure.

"Forward!" Barsymes called again, and the newly united wedding party advanced into the plaza. The

palace quarter had been empty. The plaza was packed with people. They cheered when they saw

Krispos and his companions, and surged toward them. Only twin rows of streamers—and Halogai

posted every ten feet or so along them—kept the way open.

Instead of his sword, Krispos wore a large leather sack on the right side of his belt. He reached into it,

dug out a handful of goldpieces, and threw them into the crowd. The cheers got louder and more frantic.

All his groomsmen were similarly equipped; they also flung largess far and wide. So did a dozen servants,

who carried even larger bags of coins.

"Thou conquerest, Krispos!" people shouted. "Many years!" "The Avtokrator!" "Many sons!" "Hurrah

for the Empress Dara!" "Happiness!" They also shouted other things: "More money!" "Throw it this way!"

"Over here!" And someone yelled, "A joyous year to the Emperor and Empress for each goldpiece I

get!"

"What an ingenious combination of flattery and greed," Iakovitzes said. "I wish I'd thought of it."

The fellow was close; Krispos saw him waving like a madman. He pulled on a servant's sleeve. "Give him

a hundred goldpieces."

The man screamed with delight when the servant poured gold first into his hands, then into a pocket that

looked hastily sewn onto his robe—he'd come ready for any good that might happen to him. "That was

kindly done, Krispos," Dara said, "but however much we wish it, we won't have a hundred years."

"I'll bet that chap won't have a hundred goldpieces by the time he gets out of the plaza, either," Krispos

answered. "But may he do well with those he manages to keep, and may we do well with so many

years."

The wedding party pushed out of the plaza of Palamas onto Middle Street. Long colonnades shielded the

throngs there from the sun. More servants—these accompanied by an escort of armored

Halogai—brought up fresh bags of goldpieces. Krispos dug deep and threw coins as far as he could.

As he had when visiting Gnatios, he turned north off Middle Street with his companions. This time they

bypassed the patriarchal mansion with its small dome of red brick for the High Temple close by. Mavros

tapped Krispos on the shoulder. "Remember the last time we saw the forecourt here so packed with

people?"

"I should hope so," Krispos said. That had been the day he'd taken the throne, the day Gnatios had set

the crown on his head in the doorway to the High Temple.

Dara sighed. "I wish I could have been here to see you crowned."

"So do I," Krispos said. They both knew that would not have looked good, though, not when he was

replacing the man to whom she'd been wed. Even this ceremony would stir gossip in every tavern and

sewing circle in the city. But Dara was right— with a child in her belly, they could not afford to wait.

More Halogai stood on the steps of the High Temple, facing outward to protect Krispos and his

comrades as they had when he'd been crowned. At the top of the steps, Gnatios stood waiting. The

patriarch looked almost imperially splendid in his blue boots and pearl-encrusted robe of cloth-of-gold

and blue. Mere priests in less magnificent raiment swung thuribles on either side of him; Krispos' nose

twitched as he caught a whiff of the sweet smoke that wafted from them.

When he and Dara started to climb the low, broad stairs, he held her hand tightly. He wanted not the

slightest risk of her falling, not when she was pregnant. The wedding party followed. Behind them,

servants flung the last handsful of gold coins into the crowd.

Gnatios bowed when Krispos reached the top step but did not prostrate himself. The temple was, after

all, his primary domain. Krispos returned the bow, but less deeply, to show he in fact held superior rank

even here. Gnatios said, "Allow me to lead you within, your Majesty." He and his acolytes turned to enter

the narthex. The last time Krispos had gone in there, it was for Barsymes to robe him in the coronation

regalia.

"A moment," he said now, holding up a hand.

Gnatios stopped and turned back, a small frown on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. I just want to speak to the people before we go on."

The ecumenical patriarch's frown grew deeper. "Your doing so is not a planned part of the ceremony,

your Majesty."

"No, eh? That didn't bother you when you asked me to speak before you would crown me." Krispos

kept his tone light, but he was sure he was glaring at Gnatios. The patriarch had tried to ruin him then, to

make him sound like a bumbler in front of the people of the city, the most critical and fickle audience in

the world.

Now Gnatios could only bow in acquiescence. "What pleases the Avtokrator has the force of law," he

murmured.

Krispos looked out to the packed forecourt and held up his hands. "People of Videssos," he called, then

again, "People of Videssos!" Little by little they gave him quiet. He waited until it had grown still enough

for everyone to hear. "People of Videssos, this is a happy day for two reasons. Not only am I to be wed

today—"

Harry Turtledove - Krispos 2 - Krispos Of Videssos

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