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The response sounded like Petronas, too, Petronas in an overbearing mood: "
'Avtokrator of the
Videssians Petronas, son of Agarenos Avtokrator, brother of Rhaptes
Avtokrator, uncle to Anthimos
Avtokrator, crowned without duress by the true most holy ecumenical patriarch
of the Videssians
Gnatios, to the baseborn rebel, tyrant, and usurper Krispos: Greetings.' "
Krispos found reading easier if he did it aloud in a low voice. He didn't
realize the courier was listening until the man remarked, "I guess he wouldn't
say you aye after a start like that, would he?"
"Doesn't seem likely." Krispos read on: " 'I know that advice is a good and
goodly thing: I have, after all, read the books of the learned ancients and
Phos' holy scriptures. But at the same time, I reckon that this condition
obtains when matters may be remedied. But when the times themselves are
dangerous and drive one into the worst and most terrible circumstances, then,
I think, advice is no longer so useful. This is most true of advice from you,
impious and murderous wretch, for not only did you conspire to confine me
unjustly in a monastery, but you also pitilessly slew my nephew the
Avtokrator.'
"That, by the way, is not so," Krispos put in for the courier's benefit. He
resumed. " 'So, accursed enemy, do not urge me to deliver my life into your
hands once more. You will not persuade me. I, too, am a man with a sword at my
belt, and I will struggle against one who has sought to lay my family low. For
either I
shall regain the imperial glory and furnish you, murderer, a full requital, or
I shall perish and gain freedom from a disgusting and unholy tyranny.' "
The courier's eyes were wide by the time Krispos rolled up the parchment once
more. "That's the fanciest, nastiest 'no' I ever heard, your Majesty."
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"Me, too." Krispos shook his head. "I didn't really think he'd say yes. A pity
you and your comrades got drenched carrying the letters there and back again,
but it was worth a try."
"Oh, aye, Majesty," the courier said, "I've done my soldiering time, fighting
against Makuran on the
Vaspurakaner frontier. Anything you can try to keep from having a war is worth
doing."
"Yes." But Krispos had begun to wonder just how true that was. He'd certainly
believed it back in his days at the farming village. Now, though, he was sure
he would have to fight Petronas. Just as Petronas could not trust him, he knew
a victory by his former patron would only bring him to a quick end, or more
likely a slow one.
And he would have to fight a war against Harvas Black-Robe. Though he paid
Harvas tribute for the moment, that was only buying time, not solving the
problem. If he let a wild wolf like Harvas run loose on his border, more
peasants who wanted nothing but peace would be slaughtered or ruined than if
he fought to keep them safe. He also knew the ones who were ruined and the
loved ones of those slaughtered in his war would never understand that. He
wouldn't have himself, back in the days before he wore a crown.
"That's why the Empire needs an Emperor," he said to himself: "to see farther
and wider than the peasants can."
"Aye, Majesty. Phos grant that you do," the courier said. Krispos sketched the
sun-circle over his heart, hoping the good god would hear the fellow's words.
The rains dragged on. In spite of them, Krispos sent out couriers ordering his
forces to assemble at
Videssos the city and in the westlands. Spies reported that Petronas were also
mustering troops. Krispos was glumly certain Petronas had spies of his own. He
did his best to confuse them, shuttling companies back and forth and using
regimental standards for companies and the other way round.
Thanks to the civil war, his strength in the north and east were less than it
should have been. Thus he breathed a long sigh of relief when Iakovitzes
wrote: "Harvas has agreed to a year's truce, at the highest price you would
suffer me to pay him. By the lord with the great and good mind, Majesty, I
would sooner gallop a ten-mile steeplechase with a galloping case of the piles
than chaffer again with that black-robed bandit. I told him as much, in so
many words. He laughed. His laugh, Majesty, is not a pleasant thing. Skotos
might laugh so, to greet a damned soul new-come to the ice. Never shall I be
so glad as the day I leave his court to return to the city. Phos be praised,
that day will come soon."
When Krispos showed Mavros the letter, the Sevastos whistled softly. "We've
both seen Iakovitzes furious often enough, but I don't think I ever heard him
sound frightened before."
"Harvas has done it to him," Krispos said. "It's been building all winter.
Just one more sign we should be fighting Harvas now. May the ice take Petronas
for keeping me from what truly needs doing."
"We settle him this year," Mavros said. "After that, Harvas will have his
turn."
"So he will." Krispos glanced outside. The sky was still cloudy, but held
patches of blue. "Before long we can move on Petronas. One thing at a time, I
learned on the farm. If you try to do a lot of things at once, you end up
botching all of them."
Mavros glanced at him, mobile features sly. "Perhaps Videssos should draw its
Emperors from the peasantry more often. Where would a man like Anthimos have
learned such a simple lesson?"
"A man like Anthimos wouldn't have learned it on the farm, either. He'd have
been one of the kind and there are plenty of them, the good god knows who go
hungry at the end of winter because they haven't raised enough to carry them
through till spring, or because they were careless with their storage pits and
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let half their grain spoil."
"You're probably right," Mavros said. "I've always thought "
Krispos never found out what his foster brother had always thought. Barsymes
came into the chamber and said, "Forgive me, your Majesty, but her Majesty the
Empress must see you at once."
"I'll come as soon as I'm done with Mavros here," Krispos said.
"This is not a matter that will wait on your convenience, your Majesty,"
Barsymes said. "I've sent for the midwife."
"The " Krispos found his mouth hanging open. He made himself shut it, then
tried again to speak. "The midwife? The baby's not due for another month."
"So her Majesty said." Barsymes' smile was always wintry, but now, like the
weather, it held a promise of spring. "The baby, I fear, is not listening."
Mavros clapped Krispos on the shoulder. "May Phos grant you a son."
"Yes," Krispos said absently. How was he supposed to stick to his
one-thing-at-a-time dictum if events
kept getting ahead of him? With some effort, he figured out the one thing he
was supposed to do next. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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