For that matter, he had no idea whether Maleinos even had any men he could send to Skopentzana if he wanted to. Surely the Khamorth also menaced other towns closer to Videssos the city. How much of the Empire of Videssos were the barbarians overrunning? How much would still be in Videssian hands by the time this suicidal civil war was done? Would the Empire belonging to whoever finally won be worth having?
Maleinos and Stylianos think so, Rhavas thought gloomily. As long as they do, no one else's opinion matters.
Women came down from their gallery. Some of them visited the temple to be seen going in and out of it, even if custom kept them from being seen while they worshiped. Some of the younger men were every bit as much on display. But some of the women were as serious about what went on in the wider world as any of the men. And some were at least as shrewd as any of their male counterparts.
"Can we buy off the barbarians?" one matron asked Rhavas. "Can we send them gold to leave this city alone?"
"Perhaps," Rhavas said. "It is the weaker party's ploy in diplomacy, and usually a bad precedent, but perhaps. But what is to keep the Khamorth from taking our money and then attacking even so?"
"Why, the hope of getting more money from us later, of course," she answered.
"It is to be considered," Rhavas admitted. She gave him a brisk nod and strode out of the temple, wrapping her ermine stole around her neck as she went.
Ingegerd's bright hair made Rhavas imagine the noonday sun lit the narthex. She walked up to him with a grave nod of approval. "You spoke well, very holy sir," she said.
"For which I thank you," Rhavas said. "I wish I did not need to beseech the good god to aid us in such troubled times."
"We do what we must do," the Haloga woman said. "We beg the good god to help us, and we do all we can to help ourselves."
"You are a sensible woman." Rhavas shook his head. He did not want to patronize her. It suddenly seemed important that he not patronize her. "You are a sensible person. Himerios is fortunate in you."
With its granite underpinnings, the way her face softened was startling. "If you have room left in your heart after praying for Skopentzana, please pray for Himerios. Every time the Avtokrator and the rebel fight, I die a little more inside. And now Maleinos will have to face the barbarians, too."
Stylianos would also have to face them. Ingegerd said nothing about him, for her husband served the Avtokrator. Trying to console her as best he could, Rhavas said, "I do not think the Khamorth will attack the imperial army any time soon. They will do what is easy before they try anything hard."
"That puts off the evil day. It does not mean the evil day will not come," Ingegerd replied. Her cold, clear intelligence saw through to the heart of things. What she saw now with it made her own heart break. Struggling to hold the iron self-control Rhavas had always known in her, she went on, "I fear it will be long and long before Himerios comes home to Skopentzana once more."
"What will you do?" Rhavas asked.
Ingegerd hesitated. The prelate had not realized how he was hanging on her answer till he noticed he did not breathe while he waited. At least, she said, "I shall do the best I can, very holy sir. What else can I possibly do?"
And what is that? Rhavas thought it, but did not ask it. Being as sensible as she was, she would have told him she did not know now, but would have to find out as time went by. Why ask the question when you already know the answer? Instead, he said, "You are as wise as—" He broke off.
"As what, very holy sir?" Ingegerd asked, direct as usual.
As you are beautiful. But Himerios had asked him to keep an eye on her not for his own sake but for the officer's. And he had his own vows, his own knowledge of what he must not do, of what he had taken solemn oath he would not do, hedging him round. "As you are sensible," he said, hardly half a heartbeat later than he should have.
"My sense seems senseless. My wisdom, such as it is, fails me. He is not here; because he is not here, Midwinter's Day might as well not have come." Ingegerd gathered herself. "In your kindness, you might pray for me as well, but only after you pray for Skopentzana and for Himerios. They are more important." She dipped her head to him, then left the narthex, her back straight, looking only ahead, never behind.
Someone else came up to Rhavas after she had gone. The prelate must have said the sorts of things that needed saying. The man or woman must have been satisfied with whatever he did say. He had no memory of any of it. His thoughts were only on Ingegerd. I will pray for you, he thought. Oh, yes. And if Himerios was hacked to pieces by barbarian blades, if Skopentzana fell in fire and ruin, he would have prayed for what was important to him.
He realized that was wrong. Realizing it and being able to do anything about it were two different things. As long as he was praying, he would have to add some prayer for himself.
Not long after the prayer service, peasants began fleeing into Skopentzana from their outlying farms. Some told tales of horror, having barely escaped with their lives after the Khamorth plundered them and their neighbors. Others, wiser or simply more afraid of what might happen, ran off before disaster came down on them.
Zautzes began by putting the refugees in the barracks halls the garrison had occupied till recently. Before long, they filled those halls to overflowing. Skopentzana's temples housed some. The eparch quartered others on people who volunteered to help them. People stopped volunteering when one of the peasant fugitives got caught trying to sell his host's silver candlesticks.
That delightful news sent Zautzes to Rhavas' study. "What am I supposed to do now, very holy sir?" the eparch demanded in tones not far from despair. "I have people shouting at me to shut the gates against any more peasants. By the good god, I have people shouting at me to throw all the peasants already in Skopentzana out in the snow."
"Would you punish those who have done no wrong along with the guilty?" Rhavas asked. "Where is the justice in that?"
"The fellow who heads the militia we're using in place of real soldiers says they're eating up our food and not giving us anything in return," Zautzes replied. "He says they'll make it harder for us to stand siege if we have to, and so we ought to run 'em out."
"Can the Khamorth besiege us? Can we do anything at all about it if they do except pray and hope for the best? If they can and we can, can we last long enough for what these peasants eat to matter?" Rhavas was full of questions.
Zautzes only shrugged—once, twice, three times. "Very holy sir, I don't know the answer to any of those. I don't suppose anybody in Skopentzana does. I'll tell you this, though: I don't want trouble inside the city, especially now. I don't want these raggedy peasants stealing from people who are trying to do them good. And I don't want a mob going peasant hunting and murdering and raping for the fun of it, either."
"A point," the prelate admitted. "All right, then. Tell the head of the militia to come here before me. Maybe we can see eye to eye."
"I'll do it," Zautzes said at once. "I hope you can get him to see straight. Phaos knows I haven't had any luck."
The man who led Skopentzana's militia—the man who apparently had had the idea to form it—was a mason named Toxaras. He had a thick black beard with the first few streaks of gray in it, a face handsome in a rough sort of way, and the scarred, callused hands typical of his trade. Rhavas barely knew him; the man was not in the habit of worshiping at the chief temple.
Matzoukes showed him into Rhavas' study. Toxaras stared at the swarm of books in some surprise. The lesser priest had to cough to get him to bow to Rhavas. "Very holy sir," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. His wave encompassed the scrolls and codices. "Have you read all of these?"