Stylianos only shrugged. "We'll see. I hope so. That's why I rose up against him, anyway."
Rhavas wondered what the Avtokrator would do if he were to renounce the doctrine he'd preached at the synod and in this little dining hall. He didn't wonder for long. Stylianos would find some other reason to condemn him. Or maybe Stylianos wouldn't find any reason he publicly announced. That didn't mean Rhavas would stay alive even a heartbeat longer. He couldn't go without sleep. He couldn't watch his back all the time.
He could—he thought he could—kill Stylianos now. But if he did . . . so what? The synod would still condemn him. The Empire would fall into chaos—worse chaos, he corrected himself. Rhavas had already seen as much. It seemed even more painfully clear now.
By Stylianos' small smile, he'd seen it, too. "This is how things work, very holy sir," he said, something approaching sympathy in his voice.
"They shouldn't," Rhavas said. "In the acts of the synod, the truth will be set forth for all time. Those who come after will see it for themselves. They will be persuaded. It will triumph."
"Dreams are nothing but dreams, no matter who dreams them," Stylianos said. "Yours will crumble, too."
"We shall see, your Majesty. Unlike you, I do have faith, even if it is not the sort of faith you might prefer," Rhavas said. The Avtokrator laughed and laughed. That might have been the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
Back at the High Temple, Rhavas listened to one ecclesiastic after another denounce him. The priests and prelates probably would have done the same even with Maleinos still on the imperial throne. With Stylianos' fundament warming that seat, they thought they had a license to assail Rhavas—and, no doubt, they were right.
The ecumenical patriarch remained courteous, and kept giving him chances to respond. Though Rhavas began to see they would do him no good, he used them anyhow. "Any man who can look at the state of the world and then declare that good will surely triumph is either a liar or a fool—most likely both," he declared.
Boos and hisses and catcalls filled the air around him. Someone flung a rotten squash at him, as if he belonged to a bad Midwinter's Day mime troupe. The flying vegetable missed him and smacked another priest instead. It came from behind Rhavas. Whoever hurled it hadn't wanted his face seen, lest he be cursed.
Rhavas bowed in that direction, sarcasm steaming from his good manners. "And in which chapter of Phos' holy scriptures do you find that response?" he inquired. Only more jeers answered him, these from all around the High Temple.
"Shall we proceed, holy sirs?" Sozomenos could make the assembled ecclesiastics pay attention to him. "Shall we proceed in something at least approaching order?" If he had to resort to sarcasm, things had come to a pretty pass indeed. When he got enough calm to satisfy him, he pointed to a scrawny, clever-looking young priest. "I recognize Seides. You may proceed, holy sir."
"Thank you, most holy sir. I wish I did not have to," Seides said. "But we have seen murder done here on the floor of the high Temple—yes, even here. And I am sorry to have to report to you—to report to you all, my fellow ecclesiastics—that this is not the first murder worked by Rhavas, who no longer deserves to be deemed a very holy sir. I speak with regret, but also with conviction. And conviction is what this man who has abandoned his soul to darkness deserves."
Sozomenos, as usual, turned to Rhavas. "Will you deny, very holy sir? Will you extenuate?" He sounded as if he hoped Rhavas would. He probably did. Rhavas saw as much, even if it baffled him.
"He has said nothing yet," Rhavas said. "By the time he has finished, he will have said the same. As for Arkadios, I deny that was murder. A duel, perhaps, but not murder. He called on the power he respected. I called on mine. I still stand here. He does not."
After another of his sad sighs, Sozomenos nodded to Seides. "You may proceed, holy sir."
"I thank you, most holy sir. As I say, this appears not to be the first murder the prelate of Skopentzana has perpetrated. He rode off in company with a certain Himerios, an imperial officer, and two mages. The bodies of these men were discovered behind bushes. They had been there some time, and scavengers had been at them. No one is certain what became of them, mind you, but they are dead, while the very holy Rhavas lives on. This Himerios, be it noted, lived for long and long in Skopentzana, where he commanded the imperial garrison. He and Rhavas could not have been unknown to each other."
"He commanded the imperial garrison, yes," Rhavas said. "He commanded it for Maleinos, and fought for Maleinos against Stylianos, as did these mages. This being so, how can anyone here care about their deaths under any circumstances?"
That produced a sudden and thoughtful silence in the High Temple. Priests and prelates and monks and abbots had to bear in mind who their new sovereign was. Those who couldn't shift with the changing tides would be left behind—or something worse than that would happen to them. Rhavas almost laughed out loud. This Seides knew a lot, but he wasn't as smart as he thought he was.
Then the priest said, "You may make whatever denials you like in this case, very holy sir, but it is also a fact that you were in the company of this Himerios' wife, a fact we know from a merchant, a certain Arsenios, who traveled with you and the woman for a time. And it is a fact that the woman was found dead, with no obvious reason that she should be dead, in an otherwise deserted farmhouse north of the northern town of Kybistra."
Arsenios! Rhavas had forgotten all about him. But the merchant evidently hadn't forgotten about Rhavas. Who would have thought he could reach Videssos the city?
"And a Skopentzanan mage, a certain Koubatzes, was found dead, with no obvious reason that he should be dead, in the snow south of Kybistra," Seides went on. "Arsenios has stated that the said Koubatzes was not satisfied with your explanation of this woman's fate, and that he rode after you on the morning you departed Kybistra."
Curse you, Arsenios, Rhavas thought furiously. He had no idea where in Videssos the city Arsenios was. But he hoped—and he thought—the curse would find the miserable wretch.
Nor had Seides finished. "There is also the question of the priest Tryphon, who expired for no obvious reason while debating theological questions with you in the town of Podandos. And there is the question of the most holy Kameniates, the recently deceased ecumenical patriarch, who expired for no obvious reason not long after rejecting the wicked and heretical doctrines you have propounded at this synod. What have you to say for yourself in regard to these matters, very holy sir?"
Rhavas was tempted to curse Seides, too. The man was more clever than Rhavas had thought he was, clever enough to be dangerous. But if Rhavas did curse him, his demise would only prove his point. Had Seides figured that out? Did he count on it? If so, he was very clever indeed—and very dangerous, too.
"What do I say?" Rhavas needed a moment to decide just what he would say. "I say these are lies. I say this is nothing but scandalmongering, an effort to blacken my name so impressionable fools"—which means most of you—"will look away from the truth in my words."
"I have the written reports from Kybistra," Seides said calmly. "The men who wrote them knew nothing of your doctrines, such as those are. I have the written report from Podandos as well. And Arsenios' deposition was taken before he learned why it was of interest. Further, your innkeeper, a certain Lardys, states that you cursed the late Kameniates at about the time of his unexpected and otherwise inexplicable demise."
He cursed him, too. Did he say that? But Rhavas couldn't ask the question, not without betraying himself. "You are too blind and too afraid to acknowledge the strength and power of the doctrine I have presented to you," he declared. "If you make me out to be a villain, you don't have to."