As Krispos touched the torch to the oil, he reflected that the dromons' incendiary mix would have served even better. But the lamp oil did the job. Flames walked across the weathered surface of the wooden wall, crept into cracks, climbed over carvings. Before long the wood caught, too. No hearth logs could have been better seasoned than the old timbers of the palace. They burned quick and hard and hot. A pillar of smoke rose to the sky.
Imperials ran and rode up in alarm, fearing the blaze had broken out on its own. Krispos kept some of them close by, to help fight the fire in case it spread. But the palace was set apart from Pliskavos' other buildings, as if to give the khagans of Kubrat the sense of space they might have enjoyed on the steppe. It had plenty of room in which to burn safely.
Krispos watched the fire for a while. He wished he could know whether Harvas was burning with those flames. Whether or not, though, the power he had forged to strike at Videssos was broken; those of his raiders who lived were boarding rafts under the eyes and arrows of imperial troops. And Harvas' own power was broken, as well, thanks to Tanilis. Krispos shook his head, wishing for the thousandth time the price of the latter breaking had not been so high.
But he knew that Tanilis had willingly paid the price, and that she would not have wanted him to grieve in victory. The knowledge helped—some. He swung himself up onto Progress and twitched the reins. The horse turned till Krispos felt the warmth of the burning palace on his back. He touched Progress' flanks with his heels and rode away.
With a hand shading his eyes to ease the glare, Krispos peered across the Astris. Tiny in the distance, the last of Harvas' Halogai trudged away from the northern back of the river. "This land is ours now," Krispos said, slightly embarrassed to hear slight surprise in his voice. "Ours again," he amended, Mammianos was also watching the Halogai go. "A very neat campaign, your Majesty," he said. "The provincial levies will be back on their farms in time to help with the harvest. Very neat indeed."
"So they will." Krispos turned to the fat general. "And what of you, Mammianos? Shall I send you back to your province, too, to govern the coastal lowlands for me?"
"This for the coastal lowlands." Mammianos yawned a slow, deliberate, scornful yawn. "The only reason I was there is that Petronas sent me to the most insignificant place he could think of." The yawn gave way to a smug expression. "Turned out not to be so insignificant after all, the way things worked out, eh, your Majesty?"
"You're right about that," Krispos said. Mammianos had given him the opening he'd hoped for. "If you're bored with the lowlands, eminent sir, will you serve as my governor here, as the first governor of the new province of Kubrat?"
"Ah. That job wouldn't soon grow dull, now would it?" Mammianos didn't sound surprised, but then Mammianos was no one's fool. His voice turned musing. "Let's see, what all would I be doing? Keeping the nomads on their side of the Astris, and the Halogai, too, if they think about getting frisky again—"
"Cleaning up the Haloga settlements that got started here, like the one that gave Sarkis so much trouble," Krispos put in.
"Aye, and the Kubratoi might decide to rise up again, once they get over being grateful to us for ridding them of dear Harvas, which is to say any time starting about day after tomorrow."
"Oh, we ought to be good until next week," Krispos said. Both men chuckled, although Krispos knew he wasn't really joking. He went on, "We'll start resettling farmers, too, to start giving you enough men to use as a balance against the Kubratoi. People will want to come if we forgive, say, their first five years' taxes after they get here. It's not the worst farming country, not if the Kubratoi don't come by every fall to steal half your crop."
"You'd know about that, wouldn't you, your Majesty?"
"Oh, yes." Even across more than two decades and the vast gulf that separated the man he was from the boy he had been, Krispos could still call up the helpless fury he'd felt as the nomads plundered the peasants they'd kidnapped.
Mammianos glanced over to the walls of Pliskavos not far away. "I'll need artisans to help set the town right, and merchants to come live in it, aye, and priests, as well, for the good god—" He sketched Phos' sun-circle, "—seems mostly forgotten here." He hardly seemed to notice he'd agreed to take the job.
"The artisans will come," Krispos promised, "though Imbros needs them, too." Mammianos nodded. Krispos continued, "I'll see that priests come, too. They'll be happier if we have a temple ready for them." He snapped his fingers in happy inspiration. "And I know just where—on the spot where the old wooden palace stood."
"That's very fine, your Majesty. The traders'll come, too, I expect. They'll be eager for the chance to do direct business with the nomads north of the Astris instead of going through Kubrati middlemen. Come to that, there'll be trade down the Astris, too, in the days ahead, from Pliskavos to Videssos the city direct by water. Aye, the merchants will come."
"I think you're right," Krispos said. "You'll be busy, making all of that happen."
"I'd sooner be busy than bored, unlike half the useless drones back in the city," Mammianos said. His eyes narrowed as he studied Krispos. "You think you'll stay busy yourself, your Majesty, without a civil war and a foreign one to juggle?"
"By the good god, eminent sir, I hope not!" Krispos exclaimed. Mammianos stared at him, then started to laugh. Krispos said, "Trouble is, though, something always comes along. By the time I'm back to the capital, I'll have something new to worry about. One thing I can think of right away: before too long, I have to decide whether to keep paying tribute to Makuran or take the chance on another war by cutting it off."
"We're not ready for another war," Mammianos said seriously.
"Don't I know it! But we can't let the King of Kings go on sucking our blood forever, either." Krispos sighed. "This Avtokrator business is hard work, if you try to do it the way you should. I understand Anthimos better than I used to, and why he forgot about everything save women and wine. Sometimes I think he had the right idea after all."
"No, you don't," Mammianos said.
Krispos sighed again. "No, I suppose I don't. But there are times when packing it in can look awfully good."
"A farmer can't afford to pack it in, and he only has to deal with one plot of land," Mammianos said. "You have the whole Empire to look out for. On the other hand, you get rewards that poor farmer will never see, starting with the parade down Middle Street when you do get back to the city."
"Anthimos arranged for people to cheer him, too."
"Ah, but there's a difference. You'll have earned these cheers—and you know it." Mammianos thumped Krispos lightly on the back. Krispos thought it over. At last, he nodded.
XIII
The great valves of the Silver Gate swung open. Trumpeters on the wall above blared out a fanfare. Krispos flicked Progress' reins. Along with his victorious army, he rode into Videssos the city.
As he passed through the covered way between the outer and inner walls, his mind went back to the day, now more than a decade behind him, when he'd first walked into the great imperial capital. Then no one had known—or cared—he was arriving. Now the whole city waited for him.
He came out of the shadow of the covered way and into the city. Another fanfare blew. Ahead of him in the procession, a marching chorus began to chant. "Behold, Krispos comes in triumph, who subjected Kubrat! Once he served the folk north of the mountains, but now they serve him!"
People packed both sides of Middle Street. They jeered the chained Haloga prisoners who dejectedly clanked along in front of Krispos. When they saw him, the jeers turned to cheers. "Thou conquerest, Krispos!" they shouted. "Thou conquerest!"