With as much control as he could muster, Krispos said, "Your Majesty, truly the invasion you admit will happen could be stopped if we put our soldiers back where they belong. You know it's so."
"Maybe it is," Anthimos said. "But if I let Petronas go ahead, he'll be out of my hair for months. Think of the revels I could enjoy while he's not around." The Avtokrator leered in anticipation. Krispos tried to hide his disgust—was this the way an Emperor chose war or peace? Then Anthimos' face changed. All at once, he was as serious as Krispos had ever seen him. He went on quietly, "Besides, when it comes right down to it, I don't dare tell my uncle not to use the soldiers he's spent all this time mustering."
"Why not?" Krispos said. "Are you the Avtokrator or aren't you?"
"I am now," Anthimos answered, "and I'd like to keep being the Avtokrator a while longer, too, if you know what I mean. Suppose I order my uncle not to take his army to Makuran. Don't you think the first thing he'd use it for after that would be to throw me down? Then he'd march on Makuran anyway, and I'd miss all those lovely revels I saw you sneering about a moment ago."
Abashed, Krispos hung his head. After a little thought, he realized Anthimos was right. He was surprised the Emperor could see so clearly. When Anthimos wanted to be, he was able enough. Trouble was, most of the time he didn't bother. Krispos mumbled, "Thank you for backing me as far as you did then, your Majesty."
"When I thought taking so many men west would pose a bad risk in the north, I was willing to argue with Petronas. But since he's managed to find a way to enjoy himself and have a good chance of checking the Kubratoi at the same time, why not let him have his fun? He doesn't begrudge me mine."
Krispos bowed. He knew he'd lost this duel with Petronas. "As your Majesty wishes, of course," he said, yielding as graciously as he could.
"That's a good fellow. I don't want to see you glooming about." Anthimos grinned at Krispos. "Especially since there's no need for gloom. A good carouse tonight to wash the taste of all this boring business we've had to do out of our mouths, and we'll both feel like new men." The grin got wider. "Or, if you feel like a woman instead, I expect that can be arranged."
Krispos did feel like a woman that evening, but not one of the complacent girls who enlivened the Avtokrator's feasts. He wished he could talk with Tanilis, to find out how badly she thought being bested by Petronas would hurt him. Since Tanilis was far away, Dara would do. Though he still thought her chief loyalty lay with Anthimos rather than with him—Anthimos was Avtokrator, and he was not—he was sure she preferred him to Anthimos' uncle.
But when, as he had a good many times before, he tried to leave the revel early, the Emperor would not let him. "I told you I didn't want you glooming about. I expect you to have a good time tonight." He pointed to a statuesque brunette. "She looks like she'd be a good time."
The woman Krispos wanted was back at the imperial residence. Telling the Emperor so seemed impractical. Krispos had taken a couple of girls at the revels, just so Anthimos would not notice anything out of the ordinary. But now he said, "I'm not in the mood for it this evening. I think I'll go over to the wine and drink for a while." Without a doubt, drinking fell within the Emperor's definition of a good time.
"I know what you need!" Anthimos exclaimed. He snatched the clear crystal bowl out of Krispos' hands. "Here, take a chance. You've been dealing them out for so long, you haven't been able to be on the grabbing end."
Obediently Krispos reached into the bowl and drew out a golden ball. He undid it, then unfolded the parchment inside. "Twenty-four pounds of horse manure," he read. Anthimos laughed so hard, he almost dropped the bowl. Grinning servants presented Krispos with his prize. He looked at the stinking brown mound and shook his head. "Well, it's been that kind of day."
The next day was no better. He had to greet Petronas when the Sevastokrator came to hear what Anthimos had decided. Then he had to endure Petronas' smirk of triumph after the Emperor's uncle emerged from being closeted with his nephew. "His Majesty is delighted that I set out for the westlands within the week," Petronas said.
Of course he is—this way you won't kill him and stick his head on the Milestone in the plaza of Palamas for the crowds to gape at, Krispos thought. Aloud he said, "May you triumph, your illustrious Highness."
"Oh, I shall," Petronas said. "First into Vaspurakan; the 'princes,' good soldiers all, will surely flock to me, for they follow Phos even if they are heretics, and will be glad to escape from the rule of those who worship the Four—false—Prophets. And then—on toward Mashiz!"
Krispos remembered what Iakovitzes had said about the centuries of inconclusive warfare between Videssos and Makuran. Petronas' planned trip to Mashiz would be quick and easy if his foes cooperated. If not, it was liable to take longer than the Sevastokrator expected. "May you triumph," he said again.
"What a smooth liar you've turned into, when you'd sooner see me ravens' meat. That's not likely, though, I'm afraid. No indeed. And in any event, as I told you before, your punishment awaits you. I don't think it will wait long enough for you to see me at all any more, let alone in my victorious return. A very good afternoon to you, esteemed and eminent sir." Petronas swaggered away.
Krispos stared at his retreating back. He sounded very sure of himself. What was he going to do, hire a band of bravoes to storm the imperial residence? Bravoes who tangled with the Emperor's Halogai would end up catmeat. And whatever Krispos ate, Anthimos ate, too. Unless Petronas wanted to be rid of his nephew along with Krispos, poison was unlikely, and he showed no sign of wanting to be rid of his nephew, not so long as he got his way.
What did that leave? Not much, Krispos thought, if I lay low until Petronas heads west. The Sevastokrator could hire assassins from afar, but Krispos did not greatly fear a lone assassin; he was a good enough man of his hands to hope to survive such an attack. Maybe Petronas was only trying to make him afraid and subservient once more—or maybe his anger would cool, away in the westlands. No, Krispos feared that was wishful thinking. Petronas was not the sort to forget an affront.
A few days later, troops under the Sevastokrator's command marched and rode down to the docks. Anthimos came to the docks, too, and made a fiercely martial speech. The soldiers cheered. Gnatios the patriarch prayed for the army's success. The soldiers cheered again. Then they lined up to be loaded onto ferries for the short journey over the Cattle-Crossing, the narrow strait that separated Videssos the city from the Empire's western provinces.
Krispos watched the tubby ferryboats waddle across the water to the westlands; watched them go aground; watched as, tiny in the distance, the warriors began to clamber down onto the beaches across from the city; saw the bright spring sunlight sparkling off someone's armor. That would be a general, he thought, maybe even Petronas himself. No matter how the Sevastokrator threatened, he was far less frightening on the other side of the Cattle-Crossing.
Anthimos must have been thinking the same thing. "Well," he said, turning at last to go back to the palaces, "the city is mine for a while, by Phos, with no one to tell me what I must or must not do."
"There's still me, your Majesty," Krispos said. "Ah, but you do it in a pleasant tone of voice, and so I can ignore you if I care to," the Emperor said. "My uncle, now, I never could ignore, no matter how hard I tried." Krispos nodded, but wondered if Petronas would agree—the Sevastokrator seemed convinced his nephew ignored him all the time. But having the wolf away from his door prompted Krispos to carouse with the best of them at the revel Anthimos put on that night "to celebrate the army's victory in advance," as the Avtokrator said. He was drinking wine from a large golden fruit bowl decorated with erotic reliefs when a Haloga guardsman came in and tapped him on the shoulder. "Somebody out there wants to see you," the northerner said.