"Exactly so," Anthimos said. "And when they probe, they should run up against soldiers, not find all of them away in the west. Uncle, I forbid you to attack Makuran until these new barbarians of yours learn we will respond to their raids and can keep them in check."
Out in the corridor, Krispos whistled a long, low, quiet note. That was stronger language than he'd ever expected Anthimos to use to Petronas. He plied his dust rag with new enthusiasm. "You forbid me, your Majesty?" Petronas' voice held a tone Krispos had heard there before, of grown man talking to beardless youth.
Usually Anthimos either did not catch it or paid it no mind. This time, it must have rankled. "Yes, by the good god, I forbid you, Uncle," he snapped back. "I am the Avtokrator, and I have spoken. Do you propose to disobey my express command?"
Krispos waited for Petronas to try to jolly him round, as he had so often. But the Sevastokrator only said, "I will always obey you, Majesty, for as long as you are Emperor." The feet or his chair scraped on polished marble as he rose. "Now if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to."
Petronas walked past Krispos as if he were not there; had he stood in the middle of the corridor, he suspected the Sevastokrator would have walked over him rather than swerve aside. A couple of minutes later, Anthimos came out of the room where he'd met with Petronas. In a most unimperial gesture, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
"Whew!" he said. "Standing up to my uncle is bloody hard work, but by Phos, I did it! He said he'd obey." He sounded proud of himself. Krispos did not blame him.
Being who he was, Anthimos celebrated what he saw as his triumph over Petronas with a jar of wine, and then with another one. Thus fortified, he headed off for an evening of revels, dragging Krispos along.
Krispos did not want to revel. The more he listened to Petronas' words in his mind, the less they seemed a promise to obey. He had no trouble escaping the carouse; for one of the rare times since Krispos had known him, Anthimos drank himself insensible. Krispos ducked out of the feast and hurried back to the imperial residence.
Seeing a light under the closed door of the bedchamber the Emperor and Empress used, he softly tapped at the door. Dara opened it a moment later. She smiled. "You grow bold," she said. "Good." She pressed herself against him and tilted her face up for a kiss.
He gladly gave it, but then stepped away from her. "Tell me what you think of this," he said, and repeated Anthimos' conversation with Petronas as exactly as he could.
By the time he was done, Dara's expression had gone from lickerish to worried. "He'll obey as long as Anthimos is Emperor, he said? What happens if Anthimos isn't Emperor any more?"
"That's just what I thought," Krispos said. "I wanted to be sure I wasn't imagining things. If Petronas wants to overthrow the Avtokrator, it shouldn't be hard for him. Most of the soldiers and almost all the high officers look to him, not to Anthimos. Till now, though, he hasn't wanted to."
"Why should he have bothered?" Dara said. "Anthimos was always pliant enough to suit him—till now, as you say. How are we going to stop him?" Her worry was fast becoming fear.
"We have to convince Anthimos that his uncle hasn't meekly backed down," Krispos said. "We ought to be able to manage that, the more so since I'm sure it's true. And if we do—" He paused, thinking hard. "How does this sound ... ?"
Frowning, Dara listened to what he proposed. At one point, he raised a hand to stop him. "Not Gnatios," she said.
"No, by the good god, and I'm twice an idiot now for thinking of him," Krispos exclaimed, mentally kicking himself. Dara looked a question at him, but he did not explain. Instead, he went on, "I keep forgetting that even holy men have politics. The abbot Pyrrhos would serve as well, then, and he'd leap at the chance." He finished setting forth his scheme.
"Maybe," Dara said. "Maybe. And maybe, right now, looks better than any other chance we have. Let's try it."
"How may I serve you, your Majesty?" Petronas asked offhandedly. His indifference, Krispos thought, was enough by itself to damn him and confirm all suspicions. If the Sevastokrator no longer cared what Anthimos did, that could only be because he was preparing to dispense with him.
"Uncle, I think I may have been hasty the other day," Anthimos said. Dara had suggested that he sound nervous; he was having no trouble following the suggestion.
"You certainly were," Petronas rumbled. No, no sign of give there, Krispos thought. The Sevastokrator went on, "That's what you get for heeding the rascal who keeps pretending to dust outside there." Krispos felt his ears blaze. So he hadn't gone unnoticed, then. Even so, he did not stop listening.
"Er, yes," Anthimos said—nervously. "Well, I hope I can make amends."
"It's rather late for that," Petronas said. Krispos shivered. He only hoped he and Dara were not too late to save Anthimos' crown.
"I know I have a lot to make amends for," the Emperor said. "Not just for ordering you to stand down the other day, but for all you've done for me and for the Empire as regent when my father died and also since I've come of age. I want to reward you as you deserve, so, if it please you, I'd like to proclaim you co-Avtokrator before the whole court three days from now. Having done so much of the work for so long, you deserve your full share of the title."
Petronas stayed quiet so long that Krispos felt his hands curl into tight fists, then his nails biting into his palms. The Sevastokrator could seize the full imperial power for himself—would he be content with the offer of part of it, legally given? He asked,
"If I am to rule alongside you, Anthimos, does that mean you'll no longer try to meddle in the army and its business?"
"Uncle, you know more of such things than I do," Anthimos said.
"You'd best believe I do," Petronas growled. "High time you remembered it, too. Now the question is, do you mean all you say? I know how to find out, by the Lord with the great and good mind. I'll say yes to you, lad—if you cast that treacherous scoundrel of a Krispos from the palaces."
"The moment I set the crown on your head, uncle, Krispos will be cast not only from the palaces but from the city," Anthimos promised. Krispos and Dara had planned to have the Emperor tell Petronas just that. The risk remained that Anthimos would do exactly as he'd promised. If he feared Petronas more than he trusted his wife, his chamberlain, and his own abilities, he might pay the price for what he reckoned security.
"Hate to wait that long," Petronas said; then, at last, "Oh, very well, nephew, keep him another three days if it makes you happy. We have ourselves a bargain." The Sevastokrator got to his feet and triumphantly strode out of the chamber in which he had talked with Anthimos. Seeing Krispos outside, he spoke to him for the first time since he'd returned from the west: "Three days, wretch. Start packing."
His head lowered, Krispos dusted the gilded frame of an icon of Phos. He did not reply. Petronas laughed at his dismay and strutted past him down the corridor.
Fine snow fell outside the Grand Courtroom as the grandees and high ministers of the Empire gathered to see Petronas exalted. Inside, heat ducts that ran under the floor from a roaring furnace kept the throne room warm.
When all the officials and nobles were in their places, Krispos nodded to the captain of Anthimos' Haloga bodyguards. The captain nodded to his men. Axes held at present-arms before them, they slow-marched out in double row to form an aisle down the center of the hall, through which the Avtokrator and his party would advance. Their gilded chain mail glittered in the torchlight.