Phostis still had trouble thinking in those terms. Next year felt a long way away to him; worrying about what would happen when his grandchildren were old felt as strange as worrying about what was on the other side of the moon.
He'd fallen behind again. "—but so long as you live at peace with one another, you need not fear spies will seek you out to do you harm," Krispos declared.
"What about tax collectors?" a safely anonymous wit roared from the crowd.
Krispos took no notice of him. "People of the city," he said earnestly, "if you so choose, you can be at one another's throats for longer than you care to imagine. If you start feuds now, they may last for generations after you are gone. I pray to Phos this does not happen." He let iron show in his voice: "I do not intend to let it happen. If you try to fight among yourselves, first you must overcome the soldiers of the Empire.
I say this as warning, not as threat. My view is that we have had enough of strife. May we be free of it for years to come."
He did not say "forever," Phostis noted, and wondered why. He decided Krispos didn't believe such things endured forever. By everything the Avtokrator had shown, he worked to build a framework for what would come after him. but did not necessarily expect that framework to become a solid walclass="underline" he knew too well that history gave no assurance of success.
"We shall rebuild, as I said, and we shall go on," Krispos said. "Together, we shall do as well as we can for as long as we can. The good god knows we can do no more." He stepped back on the platform, his speech done.
Applause filled the plaza of Palamas, more than polite, less than ecstatic. Along with Olyvria and Evripos, Phostis joined it. As well as we can for as long as we can, he thought. If Krispos had picked a phrase to summarize himself, he couldn't have found a better one.
Though Krispos waved for him not to bother, Barsymes performed a full proskynesis. "I welcome you back to the imperial residence, your Majesty," he said from the pavement. Then, still spry, he rose as gracefully as he had prostrated himself and added, "The truth is, life is on the boring side here when you take the field."
Krispos snorted. "I'm glad to be back, then, if only to give you something interesting to do."
"The cooks are also glad you've returned," the vestiarios said.
"They're looking for a chance to spread themselves, you mean," Krispos said. "Too bad. They can wait until the next time I dine with Iakovitzes; he'll appreciate it properly. As for me, I've got used to eating like a soldier. A bowl of stew, a heel of bread, and a mug of wine will suit me nicely."
Barsymes' shoulders moved slightly in what would have been a sigh in someone less exquisitely polite than the eunuch. "I shall inform the kitchens of your desires," he said. "The cooks will be disappointed, but perhaps not surprised. You have a habit of acting thus whenever you return from campaign."
"Do I?" Krispos said, irked at being so predictable. He was tempted to demand a fancy feast just to keep people guessing about him. The only trouble was, he really did want stew.
Barsymes said, "Perhaps your Majesty will not take it too much amiss if the stew be of lobster and mullet, though I know that diverges from what the army cooks ladled into your bowl."
"Perhaps I won't," Krispos admitted. "I did miss seafood." Barsymes nodded in satisfaction; Krispos might rule the Empire, but the vestiarios held sway here. Unlike some vestiarioi, he had the sense not to flaunt his power or push it beyond its limits—or perhaps he had simply decided Krispos would not let him get away with the liberties some vestiarioi had taken.
"The hour remains young," Barsymes said after a glance at the shadows. "Would your Majesty care for an early supper?"
"Thank you, no," Krispos said. "I could plunge into the pile of parchments that no doubt reaches tall as the apex of the High Temple's dome. I will do that ... tomorrow, or perhaps the day after. The pile won't be much taller by then. For now, though, I am going to march to the imperial bedchamber and do the one thing I couldn't in the field: relax." He paused. "No. I'm not."
"Your Majesty?" Barsymes said. "What, then?"
"I am going to the bedchamber." Krispos said. "I may even rest... presently. But first, please tell Drina I want to see her."
"Ah," Barsymes said; Krispos read approval in the nondescript noise. The vestiarios added, "It shall be just as you say, of course."
In the privacy of the bedchamber. Krispos took off his own boots. When his feet were free, he happily wiggled his toes. In the palaces, his doing something for himself rather than summoning a servant was as much an act of rebellion as a Thanasiot's taking a torch to a rich man's house. Barsymes had needed quite a while before he accepted that the Avtokrator was sometimes stubborn enough to insist on having his own way in such matters.
A tapping at the door sounded so tentative that Krispos wondered if he'd really heard it. He walked over and opened the door anyhow. Drina stood in the hall, looking nervous. "I'm not going to bite you," Krispos said. "It would spoil my appetite for the supper the esteemed Barsymes wants to stuff down me." She didn't laugh; he concluded she didn't get the joke. Swallowing a sigh, he waved her into the bedchamber.
She walked slowly. She was still a couple of months from giving birth, but her belly bulged quite noticeably even though she wore a loose-fitting linen smock. Krispos leaned forward over that belly to give her a light kiss, hoping to put her more at ease.
He succeeded, if not quite the way he thought he would. She smiled and said, "You didn't bump into my middle there. You know how to kiss a woman who's big with child."
"I should," Krispos said. "I've had practice, even if it was years ago. Sit if you care to; I know your feet won't be happy now. How are you feeling?"
"Well enough, thank you, your Majesty," Drina answered, sinking with a grateful sigh into a chair. "I only lost my breakfast once or twice, and but for needing the chamber pot all the time, I'm pretty well."
Krispos paced back and forth, wondering what to say next. He hadn't been in this situation for a long time, and had never expected to find himself in it again. It wasn't as if he loved Drina, or even as if he knew her well. He wished it were that way, but it wasn't. He'd just found her convenient for relieving the lust he still sometimes felt. Now he was discovering that convenience for the moment could turn into something else over the long haul. He used that principle every day in the way he ruled; he realized he should have applied it to his own life, too.
Well, he hadn't. Now he had to make the best of it. After a couple of more back and forths, he settled on, "Is everyone treating you well?"
"Oh, yes, your Majesty." Drina nodded eagerly. "Better than I've ever been treated before. Plenty of nice food—not that I haven't always eaten well, but more and better—and I haven't had to work too hard, especially since I started getting big." Her hands cupped her belly. She gave Krispos a very serious look. "And you warned me about putting on airs, so I haven't. I've been careful about that."
"Good. I wish everyone paid as much attention to what I say," Krispos said. Drina nodded, serious still. Even with thai intent expression, even pregnant as she was, she looked very young. Suddenly he asked, "How many years do you have, Drina?"
She counted on her fingers before she answered: "Twenty-two, I think, your Majesty, but I may be out one or two either way."
Krispos started pacing again. It wasn't that she didn't know her exact age; he wasn't precisely sure of his own. Peasants such as he and his family had been didn't worry over such things: you were as old as the work you could do. But twenty-two, more or less? She'd been born right around the time he took the throne.
"What am I to do with you?" he asked, aiming the question as much at himself, or possibly at Phos, as at her.