Krispos hesitated before he answered; Tribo's "compliment" had teeth in it. Because Videssos had once ruled all the civilized world east of Makuran, universality was a cornerstone of its dealings with other states and of its theology. To deny that universality would give Krispos' nobles an excuse to mutter among themselves. He wanted them to have no such excuses.
At last he said, "Of course there should be only one faith; how else may a realm count on its folk remaining loyal to it? Hut since we have not met that ideal in Videssos, we would be in a poor position to pursue it elsewhere. Besides, eminent envoy, if you accuse us of introducing a new heresy into Khatrish. you can hardly at the same time accuse us of trying to force your people into orthodoxy."
Tribo's mouth twisted into a smile that lifted only one corner of it. "The first argument has some weight, your Majesty. As for the second one, I'd like it better in a school of logic than I do in the world. You could well hope to throw us into such religious strife that your folk might enter Khatrish and be acclaimed as rescuers."
"Your master Nobad son of Gumush is well served in you, eminent envoy," Krispos said. "You see more facets in a matter than a jeweler could carve."
"Thank you, your Majesty!" Tribo actually beamed. "Coming from a man with twenty-two years on the throne of Videssos, there's praise indeed. I shall convey to his mighty Highness that Videssos is itself plagued by these Thanasioi and not responsible for visiting them upon my country."
"I hope you do, for that is the truth."
"Your Majesty." Tribo prostrated himself once more, then rose and backed away from the throne until he had gone far enough to turn around without offending the Avtokrator of the Videssians. As far as Krispos was concerned, the ambassador could simply have turned his back and walked away, but the imperial dignity did not permit such ordinary behavior in his presence. He sometimes thought of his office as having a personality of its own, and a stuffy one at that.
Before he left the Grand Courtroom, he reminded himself to have the gear train behind his throne oiled.
"Good morning, your Majesty." With a mocking smile on his face. Evripos made as if to perform a proskynesis right in the middle of the corridor.
"By the good god, little brother, let it be," Phostis said wearily. "You're just as much—and just as little—Avtokrator as I am."
"That's true, for now. But I'll forever be just as little Avtokrator as you are, where after a while I won't be just as much. Do you expect me to be happy about that, just because you were born first? I'm sorry, your Majesty—" The scorn Evripos put into the title was withering. "—but you ask too much."
Phostis wished he could punch his brother in the face, as he .1 had when they were boys. But Evripos was his little brother now only in age; he had most of a palm on Phostis in height and was thicker through the shoulders to boot. These days, he'd be the one to do most of the punching in a fight.
"I can't help being eldest, any more than you can help being born second," Phostis said. "Only one of us will be able to rule when the time comes; that's just the way things are. But who better than my brothers to—"
"—be your lapdogs," Evripos broke in, looking down his long nose at Phostis. Like Phostis, he had his mother's distinctive eyes, but the rest of his features were those of Krispos. Phostis also suspected Evripos had more of their father's driving ambition than he himself had ... or perhaps it was simply that Evripos was in a position where ambition stood out more. If events continued in their expected course, Phostis would be the Avtokrator of the Videssians. Evripos wanted the job, but was unlikely to get it by any legitimate means.
Phostis said, "Little brother, you and Katakolon can be my mainstays on the throne. Better to have family aid a man than outsiders—safer, too." If I can trust you, he added to himself.
"So you say now," Evripos retorted. "But I've had to read the historians just as you have. Once one son becomes Emperor, what's left for the others? Nothing, maybe less. They only show up in the books because they've raised a rebellion or else because they get a name for debauchery."
"Who gets a name for debauchery?" Katakolon asked as he came down the corridor of the imperial residence. He grinned at his two grim-faced brothers. "Me, I hope."
"You're well on your way to it, that's certain," Phostis told him. The remark should have been cutting; instead, it came out with an unmistakable ring of envy. Katakolon's grin got wider.
Phostis felt like punching him, too, but he was Evripos' size or bigger. Like Evripos, he favored Krispos in looks. Of the three of them, though, he had the sunny disposition. Being the heir set heavy responsibilities on Phostis. Evripos saw only Phostis standing between him and what he wanted. Both older brothers had better claims to the throne than Katakolon, who didn't seem interested in sitting on it, anyhow. All he wanted was to enjoy himself, which he did.
Evripos said, "His imperial Majesty here is deigning to parcel out to us our subordinate duties once he becomes senior Avtokrator."
"Well, why not?" Katakolon said. "That's how it's going to be, unless Father ties him in a weighted sack and flings him into the Cattle-Crossing. Father might, too, the way they go at each other."
Had Evripos said that, Phostis probably would have hit him. From Katakolon, it was just so many words. Not only was the youngest brother slow to take offense, he had trouble giving it, too.
Katakolon went on, "I know one of the subordinate duties I'd like, come the day: supervising the treasury subbureau that collects taxes from within the city walls."
"By the good god, why?" Evripos said, beating Phostis to the punch. "Isn't that rather too much like work for your taste?"
"That subbureau of the treasury collects tax receipts from and generally has charge of the city's brothels." Katakolon Iicked his lips. "I'm certain any Avtokrator would appreciate the careful "inspection I'd give them."
For once, Phostis and Evripos looked equally disgusted. It wasn't that Evripos failed to delight in venery; he was at least as bold a man of his lance as Katakolon. But Evripos did what he did without chortling about it to all and sundry afterward. Phostis suspected he was disgusted with Katakolon more for revealing a potential vulnerability than for his choice of supervisory position.
Phostis said, "If we don't stick together, brothers, there are plenty in the city who would turn us against one another, for their own benefit rather than ours."
"I'm too busy with my own tool to become anyone else's," Katakolon declared, at which Phostis threw up his hands and stalked away.
He thought about going to the High Temple to ask Phos to grant his brothers some common sense, but decided not to. After Oxeites' hypocritical sermon, the High Temple, an edifice in which he had taken pride like almost every other citizen of Videssos the city and indeed of the Videssian Empire, now seemed only a repository for mountains of gold that could have been better spent in countless other ways. He could hate the ecumenical patriarch for that alone, for destroying the beauty and grandeur of the Temple in his mind.
As he stamped out of the imperial residence, a pair of Halogai from the squadron at the entrance attached themselves to him. He didn't want them, but knew the futility of ordering them back to their post—they would just answer, in their slow, serious northern voices, that he was their post.
Instead, he tried to shake them off. They were, after all, encumbered with mail shirts, helms, and two-handed axes. For a little while, he thought he might succeed; sweat poured down their faces as they sped up to match his own quick walk, and their fair skins grew pink with exertion. But they were warriors, in fine fettle, and refused to wilt in heat worse than any for which their northern home had prepared them. They clung to him like limpets.