"We're none of us what we were awhile ago," he said, but that was not an answer, and he knew it. By the way Iakovitzes raised an eyebrow, cocked his head, and waited for Krispos to go on, he knew it was no answer, too. Floundering, Krispos tried to give one: "The temples will never venerate me as holy, I daresay, but I hope the chroniclers will be able to report I governed Videssos well. I work hard at it, at any rate. If I'm harsh when I have to be, I also think I'm mild when I can be. My sons are turning into men, and not, I can say, the worst of men. Is it enough?" He heard pleading in his voice, a note he'd not found there in some years: the Avtokrator heard pleas; he did not make them.
Iakovitzes bent over the writing tablet. When the stylus was done racing back and forth, he passed the tablet to Krispos, who received it with some anxiety. He knew Iakovitzes well enough to be sure his old companion would be blunt with him. He had no trouble reading it, at any rate; constant poring over documents had kept his sight from lengthening with age as much as most men's.
"That you can ask the question after so long on the throne speaks well for you," Iakovitzes wrote. "Too many Avtokrators forget it exists within days of their anointing. As for the reply you gave, well, Videssos has had the occasional holy man on the throne, and most turned out bad, for the world is not a holy place. So long as you remember now and again what an innocent—and attractive—boy you once were, you'll not turn out too badly."
Krispos nodded slowly. "I'll take that."
"You'd better," Iakovitzes replied after more scribbling. "I flatter only when I hope to entice someone under the sheets with me, and after all our years of acquaintance I'm at last beginning to doubt I'll ever have much luck with you."
"You're incorrigible," Krispos said.
"Now that you mention it, yes," Iakovitzes wrote. He beamed, taking it for a compliment. Then he covered his mouth with a hand while he yawned; the empty cavern within was an unpleasant sight, and he made a point of not displaying it. He wrote some more. "By your leave, your Majesty, I'll take my own leave now, to rest at home after my travels. Do you still take supper just past sunset?"
"I have enough years on me now to have become a creature of habit," Krispos answered, nodding. "And with which of your handsome grooms do you intend to rest until supper-time?"
Iakovitzes assumed a comically innocent look, then bowed his way out of the little dining chamber. Krispos guessed his barb had struck home—or at least given Iakovitzes an idea. Krispos finished his mulled wine, then set the silver goblet down beside Iakovitzes'. The wine hadn't stayed warm, but the ginger and cinnamon stirred into it nipped his tongue pleasantly.
Barsymes came in with a tray on which to carry away the goblets. Krispos said, "Iakovitzes will join me for supper this evening. Please let the cooks know he'll like seafood in as many courses as possible—he says he's tired of Makuraner mutton."
"I shall convey the eminent sir's request," Barsymes agreed gravely. "His presence will allow the kitchen staff to display their full range of talents."
"Hrmp," Krispos said in mock indignation. "I can't help being raised on a poor farm." While he enjoyed fancy dishes well enough, he more often preferred the simple fare he'd grown up with. More than one cook had complained of having his wings clipped.
Dusk was settling over the city when Iakovitzes returned, resplendent and glittering in a robe shot through with silver thread. Barsymes escorted him and Krispos to the small dining room where they'd taken wine earlier in the day. A fresh jar awaited them, cooling in a silver bucket of snow. The vestiarios poured a cup for each man. Iakovitzes wrote, "Ah, it's pale. Perhaps someone listened to me."
"Perhaps someone did, eminent sir," Barsymes said. "And now, if you will excuse me—" He glided away, to return with a bowl. "A salad of lettuce and endives, dressed with vinegar flavored by rue, dates, pepper, honey, and crushed cumin—a garnish said to promote good health—and topped with anchovies and rings of squid."
Iakovitzes rose from his chair and gave Barsymes a formal military salute, then kissed him on each beardless cheek. The vestiarios retreated in order less good than was his wont. Krispos hid a smile and attacked the salad, which proved tasty. Iakovitzes cut his portion into very small bits. He had to wash each one down with wine and put his head back to swallow.
His smile was blissful. He wrote, "Ah, squid! Were you to offer one of these tentacled lovelies to Rubyab King of Kings, your Majesty, without doubt he would flee faster than from an invading Videssian army. The Makuraners, when it comes to food, live most insular—or perhaps I should say inlandsular— lives."
"The more fools they." Krispos ate slowly, so as not to get ahead of Iakovitzes. Barsymes cleared away the plates. Krispos said, "Tell me, eminent sir, did you ever find out what was making Rubyab's mustaches quiver with secret glee?'
"Do you know, I didn't, not to be sure of it," Iakovitzes answered. He looked thoughtful. "Terrible, isn't it, when a Makuraner outdoes me in deceit? I must be getting old. But I tell you this, your Majesty: one way or another, it concerns us."
"I was sure it would," Krispos said. "Nothing would make Rubyab happier than buggering Videssos." He caught Iakovitzes' eye. "In the metaphorical sense, of course."
Iakovitzes gobbled laughter. "Oh, of course, your Majesty," he wrote.
Barsymes returned with a fresh course. "Here we have leeks boiled in water and olive oil," he declared, "and then stewed in more oil and mullet broth. To accompany them, oysters in a sauce of oil. honey, wine, egg yolks, pepper, and lovage."
Iakovitzes tasted the oysters, then wrote in big letters, "I want to marry the cook."
"He is a man, eminent sir," Barsymes said.
"All the better," Iakovitzes wrote, which sent the vestiarios into rapid retreat. He presently returned with another new platter along with a fresh jar of wine. This dish held peppered mullet liver paste baked in a fish-shaped mold and then sprinkled with virgin olive oil, as well as squashes baked with mint, coriander, and cumin, and stuffed with pine nuts ground with honey and wine.
"I shan't eat for a week," Krispos declared happily.
"But your Majesty, the main courses approach," Barsymes said in anxious tones.
Krispos corrected himself: "Two weeks. Bring 'em on." The tip of his nose was getting numb. How much wine had he drunk, anyhow? The rich flavor of the fish livers nicely complemented the squashes' sweet stuffing.
Barsymes bore away the empty mold from which the liver paste had come and the bowl that had held the squashes. Under the table, Krispos felt something on his leg, just above the knee. It turned out to be Iakovitzes' hand. "By the good god," the Avtokrator exclaimed, "you never give up, do you?"
"I'm still breathing," Iakovitzes wrote. "If I haven't stopped the one, why should I stop the other?"
"Something to that," Krispos admitted. He hadn't had much luck with the other lately, and he'd surely be too gorged after this banquet was done to try to improve that tonight. Just then Barsymes came back again, this time with a tureen and two bowls. Thinking about what the tureen might hold took Krispos' mind off other matters, a sure sign of advancing years.
The vestiarios announced, "Here we have mullets stewed in wine, with leeks, broth, and vinegar, seasoned with oregano, coriander, and crushed pepper. For your added pleasure, the stew also includes scallops and baby prawns."
After the first taste, Iakovitzes wrote, "The only thing that could further add to my pleasure would be an infinitely distensible stomach, and you may tell the cooks as much."
"I shall, eminent sir," Barsymes promised. "They will take pleasure in knowing they have pleased you."
The next course was lobster meat and spawn chopped fine, mixed with eggs, pepper, and mullet broth, wrapped in grape leaves, and then fried. After that came cuttlefish boiled in wine, honey, celery, and caraway seeds, and stuffed with boiled calves' brains and crumbled hard-cooked eggs. Only the expectant look on Barsymes' face kept Krispos from falling asleep then and there. "One entree yet to come," the vestiarios said. "I assure you, it shall be worth the wait."