To his amazement, he saw Barsymes' eyes fill with tears. "I grieve with you," the chamberlain said. "The loss of young kin is always hard. We eunuchs, perhaps, know that better than most; as we have no hope of progeny for ourselves, our siblings' children become doubly dear to us."
"I understand." As he never had before, Krispos wondered how eunuchs carried on through all the years after they were mutilated. A warrior should envy the courage that required, he thought, but most would only grow angry at being compared to a half-man.
Thinking of Barsymes' plight helped him grapple with his own. The eunuch said, "If you wish to leave off your duties the rest of the day, my colleagues and I will assume them. Under the circumstances, the Avtokrator cannot object—"
"Under the circumstances, I don't give a fart whether the Emperor objects," Krispos snapped. He watched Barsymes gape. "Never mind. I'm sorry. You don't know all the circumstances. Thank you for your offer. By your leave, I'll take advantage of it."
Barsymes bowed. "Of course," he said, but his face was still shocked and disapproving.
"I am sorry," Krispos repeated. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. None of this is your fault."
"Very well," Barsymes said stiffly. Krispos kept apologizing until he saw the chamberlain truly relent. Barsymes awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and suggested, "Perhaps you should take a cup of wine, to help ease the shock to your spirit."
When Haloga and eunuch gave the same advice, Krispos thought, it had to be good. He drank one cup quickly, a second more slowly, then started to pour a third. He stopped. He had intended to drink to forget, but remembering suddenly seemed the better choice. He corked the jar and put it back on the shelf. Outside, shadows were getting longer. The wine mounted from Krispos' stomach to his head. He yawned. If I'm not going to attend their Majesties, I may as well sleep, he thought. Phos willing, all this will seem farther away when I wake up.
He walked to his chamber. The wine and the muggy summer heat of Videssos the city left him covered with sweat. Too warm to sleep in clothes, he decided. He pulled his robe off over his head, though it did its best to stick to him.
He still wore the chain that held the chalcedony amulet Trokoundos had given him and his lucky goldpiece. He took off the chain, held the goldpiece in his hand, and looked at it a long time. The past couple of years, he'd thought little of what the coin might mean; in spite of being—perhaps because of being—so close to the imperial power, he hadn't contemplated taking it for himself.
Yet if Anthimos knew no rule save caprice, what then? Had the Emperor done his job as he should, Evdokia, Domokos, and their children would be fine today. Fury filled Krispos again—had Anthimos only paid attention to him, all would have been well. But the Avtokrator not only refused to rule, he refused to let anyone do it for him. That courted disaster, and had brought it to Krispos' family.
And so, the coin. Krispos wished he knew what message was locked inside it along with the gold. He did know he was no assassin. If the only way he could take the throne was by murdering Anthimos, he thought, Anthimos would stay Avtokrator till he died of old age. To say nothing of the fact that the Halogai would chop to dogmeat anyone who assailed the Emperor, the pragmatic side of his mind added.
Staring at the goldpiece told him nothing. He put the chain back around his neck and flopped heavily onto the soft bed that had once been Skombros'. After a while, he slept.
The silver bell woke him the next morning. He did not think much about it. It was part of his routine. He dressed, put on sandals, and went into the imperial bedchamber. Only when he saw Anthimos smiling from the bed he shared with Dara did memories of the day before come crashing back.
Krispos had to turn away for a moment, to make sure his features would be composed when he turned back to the Emperor. "Your Majesty," he said, voice expressionless.
Dara spoke before her husband. "I was saddened last night to hear of your loss, Krispos."
He could tell her sympathy was real, and warmed a little to it. Bowing, he said, "Thank you, your Majesty. You're gracious to think of me." They had played the game of passing messages back and forth under Anthimos' nose before. She nodded very slightly, to show she understood.
The Emperor nodded, too. "I'm sorry, also, Krispos. Most unfortunate. A pity you didn't have your—brother-in-law, was it?—come south to the city before the raiders struck."
"I tried to get him to come, your Majesty. He didn't wish to." After two polite, quiet sentences, Krispos found his voice rising toward a shout. "It's an even bigger pity you didn't see fit to guard the frontier properly. Then he could have lived his life as he wanted to, without having to fear raiders out of the north."
Anthimos' eyebrows shot up. "See here, sirrah, don't take that tone with me."
"By the good god, it's about time someone did!" Krispos yelled. He didn't remember losing his temper, but it was lost sure enough, lost past finding. "About time someone took a boot to your backside, too, for always putting your prick and your belly ahead of your empire."
"You be still this instant!" Anthimos shouted, loud as Krispos. Careless of his nakedness, the Avtokrator sprang out of bed and went nose to nose with his vestiarios. He shook a finger in Krispos' face. "Shut up, I tell you!"
"You're not man enough to make me," Krispos said, breathing heavily. "For a copper, I'd break you over my knee."
"Go ahead," Anthimos said. "Touch me, just once. Touch the Emperor. We'll see how long the torturers can keep you alive after you do. Weeks, I'd wager."
Krispos spat between Anthimos' feet, as if in rejection of Skotos. "You shield yourself behind your office whenever you choose to. Why don't you use it?"
Anthimos went white. "Remember Petronas," he said in a ghastly whisper. "By the good god, you may end up envying him if you don't curb your tongue."
"I remember Petronas well enough," Krispos shot back. "I daresay the Empire would have been better off if he'd managed to cast you down from your throne. He—"
The Avtokrator's hands writhed in furious passes. Suddenly Krispos found he could not speak; he had no voice, nor would his lips form words. "Are you quite through?" Anthimos asked. Krispos felt that he could nod. He refused to. Anthimos' smile was as vicious as any with which Petronas had ever favored Krispos. "I suggest you admit you are finished—or do you care to find out how you'd relish being without breath as well as speech?"
Krispos had no doubt the Emperor meant what he said, nor that he could do what he threatened. He nodded.
"Is that yes, you are through?" Anthimos asked. Krispos nodded again. The Emperor moved his left hand, muttering something under his breath. He said, "Your speech is restored. I suggest, however—no, I order—that you do not use it in my presence now. Get out."
Krispos turned to leave, shaking from a mixture of rage and fright he'd never felt before. He hadn't thought he could ever grow truly angry at Anthimos; the Emperor's good nature had always left him proof against full-blown fury. But even less had he imagined Anthimos as a figure of fear. A figure of fun, certainly, but never fear. Not till now. The Emperor had never shown he'd learned enough wizardry to be frightening till now. At the door, Krispos almost bumped into a knot of eunuchs and maidservants who had gathered to listen, wide-eyed, to his shouting match with Anthimos. They scattered before him as if he had something catching. So he did, he thought: the Avtokrator's disfavor was a disease that could kill.
He stamped back to his chamber and slammed the door behind him. He hit the wall a good solid whack, hard enough to send pain shooting up his arm. Then he used his restored voice to shout several very rude words. He was not sure whether he cursed the Emperor or his own foolish rashness. Either or both, he decided; he did no good either way.