Livanios said, "I've heard somewhat of this from my daughter and the holy Digenis both. The possibilities are ... interesting. You'd truly rather live out your days in the want that is our lot than in the luxury you've always known?"
"I fear more for my soul than for my body," Phostis said. "My body is but a garment that will wear out all too soon. When it's tossed on the midden, what difference if it once was stained with fancy dyes? My soul, though—my soul goes on forever." He sketched Phos' sun-sign above his breast.
Livanios, the priest, Olyvria, even Syagrios also traced quick circles. The man in the caftan did not. Phostis wondered about that. An imperfectly pious Thanasiot struck him as a contradiction in terms. Or perhaps not—that label fit him pretty well. Was he claiming more belief than he really felt to get Livanios to treat him mildly? He had trouble reading his own heart.
"What shall we do with you?" Livanios said musingly. By his tone, Phostis would have bet the heretics' leader was wondering about the same questions that had gone through his own mind. Livanios went on, "Are you one of us, or do we treat you merely as a piece in the board game, to be placed in the square of greatest advantage to us at the proper time?"
Phostis nodded at the analogy; whatever else could be said about him, Livanios knew how to compare ideas. Pieces taken off the board in the Videssian game of stylized combat were not gone for good, but could be returned to action on the side of the player who had captured them. That made the board game harder to master, but also made it a better model for the involuted intricacies of Videssian politics and civil strife.
"Father, may I speak?" Olyvria said.
Livanios laughed. "When have I ever been able to tell you no? Aye, say what's in your mind."
"There is a middle way in this, then," she said. "No one of spirit, whether he followed the gleaming path or not, could be happy with us after we stole him away and brought him here against his will. But once here, how could one of good will not see how we truly live our lives in conformity to Phos' holy law?"
"Many might fail to see that," Livanios said dryly. "Among them I can name Krispos, his soldiers, and the priests he has in his retinue. But I see you're not yet finished. Say on, by all means."
"What I was going to suggest was not clapping Phostis straightaway into a cell. If and when we do return him to the board, we don't want him turning back against us the instant he finds the chance."
"Can't just let him run loose, neither," Syagrios put in. "He tried to get away once, likely thought about it a lot more'n that. You're just askin' to have him run back home to his papa if he gets on a horse without nobody around him."
Phostis kicked himself for a fool for trying to make a break at the farm house. The skinny fellow had kicked him, too, a lot harder.
Olyvria said, "I wasn't going to suggest we let him run loose. You're right, Syagrios; that's dangerous. But if we take him around Etchmiadzin and to other places where the gleaming path is strong, we can show him the life he was on the edge of embracing for himself before we lay hold of him. Once he sees it, as I said, once he accepts it, he may become fully one of us regardless of how he got here."
"That might have some hope of working," Livanios said, and Phostis' heart leaped. The heresiarch, however, was very Videssian in his ability to spot betrayal before it sprouted: "It might also give him an excuse for hypocrisy and let him pick his own time and place to flee us."
"Aye, that's so, by the good god," Syagrios growled.
Steepling his fingers, Livanios turned to Phostis. "How say you, young Majesty?" In his mouth the title was, if not mocking, at least imperfectly respectful. "This affects you, after all."
"So it does." Phostis tried to match dry with dry. If he'd thought fulsome promises would have kept him out of a small, dark, dank chamber, he would have used them. But he guessed Livanios would assume fulsome promises to be but fulsome lies. He shrugged and answered, "The choice is yours. If you don't trust me, you won't believe what I say in any case."
"You're clever enough, aren't you?" Sitting in his high-backed chair, Livanios reminded Phostis of a smug cat who'd appointed himself judge of mice. Phostis had never been a mouse before; he didn't care for the sensation. Livanios went on, "Well, we can see how it goes. All right, young majesty, no manacles for you." Not now, Photis heard between the words. "We'll let you see us—with suitable keepers, of course—and we'll see you. Later on we'll decide what's to be done with you in the end."
The priest who stood in front of Livanios smiled as widely as his pinched features would permit and made the sun-sign once more. The man in the caftan, who stood at Livanios' right, half turned and said, "Are you sure this is wise?'
"No," Livanios answered frankly; he did not seem annoyed to have his decision questioned. "But I think the reward we may reap repays the risk."
"They would never take such a chance back in—"
Livanios held up a hand. "Never mind what they would do there. You are here, and I hope you will remember it." He might listen to his adviser's opinion, but kept a grip on authority. The man in the caftan put both hands in front of him and bowed almost double, acknowledging that authority.
"If he is to be enlarged, even in part, where shall we house him?" Olyvria asked her father.
"Take him up to a chamber on the highest floor here," Livanios answered. "With a guard in the corridor, he'll not escape from there unless he grows wings. Syagrios, when he is out and about, you'll be his principal keeper. I charge you not to let him flee."
"Oh, he won't." Syagrios looked at Phostis as if he hoped the younger man would try to get away. Phostis had never seen anyone who actually looked forward to hurting him before. His testicles crawled up into his belly.
He said, "I don't want to go anywhere right now, except maybe to sleep."
"Spoken like a soldier," Livanios said with a laugh. Syagrios shook his head, denying Phostis deserved the name. Phostis didn't know if he did or not. He might have found out, had the Thanasioi not kidnapped him. But could he have fought against them? He didn't know that, either. He contented himself with ostentatiously ignoring Syagrios. That made Livanios laugh harder.
"If he wants to sleep, he may as well," Olyvria said. "By your leave, Father, I'll take him up to one of the rooms you suggested."
Livanios waved an airy hand as if he were the Avtokrator granting a boon. Having watched Krispos all his life, Phostis had seen the gesture better done. Olyvria led him toward the spiral stairway. Syagrios pulled an unpleasantly long, unpleasantly sharp knife from his belt and followed the two of them. The ruffian, Phostis thought, was not subtle in his messages.
Doing his best to keep on pretending Syagrios did not exist, Phostis turned to Olyvria and said, "Thank you for keeping me out of the dungeon, at any rate." He wondered why she'd taken his side; from a young man raised in the palaces, calculation of advantage came naturally as breathing.
"It's simple enough: I think that, given the chance, you will take your place on the gleaming path," Olyvria answered. "Once you forgive us for the unkind way we had to grab you, you'll see—I'm sure you'll see—how we live in accord with Phos' teachings, far more so than those who pride themselves on how fat their bellies are or how many horses or mistresses they own."
"How could anyone doubt surfeit is wrong?" Phostis said, and Olyvria beamed. But Phostis wondered if sufficiency was wrong, too: the glutton deserved the scorn he got, but was having a belly not growling with hunger every hour of the day also something to condemn? He knew what his father's answer would have been. Then again, he also remained sure his father did not have all the answers.