Phostis wished the herald had omitted the late; the words would hurt Olyvria. But at the same time, he understood why Krispos had told the man to include them: they would remind Etchmiadzin's defenders of the defeats their cause had already suffered.
The Thanasioi rained curses on the herald's head. A couple of them shot at him, too. He lifted the shield of truce to protect his face; he wore a helmet and a mail shirt that covered him down to the knee.
When the arrows stopped coming, the man lowered the white-faced shield and resumed: "The Avtokrator bids you ponder the import of this wedding: not only what it says about your fortune in battle, but how it reminds you of the joy that life holds and the way it continues—and should continue— from one generation to the next."
More curses—and more arrows—flew at him. Having delivered his message, he needed to stand up under them no more, but hastily drew back out of range.
The wedding party ascended to the makeshift stage. It was not a large group, certainly not the horde that would have been involved had the marriage taken place at the High Temple in Videssos the city. Ahead of Phostis and Olyvria came a healer-priest named Glavas, who would perform the ceremony. Behind them walked Krispos, Katakolon, and Zaidas. That was all.
Even Zaidas' presence was not directly required by the ceremony, though Phostis was glad to have him close by. But the wizard was there mainly because he owned a small magic that would let the voices of the people on the platform carry farther than they would have without it: Krispos wanted the Thanasioi to listen to all that passed here.
The priest said, "Let us praise the lord with the great and good mind." He recited Phos' creed. So did Phostis and Olyvria; so as well did Krispos, Katakolon, and Zaidas. Phostis also heard the watching soldiers echo the prayer they made several times every day of their lives.
"We are come together in this unusual place to celebrate an unusual union," Glavas said. "After the boon of many healthful years, the greatest gift the good god can grant his worshipers is continuance of their line. A marriage is a time of rejoicing not least because it marks hope and expectation for that continuance.
"When the marriage comes from the imperial family, more hopes ride on it than those of the family alone. Continuance of the dynasty, generation upon generation, is our best guarantee against the disaster of civil war."
Phostis noticed he did not mention that Krispos was the first member of his family to hold the imperial throne, or indeed anything more than a peasant plot. The priest went on, "And with this marriage, we also have the chance to heal a rift that has opened among the faithful of Videssos, to symbolize the return to their familiar faith by those who for a time thought differently in the union of the young majesty Phostis to Olyvria the daughter of Livanios."
That, Phostis thought, was as conciliatory toward the Thanasioi as Krispos could be without following the gleaming path himself. He hadn't even had Glavas call them heretics. He wanted to make them forget their beliefs, not stubbornly cling to them.
The priest went on for some time about the qualities bride and groom should bring to a marriage to ensure its success. Phostis' mind wandered. He was taken unawares when Glavas asked, "Are the two of you prepared to cleave to these virtues, and to each other, so long as you both may live?"
From behind, Krispos nudged Phostis. He realized he had to speak first. "Yes," he said, and was glad Zaidas' magic made his voice larger than it was.
"Yes, for all my life—this is the path I will walk," Olyvria responded firmly.
Krispos and Katakolon set on her head and Phostis' garlands of sweet-smelling herbs—the crown of marriage that completed the ceremony. The priest stepped down from the platform. As quickly as that, it was over. "I'm married," Phostis said. Even to himself, he sounded surprised.
The Thanasioi on the wall screamed insults and catcalls for all they were worth. Ignoring them, Krispos slapped Phostis on the back and said, "So you are, son—and to a wise woman, too." He turned to Olyvria and added, "That last touch was perfect. Phos willing, they'll do a lot of stewing over it."
Katakolon poked Phostis in the ribs. "Now you're supposed to grab her and carry her off to your—well, to your tent it would be here."
Phostis had a well-founded suspicion that Olyvria would not permit any such thing. He glanced over to her. Sure enough, a steely glint in her eye warned him he'd better not try it.
"I've heard ideas that sounded more practical," Krispos said; the amusement in his voice said he'd seen that glint, too. "But do go on back to your tent. You would anyhow—that's what the day is for—but you should do it now, while you're still decked in the crowns of marriage."
That tickled Phostis' curiosity. He extended his arm to Olyvria. She took it. As they headed away from the hastily built platform, some of the soldiers cheered and others called lewd advice. Phostis smiled foolishly at Olyvria. She smiled back. Lewd advice from the bystanders came with every wedding celebration.
A grinning Haloga held the tent flap wide, then let it fall behind the newly weds. "We'll not see you for a while, I think," he said.
"Will you look at that?" Olyvria exclaimed.
Phostis looked. At the top corners of their unfolded blankets, someone—maybe Krispos himself, maybe a man acting at his orders—had driven stout sticks into the ground to stimulate bedposts. "It's good luck to hang the crowns on them," Phostis said. He doffed his and carefully set it on top of one post.
Olyvria did the same on the other side. "It starts to feel real," she said.
"It is real." Phostis lowered his voice so the guardsmen outside would not hear—not that they wouldn't know perfectly well what was going on in there, but the forms had to be observed. "As long as it's real, and as long as we're here by ourselves and no battle's going on right this moment—"
"Yes? What then?" Olyvria played the game with him. She spoke quietly, too; her hands worked at the catch of the white linen dress Krispos had given her for the wedding. It came open. "What then?" she repeated softly.
Between the two of them, they figured out what then. Because Phostis was still quite a young man, they got to try again soon, and again after that. Phostis had lost track of the hour by then, though the sun still lit one side of the tent. He yawned, wiped his sweaty forehead with a sweaty forearm, and dozed off. Beside him, Olyvria had already fallen asleep.
It was dark when a horrible racket woke him. He sat up and looked around, blinking. Olyvria lay beside him, still sleeping—snoring just a little—a small smile on her face. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he put on a robe and walked outside. A new shift of Halogai ringed his tent. "What's toward?" he asked one of them.
The northerner pointed toward Etchmiadzin. The ruddy light of campfires and torches gave him the look of a man made of bronze. "Fighting in there," he said.
"By Phos," Phostis murmured, smacking a fist into the other palm. He looked over toward the imperial pavilion not far away. Krispos was outside, too, watching. Phostis felt a surge of relief that he'd not thrown in his lot with the Thanasioi. One way or another, he was more sure now than ever, Krispos would have found a way to beat them no matter what they did.
Inside Etchmiadzin, they sounded as if they were going at each other with everything they had. They probably were, Phostis thought. The men and women who followed the gleaming path were fanatics—whatever views they held, they held with all their hearts and all their souls. If Krispos had managed to drive a wedge between two groups of them over the propriety of Olyvria's marriage, they'd fight each other as savagely as—maybe more savagely than—they'd opposed the imperial army.
The Haloga pointed again. "Ha! Look, young Majesty— smoke. With blazing brand they burn their burg."