«We're going to have to rebuild,» Maniakes said. «We're going to have to bring in people from parts of the Empire that haven't taken such a beating.»
«We're going to have to find parts of the Empire that haven't taken such a beating,» Rhegorios said, exaggerating only a little.
«There'll always be Vaspurakaners trickling out of their mountains and valleys, too,» Maniakes said. «The Makuraners don't treat them well enough to make them want to stay… and after a while, they start turning into Videssians.»
«Can't imagine what you're talking about,» his cousin said with a chuckle.
Here and there, people did come out and cheer the return of Videssian rule—or at least acknowledge it. «Took you long enough!» an old man shouted, leaning on his stick. «When Tzikas was here, things was pretty good—not perfect, mind you, but pretty good. You'll have to go some to beat him, whatever your name is, and that's a fact.»
«I'll do my best,» Maniakes answered. Riding along next to him, Rhegorios giggled: not the sort of noise one would expect to come from the august throat of a Sevastos. The Avtokrator ignored him.
When he got to what had been the epoptes' palace, he found it in better shape than any other building he'd seen. The servants who trooped out to greet him looked plump and prosperous, where everyone else in the city seemed skinny and shabby and dirty. In answer to Maniakes' question, one of them said, «Why, yes, your Majesty, the Makuraner garrison commander did live here. How did you know?»
«Call it a lucky guess,» Maniakes answered dryly.
Across the central square from the residence, the chief temple to Phos seemed to have taken all the abuse and neglect the residence had avoided. Like a lot of chief temples in provincial towns, it was modeled after the High Temple in Videssos the city. It hadn't been the best of copies before; now, with weeds growing all around, with the stonework of the exterior filthy and streaked with bird droppings, and with every other windowpane bare of glass, it was nearer nightmare vision than imitation.
A blue-robed priest came out of the temple and looked across the square at Maniakes. Recognizing the Avtokrator's raiment, he dashed over the cobblestones toward him, sandals flapping on his feet. When he got close, he threw himself down on the cobblestones in front of Maniakes in a proskynesis so quick and emphatic, he might almost have fallen on his face rather than prostrating himself.
«Mercy, your Majesty!» he cried, his face still pressed down against the paving stones. «Have mercy on your holy temple here, so long tormented by the savage invaders!»
«Rise, holy sir,» Maniakes said. «You are—?»
«I am called Domnos, your Majesty,» the priest replied, «and I have had the honor—and, I assure you, the trial—of being prelate of Amorion these past three years, after the holy Mavrikios gave up this life and passed to Phos' eternal light. It has not been an easy time.»
«Well, I believe that,» Maniakes said. «Tell me, holy Domnos—did you preach Vaspurakaner dogmas when the Makuraners ordered our priests to do that?»
Domnos hung his head. He blushed all the way up to the top of his shaven crown. «Your Majesty, I did,» he whispered. «It was that or suffer terrible torment, and I—I was weak, and obeyed. Punish me as you will.» He straightened, as if eagerly anticipating that punishment.
But Maniakes said, «Let it go. You'll preach a sermon on things you had to do under duress, and then you and your fellow priests will talk to the people who've accepted the Vaspurakaner doctrines as better than our own—I know you'll have some. We won't push them back into orthodoxy all at once. After that, you can go on with life as it was before the invasion.» He knew it wouldn't be that easy. If Domnos didn't know, he'd find out soon enough.
Now Domnos stared at the Avtokrator. He'd asked for mercy. Maniakes had given it to him, a large dose of it, but he didn't seem to want it as much as he'd claimed. «Yes, your Majesty,» he said, rather sulkily.
Maniakes, however, had more important things to worry about than a priest put out of temper. He chose a question touching on the most important of those things: «Has Tzikas, the former commander here, passed through this town in the last few days?»
Domnos' eyes widened. «No, your Majesty.» After a moment, he qualified that: «Not to my knowledge, at any rate. If he came here in secret, I might not know it, though I think I should have heard. But why would he have needed to come in secret?»
«Oh, he'd have had his reasons,» Maniakes answered, his voice drought-dry. He reflected that Amorion under Makuraner rule had been a town wrapped up in wool batting, a town caught in a backwater while the world went on around it. By the look on Domnos' face, he still thought of Tzikas as the stubborn general who had held Abivard away for so long, and he had no reason to think otherwise. Yes, sure enough, the world had passed Amorion by.
«You will know better than I, your Majesty,» Domnos said. «Will you come see the temple and learn the relief we need?»
«I'll come,» Maniakes said, and followed Domnos across the square.
He had not gone more than a couple of paces before his guardsmen, Videssians and Halogai both, formed a square around him. «No telling who or what all's waiting in mere, your Majesty,» a Videssian guard said, as if defying him to order the warriors to step aside. «Might even be this Tzikas item you're worrying about.» That comment, delivered in the streetwise dialect of Videssos the city, might have been one of Bagdasares' magic words, so effectively did it shut off any argument the Avtokrator might have made. The plain truth was, the guardsman was right. If Tzikas struck, it would have to be from ambush. What more unexpected place to set an ambush than one of Phos' holy temples?
Up the steps and into the exonarthex, Domnos led Maniakes. The priest pointed to a mosaic of a bygone Avtokrator presenting Amorion's temple to Phos as a pious offering. «Do you see, your Majesty?» the priest said. «The infidel Makuraners chiseled out every gold tessera from the costume of Metokhites II.»
«I do see.» Maniakes didn't know how much gold the Makuraners had realized from their chiseling, but they must have thought the results worth the labor.
In the next chamber in from the entrance, the narthex, Domnos sadly pointed out where silver lamps had been torn from the ceiling. «They took the great candelabrum, too,» he said, «thinking its polished brass gold. Even after they found they were wrong, they did not return it.»
«Brass is useful,» Maniakes said. He didn't need to say much to keep the conversation going. Domnos talked enough for any two ordinary people, or possibly three.
Tzikas had not lurked in the exonarthex or narthex. Maniakes' guardsmen preceded their charge into the main worship area. No renegade, no band of bravos, crouched in ambush behind the pews. The guards gave their permission for Maniakes to enter. He was sovereign in the Empire of Videssos, but hardly in his own household.
«You see?» Domnos said again. «Gold, silver, brass, semiprecious gems—all gone.»
«Yes,» Maniakes said. Even before the Makuraners had come, the temple here in Amorion had been a copy of the High Temple in the capital, but a poor man's copy. Despoiled by the invaders, it was, as Domnos had claimed, poorer still.
Maniakes glanced upward toward the dome in the central altar. The mosaic image of Phos in the dome was not perfectly stern in judgment, as it was in Videssos the city; here, he looked more nearly petulant. And the gold tesserae that had surrounded his image were gone, survived only by the rough gray cement in which they had been mounted. That made Phos' image seem even more lifeless than it would have otherwise.