Harry Turtledove - Krispos of Videssos

Iakovitzes nodded. He pulled out his tablet and wrote,' "That's all, lads," and showed it to the grooms. They nodded and started away from the imperial residence and out of the palace quarter. Iakovitzes wrote something else and passed the tablet to Krispos. "Such a pity—these days I can only pick from among lads who know how to read." Krispos screwed up his face and gave the tablet back.

When Rhisoulphos came into the chamber where Dara was sitting, she looked up at him and said, "Why, Father? Why?" Her voice trembled; tears stood in her eyes, ready to fall.

"I thought I could," he answered with a shrug. "It appears I was wrong. I would have made your son my heir, for whatever that's worth."

"Nothing," Krispos said flatly. "Gnatios goes to the block tomorrow. Give me one good reason you shouldn't follow him."

"Because I am Dara's father," Rhisoulphos said at once. "How would you dare to fell asleep beside her after you put me to death?"

Krispos wanted to kick him—he was still smooth and still right. "As you say. But if you want to live, it will cost you your hair. You'll go into a monastery for the rest of your days."

"I agree," Rhisoulphos said, again without hesitation.

Iakovitzes scowled furiously and held up his tablet so Krispos could read it. "Are you mad, your Majesty? How many people have you clapped into monasteries, only to see them pop right out again?"

"I wasn't finished yet." Krispos turned back to Rhisoulphos. "It won't be the monastery of the holy Skirios for you. No matter what Iakovitzes thinks, I have learned better than that. If you want to live, you'll serve the good god at a monastery in Prista."

For an instant, Rhisoulphos' smooth facade cracked and revealed raw red rage. The town of Prista lay far to the north and west of Videssos the city, across the Videssian Sea. It sat on the southern tip of a peninsula that dangled down from the steppes of Pardraya and served as the Empire's listening post for the plains. It was also the most Phos-forsaken spot in the Empire to which to exile a man. "Well, Rhisoulphos?" Krispos said. "Let it be as you say," Rhisoulphos answered at last, his self-control restored. He nodded again to Krispos. "I appear to have underestimated you, your Majesty. My only consolation is that I'm not the first to make that mistake." Krispos paid hardly any attention to him after he said yes. He was looking at Dara instead, hoping she could accept the choice he'd made. After some endless time that was less than a minute, she, too, nodded. The gesture was eerily like her father's. Krispos did not care. Now once more he blessed her good sense. She saw what had to be done.

Krispos called Tyrovitzes. When the chamberlain came in, he told him, "We need a priest here, esteemed sir. Tell him to bring along scissors, razor, Phos' holy scriptures, and a new blue robe: the eminent Rhisoulphos has decided to enter a monastery."

"Indeed, your Majesty," was all Tyrovitzes said. He bowed and left the room.

The eunuch chamberlain returned within an hour, a priest at his side. After praying, the priest told Rhisoulphos, "Bend your head." Rhisoulphos obeyed. The priest used scissors first, then the razor. Lock by lock, Rhisoulphos' iron-gray hair fell to the floor. When all his scalp was bare, the priest held out the scriptures to him and said, "Behold the law under which you shall live if you choose. If in your heart you feel you can observe it, enter the monastic life; if not, speak now."

"I will observe it," Rhisoulphos declared. Twice more the priest asked him; twice more he affirmed his will. If he did so with irony in his voice, the priest took no notice of it.

After the third affirmation, the priest said, "Doff your garment." Rhisoulphos obeyed. The priest gave him the monastic robe to put on. "As the garment of Phos' blue covers your naked body, so may his righteousness enfold your heart and preserve it from all evil."

"So may it be," Rhisoulphos said; he formally became a monk with those words.

"Thank you, holy sir," Krispos said to the priest. "Your temple will learn that I'm grateful. Tyrovitzes, escort him back, if you would be so kind, and settle those arrangements. You needn't haggle overmuch."

"As you say, your Majesty," Tyrovitzes murmured. Krispos knew he would haggle anyhow, on general principles. Perhaps this way he would not skin the priest too badly.

When the chamberlain had led the priest away, Krispos turned to Rhisoulphos. "Come with me, holy sir."

Rhisoulphos rose, but said, "A moment, if you please." He put a hand on Dara's shoulder. "Daughter, I wish it had turned out better. It could have."

She would not look at him. "I wish you would have left well enough alone," she said in a voice filled with tears.

"So do I, child, so do I." Rhisoulphos straightened, then dipped his head to Krispos. "Now I will accompany you."

More Halogai than the usual squad of guards stood outside the imperial residence. The extra men converged on Rhisoulphos. Krispos said, "Take the holy sir here to the Sea Lion, which is tied up at the Neorhesian harbor. Put him aboard; in fact, stay aboard with him until the Sea Lion sails for Prista in the morning."

The guardsmen saluted. "We obey, Majesty," one of them said.

"You have everything ready for me," Rhisoulphos observed. "Nicely done."

"I try," Krispos said shortly. He nodded to the Halogai. They took charge of the new-made monk. Krispos watched them march him down the path till it rounded a corner and took them out of his sight. He sighed and drank in a long lungful of sweet night air. Then he went back inside.

When he walked into the audience chamber, Iakovitzes' eyes flickered from him to Dara and back again. The Sevastos quickly got to his feet. "I'd best be going," he wrote in large letters. He held up the tablet to show it to both Krispos and Dara, then bowed and left with what would have been unforgivable abruptness in most circumstances. As it was, Krispos did not blame Iakovitzes for being so precipitate. He just wished the Sevastos would have stayed longer.

No help for it: he was alone with Dara after sending her father into exile. "I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "I didn't see what else to do."

She nodded. "If you want to keep the throne, if you want to stay alive, you did what you had to do. I know that. But—" She turned her head away from him; her voice broke, "—it's hard."

"Aye, it is." He came over to her and stroked her lustrous black hair. He was afraid she would shy from him, but she sat steady. He went on, "When I was a peasant, I used to think how easy the Avtokrator must have it. All he needs to do is give an order, and people do things for him." He laughed briefly. "I wish it were that simple."

"I wish it were, too. But it's not." Dara looked up at him. "You seldom speak of your days on the farm."

"Most of them aren't worth talking about. Believe me, this is better," Krispos said. Dara did not pursue it, which suited him fine. The chief reason he rarely mentioned his early days to her was that he did not want to remind her how lowly his origins were. Since explaining would also have brought that to the fore, he was pleased to get away without having to.

"Let's go to bed," Dara said. "The lord with the great and good mind knows I won't sleep much with the baby kicking me and getting me up to make water half a dozen times a night, but I ought to try to get what I can."

"All right," Krispos said. Before long, the last lamp was blown out and he lay in the darkness beside Dara. He remembered Rhisoulphos' gibe. Was he safe next to her now, with Rhisoulphos on a ship bound for Prista? He must have decided he was, for he fell asleep while he was still mulling over the question, and did not wake the rest of the night.

At the northern edge of the palace quarter, not far from the Sorcerers' Collegium, was a small park known to city wits as the hunting ground. It was not stocked with boar or antlered stag. In the center of that hedge-surrounded patch of greensward stood a much-hacked oak stump whose height was convenient for a kneeling man's neck.