Turtledove, Harry V

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had nothing to do with getting your city ready to defend itself."
He had seen officials deflate like popped pigs' bladders when he made that
sort of remark to them. He glanced over to the garrison commander, a
gray-bearded, weatherbeaten man who seemed half asleep. Rhousas said, "Oh,
yes, the excellent Byzakios did lend a hand. But the garrison numbers only a
couple of hundred, and he was so busy seeking to form a city militia that he
and his men played but a small role in the recent reconstruction."
"A couple of hundred? For a town this large and important, in a time when
we're invaded?" Maniakes turned to Byzakios. "Surely you had more men once.
What happened to the rest of them?"
"'Bout what you'd expect, your Majesty," Byzakios answered, his voice full of
an upcountry twang. "Some of 'em got killed in this fight or that. And others,
well, they were just stolen, you ask me. Every time a rebel came through, he'd
pull away a few more. I sent Tzikas a draft of three hundred; I reckoned he'd
need 'em worse'n I did."
"I think you're right," Maniakes answered. "I think you did very well indeed
to train up a militia to take the place of your departed soldiers, too. In a
pinch, will they fight?"
"You never know till the day comes," Byzakios said. "Maybe so, maybe not. Best
guess is, they'll do all right up on the wall, but Phos' light take their
souls if the Makuraners break in despite 'em."
"Aye, that sounds likely," Maniakes agreed. "When amateurs like that get into
hand-to-hand with professional soldiers, they'll come off second best every
time." He sighed. "You're stripped down to a couple of hundred regulars? I
can't take many away from you, then."
"May I talk frank, your Majesty?" Byzakios asked. When Maniakes nodded, the
commandant studied him, then muttered, half to himself, "Well, he was a
soldier his own self." To Maniakes, he said, "You better not take any, not if
you want this town to have any chance of holding. You want my head because the
mouth in it's too big, you've got your excuse to take it."
"It seems to be doing a good enough job up there on your shoulders, excellent
sir," Maniakes said. "We'll leave it there for now."
A look passed between Byzakios and Rhousas. Maniakes had seen that look before
when he dealt for the first time with officials who didn't know him
personally. It said, He's not Genesios, and pleased and saddened him at the
same time. True, it was a compliment, but one that should have been
superfluous. Genesios had a great deal for which to answer; Maniakes suspected
he would be answering to Skotos for all eternity.
Rhousas said, "I am sorry, your Majesty, but we have little revenue for the
fisc. Commerce these past few years has been very bad. Goods come in down the
Arandos and the Eriza, but not much goes out, especially to westward. In good
years, we'd send caravan after caravan to the panegyris, the trade fair, at
Amorion. This year " He spread his hands in regret.
"Not much point going on to Amorion when you know you can't go further without
likely getting robbed and murdered," Byzakios said.
"Too true," Maniakes said mournfully. "For that matter, there's the risk of
getting robbed and murdered inside Amorion. What news have you from there? Are
the Makuraners pressing against the city, and what force has Tzikas inside it
to hold them at bay?"
"They are moving, there west of Amorion," Byzakios answered. "We don't know
all we ought to from out there: Have to rely on spies and such in what by
rights is our very own land." He shook his head indignantly. "Terrible thing.
Anyways, Tzikas has several thousand soldiers, along with whatever he's done
about getting the townsfolk ready to fight. They'll fight hard, I reckon. They
know nothing good'll happen to 'em if they yield themselves up, that's sure:
prisoners go to digging underground, it's said."
"Can Tzikas hold, if Abivard throws everything he has against the place?"
Maniakes asked.
Byzakios and Rhousas looked at each other again. This time, the unspoken
question was, How much truth can we tell? At last, Byzakios answered a
question with another question: "Your Majesty, when the Makuraners throw
everything these days, what holds?"
"Something had better start holding," Maniakes said, kicking at the dirt, "or
the whole Empire will come crashing down. Curse it, we can beat the Makuraners
in battle. My father and I did it at the end of Likinios' reign. By the good
god, Stavrakios sacked Mashiz."
"Ah, your Majesty, but that was a long time ago," Rhousas answered sadly.
Maniakes couldn't tell whether the city governor meant Stavrakios' exploits or
his own.
Garsavra gave every sign of being a town with a prosperous history. The local
shrine, like a lot of such centers all through the Empire, was modeled after
the High Temple in Videssos the city. A lot of such imitations deserved the
name more by intent than by its execution, but from Garsavra's shrine one
could get at least a feeling for what the original was like.
The local temple fronted on the market square in the center of town. That
expanse of cobbles was almost as big as the plaza of Palamas back in the
capital. Everyone from Rhousas down to the apprentice grooms in the stables
spoke of how that square had been packed with merchants from the capital, from
Opsikion and even Kalavria in the east, from Amorion and Vaspurakan and Mashiz
in the west.
It was not packed now. A couple of potters had set up forlorn booths in one
corner, displaying earthenware made from the grayish-yellow local clay. A
herder had half a dozen lambs to sell. A couple of weavers displayed bolts of
wool. At a portable desk, a scribe wrote a letter for a patron who could not.
Over most of the square, though, pigeons strutted in search of crumbs, with
scrawny cats prowling after them.
When Maniakes came out of the hypasteos' residence to walk across to the
temple to pray, the merchants abandoned their stalls and ran up to him,
crying, "Mercy, your Majesty!" "How can we pay the hearth tax and the head
tax, let alone that on our profits?" "We have no profits, by the good god!"
"Mercy, mercy!"
He wondered how many merchants in how many cities would have sung the same
tune had he appeared before them. Too many; he knew that much. "I'll do what I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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