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growing pile of bones around him. He drank, too, though more moderately than
Maniakes had expected; he nursed his wine well enough to wave on Videssian
servitors about every other time they came by with fresh jars. That moderation
did not keep him from belching cavernously. Maniakes was not offended; among
the nomads, such rumblings signified approval of the fare offered.
"You Videssians should have done this years ago," Etzilios said, beaming at
the feast. "But no instead you thought to chase me, like dog after fox. But no
fox am I I am a wolf, as you have seen." He bared his teeth. They were yellow
as a wolf's; in so much, if no further, he spoke the truth.
"We're making peace now. We shouldn't worry about past quarrels," Maniakes
said. He wished his men were chasing the Kubratoi right now. Had he not faced
war on two fronts, his men would have been doing just that. Saying as much to
Etzilios struck him as unwise.
The khagan frowned, rubbed at his considerable belly. "You make this mutton
too spicy, I think," he said, climbing to his feet. "My guts gripe me."
Maniakes remembered Triphylles' complaint about eating endless meals of mutton
without garlic. What seemed mildly seasoned meat to a Videssian was liable to
be too much for a Kubrati to appreciate. He was just glad Etzilios hadn't
accused him of putting poison in the sauce.
"I will be back later," Etzilios said, and lumbered off toward a stand of elms
not far away. Maniakes hadn't been sure the nomads bothered to seek privacy
for performing their basic bodily functions. He hoped Etzilios had nothing
worse than a bellyache. If he suddenly dropped dead now, the Kubratoi would
think Maniakes had slain him when in fact he had decided not to try.
Maniakes sipped his own wine. When he looked around at the feast, he felt
reasonably pleased with himself. His men and the Kubratoi seemed to be getting
along well, in spite of old enmity. Not far away, a Kubrati who didn't speak
Videssian was using vivid hand gestures to show how one of his people's horses
would leave all the Videssian nags in the dust. The imperials sitting by the
nomad quite plainly disagreed, but nobody hauled out a sword to back up his
opinion.
If Etzilios saw that, Maniakes hoped he would be pleased, too. The Avtokrator
frowned. Etzilios still hadn't come back from that stand of trees. Whatever
call of nature he had had to answer, he should have been done long since.
Either he truly had been taken deathly ill in there, or
A couple of couriers sat nearby. Turning to them, Maniakes said, "Mount and
ride to our waiting horsemen. Tell them to be ready." The couriers got to
their feet. Above the friendly din of the feast, Maniakes heard a drumroll of
hoofbeats. "No, tell them to come. Run to your horses, before the Kubratoi
here try to stop you."
"Is something amiss, your Majesty?" Kameas asked as the couriers dashed away.
Then he heard the approaching horses, too. His face went from sallow to white.
He sketched the sun-circle over his heart.
"Hide!" Maniakes told him urgently. "If you can, pick someplace where they
won't ever find you. Good luck, esteemed sir."
That done, Maniakes had no more time to worry about the vestiarios. He
scrambled to his own feet, cursing the insistence on ceremony that had made
him deck himself out in the gold-encrusted imperial robe rather than chain
mail. Even his sword was a ceremonial blade, not meant for real fighting.
Here came a sentry, riding as if Skotos were at his horse's heels. It wasn't
the dark god, but it was the next worst thing: a whole great swarm of
Kubratoi, thundering forward with gleaming scimitars upraised.
Seeing the blades gave Maniakes an instant of relief. The nomads would not
loose a shower of arrows from their deadly bows, not with their own men so
intermingled with his. He cherished that relief, suspecting it was all he
would be able to enjoy for a long time to come.
"To arms, men of Videssos!" he shouted, as loud as he could. "We are
betrayed!" He drew his ridiculous toy of a sword and slashed at a Kubrati
noble sitting a few feet away. The leather of the nomad's sleeve was enough to
armor his flesh against the dull edge's bite.
In an instant, peace exploded into pandemonium. Videssians and Kubratoi who
had been chatting snatched out blades and went at one another. Some of the
Videssians ran for their horses, the better to resist the barbarians bearing
down on them. Someone also had the presence of mind to run down the rows of
the nomads' mounts, shouting, slashing tethers, and whacking the animals with
his blade. Not many of the Kubratoi from among the feasters got mounted
themselves.
Maniakes saw only disjointed fragments of the action. The barbarian he had
tried to cut down surged to his feet and drew his own curved blade, which was
no toy. Maniakes didn't want to try turning it with his gilded toothpick. He
snatched up a heavy silver wine cup and dashed its contents full in the
Kubrati's face. The fellow roared like a branded bull and clapped his hands to
his eyes. Maniakes hit him over the head with the cup. He crumpled. Maniakes
threw away his ceremonial sword and grabbed the Kubrati scimitar. Now he had a
blade with which he could fight.
And none too soon. The Kubratoi were upon him and his men. He slashed at a
nomad horseman, then sprang aside to keep from being trampled. Instead of
going after the Kubratoi themselves, he cut at their horses all around him.
His blade bit again and again. Ponies squealed in pain. That kept their riders
too busy trying to keep control to have too much time to devote to murdering
him.
As he fought for his life, he wondered what sort of nonsense Bagdasares had
shown him in the magic mirror. How was he supposed to break free of this
murderous press and get back to Videssos the city? As he dodged and ducked and
cut, he knew he was lucky to be surviving from moment to moment.
A Kubrati close by snatched at an arrow that suddenly sprouted above one eye.
A moment later, the nomad's hands relaxed and he slid, dead, from the saddle.
Maniakes scrambled onto the little plains horse the Kubrati had been riding.
Like a lot of his fellows, the Kubrati had kept his stirrup leathers very [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]