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then, when you haul me off to the headsmen? Why should I ease your conscience
for you?" A veteran of imperial politics, he knew the usual fate of failed
rebels.
Marcus only waited, saying nothing. A painful sigh escaped
Zigabenos. His shoulders sagged as the tribune's silence let him realize how
hopeless his position was. "Damn you, outlander," he said at last, voice old
and beaten. "What use to this farce, after all? Thirst or hunger will drive me
out soon enough. Here; you have me, for what joy it brings you." He let go the
altar;
Scaurus saw sweat beaded on the polished wood where his hands had been.
Seeing the clever Zigabenos succumbing thus to fate wrenched at the tribune.
He blurted, "But you must have had some plan when you fled here!"
"So I did," the Videssian said. His smile was bitter. "I would have yielded up
my hair and turned monk. Even an emperor thinks three times before he sends
the knives after a man sworn to Phos.
But I was too quick the shrine was dark and empty when I got here, with no
priest to give my vow to. Wretched slugabeds! And now it's you here instead. I
always thought you a good soldier, Scaurus; I could wish I was wrong."
Marcus hardly heard the compliment; he was shouting for Lavros. The prelate
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hurried toward him, concern overriding his usual good nature. "I hope you'll
not try to cozen me into believing this suppliant has changed his mind "
"But I have, reverend sir," Zigabenos began.
"No indeed," Scaurus said. "Let it be just as he wishes. Fetch all the people
in and let them see the
man who was forced to play the role of Avtokrator now make amends for what he
was compelled to do, by assuming the garments of your monks."
Lavros and Mertikes Zigabenos both stared at him, the one in delight, the
other in blank amazement. The priest bowed deeply to Scaurus and bustled up
the aisle, calling to the crowd outside. "You'll let me?" Zigabenos whispered,
still unbelieving.
"Why not? What better way to get you out of the political life for good?"
"Thorisin won't thank you for it."
"Then let him look to himself. If he put Ortaias Sphrantzes in a blue robe
after getting nothing but ill from him, he shouldn't grudge you your life. You
served him well until your luck tossed sixes at you." Marcus felt an absurd
pleasure at remembering the losing Videssian throw and being able to bring it
out naturally.
"I threw my own 'demons,' trusting the Namdaleni too far."
"So did Thorisin," the tribune pointed out, and Zigabenos really smiled for
the first time since
Scaurus had reclaimed him from the Yezda.
They had little more chance for talk; the temple was filling fast with
chattering Garsavrans. Scaurus took a seat in the first row of benches,
leaving Zigabenos alone by the altar. In his shabby cloak, he was a poor match
for its silver-plated magnificence.
Lavros had disappeared for a few minutes. He returned bearing a large pair of
scissors and a razor with a glittering edge. A second priest followed him, a
swarthy, stocky man who carried an unadorned blue robe and bore a copy of
Phos' sacred writings, bound in rich red leather, under his arm. The townsfolk
grew quiet as they strode toward the holy table in the center of the shrine.
Zigabenos lowered his head toward Lavros. The scissors snipped, shearing away
his thick black hair. Once there was only stubble on his pate, Lavros wielded
the razor. Zigabenos' scalp gleamed pale, and seemed all the whiter when
compared to his sun-weathered face.
The short, swarthy priest held out the leather-bound volume to the officer,
saying formally, "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."
Head still bent, Zigabenos murmured, "I will observe it." The priest asked him
twice more; his voice gained strength with each affirmation. After the last
repetition, the priest bowed in turn to
Zigabenos, handed his book to Lavros, and invested the new monk with his
monastic garb. Again following ritual, he said, "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," Zigabenos whispered; the Garsavrans echoed his words.
Lavros prayed silently for a few moments, then said, "Brother Mertikes, would
it please you to lead this gathering in Phos' creed?"
"May I?" said Zigabenos no, Mertikes, Scaurus thought, for Videssian monks
yielded up their surnames. His voice was truly grateful; the tribune had yet
to meet a Videssian who took his faith lightly. Mertikes was a strange sight,
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