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Scaurus; I could wish I was wrong."
Marcus hardly heard the compliment; he was shouting for Lavros. The prelate
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
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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,
standing by the rich altar in his severely plain robe, a little trickle of
blood on the side of his newly shaved head where the razor had cut too close.
But even Scaurus the unbeliever was oddly moved as he led the worshipers in
the splendid archaic language of their creed, "We bless thee, Phos, Lord with
the great and good mind, by thy grace our protector, watchful beforehand that
the great test of life may be decided in our favor."
"Amen," the Garsavrans finished, and Marcus found himself repeating it with
them. Lavros said, "This service is completed." The crowd began to stream
away. Mertikes came up to squeeze Scaurus' hand with his own strong clasp.
Then Lavros said gently, "Come with me, brother, and I will take you to the
monastery and introduce you to your fellow servants of Phos." Head up now, not
looking back, the new monk followed him.
That crisis solved itself neatly, but was only peripheral to the greater
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