Majipoor Chronicles

by Robert Silverberg

  It was taxing work. I was in truth the Pontifex’s keeper, and we both knew it, but I had to take care not to underscore the fact by unduly imposing my will on him. And yet I had to guard him from rough playmates and risky excursions. There are rogues, there are brawlers, there are hotheads; no one would knowingly harm the Pontifex but he might easily come by accident between two who meant to harm each other. In my rare moments of sleep I sought the guidance of the Lady of the Isle—may she rest in the bosom of the Divine—and she came to me in a blessed sending, and told me that I must make myself the Pontifex’s friend if I meant not to be his jailer. How fortunate we are to have the counsel of so kind a mother in our dreams! And so I dared to initiate more than a few of Arioc’s adventures myself. “Come, let us go out tonight,” I said to him, which would have frozen Guadeloom’s blood, had he known. It was my idea to take the Pontifex up into the public levels of the Labyrinth for a night of taverns and marketplaces masked, of course, beyond chance of recognition. I led him into mysterious alleyways where gamblers lived, but gamblers known to me, who posed no threats. And it was I who on the boldest night of all actually guided him beyond the walls of the Labyrinth itself. I knew it was what he most desired, and even he feared to attempt it, so I proposed it to him as my secret gift, and he and I took the private royal passageway upward that emerges at the Mouth of Waters. We stood together so close to the River Glayge that we could feel the cool air that blows down from Castle Mount, and we looked up at the blazing stars. “I have not been out here in six years,” said the Pontifex. He was trembling and I think he was weeping behind his mask; and I, who had not seen the stars either for much too long, was nearly as deeply moved. He pointed to this one and that, saying it was the star of the world from which the Ghayrog folk came, and this the star of the Hjorts, and that one there, that trifling dot of light, was none other than the sun of Old Earth. Which I doubted, since I had been taught otherwise in school, but he was in such joy that I could not contradict him then. And he turned to me and gripped my arm and said in a low voice, “Calintane, I am the supreme ruler of this whole colossal world, and I am nothing at all, a slave, a prisoner. I would give everything to escape this Labyrinth and spend my last years in freedom under the stars.”

  “Then why not abdicate?” I suggested, astounded at my audacity.

  He smiled. “It would be cowardice. I am the elect of the Divine, and how can I reject that burden? I am destined to be a Power of Majipoor to the end of my days. But there must be some honorable way to free myself from this subterranean misery.”

  And I saw that the Pontifex was neither mad nor wicked nor capricious, but only lonely for the night and the mountains and the moons and the trees and the streams of the world he had been forced to abandon so that the government might be laid upon him.

  Next came word, two weeks ago, that the Lady of the Isle, Lord Struin’s mother and the mother of us all, had fallen ill and was not likely to recover. This was an unusual crisis that created major constitutional problems, for of course the Lady is a Power of rank equal to Pontifex and Coronal, and replacing her should hardly be done casually. Lord Struin himself was reported to be on his way from Castle Mount to confer with the Pontifex—foregoing a journey to the Isle of Sleep, for he could not possibly reach it in time to bid his mother farewell. Meanwhile Duke Guadeloom, as high spokesman of the Pontificate and chief officer of the court, had begun to compile a list of candidates for the post, which would be compared with Lord Struin’s list to see if any names were on both. The counsel of the Pontifex Arioc was necessary in all of this, and we thought that would be beneficial to him in his present unsettled state by involving him more deeply in imperial matters. In at least a technical sense the dying Lady was his wife, for under the formalities of our succession law he had adopted Lord Struin as his son when choosing him to be Coronal; of course the Lady had a lawful husband of her own somewhere on Castle Mount, but you understand the legalities of the custom, do you not? Guadeloom informed the Pontifex of the impending death of the Lady and a round of governmental conferences began. I did not take part in these, since I am not of that level of authority or responsibility.

  I am afraid we assumed that the gravity of the situation might cause Arioc to become less erratic in his behavior, and at least unconsciously we must have relaxed our vigilance. On the very night that the news of the death of the Lady reached the Labyrinth, the Pontifex slipped away alone for the first time since I had been assigned to keep watch over him. Past the guards, past me, past his servants—out into the interminable intricate complexities of the Labyrinth, and no one could find him. We searched all night and half the next day. I was beside myself with terror, both for him and for my career. In the greatest of apprehension I sent officers out each of the seven mouths of the Labyrinth to search that bleak and torrid desert outside; I myself visited all the rakish haunts to which I had introduced him; Guadeloom’s staff prowled in places unknown to me; and throughout all this we sought to keep the populace from knowing that the Pontifex was missing. I think we must have succeeded in that.

  We found him in mid-afternoon of the day after his disappearance. He was in a house in the district known as Stiamot’s Teeth in the first ring of the Labyrinth and he was disguised in women’s clothes. We might never have found him at all but for some quarrel over an unpaid bill, which brought proctors to the scene, and when the Pontifex was unable to identify himself satisfactorily and a man’s voice was heard coming from a supposed woman the proctors had the sense to summon me, and I hurried to take custody of him. He looked appallingly strange in his robes and his bangles, but he greeted me calmly by name, acting perfectly composed and rational, and said he hoped he had not caused me great inconvenience.

  I expected Guadeloom to demote me. But the duke was in a forgiving mood, or else he was too bound up in the larger crisis to care about my lapse, for he said nothing whatever about the fact that I had let the Pontifex get out of his bedchamber. “Lord Struin arrived this morning,” Guadeloom told me, looking harried and weary. “Naturally he wanted to meet with the Pontifex at once, but we told him that Arioc was asleep and it was unwise to disturb him—this while half my people were out searching for him. It pains me to lie to the Coronal, Calintane.”

  “The Pontifex is genuinely asleep in his chambers now,” I said.

  “Yes. Yes. And there he will stay, I think.”

  “I will make every effort to see to that.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Guadeloom. “The Pontifex Arioc is plainly out of his mind. Crawling through laundry chutes, creeping around the city at night, decking himself out in female finery—it goes beyond mere eccentricity, Calintane. Once we have this business of the new Lady out of the way, I’m going to propose that we confine him permanently to his quarters under strong guard—for his own protection, Calintane, his own protection—and hand the Pontifical duties over to a regency. There’s precedent for that. I’ve been through the records. When Barhold was Pontifex he fell ill of swamp fever and it affected his mind, and—”

  “Sir,” I said, “I don’t believe the Pontifex is insane.”

  Guadeloom frowned. “How else could you characterize one who does what he’s been doing?”

  “They are the acts of a man who has been king too long, and whose soul rebels against all that he must continue to bear. But I have come to know him well, and I venture to say that what he expresses by these escapades is a torment of the soul, but not any kind of madness.”

  It was an eloquent speech and, if I have to say it myself, courageous, for I am a junior counsellor and Guadeloom was at that moment the third most powerful figure in the realm, behind only Arioc and Lord Struin. But there comes a time when one must put diplomacy and ambition and guile aside, and simply speak the plain truth; and the idea of confining the unhappy Pontifex like a common lunatic, when he already suffered great pain from his confinement in the Labyrinth alone, was horrifying to me. Guadeloom was silent a long while and I suppose
I should have been frightened, speculating whether I would be dismissed altogether from his service or simply sent down to the record-keeping halls to spend the remainder of my life shuffling papers, but I was calm, totally calm, as I awaited his reply.

  Then came a knock at the door: a messenger, bearing a note sealed with the great starburst that was the Coronal’s personal seal. Duke Guadeloom ripped it open and read the message and read it again, and read it a third time, and I have never seen such a look of incredulity and horror pass over a human face as crossed his then. His hands were shaking; his face was without color.

  He looked at me and said in a strangled voice, “This is in the Coronal’s own hand, informing me that the Pontifex has left his quarters and has gone to the Place of Masks, where he has issued a decree so stupefying that I cannot bring myself to frame the words with my own lips.” He handed me the note. “Come,” he said, “I think we should hasten to the Place of Masks.”

  He ran out, and I followed, trying desperately to glance at the note as I went. But Lord Struin’s handwriting is jagged and difficult, and Guadeloom was moving with phenomenal speed, and the corridors were winding and the way poorly lit; so I could only get a snatch of the content here and there, something about a proclamation, a new Lady designated, an abdication. Whose abdication if not that of the Pontifex Arioc? Yet he had said to me out of the depths of his spirit that it would be cowardice to turn his back on the destiny that had chosen him to be a Power of the realm.

  Breathless I came to the Place of Masks, a zone of the Labyrinth that I find disturbing at the best of times, for the great slit-eyed faces that rise on those gleaming marble plinths seem to me figures out of nightmare. Guadeloom’s footsteps clattered on the stone floor, and mine doubled the sound of his a good way behind, for though he was more than twice my age he was moving like a demon. Up ahead I heard shouts, laughter, applause. And then I saw a gathering of perhaps a hundred fifty citizens, among whom I recognized several of the chief ministers of the Pontificate. Guadeloom and I barged into the group and halted only when we saw figures in the green-and-gold uniform of the Coronal’s service, and then the Coronal himself. Lord Struin looked furious and dazed at the same time, a man in shock.

  “There is no stopping him,” the Coronal said hoarsely. “He goes from hall to hall, repeating his proclamation. Listen: he begins again!” And I saw the Pontifex Arioc at the head of the group, riding on the shoulders of a colossal Skandar servant. His majesty was dressed in flowing white robes of the female style, with a splendid brocaded border, and on his breast lay a glowing red jewel of wonderous immensity and radiance.

  “Whereas a vacancy has developed among the Powers of Majipoor!” cried the Pontifex in a marvelously robust voice. “And whereas it is needful that a new Lady of the Isle of Sleep! Be appointed herewith and swiftly! So that she may minister to the souls of the people! By appearing in their dreams to give aid and comfort! And! Whereas! It is my earnest desire! To yield up the burden of the Pontificate that I have borne these twelve years!

  “Therefore—

  “I do herewith! Using the supreme powers at my command! Proclaim that I be acclaimed hereafter as a member of the female sex! And as Pontifex I do name as Lady of the Isle the woman Arioc, formerly male!”

  “Madness,” muttered Duke Guadeloom.

  “This is the third time I have heard it, and still I cannot believe it,” said the Coronal Lord Struin.

  “—and do herewith simultaneously abdicate my Pontifical throne! And call upon the dwellers of the Labyrinth! To fetch for the Lady Arioc a chariot! To transport her to the port of Stoien! And thence to the Isle of Sleep so that she may bring her consolations to you all!”

  And in that moment the gaze of Arioc turned toward me, and his eyes for an instant met mine. He was flushed with excitement and his forehead gleamed with sweat. He recognized me, and he smiled, and he winked, an undeniable wink, a wink of joy, a wink of triumph. Then he was carried away out of my sight.

  “This must be stopped,” Guadeloom said.

  Lord Struin shook his head. “Listen to the cheering! They love it. The crowd grows larger as he goes from level to level. They’ll sweep him up to the top and out the Mouth of Blades and off to Stoien before this day is out.”

  “You are Coronal,” said Guadeloom. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “Overrule the Pontifex, whose every command I have sworn to serve? Commit treason before hundreds of witnesses? No, no, no, Guadeloom, what’s done is done, preposterous as it may be, and now we must live with it.”

  “All hail the Lady Arioc!” a booming voice bellowed.

  “All hail! The Lady Arioc! All hail! All hail!”

  I watched in utter disbelief as the procession moved on through the Place of Masks, heading for the Hall of Winds or the Court of Pyramids beyond. We did not follow, Guadeloom and the Coronal and I. Numb, silent, we stood motionless as the cheering, gesticulating figures disappeared. I was abashed to be among these great men of our realm at so humiliating a moment. It was absurd and fantastic, this abdication and appointment of a Lady, and they were shattered by it.

  At length Guadeloom said thoughtfully, “If you accept the abdication as valid, Lord Struin, then you are Coronal no longer, but must make ready to take up residence here in the Labyrinth, for you are now our Pontifex.”

  Those words fell upon Lord Struin like mighty boulders. In the frenzy of the moment he had evidently not thought Arioc’s deed through even to its first consequence.

  His mouth opened but no words came forth. He opened and closed his hands as though making the starburst gesture in his own honor, but I knew it was only an expression of bewilderment. I felt shivers of awe, for it is no small thing to witness a transfer of succession, and Struin was wholly unprepared for it. To give up the joys of Castle Mount in the midst of life, to exchange its brilliant cities and splendid forests for the gloom of the Labyrinth, to put aside the starburst crown for the senior diadem—no, he was not ready at all, and as the truth of it came home to him his face turned ashen and his eyelids twitched madly.

  After a very long while he said, “So be it, then. I am the Pontifex. And who, I ask you, is to be Coronal in my place?” I suppose it was a rhetorical question. Certainly I gave no answer, and neither did Duke Guadeloom.

  Angrily, roughly, Struin said again, “Who is to be Coronal? I ask you!”

  His gaze was on Guadeloom.

  I tell you, I was near to destroyed by being witness of these events, that will never be forgotten if our civilization lasts another ten thousand years. But how much more of an impact all this must have had on them! Guadeloom fell back, spluttering. Since Arioc and Lord Struin both were relatively young men, little speculation on the succession to their thrones had taken place; and though Guadeloom was a man of power and majesty, I doubt that he had ever expected himself to reach the heights of Castle Mount, and certainly not in any such way as this. He gaped like a gaffed gromwark and could not speak, and in the end it was I who reacted first, going down on my knee, making the starburst to him, crying out in a choked voice, “Guadeloom! Lord Guadeloom! Hail, Lord Guadeloom! Long life to Lord Guadeloom!”

  Never again will I see two men so astonished, so confused, so instantly altered, as were the former Lord Struin now Pontifex and the former Duke Guadeloom now Coronal. Struin was stormy-faced with rage and pain, Lord Guadeloom half broken with amazement.

  There was another huge silence.

  Then Lord Guadeloom said in an oddly quavering voice, “If I am Coronal, custom demands that my mother be named the Lady of the Isle, is that not so?”

  “How old is your mother?” Struin asked.

  “Quite old. Ancient, one could say.”

  “Yes. And neither prepared for the tasks of the Ladyship nor strong enough to bear them.”

  “True,” said Lord Guadeloom.

  Struin said, “Besides, we have a new Lady this day, and it would not do to select another so soon. Let us see how well her Lady
ship Arioc conducts herself in Inner Temple before we seek to put another in her place, eh?”

  “Madness,” said Lord Guadeloom.

  “Madness indeed,” said the Pontifex Struin. “Come, let us go to the Lady, and see her safely off to her Isle.”

  I went with them to the upper reaches of the Labyrinth, where we found ten thousand people hailing Arioc as he or she, barefoot and in splendid robes, made ready to board the chariot that would conduct her or him to the port of Stoien. It was impossible to get close to Arioc, so close was the press of bodies. “Madness,” said Lord Guadeloom over and over. “Madness, madness!”

  But I knew otherwise, for I had seen Arioc’s wink, and I understood it completely. This was no madness at all. The Pontifex Arioc had found his way out of the Labyrinth, which was his heart’s desire. Future generations, I am sure, will think of him as a synonym for folly and absurdity; but I know that he was altogether sane, a man to whom the crown had become an agony and whose honor forbade him simply to retire into private life.

  And so it is, after yesterday’s strange events, that we have a Pontifex and a Coronal and a Lady, and they are none of them the ones we had last month, and now you understand, beloved Silimoor, all that has befallen our world.

  Calintane finished speaking and took a long draught of his wine. Silimoor was staring at him with an expression that seemed to him a mixture of pity and contempt and sympathy.

  “You are like small children,” she said at last, “with your titles and your royal courts and your bonds of honor. Nevertheless I understand, I think, what you have experienced and how it has unsettled you.”

  “There is one thing more,” said Calintane.