by Brian Aldiss
“I am the C’Sarr’s representative in Borlien, thank you,” said Esomberr.
He read the letter, nodded, .and produced a silver coin for the bearer.
Muttering, the latter retreated. He left the underground palace, went to where his hoxney was tethered, and began making his way back to Gravabagalinien to report his success to the queen.
The envoy stood smiling to himself and scratching the end of his nose. He was a willowy, personable man of twenty-four and a half years, dressed in a rich trailing keedrant. He dangled the letter. He sent a minion for a likeness of Queen MyrdemInggala, which he studied. From any new situation, personal as well as political advantages were to be gained. He would enjoy his trip to Gravabagalinien, if that were possible. Esomberr promised himself that he would not be too religious for his own enjoyment at Gravabagalinien.
As soon as the royal boat had docked, men and women had crowded into the forecourt of the palace to seek a word with the king. By law, all supplications had to go through the scritina, but the ancient tradition of making a plea direct to the king died hard. The king preferred work to idleness. Tired of waiting and of watching his courtiers gyrate themselves into states of breathlessness, he agreed to hold audience in a nearby room. His runt sat alertly by the small throne, and the king patted him now and again.
After the first two supplicants had come and gone, Bardol CaraBansity appeared before the king. He had thrown an embroidered waistcoat over his charfrul. JandolAnganol recognized the man’s strutting walk and frowned as a florid bow was sketched in his direction.
“This man is Bardol CaraBansity, sire,” said the chancellor-on-trial, standing at the king’s right hand. “You have some of his anatomical designs in the royal library.”
The king said, “I remember you. You are a friend of my ex-chancellor, SartoriIrvrash.”
CaraBansity blinked his blood-shot eyes. “I trust that SartoriIrvrash is well, sire, despite being an ex-chancellor.”
“He has fled to Sibornal, if that can be called being well. What do you want of me?”
“Firstly, a chair, sire, since my legs pain me to stand.”
They contemplated each other. Then the king motioned a page to move a chair below the dais on which he sat.
Taking his time about getting himself settled, CaraBansity said, “I have an object to set before you—priceless, I believe—knowing your majesty to be a man of learning.”
“I am an ignorant man, and stupid enough to dislike flattery. A king of Borlien concerns himself with politics merely, to keep his country intact.”
“We do whatever we do the better for being better informed. I can break a man’s arm better if I know how his joints work.”
The king laughed. It was a harsh sound, not often heard from his mouth. He leaned forward. “What is learning against the increasing rage of Freyr? Even the All-Powerful Akhanaba seems to have no power against Freyr.”
CaraBansity let his gaze rest on the floor. “I know nothing of the All-Powerful, Majesty. He does not communicate with me. Some public benefactor scribbled the word ‘Atheist’ on my door last week, so that is my label now.” Then take care for your soul.” The king spoke less challengingly now, and lowered his voice. “As a deuteroscopist, what do you make of the encroaching heat? Has humankind sinned so gravely that we must all perish in Freyr’s fire? Is not the comet in the northern sky a sign of coming destruction, as the common people claim?”
“Majesty, that comet, YarapRombry’s Comet, is a sign of hope. I could explain at length, but I fear to vex you with astronomical reckoning. The comet is named after the sage—cartographer and astronomer—YarapRombry of Kevassien. He made the first map of the globe, setting Ottaassaal, as this city was then called, in the centre of the map, and he named the comet. That was 1825 years ago—one great year. The return of the comet is proof that we circle about Freyr like the comet, and will pass it by with no more than a slight singe!”
The king thought. “You give me a scientific answer, just as SartoriIrvrash did. There must also be a religious answer to my question.”
CaraBansity chewed his knuckle. “What does the Holy Pannovalan Empire say on the subject of Freyr? For Akha’s sake, it dreads any manifestation in the sky, and therefore uses the comet only to increase the fear of the people. It declares one more holy drumble to eliminate the phagors from our midst. The Church’s argument is that if those creatures without souls are eliminated, the climate will immediately cool. Yet we are given to understand that, in the years of ice, the Church then claimed it was the ungodly phagors which brought the cold. So their thinking lacks logic—like all religious thinking.”
“Don’t vex me. I am the Church in Borlien.”
“Majesty, apologies. I merely speak true. If it offends you, send me away, as you sent SartoriIrvrash away.”
“That fellow you mention was all for wiping out the ancipitals.”
“Sire, so am I, though I depend on them myself. If I may again speak truth, your favouring of them alarms me. But I would not kill them for some silly religious reason. I would kill them because they are the traditional enemy of mankind.”
The Eagle of Borlien banged his hand down on the arm of his chair. The chancellor-on-trial jumped.
“I’ll hear no more. You argue out of place, you impertinent hrattock!”
CaraBansity bowed. “Very well, sire. Power makes men deaf and they will not hear. It was you, not I, sire, who called yourself ignorant. Because you can threaten with a look, you cannot learn. That is your misfortune.”
The king stood. The chancellor-on-trial shrank away. CaraBansity stood immobile, his face a patchy white. He knew he had gone too far.
But JandolAnganol pointed at the cringing chancellor.
“I tire of people who cower before me, like this man. Advise me as my advisor cannot and you shall be chancellor—no doubt to prove as vexing as your friend and predecessor.
“When I remarry, and take for wife the daughter of King Sayren Stund of Oldorando, this kingdom will be linked more firmly to the Holy Pannovalan Empire, and from that we shall derive strength. But I shall come under much pressure from the C’Sarr to obliterate the ancipital race, as is being done in Pannoval. Borlien is short of soldiers and needs phagors. Can I refute the C’Sarr’s edict through your science?”
“Hm.” CaraBansity pulled at a heavy cheek. “Pannoval and Oldorando have always hated fuggies as Borlien never did. We are not on ancipital migratory routes, as is Oldorando. The priests have found a new pretext to wage an old war…
“There is a scientific line you might take, sire. Science that would banish the Church’s ignorance, if you’ll forgive me.”
“Speak, then, and my pretty runt and I will listen.”
“Sire, you will understand. Your runt will not. You must know by repute the historical treatise entitled The Testament of RayniLayan. In that volume, we read of a saintly lady, VryDen, wife of the sage RayniLayan. VryDen unravelled some of the secrets of the heavens where, she believed, as I do, that truth, not evil, lives. VryDen perished in the great fire which consumed Oldorando in the year 26. That is three hundred and fifty-five years ago—fifteen generations, though we live longer than they did in those times. I am convinced that VryDen was a real person—not an invention of an Ice Age tale, as the Holy Church would have us believe.”
“What’s your point?” asked the king. He began to pace sharply about, and Yuli skipped after him. He remembered that his queen set great store by the book of RayniLayan, and read parts of it to Tatro.
“Why, my point is a sharp one. This same VryDen lady was an atheist, and therefore saw the world as it is, unobscured by imagined deities. Before her day, it was believed that Freyr and Batalix were two living sentinels who guarded our world against a war in heaven. With the aid of geometry, this same excellent lady was able to predict a series of eclipses which brought her era to a close.
“Knowledge can build only on knowledge, and one never knows where the next step w
ill lead. The Church’s very emblem is that circle.”
“Which I prefer to your fumbling steps into darkness.”
“I found a way to see through the darkness into light. With the aid of our mutual acquaintance, SartoriIrvrash, I ground some lenses of glass like the lens in the eye.” He described how they had constructed a telescope. Through this instrument, they studied the phases of Ipocrene and the other planets in the sky. This intelligence they kept to themselves, since the sky was not a popular subject in those nations under the religious sway of Pannoval.
“One by one, these wanderers revealed their phases to us. Soon we could predict their changes exactly. There’s deuteroscopy! From there, SartoriIrvrash and I backed our observations by calculation. Thus we came on the laws of heavenly geometry, which we think must have been known to YarapRombry—but he suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Church. These laws state that the orbits of the worlds lie about the sun Batalix, and the orbit of Batalix lies about Freyr. And the radius vector of the solar movements covers equal areas of space in equal times.
“We discovered also that the fast planet, called by VryDen Kaidaw, has its orbit not about Batalix but about Helliconia, and is therefore a satellite body or moon.”
The king stopped pacing to ask sharply, “Could people like us live on this Kaidaw?”
The question was so at variance with his previous reluctant interest that CaraBansity was surprised. “It is merely a silver eye, sire, not a true world, like Helliconia or Ipocrene.”
The king clapped his hands. “Enough. Explain no more. You could end as did YarapRombry. I understand nothing.”
“If we could make these explanations clear to Pannoval, then we might change their out-of-date thinking. If the C’Sarr could be coaxed to understand celestial geometry, then he might come to appreciate a human geometry enough to allow humankind and ancipitals to revolve about each other as Batalix and Freyr do, instead of promulgating his holy drumbles, which upset orderly life.”
He was about to launch into further explanation, when the king made one of his impatient gestures.
“Another day. I can’t listen to much heresy at a time, though I appreciate the cunning of your thought. You incline to go with circumstances, even as I do. Is this what you came here for?”
For a while, CaraBansity faced the sharp gaze of the king. Then he said, “No, Your Majesty, I came, like many of your faithful subjects, hoping to sell you something.”
He brought from his belt the bracelet with the three sets of numbers which he had discovered on the corpse, and presented it to his majesty.
“Did you ever see a jewel like this before, Your Majesty?”
His majesty regarded it with surprise, turning it over in his hand.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ve seen this very bracelet before, in Matrassyl. It is indeed strange, and it came from a strange man, who claimed to have come from another world. From your Kaidaw.” He closed his mouth after this mysterious speech, as if sorry to have spoken.
He watched the numbers in the piece of jewellery writhing and changing for a while, and said, “You can tell me at a more leisurely time how this arrived in your possession. Now this audience is closed. I have other matters to attend to.”
He closed his hand over the bracelet.
CaraBansity broke into pained protest. The king’s demeanour changed. Rage burned from his eyes, from every line of his face. He leaned forward like a predatory bird.
“You atheists will never comprehend that Borlien lives or dies by its religion. Are we not threatened on every side by barbarians, by unbelievers? The empire cannot exist without belief. This bracelet threatens the empire, threatens belief itself. Its wriggling numbers come from a system that would destroy us…” In a less intense voice, he added, “Such is my conviction, and we must live or die by our convictions.”
The deuteroscopist bit his knuckle and said nothing.
JandolAnganol contemplated him, then spoke again.
“If you decide to become my chancellor, return here tomorrow. We will then speak more. Meanwhile, I will keep this atheistic bauble. What will your answer be, do you think? Will you become my chief advisor?”
Seeing the king place the bracelet within his clothes, CaraBansity was overcome.
“I thank your majesty. On that question, I must consult my own chief advisor, my wife…”
He bowed low as the king passed him and swept out of the room.
In a nearby corridor of the palace, the C’Sarr’s envoy was preparing to attend the king.
The portrait of Queen MyrdemInggala was painted on an oval piece of ivory cut from the tusk of a sea beast. It showed that unmatched face with a brow of flawless beauty, and her hair piled high above it. The queen’s deep blue eyes were shielded by full lids, while the neat chin lent a delicate aspect to an otherwise rather commanding mien. These features Alam Esomberr recognized from earlier portraits he had examined in Pannoval—for the queen’s beauty was known far and wide.
As he gazed upon this image, the official envoy of the Holy C’Sarr allowed his mind to dwell upon lascivious thoughts. He reflected that in a short space of time he would be face to face with the original masterpiece.
Two agents of Pannoval who spied for the C’Sarr stood before Esomberr. As he stared at the picture, they reported the gossip of Ottassol. They discussed back and forward between themselves the danger the queen of queens would be in once the divorcement between her and JandolAnganol was complete. He would wish to have her removed entirely from the scene. Entirely.
On the other hand, the general multitude preferred the queen to the king. Had not the king imprisoned his own father and bankrupted his country? The multitude might rise up, kill the king, and place MyrdemInggala on the throne. Justifiably.
Esomberr looked mildly upon them. “You worms,” he said. “You hrattocks. You tit-tattlers. Do not all kings bankrupt their countries? Would not everyone lock up his father, given the power? Are not queens always in danger? Do not multitudes always dream of rising up and overthrowing someone or other? You chatter merely of traditional role-playing in the great but on the whole somewhat typecast theatre of life. You tell me nothing of substance. Agents of Oldorando would be flogged if they turned in such a report.”
The men bowed their heads. “We also have to report that agents of Oldorando are busy here.”
“Let’s hope they don’t spend all their time rumboing the port wenches, as you two evidently do. The next time I summon you, I shall expect news from you, not gossip.”
The agents bowed more deeply and left the room, smiling excessively, as if they had been overpaid.
Alam Esomberr sighed, practised looking severe, and glanced again at the miniature of the queen.
“No doubt she’s stupid, or has some other defect to counterbalance such beauty,” he said aloud. He tucked the ivory into a safe pocket.
The envoy to C’Sarr Kilandar IX was a noble of deeply religious Taker family with connections in the deep-dwelling Holy City itself. His austere father, a member of the Grand Judiciary, had seen to it that promotion of his son, who despised him, had come early. Esomberr regarded this journey to bear witness to his friend’s divorcement as a holiday. On holiday, one was entitled to a little fun. He began to hope that Queen MyrdemInggala might provide it.
He was prepared to meet JandolAnganol. He summoned a footman. The footman took him into the presence of the king, and the two men embraced each other.
Esomberr saw that the king was more nervous in his manner than previously. Covertly, he assessed that lean bearded profile as the king escorted him into the chambers where revels were still in progress. The runt Yuli followed behind. Esomberr threw him a look of aversion, but said nothing.
“So, Jan, we have both managed to arrive in Ottassol safely. No invaders of your realm intercepted either of us on our way.”
They were friends as friendship went in those circles. The king remembered well Esomberr’s cynical airs and his habit
of holding his head slightly to one side, as if questioning the world.
“As yet we are free of the depredations of Unndreid the Hammer. You will have heard of my encounter with Darvlish the Skull.”
“I’m sure the rogues you name are frightful rogues indeed. Would they have been somewhat nicer, one wonders, if they had been given less uncouth names?”
“I trust your suite is comfortable?”
“To speak true, Jan, I abominate your underground palace. What happens when your River Takissa floods?”
“The peasants dam it with their bodies. If the timetable suits you, we shall sail for Gravabagalinien tomorrow. There’s been delay enough, and the monsoon approaches. The sooner the divorcement is over the better.”
“I look forward to a sea voyage, as long as it is short and the coast remains within earshot.”
Wine was served them, and crushed ice added.
“Something worries you, cousin.”
“Many things worry me, Alam. It’s no matter. These days, even my faith worries me.” He hesitated, looked back over his shoulder. “When I am insecure, Borlien is insecure. Your master, the C’Sarr, our Holy Emperor, surely would understand that. We must live by our faith. For my faith, I renounce MyrdemInggala.”
“Cousin, in private we can admit that faith has a certain lack of substance, eh? Whereas your fair queen…” In his pocket, the king fingered the bracelet he had taken from CaraBansity. That had substance. That was the work of an insidious enemy who, intuition told him, could bring disaster to the state. He clenched his fist round the metal.
Esomberr gestured. His gestures, unlike the king’s, were languid, lacking spontaneity.
“The world’s going to pot, cousin, if not to Freyr. Though I must say religion never caused me to lose a wink of sleep. Indeed, religion’s often been the cause of sleep in me. All nations have their troubles. Randonan and the dreaded Hammer are your preoccupations. Oldorando now has a crisis with Kace. In Pannoval, we are once more being attacked by the Sibornalese. South through Chalce they come, unable to tolerate their ghastly homeland for another instant. A strong Pannoval-Oldorando-Borlien axis will improve the stability of all Campannlat. The other nations are mere barbarians.”
