CHAPTER THREE
Celadon took no notice of the farewells or the departure of the lesser masters. He had risen from his chair and was standing before one of the dark windows, staring at the courtyard far below. Only as the final master was leaving did he turn abruptly. The master, catching his signal, remained behind.
The slaves were departing now, bearing the empty platters and plates and cups. Again Celadon sent out a signal, and the last of the slaves remained behind, closing the doors before retiring discreetly to one of the dark corners.
Pentheus, recognizing the slave, gave the High Master a smile before saying, "I shouldn't keep you, Celadon. I know that you must be eager for rest."
"After that?" The same tentative note was in Celadon's voice again, this time mixed with something halfway between laughter and weeping. "I'd gladly rest a thousand years from a meeting like that. And it will be like that every day until the quarterly is over."
Pentheus walked over and placed his hand upon the shoulder of the younger man. "I wouldn't worry about it. Your behavior tonight was as masterly as always."
Celadon let out his breath slowly. His clenched hand had crept up to his mouth, and he was gnawing upon his knuckles. "I wish I could be sure of that," he murmured against his knuckles. "Every time there was a silence, I thought, Now Ledwin will get up and say, 'No true master would speak such words—'"
"You startled us," Pentheus admitted. "But it's hardly surprising that a High Master would startle those who serve him. Your mind runs at higher levels than ours do; that's why you were born to your role."
Celadon gave half a smile behind his knuckles, still pressed against his mouth. "That didn't stop you from disagreeing with me tonight."
"I know that you'd think less of me if I failed to advise you when I believe you've gone astray." Pentheus placed his foot upon the low seat beneath the window and laid his arm across the raised leg. "Celadon, your words tonight concerned me greatly. I meant it when I said that encouraging perverseness is no kindness to the slave who is drawn toward this condition. You of all people should understand this."
He kept his voice low so that his words would not reach the slave at the other end of the chamber, but the slave might have guessed something was amiss from Celadon's reaction. The High Master leaned against the wall of the window-crevice and bit so hard into the knuckles that a line of blood trickled down. Celadon took no notice of it; his gaze remained fixed upon the courtyard below.
"Forgive me; I know it must be unpleasant to be reminded of dark struggles of the past," Pentheus said quietly. "But you are the best example I know of a man who was saved from perverseness because of his unwillingness to allow the condition to overtake him. I must admit that, when your father died five summers ago, I was gravely concerned as to the future of this landstead. During your first few weeks as High Master, you wavered in your decisions and seemed unable at times to issue the commands needed to keep this landstead in proper order. Yet you did not give in to your tendencies, and because of that, you have become a High Master much admired, even by those who live in other landsteads." A smile flickered onto Pentheus's face as he added, "I've heard it said that your slaves believe that you are Remigeus reborn as a master."
Celadon's voice was low when he finally spoke. "So you believe I have succeeded in curing my condition."
"I know you have." Pentheus's reply was firm. "Even at your worst, you were never a pervert, Celadon. You merely experienced an especially intense version of the struggle that all young people undergo: the process of casting aside those parts of you that would not serve you in your work. Perhaps it is true, as some slaves say, that in every slave is born a bit of master and in every master is born a bit of slave. You need not be ashamed to acknowledge that fact, since you are no longer susceptible to perverse tendencies."
Celadon pulled away from the window finally, walking slowly over to where a shelf lay in a dim corner untouched by candle-flicker. He pulled his dagger from its sheath, appeared to contemplate it for a moment, and then let it fall onto the shelf. As though this were a signal, the slave came forward and began unhooking Celadon's dagger-belt. Celadon watched him without moving.
Pentheus hesitated, but the presence of the slave appeared to inhibit him from pursuing whatever continuation of the conversation he had been contemplating, for he said nothing more than, "Well, the matter lies in your hands and that of the other High Masters. I remain curious, though, as to whether you will grant me permission to express my opposition to your proposal at the quarterly. You know I do not like to speak against you publicly, but this is a topic I feel strongly about."
"I'll let you know about that in the morning." Celadon's voice was barely more than a whisper. He was looking down at the slave, who had finished unhooking the top part of the gown and was now kneeling to finish the task.
"Perhaps you could tell me now how your mind inclines and give me your final decision in the morning."
"I – I'm not sure how my mind inclines. I will have to think on it."
Pentheus remained at the window for a moment, pushing back his long hair against the brush of an evening breeze. Then he strode forward to the center of the chamber and said, in a changed voice, "And who will incline your mind for you?"
Celadon, who had turned to permit the slave to pull the gown from his shoulders, jerked round toward the lesser master, who was standing with arms folded. "What?" said the High Master faintly.
Pentheus shook his head slowly. "Celadon, Celadon. . . . I have known for several seasons now that you have an unnamed advisor. Every time you are asked, by me or any other person, to make a major decision, you say that you will think on the matter overnight. And in the morning you present your decision as though no hesitation had been needed, in words that are not entirely your own."
Celadon, ignoring the offer of an evening gown from his slave, swallowed rapidly twice. "Any decisions made are mine alone. No one else is responsible for them."
"I did not mean to deny that, nor am I criticizing you for seeking the advice of your lesser masters; I do so myself. But this particular lesser master has so great an influence on you that I am concerned by the fact that you have never spoken publicly of his role in your decision-making. I would like to think that he has only your best interests gathered to his heart, but I cannot judge that without knowing who the man is. Nor is it easy for me to find myself fighting an invisible opponent: offering you advice myself and then finding it overturned as a result of your consultation with this master. If I knew who my rival was for your mind, I would at least be on level ground in the battle."
Celadon folded his arms, as Pentheus had done, but his gesture looked less like defiance than as though he were seeking warmth from the cold. The slave had withdrawn. Celadon stood half-naked in the short tunic that was worn as outerwear by the slaves and as underwear by the masters. Celadon's gaze fell to the ground as he said, again faintly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You – you're my closest friend, Pentheus."
"And you are both my friend and my master; I have not forgotten that," Pentheus said quietly. "Why do you think I have delayed so long in this matter? I told myself that, if you chose to keep secret the identity of your chief advisor, it was not my place to judge your decision. But I'm beginning to wonder how many of the proposals that you bring before the High Masters are actually yours. This wild scheme of yours to give perverts legitimacy, which you have been attempting for several seasons now to force the other High Masters to accept, through one means or another – I thought at first you were prompted only by sympathy for others less fortunate than yourself. Now, though, I'm beginning to wonder whether your invisible advisor is using this as a device for your destruction. If it reaches the point where even your own lesser masters have concerns for the health of your mind, it will not be long before someone proposes stripping you of your rank."
Celadon was hunched now, his arms hugged tight across the thin cloth against his chest. His chest was rising and lowering rapidly,
and he did not look up.
"I'm sorry, Celadon. I hate to bear such terrible news to you."
"No, I'd guessed." The High Master's voice remained faint. "I knew I was taking a risk with my proposal, and that sooner or later— I had hoped, though, that I would be able to persuade at least a few masters before then."
"That has not happened." Pentheus remained in the center of the bright circle of light, eyeing the High Master. "If even I will not support you in this matter, you know the unlikelihood that any other master would. Celadon, it is reaching the point of crisis. Ledwin is unlikely ever to say, 'Celadon is not a true master,' but he is certainly at the point of questioning whether you have violated your duties as master. The last thing I want is to find myself a witness at your trial. Please, my dear, if only for the sake of the slaves whose lives you benefit through your work – withdraw this proposal of yours from the High Masters. And tell me who this advisor of yours is so that I can help you to judge whether his intentions toward you are pernicious."
Celadon's fist had crept up and was now jammed against his mouth again. "I don't know— I can't— I need to think—"
Pentheus sighed. "And you will give me your answer in the morning. Very well, talk with this advisor of yours, and tell him you are contemplating revealing his identity to me. If he is unconcerned by such a prospect, then I will have less worries about him, regardless of your decision. But if he advises you to continue keeping his identity secret . . . Please ask yourself, Celadon, what his motives are for giving such advice."
Celadon said nothing. A second trickle of blood was making its way down his fist, but it was nearly hidden by the darkness that nuzzled him. Pentheus waited a moment before saying, "Well, I will leave you to your rest. I should be getting back to my guest chamber in any case, as I'm expecting Obelia and Basil to arrive this evening."
Celadon raised his head finally. "I thought they would be with you already. I was surprised that you didn't bring Basil here this evening."
"He was delayed at the last minute, preparing a gift for you."
"A gift?" Celadon said uncertainly.
Pentheus flashed him a smile. "A gift for your slaves. He knows the way to your heart."
Celadon emitted something that might have been a laugh. "His heart is much the same. I know this landstead will be in good hands when it comes time for him to succeed me as High Master."
Pentheus had been on the point of turning toward the door. Now he paused and looked back at Celadon, whose back was bent, whose head was bowed, and whose clenched hand still pressed against his mouth. "Master," Pentheus said softly, "I will not allow them to take from you your rightful rank. That is service I will always give you."
Celadon raised his eyes again. He looked toward the older man without speaking. Pentheus bowed, then swept toward the golden doors, which had already been opened by the alert slave. The doors closed behind him with a soft thud that reverberated through the chamber.
For a moment, Celadon continued to stare blankly toward the center of the glowing circle where Pentheus had stood. The candles were so low now that only the faintest light shone in the chamber; some objects, such as Celadon's dagger, were utterly hidden by darkness. Noise came only faintly from the ground far below.
Then Celadon turned his eyes toward the slave. The man had finished lowering the bolt on the doors and now stepped forward into the remaining light of the chamber. He stopped where Pentheus had been, the light falling upon the scar across his cheek, which was shaven naked in slave-fashion. He said nothing, watching Celadon walk forward. Finally his gaze dropped, but only because the other man in the chamber had knelt at his feet.
"What shall I do?" whispered Celadon.
The slave did not reply. He had placed his hand lightly upon Celadon's bowed head, and there was a faint smile upon his lips.
Master and Servant (Waterman) Page 15
