Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

Thus was her letter, despatched by the Ice Captain, answered at last.

The next morning brought challenges forgotten in the reunions of the previous night. The Union and the Good Hope were closing in on the undefended harbour. Pasharatid was drawing near.

Despite the crisis, Mai insisted on getting her brother to herself for half an hour; while she lectured him on the miseries of life in Gravabagalinien, TolramKetinet fell asleep. She threw a glass of water over him to wake him. Staggering angrily out of the palace, he went to join the queen down by the shore. She stood with CaraBansity and one of her old women, looking out to sea.

Both suns were in different sectors of the sky, both shining the more brightly because they were about to be eclipsed by black rain clouds drawing up the slopes of the sky. Two sails glittered in the actinic light.

The Union was close, the Good Hope no more than an hour’s sailing behind; the hierograms on its spread canvas were clear to behold. The Union had lowered its artemon, in order to allow its companion to catch up.

Lanstatet was already working with his force, unloading equipment from the Prayer.

“They’re coming in, Akhanaba help us!” he shouted to TolramKetinet.

“What’s that woman doing?” TolramKetinet asked. An old woman, a servitor of the queen’s, a long-term housekeeper of the wooden palace, was helping Lanstatet’s men unload the Prayer. It was her way of showing her dedication to the queen. A man above her was rolling kegs of gunpowder from the deck onto a gangplank. The old woman was directing the kegs down the slope, releasing a soldier for other duties.

“I’m helping you—what do you think?” she screamed back at the general.

Her attention was distracted. The next keg rolled off the gangplank and struck her shoulder, bowling the old woman over, pitching her face down on the shingle.

She was dragged up, faint but protesting, to lie against a chest on the beach. Blood streamed down her face. MyrdemInggala hurried down from the headland to comfort her.

As the queen knelt by her old servant, TolramKetinet stood over her and laid a hand on the queen’s shoulder.

“My arrival has brought trouble on you, lady. That was not my intention. I am trying to regret I did not sail straight on to Ottassol.”

The queen made no answer, but took the old woman’s head on her lap. The latter’s eyes had closed, but her breathing was regular.

“I said, lady, that I hope you don’t regret that I did not sail on to Ottassol.”

Distress showed in her face as she turned to him. “Hanra, I have no regrets about last night when we were together. It was my wish. I thought to be free of Jan. But it did not achieve what I hoped. For that, I am to blame, not you.”

“You are free of him. He divorced you, did he not? What are you talking about?” He looked angry. “I know I’m not a very good general, but—”

“Oh, stop that!” she said impatiently. “It’s got nothing to do with you. What do I care if you lost your scerming army? I’m talking about a bond, a solemn state that existed between two people for a long time… Some things don’t end when we hope they will. Jan and I—it’s like being unable to waken—oh, I’m unable to express—”

With some annoyance, TolramKetinet said, “You’re tired. I know how women get upset. Let’s talk about such things later. Let’s deal with the emergency first.” He pointed out to sea, and adopted a no-nonsense voice. “Judging by the nonappearance of the Golden Friendship, it was too badly damaged to sail. The Admiral Jeseratabhar says that Dienu Pasharatid was on it. Perhaps she has been killed, in which case Io Pasharatid on the Union will be full of vengeance.”

“I fear that man,” said MyrdemInggala. “And with excellent reason.” She bent her head over the old woman.

Her general gave her a side glance. “I’m here to protect you from him, aren’t I?”

“I suppose you are,” she said spiritlessly. “At least your lieutenant is doing something about the matter.”

JandolAnganol had seen to it that the wooden palace had no weapons with which to defend itself. But the rocks extending out to sea from the Linien Rock meant that any considerable vessel like the Union had to sail between the Rock and the headland, and there lay the defender’s chance. GortorLanstatet had reinforced his working party on the beach with phagors. Two large cannon from the Vajabhar Prayer’s quarterdeck had been winched ashore and were now being manhandled onto the headland, where they would command the bay.

ScufBar and another serving man came up with a stretcher to carry the injured woman back to the safety of the palace and apply iced bandages to her wounds.

Leaving the queen’s side, TolramKetinet ran to help position the cannon. He saw the danger of their situation. Apart from the phagors and a few unarmed helpers, the defending forces at Gravabagalinien numbered only his complement of thirteen who had come with him from Ordelay. The two Sibornalese ships now closing on the bay each contained possibly fifty well-armed fighting men. Pasharatid’s Union was turning, to present itself broadside on to the coast.

Heaving at the ropes, the men tried to get the second cannon into place.

Confronting the queen with folded arms, CaraBansity said, “Madam, I gave the king good advice which was ill taken. Let me now offer you a similar dose and hope for a kindlier reception. You and your ladies should saddle up hoxneys and ride inland, making no delay.”

Her face lit with a sad smile. “I’m glad of your concern, Bardol. You go. Return to your wife. This place has become my home. You know Gravabagalinien is said to be the residence of the ancient ghosts of those who were killed in a battle long ago. I would rather join those shades than leave.”

He nodded. “So it may be. I shall stay too, ma’am, in that case.”

Something in her expression showed him she was pleased by what he said. On impulse, she asked, “What do you make of this misalliance between our friend Rushven, and the Uskuti lady—an admiral, no less?”

“She keeps quiet, but that does not reassure me. It might be safer to pack those two off. There’s always more than an arm up a Sibornalese sleeve. We must use our cunning, ma’am—there’s little enough else on our side.”

“She appears genuinely devoted to my ex-chancellor.”

“If so, she has deserted the Sibornalese cause, ma’am. And that may give this man Pasharatid another reason for coming ashore. Pack her off, for everybody’s safety.”

At sea, smoke billowed, concealing all but the sails of the Union. A moment later, explosions were heard.

The shots landed in the water at the foot of a low cliff. With a second salvo, the marksmen would be more accurate. Evidently the lookout had sighted the manoeuvring of the cannon on shore.

But the shots proved to be no more than warnings. The Union swung to port and began sailing straight towards the little bay.

The queen stood alone, her long hair, still unbound from the night, streaming in the wind. There was a sense in which she was prepared to die. It might be the best way of resolving her troubles. She was—to her dismay—not prepared to accept TolramKetinet, an honest but insensitive man. She was vexed with herself for putting herself under emotional obligation to him. The truth was, his body, his caresses of the night, had merely aroused in her an intense longing for Jan. She felt lonelier than before.

Moreover, she divined with melancholy detachment Jan’s loneliness. That she might have assuaged, had she herself been more mature.