Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

The evening grew slightly cooler. There was another earth tremor, but it passed almost unnoticed among the general excitements.

Calmed and refreshed by his bath, well fed, King Sayren Stund was in fit mood to receive Alam Esomberr and the elderly Guaddl Ulbobeg. He seated himself comfortably on a couch and assembled his wife behind him to make an attractive composition before summoning the two men to his presence.

All due courtesies were made, and a slave woman poured wine into glasses already freighted with Lordryardry ice.

Guaddl Ulbobeg wore an ecclesiastical sash over a light charfrul. He entered reluctantly and appeared no more comfortable to see Crispan Mornu present. He felt his position to be dangerous, and showed it in his nervous manner.

Alam Esomberr, by contrast, was excessively cheerful. Immaculately dressed as usual, he approached the king’s couch and kissed the hands of both majesties with the air of one immune to bacteria.

“Well, indeed, sire, you did present us with a spectacle this afternoon, just as you promised. My congratulations. How ably your old rogue of an atheist spoke! Of course, our faith is merely deepened by doubt. Nevertheless, what an amusing turn of fate it is that the abhorred King JandolAnganol, lover of phagors, who only this morning stood trial for his life, should this evening stand revealed as heroic protector of the children of God.”

He laughed pleasantly and turned to Advisor Mornu to judge his amusement.

“That is blasphemy,” said Crispan Mornu, in his blackest voice.

Esomberr nodded, smiling. “Now that God has a new definition, surely blasphemy has one too? The heresy of yesterday, sir, is now perceived as today’s true path, which we must tread as nimbly as we can…”

“I don’t know why you are so merry,” Sayren Stund complained. “But I hope to take advantage of your good humour. I wish to ask you both a favour. Woman, serve the wine again.”

“We will do whatever your majesty commands,” said Guaddl Ulbobeg, looking anxious and clutching his glass.

The king rose up from a reclining position, smoothed his stomach, and said, with a touch of royal pomp, “We shall give you the wherewithal with which to persuade King JandolAnganol to leave our kingdom immediately, before he can delude my poor infant daughter Milua Tal into matrimony.”

Esomberr looked at Guaddl Ulbobeg. Guaddl Ulbobeg looked at Esomberr.

“Well?” said the king.

“Sire,” said Esomberr, and fell to tugging a lock of hair at the back of his neck, which necessitated his looking down at the floor.

Guaddl Ulbobeg cleared his throat and then, more or less as an afterthought, cleared it again. “May I venture to ask your majesty if you have seen your daughter just of late?”

“As for me, sire, I am almost totally within the power of the King of Borlien, sir,” added Esomberr, still attending to his neck. “Owing to a past indiscretion on my part, sir. An indiscretion concerning—most unforgivably—the queen of queens. So when the King of Borlien came to us this afternoon, seeking our assistance, we felt bound…”

Since he allowed the sentence to dangle while he scrutinized the countenance of Sayren Stund, Ulbobeg continued the discourse.

“I being a bishop of the Household of the Holy C’Sarr of Pannoval, sire, and therefore,” said Guaddl Ulbobeg, “empowered to act in His Holiness’s stead in certain offices of the Church—”

“And I,” said Esomberr, “still remissly holding in my charge a bill of divorcement signed by the ex-queen MyrdemInggala which should have been rendered to the C’Sarr, or to one of his representatives of the Household, tenners ago—with apologies for using that now opprobrious word—”

“And we both having care,” said Guaddl Ulbobeg, now with rather more relish in his voice, “not to overburden His Holiness with too many functions on this visit of pleasure between sister nations—”

“When there will be more contentious matters—”

“Or, indeed, to incommode your majesty with—”

“Enough!” shouted Sayren Stund. “Come to the point, the pair of you! Enough procrastination!”

“Precisely what we both said to ourselves a few hours ago,” agreed Esomberr, bestowing his choicest smile on the gathering. “Enough procrastination—perfectly put, Your Majesty… Therefore, with the powers entrusted in us by those above us all, we solemnized a state of matrimony between JandolAnganol and your beautiful daughter, Milua Tal. It was a simple but touching service, and we wished that your majesties could have been present.”

His majesty fell off the couch, scrambled up, and roared.

“They were married?”

“No, Your Majesty, they are married,” said Guaddl Ulbobeg. “I took the ceremony and heard their vows for His Holiness in absentia.”

“And I was witness and held the ring,” said Esomberr. “Some of the King of Borlien’s captains were also present. But no phagors. That I promise.”

“They are married?” repeated Sayren Stund, looking about wildly. He fell back into his wife’s arms.

“We’d both like to congratulate your majesties,” said Esomberr suavely. “We are sure the lucky couple will be very happy.”

It was the evening of the following day. The haze had cleared toward sunset and stars shone in the east. Stains of a magnificent Freyr-set still lingered in the western sky. There was no wind. Earth tremors were frequent.

His Holiness the C’Sarr Kilandar IX had arrived in Oldorando at midday. Kilandar was an ancient man with long white hair, and he retired straight to a bed in the palace to recover from his journey. While he lay prostrate, sundry officials, and lastly King Sayren Stund, in a fever of apology, came to tell the old man of the religious disarray in which he would find the kingdom of Oldorando.

To all this, His Holiness listened. In his wisdom, he declared that he would hold a special service at Freyr-set—not in the Dom but in the chapel of the palace—during which he would address the congregation and resolve all their doubts. The degrading rumour that ancipitals were an ancient, superior race would be exposed as complete falsehood. The voice of atheists should never prevail while strength was left in his ageing body.

This service had now begun. The old C’Sarr spoke out in a noble voice. There was scarcely an absentee.

But two absentees were together in the white pavilion in Whistler Park.

King JandolAnganol, in penitence and gratitude, had just prayed and scourged himself, and was washing the blood from his back with jugs of hot spring water poured by a slave.

“How could you do such cruelty, my husband?” exclaimed Milua Tal, entering briskly. She was shoeless, and wore a filmy white gown of satara. “What are we made of but flesh? What else would you desire to be made of?”

“There is a division between flesh and spirit, of which both must be reminded. I shall not ask you to undergo the same rituals, though you must bear with my religious inclinations.”

“But your flesh is dear to me. Now it is my flesh and if you hurt it more, I will kill you. When you sleep, I will sit on your face with my bottom and suffocate you!” She embraced him, clinging to him until her dress was soaked. He sent the slave away, and kissed and petted her.

“Your young flesh is dear to me, but I am determined that I will not know you carnally until your tenth birthday.”

“Oh, no, Jan! That’s five whole tenners away! I’m not such a feeble little thing—I can easily receive you, you’ll see.” She pressed her flower face to his.

“Five tenners is not long, and it will do us no harm to wait.”

She flung herself on him and bore him down onto the bed, fighting and wriggling in his arms, laughing wildly as she did so.