Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

He paused and lit a veronikane, making a performance of it, breathing out the smoke luxuriously, sweeping the cloud away with languorous gestures.

“Yes, the old religions of Pannoval spoke truth when they warned that bad things came from the sky. Akhanaba’s origins were as a stone. You know that?”

He rose and waddled over to the window, where he climbed up on the sill and looked out. His large behind stuck out in JandolAnganol’s direction.

The latter said nothing, waiting for Taynth Indredd to commit himself.

The deuteroscopists say that Helliconia and our attendant sun, Batalix, are being drawn nearer to Freyr every small year. For the next few generations—eighty-three years, to be precise—we move ever nearer to it. After that, if celestial geometries prove correct, we draw slowly away again. So the next generations are the testing ones. Advantage will go increasingly to the polar continents of Hespagorat and Sibornal. For us in the tropics, conditions will become steadily worse.”

“Borlien can survive. It’s cooler along the south coast. Ottassol is a cool city—below ground, much like Pannoval.”

Taynth Indredd turned his froglike face over one shoulder in order to inspect JandolAnganol.

“There’s a plan, you see, coz… I know you have little affection for me, but I’d prefer you to hear it from me than have it from your friend, my old holy advisor, Guaddl Ulbobeg. Borlien will be all right at nearpoint, as you say. So will Pannoval, safe in its mountains. Oldorando will suffer most. And both your country and mine need to see Oldorando remain intact, or it will fall to barbarians. Do you suppose you could accommodate the Oldorandan court, Sayren Stund and his like—in Ottassol?”

The question was so startling that JandolAnganol was for once at a loss for words.

“That would be for my successor to say…”

The Prince of Pannoval changed his tone of voice, and the subject.

“Coz, take some fresh air at the window with me. See, there below is my charge, Simoda Tal, eleven years and six tenners old, daughter of the Oldorandan line, her ancestry traceable back to the Lords Den ruling Old Embruddock in the chill times.”

The girl, thinking herself unobserved, skipped in the courtyard below, dried her hair in a desultory fashion, and whirled her towel about her head now and again.

“Why does she make the journey with you, Taynth?”

“Because I wished you to see her. A pleasant girl, is she not?”

“Pleasing enough.”

“Young, it’s true, but, from certain signs I have had, of a quite lascivious nature.”

JandolAnganol felt a trap was about to spring. He withdrew his head and began to pace the room. Taynth Indredd turned about and settled himself comfortably on the ledge, blowing out smoke.

“Cousin, we wish to see the member states of the Holy Pannoval Empire draw ever closer. We must protect ourselves against bad times—not only now but to come. In Pannoval, we have always had Akhanaba’s gift of foresight. That is why we wish you to marry this pretty young princess, Simoda Tal.”

The blood sank from JandolAnganol’s face. Straightening himself, he said, “You know I am already married—and to whom I am married.”

“Face some unpleasant facts, coz. The present queen is the daughter of a brigand. She is not a fit match for you. The marriage degrades you and your country, which demands a better status. Married to Simoda Tal, though, yours would be a force to be reckoned with.”

“It cannot be done. In any case, the mother of that girl down there is a Madi. Isn’t that so?”

Taynth Indredd shrugged. “Are Madis worse than the phagors you dote on? Listen, coz, we want this new match to go through as smoothly as possible. No hostility, only mutual help. In eighty-three more years, Oldorando will be aflame from one end to the other, with temperatures near to one hundred and fifty degrees, according to calculation. Oldorandans will have to move southwards. Form a dynastic marriage now, and they will be in your power then. They will be poor relations begging at your door. All Borlien-Oldorando will be yours—or your grandson’s at least. It is a chance never to be missed. Now let’s have some more fruit. The squaanej are excellent.”

“It cannot be done.”

“It can. The Holy C’Sarr is prepared to annul your present marriage by a special bill.”

JandolAnganol raised a hand as if to strike the prince.

He retained the hand at the level of his eyes and said, “My present marriage is my past marriage and my future one. If we need this dynastic marriage, then I will marry off Robayday to your Simoda. It would make an equal match.”

The prince leaned forward and pointed a finger at JandolAnganol. “Certainly not. Forget the suggestion. That boy is crazy. His grandma was the wild Shannana.”

The Eagle’s eyes flashed. “He’s not crazy. A little wild.”

“He should have attended a monastery, as you did and I did. Your religion must tell you that your son is inadmissible as a suitor. You must make the sacrifice, if you choose to regard it as such. You will be rewarded for any sense of loss by our considerable aid. When we have your consent, we shall present you with a chest full of the new weaponry, together with all necessary priming. More chests will follow. You can train gunners for use against Darvlish the Skull as well as the Randonanese tribes. You will gain every advantage.”

“And what will Pannoval gain?” JandolAnganol asked bitterly.

“Stability, coz, stability. Over the next unstable period. The Sibornalese are not going to grow less powerful as Freyr nears.”

He nibbled at one of the purple squaanej.

JandolAnganol stood rooted where he was, looking away from the prince.

“I am already married to a woman I love. I will not put MyrdemInggala aside.”

The prince laughed. “Love! Zygankes, as Simoda Tal would say! Kings cannot afford to think in such terms. You must put your country first. For Borlien’s sake, marry Simoda Tal, unify, stabilize…”

“And if I don’t?”

Taking his time, Taynth Indredd selected another squaanej from the bowl.

“In that case, you will be wiped from the field of play, won’t you?”

JandolAnganol knocked the fruit from his hand. It rolled across the floor and stopped against the wall.

“I have my religious convictions. It would go against those convictions to put my queen aside. And there are those in your Church who would support me.”

“You don’t mean poor old Ulbobeg?”

Although the prince’s hand shook, he bent and selected another fruit.

“First of all, find some pretext to send her away somewhere. Get her out of the court. Send her to the coast. Then think about all the advantages which will accrue when you do as we wish you to do. I must return to Pannoval at the end of the week—with the news that you will make a dynastic marriage which the Holy C’Sarr himself will bless.”

The day continued difficult for JandolAnganol. During the morning’s meeting, while Taynth Indredd sat silent on his frog-throne, Guaddl Ulbobeg expounded the plan for the new marriage. This time, it was set out in diplomatic terms. When this action was taken, then those benefits would accrue. Great C’Sarr Kilandar IX, Father Supreme of the Church of Akhanaba, would approve both a bill of divorcement and the second marriage.

Wisely, nothing was said about what might or might not accrue in eighty-three years. Most diplomacy was concerned with getting through the next five years.

The royal household gave a luncheon for the guests, over which Queen MyrdemInggala presided, the king sitting at her side without eating, his little phagor waiting behind him. High-ranking members of the Borlienese scritina were also present.