Helliconia: Helliconia Spring, Helliconia Summer, Helliconia Winter (134 page)

More tellingly, Bathkaarnet-she knew that Sayren Stund had long had it in mind to marry off Milua Tal to Taynth Indredd, a prince of Pannoval far older and more revolting than JandolAnganol. She disliked Taynth Indredd. She disliked the thought of her daughter living in gloomy Pannoval, buried under the mountains of the Quzint. That was not a fit fate for a Madi, or the daughter of a Madi. JandolAnganol and Matrassyl appeared the better bargain.

So, in her self-effacing way, she opposed her king. He was forced to find another way to show his anger. And a way was at hand.

Outwardly, Sayren Stund preserved a pleasant demeanour. He could not admit any responsibility for the killing of Yuli. He even invited JandolAnganol to a meeting to discuss wedding arrangements. They convened in a room where fans swung from the ceiling, where potted vulus grew, and where bright Madi rugs hung on the walls in place of windows, Pannoval-style.

With Sayren Stund were his wife and an advisor in holy orders, a tall saturnine man with a face like an unshaven hatchet, who sat in the background, looked at no one, and said nothing.

JandolAnganol arrived in full uniform, escorted by one of his
captains, a hearty outdoor man who looked bewildered by his new diplomatic role.

Sayren Stund poured wine and offered a glass to JandolAnganol.

The latter refused. ‘The fame of your vineyards is universal, but I have found the vintage makes me sleepy.’

Ignoring the thrust, Sayren Stund came to the point.

‘We are content that you should marry the Princess Milua Tal. You will recall that your intention was to wed my murdered daughter in Oldorando. Therefore we request you to hold the ceremony here, under the dispensation of the Holy C’Sarr himself, when he arrives.’

‘Sire, I understood you to say you were eager for me to leave today.’

‘That was a misunderstanding. We are given to understand that the tame creature of yours which caused us offence has been disposed of.’ As he said this, his eyes slid towards the saturnine advisor, as if for support. ‘We will hold festivities appropriate for you, rest assured.’

‘Are you certain the C’Sarr will be here in three days?’

‘His messengers are already here. Our agents are in touch. His entourage has passed Lake Dorzin. Other visitors, such as Prince Taynth Indredd of Pannoval, are expected tomorrow. Your nuptials will make the occasion a solemn historic event.’

Realising that Sayren Stund intended to gain advantage over him by this delay, JandolAnganol retired to a corner of the room to talk to his captain. He wished to leave immediately before more treachery could be worked. But for that he needed a ship, and ships were at the dispensation of Sayren Stund. There was also the pressing question – as the captain reminded him – of SartoriIrvrash, bound and gagged and near suffocation in Fard Fantil’s garderobe.

He addressed Sayren Stund. ‘Have we reason to be certain that the Holy C’Sarr will perform this office for us? He is ancient, is he not?’

Sayren Stund pursed his lips.

‘Ageing, certainly. Venerable. Not, I’d say to the best of my judgement, ancient. Possibly thirty-nine and a tenner or two. But
he might, of course, have an objection to the alliance, on the grounds that Borlien continues to harbour phagors and refuses to obey requests for a drumble. On that point of doctrine, I would not myself care to be dogmatic; we must naturally hear the judgement from his holy lips.’

Points of anger burned on JandolAnganol’s cheeks.

In a restrained voice, he said, ‘There is reason to believe that our beloved religion – to which none is more attached than I – began in simple phagor worship. That was when both phagors and men lived more primitively. Although ecclesiastical history seeks to hide the fact, the All-Powerful once closely resembled an ancipital in appearance. Of more recent centuries, popular images have blurred over that resemblance. Nevertheless, it is there.

‘Nobody imagines nowadays that phagors are all-powerful. I know from my personal experience how docile they can be, given firm handling. Nevertheless, our religion hinges centrally upon them. Therefore it cannot be just to persecute them under the edicts of the Church.’

Sayren Stund looked back for assistance to his priestly advisor. This worthy spoke, saying in a hollow voice, without looking up, ‘That is not an opinion which will carry weight with His Holiness the C’Sarr, who would say that the Borlienese king blasphemes against the countenance of Akhanaba.’

‘Quite,’ said Sayren Stund. ‘That is not an opinion which will carry weight with any of us, brother. The C’Sarr must marry you and you must keep your views to yourself.’

The meeting concluded briskly. Alone with his queen and the dark advisor, Sayren Stund rubbed his chubby hands and said, ‘Then he will wait for the C’Sarr. We have three days to see the wedding does not take place. We need SartoriIrvrash. The phagor quarters in Whistler Park have been searched and he is not there. He must then be still in the palace. We will have the king’s quarters searched – every nook and cranny.’

The dark advisor cleared his throat. ‘There is the question of the woman, Odi Jeseratabhar. She arrived here with SartoriIrvrash. This morning, she sought refuge in the Sibornalese ambassadorial mansion in some distress, reporting her friend’s disappearance. My understanding is that she is an admiral. My
agents tell me that she has not been well received. The ambassador may treat her as a traitor. Nevertheless, he will not hand her over – as yet at least.’

Sayren Stund fanned himself and took some wine. ‘We can manage without her.’

‘There is another point in your majesty’s favour which my ecclesiastical lawyers have produced,’ continued the priestly advisor. ‘King JandolAnganol’s divorcement from MyrdemInggala is contained in a bill which as yet remains in the possession of Alam Esomberr. Although the king has signed it and appears to believe his divorce absolute, by an ancient enactment of Pannovalan canon law the divorce of royal personages is not absolute until the bill has physically passed into the keeping of the C’Sarr. The enactment was passed in order to delay ill-considered dynastic alliances. So at present King JandolAnganol is in a de facto state of decree nisi.’

‘And therefore cannot marry again?’

‘Any marriage contracted before the decree is absolute would be illegal.’

Sayren Stund clapped his hands and laughed. ‘Excellent. Excellent. He’s not going to get away with this impertinence.’

‘But we need an alliance with Borlien,’ said the queen feebly.

Her husband scarcely bothered to look at her.

‘My dear, we have but to undermine his position, to disgrace him, and Matrassyl will reject him. Our agents report further riots there. I may then myself step in as the saviour of Borlien, ruling over both kingdoms, as Oldorando has ruled over Borlien in the past. Have you no sense of history?’

JandolAnganol was well aware of the difficulty of his position. Whenever he felt discouraged he whipped up his anger by thinking of Sayren Stund’s malice. When he had sufficiently recovered from the shock of discovering Yuli’s headless body to leave his room, he had come upon the head lying in the corridor. A few yards farther down the corridor lay the human guard he had posted, stabbed to death, his face hacked at savagely with a sword. JandolAnganol had vomited. A day later, sickness still overwhelmed him. Despite the heat, there was chill in his body.

After the meeting with Sayren Stund, he walked across to Whistler Park, where a small crowd which had gathered gave him a cheer. Association with the phagorian guard calmed him.

He inspected their premises with greater care than before. The phagor commanders trailed behind him. One of the pavilions had been designed as a kind of guest house, and was pleasantly furnished. Upstairs was a complete apartment.

‘This apartment will be mine,’ JandolAnganol said.

‘It make your place. No person in Hrl-Drra Nhdo have entry here.’

‘No phagors either.’

‘No phagors.’

‘You will guard it.’

‘It izz our understanding.’

He saw no reason to worry that the commander used what was an ancient phagorian name for Oldorando, though he knew of their long and seemingly ineradicable memories. He was too used to their archaic speech habits.

As he was walking back across the park, four phagors escorting him, the earth shook. Tremors were frequent in Oldorando. This was the second he had felt since his arrival. He looked across Loylbryden Square at the palace. He wished there would be an earthquake severe enough to shake it down, but he could see that the wooden pillars along its face were designed for maximum stability.

The onlookers and loiterers seemed unworried. A waffle seller carried on business as usual. With an inward tremor, JandolAnganol wondered if the end of the world was coming, despite all the wise men said.

‘Let it all end,’ he said to himself.

Then he thought of Milua Tal.

Towards Batalix-set, messengers ran to the palace to say that Prince Taynth Indredd of Pannoval was arriving at the East Gate earlier than anticipated. A formal invitation was sent to JandolAnganol’s party to be present at the welcome ceremony in Loylbryden Square, an invitation he could scarcely refuse.

Indifferent to affairs of state, or to wars in progress elsewhere,
Taynth Indredd had been on a hunt in the Quzints, and came loaded with trophies of the hunt – skins, plumes, and ivories. He arrived in a palanquin, followed by several cages of animals he had captured. In one cage, a dozen Others chattered at the crowd or moped dejectedly. A twelve-piece band played lively airs as they marched, and banners flew. It was a more impressive entry than JandolAnganol’s. Nor did Taynth Indredd have to stoop to haggling for a little money in the marketplace.

Among the prince’s retinue was one of JandolAnganol’s few friends in the Pannovalan court, Guaddl Ulbobeg. Ulbobeg looked exhausted from his journey. When the official welcoming ceremony showed signs of turning into a prolonged drinking bout, JandolAnganol managed to talk to the old man.

‘I’m getting too frail to undertake such expeditions,’ Guaddl Ulbobeg said. He lowered his voice to add, ‘And between ourselves, Taynth Indredd gets more tiresome, tenner by tenner. I greatly desire to retire from his service. I’m thirty-six and a quarter, after all.’

‘Why don’t you retire?’

Guaddl Ulbobeg laid a hand on JandolAnganol’s arm. The king was moved by the unthinking friendliness of the gesture. ‘With the post goes the bishopric of Prayn. Do you not recall I am a bishop of the Holy Pannovalan Empire, bless it? Were I to resign before being retired, I’d lose the post and all that goes with it … Taynth Indredd, by the by, is not best pleased with you, so let me warn you.’

JandolAnganol laughed. ‘I’m universally hated, I do believe. How have I offended Taynth Indredd?’

‘Oh, it’s common knowledge that he and our pompous friend Sayren Stund intended him to marry Milua Tal until you put your oar in.’

‘You know about that?’

‘I know everything. I also know I’m going to bathe and then to bed. Drink’s no good to me at my age.’

‘We’ll talk in the morning. Rest well.’

The earthquakes came again in the early part of the night. This time, they were serious enough to cause alarm. In the poorer parts
of the city, tiles and balconies were dislodged. Women ran out screaming into the streets. Slaves spread alarm throughout the palace.

It suited JandolAnganol well. He needed a distraction for his purposes. His captains had investigated the grounds to the rear of the palace and discovered – as was to be expected of a building which had not had to serve as a fortress for a great while – that there were many exits for those who knew. Some had been made by the palace staff for their own convenience. Although there were guards at the front, anyone could leave by the back. As JandolAnganol did.

Only to find that the palace had its own diversions. In the alley that ran outside the northeast side of the palace, a wagon, drawn by six hoxneys, arrived. Four burly men climbed down. One held the lead hoxney, while the other three set about sliding wooden bars away from a side door. They flung the door open and shouted to someone inside the wagon. When there was no answer, two of the men climbed in and, with blows and curses, dragged a bound figure out into the street. A rug had been tied over the captive’s head. When he groaned too distinctly, he was fetched a blow across his shoulders.

Without hurry, the three toughs unlocked an iron door and passed into an outbuilding of the palace. The door slammed shut behind them.

JandolAnganol watched this event from the concealment of a portico. Beside him was the fragile figure of Milua Tal. From where they stood, beside the wall, they could smell the heavy fragrance of the zaldal, to which Sayren Stund had drawn JandolAnganol’s attention earlier.

In the pavilion in Whistler Park, which they called the White Pavilion, they established their refuge. They would be safe under the protection of the Phagorian Guard. The king was still preoccupied with the sight they had just witnessed in the street.

‘I think your father means to kill me before I can escape from Oldorando.’

‘Killing’s not so bad, but he’s determined somehow to disgrace you. I’ll find out how if I can, but he gives me only black looks now. Oh, how can kings be so difficult? I hope you won’t be like
that when we escape to Matrassyl. I’m so curious to see it, and to sail down the Valvoral. Boats going downstream can go at a fantastic speed, faster than birds.