Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [30]
The populace must think their ruler is a greater man than they, else why should they follow him? Above all a leader must be a showman, giving his people the bread and circuses they require.
—DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES
The weeks of preparation for his sojourn on Ix passed in a blur as Leto tried to drink up a year’s worth of memories and store them, fixing all the images of his ancestral home in his mind. He would miss Caladan’s moist salty air, its fog-shrouded mornings, and the musical afternoon rainstorms. How could a stark, colorless machine planet compare with this?
Of the many palaces and vacation villas on the water-rich planet, Castle Caladan, perched high on a cliff over the sea, was the true place where Leto belonged, the main seat of government. Someday, when he finally put on the ducal signet ring, he would be the twenty-sixth Duke Atreides to sit in the Castle.
His mother Helena spent much time fussing over him, seeing omens in many things, and quoting passages she considered important from the Orange Catholic Bible. She was distressed to be losing her son for a year, but would not countermand the Old Duke’s orders—not in anyone’s hearing, at least. Her expression was troubled, and Leto realized it especially alarmed her that Paulus had chosen to send him to Ix, of all places. “It’s a festering hotbed of suspect technology,” she said to him when her husband was gone, far out of earshot.
“Are you sure you aren’t just reacting because Ix is the main rival to House Richese, Mother?” he asked.
“I think not!” Her long, slender fingers paused as they laced up an elegant collar on his shirt. “House Richese relies on old, tried-and-true technology—established devices that fall safely within prescribed guidelines. No one questions Richesian adherence to the strictures of the Jihad.”
She looked at him, her dark eyes hard, then cracking with tears. She stroked his shoulder. From a recent spurt of growth, he was almost her height. “Leto, Leto, I don’t want you to lose your innocence there, or your soul,” she told him. “There’s too much at stake.”
Later, in the dining hall during a quiet family meal of fish stew and biscuits, Helena had once again begged the Old Duke to send him somewhere else. Paulus merely laughed at her concerns, though, until finally her quiet but firm refusal to back down drove him to rage. “Dominic is my friend—and by God our son couldn’t learn at the hands of a better man!”
Trying to concentrate on his own meal, yet disturbed over his mother’s protestations, Leto had nonetheless stood by his father. “I want to go there, Mother,” he said, gently resting his spoon beside his bowl, then repeated the line she always told him. “It’s for the best.”
During Leto’s upbringing, Paulus had made many choices with which Helena disagreed: putting the young man to work with villagers, taking him out to meet citizens face-to-face, letting him make friends with commoners, encouraging him to get his hands dirty. Leto could see the wisdom in this, since he would be Duke of these people someday, but Helena still objected on various grounds, often quoting passages from the Orange Catholic Bible to justify her opinions.
His mother was not a patient woman and not warm to her only child, though she maintained a perfect front during important meetings and public events. She always fussed about her own appearance, and often said she would never have any more children. Bringing up one son and running the ducal household already took up most of her valuable time, which could otherwise have been spent studying the Orange Catholic Bible and other religious texts. It was obvious that Helena had borne a son only out of duty to House Atreides, rather than out of any desire to nurture and raise a child.
No wonder the Old Duke sought out the companionship of other women who proved less prickly.
Sometimes at night, behind the massive doors of layered Elaccan teak, Leto