Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [103]
‘Eddre, man, go, can’t you, when asked? Oyre—’
‘The custom is for your council of masters to drink to you, to toast your reign, sire.’
The gaze of the Lord of Embruddock rolled up to the beams and down again.
‘Master Datnil, I know you old men are short of breath and long on words. Spare me. Go, will you, before I have you replaced too. Away, all of you, my thanks, but go, away into this beastly weather.’
‘But—’
‘Go!’ He groaned and clutched himself.
A surly dismissal, and the old men of the council departed muttering, blowing out their toothless cheeks in indignation. Not a good omen … Laintal Ay and Dathka left, shaking their heads.
As soon as he was alone with his daughter, Aoz Roon fell on the floor and rolled about, groaning, kicking, and scratching himself.
‘Did you bring that medicated goose fat from Mistress Datnil, girl?’ he asked his daughter.
‘Yes, Father.’ Oyre produced a leather box containing a soft hunk of grease.
‘You’re going to have to rub it on my body.’
‘I can’t do that, Father.’
‘Of course you can, and you will.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I will not do it. You heard what I said. Get your slave woman to do it. That’s what she’s for, isn’t it? Or else I’ll get Rol Sakil.’
He jumped up, snarling, and took hold of her. ‘You’ll do it. I can’t afford to let anyone else see my state, or word will spread. They’ll find out, don’t you see? You’ll do it, damn you, or I’ll break your eddring neck. You’re as difficult as Shay Tal.’
When she whimpered, he said, with fresh anger, ‘Close your eyes if you’re so squeamish, do it with your eyes shut. You don’t have to look. But do it fast, before I go out of my harneys.’
As he began to strip himself of his skins, still with madness in his look, he said, ‘And you will be spliced to Laintal Ay, to keep you both quiet. I want no argument. I’ve seen the looks he gives you. It’ll be your turn one day to rule Oldorando.’
Off came his trousers, and he stood there naked in front of her. She closed her eyes tightly, turning away her face, sick with disgust at this humiliation. Yet she could not shut out the sight of that hard, spare hairless body, which seemed to writhe under its skin. Her father was covered to his throat with scarlet flames.
‘Get on with it, you great silly fillock! I’m in agony, damn you, I’m dying.’
She reached out a hand and began to plaster the sticky lard across his chest and stomach.
Afterwards, Oyre fled from him, spitting curses, and ran from the building, to stand with her face turned to the chill wind, retching with disgust.
Such were the early days of her father’s reign.
A group of Madis lay in their shapeless clothes, sleeping uneasily. They rested in a broken valley trackless miles from Oldorando. Their sentry dozed.
Walls of schist surrounded them. Under the onslaughts of frost, the rock broke into thin layers which crunched underfoot. There was no vegetation, except for an occasional stunted holly bush, the leaves of which were too bitter even for the omnivorous arang to eat.
The Madis had been caught in a thick mist which frequently descended on these uplands. Night had come and they had remained dispiritedly where they were. Batalix-rise had already visited the world, but dark and mist still reigned in the cold cleft of the canyon, and the protognostics still slumbered uneasily.
The young kzahhn’s crusade commander, Yohl-Gharr Wyrrijk, stood on an eminence some feet above them, watching as a mixed party of warrior gillots and creaghts under his orders crept up on the defenceless group.
Ten adult Madis made up the company crouched in the obscurity. They had with them a baby and three children. Beside them were seventeen arangs, sturdy goatlike animals with thick coats which provided most of the humble needs of the nomads.
This family of Madis was institutionally promiscuous. The exigencies of their existence were such that mating took place indiscriminately; nor were there any tabus against incest.