Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [239]
‘We will make a stop at Osoilima,’ the king announced. At Osoilima, a place of pilgrimage on the river, he would go to the shrine and be scourged. He was a religious man, and needed the goodwill of Akhanaba, the All-Powerful, in the test that was to come.
JandolAnganol was of distinguished and morose bearing. At twenty-five years and a tenner or two, he was still a young man, but lines marked his powerful face, giving him an appearance of wisdom his enemies claimed he did not possess.
Like one of his hawks, he had a commanding way of holding his head. It was to this head that most attention turned, as if the head of the nation were embodied in his skull. There was an eaglelike look to JandolAnganol, emphasised by the sharp bladed nose, the fierce black eyebrows, and the trim beard and moustache, which latter partly concealed a sensuous mouth. His eyes were dark and intense; the darting glance from those eyes, missing nothing, had brought him his nickname in the bazaars, the Eagle of Borlien.
Those who were close to him and had a gift for understanding character claimed that the eagle was always caged, and that the queen of queens still held the lock of the cage. JandolAnganol had the curse of khmir, best described as an impersonal lust, well understood in these hot seasons.
Often the quick head movements, in marked contrast to the concentrated stillness of the body, were the nervous habits of a man who hoped to see where he could turn next.
The ceremony under the high rock of Osoilima was soon over. The king, with blood seeping through his tunic, stepped back on board ship, and the second half of the journey began. Hating the stench of the boat, the king slept on deck at night, lying on a swansdown mattress. His phagor runt Yuli slept by him, guarding his feet.
Behind the king’s ship, keeping a discreet distance, was a second ship, a converted cattle boat. In it sailed the king’s most faithful troops, the First Phagorian Guard. It drew protectively closer to the king’s ship as they approached Ottassol’s inner harbour, on the afternoon of the third day of the voyage.
Flags drooped from masts in the muggy Ottassol heat. A crowd gathered at the quayside. Among the banners and other tokens of patriotism were grimmer signs, saying THE FIRE IS COMING: THE OCEANS WILL BURN, AND LIVE WITH AKHA OR DIE FOR EVER WITH FREYR. The Church was taking advantage of a time of general alarm, and trying to bring sinners to heel.
A band marched importantly forward between two warehouses and began to play a regal theme. The plaudits for his majesty as he stepped down the gangplank were restrained.
Greeting him were members of the city scritina and notable citizens. Knowing the Eagle’s reputation, they kept their speeches brief, and the king was brief in his reply.
‘We are always happy to visit Ottassol, our chief port, and to find it flourishing. I cannot remain here long. You know how great events move forward.
‘My unbending intention is to divorce myself from Queen MyrdemInggala by a bill of divorcement issued by the Great C’Sarr Kilandar IX, Head of the Holy Pannovalan Empire and Father Supreme of the Church of Akhanaba, whose servants we are.
‘After I have served that bill upon the present queen, in the presence of witnesses accredited by the Holy C’Sarr, as in law I must, then, when the Holy C’Sarr receives the bill, I shall be free to take, and will take, as my lawful spouse Simoda Tal, Daughter of Oldorando. Thus shall I affirm by bonds of matrimony the alliance between our country and Oldorando, an ancient linkage, and confirm our common partnership in the Holy Empire.
‘United, our common enemies will be defeated, and we shall grow to greatness as in the days of our grandfathers.’
There was some cheering and clapping. Most of the audience rushed to see the phagorian soldiery disembark.
The king had discarded his usual keedrant. He was dressed in a tunic of yellow and black, sleeveless, so that his sinewy arms were well