Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [246]
‘So, Jan, we have both managed to arrive in Ottassol safely. No invaders of your realm intercepted either of us on our way.’
They were friends as friendship went in those circles. The king remembered well Esomberr’s cynical airs and his habit of holding his head slightly to one side, as if questioning the world.
‘As yet we are free of the depredations of Unndreid the Hammer. You will have heard of my encounter with Darvlish the Skull.’
‘I’m sure the rogues you name are frightful rogues indeed. Would they have been somewhat nicer, one wonders, if they had been given less uncouth names?’
‘I trust your suite is comfortable?’
‘To speak true, Jan, I abominate your underground palace. What happens when your River Takissa floods?’
‘The peasants dam it with their bodies. If the timetable suits you, we shall sail for Gravabagalinien tomorrow. There’s been delay enough, and the monsoon approaches. The sooner the divorcement is over the better.’
‘I look forward to a sea voyage, as long as it is short and the coast remains within earshot.’
Wine was served them, and crushed ice added.
‘Something worries you, cousin.’
‘Many things worry me, Alam. It’s no matter. These days, even my faith worries me.’ He hesitated, looked back over his shoulder. ‘When I am insecure, Borlien is insecure. Your master, the C’Sarr, our Holy Emperor, surely would understand that. We must live by our faith. For my faith, I renounce MyrdemInggala.’
‘Cousin, in private we can admit that faith has a certain lack of substance, eh? Whereas your fair queen …’
In his pocket, the king fingered the bracelet he had taken from CaraBansity. That had substance. That was the work of an insidious enemy who, intuition told him, could bring disaster to the state. He clenched his fist round the metal.
Esomberr gestured. His gestures, unlike the king’s, were languid, lacking spontaneity.
‘The world’s going to pot, cousin, if not to Freyr. Though I must say religion never caused me to lose a wink of sleep. Indeed, religion’s often been the cause of sleep in me. All nations have their troubles. Randonan and the dreaded Hammer are your preoccupations. Oldorando now has a crisis with Kace. In Pannoval, we are once more being attacked by the Sibornalese. South through Chalce they come, unable to tolerate their ghastly homeland for another instant. A strong Pannoval-Oldorando-Borlien axis will improve the stability of all Campannlat. The other nations are mere barbarians.’
‘Alam, you are requested to cheer me, not depress me, on the eve of my divorcement from MyrdemInggala.’
The envoy drained his glass. ‘One woman’s much like another. I’m sure you’ll be blissfully happy with little Simoda Tal.’
He saw the pain on the king’s face. JandolAnganol said, looking away towards the dancers, ‘My son should be marrying Simoda Tal, but I get no sense from him. MyrdemInggala understands that I take this step in the interests of Borlien.’
‘By the boulder, does she indeed?’ Esomberr felt inside his silk jacket and produced a letter. ‘You had better read this, which has just come to my hand.’
Seeing MyrdemInggala’s bold handwriting, JandolAnganol took the sheet tremblingly, and read.
To the Holy Emperor, C’Sarr Kilandar IX, Head of the Holy Pannovalan Empire, in the City of Pannoval, in the country of that name.
Revered Sire – Whose faith is followed devoutly by the undersigned—
Look favourably upon this supplication from one of thy most unlucky daughters.
I, Queen MyrdemInggala, have been punished where no crime was committed. I was unjustly accused of conspiring against Sibornal by my husband the king, and by his father, and stand in grave danger.
Revered sire, my lord King JandolAnganol has treated me with cruel injustice, banishing me from his side to this forlorn seaside place. Here I must stay until the king disposes