Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [251]
Without a word, the queen set down her extinguished taper on a shelf, then turned and left the room.
Esomberr collected two chairs with tapestry seats and set them together, opening up a shutter nearby so that they could watch the fury of the elements. They both sat down, and the king put his head between his hands.
‘After your marriage to Simoda Tal, I promise you things will take a turn for the better, Jan. In Pannoval, we are somewhat committed on our northern front against the Sibornalese. The fighting is particularly bitter because of traditional religious differences, you know.
‘Oldorando is different. After your forthcoming marriage, you should find that Oldorando will commit themselves to your side. They have difficulties themselves. Or – and this is quite likely – Kace may sue for peace after the marriage. Kace, after all, has blood ties with Oldorando. Right through Oldorando and Kace runs the east–west migratory route of the phagors and of the subhuman races, like the Madis.
‘Rrrhm, as you know, dear Simoda Tal’s mother, the queen, is herself a sub – well, a protognostic, let’s-say. That little term, “subhuman” is prejudicial. And the Kaci … well, it’s a wild place. So if they make peace with Borlien, we might even, who knows, induce them to attack Randonan. That would leave you free to deal with the Mordriat trouble, and the fellows with the amusing names.’
‘Which would suit Pannoval well,’ said JandolAnganol.
Esomberr nodded. ‘It would suit everyone well. I’m all for being pleased, aren’t you?’
His man returned, accompanied by peals of thunder and five anxious ladies who bore wine jars and were goaded forward by phagors.
The entrance of these ladies put a different aspect on affairs, even to the king, who got up and began to walk about the room as if just learning to use his legs. The ladies, finding no harm was immediately being offered, began to smile, and fell readily into their accustomed roles of pleasing male guests and getting them as drunk as possible as soon as possible. The Royal Armourer and various captains put in an appearance and joined in the drinking.
As the storm continued, lamps were lit. Other pretty captives were brought in and music was played. Soldiers under canvas canopies brought a banquet from the brig.
The king drank persimmon wine and ate silver carp with saffron rice.
The roof leaked.
‘I’ll speak to MyrdemInggala and see my little daughter, Tatro,’ he said, a while later.
‘No. That would be inadvisable. Women can humiliate men. You’re the king, she’s nobody. We’ll take the daughter away with us when we leave. When the sea is calm. I’m for spending the night in this hospitable sieve of yours.’
After a while, to overcome the king’s silence, Esomberr said, ‘I have a gift for you. This is a good time to present it, before we are too drunk to focus our eyes.’ He wiped his hands on his velvet suit and felt in a pocket from which he produced a delicate thin box with an embroidered cover.
‘This is a gift from Bathkaarnet-she, Queen of Oldorando, whose daughter’s hand you are to take in marriage. The queen executed the embroidery herself.’
JandolAnganol opened the box. Inside lay a miniature portrait of Simoda Tal, painted on her eleventh birthday. She wore a ribbon in her hair, and her face was half-turned away, as if in bashfulness or possibly coquetry. Her hair curled richly, but the artist had not disguised her parrot looks. The prominent nose and eyes of a Madi showed clear.
JandolAnganol held the portrait at arm’s length, trying to read what might be read. Simoda Tal carried a model of a castle in one hand, the castle on the Valvoral which was part of her dowry.
‘She’s a pretty girl and no mistake,’ said Esomberr enthusiastically. ‘Eleven and a half is the most lascivious age, whatever people pretend. Frankly, Jan, I envy you. Though her younger sister, Milua Tal, is even prettier.’
‘Is she learned?’
‘Is anyone learned in Oldorando? Not if they follow the example of their king.’