Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [314]
The words echoed about the bath chamber. The women had made as if to escape from the scene, then had frozen in cautionary gestures, lest the king turn upon them.
He turned on his chancellor.
As his face flushed with rage, the colour chased itself down his jaw to his throat. ‘Criminal again! Am I criminal? You old rat, you dare give me your orders and insults! I’ll settle with you.’
He marched over to where his clothes lay spread.
Fearing that he had gone too far, SartoriIrvrash said in a shaking voice, ‘Your Majesty, forgive me, I see your plan. By dismissing me, you can then be free to blame me before the scritina for what has occurred, and thus show yourself innocent in their eyes. As if truth can be moulded that way … It is a well-tried tactic, well-tried – transparent, too – but surely we can agree on how precisely—’
He faltered and fell silent. A sickly evening light filled the room. Traces of an auroral storm flickered in the cloud mass outside. The king had drawn his sword from its scabbard where it lay on the table. He flourished it.
SartoriIrvrash backed away, knocking over a pitcher of scented water, which rushed to escape in a flood across the tiled floor.
JandolAnganol began a complex pattern of swordplay with an invisible enemy, feinting and lunging, at times appearing hard pressed, at times pressing hard himself. He moved rapidly about the room. The women huddled against the wall, tittering with nervousness.
‘Heigh! Yauh! Ho! Heigh!’
He switched direction, and the naked blade darted at the chancellor.
As it stopped an inch from his collarbone, the king said, ‘So, where’s my son, where’s Robayday, then, you old villain? You know he’d have my life?’
‘Well I know the history of your family, sire,’ said SartoriIrvrash, ineffectually covering his chest with his hands.
‘I must deal with my son. You have him hidden in the warren of your apartments.’
‘No, sire, that I do not.’
‘I am told you do, sire, the phagor guard told me. And he whispered, sire, that you still have some blood in your eddre.’
‘Sire, you are overtaxed by the ordeals you have undergone. Let me get—’
‘Get nothing, sire, but steel in the gullet. So reliable! You have a visitor in your rooms.’
‘From Morstrual, sire, a boy, no more.’
‘So, you keep boys now …’ But the subject seemed to lose its interest. With a shout, the king flung up his sword so that it embedded itself in the beams overhead. When he reached up and grasped its hilt, the towel fell from him.
SartoriIrvrash stooped to retrieve it for his majesty, saying, falteringly, ‘I understand from whence your madness comes, and allow—’
Instead of seizing the towel, the king seized the old man’s charfrul and swung him about by it. The towel went flying. The chancellor uttered a cry of alarm. His feet slipped from under him, and they fell together heavily, in the flood of water.
The king was back on his feet as nimbly as a cat, motioning to the women to help SartoriIrvrash up. The chancellor groaned and clutched his back as two of them assisted him.
‘Now go, sire,’ said the king. ‘Get packing – before I demonstrate to you just how mad I am. Remember, I know you for an atheist and a Myrdolator!’
In his own chambers, Chancellor SartoriIrvrash had a woman slave anoint his back with ointments, and indulged in some luxurious groans. His personal phagor guard, Lex, looked on impassively.
After a while, he called for some squaanej juice topped with Lordryardry ice, and then laboriously wrote a letter to the king, clutching his spine between sentences.
Honoured Sire,
I have served the House of Anganol faithfully, and deserve well from it. I am prepared still to serve, despite the attack upon my person, for I know how your majesty suffers in his mind at present.
As to my atheism and my learning, to which you so frequently object, may I point out that they are one, and that my eyes are opened to the true nature of our world. I do not seek to woo you from your faith, but to explain to you that it is your faith which