Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [561]
‘Some of you have complained because all phagors are to be shot regardless. I say they are not human. Get rid of them. They have no souls. Shoot them. And shoot all that defend them. Shoot the farmers whose farms fail. This is no time for individual gestures. Individuality itself must soon / will be punished by death.’
In the silence, his sticks rattled like bones as he seated himself again.
A murmur of shock went round the room, but Priest-Supreme Chubsalid from his ermine-lined seat said mildly, ‘No doubt they make such speeches all the while on Icen Hill, but we must keep to our chosen profession, which involves / continuous tempering our dealings even with failed farmers with mercy. Our Church stands for the individual, for individual conscience, individual salvation, and our duty is to remind our friends in the Oligarchy of this from time to time, so that the people are also clear in their minds on that point.
‘The seasons may grow harsh. We do not have to imitate them, so that even in harshest times the essential teaching of the Church may / will / must live. Otherwise there is no life in God. The State sees this time of crisis as one in which it must show its strength. The Church must do at least as much. Who here of the fifteen agrees that the Church should stand against the State?’
All of the fourteen he had addressed turned to mutter with their neighbours down the long table. They could guess the retribution which would follow the move advocated by their leader.
One of the number raised a gold-ringed hand and said, in a quavering voice, ‘Sire, the time may / potential come when we do indeed have to take the kind of stance you suggest. But for pauk? When we have carefully avoided for eons – when perhaps some doubt as to the legitimacy of challenging – when the myth of the Original Beholder opposes our …’
He left that theatrical thought unstated.
The youngest member of the Synod was a Priest-Chaplain named Parlingelteg, a delicate man, though it was whispered that some of his activities were indelicate. He was never afraid to speak up, and he addressed his words directly to Chubsalid.
‘That last miserable speech convinces me at least – and I imagine all of you – that we must stand against the State. Perhaps specifically on the issue of pauk. Let’s not pretend pauk isn’t real, or that the gossies don’t exist, just because they don’t fit with the Teaching.
‘Why do you think the State has tried to forbid pauk? For one reason only. The State is guilty of genocide. It killed off thousands of men in Asperamanka’s army. The mothers of those sons thus slain have communed with them after death. The gossies have spoken. Who here said the dead have no politics? That’s nonsense. Thousands of dead mouths cry out against the State and the murderous Oligarch. I support the Priest-Supreme. We must speak against Torkerkanzlag and have him thrown out of office.’
He blushed red to the roots of his fair hair, as several of his seniors applauded. The meeting broke up. Still they drew back from taking a decision. Had not Church and State always been inseparable? And to speak aloud of that massacre … They loved peace – some of them at all costs.
An hour’s break followed. It was too chilly to go outdoors. They loitered in the heated withdrawing rooms while scouts served water or wine in porcelain cups. They talked among themselves. Perhaps there was a way of avoiding actual confrontation; apart from what the gossies said, there was no real evidence, was there?
A bell rang. They reconvened. Chubsalid spoke privily to Parlingelteg and both looked solemn.
The debate was continuing when a liveried slave knocked and entered. He bowed low before the Priest-Supreme and handed him a note on a tray.
Chubsalid read the note, then sat for a moment with his elbow