Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [562]
‘Brothers,’ he said, looking round at them. ‘We have a visitor, an important witness. I propose to summon him before us. His words, I fancy, will carry more weight than would further discussion.’ He gestured to the slave, who bowed and hurried from the room.
Another man entered the chamber. With deliberation, he turned and closed the doors behind him, only then advancing towards the table where the fifteen leaders of the Church sat. He was dressed in deep blue from head to foot; boots, breeches, shirt, jacket, cloak, all were blue; so was the hat he carried in his hand. Only his hair was white, although black remained over each temple. When the Synod had last seen him, his hair had been entirely black.
The white hair emphasised the size of his head. His straight brows, eyes, mouth, emphasised the anger that lurked like thunder there.
He bowed deeply to the Priest-Supreme and kissed his hand. He turned to salute the Synod.
‘I thank you for giving me audience,’ he said.
‘Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka, we had been informed of your death in battle,’ said Chubsalid. ‘We rejoice in the inaccuracy of our information.’
Asperamanka formed his lips into a chilling smile. ‘I all but died – but not in battle. The story of how I managed to reach Askitosh, almost alone of all my army, is an extraordinary one. I was shot in Chalce, on the very frontiers of our continent, I was captured by phagors, I escaped, I was lost in marshland – well, in brief, it is God’s miracle that I stand before you now. God protected me, and sharpened me as an instrument of justice. For I come as proof of a crime of perfidy unequalled in the illustrious history of Sibornal.’
‘Pray take a seat,’ said the Priest-Supreme, motioning to a lackey. ‘We wait to hear what you have to tell us. You will prove a better informant than any gossie.’
As Asperamanka told his story of the ambush, of the withering fire directed by the Oligarch’s guard against his returning forces, as the full extent of what had happened was borne home to everyone, it became clear that Parlingelteg had spoken truly. The Church would have to confront the State. Otherwise, the Church became party to the massacre.
It took Asperamanka over an hour to unfold the whole story of the campaign and its betrayal. Finally he was silent. Silent only for a minute. Then he unexpectedly hid his face in his hands and burst into tears.
‘The crime is mine too,’ he cried. ‘I worked for the Oligarch. I fear the Oligarch. To me, Church and State were one and synonymous.’
‘But no more,’ said Chubsalid. He rose and rested his hand on Asperamanka’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for being God’s instrument and making our duty plain to us.
‘The Oligarchy has had jurisdiction over humanity’s bodies, the Church over its souls. Now we must gird ourselves to assert the supremacy of the soul above the body. We must oppose the Oligarchy. Is it here so resolved?’
The fourteen members gave cries of assent. Sticks rattled under the table.
‘Then it is unanimous.’
After more discussion, agreement was reached that the first move should be to send out a firmly worded Bill to all churches the length and breadth of the land. The Bill would declare that the Church defended the ancient practice of pauk, which it regarded as an essential freedom of every man and woman in the realm. There was no evidence that the so-called gossies spoke other than Truth. The Church in no way accepted that the practice of pauk spread the Fat Death. Chubsalid set his name to the Bill.
‘This is probably the most revolutionary Bill the Church has ever put out,’ said the silvery voice. ‘I just want to state that fact. And by acknowledging pauk, are we not acknowledging also the Original Beholder? And are we not thus allowing heathen superstition into the Church?’
‘The Bill makes no mention of the Original Beholder, brother,’ said Parlingelteg softly.
The Bill was approved and sent to the ecclesiastical printer. From the printer it went out to