Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [566]
Parlingelteg’s clear young voice rang out: ‘And all the dead will bear witness against you. Word will go from gossie to gossie. All will hear of your crimes.’
The Oligarch’s darker tone replied. ‘The dead may bear witness. Happily, they cannot bear arms.’
‘When this deed is known, many will bear arms against you!’
‘If you have nothing to say beyond the airing of threats, then the time has come for you to meet those unarmed millions below ground yourselves. Or do any of you care to reconsider your loyalty to the State in view of what I have said?’
He motioned to the guards. Parlingelteg shouted the forbidden curse. ‘Abro Hakmo Astab, damned Oligarch!’
Armed guards marched across the room with heavy tread, to take up positions behind the ecclesiastics.
Asperamanka could say nothing for the trembling of his jaw. He rolled his eyes at Chubsalid, who patted him on the shoulder. The youngest priest took Chubsalid by the arm and called out again, ‘Burn us and you set all Askitosh afire!’
Chubsalid said, ‘I warn you, Oligarch, if you cause a schism between Church and State, your plans will never succeed. You will divide the people. If you burn us, your plan will already have failed.’
In a composed voice, the Oligarch said, ‘I shall find others who will cooperate, Priest-Supreme. Dozens of the obedient will rush to fill your place – and think it honourable. I know men well.’
As the guards took hold of the captives, Asperamanka broke free. He ran towards the Oligarch’s throne and went down on one knee, bowing his head.
‘Dread Oligarch, spare me. You know that I, Asperamanka, was your faithful servant in war. You surely never intended that such a valuable instrument should be killed. Do with these other two as you will, but let me be saved, let me serve again! I believe that Sibornal must survive as you say. Harsh times call for harsh measures. Spiritual power must make way for temporal power to secure the way. Just let me live, and I will serve … for the glory of God.’
‘You may do it for your own base sake, but never for God’s,’ said Chubsalid. ‘Get up! Die with us, Asperamanka – ’twill be less pain.’
‘Living or dying, we accept the role of pain in our existence,’ said the Oligarch. ‘Asperamanka, this comes unexpectedly from you, the victor of Isturiacha. You entered here with your brothers; why not burn with your brothers?’
Asperamanka was silent. Then, without rising from his knees, he burst out in a flood, of eloquence.
‘What has been said here belongs not so much to politics or morals as to history. You wish to change history, Oligarch – perhaps the obsession of all great men. Indeed our cyclic history stands in need of reform – reform which must be brutal to be effective.
‘Yet I speak for our beloved Church, which I have also served – served with devotion. Let these burn for it. I’d rather live for it. History shows us that religions can perish just like nations. I have not forgotten my history lessons as a child in the monastery of Old Askitosh, where I was taught of the defeat of the religion of Pannoval at the hand of a wicked King of Borlien and his ministers. If Church and State here fall apart, then our Supreme God is similarly threatened. Let me, as a Man of God, serve your ends.’
As the other priests were marched out, Parlingelteg took a flying kick at Asperamanka, sending him sprawling on the floor. ‘Hypocrite!’ he called as he was dragged out of range.
‘Take those two down to the courtyard,’ said the Oligarch. ‘If a little fear is struck into the heart of the Church, the Church may not be so vocal in future.’
He sat motionless as Priest-Supreme Chubsalid and Priest-Chaplain Parlingelteg were marched away.
The chamber emptied. Only one guard remained, silent in the shadows, and Asperamanka, still crouching on the floor, face pale.
The Oligarch’s cold stare turned in Asperamanka’s direction.
‘I can always find work