Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [594]
‘The traitor was born in Bribahr, so you don’t wonder … He paid a visit to the monasteries of the Wheel. Now he takes it into his head to speak against the State, the friend and protector of the Church.’
‘They have burnt him for it, Father, if that’s any consolation,’ said one of the Esikananzi sons, with a laugh.
‘Of course. And his estates in Bribahr will be confiscated. I wonder who will get them? The Oligarchy will decide on what is best. The great thing is, as winter descends, to guard against anarchy. For Sibornal, the four main tasks are clear. To unify the continent, to strike rapidly against all subversive activity, whether in economic, religious, or academic life …’
As the voice droned on, Luterin Shokerandit stared down at his plate. He was without appetite. His eventful time away from Shivenink had so widened his outlook on life that he was oppressed by the sight and sound of the Esikananzis, of whom he had once been in awe. The pattern of the plate before him penetrated his consciousness; with a wave of nostalgia, he realised that it was an Odim export, despatched from the warehouse in Koriantura in better times. He thought with affection of Eedap Mun Odim and his pleasant brother – and then, with guilt, of Toress Lahl, at present locked in his suite for safety. Looking up he caught Insil’s cool gaze.
‘The Oligarchy will have to pay for the death of the Priest-Supreme,’ he said, ‘no less than for the slaughter of Asperamanka’s army. Why should winter be an excuse for overturning all our human values? Excuse me.’
He rose and left the room.
After the meal, his mother employed many reproaches in order to induce him to return to the company. Sheepishly, he went and sat with Insil and her family. They made stiff conversation until slaves brought in a phagor who had been taught to juggle. Under guidance from her master’s whip, the gillot jiggled a little from one foot to another while balancing a plate on her horns.
An ensemble of slaves appeared next, dancing while Yaringa Shokerandit did her party piece and sang love songs from the Autumn Palaces.
If my heart were free, if my heart were free,
And wild as the dashing Venj is …
‘Are you being uncivil or merely soldierly?’ Insil asked, under cover of the music. ‘Do you anticipate our marrying in a kind of dumb show?’
He gazed at her familiar face, smiled at her familiar teasing tone. He admired the froth of lace and linen at shoulders and breasts, and observed how those breasts had developed since their last meeting.
‘What are your expectations, Insil?’
‘I expect we shall do what is expected of us, like creatures in a play. Isn’t that necessary in times like these – when, as you tactfully reminded Pa, ordinary values are cast off like garments, in order to meet winter naked.’
‘It’s more a question of what we expect from ourselves. Barbarism may come, certainly, but we can defy it.’
‘Word has it that in Campannlat, following the defeat you administered to their various savage nations, civil wars have broken out and civilisation is already crumbling. Such disturbances must be avoided here at all costs … Notice that I have taken to talking politics since we parted! Isn’t that barbarism?’
‘No doubt you have had to listen to your father preaching about the perils of anarchy many times. It’s only your neckline I find barbaric.’
When Insil laughed, her hair fell over her brow. ‘Luterin, I am not sorry to see you again, even in your present odd shape, disguised as a barrel. Let’s talk somewhere privately while your relation sings her heart out about that horrible river.’
They excused themselves and went together to a chill rear chamber, where biogas flames hissed a continual cautionary