Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [625]
The Master remained standing rather stiffly, betraying some nervousness as he gulped his yadahl. He said, ‘Of course, you have been away from the world for a long time. Do I take it that you don’t recognise me?’
Luterin said nothing.
With a small burst of irritation, the Master said, ‘Beholder, you are silent, aren’t you? I was once your army commander, Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka. I thought soldiers never forgot their commanders in battle!’
Then Luterin spoke. ‘Ah, Asperamanka … “Let them bleed a little” … Yes, now I remember you.’
‘It’s hard to forget how the Oligarchy, when your father controlled it, destroyed my army in order to keep the plague from Sibornal. You and I were among the few to escape death.’
He took a considered sip at his yadahl and paced about the room. Now Luterin recognised him by the anger lines incised into his brow.
Luterin rose. ‘I’d like to ask you a question. How does the State regard me – as a saint or a sinner?’
The Master’s fingernails tapped against his glass. ‘After your father … died, there followed a period of unrest in the various nations of Sibornal. They’re used to harsh laws by now – the laws that will see us safe through the Weyr-Winter – but then it was otherwise. There was, frankly, some bad feeling about Oligarch Torkerkanzlag II. His edicts weren’t popular …
‘So the Oligarchy circulated the rumour – and this was my idea – that they had trained you to assassinate your father, whom they could no longer control. They put out the idea that you had been spared at the massacre at Koriantura only because you were the Oligarchy’s man. The rumour increased our popularity and brought us through a difficult time.’
‘You wrapped up my crime in a lie.’
‘We just made use of your useless act. One outcome of it was that the State recognised you officially as a – why do you say “saint”? – as a hero. You’ve become part of legend. Though I have to say that personally I regard you as a sinner of the first water. I still keep my religious convictions in such matters.’
‘And is it religious conviction that has installed you in Kharnabhar?’
Asperamanka smiled and tugged at his beard. ‘I greatly miss Askitosh. But there was an opportunity open to govern this province, so I took it … As a legend, a figure in the history books, you must accept my hospitality for the night. A guest, not a captive.’
‘My mother?’
‘We have her here. She’s ill. She’s no more likely to recognise you than you were to recognise me. Since you are something of a hero in Kharnabhar, I want you to accompany me to the public Myrkwyr ceremony tomorrow, with the Keeper. Then people can see we haven’t harmed you. It will be the day of your rehabilitation. There’ll be a feast.’
‘You’ll let me feed a little …’
‘I don’t understand you. After the ceremony, we will make what arrangements you wish. You might consider it best to leave Kharnabhar and live somewhere less remote.’
‘That’s what the Keeper also hoped I might consider.’
He went to see his mother. Lourna Shokerandit lay in bed, frail and unmoving. As Asperamanka had anticipated, she did not recognise him. That night, he dreamed he was back in the Wheel.
The following day began with a great bustle and ringing of bells. Strange smells of food drifted up to where Luterin lay. He recognised the savoury odours as rising from dishes he would once have desired. Now he longed for the simple fare he had reviled, the rations that came rolling down the chutes of the Wheel.
Slaves came to wash and dress him. He did as was required of him, passively.
Many people he did not know assembled in the great hall. He looked down over the banisters and could not bring himself to join them. The excitement was overpowering. Master Asperamanka came up the stairs to him and said, taking his arm, ‘You are unhappy. What can I do for you? It is important that I am seen to please you today.’
The personages in the hall were flocking outside, where sleigh-bells rattled. Luterin did not speak. He could hear the wind roar as