Authors: David Eddings
Bevier gasped.
‘Hasn’t anyone ever tried to instruct them?’ Emban asked.
‘Oh, my, yes, your Grace,’ Oscagne grinned. ‘Churchmen from the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli have gone by the score to Valesia to try to persuade the islanders that their favourite pastime is scandalous and sinful. The churchmen are filled with zeal right at first, but it doesn’t usually last for very long. Valesian girls are all very beautiful and
very
friendly. Almost invariably, it’s the Elenes who are converted. The Valesian religion seems to have only one commandment: “Be happy”.’
‘There are worse notions,’ Emban sighed.
‘Your
Grace
!‘ Bevier exclaimed.
‘Grow up, Bevier,’ Emban told him. ‘I sometimes
think that our Holy Mother Church is a bit obsessive about certain aspects of human behaviour.’
Bevier flushed, and his face grew rigidly disapproving.
The courtiers in the throne-room, obviously at the emperor’s command, once again ritualistically grovelled as Ehlana passed. Practice had made them so skilled that dropping to their knees, banging their foreheads on the floor and getting back up again was accomplished with only minimal awkwardness.
Ehlana, gowned in royal blue, reached the throne and curtseyed gracefully. The set look on her face clearly said that she would
not
grovel.
The emperor bowed in response, and an astonished gasp ran through the crowd. The imperial bow was adequate, though just a bit stiff. Sarabian had obviously been practising, but bowing appeared not to come naturally to him. Then he cleared his throat and spoke at some length in the Tamul language, pausing from time to time to permit his official translator to convert his remarks into Elenic.
‘Keep your eyes where they belong,’ Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. Her face was serene, and her lips scarcely moved.
‘I wasn’t looking at her,’ he protested.
‘Oh,
really
?’
The Empress Elysoun had the virtually undivided attention of the Church Knights and the Peloi, and she quite obviously was enjoying it. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her smile was just slightly naughty. She stood not far from her Imperial husband, breathing deeply, evidently a form of exercise among her people. There was a challenge in the look she returned to her many admirers, and she surveyed them clinically. Sparhawk had seen the same look on Ehlana’s face when she was choosing jewellery or gowns. He concluded that
Empress Elysoun was very likely to cause problems.
Emperor Sarabian’s speech was filled with formalised platitudes. His heart was full. He swooned with joy. He was dumbstruck by Ehlana’s beauty. He was quite overwhelmed by the honour she did him in stopping by to call. He thought her dress was very nice.
Ehlana, the world’s consummate orator, quickly discarded the speech she had been preparing since her departure from Chyrellos and responded in kind. She found Matherion quite pretty. She advised Sarabian that her life had now seen its crown (Ehlana’s life seemed to find a new crown each time she made a speech). She commented on the unspeakable beauty of the Imperial wives, (though making no mention of Empress Elysoun’s painfully visible attributes). She also promised to swoon with joy, since it seemed to be the fashion here. She thanked him profusely for his gracious welcome. She did not, however, talk about the weather.
Emperor Sarabian visibly relaxed. He had clearly been apprehensive that the Queen of Elenia might accidentally slip something of substance into her speech which would have then obliged him to respond without consultation.
He thanked her for her thanks.
She
thanked
him
for his thanks for her thanks.
Then they stared at each other. Thanks for thanks for thanks can only be carried so far without becoming ridiculous.
Then an official with an exaggeratedly bored look on his face cleared his throat. He was somewhat taller than the average Tamul, and his face showed no sign whatsoever of what he was thinking.
It was with enormous relief that Emperor Sarabian introduced his prime minister, Pondia Subat.
‘Odd name,’ Ulath murmured after the emperor’s
remarks had been translated. ‘I wonder if his close friends call him “Pondy”.’
‘Pondia is his title of nobility, Sir Ulath,’ Oscagne explained. ‘It’s a rank somewhat akin to that of viscount, though not exactly. Be a little careful of him, my lords. He is
not
your friend. He also pretends not to understand Elenic, but I strongly suspect that his ignorance on that score is feigned. Subat was violently opposed to the idea of inviting Prince Sparhawk to come to Matherion. He felt that to do so would demean the emperor. I’ve also been advised that the emperor’s decision to treat Queen Ehlana as an equal quite nearly gave our prime minister apoplexy.’
‘Is he dangerous?’ Sparhawk murmured.
‘I’m not entirely certain, your Highness. He’s fanatically loyal to the emperor, and I’m not altogether sure where that may lead him.’
Pondia Subat was making a few remarks.
‘He says that he knows you’re fatigued by the rigours of the journey,’ Oscagne translated. ‘He urges you to accept the imperial hospitality to rest and refresh yourselves. It’s a rather neat excuse to conclude the interview before anyone says anything that might compel the emperor to answer before Subat has a chance to prompt him.’
‘It might not be a bad idea,’ Ehlana decided. ‘Things haven’t gone badly so far. Maybe we should just leave well enough alone for the time being.’
‘I shall be guided by you, your Majesty,’ Oscagne said with a florid bow.
Ehlana let that pass.
After another effusive exchange between their Majesties, the prime minister escorted the visitors from the hall. Just outside the door to the throne-room they mounted a flight of stairs and proceeded along a corridor directly to the far side of the palace, foregoing the
pleasure of retracing their steps around and around the interminable spiral.
Pondia Subat, speaking through an interpreter, pointed out features of interest as they progressed. His tone was deliberately off-hand, treating wonders as commonplace. He was not even particularly subtle about his efforts to put these Elene barbarians in their place. He did not quite sneer at them, but he came very close. He led them along a covered walk-way to the gleaming Elene castle, where he left them in the care of Ambassador Oscagne.
‘Is his attitude fairly prevalent here in Matherion?’ Emban asked the ambassador.
‘Hardly,’ Oscagne replied. ‘Subat’s the leader of a very small faction here at court. They’re arch-conservatives who haven’t had a new idea in five hundred years.’
‘How did he become prime minister if his faction is so small?’ Tynian asked.
‘Tamul politics are very murky, Sir Tynian. We serve at the emperor’s pleasure, and he’s in no way obliged to take our advice on any matter. Subat’s father was a very close friend of Emperor Sarabian’s sire, and the appointment of Subat as prime minister was more in the nature of a gesture of filial respect than a recognition of outstanding merit, although Subat’s an adequate prime minister – unless something unusual comes up. Then he tends to go all to pieces. Cronyism’s one of the major drawbacks of our form of government. The head of our church has never had a pious thought in his life. He doesn’t even know the names of our Gods.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Emban said, his eyes stunned. ‘Are you trying to say that ecclesiastical positions are bestowed by the emperor?’
‘Of course. They
are
positions of authority, after all,
and Tamul emperors don’t like to let authority of
any
kind out of their hands.’
They had entered the main hall of the castle, which, with the exception of the gleaming nacre that covered every exposed surface, was very much like the main hall of every Elene castle in the world.
‘The servants here are Elenes,’ Oscagne told them, ‘so you should have no difficulty explaining your needs to them. I trust you’ll excuse me now. I must go make my report to his Imperial Majesty.’ He made a face. ‘I’m not really looking forward to it, to be honest with you. Subat’s going to be standing at his Majesty’s elbow making light of everything I say.’ He bowed to Ehlana, then turned and left.
‘We’ve got problems here, I think,’ Tynian observed. ‘All this formality’s going to keep us away from the emperor, and if we can’t tell him what we’ve discovered, he’s not likely to give us the freedom of movement we’re going to need.’
‘And the antagonism of the prime minister’s going to make things that much worse,’ Bevier added. ‘It rather looks as if we’ve come half-way round the world to offer our help only to be confined in this very elaborate prison.’
‘Let’s feel things out a bit before we start getting obstreperous,’ Emban counselled. ‘Oscagne knows what he’s doing, and he’s seen almost everything we’ve seen. I think we can count on him to convey the urgency of the situation to Sarabian.’
‘If you have no need of us, your Majesty,’ Stragen said to Ehlana, ‘Talen and I should go make contact with the local thieves. If we’re going to be tied up in meaningless formalities here, we’ll need some help in gathering information.’
‘How do you plan to communicate with them?’ Khalad asked him.
‘Matherion’s a very cosmopolitan place, Khalad. Caalador directed me to several Elenes who carry quite a bit of weight with the local thieves.’
‘Do what you must, Stragen,’ Ehlana told him, ‘but don’t cause any international incidents.’
‘Trust me, your Majesty,’ he grinned.
The royal apartments in the castle were high up in a central tower. The castle was purely ornamental, of course, but since it was a faithful reproduction of an Elene fort, the builders had unwittingly included defensive features they probably hadn’t even recognised. Bevier was quite pleased with it. ‘I could defend the place,’ he judged. ‘About all I’d need would be a few vats of pitch and some engines and I could hold this castle for several years.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Bevier,’ Ehlana replied.
Later that evening, when Sparhawk and his extended family had said good night to the others and retired to the royal apartment, the Prince consort lounged in a chair by the window while the ladies did all those little things ladies do before going to bed. Many of those little ceremonies had clearly practical reasons behind them; others were totally incomprehensible.
‘I’m sorry, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana was saying, ‘but it concerns me. If the Empress Elysoun’s as indiscriminately predatory as Oscagne suggests, she could cause us a great deal of embarrassment. Take Kalten, for example. Can you believe that he’d decline the kind of offers she’s likely to make – particularly in view of her costume?’
‘I’ll have a talk with him,’ Sparhawk promised.
‘By hand,’ Mirtai suggested. ‘Sometime it’s a little hard to get Kalten’s attention when he’s distracted.’
‘She’s vulgar,’ Baroness Melidere sniffed.
‘She’s very pretty though, Baroness,’ Alean added,
‘And she’s not really flaunting her body. She knows it’s there, of course, but I think she just likes to share it with people. She’s generous more than vulgar.’
‘Do you suppose we could talk about something else?’ Sparhawk asked them in a pained tone.
There was a light knock on the door, and Mirtai went to see who was asking admittance. As always, the Atana had one hand on a dagger-hilt when she opened the door.
It was Oscagne. He was wearing a hooded cloak, and he was accompanied by another man similarly garbed. The two stepped inside quickly. ‘Close the door, Atana,’ the Ambassador hissed urgently, his usually imperturbable face stunned and his eyes wild.
‘What’s your problem, Oscagne?’ she asked bluntly.
‘Please, Atana Mirtai, close the door. If anybody finds out that my friend and I are here, the palace will fall down around our ears.’
She closed the door and bolted it.
A sudden absolute certainty came over Sparhawk, and he rose to his feet. ‘Welcome, your Imperial Majesty,’ he greeted Oscagne’s hooded companion.
Emperor Sarabian pushed back his hood. ‘How the deuce did you know it was me, Prince Sparhawk?’ he asked. His Elenic was only slightly accented. ‘I know you couldn’t see my face.’
‘No, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but I could see Ambassador Oscagne’s. He looked very much like a man holding a live snake.’
‘I’ve been called a lot of things in my time,’ Sarabian laughed, ‘but never that.’
‘Your Majesty is most skilled,’ Ehlana told him with a little curtsey. ‘I didn’t see a single hint on your face that you understood Elenic. I could read it in Queen Betuana’s face, but you didn’t give me a single clue.’
‘Betuana speaks Elenic?’ He seemed startled. ‘What
an astounding thing.’ He removed his cloak. ‘Actually, your Majesty,’ he told Ehlana, ‘I speak all the languages of the Empire – Tamul, Elenic, Styric, Tegan, Arjuni, Valesian and even the awful language they speak in Cynesga. It’s one of our most closely guarded state secrets. I even keep it a secret from my government, just to be on the safe side.’ He looked a bit amused. ‘I gather that you’d all concluded that I’m not quite bright,’ he suggested.
‘You fooled us completely, your Majesty,’ Melidere assured him.
He beamed at her. ‘Delightful girl,’ he said. ‘I adore fooling people. There are many reasons for this subterfuge, my friends, but they’re mostly political and not really very nice. Shall we get to the point here? I can only be absent for a short period of time without being missed.’
‘We are, as they say, at your immediate disposal, your Majesty,’ Ehlana told him.
‘I’ve never understood that phrase, Ehlana,’ he confessed. ‘You don’t mind if we call each other by name, do you? All those “your Majesties” are just
too
cumbersome. Where was I? Oh, yes – “immediate disposal”. It sounds like someone running to carry out the trash.’ His words seemed to tumble from his lips as if his tongue were having difficulty keeping up with his thoughts. ‘The point of this visit, my dear friends, is that I’m more or less the prisoner of custom and tradition here in Matherion. My role is strictly defined, and for me to overstep certain bounds causes earthquakes that can be felt from here to the Gulf of Daconia. I could ignore those earthquakes, but our common enemy could probably feel them too, and we don’t want to alert him.’