Arcadia

56

‘Well? What do you think?’ Rosalind asked enthusiastically as she examined Lytten’s bemused expression.

For a long time, Lytten could think of nothing to say. The smells were real, the warmth was real. The sunlight through the tall trees was real. ‘This is... very peculiar,’ he said lamely.

‘You sort of get used to it after a while. Professor, could you do me a favour? I think it’s normal to go into the am-I-dreaming routine. I did. But you aren’t. So please just concentrate on what is important. You may be here for some time, as the light has gone out, so you might as well make yourself useful.’

Lytten looked. True enough, the light he had just walked through wasn’t there any more. ‘Angela said something about opening it up at dusk, I think. Where am I?’

‘You are in Anterwold. To be precise, at Willdon, in the stone circle of Esilio. Do you remember that?’

‘Of course. I thought it up as a sort of sacred spot. I never figured out its precise importance, though. I didn’t get round to that bit.’

‘It acts as a sanctuary. People are safe from the law here. They throw themselves on the judgement of Esilio, the all-wise. That’s you.’

‘Me?’

‘Who else is going to pop up out of nowhere in the middle of his own shrine? Apparently your coming has been foretold for generations.’

‘But I’m not.’

‘Are you sure? As you’re here, you might as well play the part. We have two people accused of murder, and they are appealing for judgement on which one is guilty. They will naturally expect you to take charge of things. So, tell me now. Who did kill Thenald?’

‘How should I know?’ Lytten said, still looking around him at the scene he had somehow entered.

‘You must. You wrote it.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I never wrote that bit. I sketched it out years ago, but I can scarcely remember it.’

‘You’ve got to remember, Professor,’ Rosalind said desperately. ‘You’ve got to. If this goes wrong, all sorts of horrible things are going to happen. There may be a war. We have soldiers here, and outlaws around us. It’s all your fault.’

‘Why is it my fault?’

‘It is your fault because you never finished it. You’ve been writing that book of yours for years, and now it’s fed up waiting and is trying to finish itself. You should tidy up loose ends. Agatha Christie does.’

‘But I’m not Agatha... Listen. I’ve had enough of this. This is simply absurd. I don’t believe any of it.’

‘It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s what they believe that counts at the moment. You have now appeared out of thin air. You can guess how that seems. Your word is law. As long as you don’t make a mess of it. Who is Esilio, anyway?’

‘No idea. He’s just a sort of foundation figure. Like Solon the lawgiver for Athens. A mythical character who gets everything going.’

‘According to Henary, the Story says he reappears, and when he does all sorts of things start to happen. Like the end of the world. You judge your creation and destroy it if you find it wanting. You can see why you’ve scared the life out of them.’

Lytten snorted. ‘Just because people believe things it doesn’t mean they happen. Esilio’s not meant to be a god, anyway. I try to avoid gods. Tricky characters.’

‘You’d better tell them that. But please will you help now you’re here? Listen to what they have to say? It might jog your memory. You can see for yourself they are all real people. Prick them and they bleed, you know.’

For the first time, Lytten smiled. ‘Do I have any choice?’

‘Yes. You have a choice between seeming like a god and seeming like a right idiot.’

His face fixed in an impenetrable mask, Lytten walked around the stone circle, out to the edge where ever greater numbers of people were gathering. They stiffened with fear as he approached. They had seen his appearance with their own eyes. They were terrified that, if they said or did anything wrong, he would raise his arms and bring the vengeance of the heavens down upon them. This was the day of judgement. Everybody now knew it was true.

He studied their faces carefully. Good solid faces, he thought; well fed and healthy. Their clothes were simple but comfortable and practical. They were not so very poor, these people. Anterwold could support itself well; he’d done a decent job there. He caught himself. He was even beginning to believe this nonsense.

‘Stand up, man,’ he said to one kneeling figure. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

Slowly, eyes cast still down, the man he had picked out stood.

‘Look at me,’ Lytten said. ‘What is your name?’

‘Beltan, Majesty,’ he said, choking in fear.

‘Are you afraid of me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then stop, please. If I remember correctly I made you a tailor. Is that right?’

‘Yes, Majesty. A good one, I hope.’

‘A rather lovely wife as well. Jolly and kind. Renata, no? I hope you are good to each other.’

‘We are very happy, and always have been, Majesty.’

‘Excellent. Give her my best wishes. You live well, without cheating anyone?’

‘I do.’

‘Where do you get your cloth?’

‘Mostly from the towns and villages nearby. Sometimes a trader comes through with foreign stuffs.’

‘I see. Where do those foreign stuffs come from?’

A puzzled look passed over the rubicund, simple face. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Then I command you to find out.’

Lytten walked on thoughtfully, stopping and questioning the occasional person whose face struck him as interesting.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Aliena, Holiness.’

‘Do stop the Holiness. You’re the singer, correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think I gave you the most beautiful voice in many generations. Do you use it well?’

‘I... try to follow the rules.’

‘I very much hope you do not. That would be a terrible waste. Sing what is in your heart, not what is in the rulebook.’

After many minutes he turned to Rosalind, who had been tagging along in case he panicked and needed encouragement.

‘Extraordinary,’ he said. ‘Some people here I put in my notes. Others seem to have come from nowhere. And they do all seem to be real.’

‘Told you.’

‘What do you think of this place?’

‘I think it needs a bit of a shake-up. They are a bit stuck in their ways, somehow. We can talk about that later. Are you convinced?’

‘For want of a better explanation. Like falling downstairs and getting concussion.’

‘Will you help sort out the mess you’ve caused?’

‘I don’t see why it’s my mess, you know. Angela made it, apparently, not me.’

‘Angela? That friend of yours?’

Lytten glanced at her. ‘You’ve not met her, have you? I’d forgotten that. Yes. This seems to be all her doing. Don’t ask how or why, because I don’t know. She’s going to get an earful when I see her again. But I still don’t know the answer to your question. It was never in the slightest bit important what happened to Thenald.’

‘It is now. If you listened to the arguments, maybe you’d get an idea...?’

‘I suppose that’s possible. Who are the suspects?’ he asked with a tone of irony.

‘Catherine and Pamarchon. He’s the one I’m going to marry.’

‘Oh, good Lord! I certainly didn’t put that in. Aren’t you a bit young?’

‘Not here.’

He groaned. ‘Yes. That’s true. I’d forgotten. My memory, really. Well, congratulations, then. I think. I’m not too sure your mother... What’s he like?’

‘Oh, he’s wonderful, he’s everything he should be. Unless it’s a trick, and you made him like that so he’d be the last person I would suspect.’

‘Not consciously. So, Catherine, then.’

‘No! She’s really nice too.’

‘Which one is she?’

Rosalind pointed her out.

‘Good heavens! She looks a little bit like Angela. I suppose that one is Henary.’ Lytten examined him dubiously for a moment. ‘Does he look like me?’

‘Just a little.’

‘Dear God!’

‘You’re much more handsome, though,’ Rosalind reassured him.

‘I’m glad to hear it. What about the others?’

‘Jay and Pamarchon.’

Lytten studied the taller man for a moment.

‘Yes, well. All stories must have a love interest, eh? If I remember, that was your idea, so you can’t blame me for that. He’s a handsome devil, though; I see what the appeal might be. He looks very like a student I taught years ago. Nice young man. I think he went into the army. It’s very strange, all this. An awful lot of people resemble people I know, or knew. There’s even someone who looks like that odd fellow who was watching my house. See him? Over there, next to the tailor.’

‘You may have got that from The Wizard of Oz. You steal ideas from everyone.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes. There’s everything in here. Could you concentrate on the main task?’

‘You understand that I’m not at my best? It’s not as if this is — you know — normal.’

‘You’ll stop noticing soon enough. Why are you dressed like that?’

‘It’s my dressing gown. I’ve just had a bath.’

‘Hence the heavenly odour of sanctity which seems to be so impressing everyone.’

‘Old Spice.’

‘You look the part, you see,’ Rosalind continued. ‘As far as they are concerned, you have been summoned to sit in judgement.’

‘Why is the result so important?’

‘Because if it goes wrong, Willdon is inherited by Gontal, merges with Ossenfud and...’

‘... the combination is overwhelmingly powerful and the whole of Anterwold is unbalanced. Yes, yes. I remember. Hence the need for a figure of Solomonic wisdom.’

‘Probably. But all we have is you, who can’t even remember his own plot. So will you just listen and look solemn? At least it will gain us some time. Go and sit on that stone thing over there. I will concoct some ceremony, and you act the part of a spirit of awesome power.’

‘I still think it is all ridiculous.’

‘Can you come up with a better explanation of why you are standing in the middle of a field, surrounded by worshippers while dressed in your bath robe?’

‘Very well. I will do my best. But stay close, in case I need your help.’

‘Do any here deny the evidence of their own eyes? Do any here deny that Esilio has returned as foretold?’ Rosalind intoned, once the manifestation had taken his place on his own tomb. ‘Do any deny that he has been summoned, to this place and to this moment, for a purpose beyond understanding? Do any think they are greater than he? That they have a greater claim to sit in judgement?’

Not a whisper. She stared pointedly at Gontal for the last one, but he pretended not to notice.

‘Do any doubt that if his will is gainsaid in any way, then his wrath will be more terrible than the land of Anterwold has ever witnessed?’

A quiet muttering, which sounded like assent.

‘Pamarchon and Catherine, accused. Jay, defender, Henary, defender. Step forward.’

Henary moved first, if anything more nervous than his pupil. He went to the altar and bowed. Jay followed his lead. Both were conscious of the calm, wise gaze examining them with what seemed like curiosity and, in a way, kindness.

Before he could say anything, Gontal also stepped forward and approached the figure on the altar. ‘I humbly request the right to speak, lest a great injustice occur,’ he said.

‘You must be Gontal,’ Lytten said. ‘Putative heir to this place, known to friends and foes alike as Gontal the Fat. Is that so?’

Gontal shuffled from one foot to the other.

‘What is the injustice you are worrying about?’

‘Henary cannot speak for Pamarchon,’ he said. ‘It would compromise the validity of the trial.’

‘Your reasons?’

‘He is a close friend of Catherine. All would be concerned that he did not argue Pamarchon’s case well enough, out of favour for her.’

‘What is your recommendation?’

‘That this trial be postponed until a more suitable advocate be found.’

‘Your point is a good one, Gontal the... Yes, a very good one. Do you not think so, Henary?’

‘I would speak as my duty compelled,’ Henary said.

‘And very unpleasant it would be for all concerned, if I understand things properly. Gontal here does not wish you to be put in an unfortunate position, though. Very kind and thoughtful of him. Good for you, sir.’

He nodded approvingly at the now smiling Gontal. ‘You are quite right, Gontal. Henary must not speak for Pamarchon. Fortunately, a suitable advocate is to hand, so there is no need to postpone.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Why, you, man. You. I know full well that for the past few years you have studied in minute detail every circumstance of this business, hoping to find some way of dislodging Catherine from her place. You have lain awake at nights rehearsing the speech you would give that would cast her out. Now’s your chance! How fortunate, eh?’

‘I am very much afraid that I must refuse.’

‘I am very much afraid you will do no such thing,’ came the thunderous reply.

Gontal stared at the figure which seemed to know all about him.

‘You will speak for Pamarchon. There is no more to be said.’

Gontal bowed and withdrew.

‘How was that?’ Lytten whispered to Rosalind.

‘Pretty good,’ she said. ‘You’re a natural.’