Helliconia Summer

III A Premature Divorce

The Borlienese were not a nation of seamen, despite their long seacoast. It followed that they were not great shipbuilders like the Sibornalese, or even some nations of Hespagorat. The ship that took the king to Gravabagalinien and divorce was a small brig with round bows. It kept the coast in sight most of the time and navigated by traverse board, on which the mean course made good during each watch was calculated from the positions of pegs inserted on the board.

An even more tuglike brig followed the first, bearing the ancipitals of the First Phagorian Guard.

The king broke from his companions as soon as the ship sailed and went to stand by the rails, staring rigidly ahead, as if anxious to be the first to see the queen. Yuli became miserable at the motion of the sea and sprawled by the capstan. For once the king showed his pet no sympathy.

Its cordage creaking, the brig laboured through calm seas.

The king fell suddenly to the deck. His courtiers ran to him and lifted him. JandolAnganol was carried to his cabin and placed in his bunk. He was deathly pale and rolled about as if in pain, hiding his face.

A medical man examined him and ordered everyone to leave the cabin except CaraBansity. “Stay by his majesty. He has a touch of seasickness but nothing more. As soon as we get ashore he will be well again.”

“I understood that a characteristic of seasickness was vomiting.”

“Hrrm, well, in some cases. Commoners. Royal personages respond in a different fashion.” The doctor bowed himself out.

After a while, the king’s muttered complaints became articulate. “The dreadful thing I must do. Pray Akhanaba it will soon be over…”

“Majesty, let us discuss a sensible, important topic, to calm your mind. That rare bracelet of mine which you hold—”

The king raised his head and said, with his inflexible look, “Get out of here, you cretin. I’ll have you flung overboard to the fish. Nothing is important, nothing—nothing on this earth.”

“May your majesty soon recover himself,” said CaraBansity, backing his awkward bulk out of the cabin.

The ship made fair progress westwards, and sailed into the little bay at Gravabagalinien on the morning of the second day at sea. JandolAnganol, suddenly himself again, walked down the gangplank and into the surf—there was no jetty at Gravabagalinien—with Alam Esomberr close behind him, holding up his cloak tails.

With the latter travelled an escort of ten dignitaries of high ecclesiastical office, referred to by Esomberr as his rabble of vicars. The king’s retinue contained captains and armourers.

The queen’s palace waited inland, without a sign of life. Its narrow windows were shuttered. A black flag flew at half-mast from a turret. The king’s face, turned towards it, was itself as blank as a shuttered window. No man dared look long at it, lest he catch the Eagle’s eye.

The second brig was coming in, making awkward progress. Despite Esomberr’s impatience, JandolAnganol insisted on waiting until it was drawn in and a walkway extended from ship to shore, so that his ahuman troops could reach land without having to set foot in the water. He then made much of forming them up, drilling them, and addressing them in Native. At last he was ready to walk the half mile to the palace. Yuli ran ahead, frisking in the sand, kicking it up, delighted to be on firm ground again.

They were greeted by an ancient woman in a black keedrant and white apron. White hairs trailed from a mole on her cheek. She walked with a stick. Two unarmed guards stood some way behind her.

Close at hand, the white and gold building revealed its shabbiness. Gaps showed where slates on its roofs, planks from its verandahs, uprights in its railings, had fallen away and not been replaced. Nothing moved, except a herd of deer cropping grass on a distant hillside. The sea boomed endlessly against the shore.

The king’s costume took up the general sombre note. He wore an undecorated tunic and breeches of a deep blue close to black. Esomberr, by contrast, strolled along in his jauntiest powder blues, offset by a pink short cloak. He was perfumed this morning, to camouflage the stinks of the ship.

An infantry captain blew a bugle to announce their arrival.

The palace door remained closed. The old woman wrung her hands and muttered to the breeze.

Wrenching himself into action, JandolAnganol went up to the door and beat on its wooden panels with the hilt of his sword. The noise echoed within, setting hounds barking.

A key was applied to a lock. The door swung open, propelled by another aged hag, who gave a stiff curtsey to the king and stood there blinking.

All was gloom inside. The hounds that had set up such a din when the door was locked now slunk away into shadowy recesses.

“Perhaps Akhanaba in his somewhat temperamental mercy has sent the plague here,” suggested Esomberr.

“Thus releasing the occupants from earthly sorrow and rendering ours an unnecessary journey.”

The king gave a shout of greeting.

A light showed at the top of the stairs, where all was otherwise dark. They looked up, to see a woman carrying a taper. She bore it above her head, so that her features were in shadow. As she descended the stairs, every step creaked. As she neared those waiting below, the light from outside began to illuminate her features. Even before that, something in her carriage declared who she was. The glow strengthened, the face of Queen MyrdemInggala was revealed. She stopped a few paces in front of JandolAnganol and Esomberr and curtseyed first to the one, then the other.

Her beauty was ashen, her lips almost colourless, her eyes dark in her pallid face. Her hair floated in dark abundance about her head. She wore a pale grey gown to the floor which buttoned at the throat to conceal her breasts.

The queen spoke a word to the crone, who went to the doors and closed them, leaving Esomberr and JandolAnganol in the dark, with the intrusive phagor runt behind them. That dark revealed itself as seamed with threads of light. The palace was flimsily built of planking. When the sun shone on it, a skeletal aspect was revealed. As the queen led them to a side room, slivers of light disclosed her presence.

She stood awaiting them in the middle of a room defined by thin geometries of illumination where daylight slit round shuttered windows.

“Nobody is in the palace at present,” MyrdemInggala said, “except for me and the Princess TatromanAdala. You may kill us now, and there will be no witnesses except the All-Powerful.”

“We do not intend to hurt you, madam,” said Esomberr. He walked over to one of the windows and opened the shutters. Turning in the dusty light, he saw the husband and wife standing close in the almost empty room.

MyrdemInggala pursed her lips and blew out her taper.

JandolAnganol said, “Cune, as I’ve said, this divorce is a question of state policy.” His manner was abnormally subdued.

“You may force me to accept it. You can never make me understand it.”

Esomberr opened the window and called for his retinue and for AbstrogAthenat.

The ceremony will not detain you long, madam,” he said. He paraded into the centre of the room and bowed to her. “My name is Esomberr of the Esomberrs. I am the Envoy and Representative in Borlien of the Great C’Sarr Kilandar IX, the Father Supreme of the Church of Akhanaba and Emperor of Holy Pannoval. My function is to act as witness on behalf of the Father Supreme, in a brief ceremony. That is my public duty. My private duty is to declare that you are more beautiful than any representation of you could ever be.”

To JandolAnganol she said faintly, “After all we have been to each other…”

Continuing without altering the tone of his voice, Esomberr said, “The ceremony will absolve King JandolAnganol from any further marital ties. Under this special bill of divorcement granted by the Father Supreme himself, you two will cease to be husband and wife, your vows will be rescinded, and you will renounce the title of Queen.”

“Upon what grounds am I to be divorced, sir? What is the pretext? How has the revered C’Sarr been told I have offended, to be treated like this?”

The king stood as in a trance, staring rigidly at the air, while Alam Esomberr pulled a document from his pocket, flapped it open, and read.

“Madam, we have witnesses to prove that while you have been taking your holidays here in Gravabagalinien”—he sketched a sensuous gesture—“you have entered the sea in a state of nudity. That you have there consorted carnally with dolphins. That this unnatural act, forbidden by the Church, has been frequently repeated, often within sight of your child.”

She said, “You know this is a complete fabrication.” She spoke without fire in her voice. Turning to JandolAnganol, she said, “Can the state survive only by dragging down my name, by disgracing me—and by making you lower than a slave?”

“Here comes the Royal Vicar, madam, who will perform our ceremony,” said Esomberr. “You need only stand silent. No further embarrassment will be caused you.”

AbstrogAthenat entered, radiating the chill of his personality in the space of the chamber. He raised a hand and pronounced a blessing. Two small boys playing the pipes stood behind him.

The queen said coldly, “If this holy farce must take place, I insist that Yuli be removed from the room.”

JandolAnganol broke from his reverie to order his runt outside. After a small fuss, it left.

AbstrogAthenat came forward with a paper on which the words of the wedding ceremony were inscribed. He took the hands of the king and queen, making each hold a side of the paper, which they did as if hypnotized. He then read the bill out in a high, clear voice. Esomberr looked from one to other of the royal pair. They looked at the floor. The vicar lifted a ceremonial sword high. With a muttered prayer, he brought it down.

The paper bond they held was sliced in two. The queen let her half float to the wooden tiles. The vicar produced a document which JandolAnganol signed, Esomberr signing as witness. The vicar signed it himself, then handed it to Esomberr for its onward transmission. The vicar bowed to the king. He left the room, followed by his two piping boys.

“The deed is done,” said Esomberr. Nobody moved.

Heavy rain began to fall. Sailors and soldiers from the ships had crowded to the open window to catch a glimpse of a ceremony of which they could boast for the rest of their lives. Now they ran for shelter, and officers bellowed at them. The downpour increased. Lightning flashed and presently thunder broke overhead. The monsoons were approaching.

“Ah, well, we must make ourselves comfortable,” said Esomberr, striving for his usual lightness of tone. “Perhaps the queen—the ex-queen, excuse me—will have some ladies bring us refreshment.” He called to one of his men. “Look down in the cellars. The serving maids will be hiding down there or, failing them, the wine will be.”

Rain poured in the open window and the unsecured shutter banged.

“These storms blow in from nowhere and are soon over,” JangolAnganol said.

“That’s the way to take it, Jan—with a metaphor,” said Esomberr genially. He clapped the king on the shoulder.

Without a word, the queen set down her extinguished taper on a shelf, then turned and left the room.

Esomberr collected two chairs with tapestry seats and set them together, opening up a shutter nearby so that they could watch the fury of the elements. They both sat down, and the king put his head between his hands.

“After your marriage to Simoda Tal, I promise you things will take a turn for the better, Jan. In Pannoval, we are somewhat committed on our northern front against the Sibornalese. The fighting is particularly bitter because of traditional religious differences, you know.

“Oldorando is different. After your forthcoming marriage, you should find that Oldorando will commit themselves to your side. They have difficulties themselves. Or—and this is quite likely—Kace may sue for peace after the marriage. Kace, after all, has blood ties with Oldorando. Right through Oldorando and Kace runs the east-west migratory route of the phagors and of the subhuman races, like the Madis.

“Rrrhm, as you know, dear Simoda Tal’s mother, the queen, is herself a sub—well, a protognostic, let’s say. That little term, ‘subhuman’ is prejudicial. And the Kaci… well, it’s a wild place. So if they make peace with Borlien, we might even, who knows, induce them to attack Randonan. That would leave you free to deal with the Mordriat trouble, and the fellows with the amusing names.”

“Which would suit Pannoval well,” said JandolAnganol.

Esomberr nodded. “It would suit everyone well. I’m all for being pleased, aren’t you?”

His man returned, accompanied by peals of thunder and five anxious ladies who bore wine jars and were goaded forward by phagors.

The entrance of these ladies put a different aspect on affairs, even to the king, who got up and began to walk about the room as if just learning to use his legs. The ladies, finding no harm was immediately being offered, began to smile, and fell readily into their accustomed roles of pleasing male guests and getting them as drunk as possible as soon as possible. The Royal Armourer and various captains put in an appearance and joined in the drinking.

As the storm continued, lamps were lit. Other pretty captives were brought in and music was played. Soldiers under canvas canopies brought a banquet from the brig.

The king drank persimmon wine and ate silver carp with saffron rice.

The roof leaked.

“I’ll speak to MyrdemInggala and see my little daughter, Tatro,” he said, a while later.

“No. That would be inadvisable. Women can humiliate men. You’re the king, she’s nobody. We’ll take the daughter away with us when we leave. When the sea is calm. I’m for spending the night in this hospitable sieve of yours.”

After a while, to overcome the king’s silence, Esomberr said, “I have a gift for you. This is a good time to present it, before we are too drunk to focus our eyes.” He wiped his hands on his velvet suit and felt in a pocket from which he produced a delicate thin box with an embroidered cover.

This is a gift from Bathkaarnet-she, Queen of Oldorando, whose daughter’s hand you are to take in marriage. The queen executed the embroidery herself.”

JandolAnganol opened the box. Inside lay a miniature portrait of Simoda Tal, painted on her eleventh birthday. She wore a ribbon in her hair, and her face was half-turned away, as if in bashfulness or possibly coquetry. Her hair curled richly, but the artist had not disguised her parrot looks. The prominent nose and eyes of a Madi showed clear.

JandolAnganol held the portrait at arm’s length, trying to read what might be read. Simoda Tal carried a model of a castle in one hand, the castle on the Valvoral which was part of her dowry.

“She’s a pretty girl and no mistake,” said Esomberr enthusiastically. “Eleven and a half is the most lascivious age, whatever people pretend. Frankly, Jan, I envy you. Though her younger sister, Milua Tal, is even prettier.”

“Is she learned?”

“Is anyone learned in Oldorando? Not if they follow the example of their king.”

They both laughed and drank a toast to future pleasure in persimmon wine.

By Batalix-fall, the storm had blown away. The wooden palace vibrated with noise and creaked like a ship before coming to anchor in calm. The royal soldiery had found its way into the cellars, among the ice blocks and the wine. They, and even the phagors, were subsiding into drunken sleep.

No watch was kept. The palace seemed too far from any possible trouble, while Gravabagalinien’s macabre reputation deterred intruders. As evening wore on, the noise died. There was vomiting, laughter, and cursing, then nothing more. JandolAnganol slept with his head on a maidservant’s lap. Soon she detached herself and left him lying in a corner like a common soldier.

The queen of queens kept watch upstairs over the passing hours. She feared for her small daughter; but the site of her exile had been well chosen. There was nowhere to escape to. Eventually, she sent her ladies-in-waiting away. Though reassured by the silence below, she remained alert, sitting in an anteroom to the chamber where Princess Tatro slept.

A knock came at her door. She rose and went to it.

“Who’s there?”

The Royal Vicar, ma’am, begging entrance.”

She hesitated, sighing. She slid back the bolt. Alam Esomberr entered the room, grinning.

“Well, not quite the vicar, ma’am, but a near neighbour, and offering more comfort than is perhaps within our poor vicar’s power.”

“Please leave. I do not wish to talk with you. I am unwell. I shall call the guard.” She was pale. Her hand trembled as she rested it against the wall. She mistrusted the smile on his face.

“Everyone’s drunk. Even I—even I, model of excellence that I am, son of my worthy father as I am, am just slightly squiffed.”

He kicked the door shut behind him and grasped her arm, pushing her before him until she was forced to sit down on the couch.

“Now—don’t be so inhospitable, ma’am. Make me welcome, because I am on your side. I have come to warn you that your ex-husband means to kill you. Your circumstances are difficult, and you and your daughter need protection. I can give you that protection, if you behave kindly to me.”

“I was not being unkind. I am merely frightened, sir—but I am not to be frightened into anything, I would regret later.”

He took her into his arms, despite her struggles. “Later! There’s the difference between our sexes, ma’am—that for women there’s always a later. The prevalence of pregnancy among you must account for all the laters. Let me into your fragrant nest tonight and I swear you shall not regret any laters. Meanwhile, I will have my nows.”

MyrdemInggala hit him across the face. He sucked his lips.

“Listen to me. You wrote a letter to the C’Sarr in my care, did you not, my lovely ex-queen? In it, you said that King Jan intended to kill you. Your delivery boy betrayed you. He sold the letter to your ex-husband, who has read every mischievous word you wrote.”

“ScufBar betrayed me? No, he’s always been in my service.”

Esomberr took her by the arms.

“In your new position, you have no one you can depend on. No one except me. I will be your protector if you behave.”

She broke into weeping. “Jan loves me still, I know it. I understand him.”

“He hates you, and lusts for the embrace of Simoda Tal.”

He unfastened his clothes. At that moment the door opened and Bardol CaraBansity lumbered in and marched to the centre of the room. He stood with his hands on his hips, fingers of his right hand over the hilt of his knife.

Esomberr jumped up, clutching his trousers, and ordered the deuteroscopist out. CaraBansity stood his ground. His face was heavy and flushed. He looked like a man accustomed to butchery.

“I must ask you to cease consoling this poor lady immediately, sir. I venture to trouble you because there is no guard on the palace and an army approaches from the north.”

“Find someone else.”

“This is an emergency. We are about to be slaughtered. Come.”

He led along the corridor. Esomberr looked back at MyrdemInggala, who stood rigid, staring at him with defiant gaze. He cursed and hurried after CaraBansity.

At the end of the corridor was a balcony which overlooked the rear of the palace. He followed CaraBansity onto it and stared out into the night.

The air was warm and heavy, and seemed to hug the sea noise to itself. The horizon lay under the weight of the enormous sky.

Near at hand were small moving tongues of flame, winking in and out of existence. Esomberr stared at them uncomprehendingly, still half drunk.

“Men approaching through trees,” CaraBansity said, at his elbow. “Perhaps only two of them by my count. In my alarm I must have overestimated their numbers.”

“What do they want?”

“A searching question, sire. I will go down and discover its answer, if you will be all right here, sire. Stay and I shall return with intelligence.” He gave the escort a crafty sidelong glance. Esomberr, leaning on the balcony rail, staggered as he looked down, and leant back against the wall for safety. He heard CaraBansity’s shout and a reply from the newcomers. He closed his eyes, listening to their voices. There were many other voices, some angry, calling to him in accusing manner, though he could not grasp what they were saying. The world swayed.

He roused to hear CaraBansity calling him from below.

“What’s that you say?”

“It’s bad news, sire, not to be shouted aloud. Please come down.”

“What is it?” But CaraBansity gave no answer, speaking in a low voice to the newcomers. Esomberr got himself moving, went into the corridor, and nearly fell down the stairs.

“You’re drunker than I thought, you fool,” he said aloud.

Making his way out through an open door, he almost barged into CaraBansity and a haggard man, covered in dust, who carried a flambeau. Behind him, another man, equally dust-covered, looked about into the dark as if in fear of pursuit.

“Who are these men?”

The haggard man, eyeing Esomberr with distrust, said, “We’re from Oldorando, Your Highness, from the court of His Majesty King Sayren Stund, and a hard journey we’ve had of it, with the unrest in the countryside. I have a message for King JandolAnganol and none other.”

“The king’s asleep. What do you want with him?”

“It’s bad news, sir, which I was entrusted to give to him direct.”

Esomberr, growing angry, announced who he was. The messenger eyed him stonily. “If you’re who you say you are, sir, then you’ll have the authority to lead me to the king.”

“I could escort him, sire,” suggested CaraBansity.

They all went into the palace, dowsing their flambeaux on the ground before entering. CaraBansity led the way into the main chamber, where sleeping figures lay in confusion on the floor. He went over to where the king slept, and shook his arm without ceremony.

JandolAnganol roused and jumped immediately to his feet, hand on sword.

The haggard man bowed. “I am sorry to awaken you, sire, and I regret coming late. Your soldiers killed two of my escort, and I barely escaped with my life.” He produced documents to prove his identity. He had begun to shake violently, knowing the fate of messengers who bring bad tidings.

The king barely glanced at the documents.

“Tell me your news, man.”

“It’s the Madis, Your Majesty.”

“What of them?”

The messenger shuffled his feet and put a hand to his face to stop his jaw rattling. “The Princess Simoda Tal is dead, sire. The Madis killed her.”

There was a silence. Then Alam Esomberr began to laugh.