Moneo had learned to expect erratic shifts of direction at Festival time. He kept contingency plans at the ready. “Are they still petitioning for a permanent Embassy on Arrakis’?” Leto asked. “Yes, Lord. I gave them the usual answer.” “A simple `no’ should suffice,” Leto said. “They no longer need to be reminded that I abhor their religious pretentions.” “Yes, Lord.” Moneo held himself to just within the prescribed distance beside Leto’s cart. The Worm was very much present this morning-the bodily signs quite apparent to Moneo’s eyes. No doubt it was the moisture in the air. That always seemed to bring out the Worm. “Religion always leads to rhetorical despotism,” Leto said. “Before the Bene Gesserit, the Jesuits were the best at it.” “Jesuits, Lord?” “Surely you’ve met them in your histories?” “I’m not certain, Lord. When were they?” “No matter. You learn enough about rhetorical despotism from a study of the Bene Gesserit. Of course, they do not begin by deluding themselves with it.” The Reverend Mothers are in for a bad time, Moneo told himself. He’s going to preach at them. They detest that. This could cause serious trouble. “What was their reaction?” Leto asked. “I’m told they were disappointed but did not press the matter.” And Moneo thought: ‘d best prepare them for more disappointment. And they’ll have to be kept away from the delegations of Ix and Tleilaxu. Moneo shook his head. This could lead to some very nasty plotting. The Duncan had better be warned. “It leads to self-fulfilling prophecy and justifications for all manner of obscenities,” Leto said. “This . . . rhetorical despotism, Lord?” “Yes! It shields evil behind walls of self-righteousness which are proof against all arguments against the evil.” Moneo kept a wary eye on Leto’s body, noting the way the hands twisted, almost a random movement, the twitching of the great ribbed segments. What will I do if the Worm comes out of him here? Perspiration broke out on Moneo’s forehead. “It feeds on deliberately twisted meanings to discredit opposition,” Leto said.
“All of that, Lord?” “The Jesuits called that `securing your power base.’ It leads directly to hypocrisy which is always betrayed by the gap between actions and explanations. They never agree.” “I must study this more carefully, Lord.” “Ultimately, it rules by guilt because hypocrisy brings on the witch hunt and the demand for scapegoats.” “Shocking, Lord.” The cortege rounded a corner where the rock had been opened for a glimpse of the bridge in the distance. “Moneo, are you paying close attention to me?” “Yes, Lord. Indeed.” “I’m describing a tool of the religious power base.” “I recognize that, Lord.” “Then why are you so afraid?” “Talk of religious power always makes me uneasy, Lord.” “Because you and the Fish Speakers wield it in my name?” “Of course, Lord.” “Power bases are very dangerous because they attract people who are truly insane, people who seek power only for the sake of power. Do you understand?” “Yes, Lord. That is why you so seldom grant petitions for appointments in your government.” “Excellent, Moneo!” “Thank you, Lord.” “In the shadow of every religion lurks a Torquemada,” Leto said. “You have never encountered that name. I know because I caused it to be expunged from all the records.” “Why was that, Lord?” “He was an obscenity. He made living torches out of people who disagreed with him.” Moneo pitched his voice low. “Like the historians who angered you, Lord?” “Do you question my actions, Moneo?” “No, Lord!” “Good. The historians died peacefully. Not a one felt the flames. Torquemada, however, delighted in commending to his god the agonized screams of his burning victims.” “How horrible, Lord.” The cortege turned another corner with a view of the bridge. The span appeared to be no closer. Once more, Moneo studied his God Emperor. The Worm appeared no closer. Still too close, though. Moneo could feel
the menace of that unpredictable presence, the Holy Presence which could kill without warning. Moneo shuddered. What had been the meaning of that strange . . . sermon? Moneo knew that few had ever heard the God Emperor speak thus. It was a privilege and a burden. It was part of the price paid for Leto’s Peace. Generation after generation marched in their ordered way under the dictates of that peace. Only the Citadel’s inner circle knew all of the infrequent breaks in that peace-the incidents when Fish Speakers were sent out in anticipation of violence. Anticipation! Moneo glanced at the now-silent Leto. The God Emperor’s eyes were closed and a look of brooding had come over his face. That was another of the Worm signs- a bad one. Moneo trembled. Did Leto anticipate even his own moments of wild violence? It was the anticipation of violence which sent tremors of awe and fear throughout the Empire. Leto knew where guards must be posted to put down a transitory uprising. He knew it before the event. Even thinking about such matters dried Moneo’s mouth. There were times, Moneo believed, when the God Emperor could read any mind. Oh, Leto employed spies. An occasional shrouded figure passed by the Fish Speakers for the climb to Leto’s tower aerie or descended to the crypt. Spies, no doubt of it, but Moneo suspected they were used merely to confirm what Leto already knew. As though to confirm the fears in Moneo’s mind, Leto said: “Do not try to force an understanding of my ways, Moneo. Let understanding come of itself.” “I will try, Lord.” “No, do not try. Tell me, instead, if you have announced yet that there will be no changes in the spice allotments?” “Not yet, Lord.” “Delay the announcement. I am changing my mind. You know, of course, that there will be new offers of bribes.” Moneo sighed. The amounts offered him in bribes had reached ridiculous heights. Leto, however, had appeared amused by the escalation. “Draw them out,” he had said earlier. “See how high they will go. Make it appear that you can be bribed at last.” Now, as they turned another corner with a view of the