“I detest togas!”
“Then why not wear your uniform as Commander in Chief, sir? I’m sure the College of Heralds can have no objection to that.”
“The College can . . .” Shandie pouted, then shrugged.
“Very well. Uniform would be quite appropriate, I suppose. Carry on then, my Lord Herald.”
Eshiala wondered what had happened to her death-by-freezing in a chiton. Shandie had apparently forgotten that part of the problem quite quickly.
Ironically, the dress style was the least of her worries. A chiton was a simple thing, not unlike her customary wear. She would be much less discomfited by formal court dress than any other woman in the Rotunda.
4
Ylo had been growing very bored with a wasted afternoon. He was consoling himself by noting that the rehearsal could last no more than another hour at the most; after that the Rotunda would be completely dark.
The next item on the program involved moving everybody out into the south corridor to Line Up for the Procession. The south corridor was nearly as black as a cellar already, which was no help to the flustered heralds trying to organize thins, all of whom seemed to be either experienced and senile or too young and ignorant to be trusted by the others. As most of the notables who would participate in the ceremony were being represented at the rehearsal by Praetorian guardsmen, he was strongly reminded of his long-ago life in the Praetorian barracks. In any army Pandemia had ever known, Lesson One had always been Waiting in Line.
Lesson Two was Advanced Waiting in Line.
Heralds appeared and disappeared in the gloom, struggling to read their lists. They moved Ylo to and fro several times. Then the babble of confusion crept farther back along the corridor, and he decided that he was probably in his correct place.
“May I inquire to whom I have the honor of addressing the question of whom I have the honor of addressing?” he asked the two large guardsmen ahead of him.
The larger regarded him with disapproval. “If you were a man of better character, who attended temple as regularly as he should, you would have instantly recognized the saintly demeanor of the Archbishop of Ambel.”
“Your Holiness, I am mortified with consternation. Actually, I had always believed that your Holiness was a woman.”
“He is,” the other said. “And the same goes for the Sanctified Abbess of the Sisterhood of Purity, namely me, and what are you doing tonight, Good-Lookin’?”
Tribune Uthursho was out of town again. His wife had the most incredible breasts. Tonight Ylo was going to renew their acquaintance.
“I plan to spend the night in worship,” he explained regretfully. ”Perhaps some other time, your Profligacy—preferably not quite so long after you shave your legs.”
“Ah! I knew I’d forgotten something this morning.”
“I believe we met in some unpleasant surroundings once, Signifer,” the archbishop said.
“Very good for our souls, I expect,” Ylo agreed. He had done time in the brig as a green recruit, which was presumably what the other was referring to. Now that he was a celebrity, anyone who had known him before was anxious to demonstrate the fact.
“Tell me—” The guardsman lowered his voice. “I understand that Centurion Hithi has returned to normal duties.”
“That’s correct,” Ylo said happily.
“There’s an extraordinary rumor going around,” the abbess said in Aen lower tones.
“What rumor is that, your Virginity?”
“It is said—and I stress that I am merely repeating hearsay and put absolutely no credence in such fables—it is said that in order to win his release from temporary assignment to the Bureau of Correspondence, the centurion had to kneel down and lick someone’s sandal.”
“Not a word of truth in it!” Ylo said. “Flagrant falsehood. You did say one sandal?”
“I may be mistaken on the number. Two sandals may have been mentioned. One left foot, one right foot. Would you believe such a story?”
Ylo sighed regretfully. “I am afraid I am most solemnly sworn not to comment on the matter, ladies.”
The guardsmen exchanged glances, pursing lips in silent whistles.
Ylo had spread the story widely beforehand, so it really didn’t matter whether Hithi had actually groveled to win his release or whether he hadn’t. Everyone was going to assume that he had. Hithi hadn’t seen that until it was too late.
How sweet it had been!
Shouting up front suggested that the procession would soon begin to move. Ylo turned around and introduced himself to the two men behind him, who were civilians, and apparently exalted members of the aristocracy with the hereditary right to carry Emine’s sword and buckler whenever they were brought out for public display, as now.
“You mean those are the real things?” Ylo exclaimed, looking in disgust at the battered bronze relics the noble lords were holding.
The sword bearer bristled and explained how his honor would be sullied were he required to carry a mere replica. That might make sense to some people—elves, perhaps—but it didn’t to Ylo.
Then the shouting became louder and the procession straggled into motion. The Rotunda was very dim now. He wondered if a truly heavy snowfall could blanket the dome windows completely. In that case the hall would be unusable, for it was far too large to illuminate artificially. At the entrance the line divided. He was directed to the right. Soon progress stopped while the leaders were led to their stations, and thereafter the columns moved erratically.
He gazed approvingly at Princess Eshiala, leading the far line in her ermine cloak, looking exactly like the Ice Impress of her nickname. She was an incredibly gorgeous girl, still barely twenty years old. He knew how nervous she must be, but he doubted that few others did. If only she realized how well she deceived everyone! Her qualms did not show.
She was far too good for Shandie, who had no inklings about women. If he had any subtlety at all, his wife would not be responding so well to Ylo’s blandishments. She was coming along very nicely and he had every confidence that she would be his for the taking, come daffodil time. His flesh quivered with anticipation. He often wondered whether he would have made the effort had the preflecting pool not promised her to him. Probably not—far too dangerous and far too much work. He had never spent so much time on one woman before. By the Gods, though, she was going to be worth it!
Had it not been for the prophecy, he would be duke of Rivermead by now, reveling on his estates—hunting, partying, and wenching to his heart’s content. He had postponed that satisfaction, but Eshiala would make it all up to him.
Eventually he found himself at the head of the line, and the heralds went into conference. Apparently Shandie’s decision to wear uniform required an amendment to the program. A consensus emerged—his signifer would have to stand by the throne.
Ylo wondered what a Commander in Chief’s standard looked like. It might be too Evilishly heavy to lift.
He was placed in position like a sapling transplant beside the central dais. Above him, Shandie slouched on the Opal Throne. At his side, in a chair on the upper step, sat Eshiala. She glanced down at Ylo, so he winked. She frowned coldly and looked away.
Lady Eigaze stood behind the throne, being two maids of honor. All this standing must be hard on her feet, Ylo thought. Aunt Eigaze, he had called her when he was a child. Fortunately for her, though, she had been an honorary aunt, not a true relation, or she might have perished in the massacre of the Yllipo Conspiracy.
Gradually the rest of the two processions advanced. Dignitaries or their understudies were directed to their places. The huge space was becoming populated.
The hereditary bearers deposited Emine’s sword and shield on a table near the dais, then withdrew. The Rotunda was almost dark.
“My Lord Herald!” Shandie bellowed angrily. “We shall have to adjoum this meeting very shortly!”
The chief herald whimpered and all his underlings began to fluster around like mosquitoes.
Ylo stiffened. Someone was standing beside the White Throne and waving to attract his attention, or possibly Shandie’s. He thought it might be Hardgraa. Now what?
Ylo glanced up, and Shandie had not noticed. He was actually chatting to his wife!
The newcomer abandoned his attempt to be noticed and strode forward, straight-arming a herald out of the way. Yes, it was Hardgraa. He must have brought a message. Messages were Ylo’s responsibility. Leaving his place, he headed to meet the centurion, ignoring bleats of complaint from the officials. He could think of only one message important enough for this.
They met halfway. Hardgraa’s face was rigid. “It’s happened.”
The world rocked. “When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“I’ll tell him.” Ylo turned and headed back to the center. The dome had fallen so silent that he could hear the centurion marching away behind him.