‘Yes.’
‘Wise decision.’
‘It’s an affectation of ours,’ Oscagne explained to them. ‘The Tamul
language is very musical when it’s spoken. Pretty music would seem
commonplace, even mundane – so our composers strive for the opposite
effect.’
‘i’d say they’ve succeeded beyond human imagination,’ Baroness Melidere
said. ‘It sounds like someone’s torturing a dozen pigs inside an iron
works.’
‘I’ll convey your observation to the composer, Baroness,’ Oscagne told
her. ‘i’m sure he’ll be pleased.’
‘i’d be pleased if his song came to an end, your Excellency. ‘ The vast
doors that finally terminated the endlessseeming corridor were covered with
beaten gold, and they swung ponderously open to reveal an enormous, domed
hall. Since the dome was higher than the surrounding structures, the
illumination in the room came through inch-thick crystal windows high
overhead. The light poured down through those windows to set the walls and
floor of Emperor Sarabian’s throne room afire. The hall was of suitably
stupendous dimensions, and the expanses of nacreous white were broken up by
accents of crimson and gold. Heavy red velvet draperies hung at intervals
along the glowing walls, flanking columnar buttresses inlaid with gold. A
wide avenue of crimson carpet led from the huge doors to the foot of the
throne, and the room was filled with courtiers, both Tamul and Elene.
Another fanfare announced the arrival of the visitors, and the Church
Knights and the Peloi formed up in military precision around Queen Ehlana
and her party. They marched with ceremonial pace down that broad, carpeted
avenue to the throne of his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamul. The ruler
of half the world wore a heavy crown of diamond-encrusted gold, and his
crimson cloak, open at the front, was bordered with wide bands of
tightlywoven gold thread. His robe was gleaming white, caught at the waist
by a wide golden belt. Despite the splendour of his throne-room and his
clothing, Sarabian of Tamul was a rather ordinary-looking man. His skin was
pale by comparison with the skin of the Atans, largely, Sparhawk surmised,
because the emperor was seldom out of doors. He was of medium stature and
build and his face was unremarkable. His eyes, however, were far more alert
than Sparhawk had expected. When Ehlana entered the throne-room, he rose
somewhat hesitantly to his feet. Oscagne looked a bit surprised. ‘That’s
amazing,’ he said. ‘The emperor never stands to greet his guests.’
‘Who are the ladies gathered around him?’ Ehlana asked in a quiet voice.
‘His wives,’ Oscagne replied, ‘the Empresses of Tamuli. There are nine of
them.’
‘Monstrous!’ Bevier gasped. ‘Political expediency, Sir Knight,’ the
ambassador explained. ‘An ordinary man has only one wife, but the emperor
has to have one from each kingdom in the empire. He can’t really show
favouritism, after all. ‘
‘It looks as if one of the empresses forgot to finish dressing,’ Baroness
Melidere said critically, staring at one of the imperial wives, a
sunny-faced young woman who stood naked to the waist with no hint that her
unclad state caused her any concern. The skirt caught around her waist was
a brilliant scarlet, and she had a red flower in her hair. Oscagne
chuckled. ‘That’s our Elysoun,’ he smiled. ‘She’s from the Isle of Valesia,
and that’s the costume or lack of it – customary among the islanders. She’s
a totally uncomplicated girl, and we all love her dearly. The normal rules
governing marital fidelity have never applied to the Valesian Empress. It’s
a concept the Valesians can’t comprehend. The notion of sin is alien to
them.’ 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, kut 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 Brew 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 Ehlanas 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.