It was an old custom. Recreated here on Hafardine independently, to be sure, but drawing its roots from ancient times and places. The Romans, too, had used the trick. Not, perhaps, to any great purpose-but who was to say how crazed their great ones might have become otherwise?
Always a slave, riding with the conqueror in his chariot at the triumph, to whisper in his ear: this, too, shall pass.
And if Kata whispered nothing, the hand did as well. Perhaps better. The hand, after all, served to remind the shoulder bearing the world's grief as well as its brutality, that triumphs produce many forms of madness-but all triumphs fade. Perhaps madness can, too.
PART V: THE MAN ALONE
Chapter 30
Helga turned away from the city lying below the hillside, sighing quietly. Franness was a beautiful town, especially now with the spring in full bloom. Like a pearl-and-red gemstone, tile roofs atop whitewashed walls, cupped in a low valley draped in green and all the colors of the flowers. Nor, from what she could tell at the distance, had the long months of the barbarian occupation produced any noticeable damage.
But the sight brought her no pleasure, and even less in the way of comfort.
Most of all, I miss Jessep. Even more, I think, than I miss my husband or my own father. Both of whom are right here She glanced down the back slope of the hill, where the army of the Paramount Triumvir was erecting its field fortifications. Very extensive, those fortifications were; as they needed to be, given the size of the army.
— but might as well be on one of those 'planets' Adrian insists the moving stars really are. Maybe he's right, who knows? Big balls of rock or spirits of the gods, it hardly matters to me. Either one of them is untouchable.
Gloomily, she studied the army camp without really noticing any of its details. Her mind was still focused inward, awash in memories of Jessep's warm presence and Ilset's frequent gaiety. But Jessep and Ilset were gone, now. The Paramount had ordered his Special Attendant to the eastern provinces, to give Forent Nappur what aid he could in bringing that region out of a state of chaos. They were low-born easterners themselves. If anyone could cajole or convince or swindle-or just break the heads, where needed-of those headstrong commoners recapturing their yeomanry, it would be men like them.
Helga understood the logic of her father's command. Just as she understood the logic of everything he did these days. But she didn't have to like it, or the way that logic was turning her father into a grim and forbidding presence-and had deprived her of a substitute in Jessep. Much less the way it had turned her own husband into someone who, for all that he moved and talked and walked about-even made love to her, now and then-reminded her more of a statue than anything else.
A voice startled her. 'Oh, give it a rest, girl. Men are men, it's the way it is.'
Arsule was huffing her way up the trail. Just behind her, walking with far greater ease, was Jeschonyk's former concubine Kata. Arsule had more or less adopted the slave girl, unofficially-and had already announced she would adopt her, once her husband had the good sense to extend the emancipation throughout the Confederacy. Or, at least, make manumission something feasible, instead of the tortuous legal process which had so far stymied even the wife of the Paramount.
Arsule reached the crest and took a few triumphant breaths. Then, slapped a hand on her rump. 'There's advantages to having a meaty ass-your father damn well dotes on it-but rigorous exercise is not one of them. However, I thought this would be a good time for us to talk. Which we need to-and you, I think, much more than me.'
She fluttered her fingers toward the army camp. 'Forget all that, would you? Nothing you can do about it, and all this fretting and glumming you've been doing is not good. Not for you, not for anyone else.'
'There's no such word as 'glumming',' replied Helga, a bit sullenly.
'Of course, there is. I just used it, didn't I?' Arsule gave her that sideways cock of the head which Helga still found a bit weird. After all these months of close proximity, Helga had gotten accustomed to Arsule's multitude of mannerisms, quirks and eccentricities. But only… more or less.
'Fussing over the decline of the menfolk, are we? And just what did you expect would happen, silly girl? They're not actually monsters, you know; it'd be easier for them if they were. Just men trying to play the part, and getting worn down by it in the process. Especially when it goes on, month after month, with no end in sight.'
She straightened her head with a jerky, bird-like motion. 'Oh, to be sure, this nasty business here will be settled soon enough. But there'll be something else come along right after, you can bet on it. The eastern provinces will dissolve into sheer anarchy; there'll be another rampage of starving ex-slaves somewhere in the west-or here, more likely. Plague, pestilence, that's guaranteed. Another pathetic uprising by some piece of the aristocracy still intact. Easy enough to crush, of course, but crushing doesn't really come all that easily to our sort of men. Praise whatever gods may be. Which,' she said firmly, 'brings me to the subject at hand.'
She beckoned Kata forward. Helga was shaking her head, trying to follow the-as usual-convoluted route which Arsule's thoughts always seemed to take.
'What are you talking about?'
Arsule's eyes widened, as a polite person's will do when someone asks them a particularly inane question.
'Religion. What else? You and I are going to become fanatics. Well… devout converts, anyway, if not outright fanatics. Not overnight, of course. Men aren't that stupid. And we happen to be cursed by an especially shrewd pair of them, to boot. So we'll have to ease our way into the thing.'
She waved her hand, forestalling Helga's little splutter of Protest? Disbelief? Reacting to Arsule, it was always hard to say.
'But that's for later. Tactics can wait. Right now, you and I have to decide which flavor we'll pick. You take one, I'll take the other. Between us, we'll drive my husband and yours so mad with aggravation they'll forget their other woes. You watch.'
Helga wasn't even spluttering, now. Just gaping at Arsule as if she was faced with a lunatic.
'Oh, close your mouth. You look silly.' Arsule took a deep breath. 'No, I am not insane. Most everyone thinks I am, of course. But I'm always a bit puzzled why they never seem to notice that I'm about the only woman in the world who almost always gets what she wants.'
Helga's jaw snapped shut. She squinted at Arsule suspiciously.
Now that she actually thought about it 'It's an act? '
Again, the fluttering fingers. 'Oh, who knows? Act a part long enough, and it's hard to tell any more where the person leaves off and the act begins. Which, my dear girl, is precisely the danger we face today. Not with us, but-'
She pointed a finger toward the army camp. 'Those two. And their cohorts and conspirators, of course. But if we can keep Verice and Adrian this side of their act, we'll have done well enough. That much, at least, you can rely on men for. Keep them in line, and they'll right quick do the same for their underlings.'
She swiveled her head and beamed at Kata. 'So. Which flavor do you want? Personally, I recommend that you take up the 'Young Word.' It's a far more passionate creed than the cult of Jassine, so I think it'd suit you better. And I'm probably too old anyway for all the rigorous debates you'll have to sit through, after you milk Kata for all she's worth and then hire a dozen or so of the best Emerald philosophers to give it all a respectable polish and proper terminology. Whereas-'
Now she was beaming at Helga. 'I think the cult of Jassine suits me to perfection. It's a small cult, neglected, praised in theory but scorned in practice. In short, exactly the kind of project I've taken up with, oh, must be a hundred unknown artists I've championed over the years. A good two thirds of whom, by now, are rich and famous.'
Helga was not often speechless. But this was one of the times. Arsule drove on in her inimitable manner. Silence didn't deter the woman's torrent of words any more than loud conversation could. Or, thought Helga wildly, a volcano could.
'Between you and me-our patronage, I should say; we mustn't be immodest and claim everything; prophets
