The audience chamber of the oracle was only a little larger than the living-room of a rich man’s house. The lamps burned with a steady light. The flames were tinted an unnatural greenish hue, and the incense of burning herbs was heavy and oppressive. There were draperies beyond the oracle’s throne hanging from roof to flagged floor.
The oracle sat upon the throne, a small figure completely swathed in white robes, the face hidden in the shadows of her hood.
Lannon halted in the centre of the chamber and before he spoke he admired for a moment the arrangements that put the interviewer at such a disadvantage. Barefoot, damp from the pool, stripped of weapons and finery, dressed in strange robes and forced to look up at the figure on the throne while he inhaled the subtly drugged air - he must be off balance. Lannon felt his anger stir, and his voice was harsh as he made the formal greeting and asked the first question.
Huy watched from his place of concealment behind the draperies. He revelled in the closeness of his friend’s physical presence, remembering his mannerisms and voice tones, watching the familiar and well-loved face, smiling at an expected change of expression, the quick smoulder of anger in the pale blue eyes, the quickening of interest at a warning, the glimmer of a smile as he recognized good advice.
Tanith spoke in the same sing-song cadence as Huy had used, picking the answers from the wide selection with which Huy had armed her.
When Lannon was finished and would have left the chamber, Tanith’s voice stopped him.
‘There is more.’
Lannon turned back with surprise, for he was not accustomed to unsolicited - and unpaid for - counsel from the oracle. But Tanith spoke, ‘The lion had a faithful jackal to warn him of the hunter’s approach, but drove the jackal away.
‘The sun had a bird to carry the sacrifices on high, but turned his countenance away from the bird.’
‘The hand had an axe to defend it, but cast the axe aside.’
‘Oh, proud lion! Oh, faithless sun! Oh, careless hand!’
Behind the drapery Huy held his breath. It had sounded very clever when he had composed it, but now spoken out in the bare stone chamber it shocked even him.
Lannon’s pale eyes seemed to glaze over as he puzzled the riddle, but it was not that subtle and as the import struck him his eyes cleared to the chill sparkle of sapphire and the blood engorged his face and neck.
‘Damn you, witch,’ he shouted. ‘Must I have it from you also? That cursed priest plagues me at every turn. I cannot walk the streets of my city but I hear the crowds sing his piddling songs. I cannot dine in my own banquet- room but my guests will repeat his empty mouthings. I cannot fight, nor drink a bowl of wine, nor toss a dice but his shadow stands at my shoulder.’ Lannon was panting with anger, as he stamped across the audience chamber and shook his fist in the oracle’s startled face. ‘My children even, he bewitches them also.’
Behind the drapes Huy felt his spirits soar on bright wings, this was not an enemy speaking.
‘He struts and lords it in the streets of my city, his name echoes through my kingdoms.’
Lannon’s anger was changing to righteous indignation.
‘They cheer him when he passes, I have heard it, and, by great Baal, they cheer him louder than they do their own king.’
Lannon swung away from the throne, unable to control his agitation. His eyes swept over the draperies and for an instant seemed to stare into Huy’s soul. Huy drew back with a quick intake of breath, but Lannon paced quickly about the chamber before approaching the oracle again.
‘He does all this, mark you,
Huy doubted for a moment that the words had been spoken, but almost immediately Lannon’s voice rose in a bellow.
‘But he defied me. He took from me what was mine, and that I cannot overlook! ’
Lannon whirled and stormed from the shrine. His gentleman-at-arms and his huntmaster saw the expression on his face and they signalled the warnings ahead of the king’s furious progress back to the palace.
On the final day of the festival Lannon Hycanus prayed in the temple of great Baal, alone in the sacred grove among the towers and the sunbird monoliths. Then he emerged to receive the renewed pledges of loyalty from his subjects. Each of the nine noble families would be represented, as well as the order of priesthood, the guilds of craftsmen and the powerful trading syndicates of the kingdom. They would restate their oaths of allegiance to the throne, and present gifts to the Gry-Lion.
Huy Ben-Amon was absent from the ceremony. Bakmor made the oath for the priesthood and presented the gift. Lannon growled softly at the young warrior priest as he made obeisance before him.
‘Where is the Holy Father of Ben-Amon?’
‘My lord, I speak for him and all the priests of great Baal.’ Bakmor avoided the question as Huy had coached him, and Lannon could protest no further in the presence of his assembled nobles.
The ceremony ended the festival and Opet plunged into an orgy of food and wine and frolic and licence. While Lannon feasted with his nobles in the palace, the commoners thronged the narrow streets singing and dancing. The wine vendors passed freely amongst them, but during the daylight hours the restraint of custom and law checked the behaviour of the crowds. Darkness would bring on the lewd and wanton revels which characterized the festival. In the night the noble matrons and their pretty daughters would slip out, cloaked and hooded, into the streets to join the debauchery - or at the very least to watch it with shining eyes and breathless laughter. For a day and night the rules of society were suspended, and no husband nor wife could demand explanation or accounting from their spouses. It happened but once every five years, and when the festival ended there were wine-sore heads, pale faces and shaking hands, as well as smug and secret smiles.
By the middle of the afternoon Lannon was drunk, expansively and happily drunk, as were most of his guests. The banquet-room of the palace was sweltering. The sun beat down fiercely upon the flat mud roof, while the body heat of 500 excited nobles, and the heat from the steaming dishes of rich food turned it into an oven.
