Leto emerged alone from the landed frigate, wearing a black doublet that sported the red Atreides hawk crest. Paul followed, still trying to understand what was going on.
The air smelled of flowers, wood resins, and sweet sap that leaked from the cracked bark of the enormous trees that towered over the palace. Ferns as tall as his head stood like curled sentries along the flagstone paths.
Leto put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Come with me, we need to make our entrance.”
“What about Mother?” Paul glanced back at Jessica, who showed no emotion whatsoever as she followed them at some distance.
“She will make her own entrance. Pay close attention. There are many subtleties here. In the next few days you will learn important lessons about being a Duke… and some of them may be hard.”
There seemed to be as much lush foliage inside the Archduke’s palace as out in the courtyards and gardens. Narrow aqueducts spilled silvery water down channels in the walls, filling the corridors and chambers with the peaceful sound of flowing streams. It wasn’t quite as soothing as the majestic rush of the ocean on Caladan, but Paul found it comforting nevertheless.
When they entered the main audience room, Archduke Armand Ecaz was seated in a massive chair made of burlwood, at a long table polished to an incredible sheen. It was the largest piece of Elaccan bloodwood Paul had ever seen; colors and patterns flowed through the grain. The Archduke was a tall, thin man who did not appear old despite his silver hair. His face was narrow, his chin pointed.
As Leto came forward, the Archduke stood to greet him, and they clasped each other’s forearms. “We are optimists, you and I, Armand,” Leto said. “We will try this again. If we don’t keep trying, then what is the point of life?”
“This is your natural son Paul?” The Archduke extended a hand. It was small and thin, but his grip was firm. Paul shook it.
“Also, allow me to present his mother, the Lady Jessica,” Leto said, nodding in her direction. She bowed formally, but remained at the side of the room, marginalized.
“I have an introduction to make as well, Leto. You probably don’t remember her.” Armand gave a shout toward a doorway, and a willowy young woman entered. She seemed well-mannered, with large brown eyes and dark hair bound in a looping braid. She wore a thin gold chain around her neck, suspended from which was a perfectly clear yet irregularly shaped soostone. “Duke Leto Atreides, this is my daughter Ilesa.”
She executed a polite curtsy, though she seemed shy. “I am very pleased to meet you.”
Paul’s father responded with a deep, formal bow. “I saw her once, long ago. You did not exaggerate her beauty, Armand.” Now Duke Leto turned to Paul and his mother. “The arrangements have already been made. Ilesa will be my wife.”
4
Duncan Idaho was not the only Swordmaster in the life of Paul Atreides. He is just the only one who will be long remembered.
After they had been shown to separate quarters in the Ecazi Palace, Paul visited his mother in her room. Jessica was quiet, absorbed in her thoughts; she herself had taught him how to read subtle nuances, and he could see how troubled she was. Obviously, his father had not discussed the betrothal announcement with her beforehand.
Logically, and politically, the arrangement had its advantages. Marriage was a tool of statecraft in the Imperium, a weapon as powerful as any lasgun in the Atreides military arsenal. But apparently Duke Leto kept secrets and political realities even from his beloved concubine.
“It will be all right, Paul,” Jessica said, and she did sound sincere. “I will stay in this room and continue my Bene Gesserit exercises, but you, Paul — no matter what else is happening, seize this as a learning opportunity. When it is time for us all to leave Ecaz, I want you to have a greater breadth of understanding. File away all these details and organize your thoughts using the techniques I have taught you.”
The very strangeness of Ecaz proved an irresistible distraction to Paul. He studied sunlit rooms whose walls reflected a trapezoidal architecture, without the perfection of perpendicular intersections. The palace grounds held an amazing topiary garden of lush plant sculptures — men, animals, and monsters — that moved with gentle grace, turning and weaving as the sun crossed the sky. A mesh-enclosed arena filled with large jewel-toned butterflies offered quite a spectacle during the twice-daily feeding-frenzy when workers entered the arena carrying dishes of syrupy nectar.
When he went to find his father, Duke Leto was locked in a conference room with Armand Ecaz. Guards and, worse, bureaucratic functionaries clustered at the doorway, and prevented him from entering. At midmorning, though, when servants delivered refreshments for the meeting, Paul finally slipped into the conference room and caught his father’s eye. Duke Leto appeared tired, but he smiled when he saw the boy. “Paul, I am sorry we’ve ignored you. These negotiations are very complex.”
Armand Ecaz lounged back in his chair. “Come now, Leto, they aren’t as difficult as all that.”
“Go find Duncan, Paul. He’ll keep you occupied — and safe.”
At a signal from Duke Leto, the stuffy Ecazi guard captain took the young man by the sleeve and led him out of the room, apologizing profusely to the Archduke for the interruption. Paul knew he would never have gotten past Thufir Hawat’s security back in Castle Caladan.
He located Duncan, Rivvy Dinari, and Whitmore Bludd out on the training field embroiled in a melee. The three were shirtless and armed with blunt-ended pulse swords that could deliver potent, stinging shocks; all three men had angry-looking red welts on their arms, chests, and shoulders. As he watched, Paul couldn’t quite tell who was fighting whom: Duncan threw himself upon Bludd, Dinari attacked Duncan, and then Bludd and Duncan ganged up on the fat Swordmaster. Finally, the three lowered their weapons, exhausted, dripping with perspiration and wearing foolish grins.
“He hasn’t forgotten much,” Dinari admitted to the thin and foppish Bludd. “He must practice occasionally.”
Finished and weary, the three switched off their shields and stood leaning on the pulse-swords on the trampled practice ground. Bludd tipped an imaginary hat in Paul’s direction. “We gave the young man a magnificent demonstration.”
“At least an entertaining one,” Rivvy Dinari said. “You were clumsy as an ox today.”
Bludd sniffed. “I scored five nasty welts on
Duncan toweled himself off with a fluffy rectangle woven from Elaccan eiderdown. Paul had read in filmbooks how the substance was spun from the burst seedpods of a tall, purple-leafed tree.
Paul stepped up to him. “My mother told me to learn what I can about Ecaz, and my father told me that you would keep me occupied.”
“Certainly, young Master, but no sword training right now. After my workout with these two, even you might be able to beat me.”
“I have already bested you three times.”
“Twice. I refused to concede one of them.”
“Your refusal doesn’t change the facts.” Dinari and Bludd seemed to find the conversation amusing. Duncan led him inside for a round of tame filmbook studies.
5
