Back home on Caladan, young Paul felt withdrawn. After what he had seen and learned in the Archduke’s palace, he had many questions, to which he could not find answers in filmbooks.
He went down to the dockside, wandered past the fish-seller stalls, and made his way up the path to a coastal promontory. Looking for solace, or at least answers that made sense to him, Paul stopped at the colossal harbor statues of Duke Paulus Atreides and young Victor, Duke Leto’s first son.
Both deaths had left a great mark on his father’s life, and it had been during Leto’s time of deepest grief following Victor’s death that Jessica had gotten pregnant. In a way, Paul realized, he owed his life, his very existence, to that tragedy….
He saw his mother coming up the black rock steps, and presently she stood beside him on the esplanade at the base of the statues. The salty breezes blew strands of her bronze hair about her face. “I thought you might be here, Paul. I sometimes come to this place myself to deal with my own questions.”
He gazed at the stone figures, the burning braziers filled with bright flames. “Do they ever answer you?”
“No, the answers have to come from ourselves.” She smiled at him. “Unless you would like to speak with me?”
He blurted a response, not thinking. “When my father marries Ilesa Ecaz, will I still be his heir? What is my place in House Atreides?”
“Leto has designated you, Paul. You are his son.”
“I know, but if he has another child with Ilesa, his legal wife, won’t that boy become his rightful heir instead of me?”
“Are you having dynastic dreams, Paul?” Jessica asked softly. “Do you want to be Duke?”
“Thufir says that anyone who
“That’s the irony of political realities. Your father has promised that your status and mine will not change. Trust him.”
“But how can he promise that? Didn’t he also make promises to Archduke Ecaz?”
“Your father has made many promises. The challenge will be for him to balance and keep all of them — and you know he’ll try. His sense of honor is his most prized possession.”
“Do you believe my father is betraying you, or us, by marrying another woman?” Paul watched his mother’s expression carefully. He could see the subtle signs of confusion and ambivalence as her Bene Gesserit-trained mind struggled to accept the necessities. Yet, no matter how much Jessica tried to convince herself, she was also a woman, a human being. She had feelings.
“I came to accept Kailea Vernius under similar circumstances,” Jessica said. “I knew my place, and Leto knew his.”
“But Kailea didn’t accept it. I know what happened.”
“Neither did your grandmother Helena. Your father knows he is treading on dangerous ground, but I will not try to talk him out of it.”
Jessica turned from the statues and surprised Paul by hugging him fiercely. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she brushed away the dampness. “Always remember one thing, Paul. Your father loves you, he truly does.”
Yes, he knew that in a way that went beyond politics or logic. “I will never forget it.”
A MONTH PASSED, and the wedding drew closer. Paul did his best to concentrate on his many duties and responsibilities as the son of a Duke.
Paul trained daily with Thufir Hawat. Gradually, the Weapons Master set the training mek to higher and higher skill levels, as if to express his own anger. The veteran Mentat had served House Atreides for generations; he had seen old Paulus and Helena during their legendary fights and watched Leto and Kailea as their relationship tumbled into disaster. But in his position as the Atreides Master of Assassins, he turned a blind eye to personal matters in the household, except where they might affect ducal security.
Paul fought against the mek, ducking to avoid its slashing metal arms, parrying with a short sword. Since the mindless, reactive device generated its own shield, he could practice the slow plunge of the knife through the resistance, adjusting the speed of his thrust to make the blade pass through. After each exhausting session, Thufir replayed Paul’s moves via a holo-image so he could critique and assess the young man’s strengths and weaknesses.
Now, Paul compartmentalized his thoughts as his mother had taught him, so that he could carry on a conversation while still fighting at the peak of his abilities. This habit had always startled his teachers, and Paul did it just to see the effect it had on the old Mentat. “Tell me how my grandfather died, Thufir.”
“Bullfight. A Salusan bull killed him.”
Paul slashed and ducked. One of the mek’s cutting edges came very close to slicing open his left shoulder. “You would make a poor Jongleur. Your storytelling ability is greatly lacking.”
Thufir continued to watch him, and finally said more. “Old Duke Paulus died because of treachery, and your grandmother was forced to take the veil with the Sisters in Isolation.”
Pieces clicked together in Paul’s mind. He had never bothered to compare the exact dates. According to stories and rumors around Castle Caladan, Lady Helena had withdrawn to the fortress nunnery out of grief. This was shocking new information. “Was she responsible for the plot?”
“Not for me to say… but in exile she remains. Duncan was but a stable hand at the time. Even he was implicated in the plot for a while.”
“He was cleared of all charges.” Thufir terminated the fighting exercise and shut down the mek. “That is enough, if you are going to insist on jabbering. You can pretend to do both at the same time, but I saw your mistakes, which could have been fatal if not for my presence. We will review them carefully, young Master. For now, go clean up, change your clothes, and prepare to receive our guests. The first members of the Ecazi wedding party arrive this afternoon.”
9
Politicians and predators operate on disturbingly similar principles.
Several weeks after the Baron Harkonnen departed from Grumman, where plans had been set in motion, the Viscount lost all reason for restraint.
Hiih Resser stood with a dozen members of the Moritani royal court, packed shoulder to shoulder in the sickroom of the dying boy. Viscount Moritani spoke to them all in a voice like ripping paper. “The Suk doctor says my son will soon breathe his last. It is only a matter of days, or less. If only we had the drug to cure him.” Moritani’s broken whisper drove a knife of sorrow into Resser’s heart.
On his bed, reeking of melange and semuta smoke, accompanied by wailing atonal music, whether or not the melodic trance effects were necessary, Wolfram was beyond hearing his distraught father.
Some of the witnesses sobbed softly, but Resser had no way of judging if their tears were sincere. Looking on, he was convinced that this clumsy demonstration of support was largely an effort to gain favor with the Grumman lord.
Preoccupied with his work, Dr. Terbali made adjustments to Wolfram’s intravenous lines, while the wild-
