also House Atreides and House Vernius of Ix. In the massacre at the wedding, the representatives of many other noble families were put at risk and could have been killed. A Grumman sneak attack previously destroyed the Swordmaster school on Ginaz. How much more collateral damage will we tolerate? This dispute can quickly blow up into a conflagration that embroils many more Houses of the Landsraad.”
“It will not,” Shaddam said in a stern tone. “Viscount Moritani, I command that you cease your foolhardy course of action. You will pay reparations in an amount I will personally determine. And I require you to apologize to the Archduke for killing his two daughters. And his brother. There, that should settle the matter.”
Viscount Moritani just laughed cruelly, startling the entire audience. Even the Baron wondered what the man was doing. “Oh, more Houses than Ecaz and Atreides are involved. You might be surprised.” Now he seemed to be looking directly at the Harkonnen seats. A
Moritani took a step toward the Emperor’s podium, though the Sardaukar would not let him get closer. “Why not just send another legion of Sardaukar to breathe down my neck, Sire? I will ignore them as I did before.” Now he actually turned his back on Shaddam and began to stride away as the outcry mounted in the chamber. He raised his voice bitterly, “Now if you all will excuse me, I have a funeral to plan — for my son.”
The Emperor pounded his gavel again, but the Viscount did not turn. “Hundro Moritani, you are officially censured for inappropriate behavior. On behalf of the entire Landsraad and the member Houses, you are also placed on administrative probation.” The noble members muttered at this light sentence for such extreme defiance, and Shaddam shouted, “If need be, House Moritani can be stripped. Any further violations, and you will face the loss of your fief!”
Now, the man turned slowly, looking back at the Emperor with unabashed loathing. “How much is my fief worth, Sire? Grumman is a worn-out and nearly valueless planet, but it is my home and I am its ruler. I will protect my people and my honor as I see fit. Come and see for yourself, if you like. See how a
The Baron went cold. Was the man mad? After the wedding massacre, Atreides and Ecazi forces were almost certainly planning to attack Grumman, and now he provoked the Emperor as well? The Viscount no longer seemed to care about anything. Could he really have loved his son so much? The very idea made the Baron uneasy. How could he — or anyone else — control such a man?
THAT EVENING IN his diplomatic quarters, before he could make arrangements to return to Giedi Prime, the Baron received an unwelcome, secret message. When he used an ornate stir stick in his spice coffee, his touch activated a cleverly hidden projector, which produced a holo-display of the smiling Grumman nobleman wafting above the food on his tray. Startled, the Baron pushed his meal away, but that could not stop the Viscount’s recorded speech.
“I am on my way back to Grumman to prepare for our great battle. A magnificent battle. The Archduke will come with the Atreides military forces — they cannot resist the bait — and my planet must be defended.” With a smug expression, he added, “As my ally, Baron, I expect you to send a Harkonnen military division to help Grumman stand against its enemies. I must insist, for the sake of our friendship… and our secrets.”
The Baron knocked over the cup of spice coffee, hoping to disrupt the recorded spectral image, but the Viscount continued with his ominous ultimatum. “As I promised you, I will take the credit for these actions. There is no need for me to reveal Harkonnen involvement. If you provide men for our two Houses to fight side by side, I will be happy to let your troops wear Grumman uniforms to maintain our little masquerade. No one need know, besides ourselves.
“Two weeks should be enough time for you to prepare. Atreides and Ecaz will be delayed at least that long, thanks to Duke Vidal. Send the division — and your man Rabban to command them.” He smiled, and the image flickered. “I have already lost my son. You can gamble a mere nephew.”
In frustrated fury, the Baron slapped at the lingering, sneering image, but it hung maddeningly in the air, as if to remind him of his inability to assert even that small degree of control.
7
We build fortress walls around ourselves with thick mental barricades and deep moats. These places of sanctuary serve the dual purpose of keeping the unpleasant reminders out and locking our own guilt within.
The walls of the fortress nunnery were solid stone, but the true coldness in the weaving chamber seemed to emanate directly from his grandmother. Lady Helena Atreides clearly wanted Paul to feel uncomfortable and unwelcome, and so he flustered her by refusing to behave in an awkward manner. He had nothing to gain or lose from the older woman’s companionship, and neither, he supposed, did the Abbess have anything to gain from his. He expected no sudden change to love and acceptance.
Helena’s resentment stemmed from old memories of her husband, Paulus, and perhaps Leto as well, but when she tried to take it out on her grandson, Paul harmlessly deflected her attitude, as though he wore a personal body shield against emotions.
“Our women are hard at work,” Helena had scolded when he entered the upper chamber of the tower one morning, asking to observe their activities. “You must not disturb them.”
Paul did not slink away, though, as she apparently expected him to do. “They are forbidden to talk, Grandmother, and none of them has even looked at me, so obviously I’m not disturbing them.” He peered curiously at all the feverish activity with looms and threads. “Will you please explain what they are doing?”
Thirty women worked at various looms to the percussive sliding and spin of fibers being whisked through grids, shuttles thrown to and fro, patterns tamped and reset. The filaments changed colors, drawn from skeins of yarn, spindles of thread.
The women gathered handfuls of strands that ranged from fine gossamer fibers to thick, slubby twists. The weavers incorporated them into patterns and continued to work in a well-practiced cooperative effort, entirely without conversation. It took Paul several moments to realize that, instead of one giant tangle, there were dozens of different tapestries in production. Some were like rainbows, hues blending into hues, while others were dramatic clashes of threads, intersecting lines, and impossible knots.
“Are they following a grand design?”
“Each Sister makes her own pattern. Since we do not converse with one another, who can say what memories and visions drive us?” Helena’s face looked pinched as she frowned. “The famed abstract tapestries are our nunnery’s most profitable enterprise. They do not have patterns and pictorial representations as typical tapestries do, but these show a different sort of image, one that is open to interpretation. CHOAM pays us handsomely to distribute them across the Imperium.”
“So your religious order is a commercial operation.” This statement also seemed to annoy his grandmother.
“There is always commerce in religion. We recognize that people want the products, and we accept money in exchange for them. Beyond that, this abbey is fairly self-sufficient. We grow most of our own food. You know this, because I have noticed you two poking around.”
Since arriving, he and Duncan had been wandering about the abbey grounds, viewing the cultivated areas on steep terraces outside the thick walls. The dense jungle also yielded fruits, edible leaves, and tubers, as well as game, though Paul couldn’t imagine the Sisters in Isolation going on hunting expeditions. Swain Goire, however, might do it.
“The Caladan primitives are also fond of our tapestries.”
Paul was surprised. “What do they use them for?”
Though the mysterious tribes from the deep jungles had very little contact with the rest of Caladan, Paul had been fascinated to study them in filmbooks. Since his father was the Atreides Duke, Paul wanted to learn all he could about every aspect of this world. Duke Leto, Paulus, and their predecessors had let the primitives lead their
