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- Author: Fletcher Pratt
Book online «The Blue Star by Fletcher Pratt (best ebook reader under 100 .TXT) 📖». Author Fletcher Pratt
Now the tumult seemed completely out of hand, men moving from place to place confusedly or trying to say something (and in every eye Rodvard could catch there was nothing but mere fury, which expressed itself in a color of maroon). Mathurin looked out on the scene, making no effort at control; but from the first row there rose a tall old man with white hair and a face set in a habitual expression of benevolence, who raised high his white staff of office, by which Rodvard recognized him as the Arch-Episcopal, Teurapis Groadon.
Eyes caught the staff; voice after voice was abstracted from the uproar until only a few still tried to speak, then two, then none. The Arch-Episcopal waited until there was a silence broken only by a cough; Mathurin pressed Rodvard’s shoulder to read the eyes, but the old man only cast one swift glance at the dais before turning to address the assembly.
“Ser writer,” he said, “and you, lords and estates of the realm, this is not a pleasant thing that we have heard. There may be some question of the authenticity of this message, or it may have been written merely to deceive; a document from the hand of the heretic Pavinius, who would make himself the equal of God. Yet I will not deny that we must behave as though it were true; for if we do nothing, and it proves to be so, it will be too late. And for myself I fear it is true; for it is given to the spiritual estate to discern the machinations of the powers of evil. There is before us, then the question of how, joying in the protection of God, we can circumvent the machinations of the Enemy, who has made man and women naturally good, into instruments of evil.
“Let us therefore prayerfully address ourselves to the question of how the realm may escape this trouble. In an emergency equal to this, in the reign of King Cloar with Queen Berdette the First, the assembly of the realm set aside their rule in favor of their daughter, with her husband, the great King Crontinianus, of glorious memory. But now there are no heirs female, and of heirs male, only Prince Pavinius. Thus we seem faced with the hard choice of accepting him, and so selling the soul to preserve the body, or of adhering to the Queen’s will and saving the soul through bodily submission to Tritulacca. But I do not think God demands of us such submission, for our God is a God of joy.
“We are here met in the high assembly of the realm, which I hold to represent what of the power material has failed to protect its own; and the power spiritual is fully represented. Therefore, though such a step has no basis in law or custom, I say let us set up a regency in the time of a living Queen. It should have members of lords and estates to show forth the source of its authority; and since the true enemy is that power of evil which has led our good Queen astray, I humbly offer to preside.”
He sat. There was a rumor, almost of agreement, but with a little edge in it that left Rodvard glad the Arch-Episcopal had ended so, for all the rest of what he said might have led them to agree, and it seemed to Rodvard that a regency with lords and Episcopals on it would be only the old rule again. Mathurin jerked his finger toward one of the brown legists, who had risen and was waiting for attention.
“I am the kronzlar Escholl,” said the man. “I will say that this proposal of a regency in the time of a living ruler has good support in law and custom, though it is not generally known. It is now over eight quadrials of years since King Belodon the Second was killed at Bregatz during the Zigraner wars, and few remember that only three weeks before his death, it was determined that he had gone mad, and the barons set up a council of regency. We may, I think, assume a like madness in the Queen’s Majesty, since her offer to Perisso is clearly contrary both to the law of the realm and true religion. His claim to Sedad Mir is based on descent in the male line, since it is well known that the last Count of that seignory wrongfully dispossessed his sister, who survived him to pass on her rights to the crown of Dossola.”
The bright morning light struck through the window, fairly on the speaker’s face (and as he took his place, Rodvard caught from his eye a quick gleam of greed and lust for power, altogether surprising in one who had spoken so dry and calmly). He touched Mathurin’s arm to mention this, but now half a dozen more were on their feet to speak, and the writer before the assembly shot his finger at a man with a merchant’s badge, in the group that had made the tumult when the Marquis of Palm was shouted down.
“I protest!” this one bawled. “I am called Brosen Zelitza. We are the assembly of the nation, and therefore already regents in our own right. Why vest the regency in a council? Why should Episcopals have the temporal power as well as the spiritual? If no one else dares to speak, I will tell you why; it is because they are sold—sold to Tritulacca. They wish to have the power to complete Cleudi’s contract, and their objection to it is only a sham.” (The voice had a curious dynamic quality that seemed to stir the very bones, but in Rodvard’s mind, watching the face, there grew only a picture of something with teeth, he could not make out any mind or thought.) “—by the rule of these Episcopals and their mercenaries of the priesthood the old customs of Dossola were set aside, and it is forbidden that women shall use the Art. So Dossola is being made a half-nation like the savage Kjermanash, with women in bondage, unable to defend—” (The voice was stirring them, excitement in the hall, with movements and the scratch of a pushed-back chair.) “—corrupt priesthood, refuge of scoundrels and bastards,” (Rodvard swept the line of the Episcopals, and though they were turned so he could catch no eyes, every pose told of rising indignation.) “—who cannot define the God they profess to serve—”
“Stop!” The Arch-Episcopal was on his feet again, staff upraised.
“Ah, the sword bites, does it? Conspirator! Plot—”
“Stop!” The voice that was accustomed to dominating the vast recesses of the cathedral was thunderous.
Up leaped Mathurin. “My lord Episcopal,” he said, “this is the great assembly of the people, where each may speak in turn. When you have heard him, we will hear you.”
The Arch-Episcopal swung round (and from his eyes Rodvard could catch the flash of anger clearly enough, but that was not the sole emotion, and the rest was veiled). “I will never hear blasphemy,” he said. “As the highest officer of government remaining loyal to the realm, I declare this assembly dissolved. All who love God and Dossola, follow me.”
Amid a renewed outburst, catcalls and shouts of approval mingled, he lifted his staff high and strode toward the door, followed by the others of his class. A good half the legists came behind. The nobles stood, but hung hesitant, looking toward the strong Marquis of Palm; and then, seeing him sit, some returned to their seats. Of the merchants some followed, but the little knot where the shouting started remained in their seats.
When the procession had passed, Mathurin said; “The session for this day is closed.” He turned toward Rodvard (and the latter saw in the smiling eyes that everything had gone exactly according to plan, and Zelitza was a good man).
Rodvard left the Hall of Presence alone, more than a little prideful at being a partaker in great deeds at last, and wondering what the old companions at the Office of Pedigree would say, who had so looked down on and baited him, when they knew he was one of the writers before the great assembly of the nation. Silver spadas were in his pouch; the new clothes were neat; it was the finest day of winter.
He felt he must tell someone of his delight in all; lifted his head as he strode, and so striding, inadvertently trod on the heel of one before. The man turned to show a face as young as his own and a clerical badge. His hands were hunched beneath the edge of his jacket.
“I beg your grace,” said Rodvard.
“No matter,” said the other.
“I was thinking. Did you know that the great assembly is going to make itself a regency in the place of Queen Berdette?”
“No.” A pause. “Well, now the Tritulaccan Count will find him a better bedfellow. Perhaps we’ll have this Prince Pavinius.”
“The Episcopals left the assembly.”
“Oh.” Another stop to the conversation, step, step to the corner, side by side. The encounter glanced around (with discomfort in his eyes at having nothing to say). “Have you seen the new representation at Leverdaos? It is called ‘The Maid’s Problem’ and Minora is playing.”
25INTERVIEW AT THE NATION’S GUEST-HOUSE
Lalette lay curled on the bed, half propped by pillows under her armpit. Demadé Slair had unbelted his sword to sit down; it leaned against his chair. Mathurin sat in the one by the table, the candle throwing his sharp profile into strong silhouette. Rodvard shifted in the damaged chair, whose lost stuffing made his seat uneasy.
“And that was all?” said the writer to the assembly, pinching his lower lip. “Nothing more from Palm, nothing more from the other Episcopals? Pest, Bergelin, you are less useful than I had expected.”
“There was the legist who spoke,” said Rodvard. “I think he is a man to beware of. His thought was so ruthless and desirous of power that he would ride down anything.”
“You mean the kronzlar Escholl? That is of some use at all events,” said Mathurin. “We need more like that, whether as allies or enemies. Things must be stirred; too many people are careless of who wins.” He stood up and began to pace the floor slowly, head thrust forward a little, hands behind him. “Listen, Bergelin, I will be wholly frank with you. We held a meeting of the High Center this afternoon, following the session.”
Rodvard said; “Are the names of its members still a secret, except for yourself?”
Mathurin gave a snort. “They will not be long, for things have so fallen out that the High Center and the Council of Regency will be one. You will have guessed that Brosen Zelitza of Arjen is one, there’s the best speaker in Dossola. General Stegaller; he’s in charge of the recruit bureau technically, but is really organizing what will be a people’s army. It may surprise you to know that your old friend Mme. Kaja is a member; a wonderful woman for handling matters of detail, and we have to have one of her sex because of our position about the Art, but I could wish it were someone beside her, she’s so religious.” Lalette made a little sound; Rodvard caught sight of her face (and knew she was about to burst into one of her angers).
“Will no one tell me what has become of Doctor Remigorius?” he asked (hoping to forestall the outburst).
Mathurin’s pacing stopped. “I forgive you and will tell you, but if you wish health, you will not mention him again. Rat, spy, tool; he has fled to his employer, Prince Pavinius—but he will not live long, so no more of him.”
(Lalette thought: these are the creatures round my husband, my man—if he is my man, and not merely using me and my Blue Star.)
“It was decided—” Mathurin began, but before he had finished, a mouse slipped from under the edge of the bed, and ran rapidly across the floor as though on tiny wheels. Slair’s arm flashed up and out with the scabbarded sword like a striking bird; blade and beast together arrived at the center of the carpet and the mouse twitched once and died. Demadé Slair picked up the small corpse and stood looking at it.
“Poor creature,” he said, “I ask your pardon. Now your children in the hole will starve for lack of the food you went in search of.”
Rodvard was astounded to see a tear glitter at the edge of the swordsman’s eye.
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