By the time the clock on the south side of the Tower of Kumashar showed the third hour, Mazsan's peasant army had heard about the defeats of the other three forces. There was talk of a mysterious mixup in timing, and of the unexpected strength of the defenders. The yells of Mazsan's officers and even blows with the flats of swords failed to get the peasants to rush the wall. They stood sullenly muttering; some began to trickle away.
Trumpets blared in the hills. Little black specks grew to squadrons of the regular Penembic cavalry, riding down the East Road and deploying.
"Tereyai!" shouted voices along the wall, as the frontier army rolled into view.
As the word went round, Mazsan's peasants dissolved in mad flight. The Fedirunis, fearful of being cut off from their homeland, abandoned their camp, swarmed on their camels and horses, and scattered. The Algarthian pirates scrambled aboard their ships, cast off, and hoisted sail.
The Free Company struck its camp in orderly fashion. It formed three hollow squares, with pikes leveled outwards in all directions and crossbowmen inside the squares. The mercenaries marched leisurely away on the North Road, as if daring anybody to try to stop them. No one did.
"My boy!" cried the king. "You have saved Iraz! Nothing were too good for you! Nothing!"
"Oh, come, sire," said the bandaged Jorian, affecting more modesty than he really felt. "All your servant did was to sit up half the night tinkering with the clocks, to make the four dials register different hours."
"But that proves the prophecy. Or rather, both prophecies. You are the barbarian savior, and the salvation of the city depended upon the clocks' functioning—albeit not quite in the sense that one would expect, heh heh. Name your reward!"
"All I want, Your Majesty, is that copper bathtub."
"Forsooth? Well, it is a queer sort of reward; but if that is your desire, you shall have it. Shall we have it delivered to Doctor Karadur's quarters?"
"Nay, sire. Leave it where it is for the time being. But one of these days I shall want it. And one other thing!"
"Yes? Yes?"
"Pray stop calling me a barbarian! I am only an honest craftsman, as civilized as the next wight."
"Oh," said the king. "We see the difficulty. You think of a 'barbarian' as a rude, uncouth, illiterate oaf from some backward land where they know not letters and cities. But in the prophecy, methinks, the word was used in its older sense, to mean any non-Penembian. The change in meaning took place during the century preceding this one; we told you we used to be a bit of a scholar.
"So, you see, in that sense you are a barbarian, however refined your manners and vast your erudition. And the prophecies are proven after all. By the way, it is fortunate that our victory took place when it did, and that you sustained no grievous wounds. In three nights, we shall have a full moon again."
Jorian wrinkled his forehead. "So, Your Majesty?"
"Have you forgotten? That is the monthly Divine Marriage of Nubalyaga!"
"Oh," said Jorian.
Three nights later, at the full of the moon, Jorian gave the ritual knock on the massive door at the north end of Hoshcha's tunnel. The door swung open, and in it stood two minor priestesses in gauzy gowns. They bowed low, saying:
"All hail, Your Majesty, soon to be divine!"
Jorian nodded affably. "Whither away, lassies?"
"Follow us."
Jorian followed them through winding corridors, up stairs, and through portals. Once he passed the main chamber of the temple. Through an open door, he glimpsed scaffolding and saw men moving about. He heard the sounds of sawing and hammering and the clink of masons' chisels.
The Free Company and the Algarthians had looted the temple of all the gold and precious stones they could pry off the decorations. They might have destroyed the whole structure had not Mazsan's influence restrained them. Now craftsmen were working overtime to refurbish the fane.
"Priestesses!" said Jorian, "Where—ah—I mean when do I—ah—"
"Oh, sire!" murmured one. "You needs must be suitably clad ere the god incarnate himself in you!"
They led him at last into a smaller chamber, where garments were laid out on a divan.
"Now, sire," they said, "if Your Majesty will graciously sit…"
Jorian sat on the end of the divan while they pulled off his shoes and buskins.
"Now arise, sire, and stand still whilst we prepare you."
Jorian stood up, and they began to undress him. They took off his Irazi cap, unbuttoned his vest and shirt, and untied the draw string of his trousers. Jorian soon stood in his breechclout, which one of the girls began to unfasten.
"Eek!" said Jorian. "Ladies, please!"
"Oh, but this, too, must come off!" said a priestess with a giggle. "Surely a man of Your Majesty's age and experience…"
"Oh, very well," grumbled Jorian. "I am an old married man, and in my native land we all bathe together. It just seemed odd."
Off came the breechclout. The appraising stares of the priestesses made Jorian wince. One said:
"Think you he will do, Gezma?"
The other priestess cocked her head thoughtfully. "He may. The gods have endowed him with length, but as for strength—well, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, they say, whilst the proof of the—"
"Ahem!" said Jorian. "If you must discuss me as if I were a prize bull, I had rather you did it out of my hearing. Besides, it is cool for standing in one's skin."
With squeals of suppressed laughter, the priestesses draped Jorian in flame-colored gauzy robes, which they bound with a scarlet sash. They completed his raiment with a golden wreath on his head and pearl-sewn sandals on his feet.
"Oh, my, does he not look the very god?" said one.
"He is!" cried the other, sinking to her knees and touching her forehead to the floor. "Great Ughroluk!" she prayed. "Deign to look with favor upon thine humble subjects!"
"Deliver us from sin and evil!" said the other, prostrating herself likewise.
"Stretch forth thy divine hand over the pious priesthood of thine eternal consort!"
Jorian fidgeted while the two young women poured out their pleas. He did not feel godlike. He certainly did not feel as if he could pass miracles to save anybody from sin and evil.
"Yes, yes, I will do my divine best," he said at last. "Now where do we… ?"
The priestesses scrambled up. "Will Your Divine Majesty follow us?"
More corridors, and then he came to a chapel. One of the priestesses whispered: "Usually the rite is held in the main sanctum, but that is full of craftsmen."
As Jorian entered, a small orchestra of lyres and pipes played a delicate, tingling melody. In the center of the room stood a huge bed. The air was heavy with incense and perfume.
Before the altar at one side stood High Priestess Sahmet. Like Jorian, she was enveloped in gauze. On her noble brow, a silver tiara flashed with white gems. In the dim light of the little oil lamps hung from the ceiling, she looked almost beautiful. As Jorian approached, she bowed low, murmuring:
"All hail, divine consort! All hail, king of the gods!"
"All hail, Your Sanctity," said Jorian. "Here is your ring, madam."
The following morning, Jorian met Karadur in King Ishbahar's palace, whither the wizard had gone to report to his royal employer. The two set out afoot for Karadur's quarters. As they passed through the Gate of Happiness, Jorian squinted up at Mazsan's head, which occupied one of the spikes atop the gate. He said:
"Some of his ideas seemed sound to me. Too bad they couldn't have been tried out. If someone could persuade the king to command them.
"That has been tried," said Karadur. "Mazsan himself once urged Ishbahar to redistribute the lands of the great magnates amongst the peasants. But these lords are powerful men, with their own armed followings, and they would not without demur accede to the loss of their power and pelf. A hero-king might undertake it, were he willing to risk an uprising led by the magnates; but poor old Ishbahar…" The Mulvanian shrugged
. "How went things last night?"
Jorian laughed. "Damnedest experience of my life, and I've had some beauties." He told of his robing and his being conducted to the wedding chapel. He continued: "They made me stand for hours, clad in those gauzy things like one of the he-whores you see mincing up and down Shashtai II Street, whilst they went through an eternity of ritual. They sang hymns and intoned prayers, whereof I could understand nought, since they were in an old form of the language. They handed me a silver thunderbolt and a golden sunbeam and bade me wave them about in prescribed motions.
"Well, I am not exactly decrepit, but 'tis hard to keep up one's interest for hours—if 'interest' be the word I seek. At last the mummery was over, and Sahmet and I were hailed as the lawfully wedded god and goddess. These deities had supposedly taken up their temporary abodes within our mortal frames."
"Felt you any divine possession?" asked Karadur.
"Nary a bit. Belike the true Ughroluk and Nubalyaga were otherwise occupied. Or, belike, when they feel like a bit of amorous libration, they can do it perfectly well in their own persons without employing mortals as surrogates.
"Anyway, Sahmet led me to the bed. I was taken aback by the thought of frittering the dame with all the company looking on bug-eyed. I wondered if I could—ah—rise to the occasion under those circumstances. But the priestesses hauled out screens, which they set up around the bed, and snuffed all but one of the lamps. I heard them swishing out of the chamber, and then the only sound was that of that damned orchestra, tweetling and plunking away in the corner.
"Well, even when I had a harem in Xylar, I never invited in the Royal Band to play whilst I plumbed the depths. I may be old-fashioned, but for some things I like privacy. Howsomever, necessity is a stern schoolmaster and Sahmet, a handsome woman. So I set about my business, with the usual kissing and fondling and disrobing. Presently we were one flesh, as say the preachers."
"How fared you?"
"Wherefore would you know, old ascetic? The details would shock your pure soul."
"Indulge my curiosity, my son. All human affairs are of moment to me, even though my spiritual profession limits my participation in worldly activities. Of course, such things are of but abstract concern to me, who must needs conserve his chastity to attain the highest levels of magical practise. But my knowledge of amatory matters is all gained at second hand, from books, and you can furnish knowledge the books overlook."
"Very well. The first try was not very successful. As a result of my year of virtuous conduct, I was like a crossbow on a hair trigger. Sahmet was disappointed, but I told her not to worry; that with a respite I should be able to repeat my performance.
"So, for the next half-hour, we ate and drank and talked of this and that. I told her of some of the deeds of King Fusinian. Then I was ready again, and this time I did a proper fifty-stroke job. The lady flopped beneath me like a fish on a hook. She said it was the first time in years that she had really enjoyed a man; in fact, ever since she had quarreled with Chaluish.
"But think you she was then ready to drop off to sleep? By Vaisus' brazen arse, nay! She lusted for more. After another half-hour, I managed to work up another stand and gave her a proper frigging.
"But then she wanted still more. Becoming weary, I pretended to go to sleep, which in sooth soon became the real thing. But this morn, at the dawn's first light, I was aroused by my holy bedmate, diddling with me in hopes of raising my temple column."
"Did she succeed?"
"Oh, aye, it worked; if anything, too well." Jorian yawned. "I could sleep the clock around. Afterwards she crushed me to her ample bosom with hot words of love. She swore I should never leave Iraz but remain here for ay, to riddle her night and day."
"You could fare further and do worse," said Karadur.
"What? Become a male concubine? And give up my little Estrildis? You must think me a mere tomcat, fornicating about the world as opportunity offers."
"Nay, my son. This is, after all, the lawful consummation of a sacerdotal rite and hence no—ah—fornication."
"Not so lawful. The ram in this holy tupping is supposed to be the king, and I'm not the king. If High Priest Chaluish find out and have a mind to make trouble… No, thank you! These high intrigues are too chancy for a simple fellow like me.
"Besides, who knows what'll happen when Ishbahar dies? With all that fat, he looks not like a good risk. Then the new king and the priestess might decide to have me quietly murdered—they're skillful with poison here—to rid themselves of my awkward presence.
"In any case, whilst I may not be of the stuff of heroes, I care not to be any lady's fancy man. Puttering is good healthy fun, but I'd rather earn my bread with my hands and head than with my prick. Besides, I like it better with my own dear little wife, with whom 'tis an act of love and not of mere lust. Now I have the king's promise of the copper bathtub, all I need is a proper spell from you to make it fly. Then ho for Xylar!"
"The spell is still incomplete," said Karadur.
"Well, hurry it up! Put more men on the job!"
"When I can, I will. But just now we at the House of Learning are occupied with preparations for the grand festival that the king has commanded for five days hence, to celebrate the salvation of Iraz. If you be not too busy with your clocks, I could employ your engineering skills at the House, in the designs of some of our stage effects."
"Glad to help," said Jorian.
Chapter Nine
THE WAXEN WIFE
GUESTS OF THE KING, JORIAN AND KARADUR POLLOWED Ishbahar's litter up the ramp to the royal box. At the top of the ramp, the litter bearers set the litter down. This time, the bearers were slaves —hairy ape-men from the jungles of Komilakh—not aristocrats. King Ishbahar did not trust his poundage to amateurs on such slopes.
The king wriggled out of the litter like a broaching whale. He waved to the crowd and puffed through the entrance to his box, around which guardsmen were drawn up. Jorian and Karadur followed.
"Sit anywhere you like, our dear fellows, anywhere you like!" said the king. "We needs must occupy this cursed throne, albeit it is far from comfortable. Now, where is lunch? Ah, steward, here you are! Doctor Karadur, will you move your chair, pray, to let the table be set up? Master Jorian, we have a real treat for you: minced scarlet monkey from Beraoti, fried in the fat of the giant tortoise of Burang. And wine made from the chokeberry of Salimor. Try it!"
Jorian thought that chokeberry wine was an excellent name for the fluid, but he drowned his potion. The king leaned confidentially towards him. "Are you in fine fettle today, dear boy?"
"As far as I know, sire. Why?"
"We have a little surprise for you later. We are sure that so stalwart a youth as yourself would hardly shriek and swoon with shock; but we thought it well to warn you."
"May I ask the nature of this—"
"Nay, you may not!" The king gave Jorian a heavy wink. 'To tell you now were to spoil the fun, heh heh. You shall see in good time—in good time. Do you dance?"
"I dance some Novarian dances, like the volka and the whirligig. Why, sire?"
"We are planning a grand ball. You can doubtless learn the Penembic steps. It has been years since we gave one; as you can see, dancing is not exactly our forte."
While the king shoveled in the food, and Jorian and Karadur ate modest portions, the stands below them filled. As before, the Pants sat on their left in blue and gold, while the Kilts, in red and white, sat on their right. Nobles and officials occupied the intermediate strip.
"Let us hope that we have not another factional disturbance," said Karadur.
The king swallowed a huge mouthful. "We had the stasiarchs before us just this morning, Doctor. We laid down the law to them, we assure you! They promised to love each other like brothers. Like brothers, they said."
"Brotherly love, sire, cannot always be counted upon," said Jorian, "as in the case of the kings Forimar and Fusonio of my native Kortoli."
"What is this tale, Master Jori
an?" asked the king.
"It is called the Tale of the Waxen Wife. King Forimar was a collateral ancestor of the better-known King Filoman the Well-Meaning, who was the father of King Fusinian the Fox. This king was known as Forimar the Esthete. He was noted for his indifference to public affairs and for his passion for the arts, at which he was himself no mean performer. He was a fair architect, an accomplished musician, a worthy composer, a fine singer, and an excellent painter. Some of his poems are the glories of Kortolian literature to this day. He could not, alas, do all these things and at the same time run the kingdom.
"As a result of Forimar's neglect, public affairs in Kortoli got into a frightful mess. The army was a cowardly rabble, crime and corruption prevailed in the city, and the people were on the verge of revolt. Then the army of neighboring Aussar marched into Kortoli. The city was saved by a ruse devised by Forimar's brother Fusonio, who returned in the nick of time from a mission abroad.
"In saving the city, however, Fusonio demanded as his price that Forimar abdicate in his favor. This Forimar did with ill grace; but I will tell Your Majesty that story some other time.
"Anyway, the king was now Fusonio, who was of a very different character. Fusonio had none of his brother's esthetic sensitivities. He was a bluff, hearty, sensual type, whose idea of a large evening was to spend it incognito in some low tavern frequented by the rougher element, swilling ale and roaring ribald songs with unwashed peasants and ruffianly muleteers.
"Whereas Forimar was unwedded, Fusonio had a plump, peasantry, and not at all beautiful wife, named Ivrea, who had borne him five children. The twain would oft argue familial matters at the tops of their voices until the windows rattled; but woe betide the man who thought they were really quarreling and sought to take advantage of the fact! Both would turn upon him like tigers, and the children like tiger cubs.
The Clocks of Iraz Page 14