by Trevor Veale
“You may enter now,” he said. They walked toward the main entrance, Godfrey carrying their bags, and gazed up at the huge structure four stories high with courtyards on two levels and turrets at the top. Prets stood in rows on either side as they stumbled through the inner courtyard, feeling thoroughly intimidated.
King Slobodan stood waiting to greet his guests. He was a thick-set, stocky man with a bull neck, a barrel chest and a compact paunch. He looked younger than his sixty-five years, although his face was red and wattled. His red cheeks and short, wiry hair gave him the look of an old roué. He wore a smartly-cut, crisp green uniform, its collar and epaulettes richly embossed with golden oak leaves, and a leather belt round his thick waist. A large German Shepherd fidgeted and sniffed beside him. When the royal couple were halfway across the vast carpet, Slobodan stepped forward, his eyes bright and merry, to embrace Godfrey in a bear hug. Dammit, I need a shave, Godfrey thought, trying to ignore his brother-in-law’s garlicky kisses. The German Shepherd, open-mouthed, panted and sniffed the two new arrivals in turn as they were greeted with an embrace. Then Slobodan led them through halls of badly-painted and worse-hung portraits of dead Slovos, under the cold gaze of the Prets.
Eventually they reached a gargantuan dining hall where a banquet was being laid. A smeary autumn light fell through the high narrow windows onto the long wooden table piled high with covered dishes. Steam and coarse meaty smells rose to greet their nostrils. Along the cheerless stone walls of the hall hung banners with the double-headed ax of Slobodia. Everything looked overelaborate, and Letitia was reminded of an awful paisley dress she’d once ben given by a half-blind aunt.
“How’s Queen Latrina?” she asked with a forced smile. “Not indisposed, I hope.”
“Just her usual lazy self,” Slobodan growled. “She’ll be with us soon. Please, take your seats, most honored guests.”
The three honored guests sat and waited, while a servant brought a decanter and served them each a glass of brandy.
“This is our famous slifka,” Slobodan boomed. “Made with the choicest plums - enjoy!”
Letitia sipped her slifka cautiously, but Godfrey took along drink.
I wonder where Latrina is? Letitia thought. I bet she’s just got out of bed and stopped in an alcove to empty her nose.
Slobodan snapped his fingers for more slifka, which was instantly poured by one of the servants. He lurched to his feet. “Health, long life!” They all drained their glasses, then Slobodan leaned toward Godfrey.
“Well, your country’s in the hands of the reds now – the People’s Party own Melloria!
Godfrey swallowed more slifka. “They stole Melloria! And it’s our job to take back what’s rightfully ours – or die in the attempt.”
Slobodan roared with laughter.
Godfrey’s rapid drinking was beginning to take effect on hs empty stomach. The world was looking blurred now and he started to become expansive. “Still, I’m glad we’re out of the damned rathole the reds kept us in!” he said, leaning back in his chair.” It was a living hell, and I swear I’ll get the bastards who dethroned us. But now it looks like we’ve walked into the lion’s den.”
Slobodan’s brow furrowed. “The lion’s den? Surely not! You and your wife are among your own. I know we’ve had our differences – and I still think you owe me for that shirt of mine you tore – but I can laugh about it now. Let bygones be bygones!”
You would say that – you’ve got Shekels, Letitia thought, and she frowned at Godfrey’s increasingly drunken state.
Queen Latrina sauntered in, wearing a dingy brown velvet dressing gown that swished the ground around her bare feet. She was tall and bony, with something of her brother’s stiff bearing, spoiled by a pockmarked face and greasy, matted hair.
“How are you both?” she trilled in a piercing whiny voice that set Letitia’s teeth on edge. They both nodded and smiled at her. Godfrey looked from his sister’s to his wife’s face and wondered how Letitia would cope in Latrina’s slovenly domain.
Latrina took her seat and they all began eating. The overlong table groaned under the weight of enormous quantities of food, most of it from the flesh of pigs. Lacking the succulent venison of Melloria or the robust wild boar of Bulimia, the Slobodians raised pigs and made thick coiled sausages, pork chops, pig’s feet and hocks, which they draped over steaming mounds of cabbage and turnips. The custom of the Slovos was to eat as fast as possible, shoveling pieces of dead pig into their mouths at high speed. Even the eating noises they made sounded like the squeal of pigs.
Letitia ate frugally, but was dismayed that Godfrey, brandy-befuddled, was stuffing his face with vigor. She was appalled at his boorishness. Why does he have to be such a pig? She thought, annoyed. To correct his bad manners, she aimed a kick at him under the table, but succeeded only in chopping one of the table legs, which made her eyes water.
To cover her embarrassment, she ran her eyes over the enormous room. Its gloom was not diminished by having gilt splashed everywhere. Clouds and blue skies were painted on every ceiling panel and bronze chandeliers with swags and garlands glinted overhead like barbed wire. Marble columns stood like sentries guarding the double-axhead banners. Servants were hurrying to and fro, trays aloft, billowing steam from more pork and cabbage. They bumped into Letitia’s chairback as they piled more food on the table. Forced to obey the rules of etiquette, she grimaced as she ate the glistening pink flesh, slathered in gravy gelatinous with islands of pork fat. She found that closing her eyes made it easier to eat. Once she looked down at her plate and almost gagged.
In the din and clatter of dishes and voices, Slobodan could be heard, laughing coarsely as he goaded Godfrey. “That was a good trick I played, eh? Telling the people of Shekels they’d have to give up their Mellorian citizenship or else I’d have them publicly flogged. Those who believed it and renounced their Mellorianness, were deported and those who had enough spunk to defy me I punished with heavy fines and loss of all welfare rights. I made ‘em work extra hard! Good, eh? I wanted only the ones with balls to stay.”
Letitia watched Latrina fill up her plate for the third time and was reminded of a horse at the trough. She quickly caught her gaze. “Don’t you like our Slobodian cuisine?” Latrina asked.
“To be perfectly honest,” she replied, feeling the words rasping the back of her scorched throat, “this food’s so bad I’d rather be eating deep fried twinkies. Couldn’t you give us caviar?”
Latrina put down her knife and fork and folded her calloused hands. “To us this is better than caviar!” she said with a quaver in her voice.
“I see,” Letitia said, chewing a mouthful of pork chop. Godfrey leaned over and said out of the side of his mouth: ”This roast pork is awful – a pig wouldn’t eat it!”
The meal progressed to its indigestible conclusion. Thick slabs of meat were consumed by everybody and fell into their stomachs like fat corpses, and Letitia was relieved when the meal finally skidded to a greasy, slobbery end.
“Would you like to take coffee on the terrace?” Latrina asked.
“I’ll take anything you’ve got,” Godfrey said, his voice slurred. Slobodan roared with laughter and slapped Godfrey’s shoulder.
“You’re a man after my own heart,” he said. “In that case, we’ll have brandy instead!”
After the gargantuan meal they all staggered out to a glass-enclosed gallery with checkerboard tiles on the floor and heavy wooden chairs around a circular wrought-iron table. The table was adorned with ashtrays and Letitia feared a smoking party was about to begin. Slobodan called for brandy, and a servant standing against the wall with a tray of glasses and a decanter sprang forward and poured everyone a large glass. Letitia put her hand out to decline a drink, but Slobodan urged her to have one glass “as a token of our friendship.” “Cigarette?” he then asked, holding out a pack of the smelliest local brand.
“Absolutely not,” Letitia said, vigorously shaking her head.
Slobodan and
Latrina lit up. The cigarette smoke rolled into Letitia’s eyes and nostrils, making her blink and cough at once. They all drank, to the sound of wheezing indrawn breath and the smell of strong tobacco.
“Now then,” Slobodan said, exhaling a blue cloud. “What’s this I hear about Catheter and Dawna splitting up?”
Godfrey emptied his glass and shrugged. “Just a rumor,” he said.
“Rumor, my arse! If that young filly’s breaking free, there’s a stallion here who’d be glad to serve her.”
He gave Letitia a lewd wink and she returned it with a chilly look.
“You’re not proposing that your son Royston would be a suitable match for Dawna, are you?” she asked, mildly startled.
“Royston? Hell, I was thinking about me!” He laughed coarsely, adding: “Though I do need a mare for him to cover and bring into foal, if the Slovo bloodline is to be maintained. Trouble is, he doesn’t seem interested in normal sex.”
Letitia began thinking about Catheter and Anton, and how best to find out if they were safe, and to let them know that she and Godfrey were still alive. She’d somehow have to find a telephone.
The clink of glass touching glass brought her back with a start. They were drinking a toast to the beauty of women. “Love is a habit-forming drug!” Slobodan said. “That’s why I prefer sex.”
He gave a deep belly laugh and Latrina yawned. She took a nailclipper from the pocket of her dressing gown and began clipping her toenails, hoisting one of her dirty feet onto the table beside the glasses. The sole of her foot was so black it looked as if it had been baked in an oven. I guess that’s what they mean by dirt being caked in, Letitia thought, and stifled an involuntary snort. The next moment she winced as a nail clipping pinged against her glass. Soon clippings were all over the tiled floor.
“On the subject of sex,” Slobodan was saying, “I like to choose my conquests with care.” He leered at Letitia, who gave him her stoniest look. Suddenly she felt a probing foot rubbing her leg, and blushed with embarrassment. Slobodan was playing footsie with her under the table; he kept moving his leg until it touched hers. She wished she could tell him how mistaken he was, without delivering an undiplomatic kick.
Slobodan stubbed out his cigarette. “More brandy!” he yelled. With a flourish, the attentive servant refilled his and Godfrey’s half-empty glasses. Letitia still had most of her drink left.
“To your successful return to Melloria!” Slobodan barked and raised his brimming glass. Godfrey looked surprised at the toast, but nodded his head in acknowledgment and they all drank, Letitia taking a tiny sip. Even so, the alcohol was so strong it burned a flare path down her throat.
“This is really strong stuff,” Godfrey grunted. Slobodan had emptied most of his glass and was wiping his mouth. “It should be, I ordered the servant to mix some vintage Slobodian brandy with the slifka.”
He gave another roar of laughter and Letitia suddenly felt the intense need to pee. Seizing her chance to leave for a while, she stood up and staggered slightly.
“I have to go to the loo,” she said.
“Latrina can show you where the bog is – it’s one of her favorite rooms!” Slobodan roared, but Letitia waved him and Latrina away.
“I’ll find it,” she said. She walked with exaggerated caution across the checkerboard tiles and went out, leaving the door open.
She stumbled down a long stone corridor toward the bathroom – she remembered where it was from her last visit. Nearby, a green-uniformed soldier sat in a small office writing a report. His desk had a telephone, and she was drawn to it. He looked up at her with interest.
“Is that a phone?” she asked.
“What does it look like?” was the soldier’s mocking reply.
“Of course. Sorry.”
He shrugged and went back to his writing
”Might I use it?”
He stared at her as if she’d just requested two flight tickets to New York.
“This telephone is for official use only,” he said.
“Pity,” she said. Then she dropped her voice.
“This ring has diamonds and sapphires, you know.” She fingered her stone-encrusted ring and began rotating it. He gazed at the sparkling gems, his mouth working silently, his brain calculating. Finally, he said: “I’m going to be taking a short break in a few minutes. In the meantime…”
“Of course,” she agreed. She slipped the ring off, placed it on the desk and went into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, her stomach made a strangling noise and she found she had to strain just to make herself pee. I must be seizing up, she told herself. I feel like I’m ready to faint after all that ghastly food and drink.
When she got back in the corridor the soldier had gone. She picked up the phone and dialed quickly. At the other end of the line, Catheter sounded sleepy.
“How are you, Mummy?” he said.
“As well as I can be with half a kilo of pork inside me. And how are you and Anton?”
A tiny but perceptible pause. “Okay. We got here with Lucinda’s help and we all visited Cousin Ferdy.”
“I hope you didn’t sleep with that woman,” Letitia suddenly heard herself say.
“Um, well, not sleeping exactly…”
“What?” she heard her voice rising. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” Catheter’s voice sounded flat and bored.
“All right. Put Anton on the line.”
“He’s out clubbing with Hernia. He won’t be back till the early hours. Can you call back?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I only have one diamond and sapphire ring.”
“I see.” Catheter sounded indifferent.
“Well, let him know Daddy and I are well, and we’re keeping you both in our thoughts in these extremely difficult times.” She heard the soldier returning.
“Give our best to Hector, Ada, and make sure Angus’s nurse is looking after him well.”
She heard a long, defeated exhalation. “Bye, Mummy.”
She put the phone down and trudged back to the glass-walled gallery. Halfway down the corridor, she heard the heavy tread and padding trot of a man and a dog. Around the next corner, Slobodan came walking with his German Shepherd, and the dog bounded forward and began sniffing Letitia’s crotch.
“Heel, boy, heel!” Slobodan called. He appeared to be taking the dog for a walk, an unlikely event in the middle of a drinking party, and Letitia suspected he was stalking her. To maintain her diplomacy, in spite of her revulsion, she waved the dog away.
“Not now, Ivan – I’m not a bitch in heat!”
Slobodan grunted at the pleasantry and fell in step with her. His earlier flirtatiousness had morphed into lust with all the slifka he had drunk, and he began telling her how beautiful she was. Not now, Slobbo, I’m not a bitch in heat, she felt like telling him. He started pushing her toward an alcove.
Breathing heavily, he said: “Let’s have a quick one, before we go back to our spouses.”
She shoved him away and took off down the corridor. With a guttural grunt of rage, he and the dog loped after her all the way back to the terrace.
Back in the glass-walled gallery she found Latrina and Godfrey huddled over some photos of Angus that Godfrey had brought with him from the home, Latrina cooing and poking a grubby finger at the pictures as if the baby were really there. She was feeling a mixture of curiosity at Catheter’s strange indifference and anger at Slobodan’s coarseness and lack of respect.
Moments later Slobodan entered, and sat simmering with anger and frustration. Godfrey was already looking slightly sick.
Letitia picked up her glass and sipped the slifka, restraining a grimace at its strong taste. She nursed her glass, refusing any more liquor when the servant approached her.
Slobodan had finished a third of the decanter by now, and his eyes were becoming red. He turned to Godfrey and began a political discussion.
“You know, we Slovos have no wish to see you and your family languishing
in exile,” he said.
“Why did you give money to the reds then?” Godfrey almost snarled. He was very much the worse for drink.
Slobodan gave a sly laugh. “Even if that rumor was true – and I’m denying it – you couldn’t have stopped ‘em… and you have to admit, they’ve certainly stirred the country up. With respect, old boy, You Mellorians needed a good kick up the arse. The people were lazy fuckers who just liked to sit around gossiping and smoking dope all day – and that’s just the Royal Assembly!”
He roared at his own joke while Godfrey glowered. Slobodan motioned for the servant to refill Godfrey’s glass.
“I don’t think I should,” Godfrey said, waving the servant away. Letitia was surprised he could still form a sentence.
Latrina gestured to her husband, after noticing Godfrey swaying in his chair.
“Godfrey’s really tired. We shouldn’t be keeping him up.”
“Just one more thing,” Slobodan said, “It’s time for the last ritual of the evening. Bring in the pig’s tail!” he bellowed to a servant.
“I don’t know if I can manage this,” Godfrey said, leaning toward Letitia. He looked tired and sick.
“You’ve got to,” she said, her voice abrupt despite the alcohol. “Remember, you’re a Gorm.”
Godfrey emitted a loud belch.
“Are you ready?” Slobodan boomed. He threw a heavy, uniformed arm around Godfrey’s shoulders, which were starting to slump.
The servant approached bearing a plate on which glistened a sliver of raw meat.
“Take it to King Godfrey!” Slobodan shouted, and the servant’s broad face creased into a smile.
“Your Majesty!” he coaxed, and waved the plate under Godfrey’s nose.
“All right!” Godfrey snarled, gesturing the man to stand back. “You don’t have to shove it in my face.”
“You should swallow it down in one gulp,” Latrina whispered in his ear. “Don’t stop to think about it – or where it’s recently been.”
“Au contraire!” Slobodan roared. “You should know that it was cut from the tail of a squealing pig that was dying of swine fever and had been laying in its own shit for three days. This is a test for the bravest of the brave, this is how we Slobodians distinguish a man from a wimp, a warrior from a nancy.”