The Sapphire Rose

‘Well, Dolmant,’ Emban said in mock surprise, ‘it seems that only you and I are left. Is there someone you’d like to nominate, my friend?’

‘I beg of you, my brothers,’ Dolmant pleaded, ‘don’t do this.’ He was openly weeping.

‘The Patriarch of Demos is not in order,’ Ortzel said gently. ‘He must place a name in nomination or stand mute.’

‘Sorry, Dolmant,’ Emban grinned, ‘but you heard what he said. Oh, incidentally, I’ll join my voice with those of the others in nominating you. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to nominate somebody?’ He waited. ‘Very well, then. I make it one hundred and twenty-six nominations for the Patriarch of Demos, one bolted and one abstention. Isn’t that amazing? Shall we vote, my brothers, or shall we save some time and just declare Patriarch Dolmant the Archprelate by acclamation? I pause for your reply.’

It began with a single deep voice coming from somewhere down front. ‘Dolmant!’ the voice boomed. ‘Dolmant!’

It was soon picked up. ‘Dolmant!’ they roared. ‘Dolmant!’ It went on for quite some time.

Then Emban raised his hand for silence. ‘Awfully sorry to be the one to tell you, old boy,’ he drawled to Dolmant, ‘but you don’t seem to be a Patriarch any more. Why don’t you and a couple of our brothers retire to the vestry for a few moments so they can help you try on your new robes?’

Chapter 18

The audience chamber was still filled with excited conversation, some of it in shouts. Patriarchs with looks of exaltation on their faces milled about on the marble floor, and Sparhawk heard the phrase ‘inspired by God’, repeated over and over in awed tones as he pushed his way through the crowd. Churchmen are traditionally very conservative, and they found that any hint that a mere woman might have actually guided the Hierocracy in its decision was unthinkable. The notion of Divine inspiration was a convenient way out. Obviously, it had not been Ehlana who had spoken, but God Himself. At the moment, Sparhawk was not concerned about theology. What he was concerned about was the condition of his queen. Stragen’s explanation was plausible, of course, but Stragen had been talking about Sparhawk’s queen – and his betrothed. Sparhawk wanted to see for himself that she was well.

She appeared to be not only well but in glowing health as he opened the door through which King Wargun had carried her. She even looked a little ridiculous as she stood half bent over with her ear pressed to the spot where the closed door had only recently been.

‘You could hear much better from your seat out there in the chamber, My Queen,’ Sparhawk said with some asperity.

‘Oh, be still, Sparhawk,’ she said tartly, ‘and come in and shut the door.’

Sparhawk stepped through the doorway.

King Wargun stood with his back against the wall and his eyes a little wild. Mirtai stood in front of him, poised. ‘Get this she-dragon away from me, Sparhawk,’ Wargun begged.

‘Have you decided not to make an issue of my queen’s theatrics, Your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked him politely.

‘Admit that she made a fool of me? Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk. I wasn’t going to run out there and declare that I’d been a jackass in public. All I wanted to do was to tell everyone that your queen was all right, but I didn’t even make it as far as the door when this huge woman came in here. She threatened me, Sparhawk! Me, of all people. Do you see that chair there?’

Sparhawk looked. The chair was upholstered, and large wads of horsehair were protruding out of a long gash in its back.

‘It was merely a suggestion, Sparhawk,’ Mirtai said mildly. ‘I wanted Wargun to understand what might happen if he made any wrong decisions. It’s all right now. Wargun and I are almost friends.’ Mirtai, Sparhawk had noticed, never used titles.

‘It’s very improper to draw a knife on a king, Mirtai,’ Sparhawk told her reprovingly.

‘She didn’t,’ Wargun said. ‘She did that with her knee.’ He shuddered.

Sparhawk looked at the Tamul woman, puzzled.

Mirtai pulled aside her monk’s robe, reached down and modestly lifted her kilt a few inches. As Talen had told him, she had curved knives strapped to her lower thighs so that the blades rode along the inside of her calves for about four inches. The knives appeared to be very sharp. He also noted in passing that both her knees were dimpled. ‘It’s a practical arrangement for a woman,’ she explained. ‘Men sometimes become playful at inconvenient times. The knives persuade them to go and play with someone else.’

‘Isn’t that illegal?’ Wargun asked.

‘Would you like to try to arrest her, Your Majesty?’

‘Will you all stop that chattering?’ Ehlana said sharply to them. ‘You sound like a flock of magpies. This is what we’re going to do. In a few moments, things will start to quieten down out there. Then Wargun will escort me back inside, and Mirtai and Sparhawk will follow. I’ll lean on Wargun’s arm and look properly weak and trembly. After all, I’ve either just fainted or had a Divine visitation – depending on which of the rumours I hear buzzing around out there you care to believe. We all want to be in our places before the Archprelate is escorted to his throne.’

‘How are you going to explain that speech to them, Ehlana?’ Wargun demanded.

‘I’m not,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have absolutely no memory of it whatsoever. They’ll believe whatever they want to believe, and no one will dare to call me a liar, because either Sparhawk or Mirtai will challenge them if they do.’ She smiled then. ‘Was the man I chose more or less the one you had in mind, dear?’ she asked Sparhawk.

‘Yes, I think he is.’

‘You may thank me properly then – when we’re alone. Very well, then, let’s go back inside.’

They all looked suitably grave as they re-entered the chamber. Ehlana leaned heavily on Wargun, her face looking wan and exhausted. There was a sudden, awed silence as the two monarchs resumed their places.

Patriarch Emban waddled forward, his face looking concerned. ‘Is she all right?’ he asked.

‘She seems a bit better,’ Sparhawk told him. It was not exactly a lie. ‘She tells us that she has no memory of anything she said when she was addressing the Hierocracy. It might be better if we didn’t press her on that point in her present condition, Your Grace.’

Emban gave Ehlana a shrewd look. ‘I understand perfectly, Sparhawk. I’ll make a few suitable remarks to the Hierocracy.’ He smiled at Ehlana. ‘I’m so glad to see that you’re feeling better, Your Majesty,’ he said.