The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 32

Story warnings apply to the second half of this chapter. Not a happy one, I'm afraid.

Chapter 32

I did not go to Lord Atanacalmo's house in a hurry, I must confess. I waited a week, hoping that his anger (if it was anger after all) would abate in time, and that he'd summon me for our customary game of chess. Much though I usually dreaded it, now it would have been a welcome sign that he was not really cross with me. But the summons did not come. Instead, it was announced that a golden opportunity awaited "poor folk of the city with no fixed occupation": as yet unworked lands by the road to the Mountain were waiting for "diligent hands" that would turn them into good farmland. The promise was exciting indeed: one acre per family would be given free of rent, and additionally, the lucky applicants would receive a whole three Trees to set them up (though they would also have to pay the fifth part of their harvest in taxes, rather than the usual tithe). After three years, if they had turned their acre into a successful farm, they were allowed to keep it, although their tax load wouldn't be reduced to the tenth part of their harvest until seven years later. Still, it was land and money for free up front. My neighbours were exulting, even those whose ambitions had not pointed towards agriculture before, and many of them were planning to apply. If I had not been so worried about my immediate future, I would have been exulting with them. As it were, it was hard to smile when they enthusiastically planned their application so they would be among the lucky chosen ones. I smiled as well as I could, and tried to make my own plans, and waited to be called for.

Eventually, I could wait no longer. I was getting desperate. The month was drawing to an end; either, we would have to find a captain willing to ship our specimens to Andúnië, or I would have to come to some kind of agreement with Lord Atanacalmo. Since I was not being summoned, I had to summon my courage and ask for another audience with him of my own accord.
I half feared that the steward would pretend not to know me and demand money for his trouble, as he had done on our first meeting - or send me away altogether. Instead, he greeted me with perfect civility when I asked to see his master. That at least suggested that Lord Atanacalmo's anger wasn't running so deep that his house was locked to me.
I tried to cling to that thought as I waited in front of the study, preparing my plan as well as I could. I tried to cling to it as Lord Atanacalmo's first words to me were, "Have you come to bring me the applications of the day-talers, Spokesman? We do not require your services; they have been told to apply directly to Herucalmo, whom I have put in charge of this operation." He didn't even bother to look at me.
I wished I didn't flinch so easily, but I couldn't help it. My first impulse was to accept his rebuff, bow and run off. But I tried to keep a level head. If he hadn't told the steward to send me away at the door, that must mean that he didn't actually want me to go. He just wanted to put me on the defensive, as usual. Things weren't lost yet. Probably.
"Actually, I was hoping to apply for one of these acres myself," I said, trying to speak lightly.
I had hoped that he would find that at least mildly amusing, but instead, his face contorted in disgust. "Apply for a patch of farmland? You disappoint me, Azruhâr. You don't have a farmer's mind."

My eyes narrowed before I could help it. People always said that kind of thing about us. Too stupid to make assistants, too unsteady to become craftsmen, too uncouth to be servants, too unskilled, too plain-spoken, too this, too that. Not long ago, I had taken that kind of judgement at face value, but by now, it felt too much like an excuse to refuse people like me -- like my neighbours -- even just a chance to improve our situation. With enormous effort, I dipped my head into a polite bow and said, "If your lordship trusts my neighbours to learn it, then I do not see why I should not do the same. I did not have an embalmer's mind, either, but I managed to pick it up well enough."
Lord Atanacalm, still occupying himself with his reading, heaved an exasperated and exaggerated sigh, as if it was too much to ask that he explain something so obvious.
"Well, you are not qualified," he said in his dismissive tone. "I am doling out land to folk without fixed occupation - and however questionable your occupation may be, you've got one."
"I currently do, Lord, but only in name. But in order not to encroach on your charity, I would suggest that I pay rent for the land, whereas my neighbours do not."
A deeply skeptical expression crossed his brow, but at least he was looking at me now. "I wasn't aware that you had enough money for that, Azruhâr."
"My colleagues would contribute to the fund," I admitted.
Lord Atanacalmo's eyebrows rose, if that was at all possible, even further. "And in return, they would build their morgue on the land you rent off me?"
"That is indeed the plan, Lord," I said.
"And you think you can grow food on the same land where you keep your dead people?"
I bit my lips. "They would be put in a deep cellar, where they cannot get out. I'm sure they make very quiet neighbours, my lord."
"While poisoning the ground!"
"Unlikely, my lord. We would make the walls strong. Besides, there are plenty of dead things - and people, often enough - in the refuse pits, and those are actually worked into the fields on purpose when they've broken down a bit. I know that, because as a day-taler I sometimes had to load the carts --"
"Very well, very well. I believe you. No need to go into detail." I saw his jaw work; maybe he had to swallow some bile. No wonder. It had been stomach-turning work, much worse, in retrospect, than preserving the recently deceased who still had their human shape and none of the stench. It had been bearable only because you could take your mind out of it, letting it dream of pleasant things or dwell on the words of songs.

This, however, was no time to let my mind wander. Lord Atanacalmo's fingers were drumming on the desk, letting me know about his impatience. "I take it that your negotiations with the dean of the Academy have failed, then," he said.
"On the contrary, Lord. Master Salquendil has expressed great interest in our specimens and our knowledge. But to be honest, we would prefer not to send them so far away; and it would be good to have a place of our own, anyway."
"Hmm." Lord Atanacalmo seemed to have recovered from the nauseating thoughts, and the old gleam was returning to his eyes. "Well, as you know, the land is available for development. But of course it is more valuable now than it was when we last spoke. After all, it is now potential farmland."
I took a steadying breath. "One acre would be worth two Trees for three years, I figure." That was, of course, a lot less than the two Crowns per month I had offered the last time, which would amount to twenty-four Trees in three years; but I had thought long and hard about this daring move.

Lord Atanacalmo gave me a very hard stare indeed. "How do you figure that, Azruhâr?" he said.
"When we last spoke, you spoke of giving five Trees to certain day-talers. Now you are offering one acre of land, and three Trees. Therefore I assume that the land is worth the two missing Trees."
I was fairly proud of that feat of logic, but Lord Atanacalmo looked disgusted once more. "Your calculations are faulty. I offered twenty-five Trees, divided by five. Now, I am giving less money to more people. The land itself is free." Before I could speak, he added, "Not, of course, for you! You cannot be serious about becoming a farmer!"
"I would do my very best, Lord," I said fervently.
"Ridiculous."
"Then please, your Grace, give me some other hope! An apprentice embalmer with an expensive house and no work has very little hope of feeding his family. An apprentice embalmer with a smallholding has somewhat better prospects." I held out my palms in pleading. "My lord, haven't I earned a small favour at least?" This was a desperate gamble, but I was beginning to feel desperate.
It clearly gave him pause. "What for?" he asked after a long moment, looking at me down his nose.

I forced myself to hold his gaze, and tried to remember his exact words. "A few years back, I gave you advice - unsolicited advice, but advice nonetheless - concerning mass employment for poor citizens, which you ended up taking, to your own and the city's profit. Do you recall? And a few weeks back, you suggested that the Day-taler's Welfare Society which I founded with your gracious permission might have helped to lower the rates of both crime and untimely death..."
"Two favours, even?" Lord Atanacalmo interrupted me. "Are you certain that you want to be collecting favours at this time?"
"When else do you think I should collect them, Lord?"
"Why, when you're in desperate need!"
Privately, I thought that I hardly wanted to rely on Lord Atanacalmo's favour when I was in desperate need - he would hardly help me unless it benefited himself - but it seemed unwise to say that, so I merely said, "I am feeling fairly desperate, Lord."
For a moment, the expression on his face might almost have been pity. "You have no idea."
"Frightening me will only make me feel more desperate, Lord."
Another dramatic sigh. "Well, either way I shall not let you become a farmer! Good grief. You can assist Herucalmo when he alots the farmsteads and coordinate the necessary labour and tools. In return, you may have your own strip of land by the road - not a whole acre, of course! but something suitable - to use in whichever way you see fit."

Once again, I found myself desperately trying to find the trap behind his words, because it sounded too good to be true. "That sounds... challenging," I said cautiously.
"What, no longer so confident that you can pick up new knowledge? Come on, rise to the challenge! Here's your chance to prove yourself - and get the land you so desire, too! Take it or leave it; to me, it is all one."
I thought hard. "Will I receive no pay, your Grace?"
"Now, don't be greedy! Charge the other embalmers if you allow them to have their morgue on your ground. I am already giving you more than is reasonable."
That, of course, was exactly why I was feeling so uneasy about it. "You did not say how long I'd be allowed to keep the land," I pointed out.
He shrugged, as if he didn't particularly care. "As long as this enterprise lasts, I suppose. Then you should be well motivated to make sure that it lasts, isn't that right?"
"If I can," I qualified. "In the meantime, where shall we put our materials and the embalmed bodies until we have completed our building, your Grace?"
"Hm." His fingers were toying with his signet ring while he thought. "I suppose I shall have to give you a permit to keep them where they are, for the time being. How long do you think you'll need to dig your cellar? A month should suffice, don't you think?"
I could only assume that this was some kind of test, because a month was certainly not enough for the excavation and building we'd have to do. "I'm afraid not, my lord. I don't know how tough the ground will be, but as you said, it's the Kulbî 'nTârik*. There will be rock. And I won't be able to afford employing a great number of builders."

Lord Atanacalmo gave me a hard look, but then he nodded. "Fine. You have until Spring. Go to Fuinil with this; he'll write up your permit, your deed, and your duties." He took a piece of paper and swiftly wrote some notes on it, then shoved it across the table at me. I reached for it slowly. Something felt very, very wrong, and it was exceedingly frustrating that I couldn't figure it out.
"Are you setting me up for failure, Lord?" I asked.
He had already begun to busy himself with new papers; now he glanced up at me, and again, I might almost have thought I could see something like pity in his eyes. It was probably disdain, though. "I am setting you up for either failure or success, Azruhâr. What will it be? That's in your own hands. You shall simply get what you deserve. I can live with either outcome."
I was quite willing to believe that he could live with either outcome! But I? My hand lay on the note he had scribbled, and I probably should just have accepted his answer and gone my way. But foolish as I was, I couldn't help pointing out, "But you are expecting me to fail, aren't you. Earlier, you wouldn't even trust me to manage my own farm, and now I'm supposed to help manage a whole lot of them?"
Lord Atanacalmo heaved one of the long-suffering sighs he seemed to be reserving for me. "Get out of my sight, idiot, before I regret my generosity," he said.
I grabbed the note and got out of his sight. Fuinil the scribe turned the scribble into an official-looking promise of a patch of land and employment as assistant reeve. I was indeed gathering responsibilities like a dead body gathered flies, I thought. I could only hope that I wouldn't end up as a dead body before my time.

The month ended, and our time in the catacombs - as well as our pay - ran out. Master Târik continued to give us our customary pay out of his own pocket, for the time being, but he cautioned that he wouldn't be able to do that forever. As yet, neither Lord Atanacalmo nor his grandson had called upon me, so I had neither the promised occupation nor the promised land. I barely slept at night, and my house felt once more highly discomfiting, too large for me and my increasingly doubtful future. I tried to find work in the market, but I faced the same problem that Balakhil had run into all those years ago: I didn't look meek and needy enough, and had fallen out of the habit of demonstrating my eagerness to do unpleasant work for meagre pay. Besides, my face was known these days. Employers were suspicious when they saw me among the day-talers, and ended up hiring none of us. I was damaging the others' prospects, and after the third attempt, I gave up and stayed home.

Accordingly, when at last I was summoned to come to the West Road on the morning of Eärenya in a particularly grey and miserable week, my relief was stronger than my fear. I rode out to the first milestone, as requested. I passed two surveyors who were busy measuring the land by the roadside with ropes and yardsticks, but otherwise, there was no-one to be seen, which was not surprising. It was no day to be travelling.
After about an hour in the drizzle, just when I felt that I was being led on and was making up my mind to return home, I saw a rider approaching from the direction of the Mountain. As he came closer out of the grey mist, I recognised Lord Atanacalmo's colours. His face was hidden by the hood of his winter cloak, but I decided to err on the side of caution and dismounted, going down on one knee as he reached me. That turned out to be the right decision, since it was Lord Herucalmo himself. He jumped off his horse - quite elegantly, I suppose - and came to stand before me, looking down at me with displeasure. On earlier occasions when we had met, he had shown no particular hostility, but today he was clearly in a bad mood.

"So you are supposed to assist me," he said without further greeting. "Unbelievable. My grandfather must be testing me."
"I thought he was testing me, my lord," I said.
He huffed at that. "Then I suppose he is testing both of us."
I attempted a smile. "We have something in common, then."
I had hoped that the shared load would help us to get along better, but instead, it seemed to offend him. "We have nothing whatsoever in common, Azruhâr. Let me make one thing clear. You are not my steward. You're not my advisor. You're certainly not my deputy. You're just here to win the trust of the common people and to take the blame if things go wrong."
After swallowing hard, I bowed my head. "Understood, Lord."
"Good," he said, somewhat less abrasively. "Get up. Nasty day today, isn't it? But we need to get started." He rubbed his hands - whether to demonstrate determination or because they were cold despite his gloves, I didn't know - and looked around. "Not much here, is there? And it needs to be turned into farmland in time for spring sowing."
I agreed that it would be a good deal of work. "But I thought that would be done by the people who get the land?"
"Well, obviously," said Lord Herucalmo. "But I'm supposed to tell them how to go about it. I don't know the first thing about farming! How about you?"
Hoping to prove myself of value, I said, "I have been doing plenty of work in the fields since I was a youth, Lord. Harvesting, mostly. Some ploughing and digging."
"Administration?"
"Of course not," I said.
"Nienna have pity. So you have no idea where to start, either."
I looked at the sodden grass around us. "Well, I expect one would have to prepare the soil first. Take the grass and the weeds out. Plough. That sort of thing. An experienced farmer would be able to tell us."
"That's no use. I can hardly go around asking common farmers for advice," Lord Herucalmo scowled.
Privately, I wondered why he shouldn't ask for advice on a topic that he couldn't be expected to know much about, but I suspected that it would be unwise to ask.
"But I could, Lord," I suggested instead.
There was a pause. I thought he was trying to think of a scathing reply, but then he said, a bit grudgingly, as I thought, "That is true. Nobody would expect you to know these things. Well, go and find a farmer then. And make a schedule. We'll meet again on Aldëa." Already, he was mounting his horse again; our meeting was over, it appeared.

As far as I was concerned, until Aldëa was a rather short time to interview a farmer and come up with a schedule, but I didn't dare to complain. I had a more pressing request on my mind. "Um, I was promised some land of my own...?" I said, trying to keep the desperate note out of my voice.
Again, Lord Herucalmo gave me a long, calculating look before he answered. "The last plot before the Noirinan," he said at last. "That's yours. The land immediately around the Mountain must remain untouched, obviously, so your bit is shorter than the rest. But it will do. See you on Aldëa." He gave a decisive nod, and then rode off. I should have liked to ask more questions, but I decided against running or shouting after him. Part of me feared that it would annoy him even more, and the other part felt that it should be beneath me, anyway. I suppose Lord Eärendur had succeeded in instilling me with some sense of dignity after all. Instead, I returned to my horse. Even though the drizzle had begun to harden into rain, I decided to survey my patch of land, and rode all the way to the mountain.

I don't know what I had expected. Of course they had given me the plot that was furthest away from the city, where the road was longest and help would be last to arrive. Moreover, the land wasn't merely shorter than the rest, but also much narrower - less than half the size of the other fields, as I discovered when I measured the markings in my strides. I stood in the rain in my soaked cloak, looking up into the grey clouds that shrouded the top of the Mountain, and wondered whether I should pray or curse. I was tempted to move the pegs and ropes that delineated the fields - I doubted that they would go to the trouble of measuring again before they officially handed out the land - but then decided against it. It was the sort of thing they'd expect me to do, and I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of stooping to it. Even if they never found out, I would have known it in my heart, and I did not much like the feeling of guilt.

Instead, I put myself to work. I ventured into Arandor to ask for farming advice from the provost of a hamlet that I remembered from my day-taling time. It wasn't the closest to the capital, but I had liked the work on the couple of occasions that I'd secured employment there. The farmers had shared their meals with us and let us sleep in their barns so we did not have to travel back and forth between the city and their fields, and we had been allowed to participate in their harvest feast, too. Their provost was as generous with information as I remembered his workers being during the harvest, so that must be worth something. I figured that if they could afford generosity, their way of running their farms must be working well.
My research done, I returned home and discussed the whole matter with Amraphel. Although she had not been trained in agriculture, she had at the least been taught how to run a hypothetical estate and was therefore more likely than I was to assign the different tasks wisely. At her suggestion, I also visited a plough-maker who had been recommended to me in order to commission two ploughs. The price was reasonable, since it was not the season for ploughing, but I still had to hope that the whole endeavour would go ahead. Otherwise, I would end up with two ploughs I did not need and debts I could not pay.

On Aldëa, I met Lord Herucalmo. This time he did not summon me to the road, but rather to the aptly named Cornflower Tavern, a clean but decidedly common public house in the second ring. I was rather surprised that Lord Herucalmo would patronise such a place, but then I learned that he intended to interview the applicants for those precious acres by the roadside today, and this place was expected to be less discouraging than Lord Atanacalmo's grand house. Lord Herucalmo took my notes, skimmed them without comment, and eventually gestured for me to sit next to him at the sturdy table. "Right. I'll find out if they have the faintest idea what they think they'll be doing. You just keep your mouth shut and look friendly. Don't give anything away, you hear me? If I get the impression that you're helping any of these fellows, I'll decide against them on principle. You're just here to set them at ease."
I very much doubted that anyone would be set at ease if I sat silent, but of course I obeyed. I forced my face into a noncommittal smile, nodding in greeting and farewell but not saying a word, and very much wondered why I had to be present at all. If I had nothing to do with the selection - which I did not mind, since I would have found it hard to decide - then I felt I should have stayed away altogether, rather than smiling until my cheeks ached, without ever speaking, while Lord Herucalmo questioned the applicants concerning their experience, their priorities and their plans for turning the meadows arable quickly.

The day after, several of them reproached me for it. "You could at least have indicated whether my answers were going in the right direction," Zamâl said grimly. "Then I could have amended them. Instead, you just sat there like you didn't give a damn."
"I wasn't allowed to say anything or give any other sign! Believe me, I would have liked to help. But his lordship would immediately have used it against you."
Zamâl huffed at that, unconvinced. I wondered whether my silent presence had been part of Lord Atanacalmo's plan of weakening my so-called power-base, since it had certainly lost me some sympathies. My misery might not be Lord Atanacalmo's primary goal, as Lord Eärendur had said, but nonetheless he was surely working against me. But I did not tell Zamâl, of course. If he thought I had intentionally left him hanging, he wasn't likely to believe anything else I said, anyway.
At any rate, he had no reason to complain, because he ended up being among the chosen few, and at last, our work could begin.

To my surprise, Lord Herucalmo followed the list I had made pretty much exactly. It was gratifying - at least my efforts had not been in vain - but also worrying, because anything that went wrong would certainly be blamed on me, and rightly so. The work progressed slowly, even though the newly-made farmers spent all day in their fields. When they did not dig drainages or turn the turf, they cut shrubs or made low walls from the stones they dug up, or built small houses for themselves. They had decided early on that it was better to live where they would work, and timber was comparatively cheap at this season, since it was a poor time for building. So, using such timber and wattles made from the cut bushes and the loamy earth, they soon had put up huts that were hardly worse than what they'd had in the city, once the roofs had been firmly covered in the reeds that grew aplenty by source and tributaries of Siril. It was good now that these people were day-talers, who had worked in a variety of different jobs: There were two who had experience in thatching, and the others were used to picking up new skills quickly. A professional thatcher and his team of assistants would have been faster, no doubt, but at least we were getting the roofs tight.
On my patch, digging the cellar had begun despite the inclement weather. Lord Eärendur had lent me some of the tents he and his retinue had used on campaign in Middle-earth, and under their protection, we embalmers and our hired workers were digging as deep as the roots of the Mountain and the limited space permitted.

Accordingly, I was too busy with the present to think much about the future, and a summons to appear in front of the Council that arrived in late Nénimë caught me entirely wrong-footed. After several days of fretting, I found out (or rather Amraphel found out, by asking Quentangolë) that it wasn't actually about anything that I had done, but that I was expected to stand witness in the trial of Lord Arnavaryo of Ondosto.
Since Lord Arnavaryo was of the highest birth - his grandfather had been Tar-Atanamir's brother - his arrest on the charge of high treason had not been made public. Thanks to Quentangolë, I now heard that Lord Arnavaryo stood accused of conspiring against the new King, having sought to overthrow him and claim the throne for himself. I was puzzled what I was expected to know about that. I knew that Lord Atanacalmo had mentioned the name of Arnavaryo as a potential rival, but I could not even put a face to the name.

However, I recognised him when I was called into the council chamber and I saw him stand in the middle of the circle, with chained hands but otherwise unbowed. Naturally I had seen him in council before - on one of the throne-like chairs of the nobles, not in a defendant's position - but more than that, I recognised him as the man who had gestured at me to finally speak during the coronation.
And thus, when Lord Atanacalmo - who was acting as the King's mouthpiece, just as he had done all those years ago when I had been questioned and pardoned - told me to state whether Arnavaryo had ever approached me concerning any matter that might have cast doubt onto the rightfulness of Tar-Telemmaitë's ascension, I had to answer, "It is possible, Lord."

I saw the King lean forward. Strangely, he was not glaring at me today. He was by no means looking friendly, but fairly neutral, which was saying something. I suppose next to a suspected traitor, I wasn't quite as deserving of his hatred as usual.
Lord Atanacalmo, meanwhile, shook his head impatiently. "That is no answer. Did he approach you, yes or no?"
Being under oath and, at any rate, too scared to lie, I said, "I cannot give such a clear answer, Lord. He may have approached me, but I am not certain."
"Explain."
Feeling myself break out in a sweat, I tried to do that. "He never said anything to me. But he waved at me, during the coronation, as if he wanted me to speak out."
"Speak out about what?" That was the King himself. I stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. He of all people should know what I could have spoken about - and he of all people had the least reason to want me to mention it! My throat constricted as I began to suspect that this might be a trap set for myself. Perhaps the only purpose of this trial was to make me break the promise I had made to the King. Perhaps even Lord Arnavaryo, displeased though he was looking, was complicit in it.
"Concerning an injury I received when the old King, Eru rest him, passed away," I heard myself say over the pounding of my heart.

There were chuckles all around the circle, and for a second, I saw the King's eyes widen before he got himself back under control. That small part of me that did not quake with terror wondered whether he had honestly forgotten about that.
"I see," the King said. To my ears, his voice sounded more strained than before, which made his next words all the more confusing to me. "And why did you not speak out?"
I glanced at Lord Eärendur, who was wearing a pained expression. I glanced at Lord Arnavaryo, who was red with suppressed anger. I glanced at Lord Atanacalmo, hoping against reason that he would interfere. But he was looking back calmly, his head slightly tilted, as if he was curious what I would do.
Raising my chin and clasping my trembling hands behind my back, I said, "Because I trusted you, your Majesty." I could hear, over the tremour in my voice, a note of reproach, and I dearly hoped that the King would not notice it, and above all, that there would be no further inquiry.
At least, he did not respond; and after a while, Lord Atanacalmo resumed his role. "Very well. What have you to say to that, Arnavaryo?"
"He lies," Lord Arnavaryo promptly replied. "I would never approach a man like that - " he spit the words out like rotten fruit - "whatever he might have to say."
Lord Atanacalmo calmly went on. "Azruhâr, when you say he gestured at you, what exactly did it look like?"
I mimicked the impatient beckoning motion as well as I could, glad that I did not have to speak again.
"I may have flexed my hands a little," Lord Arnavaryo conceded grandly, wriggling his hands in demonstration, which made the chain jingle. "It was a long and arduous day. If I did, it meant nothing."
On Lord Atanacalmo's face, I could see that he did not believe the man - his eyebrows had risen slightly, and his head was tilted backwards just the tiniest bit, always a sign of scepticism with him - but apparently he wasn't interested in following the matter further. "Hmmm. Very well. Do you have further questions for the witness, Majesty?" he asked in a bored voice.
The King stared at me for a long moment, and again I felt cold sweat on my brow as I held his gaze. Then he made a shooing motion with his hands.
"Do any of you have further questions for the witness?" Lord Atanacalmo asked, again in a disinterested tone that suggested that his question was a mere formality.

Nonetheless, I could hear a rustle of fabric, and Lord Atanacalmo, raising his eyebrows again, announced, "Vanatirmo, please."
"When exactly do you say did Arnavaryo... hm... gesture at you, Azruhâr?"
"After Lord Marapoldo had asked for the second time whether anybody knew of a reason why the Crown Prince might be unsuitable for the office," I said. I did not turn to look at Lord Vanatirmo, because I was hoping to see any sign of appreciation, or at least recognition, on the King's face. Nothing, of course.
"You are certain about that?" Lord Vanatirmo insisted.
"Yes, Lord. Shortly after Lord Marapoldo asked for the second time."
"I am satisfied," Lord Vanatirmo announced. Lord Atanacalmo sighed. "Têrakon, please."
There was unmistakable malice in Lord Têrakon's voice as he asked, "How did you receive the injury you mentioned?
My face was burning. Again, I kept my eyes ahead, so I could hope that Lord Têrakon did not see my embarrassment. Ashamed and resentful at the same time, I said, "If you have no memory of the incident, my lord, then you must forgive me for not recalling it either."
It sounded as though Lord Têrakon intended to ask more, but the King cut him short. "Enough," he announced. "Call the next witness." It was the first time that I was relieved to hear his voice.

I sat down on one of the stone benches at the back of the chamber. Next to me sat two other men who had evidently been questioned already, then there was an empty bench, and then there were two intimidating guards who stood at the ready with the yoke, in case Lord Arnavaryo would be judged guilty. I doubted that my feeble statement would be sufficient to condemn him; for all I knew, he could just have been stretching his hands. But what some of the other witnesses had to say was certainly more powerful. One Rimbetur, apparently a bosom friend of Lord Arnavaryo, initially refused to answer at all, but when he was threatened with torment, he confessed that Arnavaryo had spoken to him about gathering allies and rallying for the throne in the chaos that would follow "the embalmer's testimony" at the coronation (my face flared up again). Other friends (some of them freely, others in chains and showing signs of coercion) said that Arnavaryo had tried to buy their support with gold and the promise of high office once he was King. Most damning of all was the evidence given by Lord Arnavaryo's own son, Lord Varyamir, who confirmed everything the other witnesses had said and added further details about his father's greedy ambitions, about the way in which he had foul-mouthed both the old King and the new, and how he had forced his poor, dutiful son into acting as a go-between among the conspirators despite Varyamir's reservations and protest. "And why did you not secure... the embalmer's testimony, if your father's plan hinged on that?" Lord Atanacalmo asked, frowning deeply, and several people turned to look at me on my bench.
"It was not deemed necessary," Lord Varyamir said dismissively. "Father was certain that it would happen."

I looked down to avoid the curious stares. I had little thought to spare for my embarrassment this time, because I was so shocked how easily Lord Varyamir was betraying his own father. There is no bond of loyalty more sacred than that between a child (however old) and its parents (however guilty), and I found it hard to watch how Lord Varyamir was volunteering information that wasn't even asked of him. Rimbetur I could forgive for betraying his friend to avoid the rack, but Varyamir was condemning his father without even the vaguest threat. Of course, Lord Atanacalmo roundly declared me a fool, when - much later, over chess - he asked what I thought about the whole thing. Lord Varyamir was Lord Arnavaryo's direct heir, and by cooperating with the Crown, he was clinging to the hope of being granted his inheritance, whereas the slightest sign of siding with his father would be held against him when the King decided whether Arnavaryo's entire house was untrustworthy. Indeed, if the King decided that Lord Varyamir had been a willing participant in his father's plan, he might well be judged guilty of treason himself. "You know how Alcarmaitë can hold a grudge," Lord Atanacalmo said with the indifferent shrug of a man who had nothing to fear.

But for now, I was merely listening in horror and growing astonishment to the accounts of Lord Arnavaryo's sinister plans (although of course he interrupted the witnesses to claim that none of these claims were true, and instead accusing the other men of conspiring against the King and himself). Plans had been made for the fortification of villages and the taking of hostages; there had been weapons commissioned and lawless men hired. Some such men, indeed, had betrayed Lord Arnavaryo to the King's spies, and now gave testimony. More trustworthy, perhaps, was the testimony given by the weaponsmiths who had been asked to make suspicious numbers of spear-heads, and the provosts who had been ordered to dig trenches and fell trees for palisades. I realised that Lord Atanacalmo had not exaggerated when he had spoken of civil war, and was once more glad that I had kept my peace on that day. The mere thought of what might have happened otherwise was enough to make my stomach turn.

With such evidence, it was hardly surprising that the council ultimately judged the former lord Arnavaryo guilty of high treason. At this point he lost all dignity and pleaded for mercy, prostrate, but since he had not merely plotted but already begun to set his plans into motion and would surely have gone through with them, had not the realm been saved by pure chance, he was condemned to the most horrid punishment the law code knew: Not the three days of public punishment, followed by hanging, that common traitors suffered, but the seven days and burning reserved for the vilest of the vile.
As he was stripped and the yoke put on his shoulders, I turned away so I did not have to watch. Knowing that he had lost his case, Arnavaryo had recovered his pride and, instead of begging further, thundered against the false friends who had betrayed his secrets and the worthless thieves who had taken his money and then sold him to his nephew, who was unfit to rule and would betray our trust, condemning us all in our turn. He cursed his faithless son. "And you, Embalmer," he hollered in my direction, "you, too, will rue this day! If you think that Alcarmaitë will show the least gratitude for your silence, you are sorely mistaken!" At first, I thought to answer, but then I felt it was better to stay silent and study my feet. At any rate, he was already accusing other councillors of having been in on the plan, which they denied vehemently, prompting further curses from Arnavaryo.
In this manner, he continued until he was gagged. Then the guards pushed and pulled him outside, down the broad stairs to the citadel's main gate, and the criers were instructed that he was a criminal condemned for high treason, for plotting against King and country, for threatening to bring civil war upon its people, and so on. That would ensure that his humiliation, and the ordeal that would follow it, would be watched by great crowds of onlookers.

I thought that my part in this distasteful business would be over at last, but I had no such luck. Instead, the King ordered that I should be standing beside him when he observed Arnavaryo's punishment, alongside Lord Varyamir. For him, it was meant to be a test of his loyalty; and for me, apparently, it was a reward. So said the King.
I preferred the kind of reward that his father had handed out - horses, jewellery, houses - although I suppose it was generous that he acknowledged that some kind of reward was in order at all. But standing under the royal canopy on the terrace of the watch house, however much of a honour it might be, was the last thing I wanted. Even as a callous youth, when the torments had been a form of free entertainment, I had never been able to watch for long. No matter what the criminals on the scaffold had done, I could not forget that they were people first and foremost. Arnavaryo's punishment, dragged out over seven days and with no intention of letting him survive, was more brutal than anything I had stomached before. Each of these days, the King took several hours out of his day to observe, and every time, I had to stand on the left of the throne and keep my eyes on the horrible scene. I suspected that even if it was truly meant a reward on the surface of it, it was a threat underneath. More than once, I felt the King's eyes on me; I was certain that he was imagining what it would be like to see me broken on the scaffold in this manner, and that he was delighted whenever he saw me flinch or grit my teeth. It was doubtlessly a threat for Lord Varyamir, who wore a stony expression on his face while his father was, by and by, reduced to a writhing and screaming mess that was barely recogniseable as a man. I wondered, privately, whether he had been able to take the Draught of Walking Death. (I half considered sneaking to the marketplace at night to slip him my phial, just in case he hadn't, but of course there was a close guard on the scaffold even when the prisoner was granted something akin to rest, and the risk was much too high; easing a traitor's lot was treason as well, after all.) I concluded that nothing I had endured at the command of Master Amrazôr, or at the hands of the guards in the watchhouse, had come close to torment, whatever Amraphel thought.

By the third day, the first people from Forostar arrived to watch the punishment of their former lord, and more arrived later. I suspected that he had not been popular. One day I thought I saw my erstwhile lodger Îbalad in the crowd, but I did not care to take a closer look. I wondered what Lord Varyamir made of these people who were gaping and jeering at his father's agonies: whether he accepted it as a natural result of the crime, or whether he would pursue it with vengeance. We did not speak, of course. I was afraid that as soon as I opened my mouth, I would throw up (I regularly parted with whatever food I had been able to force down in the morning on my way back home), and Lord Varyamir, however pragmatic his attitude, was doubtlessly shaken on the inside. I, too, tried to compose my face into a mask of grim indifference and think of other things, but I was not particularly succesful. I remember that I was musing, one of these horrid afternoons, at how long a body could cling to life, even when it was clear that there was nothing left to live for and recovery would be impossible. If Eru had intended for us to die, as the Elf-friends say, then surely he would have made it easier for a body tried beyond bearing to give up its grip on life. But Arnavaryo did not die until the last day, when his shrieking remains were allowed to be consumed by the vengeful flames of the pyre. I meant to talk to Lord Eärendur about this observation. He, like the other councillors, attended one dutiful day watching the torment, but unlike some others, he did not come back for a second day. Princess Vanimeldë, too, was present on the first day, but not after. I wish I, too, could have been excused from the gory spectacle. I certainly did not wish to revisit the scene, and so I did not raise the question with Lord Eärendur or Master Târik to hear their thoughts on the matter.

At last, it was over, and I returned to my work with renewed vigour, hoping to drive out the evil memories by exhausting myself. But though I managed to make myself too tired to dream, the bloody visions haunted me by day, unbidden. Lord Eärendur went to Andúnië to look after his business (or to recover from the haunting episode in the peace and calm of his home, some vengefully jealous part of me thought). But Lord Herucalmo kept me busy, and Lord Atanacalmo had me over for playing chess. We even had an uncommonly serious conversation about the necessity of punishment, and the regrettable weakness of the human character in general and of men tempted by power in particular. I was half minded to ask him about his own ambitions, and my role in them - there was an honesty between us on that day that very nearly overcame my reservations. The words were already on the tip of my tongue. Then I held them back after all. Whatever his answer would have been, it was probably better not to know. In these days, I often remembered my father's warning not to get into the way of noblemen, not for all the glory or riches of the world; and oh, I wish I could have followed his advice. Still, I wonder. If I had asked him, would he have told me the truth? Maybe I would have been able to make some wiser decisions, if I had known what the future held.

Chapter End Notes

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* Kulbî 'nTârik is (I hope) a direct Adûnaic translation of Tarmasundar. Though in theory, kulbî might refer to edible roots only. Oh well!

²Eärenya would be Thursday in our calendar, and Aldëa is Tuesday. Nénimë , the "watery month", corresponds to our February.