The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 35

Trial time!

I was not presentable. With a lot of help from the guards, I had managed to get into my breeches - yesterday's working breaches, stiff with mortar and plaster - but the pain in my upper body, especially when I tried to lift my arms, was so bad that I had immediately abandoned the attempt to put on a shirt or tunic. Lord Atanacalmo insisted that we had no time to wait, so in the end, the guards had simply draped my cloak around my shoulders. They'd had to carry me because I hadn't managed to walk the steps. I was too exhausted even to weep.
I thought of my elaborate plans for the trial. I had wanted to spend Valanya morning rehearsing likely questions and good answers with Amraphel. I had wanted to bathe and have my hair braided and wear respectable clothing in order to make a good impression. Instead, I was bruised and burned and bloodied, my hair in a dirty tangle, my face smeared with tears and snot, and my clothing in disarray. I could barely walk, barely hold my head up, and barely speak.

Yet I would have to appear in front of the Council. For now, I had been left in the antechamber with the guards, and I had crumpled to the cool marble floor as soon as Lord Atanacalmo had shut the door behind him. In spite of the insistent trembling, I felt as though my limbs and back were on fire. Inside the throne room, the trial was beginning. I just wanted it to be over. No: I wanted to wake up and find out that this had all been a bad dream.
"You should lie on a bench, sir, it is more comfortable," one of the guards suggested.
The benches were made from the same marble as the floor, and not cushioned at all; the comfort or discomfort would be the same. What he surely meant was that it would look somewhat less undignified. I ignored him.
The proceedings did not yet require my presence, which suited me well. After a while, I managed to push myself into a sitting position, trying to convince myself that I might have some dignity left after all. A servant asked whether I wanted a refreshment. I wasn't at all certain that I would be able to keep it down - my stomach was still badly upset - but at the same time my throat was stinging, and I still had the foul taste of vomit in my mouth, and so I asked for water. It was clean, sweet water, not like the foul-smelling swill the torturers had dunked me into. I did not want to remember, but of course I did. I took tiny sips and hoped for the nausea to pass.

Then - I do not know when exactly - the door opened, and it was announced that the Council would hear the testimony of Azruhâr, apprentice embalmer. One of the guards helped me to my feet, and then steadied me as I limped towards the throne room. "For what it's worth, sir, I think this is all wrong," he whispered in my ear. I wasn't certain whether he meant Lord Eärendur's arrest or the trial or my torment, not that it mattered. It was worth exactly nothing, but of course I did not say so. I felt that I could not afford rejecting anyone's sympathy. "Thank you," I mumbled, without much conviction.
And then I was inside the throne room, bright and airy and ostentatious as always. Lord Eärendur stood in the middle, still dressed in the white robes he had worn on the Mountain. The fabric had begun to grey. Overall, Lord Eärendur looked as if he'd had a few sleepless nights, his beard was unkempt, and his hands were chained, but otherwise he appeared to be well enough. I, on the other hand, stumbled into the middle of the large circle leaning heavily on the guard, my face puffed and my eye blackened. From the outside, it must look as if I had got drunk and forgotten about the trial and had needed to be torn from a bar fight in order to testify.

"Do you have no more reputable witness than the embalmer?" Lord Ciryamacil promptly said in disgust, while Lord Eärendur gave me a sorrowful, confused frown: What have you been up to? Lord Atanacalmo had said that he'd known about my torment, but maybe that had been a trick as well. Not that it mattered. I looked away from Lord Eärendur and to the King, who was leaning forward, eagerly watching my disgraceful arrival. I realised that he enjoyed it, not just because he liked that I was in pain but also because even though I hadn't made the confession he had wanted, my refutations would hardly have much credence: Who would believe a man who was dragged in like this? Bile rose in my throat, and I had to let my eyes sink. Next to the King, there was a young scribe whom I did not know. At least Quentangolë wouldn't have to write the minutes of his own father's trial, I thought.

At last I had reached the place marked for the witness, and the guard stepped back. I caught my balance and my breath. I should have knelt in greeting, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to get up again, and so just dipped my head forward into a bow that was already enough to nearly topple me over. Then, just so everybody present would know exactly why I was walking like this and swaying like this and sounding like three days' heavy carousing, I fumbled with my left hand on the tangle of my cloak until it fell to the floor, exposing the marks of my torment.
I did not know how bad it looked - I had not seen a mirror, nor did I care to; I knew that it felt awful, which was more than I wanted to know - but there were some shouts of alarm behind me, so I knew that it must look bad enough.
"I gainsay any testimony exacted through torture," Lord Eärendur said hotly, and the brief triumph I had felt at the councillors' shock and surprise dissipated at once. He was very certain that I'd made a testimony worth gainsaying, I thought, feeling the sour boil of resentment in my stomach. I ground my teeth and hugged my throbbing shoulders, still worried that they might come off. There was a great deal of heated whispering behind me, but eventually, Lord Atanacalmo called for silence. The mutterings died down obediently at the cold sound of his voice.

"We have heard the charge of the prosecution. We have heard the testimony of Vanatirmo and Gimluzîr. We have heard the accused's and Ciryamacil's conflicting versions. We have heard a petition of the people of Andúnië. We have heard from Eärengolë and Balakhil." I blinked at that. Balakhil? Balakhil, my supposed bodyguard? Lord Atanacalmo spoke on dispassionately. "We shall now hear a purported friend of the accused, who has been implicated in the conspiracy."
Lord Vanatirmo interrupted. "Do we really need to hear him?" he asked, sounding bored. "I thought there was a written statement."
Lord Ciryamacil scoffed. "A written statement? He can write?"
Resentment was turning into cold dark hatred. I wished I could have gotten away with punching their smug faces. Not that I would have done much damage, weak as I was, but it would have been so very satisfying to try. It would also have been folly, of course. But I was angry, and anger is a bad councillor, though at the same time, there is a hidden strength in it.
"I can write," I rasped, "but it was full of lies, so I burned it."

My statement provoked some shocked laughter, and an outcry of disbelief from Lord Vanatirmo:
"You what?"
"He burned it, Vanatirmo," Lord Atanacalmo said with a twitch of his lip. "So we shall have to hear him. Azruhâr, you are charged to speak the truth and nothing but the truth, and failure to do so will be treated as perjury." Whereas he had previously sounded mildly amused, he was now speaking in the bored tone of a man who had said the same thing a hundred times on a hundred occasions. "Do you understand?"
"I understand," I muttered. It was so very hard to keep myself upright. I was sore all over, stinging all over, and the urge to curl up small was very powerful indeed, but I managed to pull myself together and stay on my feet, though I could not stand as proud as I would have liked. There was a fierce stabbing pain in my spine if I straightened my back too much, so I didn't try it more than once.
"We have been told that Eärendur has been plotting to put himself on the throne," Lord Atanacalmo continued in his dispassionate tone,"and recruited followers to help him wrest power from Tar-Telemmaitë. What do you know about that?"
I was fairly certain that no such plot existed, but I with the threat of perjury over my head, I just croaked, "I know nothing of it."
"For pity's sake, at least let him drink something," Lord Eärendur interfered, his voice full of worry, and my anger turned against him. He should worry about himself!
"I'm not thirsty," I rasped.

Lord Atanacalmo raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and continued. "So you have not been recruited for the purpose of garnering support for the house of Andúnië among the lower classes?"
I thought to myself that if I had been garnering support for anyone, it had been for the house of Arminalêth. But I did not say so. It was probably unwise to provoke Lord Atanacalmo, any further than he already was provoked by my refusal to cooperate, and so I just said, "No."
"But you have been invited into the inner circle of Eärendur's..." He paused, searching for the right word, and ultimately went for, "... familiars?"
"I had that honour," I ground out. An honour that I had enjoyed while it lasted, to be fair, but it had come at the price of yesterday's ordeal, which made it look rather stale at the moment.
"You still have it," Lord Eärendur said in what was probably meant to be reassurance.
"If you speak out of turn again, Eärendur, we shall have you gagged," the King snapped from his high seat.
"Now, now," the voice of Lord Pallatin said behind me, disapprovingly. It was probably uncommon to threaten a nobleman with such indignities, at least until he was declared actually guilty of whatever. I had the impression that the trial might be getting away from the King. That, at least, was a reassuring thought, and I managed to draw myself a little more upright.
Lord Atanacalmo didn't comment on the interruption, instead continuing to question me. "Nonetheless, you say you have never heard the slightest suggestion of... shall we say... dissatisfaction with the reign of Tar-Telemmaitë?"

Now this was a loaded question. As far as I was concerned, there were plenty of reasons to be dissatisfied with the reign of Tar-Telemmaitë, and I had heard such suggestions in other houses, not least of all that of Lord Atanacalmo himself, so the truthful answer would have been "Not from Lord Eärendur," but that would have required clarification, so I just said, "No," glaring at Lord Atanacalmo in case he wanted to pursue the question further. One day, I thought, I hoped he would fall from grace, and it would be his turn to stand in the circle and be judged, and perhaps I would live long enough to see it, although that did not feel likely right now. But for now, I had to keep him on my side, as far as that was possible.
He chose not to pursue the question further, instead moving on to the next item.
"Tell me about the secret ceremonies on the Holy Mountain. You have attended these ceremonies, is that correct?"
I could not well deny that. "Some of them." Then, as an afterthought, in case that was important, I added, through gritted teeth, "But I don't know if they were secret."
"They were not," Lord Ciryamacil supplied flatly. "Everybody knows when the holy days are, even those who conveniently forget to attend."
His statement was followed by a moment of awkward silence. Then the King asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know full well what it means," Lord Ciryamacil said belligerently, and although it was nice that he had scorn for more people than just me, I couldn't help wondering if the man was, perhaps, insane.
Lord Atanacalmo looked pained, as if he had to perform a distasteful duty. "It is not your turn, Ciryamacil," he said. "You can comment on Azruhâr's statement later on. So, Azruhâr. You were at these ceremonies, secret or otherwise. Are you a faithful man, then?"
"No," I rasped, "but I had reason to pray."
"Really? What for?"
"A good harvest. Success at my work. Expressing gratitude." Commonplace things, I felt, that were perfectly inoffensive. For good measure I added, "The King's health." That was completely true, too, although it had been the old King I had been praying for.

Lord Atanacalmo raised his eyebrows at that, but he did not ask me to specify. Instead, he asked, "And in these prayers, did Eärendur take up the King's role?"
"No," said I.
"Hah!" Lord Ciryamacil exclaimed, in triumph this time, and I concluded that in spite of everything, he might be on Lord Eärendur's side.
"Ciryamacil, please," said Lord Atanacalmo, as if speaking to an inattentive child. "Azruhâr, how do you figure that?"
"He never spoke."
"Really? Then how did he lead the prayer?"
"In silence," I rasped, frowning, both because it was hard to explain and because all the talking was taking its toll on me. "Just setting the rhythm, I suppose." I wasn't sure whether that had been a good thing to say, and my courage was sinking.
"Vanatirmo says that Eärendur spoke the words of the prayer."
"He must have misheard," I croaked.
"He lied," Lord Ciryamacil supplied helpfully.
"You lie!" Lord Vanatirmo retorted hotly.
"Order!" the King snapped, glowering at his misbehaving councillors. "You behave like squabbling children! Even if Vanatirmo... misheard, there is still the matter of last Erukyermë! Uncle, please."

Lord Atanacalmo steepled his long fingers and breathed out very slowly. "Yes. Even if Vanatirmo's memory of these ceremonies is incorrect, what happened last Erukyermë? Eärendur did lead more than a couple of faithful worshippers then, did he not?"
I closed my eyes so I could focus better. My anger had worn off and left weariness in its place. I was now acutely aware of the throbbing and stinging of my many burns and cuts and bruises, the ache in my drawn joints, the rawness in my lungs and throat, the vicious stabs of pain in my broken fingers. "No," I whispered, "the Council did."
"We cannot hear you," Lord Atanacalmo said mercilessly. "Who did?"
"The present councillors," I ground out, and, taking up his own words, "It was a joint decision."
The Council had gone very quiet, and Lord Atanacalmo's voice sounded uncommonly fierce as he went on. "Very well. Azruhâr, I know that you think you have a good memory. Recount, then, exactly what happened."

I did not have the strength to protest his allegation and focused on my answer instead. I kept my eyes closed, trying and failing to breathe evenly. "People were excited for the ceremony," I said slowly. "There had been no information to the contrary, so it was assumed that the new King would lead it, but he did not come. The crowd demanded to go up. Master... Gimluzîr... told the noblemen about their impatience. Soon after they started to shout, 'Up! Up! Up!'. The people, I mean." I had to pause for breath. The trembling had begun again, worse than ever, which prompted someone to pick up my cloak and put it back on my shoulders; I suspect it was Lord Saphadûl, who could risk the displeasure of the King. It was kindly meant, but even that light touch seemed to set my skin on fire, and I whimpered. The heroes in the plays, when they are rescued from their torment, go on to lead armies and vanquish dragons, but I wasn't one of them. Instead, I began to weep, struggling to keep it quiet at least.
"Have mercy, Lord King, let him rest," Lord Eärendur said quietly, his voice thick as though he were close to tears.
"He will not rest until he has replied to our satisfaction," the King said, and it was evident that my struggle was part of the satisfaction.
"We would let him write up an account," Lord Atanacalmo's indifferent voice rang above my shuddering breath, "but as his fingers are broken, he will have to speak."
I wondered why he was drawing attention to my fingers. By now, I had the impression that some of the councillors were beginning to pity me, and that would colour their judgement; they would give my words more credence than they might otherwise have. If he wanted them to dismiss my statement, it seemed unwise to give them reason to pity me more, and it was not like Lord Atanacalmo to be unwise.
Lord Pallatin spoke up, "I was there at the beginning of it; I can answer."
"I was there for the whole thing, and have already answered," Lord Ciryamacil growled.
"I want Azruhâr's answer," the King snapped.

I wondered whether he really did. He might enjoy seeing me suffer right now, but I doubted he would like the story I would tell. Normally, that thought would have been intimidating, but that day I was well beyond fear. Like the King, I gave no thought to the future, only to the present. In the present, I wanted revenge. I wanted to have my revenge, even if all I could do was spoil his afternoon. Everything hurt, and nothing mattered, and I tried to stop sobbing so I could articulate my story.
"The people... wanted to go up," I repeated, keeping my eyes shut to drown out the light and the faces. "Some suggested to tell them that we would not go, but Lord Vanatirmo wanted to go up instead." I frowned as the pieces began to come together. "He suggested that Lord Eärendur could lead the ceremony. He said, ' If the King doesn't come, then somebody else has to take his place.' Lord Vanatirmo said that." I opened my eyes so I could look at Lord Vanatirmo, who was staring back with a wide-eyed look of innocence. Dark waves lapped on the edges of my vision, invitingly, but I could not give in to them yet.

Lord Ciryamacil took over from me. "You did say that! Eärendur said that if anyone did it, it should be the whole Council, and then you said you would do it yourself, and he held you back - to protect you." The last words were spoken in deepest scorn; evidently, Lord Ciryamacil did not find Lord Vanatirmo worthy of protection.
"This is not about Vanatirmo, but about Eärendur," the King interrupted. "I will have order! Speak on, embalmer! What happened next?"
"For pity's sake --" Lord Eärendur was pleading again.
"You should let the embalmer speak," Lord Atanacalmo cut him short.
The embalmer spoke, as well as he could. "There was a vote among the nobles. Lord Pallatin and Lady Fáninquë and Lord Herucalmo were against going. The others agreed to lead the people together. We went up. Some common councillors joined them in the middle. Master Gimluzîr, too. We prayed. We went down. Then the guards were there." Again, I had to pause for breath. I could no longer identify the body parts that were hurting; they were all screaming in unison, drowning each other out. My surroundings had blended into an unreal blur of light and colour. I suspected that I might be dying on my feet, and was so exhausted that the thought didn't even scare me.

There was some whispering around me, but it took a moment until Lord Atanacalmo spoke again. "Who called the vote?"
"I did that," Lord Eärendur said soberly, sparing me from replying.
"So you confess it!" the King exclaimed triumphantly. "I call my councillors to the vote, not you! Yet you confess that you did it!"
"You were not there, Majesty," Lord Eärendur said, and I could hear the strain in his mild voice. He was keeping himself in check - he had to, of course - but clearly, he found it hard.
"Then there should have been no vote!"
There was a heavy sigh from Lord Atanacalmo's direction. "In an emergency, it is legal for the highest ranking councillor to call for a vote in the King's absence. Was it an emergency, Azruhâr? Wake up, man!"

I hadn't been sleeping, I had merely closed my eyes again. Too many things were clamouring for my attention at once, but even if I had not been distracted by my pain, how should I know? I had not studied the law, and found it very unfair that I was expected to decide on such a thing. "There was a noisy and impatient crowd," I forced out, "Lord Vanatirmo thought they might tear the nobles to pieces."
"A riot?" Lord Atanacalmo asked.
"Not a riot yet, but on its way there," Lord Ciryamacil interjected.
"But was Eärendur the highest-ranking present?" That was the King, still clinging to what he clearly felt was a weak spot in Lord Eärendur's defense.
"Maybe we can discuss these niceties while the witness is given over to the healer," Lord Atanacalmo said in a rare show of humaneness. "Are there any further questions for the witness?" He sighed. "Têrakon?"
If I had been in a better state, I might have laughed. Of course Lord Têrakon felt the need to try me further. "I seem to recall that the embalmer received a precious gift of Valinórean amber from Eärendur. Is the embalmer certain that he wasn't given that gift to buy his loyalty?"
"He is certain," I whispered. "It was a gift, not payment."
"And where is it now?"
"I gave it in tribute to the King." At that, the whispering grew so loud that Lord Atanacalmo had to call for order again before he could ask, "Further questions?" Apparently there were none, because he continued, "In that case, I suggest the witness is taken outside." There must have been assent and some kind of signal, because the guards came to pick me up and half lead, half drag me out of the chamber. I tried to walk along as best as I could while the councillors began to exchange whispered opinions again.

A healer and his assistant were already waiting in the antechamber. It wasn't Master Sérindo, who would have been a welcome familiar face, but a stranger, who made them cut off my dirty breeches and put me down on a stone bench. It had by now been covered with a blanket, a small display of consideration, I suppose. There I lay shivering, worn out and hurting, trying to figure out whether I had done harm or good. I was dimly aware that the healer was dictating something to his assistant as he was checking me over. "Injuries include multiple second-degree burns to the arms, chest, stomach and legs, multiple lacerations of the back, buttocks and thighs, advanced bruising--"
"Will you help me at all?" I whimpered, because he seemed to consider my injuries a subject for study, rather than something that ought to be healed.
"Patient is awake and responsive," the healer said to his assistant, and then to me, "You know, the Council will require a list, to ascertain that you have not been faking things and to judge the extent of the damage." His fingers prodded the swelling around my shoulders, making the vicious stabbing intensify a hundredfold, and I shrieked at the sudden agony. "Partial luxation of both shoulders," the healer told his assistant, matter-of-factly. "I shall reduce them forthwith," now he appeared to be talking to me again, "do you want something against the pain?"
I certainly did.

He gave me a concoction of wine and poppy, which blurred my senses and numbed my nerves and finally sent me into a merciful slumber. When I woke up again, my muscles had stiffened so much that I could not move. I could feel that I was no longer on the marble bench, because I was lying on a yielding surface, and I realised that I must have been carried someplace else in my sleep. I could not tell where, though, because I was lying on my belly and could only see the mattress. I felt strangely numb, though by and by the fog lifted and let through persistent stabs of pain. Muted voices, at once familiar and strange, drifted over me, and with some effort I focused on them to understand what they were talking about.
"... really cannot apologise enough," a man was saying.
"I did not realise you did it on purpose," a woman replied. Amraphel. I knew her voice so well that I could hear that she had been crying, and was now forcing a smile through the tears. I felt that I ought to let her know that I was awake, but I could not get my jaw or tongue to move.
"You know what I mean," said the man, and I thought I recognised Lord Eärendur's voice. If it was his, I thought, he had not been executed. I should have been happy, but instead, there was only a vast emptiness in my heart. I tried to speak again, and managed an inarticulate gurgle.

"Hush," Amraphel said to Lord Eärendur (if it was him), and then, ever so tenderly, "Azruhâr? Azruhâr, love, can you hear me?"
I gurgled again, and there was a shift on the mattress that made the burns on my chest and belly flare up. I whimpered in protest.
"Oh love, I would so like to hold you, but I'm afraid it would hurt you more," Amraphel cried, and I couldn't disagree with that assessment. She touched my hair, which should have been fine, but apparently my skalp was tender from all the tearing the torturers and Lord Atanacalmo had done, or maybe my nerves were just generally overexcited; at any rate, I flinched at the touch.
"My dear Azruhâr," it definitely was Lord Eärendur's voice, thick with emotion, "I can never thank you enough, and I shall never forgive myself. This is my fault, and I do not know how to atone for it."
I grunted in response. I would not have known what to say even if my tongue had cooperated, really.
Amraphel said that they wanted to move me as little as possible, but at the same time, I needed to take some nourishment, and so I would have to be brought upright. It hurt. Being helped to sit up hurt, and forcing my jaw to unclench hurt, and swallowing the broth that the healer had recommended hurt, too. My throat was raw from screaming, and although the broth was no more than luke-warm, it burned like fire going down. Everything was on fire, from my head to my ankles, until they administered poppy-infused wine again to send me back into a senseless, and supposedly healing, sleep.

In this manner - sleeping, groaning, drinking and using the bedpan - I spent the next days, until Master Sérindo (who had by now been entrusted with my care) decided that more of the sedative would be harmful to my health and I would have to endure the rest of my recovery without it. I cannot deny that I would have preferred to spend those days in a daze, my health be damned. I did not particularly care for my health. In truth, I had despaired of life. Everything seemed pointless. Things had gotten so bad, and did not promise to get better; trying to heal and push onwards against the tide of troubles was foolish. My very veins felt as if they were filled with liquid fire, and surely Master Sérindo's attempts at speeding my recovery only prolongued the inevitable. I hated myself for my weakness, and I pitied myself, too. All I had wanted was a peaceful life, a life without fear, and for a short time, Lord Eärendur had nurtured the futile hope that such a thing might be possible. But instead, I had found the exact opposite, and I felt a great deal of resentment towards him for ever letting me think otherwise.

He came to my house again, assuring me of his horror and regret. I found out how the trial had ended. After my testimony, the Council had ultimately voted to drop the charges of sedition, sacrilege and high treason, but to save face, the King had insisted on punishing Lord Eärendur for assumption of authority. "It isn't even clear whose authority I assumed, since none of the obvious candidates were present and the seniority does not usually just pass to their nephews or grandsons. It might have been my own. But what does it matter?" He gave a rueful smile. "I must be grateful that it was only that, and not treason."
Since he was of the nobility, his punishment was a hefty fine and none of the usual public embarrassments. I asked how much he had to pay, but he only said, "That needn't concern you. You paid a much higher price, and I do not know how I can ever repay you."
His words hurt. It needn't concern me. I had done my part: no need to think about the rest. And repay me? I had not done it to be repaid, but because it had been the right thing to do. "Let us not speak of it," I said stiffly, closing my eyes to hide my sudden tears.
I could hear concern in his voice. "Am I taxing you too much? I am most dreadfully sorry." With a sigh, he said, "I must leave for Andúnië, to reassure Nolwen and to raise the money. But we should meet as soon as you are mended, and then we can see what can be done." He kissed my hands in parting, taking great care to avoid the broken fingers on my right, now firmly bandaged. "Most loyal friend, I hoped I could offer you protection, and instead you had to protect me. I cannot thank you enough."
I kept my eyes closed and made no reply, and after a while, perhaps thinking that I had dozed off, he quietly left the room.