The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 41

Chapter 41

The Council of Umbar convened once every month, unless some extraordinary event called for an additional meeting. The arrival of Lord Roitaheru's only son was such an extraordinary event, so the honourable councillors had been summoned for an extraordinary session that Valanya. As I learned on the way to the council chamber (tagging behind the Lords Roitaheru and Herucalmo), the councillors were for the most part those sons of the noble houses that were currently cutting their teeth in Umbar, as well as whatever Númenórean craftsmen had nothing better to do on the day. Accordingly, the council was a changeable entity. There were no guilds and thus no guildmasters; most crafts didn't have enough representatives for that. If there was more than one master for a craft, they tended to take turns, if they showed up at all. The only people whose presence was mandatory were the captain of the city guard (the guards themselves were Umbarian, but the higher ranks were filled by men of Yôzayân), the spokesman of the native populace, the scribe who took the minutes, and Lord Roitaheru himself. "I've had council sessions with only four or five people in attendance," Lord Roitaheru said dryly, "but today should be a full house because they don't want to offend me."

Indeed, the council chamber - or rather, the theatre, which was what they were using as a council chamber - was filled well. In the centre space where the actors would normally play their roles, there were two cushioned chairs for Lord Roitaheru and (I assumed) his son, and a less grand chair where the court scribe was already seated, although he rose and bowed as the lords entered. The other councillors sat in the stone seats for the audience and had brought their own cushions. I had none.
"What are the seating arrangements?" I asked Lord Roitaheru, remembering the strict division between noble and common councillors, not to mention between casual observers, witnesses and other nonvoting attendants that I had observed at the royal council.
"Just sit wherever," he said with his usual nonchalance, "preferably at the front so I can point you out easily."
I managed to get one of the last seats in the second row, where I sat down under the curious looks of the men in the neighbouring seats. I smiled and bowed awkwardly, and the young man on my right held out his hand with a smile of his own. "I haven't seen you before, have I? I'm Laurilyo," he introduced himself. I shook his hand, and said, "Azruhâr. Pleased to meet you. I arrived the day before yesterday." The man on my left introduced himself as Zainabên, and then we hushed because Lord Roitaheru had raised his hands to call for silence.

Lord Roitaheru greeted all present, expressed his pleasure at the number of people who had made it to this meeting, and promised that it would be short. "Only two items on the list, so if you don't argue for too long, we'll be out of here within the hour." Appreciative laughter.
"To the first point. I ask you all to give a warm welcome to my son Herucalmo. His grandfather could finally spare him for a year, so here he is." He gestured at Lord Herucalmo, who rose and nodded politely. He gave a short speech in which he told everybody how happy he was to join the Númenórean community of Umbar, how pleased he was to meet everybody, and how much he was looking forward to his stay and the many things he would learn here. The councillors applauded with great enthusiasm, and Lord Herucalmo sat down again with a smile.
His father went on, "Also welcome to Azruhâr, the King's Embalmer, who will teach the new craft of embalming here in Umbar." I stood up and bowed. The expectant silence let me know that I would have to say something. "Thank you." I could not well tell them that I was happy to be here - I was not - but I managed, "I am honoured to meet you all," and then, remembering what Lord Roitaheru had written to the King, said "I hope that my work here will make it possible for those people of Yôzayân who die here to be preserved and laid to rest in Yôzayân itself." I was tempted to ask them to treat me kindly, but I doubted that it would be of use, so I just repeated, "thank you." I bowed to less enthusiastic but perfectly polite applause, and sat back down, my face burning with embarrassment.

"You can get to know both of them better at the banquet tonight," Lord Roitaheru took over. "Now, to the second point. News from the capital." He held out his hand to the scribe, who handed him a scroll that he unrolled under the watchful eyes of the councillors. "Our brethren of the royal council inform us of their recent decisions. Firstly, the rationing that was in place in the motherland has been lifted, and shall remain so after the harvest and throughout winter. It is up to the colonies to ensure that sufficient provisions will be available, which may mean a higher tribute than usual. Yes, Talogon?"
"Does that mean that we shall have to ration our provisions, your Grace?" asked an elderly man, standing up.
"That depends on the harvest, I'd say," Lord Roitaheru said, "but calm yourself; I'm sure we shan't starve." Talogon nodded, and sat back down.
"Yes, Darîm?"
Darîm appeared to be the spokesman of the Umbarians. Although many of the councillors and even Lord Roitaheru himself wore robes made of the colourful patterned fabrics I had seen just after my arrival, his were cut differently in what must be the local fashion. Although he still looked fairly young - younger than I was - he had a full beard. He was frowning as he stood up to ask, "Shall there be rationing for my people?"
"We'll see about that. Again, it depends on the harvest. We'll discuss the matter when the time comes," Lord Roitaheru said, and although I could see that Darîm was frowning more deeply, he still sat down again without saying more.
"Further questions?" Lord Roitaheru asked, looking around to see a general shaking of heads. "Very well. Second. Her royal highness the princess Vanimeldë desires to promote artistic exchange between the motherland and the colonies, so if any among you feel inspired to coordinate the exchange of artists or actors or whatnot, let me know." He looked around expectantly, noting the occasional show of hands. "Very good. Let us meet up and discuss further details at some time. No need to bore everyone else. Minluzîr will notify you." Those last words were accompanied with a nod at the scribe, who nodded back, then looked around and wrote down (I assume) the names.

"Right. Finally, a change in law, concerning the coercion of witnesses in the court of law. Henceforth, no citizen of Númenor may be put to torment for the sake of confession or condemnation unless the full council has unanimously agreed to the measure." With a raise of his eyebrows, he rolled the paper back up, then looked into the round. "Yes, Arandur?"
Arandur was a young man in neat formal robes, with jewelled clasps in his hair. He stood up and asked, "This seems to suggest that the old law, that only the King himself had the right to decide on such a measure, is no longer applicable. Do I understand correctly?"
Lord Roitaheru unrolled the scroll again, re-read the sentence, then nodded. "Yes, that seems to be the idea."
Frowning deeply, Arandur said, "But that law hailed from the days of Elros Tar-Minyatur himself, on the grounds that the King alone could be trusted to judge fairly!"
I very nearly laughed.

Lord Roitaheru merely shrugged, but Lord Herucalmo rose to reply. "There have been some questionable cases where the torment of witnesses either led to no new insight, or turned out to be unjustified and based on incorrect assumptions," he said in a calmly authoritative voice that he must have learned from his grandfather. "It has therefore been decided that one man, even if he be King, can be misguided in such matters, for which reason it must from now on be agreed by the full council that torture of a witness is justified. It is to be hoped that if so many men agree on one thing, it is more likely to be accurate."
He didn't look at me, instead meeting the eyes of Arandur, but I felt my face grow hot nonetheless. I hoped that nobody would notice.
"Our council, or the royal council?" Talogon now asked. "In the unlikely case that we need to put someone to the torments, could we decide it - provided that we agree unanimously - or would we have to request a vote from the royal council?"
"Good question," Lord Roitaheru said. "It would make more sense to let us decide here in such a case, since we would be familiar with the case and the royal council would not be. But the bill doesn't say. I shall write and request clarification. Further questions?"

Talogon sat down, and Lord Roitaheru gave the word to one Lotherín. By his military-style tunic and the breastplate he wore, I assumed that he must be a guard or soldier. Lotherín asked, "Does this only concern trials, or does it also apply to torment as punishment?"
"As I understand it, it's only about trials," Lord Roitaheru said. "It explicitly talks about witnesses. - Yes, Darîm?"
"What about the people whom I represent? Does it apply also to them?" Darîm asked.
Lord Roitaheru looked back down at the scroll, and said, "It only mentions citizens of Númenor," he said, "so this is of no relevance to you."
"In that case, may I request that in this place, it is also applied to my people?" Darîm said.
"That seems rather cumbersome," Lord Roitaheru said, looking around. "Thoughts?"
There were a couple of comments along the line of keeping things fair, but also of keeping them simple; of sticking with the procedure as it had always been, and of seeing no need to extend the law of Númenor to include Umbarians.

I made the mistake of muttering, "Wouldn't it be more just to apply the same law to them, though?"
And Laurilyo raised my hand. "Azruhâr here has something to contribute!" he said brightly.
"No, don't," I hissed, but Lord Roitaheru had already heard him. He raised an eyebrow, but he said, "Yes, Azruhâr?"
Laurilyo gave me a nudge and a smile. "Go on, don't be shy!" he said.
Again, my face was flaming hot. This time, there was no hoping that nobody would notice. I rose, as I had seen the others do, and cleared my throat. "For the sake of justice, I would think that the law should be applied to the people of Umbar as well. I don't see how that could be cumbersome. After all, you're talking about torture. If you want to inflict such pain on somebody, the least you can do is make certain that everybody agrees it's necessary." The words came out more hotly than was appropriate - I could not have softened them if I'd tried - and I sat down hastily afterwards. I avoided looking at anyone, least of all Lord Roitaheru. My pulse was loud in my ears; I could barely listen to the rest of the debate. Ultimately, there was a vote, which narrowly followed the motion that Torment of Witnesses, whatever their place of origin, had to be agreed upon by the full local council (response from the capital pending). I was glad of the outcome, but I still left the council chamber downcast. I had meant to be inobtrusive and agreeable, and instead, I had managed to call attention to myself and openly oppose my noble host.

"I didn't know you had political ambitions!" Lord Herucalmo duly proclaimed, sounding thoroughly amused, as we made our way back to the palace. The day had grown warm and was well on its way to unbearably hot, and I was sweating profusely under my woolen robes of office, which I had felt compelled to wear for my introduction to the councillors.
Ambitions, I thought. That was something the King had accused me of, when he had still been the Crown Prince. Perhaps Lord Herucalmo was just teasing me again, but then again, he might also be reporting back to the King - his father-in-law, after all, if his own ambitions came true.
"I do not," I said.
"For the sake of justice!" Lord Herucalmo parroted me, and his father said, "True, true. Spoken like one of our eager young nobles."
Yet again, my cheeks were burning in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. "I beg your pardon for speaking out of turn, your Grace. It was a matter close to my heart, so I forgot myself."
"Is it?" Lord Roitaheru sounded surprised. "What stakes do you have in the Umbarians?"
"Not that," Lord Herucalmo explained before I could react. "Azruhâr has been... shall we say, the most recent case of unjustified torment." I suppose I had to be grateful about the concession that it had been unjustified.
Lord Roitaheru gave me an astonished look. "Really! Well, that explains a few things. Why didn't you say so?"
Embarrassed, I said, "I thought you knew all about it. Lord Atanacalmo wrote to you, didn't he - I mean. Concerning me."
"He did, but he mostly just wrote that it would be beneficial to your health and safety if you could leave the island for an extended period, and whether I was still interested in your services. No mention of unjustified torment. I expect he thought you'd tell me yourself!"

I found this all rather hard to believe, but I didn't know what to say about it. So I shrugged awkwardly.
"Anyway," Lord Roitaheru went on, "You weren't out of turn. Or only barely so. You're entitled to a seat on the council once you start working in your craft, after all."
I was certain that he was making fun of me now. "I'm hardly qualified, my lord," I said, which appeared suitable.
He laughed at that. "Precious few people are!" Sobering, he said, "Look, young man, we've got different types of councillors here. Some are the firstborn sons of noble houses sent here to practice their statecraft before they come into their inheritance, like our bright little Arandur. Then there's the other noble sons, the second- and third-borns and the sons of sisters, who have nothing to inherit but still want a comfortable office. Over here, no post is hereditary, so you can achieve a lot by merit and bribery! Look at me: I'm a second son, and would never have accounted for much on the Island. Here, I'm essentially King in all but name, and so will my successor be. That's why I said that you were only here for a year, incidentally," he was turning to his son, "so nobody would see you as a rival to his ambition."
"I assumed as much," Lord Herucalmo said pleasantly.
Lord Roitaheru returned his attention to me. "So that's the second type. Then there's the third type, still noble, but something of a disappointment to their family, and they're sent here to redeem themselves, or simply to get them out of the way before they get hurt. Laurilyo, for instance - he's well-meaning, but completely unsuited to hold office. Here, he can't do much damage, so it's of no consequence."

Surprised, I asked, "Laurilyo is the son of a noble house?"
"Hm-hm. My nephew. Should by rights be my brother's heir, but he's much too frivolous, isn't he? Right now, anyway. Maybe he'll grow up someday, but for the time being, it's safer to keep him here out of harm's way and hope that his sister marries wisely."
I wondered what Lord Roitaheru meant by frivolous. The way in which Laurilyo had volunteered me? From my point of view, it hadn't felt different from the way in which other nobles had directed my fate before, but maybe this was exactly the sort of damage Laurilyo - Lord Laurilyo, I corrected myself - could be expected to do. I vowed to myself to stay out of his way in the future.
Unaware of my musings, Lord Roitaheru went on, "Anyway, qualified or not, they're all entitled to a seat and a vote. So you can hardly be the worst." Another laugh. "Besides, the rest of our councillors are honourable craftsmen. You'll fit right in with them. And don't worry about attendance, you don't have to be there all the time. Only when there's a matter close to your heart, hm?"
He was mocking me again, but that was hardly the most pressing matter. Lest they accuse me of assuming authority again, I pointed out, "But I'm not a master craftsman." After all, Lord Atanacalmo (or his daughter, which amounted to the same) had been adamant on that point.
But Lord Roitaheru just gave me a stare that might have been scorn or might have been pity. "Azruhâr, nobody here gives a damn."

The feast that evening was, in the words of Lord Roitaheru, the perfect occasion to make acquaintances. I very much doubted that anyone would want to make my acquaintance, once they learned more about my craft, but as it turned out, nobody here gave a damn about that, either. In fact, nobody wanted further information on what my craft even was. Instead, they were eager for tales from the capital. Over the course of the evening meal, I described the coronation ceremony four times, recounted several of the plays Princess Vanimeldë had staged to various lords and masters, described the character of the King as charitably as I could, and spoke about the discontinuation of the rites on the Holy Mountain to a few faithfully inclined councillors (although I left out certain details). After the banquet, dancing followed. Due to the lack of ladies - aside from a few master craftsmen and the captains of the city and palace guard, most men here were either unmarried or had left their wives in Yôzayân - Lord Roitaheru had hired a troupe of Umbarian dancers. They first performed for us, then danced with those who wanted to dance. I did not. I was glad to recognise the steps of two (possibly three) dances that Azruphel had learned and proudly showed me, but most of the dances were unknown to me, and at any rate, I was in no mood for dancing. So I watched from the side and nursed my wine.

After a while, Lord Laurilyo sat down next to me. So much, I thought, for keeping out of his way. "You're not much of a dancer, are you," he observed.
"Never got the hang of it," I admitted.
"You should try it. You need some distraction. You're much too serious."
"I suppose so, my lord," I said, and he grimaced as if his wine had suddenly gone sour.
"Ugh! So formal! Relax, man. We're all friends here. You may be here to preserve the dead, but that shouldn't keep you from enjoying life." He was leaning in a little too close, smiling sweetly. Perhaps he'd drunk to much.
I didn't know how to answer, so I watched the proceedings instead. By now, the hall had grown noticeably more empty; several councillors and dancers appeared to be missing, and when I looked at the dais with the high table, I saw Lord Roitaheru getting ready to retire, flanked by two of the dancers. I wondered where his valet had gone. Then I wondered what Lord Roitaheru and the dancers would get up to. Suddenly, I realised that the ladies might possibly be offering other services than just dancing. I don't think I worded that thought, but perhaps my eyes had said enough, because Lord Laurilyo looked in the same direction and said, "See? There's a man who knows how to have fun."
I bit down hard on my lip, and Lord Laurilyo grinned. "Oh, you disapprove!"
"It's none of my business," I said awkwardly, "I merely wonder what Lord Herucalmo will think."
Lord Herucalmo was as yet busy dancing, but presumably, he would go to his father's suite eventually. I did not want to be in the vicinity when Lord Herucalmo found out that, perhaps, his father wasn't entirely faithful to his mother.

Lord Laurilyo was now looking positively mischievous. "What should he think? You don't suppose he believes that his father has been celibate all these years? I very much doubt it." He leaned in closer yet - by now, his head was very nearly resting on my shoulder - and his hand was gripping mine in a conspiratorial manner. "Truth be told, I don't think his mother cares much. It's all part of their agreement, isn't it? Arancalimë doesn't ask how many lovers he takes over here, and he doesn't ask what she gets up to with her handmaidens over there, and everyone's happy."
I frowned at that new intelligence. "I can't imagine Lord Atanacalmo would approve, though."
"You know Atanacalmo?" Lord Laurilyo wiggled his eyebrows. "Well, the shrewd old bastard knows everything and then some. But he's not nearly as ruthless as he pretends to be, is he? Anyway, he's got the grandson he wanted. As long as Roitaheru doesn't father any bastards, why should he care what happens beyond that?"
I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again, then went for, "We shouldn't gossip."
"My, but you're dull!" Lord Laurilyo laughed. "Well, I'll leave you to your prim and proper thoughts, then." He ruffled my hair (playfully, I am sure, but it still set my teeth on edge) and returned to the dancefloor with a spring in his step. Awkwardly, I tried to brush my hair back down with my fingers.

"Not your type, is he?" Lord Herucalmo asked, evidently needing a break from dancing. I had not even noticed that he had come so close, and was now very glad that I hadn't continued to discuss his parents with Lord Laurilyo. I shook my head guiltily.
"Nor are the twins," Lord Herucalmo said as he sat down. It was a statement, not a question.
"Twins?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"Your appointed servants," Lord Herucalmo said, pointing into the shadows of the collonade at the side of the hall. Squinting, I could see Kâlil and Sîmar close to the door, presumably waiting until I took my leave.
"I did not know they were twins," I said, more guiltily.
"Hm-hm. And Father says they can't tempt you. Nor can the dancers. So what can tempt you? Who's your type?" The question made me blink. I had probably drunk more than I should, too.
"My wife," I said without thinking, which seemed to take him aback.
"Ooooh," he then made. "Well, that's awkward."
"Is it, your Grace?"
"She's not here, right? So that's awkward for you."

Awkward was not the word I'd have chosen, I thought. Tough, perhaps. Sad. Cruel. The only thing awkward was that apparently Lord Roitaheru had meant to assuage my homesickness by giving me two handsome servants. To look after me. And to warm my bed. I grimaced as I realised that Sîmar had known exactly what she'd been saying (in which case Lord Roitaheru really had no business accusing Lord Laurilyo of frivolity, I felt). And I hadn't understood a thing.
"I'll manage," I heard myself say.
He smirked. "I'm sure you will. Or else you will lower your standards, eh?"
Standards had nothing to do with it, I thought, and the sick feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with too much wine, either. It was a relief when at last I could retire to my room without being impolite. I didn't have the heart to look either Kâlil or Sîmar in the eye, and was glad when I lay in my lonely bed and the candles were extinguished.