Land and Overland - Omnibus (71 page)

Toller gave the King a formal bow, preparatory to taking his leave. "As I said, Majesty, a man's private life should be his own." Riding south on the highway which connected Prad to the town of Heevern, Toller reached a crest and—for the first time in well over a year—saw his own home.

Still several miles away to the south-west, the grey stone building was rendered white by the aftday sun, making it sharply visible among the green horizontals of the landscape. Within himself Toller tried to manufacture a surge of gladness and of affection for the place, and when it failed to materialise his feelings of self-reproach grew more intense.

I'm a lucky man,
he told himself, determined to impose will on emotion.
My beautiful solewife is enshrined in that house, and—if she forgives the sin I have committed against her—it will be my privilege to be her loving companion for the rest of our days. Even if she cannot absolve me at once, I will eventually win her over by being what she wants me to be, by being the Toller Maraquine I know I ought to be, and which I genuinely crave to be—and we will enjoy the twilight years together. That is what I want. That is what I WANT!

From Toller's elevated viewpoint he could see intermittent traces of the road which joined his house to the north-south highway, and his attention was caught by a blurry white speck which betokened a single rider heading towards the main road. The stubby telescope which had served him since boyhood hinted at a bluehorn with distinctive creamy forelegs, and Toller knew at once that the rider was his son. This time there was no need to contrive gladness. He had missed Cassyll a great deal, primarily because of the ties of blood, but also because of the satisfaction he had found when they were working together.

In the unnatural circumstances of the aerial war he had somehow almost managed to forget about the projects he and Cassyll had been engaged on, but much remained for them to do—more than enough to occupy any man's days. It was absolutely vital that the felling of brakka trees should be brought to a halt for ever—otherwise the ptertha would again become invincible enemies—and the key to the future lay in the development of metals. King Chakkell's reluctance to face up to the problem made it all the more imperative for Toller to rejoin his son and resume their work together.

Toller increased his speed towards the juncture of the two roads, anticipating the moment in which Cassyll would notice and recognise him. The intersection was the one where the unhappy incident with Oaslit Spennel had begun, but he pushed the memories aside as he and Cassyll steadily grew closer together on their converging paths. When they were less than a furlong apart and nothing had happened Toller began to suspect that his son was riding with his eyes closed, trusting the bluehorn to find its own way, probably to the ironworks.

"Rouse yourself, sleepyhead!" he shouted. "What manner of welcome is this?"

Cassyll looked towards him, with no sign of surprise, turned his head away and continued riding at unchanged speed. He reached the road junction first and, to Toller's bewilderment, turned south. Toller called out Cassyll's name and galloped after him. He overtook his son's bluehorn and brought it to a halt by grasping the reins.

"What's the matter with you, son?" he said. "Were you asleep?"

Cassyll's grey eyes were cool. "I was wide awake, father."

"Then what…?" Toller studied the fine-featured oval face—previewing the forthcoming meeting with Gesalla—and any joy that was within him died. "So that's the way of it."

"So that's the way of what?"

"Don't fence with words, Cassyll—no matter what you think of me you should at least speak forthrightly, as I am doing with you. Now, what troubles you? Is it to do with the woman?"

"I…" Cassyll pressed the knuckles of his fist to his lips. "Where is she, anyway? Has she, perhaps, transferred her attentions to the King?"

Toller repressed a surge of anger. "I don't know what you have heard—but Berise Narrinder is a fine woman."

"As harlots go, that is," Cassyll sneered.

Toller had actually begun the back-handed slap when he realised what was happening and checked the movement. Appalled, he lowered his gaze and stared at his hand as though it were a third party which had attempted to intrude on a private discussion. His bluehorn nuzzled against Cassyll's, making soft snuffling sounds.

"I'm sorry," Toller said. "My temper is… Are you on your way to the works?"

"Yes. I go there most days."

"I'll join you later, but first I must speak to your mother."

"As you wish, father." Cassyll's face was carefully expressionless. "May I go now?"

"I won't detain you any further," Toller said, struggling against a sense of despair. He watched his son ride off to the south, then resumed his own journey. Somehow it had not occurred to him to take Cassyll's feelings into account, and now he feared that their relationship had been damaged beyond repair. Perhaps the boy would relent with the passage of time, but for the present Toller's main hope lay with Gesalla. If he could win her forgiveness quickly his son might be favourably influenced.

The crescent of sunlight was broadening on the great disk of Land, poised overhead, reminding Toller that aftday was well advanced. He increased the bluehorn's pace. Here and there in the surrounding fields farmers were at work, and they paused to salute him as he rode by. He was popular with the tenants, largely because he charged rents that were little more than nominal, and he found himself wishing that all human relationships could be so easily regulated. The King had joked about facing up to Gesalla, but Toller could remember times when he had genuinely been more apprehensive on the eve of a battle than he was at this moment, preparing to run the gauntlet of his wife's reproach, scorn and anger. Loved ones had an intangible armoury—words, silences, expressions, gestures—which could inflict deeper wounds than swords or spears.

By the time Toller reached the walled precinct at the front of the house his mouth was dry, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from trembling.

The bluehorn was one borrowed from the royal stables, and therefore Toller had to dismount and open the gate by hand. He led the animal inside and while it was ambling to the stone drinking trough he surveyed the familiar enclosure, with its ornamental shrubs and well-tended flower beds. Gesalla liked to look after it personally, and her skilled touch was evident everywhere he looked—a reminder that he would be with her in a matter of seconds.

He heard the front door opening and turned to see his wife standing in the archway. She was wearing an ankle-length gown of dark blue and had bound her hair up in such a manner that its stripe of silver made a natural coronet. Her beauty was as complete and as daunting as Toller had ever known it to be, and when he saw that she was smiling the weight of his guilt became insupportable, turning his own smile into a nerveless grimace, rooting him to the spot. She came to him and kissed him on the lips, briefly but warmly, then stepped back to examine him from head to foot.

"You're not hurt," she said. "I was so afraid for you, Toller … it all sounded so impossibly dangerous … but now I see you're not hurt and I can breathe again."

"Gesalla…" He took both her hands. "I must talk to you."

"Of course you must—and you're probably hungry and thirsty. Come into the house and I'll prepare a meal." She tugged at his hands, but he refused to move.

"It might be best if I stayed out here," he said.

"Why?"

"After you hear what I have to say I may not be welcome in the house."

Gesalla eyed him speculatively, then led the way to a stone bench. When he had sat down she straddled the bench and moved close to him so that he was partly within the triangle formed by her thighs. The intimacy both thrilled and embarrassed him.

"And now, my lord," she said lightly, "what terrible confessions have you to make?"

"I…" Toller lowered his head. "I've been with another woman."

"What of it?" Gesalla said in a calm voice, expression unchanged.

Toller was taken aback. "I don't think you under… When I said I'd been with another woman I meant I'd been in bed with her."

Gesalla laughed. "I know what you meant, Toller—I'm not stupid."

"But…" Toller, knowing he had never been able to predict his wife's reactions, became wary. "Aren't you angry?"

"Are you planning to bring the woman here and put her in my place?"

"You know I'd never do a thing like that."

"Yes, I do know that, Toller. You are a good-hearted man, and nobody is more aware of that than I, after the years we have had together." Gesalla smiled and gently placed one of her hands on his. "So I have no reason to be angry with you, or to reproach you in any way."

"But this is wrong!" Toller burst out, his bafflement increasing. "You were never like this before. How can you remain so placid, knowing the way I have wronged you?"

"I repeat—you have not wronged me."

"Has the world suddenly been stood on its head?" Toller demanded. "Are you saying that it is perfectly acceptable and seemly for a man to betray his solewife, the woman he loves?"

Gesalla smiled again and her eyes deepened with compassion. "Poor Toller! You still don't understand any of this, do you? You still don't know why for years you have been like an eagle pent up in a cage; why you seize every possible opportunity to put your life at risk. It's all an impenetrable mystery to you, isn't it?"

"You make me angry, Gesalla. Please do not address me as though I were a child."

"But that's the entire point—you are a child. You have never ceased to be a child."

"I grow weary of people telling me that. Perhaps I should come back on another day when, if fortune smiles, I will find you less disposed towards talking in riddles." Toller half-rose to his feet, but Gesalla drew him back on to the bench.

"A moment ago you spoke of betraying the woman you love," she said in the softest, kindest tones he had ever heard, "and there lies the source of all your heartache. You see, Toller…" Gesalla paused, and for the first time since their meeting her composure seemed less than perfect.

"Go on."

"You see, Toller—you no longer love me."

"That's a lie!"

"It's the truth, Toller. I have always understood that the long-lasting embers of love are of more importance than the brief bright flame which marks the beginning. If you also understood that, and accepted it, you might go on being happy with me—but that was never the way with you. Not in anything. Look at all your other love affairs—with the army, with skyships, with metals. You always have some impossible idealistic goal in mind, and when it proves illusory you have to find another to put in its place."

Toller was hearing things he had no wish to hear, and the hated worm of disenchantment at the centre of his being was beginning to stir. "Gesalla," he said, making himself sound reasonable, "aren't you allowing yourself to be carried away with words? How could I have a love affair with metals?"

"For you it was easy! You couldn't simply discover a new material and plan to experiment with it—you had to lead a crusade. You were going to end the felling of brakka for ever; you were going to initiate a glorious new era in history; you were going to be the saviour of humanity. It was just beginning to dawn on you that Chakkell and his like would never change their ways when the Lander ship arrived.

"That saved you, Toller—provided you with yet another shining goal—but only for a short while. The war ended too soon for you. And now you are back in the ordinary, humdrum world … and you are getting old … and, worst of all, there is no great new challenge ahead of you. The only prospect is of living quietly, on this estate or somewhere else, until you die a commonplace death—just as every commonplace mortal has done since time began.

"Can you face that prospect, Toller?" Gesalla locked solemn eyes with his. "Because if you cannot, I would prefer that we lived separately. I want to spend my remaining years in peace—and there was precious little of that for me in watching you search for ways to end your life."

The worm was eating hungrily now, and within Toller a dark void was spreading. "There must be some comfort for you in possessing so much knowledge and wisdom, in having such mastery over your feelings."

"The old sarcasm, Toller?" Gesalla tightened her warm grip on his hand. "You do me an injustice if you think I have not wept bitterly over you. It was on the night I stayed with you at the palace that I finally saw through to the heart of this matter. I became angry with you for being what you could not help being, and for a time I hated you—and I shed my tears. But that was in the past. Now my concern is with the future."

"Have we a future?"

"
I
have a future—I have decided that much—and the time has come when you must make your own choice. I know I have caused you great pain this day, but it was unavoidable. I am going back into the house now. I want you to remain out here until you have reached that decision, and when you have done so you must either join me or ride away. I make only one stipulation—that the decision be final and irrevocable. Do not come into the house unless you know in your heart that I can make you content until your last days, and that you can do the same for me. There can be no compromise, Toller—nothing less will suffice."

Gesalla rose weightlessly to her feet and looked down at him. "Will you give me your word?"

"You have my word," Toller said numbly, racked by fears that this was the last time he would ever see his solewife's face. He watched her go into the house. She closed the door without glancing back at him, and when she was lost to his view he stood up and began aimlessly pacing the precinct. The shadow of the west wall was spreading its domain, deepening the colours of the flowers it engulfed, bringing a hint of coolness to the air.

Toller looked up at Land, which was steadily growing brighter, and in an instant traced the course of his life, from his birthplace on that distant world to the quiet enclosure where he now stood. Everything that had ever happened to him seemed to have led directly to this moment. In retrospect his life appeared as a single, clear-cut highway which he had followed without conscious effort—but now, abruptly, the road had divided. A momentous decision had to be made, and he had just learned that he was ill-equipped for the making of
real
decisions.