CHAPTER XIV: A Most Dangerous Affair

Greagoir sighed in exasperation and then took a deep, tiresome breath. "But Leannan's tale was cut short," the blind bard grumbled, as if that interruption from his youth coincided with the weariness of his old age. "Palace guards, who had been sent to look for the wayward princess, came tromping oafishly through the glade to the spot under the magnolias where Leannan and I sat. Harsh words did the guards have for me, and they wished to lay hands on me as a rogue and a kidnapper, but the princess boldly stood between my assailants and I.

'Fools!' Leannan boomed regally. 'Can you see that I am certainly not held here against my will? This is Greagoir of Caladh, a diplomat of Marannan-astair. I had lost my way on a long walk, and this Southron envoy has guarded my person until such time as you bumbling fools at last found me! I should have you all placed in irons for your incompetence!'

The chagrined guards bowed and scraped, offering a thousand blithering apologies for their ineptness. Satisfied that she had sufficiently cowed and bewildered them, Leannan acquiesced. 'That will be enough," she nodded in affirmation, "you may lead me back to the palace…if the task is not too daunting.'

The guards quickly formed a phalanx around the princess and began to march off, but Leannan lingered for a moment, causing the guards to stumble against each other after realizing their ward had not followed in step with them. Leannan rolled her eyes, and then smiled at me. 'Keep marching," she barked in feigned exasperation to her footmen, "I shall meet you on the causeway.'

The guards, uncertain of their duty in this case, but unwilling to receive another tongue-lashing, hesitated for a moment, then left with uncertain strides towards the bridge. When they were at last out of sight, Leannan turned to me and clasped my hand gently. I was taken aback, and out of naïve humility would have loosed my hand from hers, but her grip became firmer, and with her other hand she lightly caressed my cheek.

'There is no need for formality between us, my dear Greagoir. To you, I am still Leannan, a fellow seeker of Truth,' she said softly, 'not the lofty and unapproachable Princess of Geas-Geata.' Then, with a hint of sadness, she added, 'I wish to thank you for saving me.'

'Your Highness…Leannan…,' I said uneasily, striving mightily to speak whilst my head swam between the tempestuous shoals of honor and ardor, 'I have done nothing to deserve such thanks. You offered unto me a priceless gift: a tale worthy of remembrance. I merely listened.'

Leannan smiled again and held me in her gaze. 'Ah, but you have done much more than merely listen, Greagoir,' she answered, 'and you are indeed my savior. For in this brief hour of respite from ceremony and solicitation, you have inspired the poetess and forgotten the princess; you have sought for knowledge without prying for information; you have given of yourself freely without motives of profit. For this and more I am humbly in your debt.'

"Then she kissed me," Greagoir mumbled in a tone halfway between embarrassment and wonder. And then, lost in distant memories, he barely whispered, "a kiss such a one as the immortal Luthien first bestowed on lowly Beren in the first flowering of love in the Elder Days…"

There was a long silence, and Tatya waited patiently for his master to continue. But when it became apparent that no further reply was forthcoming, Tatya laid aside his quill and set down his parchment. The dutiful apprentice placed a blanket about the sleeping scribe, and he, himself, stretched out for a nap alongside the tranquil pond. Tatya was both surprised and pleased at his master's tale, having never considered Greagoir the sort to show any affection beyond his obvious love of books and lore. But ever did the master prove himself to be a contradiction and a mystery, Tatya thought as the music of a warm summer's night -- the persistent chirping of crickets and the drone of cicadas -- lulled him quickly to sleep.

The master slept longer than usual, the first hints of a dawning day tingeing the highland moors red and orange before he stirred. And he was in a foul mood. Having slept all that humid summer night in his chair, he awoke stiff as a board and surly as a bear. "Tatya!" he boomed. "You lazy, good-for-nothing son of a barnacle, get me out of this damnable chair! My legs are about as damned useless as the shite you have for brains! Wake up, you loutish urchin, before I use the business end of my staff to knock some sense into that bilious head of yours!"

Tatya immediately bolted upright; unfortunately, his feet had been overhanging the pond. By the time he could think clearly enough, he found himself waist-deep in murky water with muck oozing into his boots. Sodden and miserable, the dazed apprentice blearily made an attempt to pull himself out of the pond, but one of his boots remained entrenched in the black, sucking mud. Rolling his eyes and clenching his teeth in exasperation, he thumbed his nose at the blind bard, and hopped back into the water to retrieve his reluctant footwear.

Greagoir, having expended most of his virulent vexation in the preceding tirade, followed the sound of his apprentice splashing about with a quizzical look and said, "Tatya, why are you bathing? It's not Sunday yet, is it?"

Tatya merely sighed in resignation and poured the slimy silt and brackish water from his boot. "No master," he replied, "just getting a jump on the week is all."

"Hmmm…," Greagoir drawled, "very foresighted of you. Now if you wouldn't mind foregoing the niceties of your toilette, please get me out of this damned chair; there is much we have to do today, and we have wasted time enough on slothful ways."

The walk back to the cottage was long and difficult. The master cursed after every painful, laborious step, leaning heavily on the long-suffering Tatya, who was still soaked and already overburdened with the supplies he had carried from the night previous. By the time they reached their stoop, both were exhausted. After guiding his master back into the chair he had lugged all the way from the pond, Tatya plopped heavily upon a step with a pronounced grunt. Greagoir winced as he settled his backside more comfortably into his chair and yawned mightily. After some thought, Greagoir -- obviously deciding that the pair had luxuriated overlong in indolence -- recommenced his tale, leaving the dead-tired Tatya to scramble for pen and parchment, and thus he wrote:

Intoxicated by love, I strove to see the princess as often as discretion allowed, stealing intimate moments in the dark, or talking unassumingly of lore at courtly feasts. But my clandestine liaison with Leannan complicated my mission at the palace of Geas-Geata. I received stern letters from Attar-Kiryatin, who in his piratical impatience upbraided me for tarrying on antiquities whilst squandering his money without tangible results; meanwhile, rumor of my trysts with Leannan had reached the ears of Mharu-muc, the vulpine and corpulent chief of the Castrati. Disturbed that such reports might damage Princess Leannan's value as a virginal commodity on the marriage-market, the rotund steward of the Khan granted me immediate audience after so many weeks of seeming indifference.

I met with the saturnine eunuch in an antechamber of the saray, the inner sanctum of the palace, where only the khan, his wives and concubines, and the court eunuchs were usually allowed entrance. Mharu-muc lounged on huge silk pillows which flattened beneath his massive bulk, the weight of which no couch or chair could seemingly hold. His bald head appeared small, almost infantile, matched with the fleshy overabundance of his disproportionate frame, which bulged, barely concealed, under the billowing swath of an azure-colored satin robe. His little piggish eyes, sharp and cold, and the only part of his immense body with the slightest animation, followed me calculatingly across the antechamber, which was strewn with priceless rugs and tapestries.

'Ah…the Southron envoy,' he hummed sleepily in a languid, almost feminine voice that belied his great girth, 'you have become…ummm…quite the novelty at court it seems. To have…accomplished…so much in so little time is noteworthy…for a threadbare diplomat without credentials. Yes, it has reached our ears that you seek…among other things…a boon for your master, the…renowned…corsair Kiryatin.'

I caught the meaning of 'among other things' instantly: he knew of my relationship with Leannan; in fact, under his sleepy façade lurked a cunning malice that oozed from every word of his drowsy, almost hypnotic dialogue. Wishing to maintain a business-like stature, I refrained from deviating from my mission. 'Yes, your imminence,' I replied with a bow (I could not help the pun), 'it would be foolish of me to restate the request of my master, as I am certain that you have been made fully aware of my agenda. One in your esteemed position would not deign to grant an audience with a lowly diplomat, such as myself, without first being fully apprised of the situation.'

Mharu-muc licked his lips and stared at me as if I were a mutton-joint. 'Very… perceptive…my young friend…and this discussion is all about perceptions…is it not? Your master seeks…ummm…respectability, wishing to eradicate his rather…sinful past…with a forged legitimacy we alone can provide. Thus, he may build his little castles from the sands on some desolate shore without the stigma of…wantonness. '

The chief Castrati shifted in obvious discomfort, then snapped his pudgy fingers. Two younger eunuchs appeared from an adjoining alcove, and with some effort pulled the obese Mharu-muc to a sitting position. After the prodigious effort, they toweled away the sweat from their master's brow, and dutifully shrank back into the shadows after he waved them off with a flick of his bloated hand. 'But such are the fortunes of great men that they must…alter… the perceptions lesser men may have of them in order to reap even greater fortune. And Attar Kiryatin is a great man. There is a certain…ummm… ruthlessness…in him that we much admire. Were he a khan and not a corsair, perhaps he could have even joined in the bidding…for Princess Leannan.'

Mharu-muc smiled coyly as he noticed the near-imperceptible quiver of my lip at the mention of Leannan. 'Greagoir of Caladh, novelty acts do not last long in the court of Geas-Geata. Only the perception of power and those that direct the play behind the curtain last here. And the stage is set for our…grand finale. You have played your role, and won the plaudits of a certain captive audience, but it is time for you to…ummm… bow out gracefully, while you still may. We shall grant your master's boon. On the morrow you shall receive Kiryatin's birthright…fully recognized by the khan himself.'

'And the price?' I hissed, knowing full well the answer.

Mharu-muc placed a meaty finger on his swollen chin as if deep in thought. 'A thousand gold pieces for processing the paperwork,' he answered with a smug grin, 'and upon receipt of the pirate's prize, your…ummm…immediate removal from the palace back to your little island. I cannot guarantee your safety here should you…linger.'

I bowed and left the corpulent Castrati to his victory. Although I had succeeded in my mission and Kiryatin would receive his precious paper, I was a beaten man. In my youthful impetuosity, I had gained the love of one whom I could never hold, as forces greater than I had the power to rend us asunder. I was a fool in love: wise enough to comprehend the danger I was in, but foolishly hoping against hope that I could somehow embrace Leannan once more. I spent a sleepless night in my room -- pacing, ever pacing -- until such time in the morning when I met with court officials to complete the transaction. Trailed as I was by members of the Castrati, it was impossible for me to slip off to Leannan's suite of rooms, nor even send a note via a bribed servant. In dejected resignation, I boarded the ship that awaited me in the harbor, and it sailed with the morning tide, taking with it everything I had strived for in Geas-Geata.

Well, perhaps not all. You see, I paid the ship's captain handsomely to deliver the hard-earned documents into Kiryatin's hand; in return, the captain graciously afforded me the use of one of his skiffs, which I rowed back to shore before the ship reached open sea. Once on dry land, I made for the only place of safety left for a fugitive such as myself, banned as I was from the palace. I sought for a solitary place of somber grandeur and dark beauty; a place where I had met my heart's desire before it was a conscious yearning. In due time I struggled over the seaside-hills, and came upon the unearthly black minarets spiraling upwards from a drowned valley, and at last I gazed down upon the Sepulchre of Cui-Baili once more, that glorious tomb where another love from another time lay enshrined.

I knew not what I sought for, but I was certain in my hope: that a solitary figure would be there, keeping her lonely vigil, mourning the loss of Truth in Geas-Geata. I searched the grounds, and swung the gilded doors to the Sepulchre wide in desperation; but alas, it was as desolate as my heart. I stood before the great marble tomb in silent reflection, realizing at last the hopelessness of my plight. I was on an empty errand chasing ghosts, when I should have been onboard a ship -- sad and miserable, perhaps -- but at least on my way homeward. In the depths of despair, I turned to leave, wondering what misbegotten paths I must now tread that would lead eventually back to Marannan-astair.

'By the stricken look on your face is see you have found the only Truth that remains here in this place where Truth has been abandoned: we are all alone, striving for naught against the tide which ever seeks to force us under. Would it were that you had never spoken to me on that fateful day in this place of mournful shadows.'

She was standing at the door, lovely and as melancholy as the day I first met her. In my grief, I had not heard her enter. I offered a forlorn bow and replied, 'Had I never met you, I would never have known love, my lady, and by the absence of your presence I would be but a mere shadow, haunting the steps of greater men. I, who had ink for blood and eyes only for words filling empty pages, have become a man. I would trade a life's worth of blind, plodding happiness for this moment of exalted sadness. Whatever cruel fate betides us, you and I are here; that is the only truth I need.'

She smiled and my sorrow left me. 'Ah, Greagoir,' she sighed, 'ever the optimist, ever the poet, ever the dreamer.' She hesitated and then gazed upon me with her green eyes flecked with gold, a verdant meadow bedewed in the glories of spring; a place of pastoral tranquility where even now I sometimes wander. 'But the dreamer has dreamt a dream so wondrous that it has enveloped my heart as well.'

We walked hand-in-hand from the silent Sepulchre and strode the grounds until we came to the fragrant grove of magnolias. There she sat me down and kissed me tenderly. 'The time draws nigh when I must surrender myself to the whims of politics,' she said as tears whelmed the smile she tried so valiantly to hold, 'but I offer you a final gift from one seeker of Truth to another. You cannot hold it in your hand, nor will it ease the pain of parting, but it is that which has bound you and I beyond the mere constraints of bodily embrace. Greagoir, you have a mistress with whom I never could compete, nor would I wish to, for she resides in me as well; therefore, my gift is one of lore, your true passion and life-long ambition. I give you the triumph and tragedy of Cui-Baili, the last emperor of Tsin-Quinqan.'