Chapter Nine: The Wrath of Inziladûn
Zimraphel and I watched as the Queen was laid to rest. Inziladûn, in accordance with millennia of tradition, was having his beloved consort entombed in the silent valley of Noirinan beneath Meneltarma. My cousin was clad in black mourning garments, as was I, but as we stood there, it occurred to me that Zimraphel had not shed a single tear over her mother's death.
"Do you think the King will marry again?" I said to her after the ceremony, both of us safely out of earshot.
"My father is old and broken," said Zimraphel, quietly. "He will not wed again."
The three days of thanksgiving that Inziladûn had planned for his new child gave way to a period of mourning throughout the island. For all the King's unpopularity, the Queen had always been viewed with affection by both lembas eaters and King's Men alike, and there was much outpouring of genuine emotion. Grown men cried in the streets of Armenelos, while even my parents managed to write a letter of condolence to the Palace. It all seems so quaint and naïve in hindsight. For within weeks, the terror began. I first learned of it whilst riding through Armenelos' main square one morning on my way to see a friend, or, more accurately, a friend's wife. A number of Palace Guardsmen were nailing up some parchments. On closer inspection, one of the Guardsmen turned out to be Nâmalzôr.
"Hello there," I called out to him.
He turned. "Greetings, my lord," he called back. "If you will excuse me for being a bit hasty, your uncle has ordered us to nail a hundred of these things up before noon."
I rode up and halted. "What are they?" I asked.
Nâmalzôr sighed. "Lists of state enemies," he said. "Still believing that his wife's death was a conspiracy, your uncle has decided to purge the land of traitors."
I felt ill. "He hasn't named my father yet, has he?"
"Not yet," said the Captain. "The King hasn't touched the great lords yet, let alone those of the line of Elros, but those further down are in panic. There's many a merchant in these lists too."
So typical of my uncle, I thought. Rather than going after those lords with the capacity to defy the throne, he was bullying the lower orders, who were completely unable to fight back. Perhaps Raphizôn, as an organiser of Númenor's last round of treason trials, was going to have to dust off his inquisitorial skills.
Bidding farewell to Nâmalzôr, I continued on to my destination. My friend was out, but his wife was at home, which more than made up for things. If anything, she was more eager than I. Then, in the midst of our passionate kissing, I foolishly mentioned Inziladûn's intended purge. That killed my companion's ardour stone dead. Pulling away from me, the woman turned so pale she became practically ghost-like.
"What is the matter?" I said.
She told me that her brother had recently got drunk at a local inn, making an utter fool of himself in the process. This would not normally be a cause for worry, she said, but this time her brother had loudly mocked Inziladûn's crippled legs.
"Is my brother to be purged?" she asked.
"How am I to know?" I snapped, frustrated at the interruption. "I was too far away to see the names, and I hardly know what goes on in my uncle's mind."
That started an argument, and, King's nephew or no, I soon found myself thrown out of the house, and forced to make my way back through the city. As I rode through the streets, seeing the grim parchments nailed up, my doubts about the situation began to grow. I decided to go and see Zimraphel.
"How long do you think your father's terror will last? And will it spread to the greater nobility?" I said, pacing the floor of her Palace apartment.
Still wearing the funeral black, she shrugged. "I do not know, Pharazôn. I have never seen my father like this. He has hidden himself away, and rarely comes out, even for meals."
"You seem very relaxed about all this."
"I am his only child," she said. "With Gimilkhâd and yourself next in line, I am above suspicion." The tone of her voice suggested that she thought she was a unique case.
"But," I said, "As my father and I are a bit more expendable, I take it we are not above suspicion?"
Actually, my father had never got himself out of suspicion, and it remained to be seen how Inziladûn would deal with him. Or even me. So much depended on whether the King's paranoia about individuals would overcome his paranoia about rebellion.
"That is your affair."
"Zimraphel, you can be supremely insensitive."
"Sensitivity is a dangerous thing."
In the event, the terror lasted longer than most people had expected. Week in week out, Inziladûn would perch himself on his golden throne and pronounce death sentences upon hapless victims. It was all staged, of course. The sentences always followed panicked confessions. More than a few of those being arrested for treason sent desperate letters to me, asking me to intervene on their behalf. I always burnt the letters, and pretended that I had never known these people in my life. Finally, utterly sick of Armenelos, I decided to retire to the family estate until my uncle's paranoia had extinguished itself.
Even that proved to be impossible. "Sorry, Lord Pharazôn," said a guard at our gate, "orders have arrived from the capital. Your parents are to be confined to the estates until further notice, and you are to be prohibited from seeing them."
That beggared belief. "The King wishes to prevent me from seeing my own parents on my own estates?" I exclaimed incredulously. "Is my uncle insane?"
The guard, a family friend, sighed. "I think, my lord," he said, "that answer to both those questions is 'yes'."
My next attempt was to see Amandil in Andunië. Andunië had suffered less than some of the other cities during Inziladûn's terror, primarily because its people benefited from having such a strong lembas- eating reputation. Even so, Amandil looked depressed, and old Numendil his father had turned to drink to block out the horror of the news from Armenelos.
"As a member of the Faithful, I never thought I would say this," said Amandil, as we sat in the library, "but I long to hear the sound of our native tongue being used without fear. Fear stalks this city as much as any other, less obviously than it does in Armenelos, but even so, a dark cloud hangs over us too. Men speak Quenya to strangers or are silent."
"Your wife must be delighted," I said.
Amandil smiled wryly. "Yes, she is. My dear beloved wife tells anyone who bothers to listen that Númenor needs to be purged of centuries of sin and depravity, and that Inziladûn is merely paying back the perpetrators of Ar-Gimilzôr's crimes with their own coin."
I winced. That sounded like the shrew that Amandil had been forced into marrying. "I haven't seen Elendil yet. How is the young fellow?"
"Obsessed with all things Elvish."
"My uncle's ideal Númenórean. A Man who believes he is something else other than a Man."
Amandil shook his head. "I know what you think of the Faithful, Pharazôn, but believe me, there is much good to be found in Elendil's inquisitiveness. He has pride in our nation, and, one day, I believe he will carry all the hopes of this island and its people."
A plan began to form in my mind. "You say that Elendil is obsessed with all things Elvish. Has he ever actually met any Elves?"
"Of course not. The King himself has never met an Elf, for all his devout praying atop Tar-Minarstir's tower."
"How would your son like to meet an Elf?"
Amandil frowned. "I don't follow you."
I smiled. "I am planning a voyage to Lindon to see Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor. Perhaps you might let Elendil accompany me."
My old friend could not have been more surprised if I had told him that I had located the lost gemstones of Fëanor.
"You?" he exclaimed. "Going to see Gil-galad? Your father would have a fit."
"My father is not exactly in a position to find out," I said dryly. It was true enough. "Moreover, I believe that my royal uncle will listen to counsel from the High-King of the Noldor. Perhaps he can convince Tar-Palantír to cease his terrible vengeance."
Or perhaps even persuade him to turn that desire for vengeance against Sauron of Mordor, I thought, recalling Zimraphel's suggestion.
Amandil had brightened considerably. "What an excellent notion!" he said. "I would offer to come with you, but my father has become ill in recent months, and needs all the support I can give him. But, yes," he said, "I see Elendil jumping at the chance to accompany you on such a voyage."
"Excellent," I said.