The Tsort delegation did indeed appear to have studied Djel culture assiduously, almost frantically. It was also clear that they hadn’t begun to understand it; they’d merely borrowed as many bits as seemed useful and then put them together in subtly wrong ways. For example, to a man they employed the Three-Turning-Walk, as portrayed on friezes, and only used by the Djeli court on certain occasions. Occasional grimaces crossed their faces as their vertebrae protested.
They were also wearing the Khruspids of Morning and the bangles of Going Forth, as well as the kilt of Yet with, and no wonder even the maidens on fan duty were hiding their smiles, matching greaves[16]!
Even Teppic had to cough hurriedly. But then, he thought, they don’t know any better. They’re like children.
And this thought was followed by another one which added, These children could wipe us off the map in one hour.
Hot on the synapses of the other two came a third thought, which said: It’s only clothes, for goodness sake, you’re beginning to take it all seriously.
The group from Ephebe were more sensibly dressed in white togas. They had a certain sameness about them, as if somewhere in the country there was a little press that stamped out small bald men with curly white beards.
The two parties halted before the throne, and bowed.
‘Hallo,’ said Teppic.
‘His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, bids you welcome and commands you to take wine with him,’ said Dios, clapping his hands for a butler.
‘Oh yes,’ said Teppic. ‘Do sit down, won’t you?’
‘His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, commands you to be seated,’ said Dios.
Teppic racked his brains for a suitable speech. He’d heard plenty in Ankh-Morpork. They were probably the same the whole world over.
‘I’m sure we shall get on—’
‘His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, bids you harken!’ Dios boomed.
‘—long history of friendship—’
‘Harken to the wisdom of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King!’
The echoes died away.
‘Could I have a word with you a moment, Dios?’
The high priest leaned down.
‘Is all this necessary?’ hissed Teppic.
Dios’s aquiline features took on the wooden expression of one who is wrestling with an unfamiliar concept.
‘Of course, sire. It is traditional,’ he said, at last.
‘I thought I was supposed to talk to these people. You know, about boundaries and trade and so on. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it and I’ve got several ideas. I mean, it’s going to be a little difficult if you’re going to keep shouting.’
Dios gave him a polite smile.
‘Oh no, sire. That has all been sorted out, sire. I met with them this morning.’
‘What am I supposed to do, then?’
Dios made a slight circling motion with one hand.
‘Just as you wish, sire. It is normal to smile a little, and put them at their ease.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Sire could ask them whether they enjoy being diplomats, sire,’ said Dios. He met Teppic’s glare with eyes as expressionless as mirrors.
‘I am the king,’ Teppic hissed.
‘Certainly, sire. It would not do to sully the office with mere matters of leaden state, sire. Tomorrow, sire, you will be holding supreme court. A very fit office for a monarch, sire.’
‘Ah. Yes.’
It was quite complicated. Teppic listened carefully to the case, which was alleged cattle theft compounded by Djeli’s onion-layered land laws. This is what it should be all about, he thought. No one else can work out who owns the bloody ox, this is the sort of thing kings have to do. Now, let’s see, five years ago, he sold the ox to him, but as it turned out—
He looked from the face of one worried farmer to the other. They were both clutching their ragged straw hats close to their chests, and both of them wore the paralysed wooden expressions of simple men who, in pursuit of their parochial disagreement, now found themselves on a marble floor in a great room with their god enthroned before their very eyes. Teppic didn’t doubt that either one would cheerfully give up all rights to the wretched creature in exchange for being ten miles away.
It’s a fairly mature ox, he thought, time it was slaughtered, even if it’s his it’s been fattening on his neighbour’s land all these years, half each would be about right, they’re really going to remember this judgement …
He raised the Sickle of Justice.
‘His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King, will give judgement! Cower to the justice of His Greatness the King Tep—’
Teppic cut Dios off in mid-intone.
‘Having listened to both sides of the case,’ he said firmly, the mask giving it a slight boom, ‘and, being impressed by the argument and counter-argument, it seems to us only just that the beast in question should be slaughtered without delay and shared with all fairness between both plaintiff and defendant.’
He sat back. They’ll call me Teppic the Wise, he thought. The common people go for this sort of thing.
The farmers gave him a long blank stare. Then, as if they were both mounted on turntables, they turned and looked to where Dios was sitting in his place on the steps in a group of lesser priests.
Dios stood up, smoothed his plain robe, and extended the staff.
‘Harken to the interpreted wisdom of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King,’ he said. ‘It is our divine judgement that the beast in dispute is the property of Rhumusphut. It is our divine judgement that the beast be sacrificed upon the altar of the Concourse of Gods in thanks for the attention of Our Divine Self. It is our further judgement that both Rhumusphut and Ktoffle work a further three days in the fields of the King in payment for this judgement.’
Dios raised his head until he was looking along his fearsome nose right into Teppic’s mask. He raised both hands.
‘Mighty is the wisdom of His Greatness the King Teppicymon XXVIII, Lord of the Heavens, Charioteer of the Wagon of the Sun, Steersman of the Barque of the Sun, Guardian of the Secret Knowledge, Lord of the Horizon, Keeper of the Way, the Flail of Mercy, the High-Born One, the Never-Dying King!’
The farmers bobbed in terrified gratitude and backed out of the presence, framed between the guards.
16
Some translation is needed here. If a foreign ambassador to the Court of St James wore (out of a genuine desire to flatter) a bowler hat, a claymore, a Civil War Breastplate, Saxon trousers and a Jacobean haircut, he’d create pretty much the same impression.