It occurred to him to wonder how the Confederation regarded these things.
Suddenly he became aware that someone was there, waiting, and he looked up, then stood.
"Colonel," he said.
"Your Reverence."
The reply was stiff, with a stiffness that seemed not of hatred, the Kalif thought, but from awkwardness with the circumstances. There were dark semicircles beneath the colonel's eyes, suggesting he'd released his grief in private when he'd heard, probably the night before.
"You know what happened of course."
"My cousin told me. Last night. Lord Gromindh, my father's second."
"Ah." The air seemed full of some dark and sluggish energy, an energy that would not readily discharge. "I must begin by stating my profound regret. I wish it had not happened; I wished it then."
"My cousin said as much."
"I-" It was difficult to say it, but he had to. "I hope that your mother is not-"
Vilyamo's retort cut him short. "My mother died twelve years ago. The woman who so vilely slandered the kalifa was my father's second wife-may her soul wander endlessly in Hell!"
The unexpected bitterness startled the Kalif, though he did not show it. What followed explained even more.
"Perhaps he loved her," the colonel went on. "Although my sister and I have wondered if there might have been some other reason. After the first few visits, we rarely went home; Nertiilo made it impossible for us there. He'd stop to see me when he was here in Ananporu, unless she was with him. I'm told-I'm told she was not usually unpleasant to him when we weren't there."
The Kalif nodded slowly. What he'd heard weighted him, although it made his task easier. "I see. Well. Your stepmother has family, I presume. No doubt I'll hear from them. Are you to be your sister's agent in the matter of reparations?"
"Gromindh called her last night, and she called me this morning. She lives with her husband near Maldiro opal, our home city. Reparations were not mentioned. It was my father's challenge."
"True. Would a hundred thousand dromas constitute a suitable reparation?"
"That's 50,000 each," Vilyamo answered. "Considering whose the challenge was, that would be generous.'
The Kalif had had in mind 100,000 each, an amount that would drastically deplete his modest personal wealth. If 50,000 each would satisfy… There was, after all, the stepmother to deal with yet.
"And now, Your Reverence, I offer you my resignation from the Guard."
"Of course," the Kalif said. "If you're an only son, you'll need to manage the family enterprise."
"That's not it, Your Reverence. My brother-in-law is the man to manage it; he's been my father's administrative aide for years. But it seemed to me you might feel ill at ease, with me in command of your Guard."
"Um. You're sworn to defend my life. If that now seems unreasonable, or if you prefer not to be near me… Both are easily understood. But I'll be pleased if you stay."
The colonel nodded, a short head bow. "Then I will stay. Meanwhile I'll call my sister, telling her your reparation offer. If she wants another agent than myself, I'll let you know, and he can get in touch."
The two men parted and the Kalif went inside, his mind sorting impressions. Now, it seemed, he knew what Gromindh had meant by "did he now?", when he'd commented that Siisru had died with honor. What had it been like, married to that? Seemingly enough to drive someone to seek death.
Forty-five
The Diet took its regular eight-day break, which began on The Prophet's Day, but the College met on the third of them. The Kalif attended with his arm in a sling. The meeting was short, because there was no Diet business to prepare for and because no one wanted much to talk. But afterward, Jilsomo told him that a letter of deprecation had been circulated, a proposed collegial reprimand of the Kalif. It had come to Jilsomo last. Seven exarchs had signed it, including Alb Riisav, who'd drafted it. With less than a majority willing to sign, Riisav had then withdrawn it.
That even seven were willing jarred the Kalif. It was bad enough that it had been drafted and circulated at all. "I realized," he told Jilsomo thoughtfully, "that Riisav was no friend of mine, but I hadn't realized he was my active enemy."
"Your Reverence, he may possibly consider himself your enemy; to draft a letter of deprecation was a drastic step to take. But in fairness, your actions of the other night, which he enumerated in it and took exception to, are worth your review."
The Kalif's lips thinned. "My actions were well justified. I wish they hadn't been necessary, but… You were there. You heard."
"But they were not the only honorable actions available to you. And arguably not the wisest."
The Kalif's jaw set. Jilsomo continued.
"I took the liberty of copying his letter verbatim, adding my comments. I'll leave it with you, in case you care to look at it; it contains food for thought." He laid it on the Kalif's desk. "And now, by your leave, I'll return to my desk. It's amazing how much work there is on it, considering the Diet is on break and a third of the bureaucracy on leave."
He bowed slightly and left. The Kalif scowled, then picked up the sheets Jilsomo had left with him, his unfriendly eyes assaulting the contents. It was addressed to him, with LETTER OF DEPRECATION centered and capitalized at the head. After the stiffly formal Your Imperial Majesty, instead of simply Your Reverence, there was a list.
1. You engaged publicly in an unseemly verbal and physical brawl with a woman. [One who allows himself to become involved in excrement throwing must expect to get excrement on him.]
The bracketed comment, he decided, was Jilsomo's.
2. The woman was obviously not responsible for her actions. She was either crazy or drunk, and probably both. This was apparent to everyone who saw and heard her.
3. It was obvious that her husband was willing and eager to apologize for her as her agent. Clearly, insane as she was, she was unlikely to apologize for herself. You rejected harshly and with an abusive tone his attempt to conciliate, invited her further vituperation, and virtually forced her husband's challenge. [Here you let go your best opportunity to close the matter without killing.]
4. The law explicitly states that dueling is a felony unless the parties have met before a magistrate and possible alternatives thoroughly discussed. The magistrate must approve the duel. You totally omitted and ignored the law on this. [It has been argued repeatedly, by past Kalifs and their apologists, that a Kalif is above the law, except as stipulated by the Charter. Those who so acted, particularly those who so acted either openly or chronically, have left empire, government, and the people the worse for it.]
5. Accepting the duel without the proper legal steps was a serious transgression of law, but to then fight it on the Holy Day showed a serious disrespect for The Prophet. You should have insisted on a later date, by which time one might hope some alternative would have commended itself to you or to Lord Siisru.
The Kalif's scowl had moderated, become a frown, and he tapped the sheets on his desk. His deflating anger left him sitting heavily like a much older man. He punched a code on his commset, and after a moment spoke to it.
"Jilsomo, thank you for bringing this letter to me. I appreciate it… I have a question for you: Was Thoga one who signed it…? Ask him!" For just a moment anger flashed at Jilsomo's response; then it passed. "I will," he said thoughtfully, and disconnected.