He followed Ankowaljuu to his knees and then to his belly as they offered the Son of the Sun their symbolic burdens. “Rise,” Maita Kapak said.
As Park gained his feet, he got his first good look at Tawantiinsuuju’s master. Maita Kapak was older than he, younger than Tjiimpuu. He bore something of a family resemblance to Tjiimpuu, in fact; considering the inbreeding of Tawantiinsuuju’s royal family and high nobility, that was not surprising. Like the foreign minister, he wore plugs in his ears. His were of gold, and almost the size of saucers. The vestigial muscles in Park’s own ears quivered at the thought of supporting so much weight.
The Son of the Sun said, “So, Ankowaljuu, why have you chosen to exercise the tukuuii riikook’s privilege?” As he spoke, he tossed his head. Park was sure the gesture was unconscious: instead of a crown, Maita Kapak wore a tassel of scarlet wool that descended from a cord round his head to cover most of his forehead. With that fly whisk so close to his face, Park would have done some head-tossing, too.
“Radiance, I present to you Judge Ib Scoglund of the International Court of Skrelleland,” Ankowaljuu said. “He has, I believe, a plan to bring us peace now, and perhaps even an enduring peace, with the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb.”
Before Park could speak, Tjiimpuu said, “Such a plan would have been easier to bring off before the fighting started. Now passions are aroused on both sides.”
“Nobody listened to me before the fighting started,” Park said. “You people and the Emir got me down here and then ignored me. I think the whole appeal to the International Court was just so you could feel righteous about the war you felt like fighting anyway. But this one’s not as much fun as Waskar’s, is it, now that you’re in? No big breakthroughs here, just a bloody fight no one is winning.”
“We may yet force the Muslims back,” Tjiimpuu said.
“Or we may not,” Kwilsmankuu said. Ignoring Tjiimpuu’s glare, the marshal went on, “If you have peace terms you think fair, Judge Scoglund, I will listen to them.”
“And I,” Maita Kapak said. “The prospect of enduring peace especially intrigues me. The only reason we and the Emirate did not go to war years ago was that we thought ourselves too evenly matched. So it has proved on the field. I will listen.”
“You may not like what you hear,” Park warned him.
“If not, I will send you back to the Emir and go on fighting,” the Son of the Sun said. He sounded perfectly calm and self-assured. All the Tawantiinsuujans in earshot nodded, even Ankowaljuu. If Maita Kapak said it, they would do it. So, Park thought, this is what being an absolute monarch is all about.
He began, “First, Radiance, you will have to write down and publish the tenets of the faith of Patjakamak.”
“Never! ‘Everyone is a religious kiipuukamajoo’!” Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu said together. They stared at each other, as if unused to agreeing.
“Your faith does not forbid it.” Park looked first to Maita Kapak, then to Ankowaljuu. “So I have been told.” Reluctantly — in this company he was of lowest rank — Ankowaijuu nodded.
“It may not forbid, but it certainly does not ordain,” Maita Kapak said. He asked the same question Hussein had:
“What is the advantage of breaking a centuries-long tradition?”
“If you put your beliefs down in writing, the Muslims will recognize you as People of the Book,” Park said. “That means those who worship Patjakamak in the Emirate will be able to keep their religion if they pay a yearly tax, and it means you won’t be pagans to the Muslims any more. It will gain you status. Not only that, but you could put a similar tax on the Muslims of Tawantiinsuuju. It would” — he glanced at Kwiismankuu — “be only fair.”
“Let me think,” Maita Kapak said. He did not ask for advice, and no one presumed to offer it. One of the few advantages of absolutist states, Park thought, was that decisions got made quickly. The Son of the Sun did not have to convince or browbeat stubborn, recalcitrant thingmen into going along with him. All he had to do was speak.
He spoke: “It shall be done.” Park expected some kind of protest, but none came. Having heard their ruler state his will, Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu would carry it out. That was a big disadvantage of absolutist states: if Maita Kapak made a mistake, nobody warned him about it. This time, Park didn’t think he was making a mistake.
“Thank you, Radiance,” he said, bowing. “I might add that the Emir Hussein did not think you would do this. In fact, we had a sort of — ” he had to ask Ankowaljuu how to say “wager” in Ketjwa “ — on it.”
“Trust a Muslim to guess wrong about what we will do.” Tjiimpuu’s chuckle had a bitter edge. “They’ve been doing it since their state first touched ours, almost three hundred years ago.”
Maita Kapak picked up something that went by his foreign minister. That made sense, Park thought: since no one spoke straight out to the Son of the Sun, for his own sake he’d better be alert to tone. Now he asked: “Why do you mention this wager, Judge Scoglund? What were its terms?”
“To let me settle the dispute between the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb and Tawantiinsuuju, and to accept the settlement I set down. Will you also agree to that, Radiance, or will this useless war go on?”
“Anyone would know you are not one of my subjects, Judge Scoglund,” Maita Kapak said. Fortunately, he sounded more amused than angry. Park wondered just how close he’d come to lиse majestй-pretty close, by the expressions on the Tawantiinsuujans’ faces. The Son of the Sun said, “Let me think”; then, after a pause, “First tell me the terms you propose.”
“No,” Park said. Boldness had got him this far, and suited him in any case. He went on, “You and Hussein agreed to put yourselves under the authority of the International Court when you summoned me. If you didn’t mean it, keep fighting and send me home.”
“I tried that,” Tjiimpuu said. “It didn’t seem to work.”
Park grinned at him. “No, it didn’t, did it?” He worried a little when he saw the look the foreign minister was giving Ankowaljuu. If Maita Kapak went along, though, the tukuuii riikook couldn’t be in too much hot water. If…
The Son of the Sun had screened out the byplay. He was like Allister Park in that: when he was thinking, he let nothing interfere. Finally he said, “Very well, Judge Scoglund. If the Emir thinks you have terms that will satisfy both him and me, I too will put myself in your hands. How shall we become friends?”
“I doubt you will,” Park said. “Being able to live next to each other is something else again. Your becoming People of the Book will go a long way toward solving that, as the Muslims will lose their ritual need to persecute you out of existence.”
“What about our need to show them the truth of our religion?” Kwiismankuu said.
Park scowled; he’d forgotten that Patjakamak had his holy terrorists too. After some thought, he said, “I do not know, sir, if you have heard that, before I became a judge, I was a Christian bishop, a senior priest. I am not trying to change your religion — you and the Muslims have both had enough of that, I think. But I will tell you one of the things we Christians try to live by. We call it the Rule of Gold: do to others what you want them to do to you.” For once, he thought, the real Ib Scoglund would have been proud of him.
“There are worse ways to live than that, perhaps,” Maita Kapak said. “So. Have we heard all your terms of peace? If we have, I tell you I am well pleased.”
“Not quite all,” Park said. “I was summoned to give my judgment on where the border should lie between Tawantiinsuuju and the Dar al-Harb, especially in this disputed sector. My judgment is that the best line between you is the Ooriinookoo River.” He walked over to a map, ran his finger along the river, and waited for hell to break loose.