‘He can’t do that,’ burst out Tirke, banging his hand on the table. Several voices were raised in agreement. Eldric picked up the paper and brandished it.
‘He has done it,’ he said. ‘I’m no lawyer, but I imag-ine this edict is legal and within the Law. Rgoric has had many troubles in his reign and much personal sadness, and not all his actions have been of the wisest, but I’m sure he’d do nothing that wasn’t legal nor in the best interests of the country, however it might appear to us at the moment.’
Tirke made a contemptuous noise.
‘He’s been working for this for years. Chipping away at the rights and power of the Geadrol bit by bit, all with this in mind.’
Eldric opened his mouth to speak, but Tirke contin-ued. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Eldric, but I must speak as I think. You know I’m right. He’s steadily reduced the effective-ness of the Geadrol over many years, and he picks now to do this. Not just the Festival of the Four Guardians, but the Grand Festival, when everyone’s away to their estates. Only once in six years does this happen.’
Eldric was beginning to become angry. Though whether it was Tirke’s unpleasant, hectoring manner, or because he felt inclined, against his Oath of Fealty, to agree with him, he could not have said.
‘Tirke, these are times of change. Troubled times. The King isn’t blessed with the good health that most of us are fortunate in… ’ He lost his train of thought and shook his head irritably. In any event, he doubted he could plead too well on behalf of the King.
Somewhat at a loss he said. ‘Why would he want to rule without his Lords, Tirke? Why? It’s difficult enough even with advisers.’
Tirke looked at him impatiently and leaned forward on the table.
‘The King wants all authority in his hands.’
‘Authority?’ queried Eldric. ‘Authority. What is au-thority, Tirke? It’s not a thing that can be seized like a… goblet.’ He picked up a glass in demonstration. ‘Authority can only be given, and freely given at that. Given by the people to the Lords and the King. And it’s hedged about by our ancient Law, for the protection of all. You can’t seize a gift. And anyway, who’d want to seize such a burden as the rule of all Fyorlund?’
His age seemed to have fallen from him and his voice was strong and firm, but Tirke was not daunted.
‘Lord Eldric, with respect, you speak of things as they should be. I speak of them as they are. You speak from a good and just heart, a heart that can’t see evil in people.’
Eldric’s eyes narrowed.
‘Take care, Tirke. You abuse your friendship with my son, and the Festival hospitality. Your talk is nearly treasonable.’
But Tirke was not listening. His excitement and anger carried his thoughts beyond his discretion.
‘I mean no disrespect to the King, Lord, but he’s a sick man. Even with the Lords’ advice, it’s difficult for him to fulfil the duties of Kingship. We here all know that Dan-Tor is the real Kingly authority, and has been for years.’
He wrinkled his mouth in distaste at the name of the King’s chief adviser and physician.
‘Enough, Tirke,’ said Eldric loudly. The lad was telling the truth, but Eldric could not allow the King to be impugned. ‘Lord Dan-Tor, Tirke, is thought of most highly by the King. He’s brought him great comfort and solace in his many troubles.’
Then, to try to calm the young man, he continued, ‘Although I admit he’s not to everyone’s liking. We should be thankful for what he’s done for our King.’
The slight softening of his tone did not have the effect he sought. It released a monumental outburst from Tirke. He banged his fist on the table again and jumped to his feet.
‘Lord Eldric, are you blind? That… devil’s spawn out of Narsindal has our King strung like a puppet. It’s he who wants… ’
‘Enough!’ Eldric’s voice thundered down the table and stopped Tirke in mid-sentence. The sudden impact made him step back and he reached down with one hand to hold his chair to prevent himself from stum-bling over it. Suddenly sobered, his face went white. Eldric too had stood up. He was quivering with rage and his normally ruddy face was livid. His grey beard and hair seemed almost to be bristling.
‘Enough. I told you before that you abused my son’s friendship and my hospitality. Now you impugn the King and his advisers and you mention the name of that land at my Festival Feast.’ He pushed his chair back angrily and strode around the table until he stood facing Tirke.
Tirke stood very still, looking at him, his mouth tight and his eyes fearful.
‘Go to your quarters, Tirke,’ said Eldric, unexpect-edly quietly, but with a barely controlled rage. ‘Reflect on what you’ve said and allow calmer judgements to prevail. I’ll attribute your indiscretion to the fine wine we’ve had tonight.’
Tirke nodded an awkward bow and turned hesi-tantly as if to address the watching guests. Then he turned back to Eldric and a tremor passed over his face as he fought to control himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but Eldric’s eyes froze his words, and he turned away stiffly and marched to the doorway of the hall, his shoulders hunched high with tension and his fists clenching and unclenching.
Eldric watched the empty doorway for some time and then slowly returned to his seat. He slumped down on it despondently as the last of his anger suddenly left him. He felt slightly repentant. Tirke had been the recipient of the fears and shock that had arisen in him with the arrival of Hrostir and the Edict. He looked up at his guests sitting uncertainly about the table laden with the remains of the Festival Feast.
‘I’m sorry, my friends,’ he said, ‘but the lad went too far, Festival or no.’
There was a general murmur of agreement.
‘I think his heart’s in the right place, but his mouth’s another matter.’
The little jest eased the tension around the table and Eldric, sitting back in his chair, raised his hand to prevent anyone speaking.
‘I’ve already sent to the Lords Arinndier, Darek and Hreldar, and asked them to attend me here so that we can discuss this matter,’ he gestured towards the paper, ‘and decide what to do. If necessary we’ll go to Vakloss and ask the King for an accounting. I’m sure that some sound reason lies behind this deed, and that a simple asking will elicit it.’
No one offered any comment. Most of them were inclined to agree with Tirke, if not with his manners, but no one felt inclined to argue with their Lord that night. Eldric stood up and smiled.
‘I’m afraid I’ve disturbed our humble celebration and I apologize. However, I’ve done all that I can do about our news until my friends arrive so I see no reason why our festivities shouldn’t continue.’
He clapped his hands loudly and the hall was sud-denly filled with light and cheerful music. The clouds that had gathered disappeared as servants and guests alike hastily cleared the tables and began the traditional dancing and singing with which the beginning of the week-long Festival was always celebrated.
The Geadrol was the King’s Council of Lords. It advised him in all matters and was an ancient institution. It had no leader; not even the King himself when he chose to attend and join in the debates. Nor did it have any formal spokesman to take its considerations to the King; this task was allocated according to a strict rota.
The debates were governed by a strictly observed precedent. One Lord would speak, and would be allowed to say his piece fully, then another would speak similarly, a scribe taking note of all that was said. After a while, one Lord would, if he felt able, summarize the various arguments, referring as need arose to the scribe or to the Lords themselves for clarification. If his summary was accepted by the main participants, then the matter would be thrown open to further debate, and he would act as Gatherer until a satisfactory conclusion had been reached.
Necessarily, the task of Gatherer tended to fall mainly to the older and more experienced Lords, though by no means always.
The conduct of the Geadrol was the envy of houses of government in many distant lands, but its success was due mainly to the stern discipline of the Fyordyn and, as an institution, it did not travel well.