The wicked summer heat roiled on. It was the policy of the finer folk of the court to dine on meat: mostly rabbit, guinea pig, and mice. Meat spoiled quickly.
When he fell ill, there were rumors that the Godfather had been poisoned. No autocrat ever died without such claims. But no autocrat could live forever, either. So the old Godfather perished.
On the very day of the old man’s death, the dusty heat wave broke. Vast torrential rains scoured the mountains. Everyone remarked on this fatal omen.
It was time for the Godfather’s cabal to retire into the secret seed vaults, don their robes and masks, and elect the successor.
Julian’s students had never seen a succession ritual. It was a sad and sobering time. Men who had never sought out a philosopher asked for some moral guidance.
What on earth are we to do now? Console the grieving, feed the living, and lower the dead man into the Cistern.
What will history say of Godfather Jimi the Seventh? That the warlike spirit of his youth had matured into a wise custodianship of the arts and crafts of peace.
Then there were others with a darker question: What about the power?
There Mellow Julian held his peace. He could guess well enough what would happen. There would be some jostling confusion among the forty masked Men in Red, but realistically, there were only two candidates for the Godfather’s palace. First, there was the Favorite. He was the much-preened and beloved nephew of the former Godfather, a well-meaning idiot never tested by adversity.
There was the Other Man, who had known nothing but adversity. He had spent his career in uniform, repressing the city’s barbarian enemies. His supporters were hungry and ambitious and vulgar. He would not hesitate to grasp power by any means fair or foul. His own wife and children feared him. He was stubborn and bold, as Julian knew, because he had once been Julian’s classmate.
Who would complain if a professor, in a time of trouble, retired into his private life? No rude brawling for the thinking man, no street marches, no shouted threats and vulgar slogans. No intrigues: instead, civility. The cleanly example of the good life. Food, drink, friends, and study. Simplicity and clarity. Humanity.
Humanity.
“Tonight,” said Mellow Julian, in his finest Old Proper English, “as scholars assembled in civil society, we shall study together. The general theme of our seminars is remote from all earthly strife. Because she is shining, she is gorgeous, she is lovely, she is the planet Venus. In all her many attributes.”
Hoots and cheers and claps.
“Young men,” said Julian, “I do not merely speak to you of the carnal Venus. You will recall that your ancestors sent
Respectful silence.
“We do not deny that Venus has her venereal aspects,” said Julian. “What we want to assert—as civic philosophers—is a solid framework for systematic understanding! What is a man, what is his role in the universe, under the planets and stars?
“Consider this. If a man has a soul, then Venus must touch that soul. We all know that. But how, why? It is not enough to meander dully through our lives, vaguely thinking: ‘Venus is the brightest planet in the heavens, so surely she must have something to do with me.’ Of course the vibrations of Venus affect a man! Can any man among you deny that we live through the vibrations of the sun? Raise your hand.”
Being used to rhetorical questions, they knew better than to raise their hands.
“Certain students of our Academy,” said Julian, “have chosen not to attend this course of Venusian seminars. They felt that they needed to be together with their families in this difficult season … In this perilous moment in the long life of our city. Yet when we, as scholars, by deliberate policy … when we remove ourselves from the unseemly dust and mud of our civil strife … from all that hurly-burly …”
A hand shot up in the audience.
“Yes, Practical Jeffrey of Colorado? You have a question?”
“Maestro, what is
“You make a good point as usual, Practical Jeffrey.
There were no such questions.
Julian gestured beyond the row of chairs. Sparrow rose at once from her cross-legged seat on her mat.
