The Chalice of Death by Robert Silverberg Page B

room was lined on both sides with courtiers, members of the government, curious onlookers who had wangled admission, and those about to be honored.
    Marhaill, Oligocrat of Kariad, sat enthroned at the far end of the hall, sprawled awkwardly with his long legs jutting in different directions. At his right sat Helna, befitting her rank as Earthman to the Court and chief adviser of Marhaill. On lesser thrones to both sides sat the eight members of the Governing Council, looking gloomy, dispirited, and bored. Their functions had atrophied; Kariad, once an authentic oligarchy, had retained the forms but not the manner of the ancient government. The Governing Council’s only value was decorative.
    It was an imposing tableau.
    Navarre stood impatiently at attention for fifteen minutes, sweating under his court costume—and praying fervently that his dye would not run—until the swelling sound of an electronic trumpet called the assemblage to order.
    Marhaill rose and made a brief but highly-charged speech, welcoming all and sundry to court. Then Helna surreptitiously slipped a scroll into his hands, and he began to read, in a deep, magnificently resonant voice which Navarre suspected was his own, and not simply an artificially, magnified tone produced by a microamplifier embedded in his larynx.
    Navarre counted. His name was the sixty-third to be called; preceding him came three other new admirals, four generals, seven ministers plenipotentiary, and assorted knights of the realm. Evidently Marhaill believed in maintaining a goodly number of flashily-titled noble gentry on Kariad. It was a method for insuring loyalty and service, thought Navarre.
    Finally:
    â€œMelwod Finst. For meritorious service to the realm of Kariad, for abiding and long-standing loyalty to our throne, for generous and warm-hearted qualities of person, and for skill in the arts of space. We show our deep gratitude by bestowing upon him the rank of Admiral in our space navy, with command of three vessels of war.”
    Navarre had been carefully coached in the procedure by Helna. When Marhaill concluded the citation, Navarre clicked his heels briskly, stepped out of the audience, and advanced toward the throne, head back, shoulders high.
    He gave a crisp military salute. “Thanks to Your Grace,” he said, kneeling.
    Marhaill leaned forward and draped a red-and-yellow sash over Navarre’s shoulders.
    â€œRise, Admiral Melwod Finst.”
    Rising, Navarre’s eyes met those of Marhaill’s. The Oligocrat’s eyes were deep, searching—but were they, he wondered, searching enough to discover that the new admiral was a shaven Earthman, renegade from Jorus? It didn’t seem that way.
    The shadow of a smile flickered across Navarre’s face as he made the expected genuflection and backed away from the Oligocrat’s throne. It was a strange destiny for an Earthman: an admiral of Kariad. But Navarre had long since learned to take the strange in stride.
    He knelt again before Helna, thus showing the gratitude due his sponsor, and melted back into the crowd, standing now in the colorfully-sashed line of those who had been honored. Marhaill called the next name. Navarre adjusted his admiral’s sash proudly, and, standing erect, watched the remainder of the ceremony with deep and abiding interest.
    The military spaceport closest to Kariad City was the home base of the Fifth Navy, and it was to this group that Helna had had Navarre assigned.
    He reported early the following morning, introducing himself rather bluntly to the commanding officer of the base and requesting his ships. He was eyed somewhat askance; evidently such prompt action was not expected of a political appointee in the history of the Kariadi navy. In any event, a sullen-looking enlisted man drove Navarre out to the spaceport itself, where three massive first-class battle cruisers stood gleaming in the bright morning rays of Secundus, the yellow