 George kept a steady eye on the guests as they took their couches in the court. He stood next to his couch, raised above the others in proper respect to his title. The only other person who continued to stand was Glaucon, smiling as host and organizer of the event as he helped the men, members of the court and guests, to their respective places. George noted the smile and oozing fake warmth, and thought how well it would hold up after he was through with him. "It is indeed wonderful to see you all here," said Glaucon. "I am glad that you all of you were able to attend our prince in celebration of his first victory. His glory at having taken the field, his assuming command at the head of his…" Glaucon started to choke as Demeron was accompanied into the room with two guards. Behind them, slipping in unseen except by George who expected him, was Bhrigu, who stayed close to the walls and kept as quiet as a mouse. "You…" Glaucon started to say, then turned to George to protest. "My liege, this is highly unusual." "I don’t know," said George. "I mean, he lost, and he did surrender himself to me to do as I wish. And if I wish to have him sit here and watch me celebrate my putting his face in the dirt, well it’s me own party, and I can do it, can’t I?" "But my lord, with all that he’s said to you to try and soften your heart, are you going to let his honeyed words play on your sympathies now?" "What words?" George said, truthfully. "I haven’t had a chance to hear a single thing he’s had to say. Ask anyone ‘ere if I’ve sat him down to spill it." Glaucon looked around, nervously, and when he found in the faces of the court that George had spoken true, he relaxed. George glanced to Bhrigu, who nodded. "Well, my lord, honored guests…" said Glaucon, "and captive. Let me indeed before we begin to sup on our feast sing more praises to the Royal Prince and to his glory-" George’s upheld hand struck him dumb, as though he had been slammed into a marble wall. "Actually, Unc," said George, "I was thinking it might be better to have a little entertainment instead." "But my platitudes to you, my prince; are they not entertainment enough?" "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of singing and dancing, some songs to cheer us all up." "Songs… My liege, it is unusual to have music before the courses are served." "And why can’t I have it now, then?" "Well, the, the musicians and dancers are not here. I’d have to summon them forth, and-" George was getting very used to shutting up Glaucon with just a raised hand. "Actually, I got me own dancer," and he clapped. Bhrigu took the cue to escort the hidden Parda from the room off the court, and she took the center of the floor in stunning flowing clothing that offered tantalizing glimpses of her. "A dancer," said Glaucon, trying not to react to the brief nasty look Parda gave him when he would not yield the floor. ""My liege, a dancer you have, but musicians? Where might they be?" "Actually," said George as he took out from under the couch the kithara he had practiced that afternoon on, trying to convert the fingering on a guitar to playing this stringed instrument, "I got me a few more talents I wanted to celebrate tonight," and with a count jammed into a solo version of "Peggy Sue." The tones of the kithara were thinner than any guitar George ever plucked, but as the only one in the room familiar with the song he held in his reaction to the occasional sharp tone that sounded wrong to him. And with Parda moving to the music with sensuous grace, she did a very good job of covering any mistakes that might have come in the playing. Glaucon tried to say something when the song ended, to which George vigorously started plucking the opening of notes of "Honey Don’t." While he felt he didn’t really have the voice for the song, as the only one there who knew the words he filled in as best he could. George didn’t even give Glaucon a chance to move before he did "Roll Over, Beethoven," and before any of his guests could ask who Beethoven was segued straight into "Hippy Hippy Shake," and then right on into "Twist and Shout." If he ever got a chance, George promised, he’d make it up to John somehow for taking his songs. By the end of the set George’s guests were on their feet, amazed at their lord’s musical ability and dazzled by the show. And despite the circumstances, going solo with an unfamiliar instrument in front of a crowd that wasn’t entirely in the grove with him to start, he felt he had won over this crowd as he had others before. He gave a smile to Parda and a brief nod to Bhrigu before he announced, "Now is the time for the food to come in." He said it loud, and his voice summoned the anxiously waiting servers. The dishes were brought before their prince first, mushrooms, onions, stuffed songbirds, a boar. Each dish that came before him, George first looked with a quick glance over to Bhrigu; when the stuffed peacock approached, George noted the priest’s quick bob of the head… "Hey Unc," said George as he held up his hand, stopping some of the diners in mid-grab at their turn for the courses. "I have to tell you, this all looks real good. You did yourself proud for me." "My lord is so… generous with his compliments," said Glaucon, who given the floor tried to find his rhythm again. "In fact, I think I don’t show my appreciation to you enough. All this fine food, and not making such a stink about me giving the lads a few songs." The rest of the court gave sounds of appreciation at the mention of the performance. "Why, you are indeed very gracious, my liege." "In fact, I think in gratitude for all you’ve done, you should have first dibs on the rest of this. Here, you can even start with this fine bird you got for me." Glaucon’s face drained as he saw the peacock, braised with a shiny glaze. "I say, Unc," said George, even louder, "you’re being given first taste of the bird." "Your…" Glaucon tried to say. "My lord, need I remind you, as the head of the house and master of the party, that yours are to be the first fingers that should grace all foods brought before you, and only with your permission may the rest of us partake." "Aye, yeah," nodded George, "but I’m giving you the honor. You set up the bash and made it so special, I think you should be given some of the benes for that." "I… don’t know if I can." "And why not? You did say you were going to make me a ball, didn’t you? And ‘ere I am, trying to give you something back for it. I’d feel insulted if you turn up your nose on me." Glaucon had the eyes of the court now on him. To thumb his nose at Glaucon and remind him whose room this was, George let his fingers slide on the bar of the kithara. Just as the uncomfortable silence started to become unbearable, George then asked, "Well, if you don’t want the honors, who’d you want me to give them to, then? Maybe someone ‘ere you think should have a piece of the bird who’s more worthy." Feeling the pressure, Glaucon’s eyes settled on Demeron, but could not move off of him fast enough before others noticed. "What?" said Callias. "He’s a prisoner here!" "You thinking I should offer it to him, then?" George asked with a pointed look. "I…" Glaucon started to say. Demeron tried to rise, and when his guards put their hands in him he started to struggle. "Ey up," asked George when Demeron’s fight left him, "why that, now? What, you don’t like bird?" "My liege," screamed Demeron, "I beseech you, if your mercy is indeed true, then spare me this task." "Why, what’s wrong with the bird?" George asked, trying not to overplay his hand. "It’s poisoned, my lord!" "And what makes you think that that’s true?" "Because it is his specialty!" Demeron pointed at Glaucon. "When you were taken ill, it was by his hand. My lord," he gave a quick obedient placing of his forehead to the ground, "when I did rise against you, it had been in fear that you had discovered that I supplied the poisons, that I had in fact given them to your uncle who had requested them, and that having found the plot I would meet your wrath and so rose up." "My liege," Glaucon said, his last reserves trying to steady his voice, "would you indeed believe this… this scandalous accusation against your family, from a known traitor?" George gave a six count as he stroked his chin, letting the suspense build. "Tell you what, Unc," he finally said. "If it is all a lie, then chow on a drumstick for me." Glaucon’s panic could no longer be held, and he tried to flee the court. Guests of the royal prince sprung up and grabbed him before he could make good his escape, and they dragged him before George. "It’s bad enough you’re a sodding git," said George to the fast held Glaucon, "but getting me poisoned is really over doing it a bit. And what did I ever do to you then, eh?" "You were born," said Glaucon, no longer trying to hide his contempt. "But for you, I would be Royal Prince. My skills and abilities were always superior to your father’s, and had he not had issue I would be where you are now." "And all this time, you just tried to get me bored silly and unable to do anything while you pulled the strings," said George. "But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You wanted all the other benes with it, the fame, the limelight, the screaming fans, all that, and so instead of real power behind a puppet you tried to get it all." "And all it got you," said Archon, "is an execution." George lifted his hand. "Oh, no," he said, "it’s probably what you deserve, but you’re not getting off that easy, mate." The other guests seemed surprised, and Glaucon puzzled. "No," continued George, and before him the runners Bhrigu had gotten to stand by came before him. "You, Glaucon," George started the prepared words he had memorized, "you are hereby banished from my realm. You will be prisoner here for the night, and sent off come the dawn. During your imprisonment this evening, word will be sent to all other royal princes and the King himself, that you have tried to murder members of your own family, so that all others will know to withhold their hospitality from you and keep you from their presence. From this day on, you are no longer welcomed in all of Sangruran, and your misdeeds will be known through all of Bactria and spread to her neighbors. So it is commanded, so it shall be done." The court gave a bow at the royal proclamation. George added his own bit to the speech, "You’re a marked man, Unc." Glaucon found himself loose from those who were holding him, and he gave a jerk. George tensed up, waiting for him to try and have one last go at his head… Glaucon stiffened up, gave a very low bow to his better, and submitted to his captors. The post-party party after the last of the court wandered away, unable to celebrate after the exposed treason, was far more relaxing for George. He sat among the remnants of the food with Bhrigu and Parda, sharing a good laugh as George gave a dead-on imitation of Glaucon. "I have to say, luv," George said to Parda, "that closing speech you helped me with was right on. Maybe I should consider being an MP when I’m older." "I think your talent as a musician will keep you busy enough," she replied. "I have never heard songs of that nature." "It works better in a combo," said George. "Two more of these," he fingered the kithara, "and a set of drums, now that’s how to do it right." "Maybe in a later life," said Bhrigu, "I could hear those again, as you suggest they should be played." "In a later life, you’d be a regular James Bond," said George. "A what?" "I mean, the way you got to the kitchen staff, found out who Glaucon’s personal goon was there who’d do all the actual dirty work, an’ kept an eye on where the stuff would be. In and out of the kitchen like that, no hassle." "There are very few people who would mind having a priest among them in their work." "But how’d you get the riders together all quiet, and smuggle me in this instrument and Parda ‘ere, without getting them all on to you?" Bhrigu gave a slight smile. "There are some talents that boasting about is certain to incur karma." "Speaking of unknown talents," said Parda, "how did you know of Demeron’s role in your poisioning?" she asked George. "That’s easy," he replied. "I didn’t." "What?" "I mean, I knew on some level they were connected, the two of them. When Glaucon didn’t show his face for the battle, there was some part of me, some hunch that couldn’t let that go. I mean, after all he’d said, and the way he went on about leading an army, and then when the time came he didn’t, that made me suspect something." "So Demeron was there just to make him uneasy and unable to concentrate," noted Bhrigu. "Yeah, I figured maybe he was going to give Glaucon some of his men and make a bigger army or something, and by keeping Unc guessing if he had or hadn’t told me it’d give him stage fright and he’d slip. The bit ‘bout getting the poison, though, that was just grand as far as that went." "You do indeed have the talents of a great prince," said Bhrigu. "Thanks, but no. I’d rather be a musician, and I’m just going to wait until Heracles comes back and picks up his load already." Parda said nothing, except to give a faint, sly smile and a slight cock of her eye. George noted the hidden signal and said, "You know, if he’s not coming back so quick, I’d better get me off to bed and get some rest for a busy day of princing ahead of me." Dropping all subtlety, he helped Parda off the floor and said, "If I’m still ‘ere, Bhrigu, first thing in the morn, eh?" George looked up to the open sky of his court, trying not to let Callias’ ramblings about the state of trade throughout all of Punjab after the harvest drive him mad. He tried looking at different clouds as they rolled by, imagining shapes in them. "And so we can expect rice to be ahead of last year’s by a third," he said to George. George thought he saw a hamburger. When his liege said nothing, Callias noted, "If my lord is interested, there was a story that had been brought from afar, of a nation far to the west that had finally succeeded in its rivalry with an enemy." George thought that one looked like a bird. "Indeed, his highness may be interested in hearing of this, as there has been some talk as to whether these Romans may well take what they did to Carthage and move east. There are some who think their ambition may be as great as that of Alexander’s." Maybe a liver bird, George thought. Like the ones on the building over the harbor… "Perhaps my lord is interested in hearing that a roc had been seen in the mountains far to the north," Callias tried again, "and that it carried an entire village of virgins in its claw with it to its nest." "Right, fine," George said as he looked at one that could pass for a racing car. "Or perhaps word of a marauding army of rakshas from the south that turn green when salt is whistled over and under a full moon, they sing. Sing!" "Do they do skiffle?" George asked with only some attention. Callias started to roar, stifled his frustration, then bowed and said, "Your leave, your highness." George only noticed Callias’ leaving when he heard him run into Bhrigu at the portico. Looking up, George waved the priest in and said to the rest of the court, "Take five." When they were alone, Bhrigu noted, "You seem especially agitated today, my lord." "Bhrigu, Bhrigu," George said wearily, "it’s been two weeks now, and I’m still ‘ere. I thought getting Glaucon to hit the road would do it, an’ that I’d be on my way home, but that’s just not happened yet." Bhrigu nodded patiently and encouraged George to go on. "I mean, I’ve been trying to do all the princely things I have to, and I’m sure if Heracles ever gets his arse back fast enough, he’d be happy with it, but I’m not really meant for this. What do I have to do, man, fight another war? I don’t want to go through that again." Bhrigu took a deep breath and asked, "Are you sure you have done all that needs to be done?" "Well, Unc’s a total pariah among the other princes, so he’s not going to be doing anything. Callias just gave me the run-down on the treasury, and that’s in good shape. I even did a proclamation asking for singers to come to court and trying to build a little culture ‘ere, but nothing seems to get me out." "Tell me, what are some of the bigger duties of rule?" George blinked, then said, "Well, there’s keeping the land strong. And prosperous. And happy. You ask me this a lot, and Parda helps me to keep ‘em all straight." "Does she ever discuss… stability of the realm?" "What exactly’s that, Bhrigu?" "Well, as you remember, one of Glaucon’s problems with you was that you were born." "Right. Because of me, he couldn’t be royal prince, because me dad had…" George’s eyes widened. "Oh crap!" "That may be what keeps you here and not where you should be." "But I’m kind of young to be a father. And that takes a year, doesn’t it?" "It may not be that level of action you need to accomplish. If I may be so bold, how do you spend your nights?" George gives a slight smile. "With Parda, of course. And it’s even better now, because she’s not having to compete with any other women because she’s there at my behest and not Glaucon’s, so it’s just us, so it’s… Um, sorry, you’re a priest, I shouldn’t go into all that." "And have you thought about your involvement with her?" "What, you mean, like, marry her? That’s… Why you shaking your head, Bhrigu?" "From what you told me of where you had been, a marriage with her might be easier there, but as a royal prince that would prove to be a problem." George nodded. "Oh, aye. We ‘ave a queen back home, and she got married when I was a boy, and that had to be to a prince, too. But how am I going to look for a princess? I don’t even know any of the royal birds nearby." Bhrigu sighed and said, "Perhaps the first step to looking for something, is to create a need by abandoning what you have." "Parda? But, but she’s been good to me, a real friend. I couldn’t do that to her. What makes her a problem, then?" "I know she is a wonderful person, and what she has done for you during this time has been a great help. But unfortunately, she is also maya." "She’s what?" "Maya is the sensuous illusion that deters us in our existence from seeing the proper dharma in our samsara. For some, it is wealth that blinds them, for others, the thrill of violence." "But it’s not like that at all," George said, every syllable more hollow than the last. There was a silence between the two of them. "Aw crap," said George, "who am I to lie to a priest? Of course what we do is a big part of it, but I do respect her counsel and she has been very good by me. But it’s not fair she can’t make a princess, she’d be good at it." "Sadly, this time around her soul found form that keeps her from that." "Her soul, you say? That means she could be back where I am, when I get there… But how do I find her?" "I have no answer for you. Some souls are meant to keep meeting, and some may only pass each other a few times." "I’ve got it! Maybe I can sing for her, when I get back. I actually got one of me own songs on the last record, and if I keep trying I might get one on that could do it. I could sing to her, ask her to remember, tell her how much I need her, would that do it?" "From what I have seen of your ability, it might indeed work. However, there is a small matter of getting back there to consider, which should be done first." George sighed, not liking what was to come… George almost lost his nerve when he saw her in his chamber. Her smile, the smell of jasmine she adorned herself with, the way her fingers delicately traced along her thigh… She looked at him, and stopped. "There’s something wrong," she said. George just sat, unable to speak. Parda sat next to him, looking into his eyes. "There is something that troubles you," she said. "Please, tell me." George took a deep breath, and said, "I don’t know… I mean, I… Parda, I think this isn’t meant to be." "I… don’t understand." "Parda, you know what I think of you. I think you’re swell, grand even, and if it were meant to be me ‘ere, I’d have you with me forever. But it’s Heracles. The bastard needs to find himself someone, and it… Oh, God, I don’t know if I can do this." "I…" Parda finally said, "I understand what you are trying to say, and what you said is part of it. It is you, not the you whose supposed to be here, but the you from Liverpool, the musician, that I stay for." "But that makes it a bad bind, then. If you stay around because it’s me, that keeps me ‘ere, and it’s just not right. Not to him, not to his subjects, not to us. And there’s even a question of cosmic balance that gets bollixed if I tried to stay. I just can’t." "And I don’t know if I can just walk away." "Oh lord, don’t say that. I don’t want to have you commanded out of me life, but I can’t stay here, and if I have to--" Parda put a finger to his lips. She looked deeply into his eyes, moving closer-- "Luv," said George, "much as I want one last time, that would just make it harder to go. I’m sorry. I only hope the next time ‘round we get to do this right." Parda stopped and lowered her head. She allowed herself one single tear to streak down her face before she prostrated herself on the ground. George put his hand on her head. He allowed himself to feel her hair for a few seconds for the last time before she rose and bowed out of his chamber. George felt a nasty headache coming on as the chamber felt even emptier when he was alone. He tried to massage his temples, anything he could think of to keep the building hammering in his skull from cleaving his head wide open. He put his head to his pillow and tried to close his eyes, unable to ignore the pain as it started to shatter his skull... "…yes we do…" George heard singing outside the window. "When you’re not with us, we’re blue. Oh Beatles, we love you…" "We up now?" Louise asked as she picked up the teacup from the side of the bed. As George rose, he saw the rest of the band come in, unbuttoning their long coats. Paul saw him first and said, "Well, mate, you’re looking a lot better now." "I’m here," said George. "I’m actually ‘ere!" "Not that you could have got much further," said Ringo. "There must be thousands of ‘em out there." "When is it?" George asked. "When is it all now?" Brian looked at his watch. "It’s near half past four." "Sullivan?" George asked. "I think it’s half past four round by him, too," said John. "The gig? We’re still on, then?" "The gig’s still good, aye," said Paul. "We’re going on still." "All of us," said George as he sprang from bed. The congestion was manageable, and the headache nothing like what had driven him to bed to begin with. "You sure you’re up to it?" asked Brian. "I don’t want to see you hurting your-" "No! I’ve waited far too long to make this, and I’ve gone through so much to get here. I’m doing the show. So it is commanded, so it shall be--" George caught himself before he finished. Ringo and Paul just stared at George. "Oh yes indeed, your Lord Buckingham, sir," snarled John. "Oh bother, what I mean is," said George, "I really want to do this, and I just can’t sit back here while you’re on the telly." "Can’t say it’d be the same without you, mate," said Paul. "You do seem a lot more chipper and hearty." "Be good to have you with us," concurred John. "Not sure the other fellow would ‘ave worked out in the end, anyway." "Great," said George. "Let’s get this on then, eh?" "Aye!" the other three cheered. "Good. I can’t tell you how many lives I waited for this." While George started to get dressed, Ringo came over and asked, "Eh, what’s this ‘bout lives, eh?" "Huh?" "You said something ‘bout waiting all these lives, you know? Just curious." George said nothing, but kept thinking about it…. |
