Part 6 (1/2)
Already, Dune was the hub of the new universe. Millions and millions of pilgrims would come here on hajj. Important decisions would be made on this hallowed ground, and from here Muad'Dib's legions would continue to be dispatched to the farthest reaches in order to enforce his wishes.
From Arrakeen, the newly planned Citadel of Muad'Dib would radiate light all across the galaxy. His palace would be enormous and breathtaking. The people, and history, demanded it.
Old neighborhoods and disjointed slums had already been razed to make room for the colossal structure. After dawn that day, construction was slated to begin.
THE OLD ARRAKEEN Residency would form the core of the huge building, but before long the new palace would swallow all external traces of the original home of House Atreides on Arrakis, once also the long-term base of Count Fenring and Lady Margot. Paul stood with an intense Korba and an exuberant Whitmore Bludd inside a vaulted chamber, watching the reactions of both Chani and Irulan.
Swordmaster Bludd proudly displayed s.h.i.+mmering projection models of the buildings, gardens, and avenues of the future Citadel of Muad'Dib. The plans alone were large enough to fill much of the room. Projection technicians busily put finis.h.i.+ng touches on some of the models, monitored by the watchful eyes of a.s.sistant architects.
Bludd had done a remarkable job of balancing the wishes and ideas of so many people, while maintaining his personal vision for ”humanity's greatest architectural triumph.” For many years already, he had served as a de facto manager of all of Archduke Ecaz's holdings, and now he would coordinate the armies of workers, the flow of materials, and the budget (though even the poorest waifs sleeping on the dry streets of Arrakeen willingly offered their last coins to Muad'Dib).
Speaking on behalf of the Qizarate, Korba provided input on four immense temples that would be constructed on the grounds and connected to the main citadel complex blossoming around the old mansion. Even before the first great walls had been raised, he insisted on ornamenting the city-sized structure with religious statuary and various objects of a spiritual nature. ”Every facet of the citadel must enlarge the persona and legend of the Emperor Muad'Dib, elevating him to his appropriate stature.”
Glancing at Korba, Paul thought of his remaining Fedaykin, remembering the purity of their devotion. Back when the battles had been straightforward and the enemies clearly identified - Harkonnens, Sardaukar - they had sworn their lives to defend him. Many of those elite fighters were even now engaged in battles of the Jihad - the loyal Otheym, Tandis, Rajifiri, and Saajid. Knowing their skills and bravery, he had reserved his Fremen - a mere fraction of his fighting force - for the most difficult conquests, the bloodiest engagements.
But Korba, though also a Fedaykin, had chosen a different path to glory. Though subtle, the man's motives were transparent to Paul: While a warrior was just a warrior, the head of a religion wielded a more sustainable power in the ever-widening circle of Muad'Dib's influence and the increasing number of conquered or allied subjects. By fostering the development of the Qizarate, giving new and zealous priests teachings and rules to enforce, Korba created and held his own moral high ground - in the name of Muad'Dib.
In spite of the sour taste that development left in his mouth, Paul needed all of the energy that religion could provide. And he knew that he, too, had to keep up appearances.
With Chani at his side, Paul walked from table to table and looked over the model structures, focusing on the multiple domes and soaring arches. A cutaway showed where a Celestial Audience Chamber would house his primary throne. ”Some of the individual chambers will be so large that kingly palaces could fit inside them. The entire complex is designed to be a vast fortified city, both to protect its inhabitants and to impress outsiders.”
The flamboyant Swordmaster used his own rapier as a pointer to show Irulan how her private gardens would be laid out, including ”contemplation offices” where she could continue her writing. Paul noted the pride in the man's demeanor as he explained his grand dream, and the Princess seemed suitably impressed.
Chani glanced sidelong at Irulan. ”Perhaps such things were expected in the old Imperium, but we do not need such a place, Usul. Fremen would consider this sort of extravagance... greedy, in the manner of offworlders.”
”No extravagance is too great for Muad'Dib,” Korba insisted. ”The people will settle for nothing less than the greatest work of construction in human history.”
Sadly, Paul knew that Korba was right.
Bludd cleared his throat loudly. ”Those were my instructions, and that is what it shall be. From the central core, the rest of the construction will blossom like a beautiful flower in the desert.” Though they had radically conflicting personalities, Korba and Bludd were developing a grudging respect for each other during the early stages of the construction project. A common ambition and goal served as a balancing point between the men.
Paul took Chani's hand, and said to her, ”Such extravagance is necessary, Beloved. The magnificence itself is a lever that can move the most stubborn doubters and the newly converted. Through sheer size, scope, and grandeur, my new fortress must inspire awe in the hearts of everyone who experiences it - even in us, who know its inner workings and design. Especially in us, perhaps, because we have to play our parts well, and I must play mine the best of all.”
He clapped a hand on the fine fabric of the Swordmaster's waistcoat. ”You have my wholehearted approval, Bludd. Yes, this palace will be built according to your plans. With each stone laid and each tapestry hung, we will strengthen the Jihad - and hasten its conclusion. I will make public appearances on my throne and from my balconies overlooking throngs of the faithful. These places must be incomparable in their opulence.
”My private quarters, however, will be simple.” Paul gestured dismissively at the plans for the royal suite that seemed to drip ostentation. ”When Chani and I retire to our chambers, there will be only those traditional amenities one might find in a sietch, articles and furnis.h.i.+ngs that typical Fremen would use. In private we shall remember our roots.”
Bludd and Korba looked at him in alarm, while Irulan came closer. ”My Husband, the people expect you to live as an Emperor, not as a tribal chieftain. The entire citadel, including your living quarters, should show all humankind how great and powerful Muad'Dib is. My father's royal wing in the old Imperial Palace could be a model for you.”
”The simplicity of a sietch is enough for us, in our private quarters,” Chani insisted, and Paul agreed, ending the discussion. His concubine had always been less comfortable in cities, in gigantic and ornate structures. ”Even though he is the Emperor, Muad'Dib is still one of the people.”
Yes, he thought. he thought. My father would have liked the sound of that. My father would have liked the sound of that.
I was destined for greatness, not to be a mere footnote in history.
-MASTER WHITMORE BLUDD, Personal Diaries Personal Diaries and Observations, Volume VII
The storehouse of expensive wine was part of the vast trove of spoils the armies of Muad'Dib were already bringing back to Arrakis. Whitmore Bludd found the uncatalogued cache during his work of managing the materials and overseeing the huge citadel construction project.
He perused the labels on the bottles, noting the vintages with growing admiration and amazement. He doubted the uncouth Fremen had any idea of the value of what they had found. They had piled the seized bottles without any sort of inventory list or temperature control.
These desert fanatics had no appreciation, no taste, no finesse. They would not know the difference between a crisp, delicate Caladanian white and a robust chianti from the greenhouse vineyards of IV Anbus. As he examined case after case of bottles inside the storehouse, Bludd realized he could not, in good conscience, let such a treasure go to waste.
Now, finding a rough-red table wine meant to be drunk in quant.i.ty rather than savored, he decided the Fremen might enjoy that more than anything too sophisticated. Or perhaps one of the syrupy muscats. When he came across a bottle of genuine Kirana champagne, he set it aside with the fine vintages. He couldn't allow that that to be wasted on a desert rat's unsophisticated palate! to be wasted on a desert rat's unsophisticated palate!
For tonight, Bludd settled on an enhanced claret he had tasted years ago, when he and his fellow Swordmaster Rivvy Dinari had toasted their service to Archduke Armand Ecaz. The corpulent Dinari had considered the vintage exceptional, and Bludd had fond memories of that evening, owing more to the fellows.h.i.+p and the situation than to the wine's quality. Dinari, for all his girth, claimed to have quite a discriminating palate, although he did seem to prefer both quant.i.ty and and quality. quality.
Bludd had already changed into his evening clothes: a tailored maroon jacket, a belted black tunic with ruffled collar, tight black pants, and knee-high suede boots that matched the color of the jacket. As always, his long rapier hung at his hip, a weapon that was both decorative and deadly. He hefted the case of wine, balancing it on his other hip, and walked out of the storehouse with as much grace as he could summon. If these desert fighters were capable of enjoying good things - not at all a certainty - he would endear himself to them, and they would all have a fine time swapping tales of their exploits.
In a celebratory mood, he brought the wine and his own corkscrew, as well as a case of stemmed gla.s.ses, to the Fremen barracks. Smiling, he lifted out the bottles so that he could share the vintage, but the Fremen regarded him suspiciously. They accepted Bludd as one of Muad'Dib's special advisers and a long-time acquaintance, yet the overdressed Swordmaster did not match their notion of a warrior.
He sniffed and quickly hid his distaste for all the smells around him. As members of Paul's elite military stationed here on Arrakeen, they had access to enough water to bathe at least once in a while!
”I have brought fine wine from the stores of Emperor Paul Atreides” - he shrugged quickly - ”or Muad'Dib, if that's what you prefer to call him. Does anyone wish to partake?” Bludd began to pour gla.s.ses and gestured for the dusty Fremen soldiers to take them, one by one. ”It is tradition among Swordmasters to share a gla.s.s of good wine while we exchange our stories of battle. Having been a primary instructor at the Ginaz School, I later became one of the two highest ranking swordfighters in the Ecazi court.”
Half a dozen Fremen picked up the gla.s.ses and looked at them. One, a Fedaykin named Elias, took a gulp and made a face.
”Not like that!” Bludd snapped, losing patience. ”Examine its rich color, inhale its magnificent bouquet. Take a little sip. Allow the flavors to separate on your palate. This isn't one of your coa.r.s.e spice beers.” Elias seemed offended by the rebuff, though Bludd pretended not to notice. He held up a winegla.s.s, took a sip, and let out a long sigh. ”So... the stories. Since you are so enamored of Paul-Muad'Dib, shall I tell you of the time my fellow Swordmasters Rivvy Dinari, Duncan Idaho, and I went with young Paul Atreides - I believe he was twelve years old then - down into the jungles of Ginaz, where we were attacked by giant caterpillars -”
”We know all about Duncan Idaho,” one of the Fremen interrupted. ”He died saving Muad'Dib during his flight from the Harkonnens. That was how he and his mother came to be among us.”
”So Paul's told you this story, then?” Bludd looked around, but could not find any answers on the faces.
”We have read the book by Princess Irulan,” replied one of the men. The others murmured solemn a.s.sent.
Bludd had read the book as well and felt that Irulan had left out a great many important things, even suggesting that Paul had never been away from the planet Caladan before coming to Arrakis, ignoring all of his exploits on Ecaz! That and other errors. Bludd had already spoken to the Princess about them.
The Fremen were drinking the wine, though obviously out of a sense of obligation rather than enjoyment. Bludd tried again, suggesting another story that Irulan had not included in her original chronicle. ”Or shall I tell you how the War of a.s.sa.s.sins began in Castle Caladan, with a heinous attack by the Grummans? Several people died, including -” He sniffed, drew a breath. ”Perhaps I shall not tell that story, either.”
Bludd expected some of them to brag about their own exploits and tell their tall tales. But these Fremen were a dour bunch.
”This wine tastes like unfiltered urine,” growled Elias, whom Bludd had offended. ”If we run it through a reclamation unit, at least we can get the water back.”
”My dear sir, this is a fine and expensive vintage. I am not surprised, however, that you cannot taste -”
Elias drew his crysknife, and the others fell immediately still. ”You insult me!”
Bludd looked around, made a bored sigh. ”Now, what?” ”It is a matter of honor,” said one of the other men.
”You really don't want to do this, my good sir,” Bludd said. ”Draw your blade!” Elias held his crysknife and took up a fighting stance.
With utmost calmness, Bludd slid the rapier from his belt. ”Have I not made it quite clear that I am an accomplished Swordmaster of Ginaz? Your wormtooth dagger is pretty, but I have four times the reach.” He flicked the rapier in the air for good measure.
”Are you a coward, then?”