“What of my question?” Moneo pressed.

Leto blinked at him, thinking: I, on the other hand, feel that words are mostly useful if they open for me a glimpse of attractive and undiscovered places. But the use of words is so little understood by a civilization which still believes unquestioningly in a mechanical universe of absolute cause and effect—obviously reducible to one single root-cause and one primary seminal-effect.

“How like a limpet the Ixian-Tleilaxu fallacy clings to human affairs,” Leto said.

“Lord, it disturbs me deeply when you don’t pay attention.”

“But I do pay attention, Moneo.”

“Not to me.”

“Even to you.”

“Your attention wanders, Lord. You do not have to conceal that from me. I would betray myself before I would betray you.”

“You think I’m woolgathering?”

“What gathering, Lord?” Moneo had never questioned this word earlier, but now…

Leto explained the allusion, thinking: How ancient! The looms and shuttles clicked in Leto’s memory. Animal fur to human garments… huntsman to herdsman… the long steps up the ladder of awareness… and now they must make another long step, longer even than the ancient ones.

“You indulge in idle thoughts,” Moneo accused.

“I have time for idle thoughts. That’s one of the most interesting things about my existence as a singular multitude.”

“But, Lord, there are matters which demand our…”

“You’d be surprised what comes of idle thinking, Moneo. I’ve never minded spending an entire day on things a human would not bother with for one minute. Why not? With my life expectancy of some four thousand years, what’s one day more or less? How much time does one human life count? A million minutes? I’ve already experienced almost that many days.”

Moneo stood frozen in silence, diminished by this comparison. He felt his own lifetime reduced to a mote in Leto’s eye. The source of the allusion did not escape him.

Words… words… words, Moneo thought.

“Words are often almost useless in sentient affairs,” Leto said.

Moneo held his breathing to a shallow minimum. The Lord can read thoughts!

“Throughout our history,” Leto said, “the most potent use of words has been to round out some transcendental event, giving that event a place in the accepted chronicles, explaining the event in such a way that ever afterward we can use those words and say: “ ‘This is what it meant.’ ”

Moneo felt beaten down by these words, terrified by unspoken things they might make him think.

“That’s how events get lost in history,” Leto said.

After a long silence, Moneo ventured: “You have not answered my question, Lord. The wedding?”

How tired he sounds, Leto thought. How utterly defeated.

Leto spoke briskly: “I have never needed your good offices more. The wedding must be arranged with utmost care. It must have the precision of which only you are capable.”

“Where, Lord?”

A bit more life in his voice.

“At Tabur Village in the Sareer.”

“When?”

“I leave the date to you. Announce it when all things are arranged.”