The Avignon Quintet

by Lawrence Durrell

  “Of course,” said Lord Galen soothingly, “to drink a little – it’s all harmless jollity.” Quatrefages had been taciturn and talkative by turns, had been flushed and pale also; Felix knew him well enough to decipher these indications. They betrayed that he had been drinking absinthe again; it made him fiery and apathetic by turns. Now he produced his little pendulum from his vest pocket and allowed it to swing over his glass of wine for a moment. Everyone watched him with interest, as if he were about to do a conjuring trick. But no. After a moment of intense study he put away his divining instrument and drained his glass, giving an involuntary belch as he did so. They all smiled indulgently but he gazed about him with a bloodshot eye and made a sign for Max to refill his glass, which the butler did, but not without an anxious glance in the direction of his boss.

  Lord Galen was talking, however, and had not noticed this small diversion. He was talking about the pleasures of Germany, of the pleasant journey they were soon to enjoy together. “Pleasant and I hope profitable,” he added. “The brothers Krupp will come in their special train into Austria and we shall become good friends, yes, very good friends.” An emotional man, he felt the tears of friendship rising to his eyes. It was to be a most meaningful meeting, he assured the Prince. The Nubians would get what they wanted cheap because of his other interests. Felix whispered an aside to Blanford: “He doesn’t seem to know what is going on over there.” If Quatrefages divined by the pendulum, Felix divined by the stock pages of the Financial Times. The sinister drift of events in Germany had been an object of his concerned study for some time; why, even the Foreign Office Intels had been showing diplomatic unease about the situation – and here was Galen blithely chatting about financial speculations and business interests for all the world as if the country was stable and productive, and in a fit state to welcome foreign investment.

  Normally Felix would have said nothing but now his curiosity got the better of him and he said: “I personally don’t at all like what appears to be going on there. I am surprised that the situation has not alarmed you.” Lord Galen bridled and said: “Situation?” And this gave Felix the chance to give a brief and rather succinct outline of the state of affairs in Germany and the possible issues. To all this Lord Galen listened with a condescending smile, but attentively; he rolled bits of bread in his side-plate and popped them into his mouth. But he politely heard his nephew out, and seemed no whit abashed by the nods and murmured agreement of the old Prince who seemed at least as well informed as Felix if not quite as anxious as the consul. In fact he was delighted at this diversion which he had been too polite to initiate, but which might clear up a lot of points which were still obscure to him. He glanced from one face to the other, trying to divine whether Lord Galen, under his somewhat ineffable air of serenity, was not playing a game with him – a game of investor’s poker, so to speak.

  But Livia, too, seemed to be on the side of Felix, for she too nodded agreement to the propositions which he put forward. When at last the question of Jewry came up Lord Galen had had enough of his nephew’s presumptuous exposition and he held up his hand in a kind but firm way. “Everything you say sounds true, but I can assure you, Felix, that I know the contrary – I know because I have been there, and I have seen with my own eyes. You will imagine when first the press started these rumours about anti-Semitism that I took note, and indeed I felt a vague alarm. As a Manchester man I could not ignore it.” For some reason he disliked and avoided the word “Jew” – perhaps because of old schoolboy associations? He preferred to use the circumlocution “Manchester man”; it sounded almost as if one were a member of an Oxford college. He repeated on a lower note, and more impressively: “As a Manchester man I could not ignore it. I was both personally and financially concerned, as you might say. So what did I do? Why, I went into the whole thing, I went over myself and investigated the state of the country and nature of the opposition to the government. Now, if I had had the slightest doubt, would I have invited you to come from Egypt? All the way from Egypt, eh? An old friend, eh?” There was a long pause in the conversation during which he and the Prince beamed at one another. But Felix shook his head and Livia stared at Galen with profound curiosity – was he just ill-informed, or just pretending in order to deceive the Prince?

  Lord Galen was deceiving nobody but himself. “I went so far as to see the leader of the National Socialists himself. I spent a whole weekend with him in face-to-face discussion about his plans and sentiments.” He looked round triumphantly and paused.

  Then he lowered his voice and went on: “It was not possible to distrust the assurances of such a man; his sincerity was absolutely convincing. Mark you, he was no hotheaded youth but a mature man who had been through the whole war as an ordinary sergeant. He had seen the whole thing from the inside. He spoke most movingly and simply of the sufferings of his country, and of the political indignities the Allies had forced upon it. His only desire was to redress these wrongs and live at peace with the world. He gave me the most explicit outline of his policies and convictions – it was really heart-warming, I was touched almost to tears. We had been really very hard on the Germans. He was right to feel a certain mild resentment about the fact. But his whole attitude was grave and measured and his views long deliberated. And this is where I was first able to question him closely about the alleged anti-Semitism of his party. There was no doubt that the man was sincere – his whole face and manner betrayed it. He knew, he said, that nobody could pull the wool over my eyes, and that I was free to judge as best I may, but for his part he could guarantee that the whole press campaign was false, and had been stage-managed by political opponents. His party were even thinking of creating a second Jewish state, more stable than mandated Palestine, somewhere in the East. He spoke with passion and conviction – and if ever I trusted a man I trusted him. He showed me a long memorandum prepared by the party department of demography about a Jewish state of ten million souls and asked me what I thought of it. You can imagine my excitement. It was the dream of the race to have a place of their own. It was most reassuring to feel that a modern political leader could think along these lines. He said with a smile: ‘You see, Lord Galen, in some ways we are more Zionist than the Zionists.’ I found him very splendid indeed.”

  Galen gazed round at the company whose expressions varied from polite incomprehension to incredulity. Felix listened to his uncle with startled astonishment, Livia with a sort of tremulous doubt – was he roasting the Prince? The rest of them neither knew very much nor cared whether these views were true or false; only the Prince seemed delighted by this brief exposition, and not unfamiliar with its details. His clever grey face was like a silk handkerchief, folding itself into smiles. He said with an air of elation: “And the contracts, P.G. eh?” Lord Galen nodded.

  “I was coming to that,” he said; “it was right at the end of our talks that we discussed the financial situation of his Party. It was, to say the least, precarious, for he was facing powerful vested interests who wished to see other leaders take the helm of state. If he did not get into power what would become of his dreams of founding a small Jewish state? This is what made me think. I sounded him out on the whole question of foreign investment and he told me that he would offer substantial concessions in the future against present aid. In the light of all that had gone before I felt that the situation held out great promise for myself and my associates. Nevertheless, I never act hastily, and I once more went over the whole ground. It was clear to me that this was the chance of a lifetime – to offer a massive contribution to party funds which would be paid for later by wholesale business concessions. I consulted everyone – naturally some were highly doubtful of my good sense, or of his good faith. But my arguments prevailed, and pretty soon we hope he will get in, largely thanks to us; meanwhile, the document which we spent half the night discussing was signed solemnly by us both in the presence of witnesses. I brought it down tonight to show everyone.”

  He inserted his fingers in a cardb
oard tube and eased out a scroll which he unrolled and held up before them. It was typewritten and the seal looked expensive with its wax eagle. But it was too far for anyone to read the text, and after a brief exposure of it to the company, he prudently replaced it, smiling the while at the memory of his astuteness. The Prince made as if to clap his hands in appreciation of his host’s business acumen.

  Livia said she was feeling unwell, and rose with her napkin to her lips; it was nothing, she said, she wanted a breath of fresh air, that was all. They all rose from their chairs to register concern, but were ordered to remain seated, while Constance said: “It’s nothing, but I’ll go with her,” and the two girls made their way out of the house on to the warm green lawns where Livia sank on her knees and then lay fully down and began to turn slowly from side to side. At first it seemed like some sort of paroxysm but in fact it was only an attack of laughter so strong that she was forced to cram her fist between her teeth as she laughed, rolling back and forth. Her sister squatted beside her and watched her with smiling curiosity, waiting patiently until the laughter died away into exhaustion. Livia produced a small pocket handkerchief and mopped up her eyes. “The old fool is giving them money,” she said, still a trifle tremulously. “How they must be laughing.” She rose now, sighing, and allowed Constance to dust her down. “I thought I would explode at table,” said Livia, “and be forced to explain my laughter. Sorry for the diversion. But it’s the joke of the year.”

  Constance knew little and cared nothing about all these problems, so she held her peace; but she linked arms with her sister and together the two women re-entered the dining-room once more where the Prince was just saying: “I also have a car to carry my luggage – but it is a lorry really because I travel with so much luggage.” He sighed. In fact, as they later found, the auxiliary vehicle was a very large removers’ van – the kind known as a pantechnicon. It carried, apart from the Prince’s personal belongings, a crew of three servants. At the moment it was drawn up outside his hotel in Avignon, watched over by a kindly policeman; the Egyptian Embassy had signalled the authorities that the Prince was travelling in France.

  The French customs had already been dazzled by the extraordinary contents of the van; all the Prince’s boxes were made of rare wood and covered outside with coloured silk and inlaid with metal filigree. There was a royal coffin worthy of Tutankhamun. Expensive bridge tables. Enough plate and cutlery to give a banquet for thirty people. When later he showed them these wonders, which included four of his favourite hawks in case he might be in the mood for hawking, he was good enough to explain that what might seem rather superfluous to them was really very necessary for an Egyptian prince, because one never knew. One never really knew. But all this transpired a little while later when their acquaintance with the Prince had ripened. For the moment they sat at table still, but now over brandy and cigars, while Galen cracked walnuts vividly and chatted knowledgeably on the subject of investments. The Prince drank off quite healthy swigs of cognac for a man who looked so slender. “Of the other matter – your buried treasure – we will speak later!” His tone was bantering, amused, which somewhat nettled Quatrefages, who glared at him.

  The clerk was rather suffused now with drink and his mood was, from the point of view of an outside observer, fretful and precarious. Felix eyed him with curiosity and affection and wondered whether he was going to break out into an impassioned speech about the treasure. As a matter of fact the French boy, always a bit touchy, resented the Prince’s smiling scepticism about the seriousness of the work they were doing; why, he wondered, did not Lord Galen insist upon it and say something in defence of it? But he sat mildly rolling bread balls and thinking while the weight of the Prince’s scepticism grew and grew.

  At last Galen said: “The tradition is a long one and it’s been hunted for by many people; a lot of money has gone down the drain hunting for it, so far in vain. More than one consortium of interests has tried its hand. But it is only recently that some documents have come to light which might pin-point the place. There is no doubt that there was a treasure and that it disappeared during the trials of the Templars for heresy. After all, the Templars were the bankers of kings with enormous fortunes in their care. In the documents of the trials which are being deciphered and printed in Toulouse it is clear that the burning question for the investigators who tortured them was financial rather than ecclesiastical. Where had the treasure gone? The questions of heresy were all very well – the Inquisition looked into that very thoroughly; but what the Chancellor of Philippe le Bel wanted to know was where the hell they had put the boodle. This is why the trials were so long drawn out; they could have popped off the whole lot of the Templars in a few months. Why did they hang about? They were hoping for a lead which would guide them to the treasure. That was the only thing that obsessed the King – for the state was bankrupt.”

  He paused and turned to his clerk for confirmation and support. But Quatrefages glared at his plate in a brown study. The Prince was unsmiling now; he had suddenly remembered the stories of buried treasure which figured so largely in Egyptian folklore and the idea appealed to him. His doubts began to be qualified by the reflection that if there were nothing to the story but hot air surely it would not have attracted the attention of a renowned business baron with a reputation for flair and strong dealing? But he realised that he had offended Quatrefages by his bantering tone and he made amends now, reaching out to touch him on the wrist in an apologetic way which quite won the boy’s heart and put him once more into a very good humour. “C’est vrai,” he said to the smiling old man, “it is true; we have some very precious indications. It is probably a crypt now covered in grass. Part of a chateau or a chapel or a monastery. The sign was an orchard of olives planted like this.…” He drew an envelope from his pocket and with his fountain pen sketched a quincunx of trees.

  “I think”, said Galen, “the thing would be for you to visit Quatrefages’ little office at the hotel and see how he is tackling the matter. It’s great detective work. The scent has led us as far as Avignon or its immediate surroundings. We are going through the records of the chateaux and chapels in the immediate vicinity of the town; there are plenty of them, as you may imagine, because of its importance as a religious centre during the period when the Popes made it their headquarters. But there’s hope; o yes, we have hope. That little affair with King John gave me confidence in my own private intuition. You remember? That also looked foolish, but we won through, didn’t we?”

  It was perfectly true. Chatting one day to a young Oxford historian at a reception, Galen had been intrigued by a remark dropped at random; the subject of treasure had come up – heaven knows in what context – and the young don enumerated several examples of buried treasure from his history studies. Among them, and one which he found perhaps the most curious, was the loss of King John’s treasure in the Wash. One would have thought that that at least was traceable; the depth of the channel was negligible and clearly marked. The local movement of tides and sand bars at the ford was extremely limited. Yet despite the efforts of several generations of treasure-seekers nothing had ever come to light. The treasure itself was the most important ever to be lost in England – almost priceless indeed. This stray remark was enough to fire the admiration of Lord Galen who had always fancied himself as a sort of poet of the commercial instinct. He made a note in his little red morocco notebook and called a meeting.

  He knew, of course, that in law all treasure trove belongs to the Crown which has the right, but not the obligation, to reward the finder with a bounty. Lord Galen felt that if he could secure a government promise to reward him to the tune of fifteen per cent for anything he might find, the project might prove to be worth his while. The Prime Minister was a personal friend and was coming to dinner with him the following week. He took the opportunity to explore the situation. He was given a fair wind. Dealing at such a high level with such matters one does not ask for guarantees or formal contracts. He would, he said, b
e content with an exchange of letters serving as a declaration of intent. Of course it was a risk. The project was a costly one and might end in failure. The Government had nothing to lose. The upshot of the matter was that he was able to attract finance for the project and indulge his sense of romance by having the Wash surveyed from the air and inviting engineers to devise the sort of machinery necessary first to locate, then to raise, the buried treasure. It had taken over two years, but had at last been successful. Lord Galen became as famous in Fleet Street as he was in the City. The profits were extremely handsome.

  “I agree,” said the Prince on a note of contriteness. “It was fully justified by the outcome, and a lesson to sceptics.” Galen accepted the accolade gracefully, nodding his personal agreement with the remark. “That is why I thought of you, my dear Prince, when we embarked upon this little venture – which is perhaps a trifle more risky even than old King John. Many more people have tried to locate what we are hunting for – and there is always a chance that someone might have found it and kept the matter secret in order not to surrender it to the French Government. But I have made exactly identical arrangements with the Government here, and have reserved a fine meaningful percentage for my shareholders. The rest is a matter of science, of luck, and the flair of Quatrefages who will bring you up to date on what we have so far found.”

  Quatrefages looked steadily at the Prince and nodded gravely. “We will speak,” he said on a note of confirmation. And the Prince stroked his hand once more with a warmly oriental gesture, saying: “Of course; we understand each other, no?”

  At which the conversation once more became general and the contingent of guests from Tu Duc began to feel a faint disposition to yawn despite the earliness of the hour. The candles had burnt down and begun to drip. Max docked them and changed some for new. “I think”, said Felix, “we should consult the clock and perhaps start moving off in good order.” But a sudden loneliness assailed Lord Galen at the thought of spending the night alone with his asthmatic cat. His voice became quite quavery and pleading as he said: “O do not go so early. Let us have a last stirrup-cup on the terrace. After all who knows when we shall meet again?” Blanford felt the words entangle the muscles of his throat as he looked at Livia across the table. She smiled at him with a slow affectionate expression, but he was so deeply sunk in his own conjectures that he did not respond. How brown she had become – almost the colour of a gipsy! All of a sudden he too was assailed by a fearful sense of anguish and disenchantment – later he would recognise this as premonitory; but an irrational and boundless fear of what might come to pass for them all, and in particular for himself and Livia who inhabited so temporarily this little enclave of passionate feeling in the immensity of a hostile world. The darkness inside was now (for they were on the terrace) matched by the darkness without.