Evil in a Mask

by Dennis Wheatley

  Mounting their horses, the party rode for a quarter of an hour along a track below the towering mountain barrier, until they reached the tombs. That of Cyrus the Great was in the form of a seven-step pyramid surmounted by a thirty-foot-high burial chamber; but those of Darius the Great, Xerxes and several of their relatives were man-made caves hewn out of the cliff, their entrance being fifty feet above ground level, so inaccessible. They had elaborately-carved doorways, above which were scenes from the lives of their occupants, and much lower down, other scenes: one of outstanding interest, as it portrayed Darius on a very small horse, but with an enormous head-dress, accepting the surrender of the Roman Emperor Valerian, whose legions he had defeated, kneeling before him.

  By ten o’clock, both parties were back at the small house among the trees, where they had first seen one another. The encampment of tents near it had been brought from Isfahan by the Ambassador, for to have made the journey to Persepolis and back in one day would have placed too great a strain on his ladies, and they had slept there the previous night. One was a fair-sized marquee, to feed and relax in, and he invited the French officers to accept his hospitality there. Extra supplies were bought from the family that occupied the little house near by, and they all settled down to enjoy themselves.

  Happily for all concerned, de Pombal had brought a dozen bottles of his own wine. It was rose colour and they all declared it to be delicious. He told them then that it was a special cuvée made only from grapes grown in a district near Shiraz, and had a romantic association because it was almost certainly the wine which, centuries before, the poet-astronomer, Omar Khayyám, had praised so highly.

  Gardane remarked that he had been surprised to find that, although in the Koran wine was forbidden to Mohammedans, nearly all the nobles he had met in Isfahan drank it freely.

  At that de Pombal laughed and replied, ‘For any man who is rich, there is no difficulty about that. He has only to give his doctor a sufficiently handsome bribe to receive in exchange a certificate that drinking wine is essential to his health. All the Shahs have habitually enjoyed wine, and some of them have become confirmed drunkards.

  ‘The Shah Safe, who reigned in the latter part of the seventeenth century, became so besotted every night while drinking in the company of his favourites that he even forced drink on others who had religious scruples. When his Grand Vizier refused to join in a debauch, he flung a cup of wine in the poor man’s face, then ordered him to swallow a decoction of opium—which is not forbidden in the Qur’an—and so reduced him to a gibbering idiot for the amusement of the assembled company.

  ‘These Persian nobles appear to be highly civilised and are models of politeness but, believe me, they are the most treacherous schemers in the world, and cruel beyond belief. On another occasion this same Shah, on hearing that some young men had become tipsy in public and had made a nuisance of themselves, sent his police out into the city with orders that they should, on the spot, rip open the belly of every man they found drunk. Even today, should a barber’s hand slip while he is shaving the head of some grandee, and he nicks the scalp, he is liable to have his hand cut off at the wrist.

  ‘They are, too, the most inveterate liars. You may have noticed that, to impress you, they invariably take an oath upon a matter. They will swear by their soul, by their parents, by their beards—which they hold in such high regard that a man can be heavily fined for pulling out a few hairs from another’s—even by the Imam Hasein; yet not a word of what they have been saying is the truth.’

  Out of politeness to his guests, the Ambassador had been speaking in French, and one of the officers asked, ‘Who, Your Excellency, is the Imam Hasein?’

  The Marquis smiled. ‘I forgot that you have come only recently to Persia. Hasein is their most venerated saint. He was the heir of Ali, the son-in-law of the Prophet and founder of the Shiah sect. Having married a Sassanian Princess, he was urged to contest the Caliphate and with a small band of followers advanced on “Mecca. He had been promised the support of the Governor of Kufa, who commanded a much larger force; but the Governor betrayed and attacked him on the plain of Kerbela. Although cut off from water, and suffering from terrible thirst, his little band fought to the death, so he is accounted a martyr. Each year a Passion Play based on this tragedy is enacted in every town throughout Persia, and fanatics gashing themselves with knives and with horse-shoes sewn to their bare skins parade the streets wailing, “Hasein our Lord is dead.” ’

  After they had refreshed themselves, the ladies and the two Portuguese noblemen retired to their respective tents, while the French, using their tunics for pillows, lay down in the marquee to doze through the great heat of the early afternoon. At five o’clock they all partook of another picnic meal. When they had finished it, camp was struck and the whole party set off back to Shiraz.

  Lisala and her aunt rode only the first few miles, then transferred to a form of carriage common in Persia. It was actually a horse litter, having a narrow body borne on two very large wheels and had shafts both back and front, between which horses were harnessed. As the vehicle was hooded, Roger could no longer continue a delightful conversation he had been having with his newly-found divinity; so he cantered up to the front of the column and joined the Ambassador, Gardane and the black-browed Don Alfonso de Queircoz.

  They were talking of the war and, after Roger had been with them for a few minutes, de Pombal remarked, ‘To be honest, I had hoped that His Majesty the Czar would succeed in preventing your Emperor from becoming the master of all northern Europe; but it looks now as if his latest victory may force the Russians to sue for terms.’

  Gardane gave him a quick glance. ‘What victory is this of which Your Excellency speaks? I have heard of none.’

  ‘I had news of it shortly before leaving Isfahan. Another great pitched battle took place at Friedland on June 13th, with most appalling slaughter. ‘Tis reported that both armies lost some twenty-five thousand men, but the Russians had by far the worst of it. Your Emperor was advancing with the object of attacking the main Allied bastion of Königsberg. Instead of retreating on that great fortress, which would have supported his rear, General Bennigsen rashly attempted to intercept the French by throwing a large part of his army across the river Alle, with the result that, after many hours of desperate fighting, they were driven back into it. Great numbers were drowned, and by the following day such Russians as survived had become a mass of fugitives.’

  For the officers of the mission this was splendid news, but knowing that Portugal’s sympathies lay with the Allies, they hid their elation out of courtesy towards de Pombal, as he went on. ‘One must admire your Emperor, Messieurs, as a truly great General; but I fear his ambitions bode ill for the happiness of the peoples in countries he has not yet conquered. This applies particularly to Portugal, as we still adhere to our ancient treaty with England and have refused to come into line with his Continental System by closing our ports to British shipping. And if it emerges that he has dealt a fatal blow to the Russians, we must anticipate that he will next turn his attention to the Peninsula.’

  An awkward silence followed, then Roger tactfully changed the conversation by asking, ‘Am I right in supposing that Your Excellency is a descendant of Portugal’s famous Prime Minister in the past century?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied the Marquis. ‘I am his grandson. Sebastião José was certainly a remarkable man. Having been a diplomat up to the age of fifty-one, with no previous experience of administration it was an extraordinary feat to take over the posts of Secretary of State for both Foreign Affairs and War, and hold them successfully for twenty-seven years. He was fortunate, of course, in enjoying the complete confidence of his master, King Joseph. That enabled him to reorganise Portuguese education and finance, as well as our Army and Navy. It was his misfortune to have brought upon himself the bitter enmity of the Queen Mother and, after King Joseph’s death in 1777, he was exiled from Court. But Portugal honours him today.’

  On r
eaching Shiraz the two parties separated, with cordial expressions of goodwill and the intention of pursuing their acquaintance when they got back to Isfahan. Over supper that evening Roger was much chaffed by his companions about his obvious success with the Ambassador’s beautiful daughter; but he could well afford to treat their obvious envy with amusement. He went to bed that night in an almost dreamlike state of bliss at the million-to-one chance in this distant land that had brought him into contact with an exquisite European maiden and enabled him to capture her interest immediately.

  Next morning the mission set off on its return journey to Isfahan. Hoping that he might find a despatch awaiting him there, Gardane forced the pace, so they reached the capital late on the night of August 9th. A courier had arrived, bringing further details of the victory at Friedland. As usual in his bulletins, the Emperor greatly minimised the French losses and gave scant praise to his Marshals. But it was clear that Lannes had once more displayed his brilliant leadership and tenacity, by holding forty thousand Russians at bay for the greater part of the day, with only ten thousand French, until the corps of Mortier, Ney and Victor had come up to his assistance and overwhelmed the enemy.

  The despatch also contained the news that on May 20th the great Prussian stronghold of Danzig—which Napoleon, with some foolhardiness, had left in his rear still occupied by a considerable enemy army—had, at last capitulated to Lefebvre, who had been rewarded by the title of Duke of Danzig.

  Roger and Gardane were much amused by this, as they guessed the reason that lay behind the honour. Lefebvre was more fitted for his earlier rank of Sergeant-Major than that of Marshal of the Empire, and totally unfitted to command an army corps. But he had been given one for this operation because Napoleon was meeting with opposition from the diehard Republicans in the creation of his new nobility. Madame Lefebvre had been a washer-woman and, when the Emperor had been a penniless subaltern, she had laundered his smallclothes for nothing. Making her a Duchess would, he had cynically decided, cut the ground from under the feet of the old Revolutionaries who resented his giving titles to returned émigrés now forming part of his Court. But Lefebvre could not be given a Dukedom unless he at least appeared to have made a valuable contribution to the campaign. To guard against the risk of his being defeated, Napoleon had assigned to support him Lannes with his fighting devils and Oudinot with his formidable Grenadiers; but both had been given strict injunctions that they were neither to advise nor assist Lefebvre except in an emergency. As the old ex-N.C.O. had been provided with ample troops and a formidable siege train of artillery, they had done the job for him, thus enabling the Emperor to pull off his political coup aimed at the Jacobins.

  The earlier distribution of these Dukedoms to the Marshals had created furious jealousies, as the majority had been Italian territorial titles, such as Mortier, Duke of Treviso; Bessières, Duke of Istria; Duroc, Duke of Friuli, and the War Minister General Clarke, Duke of Feltre; whereas others were given titles commemorating battles in which they had played a prominent role: Lannes, Duke of Montebello; Augereau, Duke of Castiglione; Ney, Duke of Elchingen; Davoust, Duke of Auerstadt; and those not given battle honours had intensely resented the fact, so old Lefebvre was doubly lucky in having been created Duke of Danzig.

  Gardane eagerly enquired of the courier whether he had seen anything of the caravan, a part of which consisted of transport bringing the presents for the Shah. Much to his relief, the man replied that he had passed it at only two days’ march from Isfahan, so it could be expected very shortly.

  Next afternoon, the two-thousand-strong caravan of laden camels, horses and asses arrived in the city. For over two hours that part of it destined for the French blocked the street in which the mission was housed, before the beasts were all unloaded. Colonel Couthon and the junior officers who had travelled with him had had an uneventful but dreary journey, and that evening joyfully celebrated the reunion with their comrades in agreeable surroundings.

  Gardane had lost no time in despatching Mesrop to inform the Peskis Nuviez that the presents had arrived and, on the following day, that functionary came to inspect them. Having by this time had ample evidence of the avarice of the Persians, the General was now able to congratulate himself on having kept back a certain number of the presents, intended as bribes for the Sultan’s Ministers should the negotiations in Constantinople not be proceeding favourably; and these he put aside as a valuable reserve to win the goodwill of the Persian courtiers.

  After carefully examining the gifts originally intended for his master, the Peskis Nuviez expressed himself as well satisfied and, having graciously accepted a pair of silver-mounted pistols for himself, said that he would consult the Court Astrologer about a day when the auspices would be favourable for the presentation to be made to His Majesty.

  Meanwhile, Roger had bought up all the tuberoses that he could find in the flower market, had them loaded on an ass and despatched to Lisala de Pombal. Then, late in the afternoon, he presented himself at the Portuguese Embassy. After a brief wait, he was ushered into an interior courtyard where, to his disappointment, he found, seated beside a fountain, only the Senhora Arahna and another elderly lady.

  Seeing his face drop, Lisala’s aunt laughed, as she extended her hand for him to kiss, and said, ‘Do not look so unhappy, Colonel. Lisala has not been suffocated by the heady perfume of that great load of flowers you sent her. On hearing you announced, she ran upstairs to beautify herself, and she will rejoin us shortly.’

  ‘Then, Senhora,’ Roger smiled, ‘she is wasting her time; for it is pointless to gild the lily.’ He was then presented to the other lady—Dona Christina de Jahlo—who, he later learned, was Lisala’s duenna.

  For some ten minutes they exchanged platitudes about their visit to Shiraz and their return journeys. Then Lisala appeared. When at Persepolis she had been wearing riding clothes, and had her hair pinned up under a scarf against the dust. Now she was dressed in flowing, bright-hued Persian silks and her glorious Titian hair fell in ringlets round her shoulders. Her broad, smooth forehead, widely-spaced tawny eyes and full mouth with its enchanting smile were even more ravishing than the mental pictures Roger had been conjuring up for her.

  Coffee, sweet cakes and wine were brought, and for twenty minutes Roger forced himself to devote most of the time to making himself agreeable to the two older ladies. The prescribed time for a first visit then having expired, he stood up and said to Lisala’s aunt:

  ‘Senhora, there are many interesting sights to be seen in Isfahan. Would you be so gracious as to allow me to offer to take the Senhorita Lisala to see some of them?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, she replied. ‘To permit my niece to go into the city attended by a gentleman of your attractions would be somewhat unusual, but poor Lisala has such a dull time here that I feel I must indulge her; she will, of course, be accompanied by Dona Christina.’

  It was then agreed that Roger should call for them at nine o’clock the following morning. More intoxicated than ever by the smiling glances Lisala had bestowed upon him, and well satisfied with the progress he had made, Roger took his leave.

  Next day he arrived with four sedan chairs of a form used by the Persians, the fourth being for the Armenian, Mesrop, whom he had pressed into service as their guide. Each sedan was borne by bearers in front and behind, but instead of the enclosed structure between them usual in Europe, they had a pole at the back of the seat which curved over and supported a sunshade. When the two ladies appeared, they were both heavily veiled in deference to Persian custom. Mesrop was duly introduced; then they set off.

  First Mesrop took them to see the Masjid-el-Jum’a, or Friday Mosque, the oldest and largest in Persia. It dated from the tenth century, and the greater part of it had been built before the introduction of tiles. Instead, the pillars and ceilings of its many early chapels were of painted bricks, artistically laid in a variety of patterns. Unlike the majority of chapels, which could be entered through a number of archways on two
or three sides, there was one specially designed for worship in very cold weather. It had only one entrance, contained a big stove and was lit through very thick slabs of glass inserted here and there in the ceiling.

  Other mosques they visited impressed them with the great size of their interior courts, lofty minarets and huge domes. Many of the latter, Mesrop told them, had double ceilings with an air space of several feet between, because it had been discovered that this gave them additional strength to resist earthquakes, to which most parts of Persia were subject.

  The following day Mesrop took them across the river to Julfa—a separate town, inhabited entirely by his own people. Until the sixteenth century it had been forbidden for Mohammedans even to learn European languages, let alone speak them. But Shah Abbas the Great was anxious to develop relations with the West, so he decided to use some of his Christian subjects as intermediaries. Instead of rendering a number of families miserable by carrying off the men, as most potentates of his age would have done, this truly great monarch had brought to Isfahan every man, woman and child living in one Armenian town and had had built for them outside his capital a town that was a replica of the one they had left.

  The architecture, shops and costumes of the people of Julfa provided a fascinating contrast with those of Isfahan, and its Greek Orthodox Cathedral was as striking as the mosques, but in an entirely different way. Every inch of the walls and ceilings was covered in magnificent frescoes in mosaic, the pillars were a blaze of gold and on one side of the centre there rose a lofty pulpit that had a bright blue, gold-starred dome surmounted by a strange, pointed roof.