From this last piece of information Roger at once concluded that de Pombal had decided, instead of making the long, overland trek to Antioch, to go down to the Portuguese trading post on the Persian Gulf, there take ship round Arabia up the Red Sea, cross the isthmus and sail again from Alexandria. In mileage, that route would nearly double the length of the journey, but given favourable winds, it should take only a few weeks longer, and be infinitely less of an ordeal.
The Persian could tell Roger nothing of the reason for de Pombal’s unexpected recall. Anxious to learn anything he could about it, Roger decided that a fellow diplomat would prove the most likely source of information. Apart from the French mission, the only countries then having one in Isfahan were Russia and Holland; so he hurried round to the Netherlands Embassy and asked to pay his respects to the Ambassador, whom he had already met on several occasions.
After a short wait, the portly Dutchman received him pleasantly. Like everybody else connected with the Court in Isfahan, the Ambassador knew that Roger had been squiring the beautiful Lisala round the city; so he was not surprised by his visitor’s enquiry about the sudden departure of the Portuguese.
Thoughtfully stroking his chubby chin, he replied. ‘The Marquis did not actually disclose to me the reason for his recall; but from our conversation I formed the impression that, indirectly, your Emperor is responsible for it.’
‘The Emperor!’ Roger exclaimed. ‘What possible reason could he have in concerning himself with such a matter?’
The Dutchman shrugged. ‘With or without warrant, he has made the affairs of every nation in Europe his concern. And still more so since he announced his “Continental System”, by which he hopes to reduce the stubborn English to poverty and impotence. During the past year he has compelled every country under his control to close their ports to British shipping, and one can hardly doubt that he will now exert pressure on the smaller countries that still retain their independence, to come into line. Of these, the most important to him is Portugal. As you may be aware, Portugal is England’s oldest ally; but since the death of Pitt, Britain has waged her war against France only in a most half-hearted fashion, so whether she has either the will or the means to enable the Portuguese to defy your Emperor is open to question. However, now that he has inflicted such a crushing defeat on the Czar, it is reasonable to predict that he will next turn his attention to Portugal, with a view to plugging that serious leak in his embargo against trade with Britain.’
‘Your Excellency’s assumption is soundly based,’ Roger agreed. ‘But I still do not see why this should have brought about de Pombal’s recall.’
‘Do you know anything of his family history?’
‘I know, of course, that the first Marquis was one of the greatest statesmen that Portugal ever produced; and that, for over a quarter of a century, King Joseph gave him a free hand to revolutionise Portugal’s Army, Navy, finances, commerce and educational system. Also that, on the King’s death, his widow displayed such hatred for de Pombal that he was dismissed and persecuted; but I know no more than that.’
‘Then you know enough to realise that the present Marquis has the blood of a genius in his veins. I do not suggest that he is one himself; but he is highly intelligent, an able diplomat and very knowledgeable about international affairs. Perhaps even more important, he bears a name that is now rightly honoured by the Portuguese people. Does it not seem to you that, in the emergency with which his Sovereign may soon be faced, it would be a wise move to have readily available the advice and support of such a personality?’
Roger nodded. ‘In that your Excellency is certainly right. But by his Sovereign I take it you mean the Don Joao, the Prince of Brazil? For many years past, old Queen Maria has been as mad as a hatter.’
‘Of course. In ‘99, Joao was made Prince Regent, and has since performed the functions of a Sovereign. All that I have said is only speculation on my part. But I give it to you for what it is worth.’
Having thanked the Ambassador, Roger took his leave of him no less depressed, but with the feeling that this possible explanation of the sudden departure of the Portuguese was most probably correct.
For the remainder of the day and a good part of the night, he wrestled with the problem of what he should do. Since he was not acting as a British secret agent, duty did not demand that he should remain in Isfahan and, as a lodestone attracts a magnetised needle, he was drawn to rejoin the adorable Lisala at the earliest possible moment.
Should he decide to abandon the French mission and go off on his own? Gardane would protest, but he could do no more than report this desertion to the Emperor. Napoleon’s displeasure might lead to a final break with him; but in the past, Roger had on several occasions produced plausible reasons for having apparently abandoned his service for lengthy periods, and he had little doubt about his ability to do so again.
By this time the Portuguese caravan was probably nearing Shiraz. If he took horse next morning and followed post haste, he could be certain of catching up with it before it reached the Persian Gulf. But what then? How could he explain his wish to join de Pombal’s party and return to Europe with it? He was by no means anxious to marry again; but if he did, who, other than Georgina, could make a more desirable wife than Lisala? Her personal attractions apart, she was of high birth and, as an only child, would inherit a great fortune. He could declare that his love for her was so great that he had sacrificed his career in order to rejoin her, and ask her hand in marriage.
But how would de Pombal react to that? Roger, as an apparent deserter, would make a far from favourable impression. It was quite probable too that, in any case, the Marquis would not consider him a sufficiently good match for his daughter. Still worse, if the Dutch Ambassador’s theory was correct, that the reason for de Pombal’s recall was due to Portugal now being threatened by Napoleon, de Pombal might possibly jump to the conclusion that Roger’s courting of Lisala was being used only as a blind; and that, in fact, Gardane had sent him to travel with the Portuguese as a spy.
‘No,’ Roger decided. It would not do. Forgone reason or another, the Marquis would reject his plea to accompany his party back to Europe.
Next morning Roger walked along to the house behind the Portuguese Embassy, to tell the landlord that he would no longer be requiring the upper apartment, so he could let it to someone else if he wished.
The man listened to his glum resignation of his tenancy, then gave an understanding nod and said with a sly look, ‘I regret that affairs have turned out so badly for my lord, but a letter was left for him by a young serving woman. I will get it.’
Two minutes later, with trembling fingers, Roger was tearing open the sealed paper the man had handed to him. As he expected, it was from Lisala, and read:
My beloved one. Before receiving this you will have learned of the terrible misfortune that has overtaken us. My papa has received orders to return immediately to Portugal, with all his people.
I am desolate. My Russian taught me the joys of passion, but you alone have taught me the true meaning of love. For us to remain separated permanently is unthinkable. I beg you on my knees that you find some way to join me, in Lisbon. Given such an able brain as yours, this cannot be beyond its capacity. For you, nothing is impossible. The thought appals me that, for many weeks to come, I must live without your sweet companionship, gay laughter and those lovely, wicked caresses that send me into a heavenly frenzy. I am already half-dying with desire for you, and will know no peace until you have again become my splendid lover.
As Roger read this desperate appeal to follow her, he found his hand trembling. It was ample evidence that her longing for him equalled his for her. Somehow, he must rejoin her; but how? How? How?
Having given the landlord a gold touman, he walked slowly back to the headquarters of the mission and spent the rest of the day there in agonised frustration; for, badger his wits as he would, he could think of no way in which to overcome the difficulties that faced him.
On the following day the members of the mission were bidden by the Shah to witness an entertainment.
At nine o’clock they found some three hundred nobles at the Palace in the great Maidan Square, round the sides of which many thousand people had congregated. In front of them, to prevent them from encroaching on the square, were triple rows of the Royal Guard in resplendent uniforms.
The display opened with a parade of beautiful horses, the trappings of which were incomparably finer than any the French had ever seen. Some were a blaze of rubies, others of emeralds and others again a groundwork of diamonds patterned with precious stones of various colours; their bridles were thick ropes of silk and their hooves shod with gold. They were followed by gold and silver gem-studded carriages, driven by Indians in gold-braided coats.
A row of precious tapestries was then spread out and to each was led by a lion who lay down on it. Behind them were ranged elephants, rhinoceri, white antelopes and snorting bulls; all bedecked with splendid ornaments and kept under control by keepers clad in costumes of different colours.
A space immediately below the high balcony of the Palace was then cleared until only one lion and one bull remained on it. Roaring, the lion strained to get at the bull until, at a signal from the Shah, the lion was unleashed. In a few, swift leaps, it overtook the bull and began to tear it to pieces. In turn, each lion was presented with a bull to slay; but in two cases the bull succeeded in goring the lion, upon which the keepers rushed in with hatchets and quickly killed the bull, because, the lion being the royal insignia of Persia, its defeat could never be permitted.
Then followed displays by acrobats, jugglers, wrestlers, fencers and archers; the aim of the last being so accurate that they could shoot away the plumes from the turbans of an opposing team—except for one instance, in which an arrow pierced the turban of an opponent. As a penalty, the unfortunate marksman had his hand promptly chopped off.
The last event consisted of two bodies of horsemen, both a hundred strong. They were all young nobles, clad in chain mail and each armed only with one javelin. On receiving a hit on the body, a combatant had to retire; then, in order to throw his javelin again, the man who had scored the hit had to recover it. To do so necessitated his leaning over from his galloping mount, until his head nearly touched the ground. This extraordinary, swiftly-moving mêlée provided the spectators with a display of superb horsemanship.
The show ended at one o’clock, upon which the Shah retired into his palace and, after conversing for a while with some of the Persian courtiers, the officers of the French mission returned to their quarters. All of them were talking enthusiastically of the remarkable spectacle they had just witnessed, with the exception of Roger, who had sat through it with lacklustre eyes, still obsessed with the problem of how to renew his affaire with the beautiful Lisala.
However, he had hardly settled down in his room when he was roused from his brooding by Gardane’s shouting up the stairs: ‘Breuc! Breuc! Come down. A courier has arrived with news; extraordinary news.’
And extraordinary news it certainly proved to be. With his officers crowding about him, the General gave them particulars of the despatch he had just received from Napoleon’s secretary, Meneval. After the Russian defeat at Friedland, it had been agreed that the Czar should meet the Emperor to discuss the terms of an armistice. The two monarchs had established their headquarters on opposite sides of the river Nieman at Tilsit. A huge raft, carrying a gorgeously-appointed pavilion, had then been anchored in midstream, and there, on June 25th, for the first time the two most powerful men in Europe had come face to face.
To open the conference the two Emperors met alone. During a private conversation lasting only three-quarters of an hour, a miracle had taken place. They had emerged enchanted with each other. A large area of the town had then been made a neutral zone for further conferences, attended by the principal Ministers and Marshals. On July 7th a Treaty of Alliance had been signed, which changed the whole situation in Europe.
As a young man, Alexander had held strongly liberal views and fully approved the measures of the National Assembly, which had brought Liberty to the French people. The excesses of the Revolution that followed had horrified him, and turned him against the French. Seven years later, after Napoleon, as First Consul, had shown himself to be a brilliant administrator and had brought order out of chaos, the Czar had conceived a great admiration for him, and refused to aid the Monarchist Coalition in its attempt to destroy the French Republic. But, as time went on, Alexander had gradually come to realise that Napoleon was not simply a French patriot of genius, but a man of inordinate ambition, who was set upon enslaving the people of every country. It was this that had led to his stigmatising the Emperor as a ‘dangerous beast’ who, at all costs, must be thwarted in his designs; and, at last joined the Allies in their most recent attempt to free from Napoleon’s tyranny the countries he had conquered.
Now, in the course of one short afternoon, Alexander had changed his opinion yet again. Napoleon’s magnetism and personal charm had entirely won him over. It had been agreed not only that they should sign a peace, but should divide Europe between them. The miserable King of Prussia was thrown the sop of receiving back Silesia; but ordered to forfeit all his Polish territories to Russia. His port of Danzig was to become a Free City, maintaining a French garrison. A new State called the Duchy of Warsaw was to be formed in central Poland, with Napoleon’s ally, the King of Saxony, as its ruler. France was to retain military control of Oldenburg, Saxe-Coburg and Mecklenburg until peace was made between France and England.
This amazing reorientation of power and interests could not possibly have been foreseen. It would now be contrary to French interests for either Turkey or Persia to attack Russia. In fact, far from attempting to make Turkey France’s ally, it was a reasonable assumption that, secretly, the Emperor and Czar had decided to overrun the Turkish Empire and divide it between them.
After the siesta, the General held a conference with his senior officers. The despatch had made it clear that the Emperor’s designs on India were unchanged. Persian co-operation was essential to that. This now required a most delicate shift in policy. They had been pressing the Shah to attack Russia. Now it must tactfully be put to him and his advisers that in view of recent events this was no longer desirable, but that France still greatly desired the friendship of the Shah, and would assist in the extension of his dominions. As an earnest of this, they would leave with him all the modern weapons sent out for both Turkey and Persia, together with all the French officers nominated to train Oriental troops in their use. Since the Emperor’s orders still stood that, after Persia, the mission should proceed to India, with the object of securing the Mahratta Princes as potential allies against the British, it was clear that the sooner Gardane could persuade the Persians of the Emperor’s continued goodwill towards them and continue his journey to the East, the better.
Roger made little contribution to the conference, for his mind was busy with a private letter which the courier had brought for him. It was in a hand he did not know, and unsigned. It read:
Our purpose has received a serious set-back; but we must not despair. The gorgon has hypnotised the wolf at his front door, so will now turn his attention to silencing the little dog whose yapping in the back yard annoys him. But other beasts that he has kept fettered in his house may seize the opportunity to break loose while he is out in the yard. You can do only harm by taming tigers; so I trust you will find some excuse to return and give us your valuable help in cleansing the gorgon’s lair.
From the beginning, Roger had been averse to going to India, and determined to find some way of evading that part of the mission he had been assigned. An immediate return to Europe fitted in with his own desires; and, if Portugal was to be the next seat of trouble, he could justify his turning up there by asserting that the close association he had formed with the Portuguese while in Isfahan had led him to believe that he could better serve the Emperor by going to Lisbon, rather than to Bombay.
His problem now was to think of a means by which he could justify to Gardane his leaving the mission. If he could have shown an order from the Emperor to proceed to Portugal, all would have been plain sailing; but the cryptic missive from Talleyrand had been far from anything of that kind. In fact, although its source would have remained unknown and anyone seeing it would have found it difficult to interpret, it could have proved dangerous; so, with his habitual caution, Roger had already burned it.
After much thought, just as they were about to go up to bed that night, he tackled the General and asked to have a word with him in his office. As they entered it, he said, ‘Mon Général, I have been considering the next stage of our mission, and should like to talk to you about it.’
‘Sit down, mon ami,’ the General replied genially. ‘Our observations on our business are always interesting.’
Evil in a Mask Page 27