Evil in a Mask

Napoleon shrugged. 'But, my dear Breuc, this mission on which I am about to send you will serve that purpose equally well. You will recall that, in the winter of '99, at your own suggestion, instead of going to your chateau at St. Maxime you went as my confidential representative to the Caribbean, to report on the validity of the excuses made by my miserable Admirals for their lack of success against the English. This mission to Turkey and Persia is of a similar nature. It will take you from the cold and mists of this ghastly country to warm lands where there is the sunshine you need.'

Actually, it had been for Roger's own personal, urgent reasons that, at that time, he had agreed to go out to the West Indies. But he could not admit that; so, hastily, he ventured on another tack. 'Sire, I fear that I should be of little use as a member of such a party. I have never been to Turkey or Persia, and speak the language of neither country.'

Impatiently, the Emperor waved aside his objection. 'That is of no importance. Well-qualified interpreters will be at your disposal, and ample funds to bribe those who act between Gardane and the Pasha and such people, to inform you of their conversations; so that you can report to me whether our mission is really making progress or if the despatches I receive are designed to keep me in a good temper.'

Roger did not at all like this proposal that he should act as a spy on his brother officers. His report on the efficiency of the French Navy in the West Indies had been quite a differ­ent matter and one in which, by misleading Napoleon, he had been able to aid his own country. But, knowing his master's lack of scruples, he made no protest about his own. Instead, he said:

‘I greatly doubt whether I would prove a sound judge of such negotiations; for I know nothing of the politics of these countries or the manner in which their leading men are accus­tomed to transact business.'

Napoleon immediately overrode these objections. 'You will be passing through Warsaw. Talleyrand is there, and he will be able to tell you all about the aspirations of the Turks and Persians. As for their statesmen's manner of doing business, the East is the East and you are better acquainted with the ways of Orientals than any other man on my personal staff.'

Again Roger was caught out. He owed his appointment as an aide-de-camp to the fact that he had travelled exten­sively in India and home by way of the Red Sea and Egypt. Napoleon had always been fascinated by the East, and it had so happened that after his first triumphant campaign in Italy_s Roger, having just returned from India, had again been brought to his notice. Bonaparte, already visualising himself as Sultan of the Nile and another Alexander the Great, had spent several evenings listening enthralled to Roger's accounts of his journey. Then, realising that he had many valuable qualities, the General had made him a permanent member of his staff.

In desperation, Roger declared, 'Sire, you cannot lump all the countries of the East together as though they were in­habited by one people. In India alone, there are more different races, languages and religions than there are in Europe; and none of them has the faintest resemblance to the Persians, or the Turks.'

The Emperor's face suddenly assumed a cunning look. 'In that no doubt you are right. But that this mission should cause these countries to stir up trouble for the Czar is but one half of my intent. Gardane's instructions are, while in Persia, to explore ways by which, after I have defeated Russia, in alliance with the Shah, we could most rapidly make a descent on India. And who, Breuc, knowing India so well, is better qualified to advise and assist him in such a reconnaissance?'

For Roger to point out that, although he was one of the comparatively few Europeans who had crossed the sub-con­tinent from Calcutta to Bombay, he had no knowledge of one in a hundred of the cities and rivers in that vast territory was, he knew, futile. The Emperor assumed him to be as much an authority on it as a man who had ridden from San Sebastian to Gibraltar would be on Spain. And when Napoleon had formed an opinion on a matter, there was no altering it.

Maintaining his usual deferential and cheerful expression when in his master's presence, but inwardly seething with rage, Roger realised that unless something quite unforeseen occurred, his hopes of luxuriating in the sunshine of the South of France had evaporated into moonshine, and that within a few days he would be on his way to Constantinople.

Nothing unforeseen did occur. On the contrary, the next morning Roger was sent for by Berthier. Like Murat, the Marshal had a passion for gorgeous uniforms, which he desig­ned himself; but, unlike the handsome cavalryman, the ugly little Chief of Staff, with a head much too big for his body, succeeded only in making himself conspicuously grotesque. After congratulating Roger on having regained his freedom, he said:

'His Majesty tells me that he has ordered you to join General Gardane's mission which is proceeding to the East. He wishes me to inform you of the situation there and what we hope to achieve. The English have been attempting to detach the Turks from their alliance with us. So far they have failed, but the Sultan is having difficulties with his own people, so it is highly desirable that we should strengthen his position and attach him more firmly to us. This wc intend to try to do by furnishing him with supplies of modern weapons and, in due course, sending French troops to his support. But Turkey alone is not powerful enough to make serious trouble for the Russians in that theatre, so the arrival here of a mission from the Shah has inspired the Emperor with the idea of bringing about a triple alliance consisting of France, Turkey and Persia.

'Since the Persians are well disposed towards us and the Russians are their hereditary enemies, there is a good prospect that they would welcome the idea of joining the Turks and depriving the Czar of considerable territories adjacent to their countries while he is fully occupied by us up here in the north.'

'To put it another way,' Roger said, 'the intention of our master is to create so much trouble for the Czar in the south that he will be compelled to despatch forces there that will seriously weaken his army opposed to us.'

Berthier nodded his massive head. 'That is the intention; and, since the Persians have a considerable army of troops who have the reputation of stout fighters, it should succeed.'

'I pray you may prove right. But, as they are only just emerging from the era of using bows and arrows, I foresee a few regiments of well-disciplined Russian Grenadiers making short work of attacks by such rabble.'

'I disagree. If any horsemen in the world are the equal of the Cossacks, it is the Persians. Moreover, it is the intention of the Emperor not only to send large consignments of arms to the Sultan, but also to the Shah; and with them officers qualified to instruct the Generals of those Oriental sovereigns in the most modern methods of waging war.'

With a slightly cynical smile, Roger remarked, 'I am happy to learn that our master's new preoccupation has not alto­gether robbed him of the ability to enhance the probable suc­cess of his brilliant conceptions by supporting them with practical measures.'

Having no sense of humour, Berthier frowned. 'His Majesty has laboured indefatigably on behalf of France; so no man is better entitled to a few weeks of relaxation. We come now to the question of India.'

'Yes. The Emperor mentioned to me his designs upon that country.'

'So he told me; but without specifying particulars. The Persians have waged war against the northern states of India for even longer than they have against the Russians. Once we have settled with the Czar, it is His Majesty's intention to use them to facilitate our chasing the English out of India.

'Gardane's officers are to reconnoitre the routes to Delhi from Egypt, Syria and Persia, also the ports on the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, with a view to expeditions being des­patched both by land and sea. The Shah is to be persuaded to form a Corps of twelve thousand picked men, armed with French weapons, who will attack the Russians in Georgia; the bait being held out to him is the permanent annexation of that country. This Corps, later supported by twenty thou­sand French troops, will form the army for our advance to the East; and it is thought possible that the Mahratta Princes might be induced to join us. If so, we shall have forces of sufficient strength to overcome not only the British, but every other Maharajah who is sufficiently ill-advised to oppose us.'

This grandiose conception made it clear to Roger that, however much of Napoleon's time might be going to dalliance with the litde Polish Countess, he still found enough to evolve plans calculated to take his enemies by surprise and fill them with the greatest apprehension.

After a moment Berthier went on. 'General Gardane is a very able man, and well suited to head such a mission; but His Majesty is of the opinion that you will prove of great assistance to him.'

'In that he is entirely mistaken,' Roger said earnestly, 'and I beg you, Marshal, to disabuse his mind of this idea. It is true that I once travelled across India; but of Persia and Tur­key I know nothing.'

'Oh come, mon Colonel I How can you possibly say that? Both the Emperor and I are blessed with good memories. I recall that, while you were in Cairo, he had you arrested be­cause you had broken into a Pasha's harem, and made off with a lovely houri who turned out to be no less than a daugh­ter of the late Sultan. Afterwards fortune favoured you and you came to know her—er—intimately.'

'True,' Roger admitted. 'But the Princess Zanthe's mother was a French lady, born in Martinique, and Zanthe herself was married when very young to the Sultan's Viceroy of Egypt. While in Constantinople, she had never been allowed outside the seraglio, so from her I learned nothing about the Turkish people—let alone the Sultan's relations with other countries. She was, of course, a cousin of the present Sultan, Selim III, but no more than one of the countless relatives that result from the polygamy practised by these Oriental monarchs.'

Berthier shrugged and spread wide his square-fingered hands with their knobbly knuckles. 'It is clear to me, Breuc, that you are averse to accompanying General Gardane to the East. But it has been decreed by the Emperor that you should; so that is the end of the matter. As frequently as possible, you will send confidential reports to me upon how matters are progressing. Now, you must forgive me if I terminate our interview, as I have a thousand things requiring my attention.'

His last hope of escaping this new assignment gone, Roger 109 left the busy little Chief of Staff, and sought out General Gardane, whom he had met on several occasions, but knew only slightly.

The General had already been informed that Roger was to accompany him and, although he naturally had no idea that this additional member of his mission had been charged to make confidential reports on his activities, he talked to him freely and as an equal, knowing Roger to be a member of the Emperor's personal staff. Over several glasses of hay-scented vodka, they chatted for an hour on the situation in the East, and Roger was favourably impressed. Gardane was some years older than himself and, while he had not travelled so widely, appeared to be well informed about conditions in the countries at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. He was, moreover, forceful but well-mannered and urbane, which confirmed Roger's view that Napoleon's practice of frequently sending his more intelligent Generals as Ambassadors— where military matters were concerned—instead of profes­sional diplomats, was a sound one.

To Roger's surprise and chagrin, as they were taking leave of one another, the General said, 'You are aware, of course, that we shall be setting out first thing tomorrow morning?'

It was the final blow to Roger's hopes that he might yet think of a way to wriggle out of this unwelcome business. He could only bow and reply, 'Mon General, I look forward to accompanying you.'

Hurrying to the office of the Quartermaster General, he requisitioned everything he could think of that might make his long journey more endurable. In the afternoon, he paid Berthier another visit and secured from him an order on the Paymaster's department. There he drew two hundred Napo­leons in gold, which he stowed away in a money belt, and a draft on the French bankers in Constantinople for a further thousand.

That night, unhappy but now resigned, he went early to bed, wondering what this new twist of fate held in store for him.

It was the 12th April when General Gardane's party left Finckenstein. It consisted of no fewer than fifty persons: the senior officers were Roger, Colonel Couthon of the Engineers, a lanky, gloomy man; Colonel Ladue of the Artillery, a spry fellow with an impish sense of humour; Lieutenant-Colonel Rideau, a bewhiskered veteran of the Egyptian campaign and Lieutenant-Colonel Montdallion who, a few years earlier, had accompanied General Sebastiani on an exploratory mission in 1802, sent with the object of raising trouble for the British in Algiers, Egypt, Syria and the Ionian Isles. There were a dozen junior officers; the rest were cooks, grooms, servants and interpreters detached from the Turkish and Persian Mis­sions, the greater part of which, after again being received by Napoleon, were to travel in easy stages back to their own countries.

Two days later, Gardane's mission reached Warsaw, where they were to stay a night and supplement the meagre supply of provisions that was all they had been allowed to take with them from Finckenstein. Excusing himself to Gardane, Roger made straight for the ancient Palace which had for centuries housed the Kings of Poland and in which, after the Emperor had left it, Talleyrand had become the master.

After only a short delay, Roger was most warmly received by the ex-Bishop, now His Serene Highness the Prince de Benevento. Immaculate in black silk, lace ruffles and cravat, a square, gold quizzing glass dangling from his neck, and leaning on a jewelled malacca cane, this most potent survivor of the ancien rigime, now just over fifty-three years of age, limped forward smiling, and said:

Cher ami. The news that you had survived Eylau reached me only two days ago. I was more delighted than I can say. But I see with concern that you, too, now have a limp.'

Roger returned his smile. Tf only I can acquire the habit of making it as elegant as that of Your Highness, I'll not com­plain. I suffered much hardship while I was a prisoner; but that I am still alive and again free is the great thing. How fares it with yourself?'

'By no means happily. I still rejoice in technically holding the office of His Imperial Majesty's Minister for Foreign Affairs; but in fact I am become no more than his chief sutler for the Army. Not a week passes but he replies to my recom­mendations about the foreign policies we should pursue. "I give not a damn for diplomacy. Send me bread, meat, any­thing you can lay your hands on for my troops, and fodder for the horses."'

With a laugh, Roger replied, 'Surely that suits you well? Such contracts should serve greatly in adding to your already considerable fortune.'

Talleyrand sighed. 'Alas, no. Unlike our friend, Fouche, it goes against my principles to acquire money by selling goods of poor quality to our own army. To support my modest tastes, I have had to make do by accepting now and then a pittance from one or other of our allies to further their in­terests—if, that is, their interests coincide with those of France.'

Roger glanced round, taking in his old friend's conception of 'modest tastes'. The room was a lofty, sixty-foot-long salon, with blue walls, gilded panels and a beautifully-painted ceiling, from which hung two large, crystal chandeliers. The carpet was Aubusson, the chairs covered in the finest petit-point. On a huge buhl desk stood a pair of solid gold, six-branched candelabra and, open near one of them, an oval velvet-lined case in which sparkled a fine diamond necklace —doubtless intended as a gift for some lovely Polish lady who had recently become the fastidious statesman's latest mistress. He was, admittedly, living at the moment in commandeered 'lodgings', but the room was typical of the luxury with which he habitually surrounded himself, and it was well known that the bribes he had extracted from foreign Ambassadors during the past ten years had run into several hundred million francs.

Tinkling a silver hand-bell, Talleyrand went on. 'You will, I trust, do me the pleasure of dining with me and sleeping here tonight. Then you can tell me all that has befallen you, and in what way I can be of service to you. No doubt you will recall my extreme dislike of work; but, alas, I still have some letters that I needs must glance through before they are despatched. My secretaries are reasonably competent at writ­ing them for me, but there are times when they do not catch my exact shade of meaning. Meanwhile, I will have you con­ducted to an apartment, and wine sent up to refresh you after your journey.'

As Roger expressed his thanks, a servant appeared and took him up to a handsomely-furnished suite. There he luxuriated for a while in an enormous marble bath, drank a couple of glasses of champagne and cheerfully demolished a plate of Strasbourg pate sandwiches.

At dinner he sat down with some twenty-five other people, several of whom he knew. Having for so long had to make do on spartan fare, he did full justice to an epicurean meal and a succession of fine wines, topped off with some Imperial Tokay his host had recently received as a present from the Emperor of Austria. After they left the table, Talleyrand devoted no more than half an hour to his other guests, then politely excused himself, and, leaning on Roger's arm, led him away to a small library.

Talleyrand had not arrived in Berlin or Warsaw before Roger had left those cities, so it was a long time since they had met, and they had much to talk about. Roger gave a brief account of his misadventures after Eylau, then said:

‘I should be grateful to know whether you think this mis­sion that I have so reluctantly been compelled to accompany is likely to prove successful.'

'How well are you informed on Turkish and Persian affairs?' Talleyrand enquired.

'About Persia I know nothing; about Turkey a limited amount. You may perhaps recall my telling you that, while in Egypt and Syria, I had an affair with a Turkish Princess named Zanthe. From her I learned that extraordinary changes had taken place at the Sultan's Court during her childhood. Her mother was Aimee Dubucq de Rivery, a young French lady born in Martinique, and a cousin of the Empress Josephine.'

Talleyrand nodded. 'I have often heard the story of the strange prophecy made to these two young women by a sooth­sayer, that they would both become Queens. After being edu­cated in France, when returning to Martinique, Aimee was captured by Barbary pirates, was she not, then sent by the Bey of Algiers to his master, the Sultan Abdul Hamid I as a present?'

'Yes, and fate decreed her arrival at a very opportune moment. Abdul Hamid's heir was Selim, the son of Circas­sian Kadin who, at that time, was Sultan Valide—the mis­tress of all the women of the harem. One of Abdul Hamid's wives, an evil woman, was endeavouring to persuade the Sultan to have Selim murdered, so that her own son, Musta-pha, should succeed. The Circassian selected Aim6e and trained her to win Abdul Hamid's affections, which she did; and she succeeded in protecting Selim, so that he did succeed and is the present Sultan.'

Again Talleyrand nodded. 'Aimee not only became Abdul Hamid's principal wife, but has ever since enjoyed Selim's devotion. Mahmoud, Aimee's son, is the present Heir Appar­ent. It has long been the custom for Sultans to keep their heirs prisoner in special apartments from fear that they might con­spire to supplant them. But Selim's trust¹ in Aimee is such that he has allowed her boy full freedom and acts as a father to him. Moreover, she has persuaded Selim to introduce many reforms, carries on a regular correspondence with her cousin Josephine, and was responsible for bringing about the alliance between Turkey and France. That was sadly shattered when Napoleon invaded Egypt in '98, and deprived Turkey of one of her richest provinces; then at Aboukir totally destroyed the Turkish army sent against him. But in 1801 we restored Egypt to the Turks, so our alliance with them was renewed. Owing to this amazing woman, during the past twenty years the Sultan's Court has become strongly impregnated with French culture.'

Roger shrugged. 'I see, Prince, that you are as well informed regarding the Turkish royal family as myself. But I am com­pletely ignorant about the situation and aspirations of the Turkish nation. For such enlightenment as you can give me, I should be truly grateful.'

Sitting back, Talleyrand replied, 'The key to Turkey's policy has for long been, and must continue to be, her rela­tions with Russia. For many years the Russians have cast covetous eyes on the Sultan's dominions in the Balkans, with a view to gaining access to the Mediterranean. Since Catherine the Great's time their hope of acquiring the Sultan's Euro­pean territories has increased, because the Turkish Empire is by no means the great power that it once was and, under Abdul Hamid, it suffered a still further decline.

'As you are aware, owing to the practice of polygamy, by which every Sultan begets many sons, it became the horrible but usual practice of each Sultana to endeavour to have the sons of her co-wives put to death, in order to ensure the suc­cession of one of her own sons. In escaping death, Abdul Hamid was fortunate, but the fathers, too, feared that one of their sons might have them assassinated in order to succeed. So this unfortunate Prince was kept prisoner by his predeces­sor, Mustapha III, in a gilded cage for forty-three years.'

'Mon Dieu, how awful!' Roger exclaimed.

'A far from pleasant experience,' Talleyrand concurred. 'And, you will appreciate, not one calculated to produce a knowledgeable and strong ruler. In consequence, during the sixteens years of his reign, he lost control of a great part of his dominions. The Mamelukes defied his Viceroy in Egypt and virtually became the rulers of that country. Up on the Danube his tributary Princes, the Hospidars of Wallachia and Moldovia, refused to obey his firmens and the Serbians also proved extremely troublesome.

'That was the situation when Selim III ascended the throne. Owing to the protection and unbringing of your—er—charm­ing friend's mother, he suffered none of his predecessor's dis­abilities. On the contrary, he had imbibed Western ideas of a Sovereign's duty to his people, and set out to introduce many reforms that would have benefited their lot.

'But one must remember the vastness of his Empire. It stretches from Morocco to the Red Sea, from southern Arabia to the Danube, and includes the whole of the Balkans. Only a Roman Emperor with the wisdom of a Marcus Aurelius or the iron will of a Hadrian could control pro-Consuls appointed by him to rule great territories so far distant from his capital.

'It is, therefore, not surprising that Selim's attempts at re­form have been constantly thwarted by the Pashas who are virtually subject Kings in his more remote dominions. Natur­ally, they are averse to any reduction in their power. He was faced with a rebellion by the Wahhabis in the Nejd, which he had great difficulty in putting down. The Serbians are de­manding independence, and one of their patriot leaders named Kara George has made himself master of Belgrade. Further north, the Hospidars of Wallachia and Moldavia have trea­cherously sought Russian aid to defy him.

'Last, but not least of his troubles are the Janissaries. As you must know, they are a picked corps numbering many thousands; mostly Circassians, taken from their mothers at birth and reared with the sole object of making them an admir­ably trained and absolutely loyal private army, prepared at any time to sacrifice their lives for their Sultan.

'Time was when they were a much smaller body and served only as Household troops. But Abdul Hamid sent large de­tachments of them to strengthen his armies in distant pro­vinces. During the past few years, a number of these profes­sional warriors have gone over to the Pashas who defy Selim's authority. Even his own Praetorian Guard in Constantinople has become disaffected, because they are averse to the reforms he would like to introduce.

'He has made a shrewd move to counter that by creating a new corps, known as the Nizam-i-jedad. They are mainly Turks who are said to be dovotcd to him; but every year he strengthens this new corps by transferring a number of picked Janissaries into it, giving them special privileges. Whether he is wise in that, I have my doubts.

'To maintain himself he must have either the support of England or France. England is now Russia's ally, and the Russians are aiding his rebel Pashas on the Danube; so rc-cendy he has become more than ever pro-French. Aimee still has great influence with him, and lately she has had the able support of General Sebastiani, who arrived in Constantinople as our Ambassador last August. You may recall that, in 1803,

Bonaparte sent him to make a reconnaissance of Algeria, Egypt, Syria and the Ionian Isles, and his report proved most valuable. He is an excellent man: charming, shrewd and audacious. In him you will find a very valuable collaborator. Incidentally, he married the charming Fanny dc Coigny, whose father you may recall in the old days at Versailles as a close friend of Queen Marie Antoinette.'

Roger nodded, and the statesman went on. 'From all that I have said, you will realise that General Gardane's mission will prove no easy one. The Sultan Selim has his hands full enough maintaining order in his own dominions, and I greatly doubt if he will be able to raise sufficient troops to launch an offensive against the Muscovites that would cause the Czar serious concern.'

'And what of Persia?' Roger enquired.

'For the Persians I have a great admiration,' Talleyrand replied. 'They were one of the first races in the world to be­come civilised, and centuries later they were the only nation that succeeded in defeating the Roman legions.' Giving a sudden smile, he added, 'Except your mother's people, the Scots. But I have been told that was mainly due to there being such a profusion of thistles in the country that they proved a serious affliction on the legionaries' bare legs—and, any­how, there was nothing further north that made the country worth conquering.'

Roger laughed. 'The Scots had bare legs, too, so it must be that they were hardier. But Persia has suffered many defeats since Roman times.'

'True. She was, of course, overrun in the seventh century by the great wave of Arab conquest that established the Mo­hammedan religion throughout all North Africa and the Near East; and again in the twelfth century by the Mongol hordes. But she never lost her identity. Even her religion differs as much from the more generally accepted Islamic creed as Pro­testantism does from Catholicism; and, in certain areas, the ancient cult of Zoroaster continues to flourish after two thousand years.

'Through the ages Persia's contribution to the arts and sciences has been immense. While Athens was still only a city state, Cyrus and Darius lived in palaces that rivalled those of Babylon. While we in Europe were passing through the Dark Ages, the Islamic nations produced doctors, philoso­phers and astronomers of the first rank. Avicenna, the greatest of them all, was a Persian. Their poets, Firdusi, Sa'adi and Hafiz wrote the most beautiful of all the works that have come out of the East, and their countrymen held them in greater esteem then than they did their victorious generals. At the time of the Italian Renaissance, Persia, too, had a Renais­sance; although neither had any connection with the other. Their paintings on ivory, and designs for rugs and tiles during that period have never been surpassed; the mosques and palaces they built were miracles of skill and good taste. They were great gardeners and to them we owe the development of many of our most beautiful flowers. Believe me, I count you lucky to be going to this land of silks and roses.'

'You certainly console me considerably for having to make this long and wearisome journey,' Roger remarked. 'But you have been speaking of the past. What of the present? Have they continued to progress, and do you think it likely that they will welcome a French delegation?'

'To the best of my belief, life in Persia has altered little from the days of Shah Abbas the Great. He reigned some two hundred years ago. It was he who was responsible for the re­generation of Persia by his eager patronage of the many talented men of his own generation, and he was the first ruler to open his country to Europeans. Not long after the Portu­guese rounded the Cape of Good Hope, they formed a fortified settlement on the island of Hormerz in the Persian Gulf. With their more modern ships and weapons, they were able to ter­rorise the Persians, raid their ports and they treated the people most brutally. Naturally, the Shah regarded them with bitter enmity. Then a hundred years later, when Abbas the Great was on the throne, the English appeared on the scene and drove the Portuguese out.

'Abbas showed his gratitude by giving them trading facili­ties, to the great benefit of both nations. The French arrived later and it was largely to the establishment by the Capuchin Fathers of a monastery in Isfahan that we owe our influence. The present situation is favourable to us. You will recall that, in 1800, Napoleon had secured the goodwill of the Czar Paul. Between them they concerted a plan to invade India by way of Persia, and asked the assistance of the still-reigning Shah, Fath Ali. The English got to hear of the project, and sent as an agent from India a Captain John Malcolm. He was an able man and persuaded the Shah to oppose the pro­ject. But it fell through altogether on account of the Czar Paul's assassination, and his young successor, Alexander, turn­ing against France. Very stupidly, the English then withdrew Malcolm and have since had no representative at the Shah's Court. It follows that, as one of Fath Ali's dearest ambitions is to recover Georgia from the Russians and as Gardane will meet with no outside opposition, there is a very good chance that the Shah will now agree to become France's ally.'

'I am indeed grateful to Your Highness for this valuable exposition,' said Roger. 'I've learned more in the past hour than I could from the dozen books I had planned to buy and read on my journey.'

For a moment they were silent, then Talleyrand asked, 'Since you returned to the Emperor's service last May, have you continued to be in communication with the British Govern­ment?'

Roger shook his head. 'Nay. As you well know, were there any way in which I could profitably serve my country, I would. But ruled as it now is by a collection of cowardly fools, no project has been ventured upon that could be aided by advance information.'

'True. The expeditions they sent both to Egypt and against the Turk were a futile waste of effort. But I see you are not up to date with events. Last month the so-called "Ministry of All the Talents" was dismissed by King George because they made yet another attempt to force through the Catholic Emancipation Act. The Duke of Portland is now Prime Minister, and has Canning as his Foreign Secretary.'

'Indeed I You give me then new hope. Canning was one of Mr. Pitt's proteges, and I am fairly well acquainted with him. He is an able and forceful man, so we may expect Britain to adopt more vigorous policies.'

'I agree. Mayhap another descent on Holland, or, to better purpose, an expedition to aid the Swedes in Stralsund. Could they succeed in defeating Mortier, they would be in a position to outflank the Emperor in the north. Moreover, Hanover, Hesse-Cassel and Western Prussia might rise behind him and cut off his communications with France.'

Roger raised his eyebrows. 'You think then that the Ger­mans are already contemplating an attempt to throw off the French yoke, should a suitable opportunity offer?'

'I do. And should they do so, Napoleon will have only himself to blame. I implored him to be lenient with these people and thus make them friends of France. But he would not listen to me. By imposing such harsh terms, he has caused a bitterness in their minds that is now making them think only of revenge. The same applies to Austria. After Ulm, or even Austerlitz, he could have granted terms that would have made Austria his ally against Russia. But, like the Corsican bandit that he is, he insisted in robbing her of the Tyrol and her Venetian and Swabian territories. The result is that the Court of Vienna is now sitting sullenly on the sidelines. I am certain that Count Stadion, who replaced Cobentzel last year as the Emperor Francis' principal Minister, favours resum­ing the war while we are so fully committed against Russia. Francis is held in check only by the counsel of the Archduke Charles who, although he is their best General, urges restraint until the Army has recovered from its losses in the last cam­paign; and a bribe I have offered is that, should Napoleon, as he promised, restore independence to the Poles, we will not deprive Austria of her Polish lands.'

'Think you he really intends to re-create Poland as a King­dom?'

' 'Tis possible. Murat is hoping for it as a promotion from being Grand Duke of Berg-Cleves. Louis, too, although the most vain, stupid and ineffectual of all the Bonaparte brothers, would prefer it to being King of Holland, so has arrived on the scene with a hundred suits of clothes to stake his claim. But the Poles here are rapidly becoming disillu­sioned about the goodwill of the Emperor towards them. Be­lieving him to be their saviour, they welcomed him with open arms, but now they are coming to the conclusion that he has only been making use of them.'

'Then, on all counts, in spite of Napoleon's many victories, the future does not look too bright for him.'

Talleyrand took snuff, flicked the fallen grains of it from his satin lapels with a lace handkerchief, then replied. 'Far from it. To my mind, he has reached the pinnacle of his power and glory—and his usefulness to France. You know my per­sonal history better than most men. Born a noble, I was one of the leaders of the Liberal Revolution in '89 that sought to deprive that kindly but stupid man Louis XVI of absolute power, and secure for the upper and middle classes a voice in the affairs of the nation—in short, a similar form of demo­cratic government to that which has made England so rich and powerful.

'The extremists got the better of us, and brought about the Terror. It was to you, cher ami, that I owed my escape from France and my life. Hated and despised by the majority of my fellow exiles for having helped to initiate the original Re­volution, I could only wait abroad for the Terror to burn itself out. As soon as it was safe to do so I returned to France, and still hoping for better times put my services at the disposal of that despicable junta of self-seekers who ruled for six years as the Directory.

'When Bonaparte returned from Egypt, I realised that he was a man who could rescue France and bring order out of chaos. Both you and I helped him to attain power, and our hopes were realised—even to his agreeing to offer peace to England. And peace, peace, lasting peace, is what all Europe needs so desperately. Above all, as we have always agreed, an honest entente between our two countries is the only cer­tain means of ensuring peace and prosperity throughout the whole world. That Pitt, Grenville and your King proved sus­picious, intractable and rejected Bonaparte's overture is our great tragedy.

'But I did not despair. As First Consul Bonaparte leaned upon me, giving countless hours to absorbing what I could teach him about diplomacy of which, as a soldier, he knew virtually nothing. Again and again I prevented him from acting rashly where France's foreign relations were concerned. Yet, as time went on, he tended more and more to disregard my advice. During the past few years, there have been in­numerable occasions when I have ignored his outbursts of temper and allowed him to abuse me in the language of a guttersnipe. This I have supported for one reason only. Be­cause I believed that, as long as I retained my post as Foreign Minister, I could, better than any other, direct his policies for the good of France.

'All my efforts and the humiliations I have suffered have proved to no avail. His fantastic success has turned his head. Any sound judgment that he ever had has been eroded by his insane ambition to become the master of the world. For the welfare of France he now cares nothing. By his senseless cam­paigns he is bleeding her white. The flower of our youth for two generations has died upon his battlefields, as the price of his personal glory.

'I intend to continue to pay him lip service; so that, should the opportunity arise, I shall still be in a position to have a say in the future of France. My knowledge of your past acti­vities places your life in my hands. But, even were that not so, I count on you so close a friend with views so entirely in ac­cordance with my own, that I will tell you this. From now on, I mean to work in secret for Napoleon's downfall, because I am first and last a Frenchman and only by destroying this madman's power can France be saved from annihilation.'

Once more a Secret Agent

Next day, when Roger left Warsaw with General Gardane's calvalcade, he had plenty to think about. Talleyrand's view, that no lasting peace could exist in Europe unless France and Britain came to an agreement satisfactory to both, had long been known to him. That was one thing; but the Minister's announcement that, from passive resistance to Napoleon's policies, he was not going to take such action as he could to bring about his downfall, was quite another. With such a power­ful personality as Talleyrand, it might result in extraordinary developments.

At the moment, however, Roger was much more concerned with a problem of his own. Not only was it over eighteen months since he had sent any secret information to the British Government, but after Mr. Pitt's death he would have been most averse to doing so, because for it to have been accepted as genuine he would have had to identify himself as its sender. That could have proved highly dangerous, since he had for so long been one of Pitt's most devoted adherents, whereas the men in the 'Ministry of All the Talents' had been his most vicious enemies. In consequence, to entrust the secret of his double life to any of them was a risk Roger would have taken only if he had considered the news he had to send of great importance to his country.

But now that Ministry had fallen, and George Canning was at the Foreign Office, the situation was altogether different. He knew about Roger's past services, they had met on numerous occasions and more than once discussed the progress of the war over the dinner table in Pitt's house out at Wimbledon.

Napoleon's project for forming an alliance with the Turks and Persians to harass the Russians in the south-east could have no directly damaging effect on Britain; but any move that hampered Russia was harmful to the Allied cause and, if Canning was informed of the Emperor's intention, he might possibly be able to exert sufficient pressure on the Sultan and the Shah to keep one, if not both of them, neutral. Therefore, Roger had decided overnight that, somehow, he must get this news to London.

But the problem was, how? Before leaving Finckenstein, the route Gardane's mission was to take had been settled. France being at war with Russia, it could not go by the short­est way: Warsaw, Lvov, Odessa and thence across the Black Sea. So, from Warsaw, they would go south through Cracow to Budapest, thence by water down the Danube to Constanza, and there take ship for Constantinople.

The question was, where could he make contact with some­one who could be relied on to convey a message safely to Eng­land? Poland was under French control, Saxony had sided with Prussia in the recent war but caved in and been granted reasonable terms by Napoleon; thus becoming one of his allies. The Austrian Empire was now neutral, but Budapest, as the capital of Hungary, was subsidiary to Vienna; so no diplo­mats were stationed there. Further cast offered no opportun­ities and, when he reached Constantinople, even if a British diplomat was accredited to the Sultan, it would take many weeks to get a message sent by him all the way to London.

After some thought, Roger decided that the only possibility lay in Vienna. Before the break-up of the Third Coalition Britain and Austria had been allies. Although the Austrians had been defeated by the French and the Emperor Francis driven from his capital, since peace between them had been restored he, and the diplomats accredited to his Court, would have returned there. There seemed then a good chance that, if Roger could get to Vienna, his problem would be solved.

But Vienna was some one hundred and forty miles from Budapest, and Roger knew diat Gardane had already sent a galloper ahead to arrange that craft should be procured and made ready to take the mission down the Danube; so the odds were that it would not remain in the Hungarian capital more than a couple of days at most.

That night they put up at the only inn in a small, dreary town. The senior officers shared the few rooms, while their juniors occupied adjacent houses and their servants the barns and stabling. Having brought their food and cooks with them, they ate a passable meal. Afterwards Roger said to Gardane:

'Mon General, I am a great lover of travel and have visited most European capitals, but not Budapest. So I should like to spend at least four or five days there. The pace at which your mission can proceed is naturally limited to that of the pack animals, which carry our supplies. I am sure, therefore, that you will have no objection to my setting off ahead of you tomorrow. Then I'll be certain of getting my few days in Budapest.'

Although Roger had been formally attached to Gardane's mission, he had no duties to perform, and the fact that he was a member of Napoleon's personal staff placed him in a privi­leged position. The General was much too sensible a man to antagonise one of the Emperor's people by refusing a quite reasonable request. So he replied with a smile:

'By all means, Breuc. I only wish I were able to leave the party myself and spend four or five nights in Budapest smack­ing the bottoms of a few pretty Hungarian girls.'

That first day from Warsaw they had covered a little under forty miles, so Roger reckoned it would take the cavalcade at least another week to reach Budapest; whereas he had often ridden over a hundred miles in a day, so he should be able to do the journey easily in three. This left him a margin of four days, which would be ample for him to accomplish the jour­ney between the Hungarian and Austrian capitals and be back in the former before Gardane reached it.

He had himself called at four o'clock the following morn­ing, left his soldier servant to bring on his baggage and, travel­ling as light as possible, set off for Cracow, arriving there that evening. The best hostelry in the big town was reasonably comfortable and he enjoyed a good supper. The long ride had taken a lot out of his charger, so he left it with the head ostler, to be collected when the French mission arrived there, and arranged to complete his journey by Post.

The next night he had to spend at a miserable inn, but he reached Budapest at midday on the 19th. Deciding that he could well afford a badly-needed rest, he went straight to bed and slept for five hours. After waking and dressing, he then made his preparations for the following day.

While at Finckenstein he had procured from the Quarter­master a uniform—one of the many that had belonged to officers who had died from their wounds. It was by no means as elegant as the one he had been wearing on the morning of Eylau, but fairly new, fitted him reasonably well, and was suitable enough. But it was out of the question for him to pay a visit to a British diplomat dressed as a French officer. So, producing some of the gold from his money-belt, he ar­ranged with the landlord of the Turk's Head, where he had put up, to get for him second-hand civilian clothes of good quality.

By the time he had made a leisurely supper off fresh-water ecrevisse, broiled with fennel, a Gulyas of veal and goose livers washed down with a bottle of potent red wine that rejoiced in the name of 'Bulls' Blood of Badescony', the landlord was able to produce numerous articles of clothing for his inspec­tion. He chose a pair of fawn riding breeches, a plum-coloured coat with brass buttons—not because he liked it, but because it fitted him best—a saffron waistcoat sprigged with flowers, a grey cloak and a grey, truncated-steeple hat; then asked to be called at three o'clock, and was in bed and asleep again before ten.

Much refreshed by his two five-hour sleeps, long before dawn, riding Post again, he was on his way to Vienna. On this journey it would be his longest day yet, for the Austrian capital lay a hundred and forty miles to the west. At ten o'clock he spent an hour having breakfast at one of the posting houses where he changed horses. At four in the afternoon he dined at another, and afterwards dozed for a while in an armchair. On the last stage he was very saddle-sore and weary, but kept himself going by occasional pulls at a flask of Beratsch—a potent dry Hungarian spirit made from a distillation of apri­cots—and he entered Vienna shortly after eight o'clock in the evening.

Sliding from his horse in the yard of the Double Eagle, he threw the reins to an ostler, waited only for the man to un­strap and hand to him the small valise he had brought with him, then limped into the commodious inn. Too tired to bother about food, he ordered a quart of Gluwein and had himself shown straight up to a bedroom. The hot-spiced brew arrived soon after he had pulled off his clothes and flopped into bed. When he had drunk only half of it, he snuffed his candle and, within a few minutes, was sound asleep.

Next morning he awoke stiff and sore, but had no necessity to hurry out; so he had a hip-bath and a dozen cans of hot water brought up to his room. The warmth of the bath re­laxed his muscles and, after lingering there for a quarter of an hour, he felt in much better condition to face the day ahead of him. He also felt ravenously hungry and ate a hearty break­fast. Then he asked for writing materials, and sat down to write a letter to Mr. Canning.

Having congratulated the Minister upon his recent appoint­ment, he went on to express his confidence that, with him at the Foreign Office, Britain would pursue a more vigorous policy than had been the case under the late, supine Govern­ment.

He then reported on the poor state to which the Grande Armee had been reduced since Eylau, and gave concise par­ticulars about Gardane's mission, its object and probable con­sequences should it prove successful.

Instead of signing the letter, he wrote as a last paragraph:

This comes from he who teas accompanying you back to London after dining out at Wimbledon on the night that one of the wheels of your coach came off, and on your being thrown violently sideways, you badly bruised your cheek.

He felt certain that Canning could not have forgotten the episode; but no one else into whose hands the letter happened to fall could possibly know that Canning's companion that night, after dining with Mr. Pitt, had been Roger Brook.

Having sanded and scaled his letter, he asked the way to the Hofberg and went out into the town.

The capital of a great empire, Vienna had long rivalled Paris as the finest city in Europe; so Roger was not surprised at the sight of its many fine buildings, the handsome equip­ages with liveried coachmen and footmen, and throng of well-clad people in the streets. Making his way to the Hofberg, he asked one of the porters there to direct him to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. As he had thought probable, it was housed in one of the wings of the vast Palace. After crossing two courtyards, he located it and enquired from a clerk at a desk in a lofty vestibule the whereabouts of the British Embassy. Learning that it was no great distance away, on the far side of the Maria Theresa Platz, he decided to walk; and, on his way, enjoyed the sight of the fine gardens surrounded by a number of other imposing buildings.

On arriving at the Embassy, he learned that no British Ambassador was at present accredited to the Court of Vienna, but that for the past ten months, a Mr. Robert Adair had been en paste there as Minister Plenipotentiary. Giving his name as John Hickson, Roger said that he was a British sub­ject, and would be grateful if the Minister would grant him a very brief interview on a very urgent matter.

After a wait of some ten minutes, Roger was piloted by a portly major-domo up a flight of broad, marble stairs and into a lofty, square room with much gilt decoration. Behind a large desk a middle-aged man with bushy side-whiskers was sitting. As Roger entered, he stood up. They exchanged bows, then he asked:

'What can I do for you, Mr. Hickson?'

Roger produced his letter and replied, T have only a simple request to make, Sir; that you will despatch this missive by safe hand at the earliest possible opportunity to Mr. Canning.'

Mr. Adair raised a pair of thick, arched eyebrows and said, 'It is not usual practice for us to transmit private corres­pondence; but as your letter is to the Minister of Foreign Affairs . . . May I enquire if you are aquainted with him?'

'No, Sir,' Roger lied glibly. 'But its contents will, I am sure, be of considerable interest to him.'

The Minister waved Roger to a chair. 'Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me why you think so.'

As Roger sat down, he smiled and said, 'I did not wish to take your valuable time and bore you, Sir, with particulars about myself. But, since you wish, this is my situation. I am the head of one of the concerns that have their quarters in a large compound termed "The English Factory" in St. Peters­burg. Our principal trade is in furs, and one of our best mar­kets is Budapest. Recently I had occasion to go thither. I am fluent in several languages, so while travelling through the area occupied by the French Army, I passed myself off as a German. One evening, while dining at an inn in East Prussia, there were three French officers, obviously of high rank, din­ing at an adjacent table. As I had been talking to the waiter in German, they must have assumed that I was unacquainted with their language, so they talked quite freely. They were discussing a plan of the Emperor Napoleon's which could cause considerable harm to the Allied cause. So I thought it my duty to send word of it to our Foreign Secretary.'

'Indeed!' Mr. Adair's interest had visibly increased. 'But is there any reason why you should not disclose it to me?'

'None, Sir. But as it concerns the Near East, there is naught that you can do to thwart this project here in Vienna, so I thought it more practical to send the information direct to Mr. Canning.'

The Minister remained thoughtful for a moment, then he said:

'Since you take that view, I will not press you. But it is evi­dent, Mr. Hickson, that you are a superior person, capable of forming judgments on international affairs—and very con­scious of your duty to your country. I should like to talk fur­ther with you, so I should be happy if you would remain to luncheon.'

Roger stood up, laid his letter on the desk, smiled and bowed. 'I am honoured by your invitation, Sir, and would be delighted to accept it. Yet I must reluctantly decline, because

I have come a hundred and forty miles out of my way in order to get this letter sent to London; and, for business reasons, I must return as speedily as possible to Budapest. I plan to set out this afternoon.'

They parted cordially, and Roger felt there was a good possibility of his having achieved his object. No one would ever know that Mr. Roger Brook, or Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc, had visited Vienna. He had been averse to disclosing the contents of his letter to Mr. Adair, in case, through him or his staff, it got out prematurely that the English were aware of Napoleon's schemes regarding Turkey and Persia. Even should Adair have the letter steamed open, or it fall into wrong hands on its way to London, at least he had protected himself from becoming known as its author.

On leaving the Embassy he spent an hour and a half wan­dering round the older part of the city, paid an all-too-brief visit to the magnificent Stefans Kirk, then went into the shop of a goldsmith in the Kohlmarkt.

While on his way from Warsaw he had spent a considerable amount of time debating with himself how he should proceed when he reached Constantinople. Having sent his letter to Canning, he had small hopes of doing anything further to thwart Napoleon's plans; but he was anxious to have a source of information about how negotiations were proceeding, in­dependent of what Gardane might tell him and, if possible, leam what view the Turks really took of the General's pro­posals. This could differ considerably from that Gardane might optimistically assume, owing to the traditional duplic­ity of Orientals.

Given luck, Roger thought he might achieve direct com­munication with the Sultan's advisers; but, as an opening move, he would have to produce a handsome present. So, at the goldsmith's, he bought a pair of not very tall, but charmingly-designed gold candlesticks.

Soon after midday he lunched at the Double Eagle and, reluctant as he was to leave Vienna without seeing more of that fine city, immediately afterwards paid his reckoning and started on his return journey. By evening he reached Prcss­burg, where he had had a meal and dozed for a while the pre­vious afternoon; dined and slept there. That left him only a hundred miles to cover the next day. On the evening of the 22nd, he was back in Budapest.

After a good night's sleep, he retrieved the uniform he had left with the landlord of the Turk's Head; then, with the finan­cial circumspection he had inherited from his Scottish mother, he settled his bill by making over to the man the civilian clothes that had been procured for him.

His next move was to transfer himself to another hostelry, the Brave Magyar, in order to decrease the chance that any member of Gardane's mission should learn that he had procured civilian clothes and been absent for three days from Budapest.

The first time he had arrived, he had gone straight to bed, and had not even left the hotel until four o'clock the follow­ing morning, so he had seen little of the city. With the best part of a day at his disposal, he now took the opportunity to be driven round it. As he was already aware, it was in fact two cities: on the right bank of the three-hundred-yard-wide Danube, Buda; and the left bank, Pest.

In the latter he found little to interest him, as it was a flat, mainly commercial area, with a population containing a high percentage of German Jews, by whose industries the Hun­garian State was largely supported; since well-born Magyars considered it beneath their dignity to engage in trade. But the right bank sloped steeply upward, and was crowned by scores of palatial mansions: the town houses of the Hungarian Magnates. Low, rounded arches on the street side gave en­trance to their courtyards, and it was evident that the windows in the main frontages all had lovely views over the swiftly-flowing river.

The rounded arches recalled to Roger that, in ancient times, the Danube had been the frontier of the Roman Empire, and Ofen, as the Buda hill had then been called, an important bastion garrisoned by a Roman legion against the barbarous Scythians. Thus, as in the case of France and England, unlike the German lands, Hungary had benefited from the legacy left by that great ancient civilisation.

Rising high above the maze of narrow, cobbled streets that gave entrance to the many mansions, stood out on one side the Royal Palace, built by the Empress Maria Theresa in the middle of the past century; and on the other the two-hundred-and-fifty-foot-high steeple of the thirteenth-century Matthias Church. Further on in that direction, Roger came to the Fisher bastion and there left his carriage to look down on the splen­did panorama that it offered. Below him on the far bank, like a mottled carpet, spread the innumerable roofs of Pest, to the left the Danube broadened out and divided to encircle the Margareten Insel—a lovely well-wooded island—that his Ger­man driver told him was a private estate of one of the Austrian Archdukes.

That night Roger went to bed well content. He had not only successfully completed his self-imposed mission, but had seen enough of Budapest to cause Gardane to believe that he had spent several days there.

His calculations about the progress of the mission proved near the mark, as it reached Budapest in mid-morning on the following day. The arrival of such a numerous cavalcade of French troops could not go unremarked. Having asked to be informed of it, Roger learned that it had taken up its quar­ters at the Jagerhorn: one of the biggest hostelries in Pest; so he at once drove there and reported to the General.

Over a gargantuan meal of traditional Hungarian dishes: corn on the cob; a succulent fish from Lake Balaton; chicken cooked in paprika; roast goose breasts and a great pate of goose livers, Roger regaled Gardane and the other officers with an account of the delights to be enjoyed in the city. They listened with envy and a certain sourness that they were to spend only one night there; for Gardane had already learned from the French agent, to whom "his advance courier had been sent, that fully-provisioned boats were waiting to transport the mission down the Danube. As an unnecessary delay might have been reported to the Emperor and brought down his wrath, the General had no option but to decree that they must all go aboard the following morning.

After the privations they had suffered in Poland and their dreary eight-day journey from Warsaw, they naturally spent a riotous night; so it was a sorry crew of bleary-eyed, mumb­ling men who reluctantly assembled on the wharf.

Three commodious barges had been provided: two in which the officers and their servants were to travel, and the third for their grooms and horses. Below decks, in the barges for the personnel, there were small cabins for the seniors, bunks for the others and accommodation for messing and sitting about during bad weather. The barges were fitted with masts and sails, and in their forepart horses were stabled, to be put ashore and tow them whenever the wind dropped.

With these aids, they made good progress as, instead of having to stop for the night at inns, they slept aboard while the barges continued steadily downriver. The only halts they made were for an hour or so at small towns, to buy chickens, geese, eggs and fresh vegetables. In consequence, they aver­aged well over eighty miles a day and, on May ist, arrived at the small town of Cernavada. From there it was no more than twenty-five miles to the considerable port of Constanza, on the Black Sea; whereas at that point the Danube curved north for a hundred miles up to Galeti, on the border of Moldavia, and only then turned east, to meander for yet another hun­dred miles through lakes and marshes until at last, by several mouths, the great river emptied itself into the sea.

That night they slept in a big caravanserai and, for the first time, savoured fully the sights and smells of the East; as, although they were still in Europe, Rumania was a Turkish province. Next day, they rode to Constanza and, the weather being fine, enjoyed the change after being cooped up for a week on a barge, with nothing to do but lounge about on deck, or play cards. But, soon after they reached the port, they met with the first setback on their journey. Their Turkish interpreter informed the General that, on enquiry, he had learned that no ship large enough to carry them and their horses would be available to charter for some days.

Cursing their luck that this hold-up should have occurred in a dirty, dreary little seaport, composed mainly of ram­shackle, wooden buildings, instead of in gay and beautiful Budapest, they did their best to while away the time.

On their second evening there the local Pasha, who ruled the place from an ancient, half-ruined castle, entertained them; but the party proved a dull affair. He could speak only Turkish, and few of Gardane's officers knew more than some sentences in that language which those of them who had served under Napoleon on his Egyptian campaign had picked up at the time.

Roger was the exception, as he had become fairly fluent in it during the months that the beautiful Zanthe had been his mistress; but he remained as mum as the others, having decided that it might later prove a useful card up his sleeve to understand remarks made in Turkish while he was believed to be ignorant of it. In consequence, the sole conversation consisted of their interpreter passing on to Gardane what the Pasha said, and vice versa.

The food served was strange to the French: some dishes were so highly spiced that it brought tears to their eyes, and they found eating it while sitting cross-legged on low divans very uncomfortable. Most disappointing of all, no dancing girls were produced, only a small band that played weird, discordant music. As early as they decently could, after many compliments exchanged through their interpreter, they bowed themselves out, and returned to the caravanserai.

Gardane had been labouring under the illusion that the officers he was to leave in Turkey to instruct the Turks in the use of modern weapons had been picked because they were capable of at least making themselves understood in Turkish. Much annoyed by the revelation they they would prove next to useless, he decreed that henceforth they must spend several hours each day receiving instruction in the language from the interpreter. Roger, although not obliged to, sat in on these sessions, as it was seven years since he had parted from Zanthe, and he had forgotten much of the Turkish he had learned from her. To all appearances he proved a poor pupil, but listening in greatly refreshed his memory.

The only enjoyment the members of the mission derived from their stay in Constanza was the lovely sunshine; but that was more than offset by the irritation inflicted on them by lice and bedbugs. Much to their relief, on their fourth day in the port, a good-sized vessel had been chartered to take them on to Constantinople.

On the 5th May they went aboard and set sail. Roger hated travelling by sea as, in rough weather, he was always seasick, and the quarters below deck were cramped and uncomfort­able. Luckily for him, the weather continued clement, although now and then the winds were unfavourable so it took nine days for the ship to cross the south-western bight of the Black Sea. But during the voyage the lessons in Turkish were continued; so by the time they entered the Bosphorus his knowledge of the language had returned to such a degree that he felt confident that he would have no difficulty at all in con­versing easily in it.

All agreed on the beauty of the scene as the ship ploughed her way down the narrow waters that, between high hills, separate Europe from Asia. Then, on the afternoon of May 14th, when she entered the Golden Horn and berthed at Pera, they gazed with awe at the splendid spectacle presented by Seraglio Point on the opposite side.

Beyond a high wall on the shore of the promontory there sloped up terraced gardens and groups of tall cypresses to the scores of pavilions that formed the Palace of the Sultan. Above them and further inland, the domes of great mosques and towering minarets stood out against the azure sky.

For those of them possessed of imagination, it was fascinat­ing to think that there, across the narrow strip of water, lay Stamboul, the site two thousand years before of a Greek co­lony, then, after the fall of Rome, the fabled Byzantium, for a thousand years the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire and for the past four hundred the seat of power from which its Turkish conquerors still ruled an Empire that was in ex­tent twenty times the size of any European Kingdom.

Immediately the ship docked, Gardane sent two of his offi­cers ashore with the interpreter to the French Embassy. They returned with the Ambassador, General Sebastiani. He was then thirty-five, a man of splendid physique, extraordinarily handsome and known throughout the Army for his unfailing charm and good humour. To the amazement of Roger, Gardane and several other members of the mission who were acquainted with him, he appeared to have aged ten years. His face was furrowed, his eyes lacked lustre and he approached them with a dejected stoop.

It occurred to Roger that the Ambassador must have caught the plague, with which from time to time Constantinople was afflicted, and was only now recovering; but Sebastiani's first words explained his sad condition. To Gardane he said:

'General, I am in a poor state to welcome you and these gentlemen. A few weeks ago, my beloved wife, Fanny, gave birth to a child. Soon after she fell victim to a deadly fever, and I lost her. This bereavement has stricken me utterly. I am a changed man and no longer fit for anything. My only wish is to return as soon as possible to France and be left alone with my grief. I have remained here awaiting your arrival only so that I might present you to the Sultan.'

After they had expressed their deep sympathy, he led them ashore and had them carried in palanquins up the steep hill to the Embassy. Spacious as it was, formerly having been, a Pasha's palace, it was not large enough to accommodate them all; but, having been warned by fast courier of the mission's coming, Sebastiani had rented two houses nearby for the junior officers. Gardane, Roger, Couthon, Ladue, Rideau and the Ambassador's old travelling companion Montdallion, were to be his personal guests. After partaking of refreshments and being given ample time to settle into their new quarters, the officers staying in the Embassy went down to dine with the Ambassador. He had obviously made an effort to pull himself together and, over the meal, gave them particulars of the situation in Constantinople. Looking at Gardane, he said:

'About the possibilities of your success in Persia I can give no opinion; but here everything favours your aims.

'Very fortunately for us, the English blundered badly last winter by forcing the Dardanelles and threatening Constantin­ople. The Turks were outraged and, urged on by me, dragged every cannon they could lay their hands on to the waterfront, in order to bombard the English Fleet. Finding themselves outgunned, the Fleet beat an ignominious retreat. The British Ambassador, the Hon. Charles Arbuthnot, having been in­formed that he was persona non grata, received his passports and departed to join the Fleet off Tenedos. Since then there has been no representative here of the Court of St. James, so you need fear no opposition.'

Roger had anticipated that this would probably be the case. It confirmed his assumption that he could secure no help or advice, and must act entirely on his own initiative.

Meanwhile, Sebastiani was going on. 'Contrary to the be­lief of most people, the Sultan is by no means all-powerful. Selim III was exceptionally fortunate in that, unlike his pre­decessors for many years past, he was not kept a prisoner for the whole of his young manhood. In consequence, he has a much greater knowledge of statecraft and international re­lationships than would otherwise have been the case.

'Even so, he is hedged about by the age-old traditions that must be observed by a Sultan if he wishes to retain his throne. To start with, he dare not offend the Janissaries. As you no doubt know, they were originally a corps formed from Cir­cassians taken when very young from their mothers and reared as professional soldiers to form the Sultan's bodyguard. But, with the passing of time, they have become an army a hundred thousand strong. Formidable bodies of them have been sent to support the rule of Turkish Pashas in rebellious provinces, but at least ten thousand of them are retained here to garrison the Seraglio, and many of them now are Turks who refuse to obey the old ordinances forbidding Janissaries to take wives or drink alcohol.

'When the Sultan issues a firman to which they object, they carry their soup kettles out from their quarters and beat furi­ously upon them. It is one of the most sinister and frightening noises I have ever heard; and, unless the Sultan retracts his order, he risks death at their hands.'

Sebastiani paused for a moment to take a mouthful of wine. 'But it is not only the Janissaries to whom the Sultans in the past hundred years have become subservient. Their policy has been controlled very largely by the will of a woman. Do not mistake me, I do not mean that they become enslaved by the charms of a favourite wife or concubine. Naturally, they are influenced in minor domestic matters, such as the allocation of the best apartments, the bestowal of jewels and so on by a Kadin or one of the hundreds of odalisques who may have captured their affections; but while a Sultan can have as many women as he chooses to share his bed, he can have only one mother.

'A Sultan's mother is known as the Sultan Valide, To have attained this unique status against fanatical competi­tion, it is obvious that such women must be exceptionally strong-willed and intelligent. In consequence, once her son has ascended the throne, her power is almost unlimited. In consultation with the Kizler Aga—the Chief of the Black Eunuchs, who is known by us as Son Altesse Noire—they rule the harem absolutely. Nothing can be done without the Sultan Valide's consent. Moreover, her power extends far beyond the Seraglio. She is regarded with veneration as the protectress of all the veiled women in the Turkish Empire. No war is entered upon without her consent. Every matter of international relationship is submitted to her, and no Sul­tan yet has dared openly to reject his mother's counsel.'

Sitting back, Sebastiani gave a sad smile, and added, 'Mes­sieurs, in this we are favoured by the gods. The present Sultan Valide was born Aimee Dubucq de Rivery, a French woman and a cousin of our Empress. For many years she has served the cause of France devotedly. She is the mother of Prince Mahmoud, who, it is certain, will succeed; and on the death of the Sultan's mother, in 1805, she was raised by Selim to the Veiled Crown.

'Brief as my time has been as Ambassador—only a matter of ten months—my ... my beloved Fanny won her affection and became her constant companion. Alas, you are now be­reft of my wife's help, and such as I could give you. Even so, you may count upon it that the Sultan Valide will welcome you warmly and do her utmost to aid you in your mission.'

About the restricted power of Sultans and the organisation of the Seraglio Roger already knew, owing to his long affair with Zanthe. The one thing he had been anxious to learn was whether Aimee was still alive and now the reigning Sultan Valide. Upon that his decidedly nebulous plans .had been based; so he was much relieved to hear that no harm had befallen her.

He was amused to think how amazed the assembled com­pany would have been had he revealed to them how his own life had been changed by Bonaparte's decision clandestinely to abandon his army in Egypt in '99. With the greatest secrecy he had made his plans and, without informing any but a few of his personal staff, had them accompany him aboard a fri­gate overnight. Zanthe, believing herself abandoned, had later married Achilles Sarodopulous, the son of an immensely wealthy banker, who lived in Alexandria. Otherwise Roger might have claimed the Sultan Valide as his mother-in-law.

Sebastiani went on to say that he had that afternoon sent a request to the Grand Vizier to present the Mission to the Sul­tan; but he thought it unlikely that they would be granted an audience for some days. In the meantime, although they were free to go out into the city, they must not do so unaccom­panied. It was customary for European merchants in Con­stantinople to go about in Oriental dress, as anyone wearing Western clothes, being a rare sight, always attracted attention and crowds formed round them, which could prove most embarrassing. He was, therefore, attaching to each officer a Turkish Janissary, as they could be hired for such a purpose. These Janissaries would act as guides and, by a few sharp words, ensure the unimpeded progress of their charges.

Next morning, the Janissary allotted to Roger reported to him. All Turks retained a tuft of hair on the tops of their heads, otherwise the majority of them allowed only their beards to grow; but the Janissaries were forbidden to have beards. Instead, they had very long moustaches which, in some cases, drooped down to their chests. Roger's man was clad in a long, blue cloth coat, an undercoat with hanging sleeves and a big turban, through which was thrust a twelve-inch-long soup spoon—that being an ancient custom of the regiment. Above it sprouted a plume of bird-of-paradise feathers. From his girdle there hung a scimitar, a dagger and a small hatchet. His boots were black, which Roger later learned showed him to be of the lowest rank, the higher one wearing yellow and the highest red. To the casual glance he appeared a colourful and fierce figure; but Roger noted that his eyes were mild and that he was far from young. He announced himself with a deep salaam as Achmet Zuhayr and declared that 'Allah willing— blessed be his name and that of his Prophet'—he would pro­tect Roger from all thieves, pickpockets, casters of evil spells and diseased women.

Regarding it as unlikely that if he spoke with ease to Ach­met the surprisingly sudden improvement in his Turkish would get back to any member of the mission, Roger thanked him, talked to him for a while about the city, then said he would like to be shown round Pera.

During the long journey down from Finckcnstein, as le brave Breuc was one of the legendary figures of the Grande Armee, his friendship had been eagerly sought, particularly by the younger members of the mission, and he had spent many pleasant evenings with them, talking of the Emperor's early campaigns. In consequence, he had feared that he might have considerable difficulty in freeing himself from their com­pany when the mission arrived in Constantinople; but, for­tunately, they were in the rented houses and none of the senior officers staying in the Embassy was about when Roger and Achmet came downstairs.

For an hour they strolled through the maze of steep, twist­ing streets. Roger duly admired the famous White Tower, built centuries earlier by the Genoese, the view across the Golden Horn to Stamboul, and that across the Bosphorus to the Asiatic side; then he told Achmet that he wished to buy Balkan clothes, possibly to wear now and then while in Con­stantinople and, in any case, to take back to France as a souvenir of his visit. Achmet replied that the best value in all things was to be found in the Grand Bazaar.

The Golden Horn was spanned by a long row of caiques lashed together and overlaid with a road of boards, a section in the centre being easily detached so that, from time to time, it could be moved to allow the passage of water traffic. As Roger crossed this bridge of boats, he was interested to see that, while the Pera shore was almost hidden by a forest of masts rising from scores of closely-packed ships, showing the enormous trade carried on by Constantinople with other ports in the Mediterranean, only a few heavily-gilded barges were moored on the Stamboul side. They were, Achmet told him, the Sultan's pleasure boats, in which at times he took some of his ladies of the harem on trips to his other palaces further up the Bosphorus, across in Scutari, or down to the islands beyond the point, in the Marmora. On the shore there were two large pavilions. Beyond them stood the tall, crenellated wall that enclosed the Sultan's huge private domain. Above it could be seen many acres of gardens sloping up to the mas­sed buildings forming the Topkapi Palace. Having crossed the Galata bridge, they passed the splendid Fatima Mosque and the. Tomb of Suliman the Magnificent, then entered a warren of narrow ways crowded with dark-robed, veiled women, street vendors and men selling bread rings on sticks, until they reached the Grand Bazaar.

It consisted of a covered area in which, according to Ach-met, there were over a thousand shops. The walkways were criss-cross parallels, with no signs to differentiate one from another, and Achmet confessed that even he might well get lost in them. Every conceivable item of Eastern food, clothes, furniture, apparel and objets d’art could be brought there: perfumes, spices, jewels, weapons, cooking utensils and im­ported goods from China, Persia, India, Africa and Europe.

Their first call was on a money-changer. Roger had trans­ferred a handful of gold Napoleons from his money belt to his breeches pocket. Casually he put them on the counter. Achmet did the bargaining and, after ten minutes of mingled persuasion and abuse, secured what Roger thought was prob­ably a fairly reasonable rate of exchange. They then proceeded to do their shopping. First they bought a large, cylindrical woven basket to contain their purchases; then, item by item, packed into it a complete outfit of rich clothes such as were worn by Balkan noblemen and wealthy merchants.

When they got back to Roger's room at the Embassy, he put his hand in his pocket, smiled at Achmet and suddenly cried, 'Catch.' As he spoke he threw Achmet a gold coin and added, 'That is your pay for today.'

Achmet caught the coin, looked at it and gasped with stupefaction. It was more than he could have earned in a month. Almost tongue-tied with gratitude, he stammered his thanks and protested his eternal devotion to such a generous master.

With a gesture Roger silenced him and said in a quiet, firm voice, 'I have things to do in this city, which do not con­cern His Excellency the Ambassador or any of the officers with whom I arrived here. Serve me faithfully and say no word to your fellow Janissaries of where I go and you shall receive another gold piece every day. But I give you warning. I have powerful friends inside the Seraglio. Should it come to my cars that you have spoken of my doings, those friends of mine will see to it that your tongue is torn out.'

Having paused to let his words sink in, Roger went on. 'Now, take this basket containing the apparel I have bought. Go over again to Stamboul and rent for me there a room in the dwelling of a discreet man, where I can change into Bal­kan costume without his talking of the matter to his neigh­bours. Here,' he added, producing two more gold coins and handing them to Achmet, 'is money that you are to give him as an advance payment for the accommodation and his dis­cretion.'

Salaaming, Achmet took the coins, picked up the basket and, with further expressions of his willingness to do as he was bid, bowed himself out of the room.

From midday on, it had become very hot, so Roger stripped to his underclothes, lay down on his bed and, for a couple of hours, enjoyed a siesta. Late in the afternoon the welcome breeze from the north-west, which is a feature of Constanti­nople's climate, began to blow, making the city much cooler. Getting up, Roger dressed and went down to sec the secretary who acted as the Embassy's treasurer. His trip to Vienna, buying the pair of gold candlesticks and his purchases that morning had nearly run him out of ready money; so he pre­sented his draft and drew in Turkish gold the equivalent of two hundred Napoleons.

Next morning, Achmet reported that he had secured for Roger a room over the shop of a tailor, who made uniforms for the Janissaries, was an old friend and could be relied on not to talk.

However, as it happened, that day, May 16th, was a Friday, and Roger felt that the Mahommedan Sabbath was not at all a suitable day to undertake the project he had in mind. So, joining a number of his fellow officers, he went with them on an expedition up the Bosphorus.

On the Saturday morning, soon after he had breakfasted, he set off with Achmet and again crossed the Golden Horn. Arriving at the tailor's shop, he had a brief talk with the man, implying that he was engaged in a clandestine love affair.

He then produced from what Ahmet, with popping eyes, now assumed to be his inexhaustible supply of gold, three more pieces, which the tailor gratefully accepted, promising on the Koran to say no word about his new tenant's activities.

In the room upstairs, with Achmet's help, Roger changed into the Eastern clothes; then, telling Achmet to await his return, he went out.

Unremarked by the crowds of turbaned men and veiled women, he made his way up to the gate in the high wall that gives entrance to the Topkapi Palace. In its great First Court, the public were admitted, although only high officials were allowed to ride and a rule of silence was enforced by the pre­sence of numerous halberdiers. Crossing the Court, Roger came to a second gate, called the Ortakapi. This was guarded by some fifty Janissaries, one of whom, wearing yellow boots, came forward and asked Roger's business.

'I am,' Roger replied, 'a Greek merchant, and my prin­ciple trade is with Venice. When I was there some weeks ago, I chanced to become acquainted with a French officer of high rank. He was on his way to Constantinople with a gift from the Emperor of the French to—Allah preserve her and blessed be his name and that of his Prophet—our beloved Sultan Valide. The poor man was stricken of a fever which carried him off; but before he died, knowing that I was returning here, he asked me to act for him and deliver the present to Her Imperial Majesty.'

It was a plausible story and, after a moment's considera­tion, the Janissary said, 'It is by no means easy to obtain an audience with the Sultan Valide.'

Roger smiled. 'I appreciate that.' Then he slipped two gold coins into the man's hand, and added, 'But I promised to deliver this present personally, and I am sure Her Imperial Majesty would be happy to receive it. Please see what you can do for me.'

The Janissary shrugged, led Roger into a small room on the left, under the arch of the gate, and said, 'Wait here.'

It was over an hour before the Janissary returned. With him he brought a hugely fat, sullen-faced man with many chins, dressed in rich fur robes and wearing a two-foot-high conical hat. Roger guessed him to be the Kapi Aga, Chief of the White Eunuchs who, many years earlier, had been de­graded from charge of the harem to that of the Selamlek— those parts of the palace in which men were allowed—and who performed the functions of porters, teachers to the pages and other duties, according to their degree. To this high offi­cial Roger made a low obeisance and repeated his story.

The eunuch eyed Roger coldly, made a negative motion with his head which caused the fat flesh below his chin to wobble, and replied, 'Her Sublimity the Veiled Crown does not receive persons of your sort. Give me the present from the French Sultana of whom you speak and I will lay it at the feet of Her Imperial Majesty.'

Roger salaamed again and said earnestly, 'Effendi, I swore an oath on the Koran to this dying Frenchman that I would personally deliver the present to Our Lady Protectress of all Veiled Women. I pray you, grant me a word alone.'

With a swift gesture, the Kapi Aga dismissed the Janissary. When he had left the room, Roger produced a string purse that he had ready. It held twenty-five gold pieces. Handing it to the monstrous creature facing him, he said, 'Your Excel­lency must support many charities. Permit me to offer this humble contribution.'

The small, pursed-up mouth in the great, flabby mask of fat crumpled into the semblance of a smile. Tossing the heavy purse gently in his beringed hand, he said, 'Such contributions from rich merchants are welcome. Be here tomorrow at the same time. Bring with you two purses of gold of the same weight. I promise nothing. But the black swine who now order all things beyond the Gate of Felicity are greedy and must be won over to grant your application. The blessing of Allah— blessed be his name and that of his Prophet—be upon you.'

In the room over the tailor's shop Roger changed back into uniform, then returned with Achmet to the French Em­bassy. To penetrate the Seraglio was costing him a lot of money, but he had anticipated that it would, and he was not unsatisfied with the progress he had so far made.

Next day, he again presented himself at the First Gate, this time carrying a handsome, round-lidded casket he had had Ahmet buy for him, containing the gold candlesticks. Pressing another couple of gold pieces into the Janissary's hand, he asked him to inform the Kapi Aga of his presence. A quarter of an hour later, the Chief of the White Eunuchs came into the waiting room. After salutations had been ex­changed, Roger handed over the two purses of gold. The Kapi Aga pocketed one, but returned the other, saying. 'That you will give to the tall, black eunuch at the Gate of Felicity. I have arranged matters, and he will escort you to the apart­ments of Her Sublimity, the Wearer of the Veiled Crown.'

Beckoning Roger to follow, the white eunuch waddled out of the room and led the way into the Second Court: a great, open space divided by a central avenue of cypresses, on cither side of which were beds of several thousand roses in bloom.

As Roger followed, it suddenly struck him that he might be behaving with incredible foolhardincss. He could perfectly well have remained at the French Embassy and passed his time innocently sightseeing. But, being the man he was, he had been tempted into socking this audience with the Sultan Valide.

By talking with her, he hoped to achieve one of two things. He could imply that the Emperor would have no great diffi­culty in defeating the Czar unaided; therefore, in view of the unrest in Turkey's European provinces, she would be wise to keep her garrisons there at full strength rather than reduce them to send more troops against the Russians. Thus he could help the Allied cause. On the other hand if, owing to her devotion to France, she was set upon providing troops, he could later increase his standing with Napoleon by leading him to believe that Gardane's mission would have failed had not he, Roger, held private conversations with the Sultana.

But now it struck him that he was taking a considerable risk. To carry any weight with her he must declare himself to be Colonel de Chevalier de Breuc, a member of Napoleon's personal staff, and pretend that he had been commissioned by the Empress Josephine to bring her a present.

It was just possible that she had learned from her daugh­ter, Zanthe, what had befallen her in Cairo. Roger had saved her from being raped by a dozen drunken soldiers, then sold by them for a few francs a time to scores of their comrades. But the fact remained that, having rescued her, and knowing her to be married, he had ravished her himself, although ig­norant of the fact that she was still a virgin. If the Sultan Valide knew only the latter part of that story and realised that it was Roger who had deflowered her daughter, she might even order him to be castrated.

The Veiled Crown

As Roger followed the Kapi Aga across the Second Court, he barely glanced to his left at the row of ten huge kitchens, each with a tall chimney, or at the stables and Hall of the Dewan, surmounted by a short, square tower and steeple, on his right. His mind was occupied by very uneasy thoughts and, as the eunuch walked with a slow waddle, there was ample time for Roger to contemplate the highly dangerous _ situation in which he had landed himself.

He had last seen Zanthe and her husband at the first re­ception Napoleon had given in the Tuileries after being elected First Consul. That they were then in Paris was due to Achilles Sarodopulous' having been sent by his father to open a branch of the family bank in the French capital. In view of his past relations with Zanthe, Roger had thought it only fair to Achilles who, while he was in Egypt had proved a good friend to him, to refrain from seeking them out on his subsequent visits to Paris—much as he would have liked to see Zanthe's little son of whom he knew himself to be the father; but, as far as he was aware, they were still in Paris.

If so, it was most unlikely that Zanthe had made the long journey to Constantinople to see her mother and told her all that had befallen her in Egypt. There was, too, the fact that having renounced Islam and become a Christian of the Ortho­dox Greek Church, in order to marry Achilles, Zanthc had raised another bar between herself and her family.

But there remained the possibility that mother and daugh­ter continued to correspond. If so, Zanthe might have given her mother an account of the months she had spent in Egypt and Syria. Roger endeavoured to still his uneasiness by the thought that, if she had, she would not have revealed in a letter the fact that she had been the mistress of a French offi­cer. But of that he could not be certain, and this doubt now became uppermost in his mind.

He was not given to panicking, but for a moment he felt that, in seeking an audience with the Sultan Valide, he had taken an absurd risk to achieve what, at best, could prove only a gain of no great importance. But it was now too late to turn back; so he continued to follow the ponderous foot­steps of the Chief of the White Eunuchs and, by a great effort of will, forced himself to recall instead all he had heard from Zanthe and, more recently, Achmet about the Seraglio.

It was not, as most people believed, simply a rambling palace consisting of many buildings in which the Sultan main­tained several hundred women for his pleasure. On the con­trary, it housed twenty thousand people, two-thirds of whom were troops, and over a thousand cooks. The Haremlik, as it was properly called, was a comparatively small part of it.

By far the greater number of buildings formed the Seldmlik, which was occupied by the guards, eunuchs, ministers and other functionaries, artists, artisans, dwarfs and jugglers. It contained a big military school, over a dozen mosques, ten kitchens, two hospitals, many Turkish baths, several swim­ming pools, store-rooms, sports fields, a library in which were a quarter of a million manuscripts, prisons, treasuries, stab­ling for three thousand horses and a score of workshops in which hundreds of men were constantly employed as gold­smiths, weavers, engravers, tile-makers, swordsmiths, uphol­sterers, potters, carpenters, and in a dozen other crafts.

All these people in the Seldmlik worked under the super­vision of the White Eunuchs, while the Black Eunuchs were entrusted with the guardianship of the women's quarters.

The great majority of the women lived in a big building, having three floors, and a wide, central corridor overlooked from balconies on the two upper floors. Each odalisque had a chamber to herself; so in that, it was not unlikely a nunnery, except that instead of austere cells, the rooms were luxuriously furnished. The Kadins and temporary favourites had separate suites, with even richer furnishings, and all enjoyed the use of spacious gardens, the many pavilions in them, numerous baths, ball-courts and the terraces from which there was a lovely view over the Sea of Marmora.

Roger brought his mind back with a jerk from these deliber­ate musings on all he had heard* of the Topkapi Palace, for they had reached the Gate of Felicity, which gave entrance to the Third Court. This was guarded by both White and Black Eunuchs, and the Kapi Aga said in his high-pitched voice to a huge Negro, 'This is the Greek merchant of whom I spoke to you yesterday.' Then, without a glance at Roger, he waddled away.

The Negro was richly dressed in an ermine pelisse, jewelled ear-rings dangled from the lobes of his cars and there were several valuable rings on his big fingers. It was obvious to Roger that he was a person of importance and, in fact, he proved to be Son Altesse Noire, the Kizler Aga, Chief of the Black Eunuchs. Making low obeisance, Roger contrived to drop the silk net purse containing the twenty-five gold pieces. Quickly he picked it up and handed it to the Negro, as though it was he who had dropped it. Two rows of pearly white teeth appeared between the black man's red lips as he smiled with amusement at this subtle way of giving him his bribe. 'All is arranged,' he said in a little, reedy voice. 'Come with me.'

Passing through the Gate of Felicity, they entered the Third Court. Facing the gate and only a few yards from it there was a magnificent pavilion, in the centre of which, raised on legs, there stood an eight-foot-long and four-feet-deep gold divan, flashing with precious stones. Casually waving a hand to­wards it, the eunuch said, 'The throne upon which the Com­mander of the Faithful, Allah's Shadow on Earth, gives audience to distinguished visitors. It was made from eighty thousand gold ducats captured from the Venetians. He has another studded with twenty-five thousand pearls.'

Turning left, they walked some way across the court, then entered a maze of narrow passages. On coming to one that was broader than the others, the big Negro, who evidently took pleasure in showing his domain to those privileged to enter it, said, 'This is the Golden Road. Along it, faint from ex­altation, are carried such odalisques as our Imperial master has deigned to cast his handkerchief to, signifying that he desires them to be brought to his bed.'

Through an archway on the far side of the Golden Road, they came to a spacious courtyard, lined with orange, apricot and pomegranate trees growing in large tubs. Crossing it to a low doorway, the eunuch told Roger to wait there, then went in.

Two minutes later he emerged, and bowed. 'Her Sublimity the Veiled Crown, consents to receive you.' Roger returned the bow and, his heart beating a little faster, walked through the low porch.

Beyond it there was a small hall then, behind a heavy cur­tain that the eunuch held aside, a big room, the sight of which caused Roger to catch his breath in amazement. It was no Eastern reception room with divans round the walls, silk Per­sian mats of fine design, and small, ebony tables inlaid with ivory. He might have stepped back twenty years in time, to find himself again in one of the smaller salons at Versailles.

The furniture was Louis XVI, the carpet Aubusson, the satinwood cabinets filled with Meissen and Sevres porcelain, while on the walls hung charming paintings by Bouchard Fragonard and Vige le Brun.

At the far end of the room there were two women, and there could be no mistaking the one who had created this oasis of a bygone France in the heart of an Eastern harem. She was, Roger knew, forty-three years old, but did not look it. The veil she wore looped from ear to ear was so diaphanous that through it Roger could discern her lower features: a rose­bud mouth above a firm chin. Her face was a little on the plump side, her blue eyes enormous, and golden hair on which she wore a little, round pillbox hat, swept back from her fine forehead. Here and there, among her golden tresses, sparkled diamonds, dangling from almost invisible tiny gold chains. It was no cause for wonder that, on entering the harem, instead of being given the name of Jasmine, Sweet-breath, Pearl of the Dawn or some such soubriquet, she had become known simply as Naksh—the Beautiful One.

She was seated in an elbow chair with, across her knees, a canvas of petit-point, on which she had been working. Be­side her, on a low stool sat a younger, dark-haired woman, more heavily veiled but, judging from her fine eyes and flaw­less skin, also beautiful.

Bowing low with every step, Roger advanced towards the First Lady of the Turkish world, then laid the casket at her feet and remained kneeling there. To his surprise and sudden perturbation, she spoke to him in Greek.

Not understanding Greek, he was temporarily dumbfound­ed. But, swiftly recovering himself, he came to his feet, forced a smile and said in French:

'Your Imperial Majesty has forced me to a confession that I was about to make. I am no Greek merchant who agreed to de­liver this present to you on behalf of a French officer who died in Venice. I am that officer Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc.'

With a sudden frown, her eyes holding his, she asked, 'Why this fiction, Monsieur, and why are you in Eastern dress?'

'May it please Your Majesty, I have accompanied the mis­sion headed by General Gardane, sent by the Emperor Napo­leon to His Imperial Majesty the Sultan. But I am only attached to it. I come to you as the personal representative of your illustrious cousin, the Empress Josephine. My col­leagues are unaware of that and, had I come to the Seraglio in uniform, it is certain they would have learned of it. That would have been difficult to explain. Hence the disguise.'

Still unsmiling, she replied, 'You are then, Monsieur le Chevalier, as I had been led to suppose, a man of resource.'

Roger's heart missed a beat. Again he forced a smile and said, 'As a member of the Emperor's personal staff, I have had the good fortune to achieve some notoriety in the Grande Armee, and it seems that Your Majesty has heard talk of that.'

Instead of replying, she turned to the girl beside her and said, 'Fatima, I wish to speak to this gentleman alone.'

Putting aside her work, the girl made a low obeisance and slipped out through a door at the side of the room.

Turning back to Roger, the golden-haired Venus said in a level voice, 'Yes, Monsieur de Breuc, I have certainly heard of you. Moreover, those blue eyes and long lashes of yours tell me what I have long suspected. No Greek banker could have given them to his child. You are the father of my grand­son. Can you deny it?'

The second she mentioned his blue eyes, Roger's swift brain had leaped to it that the cat was out of the bag. Obviously Zanthe had informed her mother of how a French officer had carried her off in Cairo, and had named him as her se­ducer. By coming to the Seraglio, he had voluntarily and idiotically put his head into a hornet's nest. Within a few minutes now he might be handed over to the eunuchs to be strangled with a bow-string.

Knowing himself cornered and escape impossible, he took a wild gamble. It could come off only if Naksh—the Beautiful One—reacted as a woman. If she maintained the aloofness proper to her station as the First Lady of a mighty Empire, he would be utterly lost. Drawing himself up to his full height, he said, 'Sublimity, my life is in your hands. For the joy the Princess Zanthe gave me I will go to my death willingly. I have only one regret. That it was her and not you that I had in my bed both in Cairo and in Acre. For you are even more beautiful than your daughter.'

He saw her cheeks flush beneath the diaphanous veil. Her big eyes narrowed and she snapped, 'Monsieur! To think of me in such a situation is sacrilege. For what you have just said, a fitting punishment is that I should have your flesh torn from your body, piece by piece, with red-hot pincers.'

Inwardly Roger quailed. Yet, with the courage of despera­tion, he managed to sneer, 'A decision one might expect from a blood-lusting Turk, but not from a French lady of aristo­cratic birth.'

She gave a slight shrug and replied, 'It is true that the Turks are a cruel and bloodthirsty people. But there is a saying, "When in Rome . . ." You will know the rest. You are now in Constantinople. By Turkish standards, you have addressed me as though I were a woman in a brothel. It so happens that I am not only an Empress, but for over twenty years I have been a Turk.'

Standing up, she put out a hand, grasped a silken rope ending in a large tassel, and gave it a swift jerk. A bell clanged hollowly somewhere in the distance.

Situated as he was, in the depths of this vast palace, with its hundreds of rooms, mazes of corridors and thousands of guards, Roger knew that there was not the faintest possibility of fighting his way out. He had not even a sword with which to kill a few eunuchs before they killed him, as no visitor was allowed to enter the Palace armed. By seizing the back of the nearest chair, he could use its legs to fend off an attack; but for no more than a few moments, as the legs were thin and would snap off at the first heavy impact.

Yet, if he were doomed to die, there was one thing he could do which might bring him a quick death and escape from torture. Taking one step forward, he seized the Sultan Valide in his arms.

It was possible that the eunuchs might succeed in dragging him, while still alive, away from her; but he was very strong and meant to cling to her as a drowning man would to a float­ing spar. All the odds were, he thought, that, horrified at the sight of such sacrilege, they would lose their heads, think only of freeing their mistress and frantically stab him in the back.

As he clasped Aimee to him, she gave a gasp of amazement, then cried, 'Are you mad ? Let me go!'

Death might be round the corner, but he was enjoying him­self now. Smiling down into her lovely face, he said, 'No, Naksh. Holding you in my arms while I die will give me a foretaste of heaven. And, when your eunuchs stab at me, I mean to swing round; so we may even die together.'

At that moment they both caught the sound of the outer door being closed, then footsteps crossing the small hall. Aimee had been striving to free herself. Suddenly her struggles ceased. She went quite rigid and, in a voice that was perfectly controlled, but sharp and commanding, she cried loudly:

'Yussif! Bring champagne. At once! Immediately!'

The footfalls halted and receded. Aimee gave a great sigh and, for a moment, let her head fall forward to rest on Roger's shoulder. Then, looking up at him, she breathed, 'What an escape! Had Yussif glimpsed you embracing me, even I, with all my power, could not have saved your life. To start with, they would have put a cord round your testicles and hung you by it from a beam; then bastinadoed you daily until your wretched body gave up the ghost.'

'But...' stammered Roger, 'but you were going to have me killed in any case.'

'You imbecile!' she retorted. ‘Is it likely that I, a French­woman, would have a French officer sent to me by my cousin Josephine harmed? But life is dull here, and it was an oppor­tunity for a little amusement. When I pulled that bell-rope it was to order champagne. Then, when it arrived, we would have laughed together.'

Roger made a wry grimace. 'A dangerous form of amuse­ment, Madame. It might have resulted in the death of both of us.'

She nodded. 'I realise that now. I should have before. Zanthe told me that you were the very devil of a man. And, indeed you are! But for God's sake, let me go now. If Yussif finds us like this when he brings the wine, all I could wish you would be a speedy death.'

As Roger released her and again assumed a most respectful attitude, he said, ‘I appreciate that while you would have re­ceived the Empress Josephine's envoy most kindly, you can hardly be surprised that when it became apparent to me that you realised I was the man who had dragged Zanthe into my bed in Cairo, I had good cause to fear that you meant to exact vengeance on me.'

Aimee suddenly threw back her golden head and laughed. 'On the contrary, both she and I have much to thank you for. She came on a visit to me here eighteen months ago, and con­fided to me all that had passed between you. Some man had to be the first to lie with her, and that it happened to be le brave Breuc rather than her old husband, the Pasha, who cared only for boys, was her good fortune. Think, too, of the ghastly fate that would have befallen her had you not rescued her from that gang of ruffians who waylaid her.'

Happily now, Roger smiled and was about to reply; but, at that moment the eunuch, Yussif, brought in an ice bucket in which reposed a bottle of champagne, and poured the wine; salaaming many times he retreated backwards and closed the door behind him.

'I hope you like champagne,' Aimee remarked. 'I have a passion for it. It was I who introduced the wine to the Sultan's Court, and both the Sultan, Selim, and my son, Mahmoud, who is now twenty-two, delight in it.'

‘I, too,' Roger declared, raising his glass to her before he drank, 'but in England . . .' He paused suddenly, covered his faux pas and, with a smile went on. 'My mother was an Englishwoman who married a French citizen of Strasbourg, so I am bi-lingual. Several times I have carried out secret missions in England for the Emperor. As I was about to say, in England the real thing is expensive and difficult to come by. They have a law that no wine may be taken into the coun­try in any vessel containing less than a gallon. It is aimed at preventing people smuggling in single bottles. But in cask— even a small one - champagne is no more than a very mildly effervescent wine. The English can obtain champagne as we know it only when smuggled in; so it is extremely costly.'

She nodded. 'Poor people. But they have all sorts of silly customs that deprive them of half the joy of life.' Glancing at the casket at her feet, she added, 'Show me now, please, the present that my dear cousin has sent me.'

Kneeling down, Roger produced the gold candlesticks^* and, with little cries of pleasure, Aimee examined their delicate filigree work. Then she asked after Josephine and her two children by her first husband, the Vicomte de Beauharnais.

Roger was able to report that Eugene continued to be de­voted to his stepfather, the Emperor, and, although still very young for such responsibility, was proving an excellent Vice­roy for Napoleon as King of Italy. About Eugene's sister, Hortense, he could not give such good tidings. Against her

^*The two candlesticks may be seen today by visitors to the Topkapi Palace, Istanbul.

will and that of her husband, Louis, one of Napoleon's younger brothers, they had been forced to marry and become King and Queen of Holland. Hortense was a sensible young woman and, despite her loveless marriage, putting a good face on matters, so had become very popular with her subjects. Louis, on the other hand, had turned out to be a vain and stupid neurotic. He was wasting Holland's resources by fabulous ex­travagance, opposed his great brother's wishes with childish petulance and, as a King, could hardly have been a greater failure.

Of Josephine, Roger spoke guardedly. 'She is greatly be­loved. As a born aristocrat with traditions, tact and charm, she has made an invaluable contribution to the establishment in Paris of a new royal Court, of a splendour far surpassing that of Versailles in Louis XVI's day. Kings, Princes, Grand Dukes and nobles of aristocratic lineage come reluctantly, driven by their countries' necessity, to seek the goodwill of the middle-class Corsican usurper who now dominates Europe. They have arrived expecting among themselves cynically to mock the pretensions of this parvenu Emperor. They have gone away impressed with his swift, clear-seeing mentality and delighted by the gracious reception of them by his Empress.

'Yet,' Roger went on, 'one trouble remains. Napoleon des­perately desires an heir. He has now been married to Joseph­ine for eleven years. Despite the fact that she had two children by her first marriage, she has failed to give him one.'

Aimee’s blue eyes held Roger's intently as she asked, 'Do they still sleep together?'

He nodded. 'At times, yes. For years past the Emperor has had a succession of mistresses; but he retains a strong affec­tion for his wife. There are occasions when his campaigns necessitate his leaving her for many months, as is the case at present; but when they are living at the Tuileries, or St. Cloud, on most nights he goes to her room.'

'Then, unless he is impotent, it is a scurvy trick of fate that my poor cousin should fail to become enceinte. But tell me of this present campaign and the object of General Gardane's mission to the Sultan.'

Roger related the salient facts of the defeat of Prussia, the battles of Jena and Auerstadt, then he said, 'The Muscovites are proving more stubborn enemies than any that the Emper­or has so far encountered. His object in sending General Gar­dane on this mission is to persuade Turkey and Persia to attack the Czar vigorously in the south, and so draw off Rus­sian forces that would otherwise be employed against him in the north.'

With an unhappy look, Aimee replied, 'Turkey is already honouring her alliance with France by waging war against the Russians in Moldavia, and naturally we should like to assist Napoleon further. But it would be difficult to strengthen our army there with sufficient reinforcements to carry out a successful offensive.'

'Why so, Madame?' Roger enquired; although, from what Talleyrand had told him, he already guessed what her answer would probably be.

It came swiftly and with pent-up bitterness. 'Because our worst enemies are within our own gates. Unlike his predeces­sors for many generations, the Sultan Selim was not kept in a gilded cage and denied all knowledge of the world until he succeeded his uncle. On the contrary, he received a liberal edu­cation. For that, I am proud to say, I was mainly responsible. We are much of an age and, for many years, have been to each other as brother and sister. My son, the Prince Mahmoud, too, instead of being regarded by him as a possible conspirator who might plan his assassination in order to seize his throne, enjoys complete liberty and is beloved by him. Both have imbibed from me the vision of a new and happier Turkey. In this age Turkey can no longer afford to remain isolated. Her only hope of survival lies in gaining the friendship and respect of the great nations in the West. To achieve that, she must accept the civilisation of the West, and abolish the bar­barous customs that for centuries have disgraced her in the eyes of Christian Europe. Believing me right in this, the Sul­tan Selim has introduced many reforms. But reforms always arouse opposition in reactionaries; and we are cursed with many such.'

Roger nodded gravely. 'Indeed, Madame, it is common knowledge that certain powerful Pashas in the Balkan lands have repudiated His Imperial Majesty's authority and that the rebel leader Kara George has provoked a rebellion in Serbia that is proving difficult to suppress.'

'Since you are aware of that, you will appreciate that it could prove disastrous for us to denude our provinces further of troops that remain loyal to us, in order to despatch them against the Russians.' For a moment Aimee paused, then went on: 'Fortunately, the Pasha of Rustchuk, a Bulgarian named Baraiktar, and our greatest General, is entirely to be relied upon. I feel confident that, given a little time, he will restore our situation up on the Danube. I have, too, the full backing of Son Altesse Noire and of the Grand Mufti, Vely-Zade. But for you fully to understand our position I must confide in you that the Sultan, although a man of enlightened mind and charming disposition, has not the strength of character needed to dominate the situation here. And it is here in Con­stantinople that our real danger lies.'

'You fear a conspiracy in the Seraglio to assassinate him?' Roger asked with swift concern.

She refilled their glasses, drank a little of the wine and said thoughtfully, T have no evidence that one is actually brewing; but it has long been a menace, my fear of which has much increased in recent times. I owe my position to the protection of a clever and most lovable woman, a Circassian Kadin who was the mother of my late husband and thus became the Sultan Valide. She died in October 1805. As Selim's mother was already dead, he gave me the status of Sultan Valide; although I am not so in fact and shall never be until my son, Mahmoud, succeeds to the throne. To the succession he has a rival, Prince Mustapha, the son of another of the Sultan Abdul Hamid's Kadins. She is an evil woman and has twice attemp­ted to have my son poisoned. But on both occasions my devo­tion to the Blessed Virgin caused Her to intervene and save his life.'

Roger looked up in surprise. 'Can it be, Madame, that you have remained a Christian ?'

Her big, blue eyes widened. 'But of course, Monsieur. Naturally, many endeavours were made to persuade me to become a Muslim, but nothing would ever induce me to abandon the true Faith.'

More than ever Roger admired the extraordinary strength of will that animated this frail, beautiful woman as, shaking back her long golden hair, sparkling with diamonds, she went on.

'The increased danger to our lives from a palace conspiracy now lies in the discontent of the Janissaries. For many reigns past, here in the Seraglio, their power has exceeded that of the Sultans. Selim has endeavoured to break it by forming a new corps of Turkish-born soldiers called the Nizam-i-jedad. Not unnaturally, the Janissaries, who are mostly Circassians, became jealous of this new bodyguard. To placate them Selim, against my advice, embodied a considerable number of the younger Janissaries into the Nizam-i-jedad; and that, I believe, has resulted in undermining their loyalty to him. The evil Kadin of whom I spoke, although her son is technically a prisoner, has much influence with these malcontent, reac­tionary troops. It needs only a spark to set off a revolt that would lead to a blood bath, place Prince Mustapha on the throne and secure for his mother her lifelong ambition to become Sultan Valide.'

After a moment, Roger said, 'Madame, I pray you accept my devotion. If there is any way in which I can serve you, or assist in your protection, you have only to command me.'

She gave him a sad smile. 'Alas, there is naught you could do to aid me should my fears be realised. But, now that my dear friend Fanny de Sebastiani is dead and her handsome husband so grieved by her loss that he is abandoning us, it will be a great comfort to me to have here a brave French gentleman to whom I can talk unreservedly. I pray you, Monsieur le Chevalier, to come often to sec me. I will give orders that any of these greedy eunuchs who demand a bribe to announce your presence, shall be bastinadoed every week for a month.'

Crossing the room to the door through which Fatima had disappeared, Aimee recalled the girl, then jerked the bell rope. Roger reassumed his most deferential manner and be­gan to take his leave. Yussif, the eunuch who had brought the champagne, arrived and escorted him from the 'Presence' back to the Gate of Felicity.

As he passed through it, Roger happened to look to his left, and his glance fell upon a sight that, his mind being so fully occupied, he had not noticed on entering the gate. It was a pile of human skulls: some with the flesh still on them and being devoured by a swarm of big bluebottles. Inwardly he shuddered at this evidence of the barbarities that the coura­geous Aimee was striving to abolish. Having caught his ex­pression of disgust, Yussif grinned at him and said in Turkish:

'Those are the heads of the men that the Janissaries believe to have been traitors to them. They are placed there as a warn­ing to others.'

'I find it difficult to believe that His Imperial Majesty the Sultan approves of this,' Roger remarked.

The eunuch shrugged. 'That is not for me to judge, Effendi. But those of us who are the loyal servants of Her Sublimity the Sultan Valide never know the day when we may find ourselves hung by the neck from the great elm in the First Court.' With a bow, he added, 'May Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate, have you in his keeping, Effendi.' Then he handed Roger over to one of the White Eunuchs who saw him out of the Palace.

In the room over the tailor's shop Roger changed back into uniform, then recrossed the Golden Horn with Achmet. Thinking matters over, he was well content with the situation of Turkey as Aimee had disclosed it to him. Had matters been otherwise and the Turks likely to accede to Napoleon's request that they should launch an offensive across the Dan­ube, he had intended himself to reveal what Talleyrand had told him of the Sultan's waning authority in the Balkans and, posing as the confidential messenger of Josephine, tell Aimee that the Emperor was fully capable of defeating the Czar without Turkish help; so the Sultan would be most ill advised to jeopardise further his own position by sending another army against the Russians. But it had proved unnecessary to do that. Whatever promises the Sultan might make to General Gardane, it was clear that he could not carry them out.

As Aimee corresponded with Josephine, it was quite on the cards that she would mention Roger's visit; so he was much relieved that he would not later have to explain away having given her advice contrary to French interests. She would, no doubt, send her thanks for the candlesticks, but that did not worry him. In due course he would tell Josephine that he had made the gift in her name, believing that his having done so would please her. And he felt certain that it would.

About Aimee's own position he was considerably worried; but, in spite of her invitation, he did not wish to give her the impression that he was taking advantage of her friendliness, so he decided against paying her another visit until the Mon­day. That morning, having changed again in the room over the tailor's shop into the costume of a Greek merchant, he made his way to the Palace. This time he was received very differ­ently. The Kapi Aga was brought at once to the waiting room in the great gate, and enquired solicitously as to Roger's health. A messenger was despatched to the Kizler Aga and, after a brief wait, the visitor was conducted across the court to the Gate of Felicity. There Yussif met him with smiles and bows, then took him through the maze of corridors to the Sultan Valide's apartments.

With her on this occasion, besides the slim, doe-eyed Fatima, were two men. The elder had a long, thin nose, heavily-lidded eyes, a thin moustache and a very full, black beard. He was dressed simply, in a loose silk robe, but above his lofty forehead rose a large white turban, in the centre of which flashed a huge diamond. The younger had a heavier moustache, but a less full beard, and arched black eyebrows above eyes that were as large and lustrous as Aimee's, al­though dark brown. Instantly, Roger realised that he was in the presence of the Sultan and Aimee's son Prince Mahmoud.

As he went down on his knees, Aimee curtsied to the Sul­tan and said in French, 'Permit me, Sire, to present to you a brave French officer, the friend and confidant of my cousin the Empress Josephine: Colonel le Chevalier de Brew!

Roger's hands were clasped, with his head bowed over them. To his ears there came the voice of Selim, speaking in heavily-accented and bad but understandable French. 'Welcome to our Court, Monsieur. Rise and be seated. Here in this blessed haven from pomp, anxiety and toil, provided by our beloved Naksh, we do not stand on ceremony.'

Coming to his feet Roger smiled, bowed and said, 'Your gracious Majesty honours me beyond my deserts.'

Then Aimee waved a hand towards the younger man: 'My son, Prince Mahmoud.'

Again Roger bowed. Smiling at him, the young Prince picked up a bottle of champagne, poured a glass, handed it to him, and said in fluent French almost entirely free of accent, 'One of the many joys my mother has brought us. Because one believes in God, one does not have to deny oneself the blessings he has bestowed on man.'

Roger was surprised at the paleness of the faces of the two Turks, particularly that of the Sultan which, against his black beard, was actually pallid. But, after a moment he recalled having been told that customs forbade any Turkish Prince from ever taking a wife of Turkish blood. All the young girls bought or kidnapped to become inmates of the harem came from distant pans of the Empire with, occasionally, an Italian or Spaniard who, like Aimee, had been captured by Cor­sairs. The great majority of the odalisques from whom the Sultans chose their four wives were, on account of their out­standing beauty, fair-skinned Circassians. As a result, after many generations, the Osmanli Princes were in fact Turks only by upbringing.

For over an hour they talked freely and, at times, gaily; the lovely young Fatima often joining in as though she were one of the family. Roger gave a lively description of the splen­did Court Napoleon had created since he had made himself an Emperor, and of the Kings, Princes and Grand Dukes who attended it to fawn upon him. He told them about the latest -fashions in Paris, and gave an account of Napoleon's triumphant Prussian campaign. But he refrained from telling them of his narrow escape from death at Eylau, and that for two months he had been a prisoner, leading them to suppose that it was during that time Josephine had heard that he was to accompany General Gardane's mission to Constantinople and sent him the candlesticks to take, as a token of her enduring affection for her cousin.

At the mention of Gardane, the Sultan said, 'I intend to receive him on Wednesday. Tomorrow we make an expedi­tion up the Bosphorus to Rumeli Hisar. You must come with us. Now I have to attend to business.'

As he stood up, Roger gave thanks for the honour done him and bowed profoundly. Aimee extended her hand for him to kiss and said, 'Be here at nine o'clock, Monsieur; and, of course, in the same costume. I have already explained to His Majesty the reason for your wearing Balkan dress.'

Prince Mahmoud then smiled at him and asked, 'Would it interest you to see my work?'

'Indeed it would, Your Highness,' Roger replied, although he was distinctly puzzled by this invitation. As they followed the Sultan from the room, the young man enlightened him.

'Perhaps, Monsieur, you are not aware of it, but by tradition every Osmanli Prince has to learn a trade. I chose that of a professional writer, and derive much pleasure from calli­graphy.'

After crossing several courts, they reached the Prince's quarters, and he led Roger into a spacious, well-lit studio. It contained not only specimens of beautiful writing on vellum, but also a number of drawing boards several square feet in size, upon which verses from the Koran had been inscribed. With charming modesty, the Prince explained that the quality of his work had become so esteemed that he was now com­missioned to create these designs which would later be carved in stone by other craftsmen, then gilded to decorate new mosques.

While Roger was admiring these works of art, coffee and sweet cakes were brought; then, when they had partaken of these refreshments, the Prince courteously saw his guest out through the Gate of Felicity.

When Roger returned the following morning, he was led by the Kapi Aga through another maze of passages, then down through a garden gay with flowers, but shaded by many tall cypresses, to the great wall and a gate in it that gave on to the shore of the Golden Horn. Outside the wall stood two large, lofty pavilions from which there was a splendid view across the water of the shipping moored at the wharfs of Pera and the tiers of buildings rising steeply beyond the ship masts. Further along, towards Seraglio Point, were the boat-houses and, at the end of a jetty in front of one of them, lay a great, gilded barge. It was already manned by two score oarsmen.

Roger had made certain of arriving in good time, so a quar­ter of an hour elapsed while he stood on the foreshore. Then he heard a babble of laughing, girlish voices and turned to see that a bevy of veiled odalisques, escorted by black eunuchs, had emerged from the gate. Eyeing him with interest and chattering among themselves, the girls remained standing near him for a few minutes. Aimee—more heavily veiled than when Roger had seen her in her own apartments—accompanied by Fatima and Yussif, was the next to arrive on the scene. The chattering ceased, everyone made obeisance then, having greeted Roger most affably, Aimee led the way on board.

The stern of the caique was shaded by a great, silk canopy edged with gold braid and pearls. On a raised platform cen­trally beneath it stood a broad divan with many cushions. Grouped about it were a number of stools and on these the ladies settled themselves. To the stools there was one excep­tion—a low-backed, comfortable, padded chair on the right of the divan. Aimee sat down in it and signed to Roger to take the stool nearest her.

He had hardly done so when the Sultan appeared, escorted by two huge Nubian guards. Today he was again clad in easy garments suitable to the summer weather, but he wore a jewelled belt from which hung a scimitar, the hilt and sheath of which were worth a king's ransom, and his turban was ablaze with precious gems.

His manner was now aloof and dignified. As he took his seat on the broad divan, he did not even acknowledge the deep obeisance made by everyone present. At a sharp com­mand from him the barge was cast off and the forty rowers sank their oars into the water. With long strokes in perfect rhythm, the boat sped along, rounded the curve of Pera and turned up the Bosphorus.

Now that they were too distant from the shore for their faces to be seen distinctly, Selim relaxed a little and said to Aimee, 'Your ladies may talk if they wish,' then greeted Roger kindly. Again the babble of girlish voices broke out, and one of the girls began to strum on a guitar.

When they had progressed another half-mile Roger asked Aimee about Rumeli Hisar, to which they were going, as he had never heard of it.

'It is an ancient castle,' she replied. 'There are two of them: one on either side of the Bosphorus where it is at its narrow­est. Rumeli Hisar is the one in Europe and Anadolu Hisar in Asia. They were built to defend Constantinople from an attack by sea from the north. Although there is little danger of that in these days, garrisons are maintained in both. From time to time we make an expedition to one or the other, simply for the outing; and the views from the battlements are truly beautiful.'

When they were opposite the castle, Roger saw that it was a formidable fortress surrounded by a wall that ran down on both sides of it to the water.

Preparations had been made for the reception of the Im­perial party. The Commander of the garrison, Evliya Pasha, welcomed his sovereign with humble submission but evident pleasure. Scores of slaves then bore them all in liners up the steep hillside. Having admired the view from the battlements, they descended to the central courtyard. Awnings had been erected to shade it from the now blazing sun, and about it were set numerous divans with low tables.

Refreshments were then served; but no champagne today. Although Aimee had seduced the Osmanli Princes into shar­ing her enjoyment of "her favourite wine, they still did not dare ignore the prohibition of the Koran in public. Instead, there were refreshing sherbets and Hydromel—a honey-water, unfermented mead. With these were offered golden dishes of small, spiced buns, sweet cakes, rahat-lakoum, and a great variety of nuts and nougats. These proved to be the strange hors d'oeuvrcs to a gargantuan meal: whole sturgeons on huge platters, lobsters first boiled in their shells, roast ducks coated with honey, peacock pies decorated with the heads and feathers of the birds, great dishes of venison crowned with antlers, pilaus, kebabs and ragouts; followed by a dozen different puddings, each a masterpiece of the chef's artistry in the use of icing, spun sugar and crystallised fruit.

When at last the feast was over, the Sultan withdrew to enjoy a siesta inside the castle, while the rest of them remained to chat idly or doze on the divans, through the heat of the afternoon. On Selim's reappearance, everyone livened up. A dozen of the veiled odalisques swayed gracefully in an intricate dance, then others performed solo or in groups on instruments they had brought.

Roger looked on with mingled boredom and interest. The music meant nothing to him, but he found it intriguing to watch the women. Except for Aimee and Fatima, every one of them was straining her talent to the utmost, and by sinuous movements endeavouring to attract Selim's attention, in the hope that he might throw her the coveted handkerchief as the sign that he would summon her to his bed that night.

But the Sultan remained impassive, and Roger had the instinctive feeling that all this apparently light-hearted gaiety was forced. A secret fear seemed to lurk beneath the laughter and a foreboding of dark days to come. His belief that trouble was brewing and that they were all aware of it was strength­ened when, long before sundown, Selim abruptly ended the party and ordered a return to the barge.

Silently they were borne in the litters down the hill and re-embarked. Almost in silence they were rowed back to the shore of Seraglio Point. As they landed, faint but menacing, they caught the sound of heavy spoons being beaten on the bottoms of kettles—that century-old indication that the Janis­saries had become mutinous.

Crisis in the Seraglio

As the sound coming from the massed buildings up on the hill reached their ears, everyone who had been on the Im­perial pleasure party immediately fell silent. In the stillness of the late afternoon, the sinister drumming came to them louder and more threatening. Into Roger's mind there flashed a picture of thousands of long-moustached, angry, armed men seated cross-legged: row upon row in the great Second Court­yard, beating rhythmically on their soup kettles with the long spoons that they habitually wore thrust through their turbans.

Aimee was standing beside him. In a swift whisper he said to her, 'You must return with me to the French Embassy. You will be safe there.'

She shook her head. 'No. My place is here. But it is as well that we returned early. As long as they keep drumming, they will harm no one. And this has often happened before. They will make some new demand. Selim will either have to accede to it or take strong measures to curb their insolence.'

Having rendered thanks to the Sultan for his day's enter­tainment, Roger made his adieus to Aimee and Fatima; then, as they went through the gate in the great wall up to the Sera­glio, he was escorted by a eunuch along the shore until he could turn inland outside the wall, walk up to the tailor's and change back into uniform.

That night he could hardly sleep for worrying about what might be taking place in the Seraglio, but in the morning there came no news of trouble there, so General Gardane and his companions all donned their smartest uniforms and rode across the Galata Bridge. The sight of this cavalcade of foreign officers on horseback caused considerable excitement, and an ever-increasing crowd pushed and shoved on either side of them as they rode up through the narrow streets towards the Palace.

When they reached the open space adjacent to the great mosque of Aya Sophia, Roger was relieved to see that pre­parations had been made for their reception, as that implied the state of things inside the Palace to be normal. A regiment of cavalry, with gleaming scimitars, was drawn up. Beyond them, on either side of the First Gate stood triple ranks of Albanian infantry armed with tall pikes with double axe heads. As the French approached, their arrival was announced by a fanfare from a score of trumpets. From the gate there emerged a gorgeously-clad Turk, wearing an enormous feather­ed head-dress. Behind him rode his orderly, holding aloft a wrought-iron standard from which dangled three tufts of horsehair, signifying the officer's high rank. Salutes were ex­changed and the 'three tail' Bashaw, with Ambassador Sebastiani on one side of him and General Gardane on the other, accompanied them through the First Courtyard between the massed ranks of hundreds of Janissaries, wearing helmets from which bird-of-paradise plumes curved down almost to their waists.

According to custom, at the Second Gate they all dis­mounted. White eunuchs lumbered forward to act as horse-holders until their return; then, holding themselves very erect, they marched solemnly across the Second Court, in which were massed line after line of Selim's newly-created bodyguard, the Nizam-i-jedad.

As they approached the Gate of Felicity, Roger saw that the pile of skulls to the left of it had been increased by a dozen or so newly-severed bloody heads. Those, he had little doubt, were the heads of loyal retainers whom Selim had had to sacrifice to the Janissaries in order to keep them from open revolt. He was sorry for the Sultan, who seemed to be a pleas­ant, kindly man; but mentally condemned his weakness. About Aimee he was worried, because in her he had recog­nised a kindred spirit, and greatly admired her courage and intelligence as well as her beauty. He would have given much to be in a position to protect her from the danger that so clearly loomed over the present Imperial family; but saw no way in which he might possibly do so.

Beyond the Gate of Felicity they could see into the pavi­lion where there stood the wide, golden throne with its lus­trous bands of flashing gems; but it was unoccupied. The sun was blazing down from a cloudless sky. Already the Frenchmen, in their tight-fitting uniforms, were sweating pro­fusely. Five minutes passed, ten. They continued to stand rigidly to attention. The strain was terrible. Rivulets of per­spiration were running down their faces, and General Gardane was praying that none of his officers would disgrace him by fainting.

Roger was praying that this delay in the proceedings was due only to the Oriental habit of seeking to impress visitors by keeping them waiting; and not that, after all, Selim was dead or a prisoner, this show having been put on to conceal it and that shortly they would be informed that he had been taken suddenly ill, so could not receive them.

Two minutes later, he was relieved of his fears. There came another blast of trumpets, then a herald cried in a loud voice:

'Behold and tremble. Here cometh the Caliph of Islam; the Commander of the Faithful; the Padishah of Padishahs; the Lord of the Barbary States; the Shadow of Allah upon Earth.'

With stately step, Selim emerged from between pearl-embroidered curtains at the back of the throne room. In spite of the heat, from his shoulders there hung to the ground an enormous ermine stole. His scimitar sheath and its hilt, his belt, breast and hands positively blazed with jewels. From an enormous diamond in the centre of his turban there rose a gently-waving aigrette. It was the largest jewel that Roger had ever seen. He had been told its history. It was known as the Spoon Diamond, because two children had found it on the seashore and had given it to a spoon-seller in exchange for two wooden spoons. The spoon-seller had sold it to a jeweller for a single piece of gold. The jeweller had had it cut and sold it to the then reigning Sultan for a fortune.

The Sultan Selim was followed by a small, elderly, wizened man, wearing a dark robe and a flat turban the size of a small cartwheel—obviously the Grand Vizier. After him came a huge Negro in a tall, conical hat, whom Roger knew to be Son Altesse Noire.

Selim took his place, cross-legged on the wide divan; the other two sat down on low stools on either side of him. Mean­while everyone else present had gone down on their knees, the Turks touching the ground with their foreheads.

The herald shouted, 'The Descendant of the Prophet— blessed be his name—permits that you raise your eyes.' Every­one looked up, but remained kneeling. The 'three tail' Bashaw who had been kneeling between Sebastiani and Gardane, took each of them by an arm, raised them to their feet and, as if supporting them lest they faint at the tremendous honour _done them, led them forward through the Gate of Felicity to the step up to the throne.

Again all three of them knelt. Selim, without a trace of animation on his features, extended the first finger of his right hand, upon which blazed an emerald the size of a pigeon's egg, to Gardane. The General kissed it and said in Turkish:

'Most gracious Majesty of divine descent, I humbly crave to present to you a letter from my illustrious master, and your faithful ally, the Emperor of the French."

Unsmiling, Selim made no reply as Gardane proffered the gem-studded casket containing Napoleon's letter. Then, after a moment, with a gesture that almost conveyed contempt, Selim waved his heavily beringed hand in the direction of the Grand Vizier, and said, 'My Minister will give consideration to this matter, and inform me upon it.'

As Gardane handed the casket to the Grand Vizier, Selim uncrossed his legs, came to his feet and, raising his hand, said in a loud voice: 'May Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate —blessed be his name and that of his Prophet—have you all in His holy keeping.' Then, without another glance at anyone, his black-bearded head held high, he strode out through the curtains at the back of the pavilion, followed by his Grand Vizier and the Kizler Agar.

The troops came to their feet. Orders were shouted by their officers, and they presented arms as the French mission marched back through the Second Court, remounted their horses outside it, then at the First Gate took leave of the 'three tail' Bashaw. Limp and gasping from the heat, they recrossed the bridge of boats and, half an hour later, lay on their beds endeavouring to recover from the ordeal to which the audience with the Sultan had subjected them..

That night, at dinner in the Embassy, Sebastiani said to Gardane: 'General, I have remained on here only because I felt it my duty to accompany you on your presentation to the Sultan. I am positively haunted by the thought that my beloved Fanny's death was due to my having brought her to this city of dirt and disease. In my wretched state I can no longer be of any assistance to you here, and I have learned that a ship is leaving for the Piraeus tomorrow; so I am sail­ing in her. I have made the necessary arrangements for my staff to carry on all diplomatic duties. It remains only for me to wish you success in your mission.'

When they had condoled with him, he went on, 'You must not be discouraged by the coldness of the Sultan's reception. The aloofness he displayed is no more than tradition leads his people to expect from him. In private he is a very pleasant man, and he is highly intelligent. But you must not expect to receive any reply to the Emperor's letter for some days. The probability is that one day next week you will be sent for to discuss it with his Ministers. Even then, no decision will be given. You may have to wait another week or more before you are again summoned to receive a formal answer.'

During that afternoon Gardane had received a missive from Ibraham Pasha, the 'three tail' General who had con­ducted them into the presence that morning. It was an invita­tion for them to cross the Bosphorus with him next day and dine at his villa in the hills above Scutari.

As Roger had received no summons from Aimee, he was glad of this opportunity to spend a day in the company of his brother officers; for he feared that if he went off on his own too often Gardane might begin to wonder what he was up to.

Ibraham Pasha was a fat, jolly man. He spoke French fairly fluently and brought with him two other officers, both of whom had visited Paris in pre-Revolution days. The party crossed the Straits in a large barge and on the Asiatic side found grooms and horses waiting for them. They then rode through the town and, for about five miles, up a winding track that took thorn to the flat, grassy top of a mountain. From it there,, was a splendid view of the Turkish capital. The sun glinted on th,* domes and minarets of the many mosques in both Stamboul and Pera; and the blue waters below were dotted with the scores of vessels large and small sailing under a light wind along the three channels formed by the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn.

Having rested there for a while, they rode down to the Pasha's villa, which proved to be a small palace with a lovely garden. Like the majority of highly-placed or wealthy Turks, he observed the Koran's prohibition against alcohol only in public; so the excellent meal he had provided for them was made doubly agreeable by a plentiful supply of very palat­able Greek wine. In the cool of the evening, they returned to Pera, having had a thoroughly enjoyable time.

The next day being the Mohammedan Sabbath, Roger did not go to the Palace, but on the Saturday afternoon he again presented himself. Aimee received him with obvious pleasure and he spent over two hours with her and the gazelle-like Fatima, who also asked him many questions about the coun­tries in which he had travelled. With some amusement, he noticed that she could not keep her eyes off him, so he had obviously made a conquest. But charming as she was, and twenty years younger than Aimee, to his mind she was just a pretty girl and could not hold a candle to the radiant, golden beauty of her mistress.

As he was taking his leave, Aimee told him that next day the Sultan intended to visit Kizel, an island in the Sea of Marmora, just outside the entrance to the Bosphorus, and invited him to accompany them; so he was able to look forward to another day in the company of this extraordinary and fas­cinating woman.

Since the death of his wife the unhappy Sebastiani had refused all invitations and invited no-one to the Embassy; but on Gardane's arrival he had felt it his duty to arrange a_# reception. So that night, in spite of the fact that the Ambassa­dor had already left, the big salons of the Embassy were lit with hundreds of candles and an entertainment given for some two hundred guests. All the other foreign Ambassadors in Constantinople, with the senior members of their staffs, were present, and scores of important Turkish functionaries. Many of the latter were eager to return hospitality, so Gardane and his officers were assured of a pleasant time during the remainder of their stay in Constantinople. But Roger, wishing to keep himself free, politely declined such invitations as he was given, on the plea that he suffered from an intermittent fever and feared that for the next week or so a bout of it that he felt coming on would prevent him from keeping any en­gagements.

On the Sunday morning, again dressed as a Greek mer­chant, he accompanied the Imperial party to Kizel. The day followed the pattern of that when they had gone up the Bos­phorus to Rumeli Hisar, except that, instead of the entertain­ment being held in a grim old casde, they enjoyed the May sunshine on a broad terrace in front of a small palace.

While they were on their way back, Selim told Roger that on the following day his Grand Vizier would receive the French mission, to discuss the Emperor Napoleon's letter; but Roger was concerned to see that the Sultan seemed more gloomy and ill at case than ever. And when they landed on the shore below the Seraglio, the reason for his depression was made plain. Again his temporary absence from the Palace had provided an opportunity for the Janissaries to hold meet­ings and discuss their pretended grievances. For the second time there came to Roger's ears that sinister sound of kettle-beating.

After another anxious night, he accompanied Gardane and two other senior officers of the mission across the Golden Horn. They were received as before by Ibraham Pasha, with ceremony, but the number of troops paraded was consider­ably less. The Pasha conducted them into the Second Court, but instead of proceeding to the Gate of Felicity, he turned half left, heading for a large building above which, squat and square, rose the only steeple of the Palace. It was, Roger knew, the Hall of the Dewan. Before entering it he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw that there were several new bloody severed heads on the pile of skulls.

Inside the Hall of the Dewan, they were courteously greeted by the wizened-faccd Grand Vizier, and several other Minis­ters. Then everyone present took places cross-legged on the cushioned divans with which the room was furnished. Before each place there stood a hookah with, attached to it, a long tube with an ivory mouthpiece, by which die smoke could be drawn through a glass vase filled with rose water. Roger at once took up his mouthpiece and drew in a breath of frag­rant smoke; his compatriots followed his example and the Turks, too, began smoking.

While compliments were exchanged, thick, sweet coffee was served in small cups inserted in gold holders. When the white eunuchs who acted as waiters had withdrawn, the business in hand was gradually approached. High up on one side of the room there was a grille that jutted out slightly, screening a small balcony. Behind it, from time to time, slight movements could be seen and Roger had learned that, concealed in this indoor gazebo, the Sultan listened to all debates of import­ance held by his chief Ministers.

It was, therefore, no surprise to him that, after nearly three hours of beating about the bush, the Grand Vizier said that he and his colleagues must consult further in private—his real meaning being that he must ask the wishes of his master.

Next day Roger again went to the Palace in disguise. This time he was kept waiting for nearly an hour before Aimee received him; but when she did she explained that she had been detained because she had been in consultation with Selim's Kadins about certain new regulations governing the conduct of the ordinary women of the harem.

Their talk happened to turn to French literature, upon which she took him through to another room which was a library. He was amazed to see that it contained hundreds of beautifully-bound volumes imported by her from France. Among them were many works on botany, natural history and philosophy, including those of the Encyclopaedists. He had realised that she was well read, but not that she was so learned.

Like her boudoir, the decor of the room was Louis Seize, but with one exception. In the middle of one wall there was a huge, brick, open fireplace. Seeing him look at it, she said:

'Alas, they would not allow me to do away with that hid­eous chimney. This building is very old, and they said that if they attempted to take it out the roof covering the whole of my apartments would fall in.'

A little later he asked her about the state of the Janissaries and she replied, 'They are a constant anxiety to us. Every time now that Selim leaves the Palace for any length of time they become mutinous and, although Ibraham Pasha is a good, honest man, he has not the strength of will to control them. Selim, too, lacks the ruthlessness to reduce them to obedience once and for all. Occasionally he has a few of them thrown into prison, but generally appeases them with concessions. Prince Mustapha and his mother are, of course, prisoners in the fine pavilion that we term "the cage"; but I haven't a doubt that they are in secret communication with the Janissaries' leaders and inciting them to make trouble for us. In previous reigns that evil woman and her son would long since have been strangled. But Selim is too kind-hearted. Perhaps my influence on him is to blame for that. Yet, as long as they live, our own lives will not be safe.'

It was Fatima who suggested that her mistress should in­vite Roger to a small, private supper party she was giving on the coming Thursday. After a moment's hesitation, Aimee said:

'Yes. Why not? At times General Sebastiani used to join us, and His Majesty thinks well of M. le Chevalier. So, too, does my son, and it will make a pleasant change for us to have a visitor in our family circle.' She then told Roger to come to the Palace at eight o'clock.

Roger spent Wednesday with three of his brother officers and their Turkish attendants, exploring parts of the city they had not so far seen. As infidels, they were naturally debarred from entering any of the magnificent mosques; but they strolled round the great oblong stadium where, in Byzantine times, the chariot races had been held; descended under­ground to see the vast, many-columned cistern that Constantine the Great had constructed to supply his people with water during the times of siege, and roamed for an hour or two along the inside of the miles-long battlemented wall.

On the Thursday evening, when Roger was conducted through the Second Court of the Palace, he saw by the linger­ing twilight that many of the Janissaries were sitting about in little groups, quietly smoking their narghiles or talking earnestly in low tones; but none of them took any notice of him.

In Aimee's apartment he found Selim, Mahmoud and Fatima. They were already drinking the champagne of which they were so fond and, when he had made his salaams, Fatima poured him a glass. The Sultan then began to speak of the Dewan that had been held the previous Thursday and told Roger frankly that he was still undecided what course to take. Russia was Turkey's hereditary enemy and, moreover, he would have liked to give his ally, the Emperor Napoleon, such help as he could. But to find troops for an offensive while several of his own provinces were in rebellion presented a difficult problem.

'Sire,' Roger replied. 'I am a loyal servant of the Emperor, but since you have honoured me with your friendship, I can­not forbear to quote the old saying, "A wise man puts out the fire in his own house before he goes to assist his neighbour in putting out the fire in his."'

Aimee nodded her golden head. 'That is sound advice. But we are not here to talk statecraft. Let us put such matters out of our minds for a while and enjoy ourselves. Tell His Majesty, as you told me the other day, how, when you were a young man in St. Petersburg and that old rouee, Catherine the Great, took a fancy to you, you succeeded in avoiding going to bed with her.'

Roger told the story and they laughed a lot. Encouraged by them, he told others of tight comers out of which he had managed to wriggle. About nine o'clock, Yussif appeared and announced that, if it pleased His Majesty, dinner could be served. Then they adjourned to another room. As was the case throughout the whole of Aimee's apartments, there were no divans here, but a fine, satinwood table set with Sevres china, lace mats from Malines, and Venetian glass. The chairs were of tulip wood, and their seats flower designs in petit point worked, as she told Roger, by herself.

The meal, too, showed no trace of Turkish influence and it was clear that Aimee's personal chef was well versed in the French cookery books for which she had sent. As Roger drank with each course in turn Montrachet Chambertin and a rich Sauterne, he thought how blessed this Oriental potentate was to be able to retire from his burdensome duties of State to these utterly different surroundings, created by a French lady of superb beauty and indomitable will.

A richly-crusted souffle was about to be served when sounds of commotion came from the next room. A moment later the door burst open and Son Altesse Noire came staggering in to them. His face was grey, his eyes bulging. Without cere­mony he cried:

'Majesty! We are lost! The Janissaries are in revolt. They have freed Prince Mustapha and his mother from the cage. Even now they are proclaiming the Prince as Sultan. They will be here at any moment. This means death to us all.'

Everyone at the table sprang to their feet. The eunuch who had been about to hand round the souffle dropped it and fled. Selim remained outwardly calm, but his voice was hoarse as he said:

'I will go out and call this rabble to order.' 'No!' Aimec cried, seizing his arm. 'No. They would hack you to pieces.'

Prince Mahmoud's fine eyes had lost their mild look.

Thrusting out his bearded chin, he shouted, 'A scimitar. Find me a scimitar so that I may die righting.'

'No weapons will help us,' said Roger sharply. 'While we still have the chance, we must escape. Come! Which way do we go?'

The Chief of the Black Eunuchs shook his head. 'There is no way, Monsieur. All three courts are swarming with Janissaries. A handful of loyal men are holding the passage that leads to the Sultan Valide's courtyard. But very soon they must be overcome.'

Aimee clasped her hands, lifted her eyes to heaven and exclaimed, 'Holy Virgin, protect us.'

Selim shrugged. 'Prayer is now useless, dear Naksh. As it is written in the Koran, "the fate of every man is bound about his brow". We are trapped, and it is our fate that we should die here.'

The Hovering Hand of Death

It was the 29th May. Ever since the 20th, the day on which they had gone on the expedition to Rumcli Hisar and re­turned to hear the Janissaries beating on their kettles, the fear that really serious trouble was brewing in the Seraglio had never been far from Roger's mind.

During the sixteen days that the French mission had been in Constantinople, he had spent by far the greater part of his time either with a few of his brother officers or, accompanied only by Achmet, wandering about the city. As a secret agent of long standing, it had become second nature to him to ac­quire all the information he could about how the people in whichever country he was in regarded their government. His Turkish having become fluent, he had been able to chat with men of all conditions, and by inference rather than definite expressions of opinion, he had become convinced of two things. The Sultan was unpopular with only the rich, who stood to lose by his reforms, but people of every class united in lamenting his weakness in dealing with the Janissaries.

They had become entirely lawless and terrorised the city. In full daylight they held up and demanded money from people in the streets; bands of them raided and pillaged shops; they abducted and raped women; they even broke into harems. Yet no action was taken against them. It followed that if their revolt succeeded, Constantinople would become the scene of wholesale massacre and looting.

Faced with this immediate and unexpected crisis, it flashed into Roger's mind that if only he could get away he might yet save the situation. Once out of the Palace it would not be difficult to reach the French Embassy. Gardane was an intelligent and resolute man. The staffs of the other Embassies could be counted on to help. Urgent messages could be sent to the barracks of other troops who were jealous of the Jan­issaries' privileges, and to the Mullahs who, from their minarets, would rouse the people. Their smouldering hatred would burst into flame. In their tens of thousands they would attack the Palace, overwhelm the lawless brigands from whom they had suffered for so long and, perhaps, even save Aimee, the Sultan and her son.

But how to get away? Instantly a possibility came to him. Thrusting Son Altesse Noire aside, he ran from the room into Aimee's library. The others followed, to find him crouched in the wide hearth, looking up the big chimney. Few of the buildings in the Seraglio were more than one storey in height. Fifteen feet above him he could sec stars in the clear heaven. 'Swinging round, he cried:

'I'm going up! I'll get away across the roofs and bring help.'

'May the Prophet bless you!' exclaimed Prince Mahmoud. 'But we must come, too, or we'll be murdered long before you can return to us.'

'You're right,' Roger replied. 'But. we'll need a rope to haul the women up. Where can we find one?' Hastily he glanced round, but could see nothing suitable.

Next moment the Prince muttered, 'Use this,' and began rapidly unwinding his turban. Roger realised, in the minute or more it took to do this that, sweet-natured and artistic though Mahmoud might be, he was a far more resolute man than Selim, who was standing silent, paler than ever and with drooping shoulders.

Grabbing the end of the long, thick swathe of muslin, Roger tied it to his belt. As the other end came free, the Black Eunuch seized it and was about to knot it round the Sultan's waist.

'Stop!' snapped Roger. Then, forgetting himself in the ex­citement of the moment, he added, 'In England there is an unwritten law, "Women and children first".' Snatching the turban from the eunuch, he lashed it swiftly under Aimee's arms above her breasts.

Already they could hear the sound of clashing scimitars and screams of wounded men, coming from the Sultan Valide's courtyard, so none of them noticed the faux pas Roger had made by implying admiration for the English.

Diving into the chimney, he braced his back, feet and el­bows against the soot-blackened walls. To wriggle his way up was far harder than he had expected. Although the chimney was only fifteen feet in height, by the time he was half-way up he feared he would never reach the top; but it gradually narrowed, lessening the strain on his shoulders and ankles. Thrusting up his hands, he managed to grasp the rim of the opening overhead. One final heave, and his head was clear of the chimney rim. For a moment he hung there, panting, then scrambled out on to the roof.

Up there, the sound of shots, wild warcries and fighting came much more clearly to him. The whole vast Topkapi Palace, usually so unnaturally silent, was in a state of pan­demonium. Swiftly he turned, shouted down the chimney and began to haul upon the turban rope. Aimee had lost no time in following him into the wide hearth below, but as he took the strain, his heart suddenly misgave him.

She was not a tall woman and had retained the beautifully-moulded, girlish figure that had been one of her many attrac­tions, so he would have guessed her weight to be not more than eight stone; but she seemed to weigh half a ton. Now he cursed himself for his impetuosity. He should have had Prince Mahmoud or the big Negro climb up after him, then the two of them could, without great difficulty, have hauled the others up.

But it was too late to think of that now. Any moment Yussif and the other loyal eunuchs who were defending the door­way giving on to the Court might be overcome and the murderous Janissaries burst into the library below.

Roger heaved on the thick, muslin rope. It lifted Aimee a foot or so. He heaved again and gained another foot. But the rope was cutting into his hands so painfully that he could have screamed. He now knew that he would never be able to pull her up the whole fifteen feet this way. But, whatever happened to the others, somehow he had got to get Aimee out.

After a moment's agonising thought, he let the rope slide back until her feet again took her own weight. Turning his back to the chimney he drew the slack rope over his right shoulder, then twisted it round both his wrists. Clasping his hands together in front of him, he took the strain again and, head down, threw his whole weight forward. The rope cut fiercely into his shoulder and only by swiftly clutching at his belt was he able to keep his wrists from flying up into his face.

With the sweat streaming from him, he fought his way for­ward step by step across the roof. At the very moment he felt he could endure the strain no longer, there came a cry behind him, and the fierce pressure of the rope on his shoulder eased a little. He held his position for another half-minute, then the rope went slack. Turning, he saw with a gasp of triumph that Aimee was out on the roof.

By the time he staggered to her, she had undone her end of the rope and was lowering it. Pushing past her, he shouted down the chimney. 'Prince Mahmoud next. And he must climb as ... as I did. Use the rope only . . . only as a help. I... I haven't the strength left to pull Fatima up.'

A minute later the rope became taut, but only for a mo­ment. As it cased, Roger took in the slack; Aimee too, grasped it, and each time Mahmoud levered himself a foot higher, they pulled on it to assist him in his climb. Once the strong young Prince was up on the roof, the three of them were not hard put to it to hoist Fatima. Hauling up Selim needed greater effort, although there were four of them on the rope; but the Kizlcr Aga's ascent called for no effort. Like Mahmoud, he worked his way up himself.

For all of them it had been a terrible experience; for those who came last the dread that they might yet be caught and murdered, for Aimed the fear that, although she had reached temporary safety, her son and dear friend Selim might not; for Roger the awful thought that he might have to abandon

Aimee with whom he had not allowed himself to fall in love, but might so easily have done had she been a woman of lesser station. His hands and wrists were lacerated, his right shoul­der felt as though it had been seared by a red-hot iron. But he knew that, as yet, there could be no letting up. They were still almost in the centre of the vast Palace, now in the hands of thousands of ruthless enemies. Unless they could escape unseen from it, they would die that night.

Fortunately, there was no moon, but the starlight was bright enough for them to see one another and their surroundings. As they stood there in a little group, they took in for the first time their changed appearance. They had sat down to supper clean and elegantly clad. They now looked like so many scare­crows : their hair and turbans dishevelled, their fine garments torn and begrimed, their hands and faces black with soot.

Roger looked anxiously about him. In every direction there were scores of small domes crowning individual rooms. The squat, square turret above the Hall of the Dewan, the three-storey block that housed the ladies of the harem, and the tall chimneys of the ten kitchens were the only structures that stood out prominently against the skyline.

'Our best hope is a boat,' he said sharply. 'Which is the least dangerous way to the shore?'

'Through my mother's private garden,' Mahmoud replied promptly. 'But we will have to get down to it. Then at the bottom of the slope there is the wall.'

Abruptly Roger said, 'Be pleased to lead the way, Prince. But we had best crawl, lest some of those devils spot us up here on the roof and suspect who we are.'

Getting down on their hands and knees, they made their way between the cupolas over Aimee's apartments for about sixty yards, till they came to the edge of the roof on that side of the Palace. There Roger produced the muslin rope which he had brought with him. One by one they were lowered on to a terrace. Mahmoud insisted on going last, so had to tie one end of the rope to a chimney pot, which meant abandon­ing the rope. But that could not be helped.

As they crossed the garden, the night air still held the scent of the hundreds of hyacinths planted there. Aimee began to cry at the thought that she would never see it again. In that little soot-begrimed party, there was no longer a Padishah of Padishahs, a Sultan Valide, white man or black. They were just a group of human beings endeavouring to save their lives. Without hesitation Roger put his arm about her shoulders and strove to comfort her.

Where the garden ended there was a low wall. They scram­bled over it and made their way down the slope through an orchard and large, well-tended patches of vegetables. At the bottom of the hill they came face to face with the high crenel­lated wall. To attempt to go out through the gate that led to the summer pavilions and the boat-houses was far too great a risk, for the guards there would be Janissaries. Even if, owing to the rebellion, they had left their posts it was certain that before leaving they would have locked the gate.

'What now?' asked Mahmoud in an unhappy voice. 'I see no way in which we can possibly scale the wall. So we are trapped here. Our only chance is to hide until morning, then hope that in some way Allah will succour us.'

'No, Prince,' Roger replied. 'My good friend Marshal Lannes, and General Oudinot with his Grenadiers, have scaled taller walls than this, and without scaling ladders. Your turban has served us well, but we have others: mine, that of Son Altesse Noire and, if need be, His Imperial Majesty's.'

As he spoke he began to unwind his own turban; the Kizler Aga followed suit. Knotting them together, Roger made at one end a large loop, then weighted the ellipse of the loop with stones as large as cricket balls. Standing well back from the wall, he threw the loop up. The stones clanked on the battlements, but the rope fell back. Again and again he tried to lodge the loop over one of the crenellations, without suc­cess, until his arm ached with throwing. The big Negro took over. At his third attempt the loop caught. They pulled upon the rope and it held firmly.

Having got his breath back, the muscles of his arms hurting terribly from the strain he had put upon them, Roger climbed the rope and managed to bestride the battlements. With com­parative case the Kizler Aga swarmed up to sit beside him. Prince Mahmoud went up next. They then drew up the rope and let it down on the far side of the wall. Mahmoud lowered himself by it and stood ready to receive the others. In turn, Aimee, Fatima and Selim were pulled up, then lowered to the Prince. Roger and the Black Eunuch followed. Crossing the wall had taken them three-quarters of an hour, but they were now outside the precincts of the Palace. No-one had seen them and the shore was deserted.

Keeping close under the shadow of the wall, they crept along it, fearful that at any moment one of the guards who normally kept watch by the pavilions on the shore would suddenly appear and challenge them.

When they reached the boat-houses they found them, too, deserted. At the piers in front of them several boats lay boo­ing gently in the tide. Roger chose one with three thwarts, as the most suitable for the party, because he felt sure that Mahmoud, who was proving a man after his own heart, would be willing to row, and the Kizler Aga could be counted on.

Aimee, Fatima and Selim setded themselves in the stern, the latter taking the single oar protruding from it by which the boat could be steered. He had not spoken since they had emerged from the chimney; but now he asked miserably, 'Whither shall we go?'

'Across to Pera,' Roger replied. 'The safest place for Your Majesty to seek sanctuary is in the French Embassy.'

'I do not agree,' said the Prince. 'It has no defences and only a handful of officers who could resist an attack upon it. Immediately it became known that we are there, the Jan­issaries will come over and demand our heads.'

'Where then?' asked Roger.

'To Rumeli Hisar. It is commanded by a Pasha known to be loyal to us, and garrisoned by reliable troops. There we shall be in a position to make terms.'

Roger hesitated for a moment. 'I had in mind that if we could get to the French Embassy General Gardane would at once take steps to rouse the mobs of the city against the Jan­issaries. They are so hated that thousands of people would take up arms to destroy them.'

Mahmoud shrugged. 'Perhaps. But I doubt it. The Jan­issaries are well armed and well disciplined. The odds are that they would cut to ribbons any ill-directed mob sent against them. At Rumeli our heads will at least remain on our shoulders for another few days.'

'So be it, Prince,' Roger replied. 'You are a better judge than I of this terrible situation. But Rumeli Hisar is a far cry up the Bosphorus, and in our present state I doubt if we'll come to it before morning.'

So it proved. Fortunately, Son Altesse Noire and Prince Mahmoud were both strong men, as Roger's hands had been so lacerated during his first attempts to haul Aimee up the chimney that, although he stuck it out, he could do little more than dip his oars in time with the others.

When they came up to Rumeli Hisar, first light was break­ing and they were all almost dropping with fatigue. As they pulled in to the shore, a sleepy sentry roused himself to chal­lenge them. 'Go fetch Evilya Pasha at once,' shouted Mah­moud.

The sentry stared at the boatload of people, soot-begrimed, tattered and, except for Selim, bareheaded. Standing up, the Prince added, 'Tell the Pasha that His Imperial Majesty re­quires his presence urgently.'

Suddenly the sentry caught sight of the splendid turban, be­decked with jewels and surmounted by an aigrette, worn by the figure slumped in the stern of the boat. His eyes started from his head and his mouth gaped open. Without another word he turned and ran up the steep slope.

Ten minutes later Evilya Pasha came swiftly padding down it in slippers and a hastily-donned robe. Briefly the Prince told him what had occurred. Salaaming profoundly to the Sultan, the Pasha expressed his distress and unshaken loyalty. Then the officers to whom he had sent to be roused with orders to follow him down, helped the refugees from the boat and up to the castle.

There the Pasha's chief wife welcomed Aimde and Fatima and took them to rooms that had been hastily prepared for them in the harem. Before they left the men, Aimee turned to Roger and said:

'Monsieur le Chevalier, it is to you we owe our lives; a debt we shall never be able to repay.'

Selim then took from round his neck a ribbon from which depended a magnificent star and crescent jewel which he wore on all occasions. Passing the ribbon over Roger's head, he said with tears in his eyes:

'My good friend, you are well named "le brave Breuc". While I am still Sultan it is my happiness to decorate you with the highest honour that it is within the power of the ruler of the Turkish Empire to bestow.'

Somehow Roger managed to stammer his thanks; but the pain in his hands and shoulder were agonising, and he was utterly exhausted. Later, his memory of what happened after that was only a vague knowledge that several people had un­dressed him, put soothing ointment on his wounds, bandaged them and got him between the cool sheets on a comfortable divan.

It was not until late in the afternoon that he awoke. Seated cross-legged on the floor opposite him he saw a Turkish man­servant. As their eyes met, the man smiled, got up and left the room. Ten minutes later, he returned with coffee, rolls shaped like small quoits, sweet cakes and a large dish of fruit After his exertions of the previous night, Roger felt hungry and would have welcomed an English breakfast, with a choice of half a dozen hot dishes, and York ham to follow, washed down with good Bordeaux; but he made do as well as he could on the rolls, spread with roseleaf jam, and fruit.

When he had done, the servant held out for him a robe of Turkish towelling, then took him along to the Hamam. To him this was no new experience, as he had frequently availed himself of the Turkish baths when in Egypt. More than once he had felt ashamed by the fact that, as a whole, Orientals kept themselves cleaner than Europeans, the majority of whom had a bath only two or three times a year—and even most of the upper classes only once a week—whereas in Cairo and

Constantinople the public baths were used daily by the greater part of the population. This difference in custom had even led, right up to the preceding reign, to high-caste Turks finding Europeans so smelly that they had insisted on all Ambassadors being steam-bathed in the Seraglio before they were presented to the Sultan.

After sitting in the hot room for half an hour, while the perspiration trickled off him, Roger took a dip in the pool, then he was shaved and submitted to a massage that miracu­lously restored the vigour to his still-tired muscles. Back in his room, he found that fresh clothes of fine texture had been laid out for him, and that a doctor was waiting there to treat his wounds. They were only superficial and the salve applied early that morning had already done wonders.

When he had dressed, he was taken down to a small, arcaded court. A fountain was playing in the centre and seated on divans, smoking hookahs, were the Prince, the Kizler Aga and the Pasha.

Having greeted him warmly and thanked him again for all he had done the previous night, Mahmoud told him that the news was not good, but no worse than was to be expected. All the loyal men in the Nizam-i-jedad had been murdered, and many of the eunuchs. Bands of Janissaries were now roaming the city, seeking out and killing, wherever they found them, the higher officials who were known to have favoured the reforms introduced by Selim. Every shop was shut and every house barred. Many of them were being broken into, but large numbers of the wealthier class had had the sense to collect such valuables as they could carry and hurry to take sanctuary in the mosques. Meanwhile, Prince Mustapha had had himself proclaimed Sultan.

'Do you think the majority of the people will accept him?' Roger asked.

'I fear so. You see, he will have the support of many men in high places who resent His Majesty Selim's reforms and he is the Heir Apparent.'

Roger frowned. ‘I was not aware of that.'

'It is so. Unlike the European monarchies, with us the crown does not descend from father to son, but to the next eldest living Osmanli Prince, and Mustapha was born before I was. He is the son of Aimee’s husband, the Sultan Abdul-Hamid by an older Kadin.'

'What of the Army,' Roger enquired. 'Surely a great part of it must hate the Janissaries for the idle, privileged life they lead, while other troops are fighting? There must be many regiments that would support the Sultan Selim in an attempt to regain his throne.'

It was the Pasha who answered. 'You are right, Effendi. But most of them are either fighting the Russians, or engaged in putting down rebellions in the Balkan provinces. I have sent messengers to such Generals as I believe to be loyal; but there is no body of troops within many weeks' march of Con­stantinople sufficiently strong to defeat the Janissaries.'

'For how long, Pasha, do you think you can hold out here?'

The Pasha made a wry face. 'A week perhaps, but. not longer. My men are Bulgars, and can be relied on. But the castle is not provisioned for a siege. We should be starved out'

'Then we must leave here,' Roger declared promptly. 'With an escort of your men, the Imperial party should be able to reach some more distant place where they will be safer. Still better, they could set off in disguise as a small caravan of perhaps a dozen people.'

The Kizler Aga shook his dark head. 'It is too late for that, Effendi. By noon Prince Mustapha had learned where my Im­perial Master has taken refuge. Outside the gates of the castle there are now many hundred Janissaries, and on the water side scores more in several galleys. We are already besieged.'

'Arc you expecting them to attack?'

'Not yet,' the Prince replied. 'For the moment Prince Mus­tapha must have his hands full in the city. He will probably come out here tomorrow and demand our surrender.'

'I'll not surrender,' growled the Pasha. 'Not unless I re­ceive a direct order to do so from my Imperial Master.'

The Prince smiled at him. 'Good friend, you will receive no such order from the Sultan. He is in a sad state of depres­sion, blaming himself now for having rejected my advice to take sterner measures with the Janissaries, and so bringing us all to this terrible pass. But the Sultan Valide has per­suaded him to give me full authority to take all such decisions as are necessary. He will remain in his room; so at least we can die fighting.'

The evening that followed was one of the most unhappy that Roger had ever spent. It was not that he was afraid to die; as he thought he almost certainly would the next day or the day after, when the castle was attacked. He could not bear the thought of the fate that would befall the courageous and beautiful Aimee when she fell into Prince Mustapha's hands. She was only a little over forty and still infinitely more desirable than any Turkish beauty. Mustapha was, he had gathered, no fool. And no-one but a fool would kill such a pearl among women; but he would take his revenge by humi­liating her. Since she had held the rank of Sultan Valide he could not possibly turn her over to his Janissaries. But he could give her in marriage as a junior wife to one of the most repulsive Pashas who had supported him.

To take his mind off Aimee Roger thought, as he often did, of his beloved Georgina. She was the great love of his life, and no other woman could ever supplant her. Time and again he had pressed her to marry him, but she had proved adamant in her refusal. She always maintained that it was only because they were separated, often for many months and sometimes even for years, by his work as a secret agent on the Continent, that the flame of their desire for each other had never flickered, and that each time they did come to­gether for a while it was with the same wild, joyous, utterly satisfying passion that they had known in their teens.

He fell asleep still thinking of her, and she came to him in a dream. So strong was the bond between them that there had been several occasions when he had been in acute danger and her voice had come clearly to him, telling what to do to save himself.

Now he could see her bending over him. He felt her soft kiss linger on his lips. Then she said, 'Roger, dear heart. To­morrow you will receive an invitation. Take it, and you will have no regrets.'

When he woke in the morning, he remembered his dream as clearly as though she had come to his room in the flesh. The dream puzzled him greatly, because in his present situa­tion the last thing he expected to receive was an invitation. Then he put the matter from his mind, had breakfast, spent half an hour in the Hamam and dressed.

It was shortly before midday that a herald emerged from the camp the Janissaries had made opposite the main gate of the castle, and demanded its submission in the name of the Sultan Mustapha IV.

The Pasha replied from the battlements above the great gate that he knew no Sultan other than His Imperial Majesty Selim III; and that in his name he would defend Rumeli Hisar to the death against all comers.

The herald retired, then returned ten minutes later, to state that His Imperial Master Mustapha IV desired to preserve his subjects from unnecessary bloodshed. So would the Pasha or some responsible person come out and parley with him?

Prince Mahmoud was standing on the steps that led up to the battlements above the great gate, and he said to the Pasha, 'Tell the man that, provided none of Prince Mustapha's troops are within four hundred yards of the gate when it is opened, I will do so.'

The Pasha pleaded with him to be allowed to go himself, insisting that if the Prince went out alone, he would certainly be assassinated. But Mahmoud refused to be moved, and said, 'Your cannon are already trained upon the Janissaries' en­campment. Give orders to your men that, should they see me shot down, they are to fire. Such a volley might well kill Mus­tapha and so save our Sultan. You know the ancient prophecy that, when the last Prince of the House of Osmanli dies, the end of the Turkish Empire will follow. If both Mustapha and I are dead, they will not dare harm His Imperial Majesty.'

'So be it then, my Prince,' the Pasha submitted. Turning, he shouted the terms to the herald, who agreed them; then he and Mahmoud descended the stone staircase together and ordered the great gate to be unbarred.

Roger and the Kizler Aga had been standing nearby on the battlements, so they had heard the whole transaction. Now they watched the Janissaries withdraw and Prince Mahmoud leave the castle. A small group of men came forward to meet him, but did not approach beyond the stipulated limit.

The gunners held their lighted matches ready to apply them to the touch-holes of the cannons should the Prince be attacked. But, after a few minutes, it seemed that the rebels, at least for the present, had no intention of harming him. At a distance of a quarter of a mile it was not possible to see the expressions of the faces of the group or guess from their gest­ures how their discussion was going; but it seemed to be in­terminable.

At least half an hour went by before Mahmoud bowed to the others, turned and started back towards the castle. Roger, the Pasha and the Kizler Aga were all so intensely anxious to hear what had passed that they went out to meet him.

He greeted them with a smile, and said, 'The lives of all of us are safe. I have made a pact with Prince Mustapha. I re­fused his demand that our Lord Selim should publicly abdi­cate; but agreed that we should become his prisoners in the Seraglio. We are to be treated with respect, and enjoy the same comforts and semi-liberty as he and his mother have been allowed during the past few years. Tomorrow morning we are to return to the Seraglio in one of the Imperial barges, with a fining escort and the homage due to Princes of the House of Osmanli.'

Roger frowned. ‘In the circumstances, the terms are gener­ous, Prince, and I'd congratulate you were I certain that Mustapha would honour them. But dare you trust him? Once he has you all in his power, isn't it highly probable that he will murder you?'

Mahmoud shook his head. 'Nay. He swore it upon the Koran before witnesses. Did he break his word, the Mullahs would denounce him from every pulpit in Islam, and his body would be thrown to the dogs by his own household troops for having disgraced the supreme office of Caliph.'

The Pasha and Son Altesse Noire were also evidently of that opinion, for they were laughing and clapping one an­other on the back.

Selim's virtual dethronement could not be taken as cause for a celebration. Nevertheless, an atmosphere of subdued gaiety permeated the castle for the remainder of the day. The fear of imminent death bad been lifted, not only from the Imperial party, but from the whole garrison.

Late in the evening, Aimee sent for Roger. To his surprise he found her alone. She greeted him with a smile. 'So it is all over. I am sure my prayers to the Holy Virgin must have helped; but it is to you we owe our lives.'

He shook his head. 'No, Madame. It is to the courage and statesmanlike handling of the situation this morning by your son.'

She smiled again. 'I am very proud of him. He will make a great Sultan.'

Roger hesitated. 'Is there ... is there really much chance now of his ever ascending the throne?'

'Most certainly he will. Did you never hear the prophecy that was made to me when I was a young girl in Martinique? It was that I would become a Queen and that my son would rule gloriously over a mighty Empire.'

'I earnestly pray, Madame, that the second half of that prophecy may also come true. But, with regard to yourself, I am deeply distressed. The thought of your becoming a pri­soner has harrowed me all day.'

'Please let it do so no longer,' she said gently. 'It means only my removal from one prison to another. The so-called "cage" in the Seraglio is a beautiful pavilion with numerous rooms and its own garden. All that we have been through was caused only by the jealousy of Prince Mustapha's mother. She envied me my position. Now that she has it, she will be content. And Mustapha is by no means ill-disposed towards me personally. I am sure he will allow me to keep all the things I treasure. I'll have my books, my needlework and my flowers.'

'Oh, chere Madame! You cannot imagine how relieved I am to hear this.'

'I am most touched that you should have been so concerned for me. My one regret is that our friendship cannot continue. Tomorrow morning we shall see the last of each other.' Aimee paused for a moment, then went on. 'Alas, there is little I can do to reward you for your devotion. But there is one small matter that I could arrange to give you pleasure.'

Roger threw out his hands. 'Madame, I protest. I need no reward. It has been a joy to be of service to you.'

'I am glad; but shall persist with my idea. From what Zanthe told me, you are not only a brave but very virile and amorous man. And one, too, who would not demean him­self to lie with any but a beautiful and well-born girl—such, for example, as my little Fatima.'

Roger stared at her nonplussed, as she continued. 'It must have become obvious to you that she regards you as a demi­god. And she is no virgin, as for a year she was a concubine to one of the young Princes who died not long ago. You have but to say the word and, given my permission, she will come running to sleep with you tonight.'

'Madame, I... I...' Roger stammered.

Aimee threw back her head, and laughed. 'Cher Chevalier. Why be so bashful? Men of your kind do not frequent bro­thels, so must be starved of women when in the East. And Fatima passed her tests in the Seraglio "School of Love", so I guarantee you there is nothing she will not do to please you. But there is one condition. All must take place in complete darkness, in order to conform with Turkish observances.'

With a puzzled frown, Roger asked, 'Pray tell me, Madame, what is the reason for such a strange custom?'

'You would naturally wish to kiss your bed-fellow,' Aimee' replied. 'Therefore, she must dispense with her veil. Of course, when a couple are married, no such problem arises. But Turkish females are very different from Europeans. As I have learned from many Turkish ladies of my acquaintance when, as sometimes happens, they are left for a while alone with an attractive friend of their husband's; they will permit many liberties, but should the man lift their veil, they would take it as a deadly insult. That is why, should you wish me to send Fatima to you, I require your word of honour that you will have the shutters of the windows of your room closed, the curtains drawn, and in no circumstances endeavour to look upon her unveiled face.'

Roger was in a quandary. Face to face with Aimee as he was, Fatima meant nothing to him. Yet she was a pretty girl, with a lovely figure, and it was a considerable time since he had slept with a woman. It then occurred to him that, in any case, it would be churlish to refuse this obviously kindly-intended offer; so he bowed and said:

'Madame, I am deeply grateful to you for your thought for me as a man who for a considerable time past has not enjoyed nature's blessings. If Fatima is willing, I shall be delighted to receive her—and I feel confident I can promise to give her an enjoyable night.'

Aimee smiled. 'I am sure you will, man cher Chevalier. I will not bid you good-bye now, but in the morning before I am taken away to my new prison.'

Having kissed her hand, Roger withdrew; still wondering at the breadth of this extraordinary woman's mind—that in the midst of her own troubles she should have thought about providing pleasure for a friend who had stood by her when she was in danger. Then he recalled the dream in which his beloved Georgina had appeared to him. This must be the invitation that she had urged him to accept. And he had nearly refused it, because the radiance of Aimee had made him so indifferent to Fatima's attractions. With a smile he thought, 'I've never yet questioned Georgina's advice. And, after all, Fatima is a graduate of that famous "School of Love". Maybe she can teach me something, though I doubt it. Anyhow, a night with a girl will make me feel a real man again.'

Going to his room he slowly undressed, closed the shutters, drew the curtains, then got into bed. For a while he laboured a little to read two of the stories in a Turkish edition of the Thousand and One Nights. Rolling up the scroll, he blew out the bedside lamp.

The room was now in Stygian blackness. He could not see his hand before his face. Patiently he lay there for what seemed a very long time. At last he heard the door open, but not even a ray of light came in, as the lamps in the corridor had been put out.

The door closed. His heart began to hammer with anticipa­tion. He caught the swish of a silk garment as it slid from his visitor's shoulders to the floor. Next moment she had pulled back the bed-clothes, and wriggled in beside him.

He drew her to him, and ran his hand lightly over her hair. It was not crinkly as he "remembered, but very fine and silky. Leaning over, he kissed her on the mouth. It was not full-lipped, but very soft, and she moved it gently, touching his tongue with hers. As their kiss ended, she gave a low laugh and said:

'I've cheated you, haven't I? You've got an old woman who has fallen in love with a wonderful man.'

He had known it a moment before. It was not Fatima that he held naked in his arms, but the Veiled Crown of Turkey, who was yet to change the destiny of a great nation: the re­markable woman whom the Grand Turk had chosen to hon­our above all others in his vast Empire—Naksh the Beautiful.

The Road to Isfahan

On June 7th General Gardane's mission, and Roger with it, left Constantinople. The intelligence sources serving the French Embassy were good. Within a few days of the coup d'etat, the General had learned that the new Sultan, Mustapha IV, and his mother, as a natural corollary of their opposition to Aimee who led the pro-French party, had long been in secret communication with the British and the Russians. Therefore, there was now not the least chance of Gardane's mission suc­ceeding in Turkey.

He had, therefore, decided to take his whole party on as soon as possible to Persia. By the land route, its capital, Isfa­han, was some fifteen hundred miles from Constantinople; but a good part of the journey could be done by sea, and in a vessel there was no necessity for horses to be rested while their tired riders slept in a camp or inn. Ships proceeded on their way day and night So, although the distance to Antioch by sea was a thousand miles, and they would then still have to travel another thousand miles overland, Gardane felt that, during the summer weather, unless the winds proved unusually contrary for that season, they would save several days and themselves much exertion if they went as far as they could by ship.

For the purpose he chartered a brigantine with a hold large enough to stable their horses, and confined—but by the stan­dard of the times, adequate—quarters for the personnel.

When in mid-morning, with the sun blazing down out of a brassy blue sky, they set sail and rounded Seraglio Point into the Sea of Marmora, Roger, leaning over the stern rail, looked back at the terraced gardens and innumerable kiosks that made up the Topkapi Palace.

For the past week he had thought of little else than Aimee. He was reassured that, apart from some quite unforeseeable happening, no harm would befall her. She had been relieved of her many duties and responsibilities, her beloved son and her dear friend, the deposed Sultan Selim, were with her and as safe from danger as she was. She would have their com­pany, her books, embroidery and garden; but it seemed tragic that such a woman should be condemned to live the life of a nun.

Among the first words she had said to him on that night they had slept together were, 'I'm an old woman.' By Eastern standards, at forty-three, she was; but in fact she was old neither in spirit nor body. She was that rarest of beings, a beautiful European who had been taught by Oriental experts the ways in which to arouse a man's virility again and again, and to give herself each time with delirious enjoyment. Since her husband's death, conditions in the harem had made it impossible for her to take a lover, even if she had desired one of the few men who were occasionally permitted to visit her in her apartments. Now, she was fated to resume that life of chastity for good, and to remain a prisoner until she died.

That, at least, was what Roger feared would be her fate, although her unshakeable belief that her son, Prince Mahmoud, would one day rule gloriously did give a ray of hope that unforeseeable circumstances might yet restore her to the posi­tion of Sultan Valide.

Before leaving Constantinople, Roger had carried out his orders by writing a long despatch for Napoleon's private eye. In it he praised Gardane for having done everything possible to carry out the Emperor's wishes. Then he gave an account of how he, personally, had penetrated the Seraglio and gained the friendship of the Sultan Valide by representing himself to be an envoy sent by the Empress Josephine. He implied that the mission would have succeeded in its object had Aimee had her way; but the revolt of the Janissaries had brought to naught all hope of Turkey's sending additional forces against the Russians.