Evil in a Mask

Having completed his report he sent Achmet out to find a sea-captain or merchant of good standing, who would shortly be sailing to Italy. After Achmet had produced three men who would be setting out from Constantinople within the next ten days, Roger settled on the third—a Venetian who was taking a cargo of coffee to Venice. To him he gave fifty gold pieces and the despatch, with the assurance that he would be well rewarded on delivering it safely. His missive was addressed to His Imperial Highness, Prince Eugene de Beauharnais, Viceroy of Italy, the Royal Palace, Milan. Inside the cover he put a note that read:

From Your Highness" old friend who had the pleasure of presenting you with your first pair of pistols.

That, he knew, would identify the sender to Eugene, whom he had first met as a boy of fifteen.

In the outer cover was an inner one, enclosing the despatch, inscribed,

Urgent! To be forwarded by fast courier to Mar­shal Berthier, Prince de Neufchatel.

And he had little doubt that, provided the Venetian merchant was not shipwrecked, or Beauharnais' courier came to grief, his report would reach Napoleon with the minimum of delay.

The Emperor was not going to be pleased with the informa­tion it conveyed, but at least Gardane would be excused his failure and Roger maintain his reputation as active and re­sourceful in the Emperor's interests.

Sailing on, the brigantine passed through the Dardanelles, then clove Homer's 'wine-dark seas' that creamed on the shores of the Aegean islands. They called at Rhodes to take on fresh provisions and, while they were being loaded, visited and marvelled at the Crusaders' vast castle. It was a city in itself, enclosed in three miles of wall, which were in some places a hundred feet in height, and so broad that three coaches abreast could have been driven along its top.

The wind held fair and on June 21st they landed at Selucca Peria, the port of Antioch. In the ancient Syrian city— the first Bishopric of the Christian world, but for many cen­turies past under either Arab or Turkish rule—they spent two nights, while Gardane's Quartermaster made preparations for their onward journey.

They were to take the famous Silk Road, which began there and ended four thousand miles away at the city of Chang-an in China. From time immemorial it had been the tenuous link between East and West. Merchandise had cer­tainly passed along it for over two thousand years. Cleopatra had worn silk, and for several centuries, from her day on­ward, the traffic had been considerable. This was due to the whole of central Asia being under the domination of four mighty, stable Empires: that of Rome in the West; adjoining it Parthia—of which Persia then formed only a small part; beyond Parthia another vast territory ruled by die Great Kushan; and finally China, under the Han dynasty.

Silk was then China's wealth. The Emperors paid for their requirements with it and rich Mandarins stored rolls of it away, just as nobles and bankers in the Roman world kept their capital in bars of gold. It was also her monopoly. Its manufacture was the most jealously-guarded of all secrets, and the Chinese succeeded in keeping it for over a thousand years. Even when it did leak out, no other people succeeded in making silk of comparable quality. In Europe it was greatly prized, and Aurelian, writing in the third century a.d., tells us that in Rome the price of one pound of silk was twelve ounces of gold.

Even so, by then there had developed a considerable com­merce between East and West. China continued to send only silk, but in exchange for it received wool, myrrh, horses and Roman glass. China, too, made no attempt to enlighten the outer world with regard to the wonderful civilisation she had developed. She remained a mysterious legend, her territories only vaguely indicated on the maps. On the other hand, to her there came considerable knowledge of the peoples beyond her frontiers. Manichean, Zoroastrian and, later, Christian missionaries made their way there, and were listened to with respect. Above all, the yellow-robed priests from India and

Ceylon spread their faith so successfully that Buddhism be­came the religion of the greater part of the Chinese people.

With the decline and break-up of the mighty Empires, the traffic all but ceased; as the caravans had not only to face the difficulties and hardships of crossing vast deserts and ranges of great mountains, suffer gruelling heat and bitter cold, but they became a prey to bands of fierce Huns, Tartars and Tibetans. Yet great profits were the spur that continued to induce men to risk their lives and, even allowing for the heavy tolls exerted by each city through which they passed, every caravan that reached the Mediterranean made a fortune for its master.

It was estimated that goods took some two hundred and forty days to travel the four thousand miles between the Jade Gate of Changan and Antioch; but no caravan made the whole journey. At points along the route, merchants met others, bar­gained and sold their cargoes, to be sent on by other caravans. It was for this reason that very few Western traders had ever entered China, and that, even in the thirteenth century, when Marco Polo returned from his amazing journey, few people would believe him when he told them of the marvels of the East.

Conscious of the urgency of his mission, Gardane decided not to wait and accompany the next caravan, which would not be leaving Antioch for a week or more, but to set out at once with only his A.D.C., Roger and the few senior officers who had stayed at the Embassy in Constantinople. Of these, only the Colonel of Engineers, Couthon, was to be left behind in command of the junior officers and orderlies who would form part of the caravan and escort the several score of camels needed to transport the heavier baggage of the mission, the presents for the Shah and the considerable consignment of arms destined for Persia.

By far the worst part of the journey from Antioch was the last two-thirds; for, after leaving Samarkand, caravans had to cross the Pamir Mountains, then the terrible deserts of Takla and Sinkiang. So, although to reach Isfahan was one-fourth of it, Gardane reckoned that instead of sixty days his party should arrive in the Persian capital in under forty. Moreover, they would be travelling light, with only lead horses to carry their necessities and a supply of provisions against emergencies.

On June 23rd they set out. The first stage was across the Syrian desert. The midday heat was unbearable, so they tra­velled only from early morning until about eleven o'clock, and from the late afternoon until nightfall, between times pitching camp. Their Arab guides knew the route well, so arranged their stages in a way which enabled them to make their halts in a series of oases, where there was water and fruit to be had and shade under palm trees.

Late on the third night, they entered Palmyra. The moon being up, they were able to see the splendid Greco-Roman ruins which were all that remained of Queen Zenobia's once-splendid capital.

As ruler of the last city on the Silk Road before the cara­vans arrived at Antioch and the first before they moved on eastward, she had become fabulously wealthy from the tolls she imposed on the merchants trading between the Mediter­ranean and Parthia. Being an ambitious woman, she had used much of the money to create a quite formidable army, with the object of making her large oasis the capital of a powerful nation. Resenting this, in a.d. 273 the Romans had sent their legions against her, destroyed her city and taken her to Rome where, walking in golden chains, she had provided the prin­cipal spectacle in a Roman triumph.

Palmyra now consisted only of a few hundred mud huts and a caravanserai. Having paid a quick visit to this flea-ridden hostelry, Gardane decided that they would fare better if they stayed out of it. So they pitched their tents among the ruins of the great Temple of Baal then, early next morning, started on the considerably longer trek across Mesopotamia to the Euphrates.

It took them eight days to reach the great river at Al-Hadithah: a large town, again consisting of mud huts. Re­maining there only for the night, they pushed on along a road of sorts that ran south-east. At times it followed the course of the river for some miles; then, making a great bend, the river would pass out of sight for an hour or two, later to reappear and for a stretch again run parallel with the road. On their second night out from Al-Hadithah they encamped in an oasis on the north shore of Lake Habbanizah and in the morn­ing saw it to be such a large sheet of water that its further shore was out of sight. Early the following evening, July 7th, they entered Babylon, having accomplished over half their journey.

Well pleased with their progress so far, Gardane agreed that they should remain there for two days' rest, and to see something of the fabled city. The caravanserai to which their chief guide took them was patronised by wealthy merchants, so it was reasonably clean and comfortable. The building was oval in shape, enclosing a great central courtyard open to the sky, that had the appearance of both a warehouse and a stable. Innumerable bales, sacks and boxes were piled in the middle, for it was in such places that the merchants bar­tered the wares they had brought for others to take back to their own cities; and the camels of their caravans were teth­ered round the sites. The camel men dossed down there to protect their masters' goods from pilferage. Above, there were two tiers of rooms, all with big, arched doorways facing in­ward. It was in these that the richer patrons of the place both ate and slept, their own servants cooking their meals.

The worst feature of such establishments was the fleas with which they were infested and the stench of the camels. The members of the mission had found the myriads of flies, which in the desert seemed to appear from nowhere, trying enough; but the fleas were a positive pest.

The merchants regarded the strangers with friendly interest and several of them spoke Turkish. Roger learned from one of them that he had just taken over a valuable cargo of china that was consigned to the Sultan, and he undid a sacking wrapping to show Roger a plate. It was Chinese celadon, with a raised design and in a beautiful shade of green.

Another man had just acquired several chests of tea, and Roger, not having enjoyed a cup of tea for many weeks, asked if he might buy some from him. He opened a chest and, to Roger's surprise, its contents did not look at all like tea leaves; they were longer, pale and fluffy. The man explained to him that they were not the leaves, but the flowers of the tea plant, and that even in China only the very rich could afford to buy them. He added that their flavour was so delicate that to have sent them via India by sea would have spoiled it; so the com­paratively rare parcels despatched to the West were always sent overland by caravan. Eager to taste such an exotic brew, Roger produced a gold coin, but the merchant refused to take it and insisted on giving him a small, muslin bag full of the precious flowers. When, later, Roger had some water boiled and made the infusion, he found its perfume marvellous and not unlike that of very fine old brandy.

Gardane hired a local guide and, mounted on asses, they went to see the remains left by half a dozen great civilisations; but found them disappointing. There were many groups of broken pillars and arches of sandstone eroded by time. Most of them were half buried, and Roger recalled how, when in Egypt, only the head of the Sphinx had been showing above the desert until Napoleon had had the sand that hid its body cleared away. Such temples as remained were hardly recog­nisable as such, for their once-splendid courts had become squalid slums, filled with shacks and lean-tos, between which starved-looking chickens were scratching in the dirt. The only impressive sight that remained was the great, pyramid-like Ziggurats, from the tops of which long-dead astrologers had once charted the heavens.

Early on July 10th they proceeded on their way across the fifty miles of desert that separates the Euphrates from the Tigris, where the two great rivers come closest to each other before they join and flow on into the Persian Gulf. Having been ferried over the Tigris, they took another road of sorts that ran in the same direction as the river—south-east—for a hundred and fifty miles. They then left it, but continued on for another fifty along the route of the Silk Road, which, except for a few stretches, was not actually a road at all but a half-mile-wide track of broken surface, where the sand had been churned up by the passage of countless camels, asses and horses that made up the caravans.

Still heading nearly south-east, they entered Persia, skirt­ing the foothills of the northern half of the great Zagros moun­tain barrier that defends Persia's western frontier until, still in the plain, they came to the considerable city of Dezful. There they were met by officials who had been warned in advance of their approach, and taken to the Governor of the city. Through interpreters he enquired their business and, Gardane having produced papers to show that he was the head of a mission from the Emperor of the French to His Imperial Majesty the Shah, the Governor could not have been more courteous. Nevertheless, he insisted that their bag­gage must be examined by the Customs and that duty must be paid on all articles subject to tax when imported into Persia. Gardane protested in vain that all Ambassadorial mis­sions were, by custom, exempt from such imposts. The fol­lowing day he had to pay out a considerable sum before being allowed to proceed—a high percentage of which doubtless went to the Governor. They were soon to learn that in Persia nothing could be done without, in some way or other, greasing somebody's palm.

Some way further on, the road began to mount and wind upwards through a pass. On emerging from it they turned north of cast to cover the last one hundred and twenty miles to Isfahan, and encountered the worst territory they had so far met with.

Persia is the most mountainous country in the world, and no sooner had the Silk Road crossed one chain of mountains than it approached another. For its size, the country also has the fewest rivers. Yet they never lacked for water for their horses or themselves. Every mile or so there were man-made water-holes and the chaoushes they had engaged in Dezful explained to them that two hundred years earlier Shah Abbas the Great had carried out one of the most marvellous irriga­tion works ever conceived by man. He had had underground pipe-lines laid all over the country, to bring water to every valley; so that, instead of remaining parched desert, it could become fertile and bear crops.

Shah Abbas had also faced up to the terrible problem of his country's climate. The Greek historian Zenophon had quoted the Persian Prince Cyrus as saying, 'The Kingdom of my Father is so great that there is no enduring the Cold on one side of it, nor the Heat in the other', and, in truth, up to the beginning of the seventeenth century the sufferings of travellers in Persia had, in certain seasons, been almost un­bearable. But the great Shah had caused to be built many hundred caravanserai where merchants could seek relief—on winter nights from the cold of Dante's Seventh Hell, and at midday in summer the heat of Satan's Kitchen..

Although the mission travelled only during the early morn­ings and late afternoons, all its members were suffering from sunburn. Their faces and hands were red and their bodies baking beneath their thick uniforms. Roger suffered least as, having previously travelled for long distances in the East, he had taken the precaution, before leaving Constantinople, of buying a soothing salve to counteract the effects of the blistering sun. But he had lost nearly two stones in weight.

The scenery was magnificent. While crossing each wide plateau, upon every side of them rose jagged yellow moun­tain ranges, the highest peaks of which were still capped with snow, and stood out against a vivid blue sky. Below each range lay deep valleys, sheltering villages of flat-topped houses and well-cultivated fields, with abundant crops that struck a contrasting note of vivid green against the rocky precipices that protected them.

On the morning of July 25th they were only a dozen miles from Isfahan; so they had accomplished the journey in thirty-two days. It was at this point that they realised that the Gover­nor of Dezful must have sent a courier ahead to announce that they were on their way, for half a dozen horsemen came out to greet them. One of the group was an Armenian inter­preter, who said that his name was Mesrop-Li-bec, and he took charge of the party.

Half an hour later they came upon groups of houses at the roadside and, here and there, an open market; so they imag­ined that they were entering the city. Actually, these were only the suburbs which seemed interminable, as they continued for several miles. It was this that first brought home to them that Isfahan was no ordinary Eastern city, but a great metro­polis.

At length they came to a broad river: the Zaindeh. The Khajan bridge across it was like no bridge they had ever seen. Those of most European cities were surmounted on either side by irregular huddles of houses and shops. Those of Con­stantinople, the Balkans and the Near East consisted only of a number of flat-bottomed barges lashed together. This was a masterpiece of graceful architecture. On both sides of a broad roadway, it was lined by a long row of pointed arches behind each of which was an empty space overlooking the water. Mesrop-Li-bec explained that these alcoves were 'boxes', which were occupied by the Shah and his nobles when boat races and other water sports were held on the river.

On reaching the far end of the bridge, a company of richly-dressed horsemen were waiting. They were headed by the Nazir—the Grand Steward of the Shah's household. In his Imperial Master's name, he bade them welcome. It was then explained that in Isfahan the Shah owned some three hundred houses and it was customary for distinguished visitors to be accommodated in any one of these they might choose as most suitable. Gardane then said that the dozen officers and servants with him were only a small part of the mission and that when the whole of it arrived in Isfahan, including servants, it would consist of some fifty persons.

Beyond the bridge lay a broad boulevard called the Khilban. It had shops on one side only; the other was occupied by the high-domed University and, behind, a screen of tall sycamore trees, the park of Chehel Sotun—one of the Shah's palaces. The long line of shops was broken by several streets in which lay many of the largest private houses in Isfahan. The Nazir led Gardane down one of them, pointing out a commodious building and, through Mesrop, asked if the General thought it would serve to house all his people. Gar­dane, assuming that it had been chosen as suitable for the numbers of his party, at once agreed. He was then told that provisions to sustain the mission would shortly be brought there.

After the exchange of many bows and flourishes, the Nazir and his cavaliers then took their leave, Mesrop alone remain­ing to see the French into their quarters. On exploring the house they found it to be well furnished in the Eastern style, and were more than happy to see that the divans were* draped in mosquito nets. Behind the building was ample stabling for the horses and a small garden in which there were orange, apricot and pomegranate trees.

An hour later a gorgeously-robed gentleman who rejoiced in the tide of Mahemander Bachi—which Mesrop translated as the Guest-Keeper General—arrived. With him he brought an order on the Shah's purveyors for Gardane's party to re­ceive at once, or at such times as they wished:

Sixty quintals of rice

Sixty quintals of flour

Sixty quintals of barley

Twelve quintals of butter

Twenty sheep

Two hundred chickens

One thousand eggs

Four hundred sacks of chopped straw for the horses.

Having expressed his gratitude, Gardane asked that a limited supply of each should be delivered as soon as possible, and said that he would ask for more when it became neces­sary. The Mahemander Bachi smiled his acquiescence, but appeared in no hurry to depart. Mesrop then told the General that it was customary to make this official some present in recognition of his services.

Gardane gave quick thought about what he had with him that might prove suitable; as all the gifts for the Shah and his courtiers were coming on by the caravan, which must be many days behind them. It then occurred to him that he had a musi­cal box which, at times, they had amused themselves by playing while camping in the desert. He sent his A.D.C. for it, and a tune was played on the box before it was duly pre­sented. The Persian was delighted and, with many expres­sions of gratitude, departed. As Gardane had expected to have to pay both for the rent of a large house and everything his mission consumed while in Persia, he was naturally de­lighted at the Shah's generosity, and considered that he had got off extremely cheaply by surrendering his musical box: for many thousand francs-worth of stores. But the following morning he became somewhat disillusioned about the gener­osity of the Persians.

An official termed the Peskis Nuviez arrived. Mesrop came with him, and explained that his companion's function was to enquire upon what business the mission had come to Isfa­han and for particulars of the presents brought by the Am­bassador for His Imperial Majesty, the King of Kings.

Gardane willingly gave a resume' of the letter from the Emperor that he was charged to present. As was customary between monarchs, he had, of course, numerous presents for the Shah. To Constantinople he had brought for the Sultan a magnificent Sevres dinner service, a miniature of Napoleon framed in diamonds, a beautiful clock and various other items. For the Shah he had similar gifts and a considerable consign­ment of modern weapons, to which he could now add those it had been intended he should leave in Constantinople. But he explained that all these things were in his heavy baggage and coming on with the next caravan, which could not be ex­pected to arrive for a fortnight or more.

Recalling his own experience with the Customs at Dezful, it then occurred to him that the heavy baggage might be held up there until duty had been paid on it; so he put this ques­tion to his visitor.

The Peskis Nuviez replied that certainly would be the case. Gardane protested that in other countries the belongings of diplomatic missions were allowed in free; then he asked if it could not be arranged that at least the presents for His Majesty and the weapons should be exempted from duty.

With a bland smile the Persian said that it could, but would prove a cosdy matter because a special courier would have to be sent to Dezful and some compensation made to the Governor of that city for his loss of revenue.

A second supply of coffee and sweet cakes was then sent for and, in a leisurely manner, the matter was discussed. Finally, to have all the mission's baggage brought through free of duty cost Gardane eighty gold Napoleons and, to his chagrin, he felt certain that the greater pan of this sum would remain in the pocket of the Peskis Nuviez.

Later that morning Gardane had still greater reason to feel exasperated at the conduct of the Persian officials. The Mahemander Bachi called upon him to say that, having learned from the Peskis Nuvicz that the gifts sent by the Em­peror to the Shah were not yet available, he could not, for the time being, present the General to His Imperial Majesty. Protocol ruled that presents from foreign monarchs must always be offered, examined and their worth assessed before an Ambassador could be granted an audience.

Gardane again attempted bribery, but this time without success. Evidently it was more than the Mahemandcr Bachi's place was worth to ignore the accepted procedure. When the official had gone, the General gave vent to his fury at being delayed in attempting to carry out the task with which the Emperor had charged him. The many additional hours of exhausting travel across deserts and over mountains endured by himself and his officers had proved wasted effort. They might just as well have come by easy stages with the camel caravan. But there was nothing he could do about it.

His wrath was somewhat mitigated that afternoon after he had received another visitor. This was the Superior of the Capuchin Fathers who had established a monastery in Isfa­han many generations earlier, were well regarded by the Shah and had accumulated an exhaustive knowledge of the Per­sians and their customs.

The Superior assured Gardane that the two or three weeks' delay before he could be presented at Court should, in the long run, prove all to the good, as it would enable him to become acquainted with numerous Ministers and function­aries, whose goodwill was essential to the success of the mis­sion. To gain it, he advised the General to lose no opportunity of entertaining them, making them such presents as he could and, above all, flattering them. Among the most important to be cultivated in his fashion were the Shah's twenty-four gentlemen-in-waiting, who were called Yessaouls. They were a venal crowd who openly made a fat living by obtaining concessions and favours for foreigners; but they had great influence with their master.

Of the Persians generally, the Superior said they were a kindly but intensely proud people regarding themselves, in view of their three-thousand-year-old civilisation, as superior to all others. They taught their children three things: to tell the truth, to draw a bow and to ride a horse. Even the shop­keepers went everywhere on horseback. But they were congenitally lazy, which was probably due to the climate. For a great part of the year a warm humidity, which proved most enervating, pervaded the whole country south of the great range of mountains north of Tehran. It caused bow strings to become slack and even rusted scimitars if left long in their scabbards.

In the days that followed, Gardane and his officers were treated with the greatest courtesy. As the official responsible for the well-being of guests, the Mahemander Bachi visited them frequently and arranged for them to see the sights of the city. Mesrop-Li-bec accompanied them everywhere and they learned from him that, although quite a number of higher-class Persians had a limited knowledge of cither French or English and many of them understood Arabic and Turkish perfectly, it was considered beneath their dignity to converse in any foreign language. It was for this reason that Armenians were always used as interpreters.

On being conducted through the city, the French mar­velled beyond all else at the Maidan Square, which had been built by Shah Abbas early in the seventeenth century. It was, Roger reckoned, about seven times the size of the largest square in Europe: the Piazza San Marco in Venice. The buildings surrounding it were uniform: each having a pointed arch in its upper storey. Centrally, on one of the longer sides, there towered up above the line of flat roofs the Shah's Ali Qipa Palace. It had a high, broad balcony, from which he and his Court could watch the polo matches played in the huge square.

Opposite the Palace stood the Lutfallah, or Ladies' Mos­que, to which the Banou—the chief wife of the Shah—and her female companions could go unattended, by an under­ground passage beneath the square, to practise their devo­tions. Dominating the north end of the square, there rose the huge, blue dome and minarets of a still larger mosque, the Masjed el Shah, and at its opposite end lay the entrance to a covered bazaar even greater in extent than that in Constanti­nople.

To the surprise of the French, they were allowed to enter the mosques and were shown round them. The majority of the peoples in the Mohammedan world were Siinies and held that Omar, Osman and Abu Bakar were the lawful descend­ants of the Prophet. But the Persians were of the Shiah sect, the members of which maintained that Ali, Mohammed's son-in-law, had been the next in succession. The latter were much more liberal in their views and could, perhaps, be com­pared with Protestants as opposed to Roman Catholics, in their attitude to the practice of Christianity.

The tiles in the two mosques were superb, having a won­derful variety of patterns and rich colours. One section of tiling in the Ladies' Mosque particularly intrigued Roger. It was about six feet high by four wide and was the original design for a silk rug which Shah Abbas had sent as a present to Queen Elizabeth of England.

It was on their fourth day in Isfahan that the Mahemander Bachi suggested that, as another ten days or more must elapse before the presents for the Shah arrived, and that no business could be transacted until they did, Gardane and his officers might like to visit the ancient capital of Shiraz. With relays of horses, the two-hundred-milc journey could easily be ac­complished in four days, so they could spend three nights there and be back in Isfahan before the caravan was expected.

The five officers with the General, having become fascin­ated with the marvels of Persia, pressed him to agree, so he consented. Early the following morning, Mesrop arrived with a dozen men leading horses, the panniers of which were loaded with tentage, food and fruit drinks packed in crushed ice. The French, accompanied by their grooms, mounted, and the cavalcade set off.

By ten o'clock they found the heat intensely trying, so Mesrop called a halt and the tents were erected. But, after they had taken an hour's rest, he persuaded them to mount again and cover another five miles until they reached a cara­vanserai, where they had a meal, then slept through the heat of the afternoon. Later, in the cool of the evening, they rode about twenty miles, then spent the night at another caravan­serai. On these lines their journey progressed until, on August 3rd, they reached Shiraz, where they were lodged in one of the many houses owned by the Shah. It had a pleasant garden, with an avenue of orange trees; but the house itself they found quite extraordinary, as every room in it was panelled with thousands of diamond-shaped pieces of mirror.

In some ways the visitors found Shiraz even more inter­esting than Isfahan, and they were particularly impressed by the beautiful tombs of the famous poets Sa'adi and Hafiz. To them it seemed strange that a people should honour its poets more than they did its monarchs, statesmen and suc­cessful Generals. But that was plainly the case. The remains of both poets reposed in marble sarcophagi beneath domes supported by a circle of pillars raised up on marble platforms. Surrounding them were spacious gardens in which, despite the torrid heat, bedded-out flowers were kept in blossom by skilful irrigation and companies of gardeners who sprayed them with water every night.

On their second evening in Shiraz, Mesrop proposed that the next day he should take them out to the ruins of Persepolis, the ancient capital from which Darius, Cyrus the Great and Xerxes had ruled a vast empire. It entailed a ride of some thirty-five miles, so they set off at five o'clock in the morning, in order to arrive there and go over to the ruins before it became unbearably hot.

After leaving the suburbs of Shiraz they rode for some miles through rolling desert, eventually arriving at a broad, sandy plain which ended abruptly in a barrier of three-hundred-foot-high cliff. Immediately below the cliff, but raised about fifty feet above the level of the plain, they could discern the rows of pillars and great arches of the Palace.

As they trotted on towards it, Mesrop pointed to a group of trees that stood some way back from the track on the left-hand side and about half a mile from the great terrace covered with ruins. Among the trees could be seen the flat roof of a small building, and the Armenian said:

'Persepolis is among the half-dozen greatest monuments left to us which give some idea of the splendour of ancient civilisations; so travellers from all parts of the world who come to Persia rarely fail to visit it. Their numbers are suffi­cient to support a family living in that house you see. The father acts as a guide to the ruins. But he is an ignorant fellow who really knows little about history; so in that capacity, having many times conducted visitors on this expedition, I can serve you better. Nevertheless, we might rest ourselves at the house for a while, as the family provides refreshments. Wine can be had there, and excellent fruit drinks. The water from which they are made comes from an ancient spring, so you have no need to fear infection.'

Gardane shook his head. 'No. Those vast ruins must cover many acres. It will take us two hours or longer to go over them. By then the sun will be high and taking its toll of us. We'll go over the Palace first, and refresh ourselves after­wards.'

As they passed within about two hundred yards of the house, they saw not far from it several tents before which there were horses and a group of people. The group con­sisted of two men and two women in European clothes, and several native servants. Both the women were wearing light veils, not of the Eastern fashion, but covering the whole of their heads to protect them from the annoyance of flies and also their complexions from the sun. They were just about to mount, and one of the women was already in the saddle. She waved a friendly greeting to Gardane and his officers. They returned it, and rode on.

Two minutes later, they heard the thunder of hooves be­hind them. Turning, Roger saw that the other party were now all mounted and that, for some reason he could not guess, the horse of the woman who had waved to them had bolted with her. Another moment and she had raced past, vainly striving to rein in her mount.

Roger was riding with Gardane and Mesrop at the head of the French party. Instantly he set spurs to his horse and galloped after her. She was heading straight for the wall of solid rock upon which the ruins stood. Unless she could pull up her animal it would inevitably jib as soon as it saw the fifty-foot-high barrier ahead, and throw her over its head. If he failed to catch up with her and halt her, the odds were that she would be lucky to escape with only serious injuries and not have her brains bashed out.

Once before, many years ago, he had chased and caught a runaway horse. Its rider had been the beautiful Athenais de Rochambeau. The hoofbeats of his horse in pursuit had urged hers on and, not knowing that there was a hidden river in a gully ahead, he had forced her mount in that direction. His action had resulted in Athenais' being thrown and receiving a ducking. Moreover, he had followed her out riding against her wish; so all the thanks he had got was the lash of her riding switch across his face.

Recalling the episode now, he was near smiling at the even­tual outcome of that affair. In due course, Athenais had come to love him as passionately as he had her. But this was no case of pressing his unwanted attentions on a spoilt and haughty girl with whom he had fallen desperately in love. He was acting simply on the instinct that would have animated any man to save a woman from disaster.

His comrades had also put their horses into a gallop. So had the men of the woman's party. But Roger bad been quicker off the mark and was a dozen lengths ahead of any of them.

Bending low over his horse's neck, he rowelled the animal savagely. With a fierce neigh, it raced on at still greater speed. When only fifty paces from the rock, he came level with the runaway. He made a grab for its rein and missed. Again he dug his spurs into the flank of his horse. Maddened, it plunged forward, carrying him half a length in front of the other horse. Suddenly the runaway saw the wall of rock ahead. Splaying its hooves, it dug them into the sand and halted rigid.

At the same instant, Roger's mount also saw the barrier. With another terrified neigh, it tensed itself to rear. As Roger felt its muscles contract beneath him, he lifted the heavy rid­ing crop he was holding in his left hand and brought it down with all his force on the animal's head. Simultaneously his right arm shot out and encircled the waist of the woman as she was catapulted from her saddle. Exerting all his strength, he dragged her towards him.

Half-stunned, his stricken horse staggered on a few steps then, its head hanging, halted. Roger pulled the woman he had saved across his saddle bow. Her veil had been blown aside and she had fainted from terror. With her back arched over Roger's knees, her legs dangled down limply on one side and her head, with her mouth gaping open, on the other.

Dropping his riding crop, Roger raised her head into the crook of his left arm. The woman proved to be a girl who looked to be about twenty. Suddenly Roger realised that he was staring down into one of the most exquisitely beautiful faces he had ever seen in his life.

The Land of the Great Sophy

For the next few moments all was confusion. Gardane and the officers with him had ail automatically galloped after Roger, so had the two cavaliers and the woman in the girl's party. One after another they were brought up short against the rock face. Most of them swerved in time to bring their mounts round in a semicircle, but several of the excited horses were out of control, pulled up only when they saw their own danger, and threw their riders.

Roger, streaming with sweat and gasping for breath, slid from his saddle, still holding the girl in his arms. She had Titian hair that came down in a widow's peak on to a broad forehead, below which were unusually widely-spaced eyes. Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheek-bones, a firm jaw line and a pointed, but gcndy rounded, chin, the mound of which was creased by Apollo's cleft. Her nose was straight and slightly freckled; her full-lipped mouth—now a little open—showed two rows of white, even teeth. To the left and a few inches above the corner of her mouth she had a natural beauty spot in the form of a small brown mole.

As Roger gazed down into this angelic face, she gave a little shudder, then her lashes lifted, revealing the colour of those widest eyes, which were the strangest he had ever seen. Their centres were a pale blue, but this merged into grey flecked with yellow, and had a curiously leonine look.

Next moment a handsome, well-dressed, middle-aged man with grey side-whiskers came up to them. He spoke swiftly in Portuguese. As Roger was fluent in Spanish, he got the sense of what the other was saying.

'May the Good Lord bless you, senhor. But for you, my daughter would have been crippled for life by being thrown against this rock face, or might well be dead. Never can I repay you for saving her by your prompt action. Permit me to introduce myself. I am die Marquis de Carvalho e Mello Pombal and the Portuguese Ambassador accredited to the Shah.'

As Roger was still holding the girl in his arms he could not bow, but inclined his head and said in Spanish, 'I am more than happy to have had the good fortune to render your Ex­cellency this service. I am Colonel dc Breuc of the French mission recently sent to the Shah by my Emperor.'

The Marquis smiled. 'Naturally I have been informed of your mission's arrival, and we are—er—diplomatically on opposite sides of the fence. But that will not deter me from being of any service to you that I can while you are in Persia.'

A minute later the other woman, who was older and strongly resembled de Pombal, joined them and took the girl over from Roger, as the Marquis said, 'Monsieur le Colonel, my sister, the Senhora Anna dc Arahna.' By then the whole company had crowded round and it was suggested that the young lady should be escorted back to the tents. But she had suffered no harm at all, and rallied surprisingly quickly after her faint. Smiling first at her aunt, then at Roger, she said:

'I fainted only from fright, and if we put off going over the ruins until later, the sun will roast us to our marrow bones. I shall be under no disability if this gallant gentleman who risked his life to save mine will give me his arm.'

Surprised and delighted, Roger returned her smile. 'Senhorita, you overwhelm me. I could ask no greater reward than the pleasure of escorting you.'

Almost simultaneously with the Ambassador there had ar­rived upon the scene a tall, dark, beetle-browed man of about thirty. At the Senhorita's request for Roger's arm, his face had taken on a sullen look; but he swiftly hid his annoyance when the Marquis introduced him as Senhor Don Alfonso de Queircoz, First Secretary of the Embassy.

Roger duly presented General Gardane and the other French officers to the four Portuguese, while the grooms teth­ered the horses in the shade thrown by the lofty platform on which the Palace stood. Then the Senhora de Arahna, with her brother on one side of her and Gardane on the other, led the way along to a steep ramp, which led up to the first of many lofty flat-topped gateways.

The carvings on these gateways had been only partially blurred by time. Most of them had on one side pairs of huge, mythological beasts, and on the other pairs of human heads, with curly beards and high, conical hats that looked like those of Assyrians. About the main hall of the Palace there were still standing several sixty-foot-high pillars. In the vast sunken Treasury only the stumps of the pillars which had supported the roof remained, but there were scores of them, covering an area that in itself would have provided a large enough ground space for the Palace of any minor King. Yet the most impres­sive sight provided by the ruins was several very broad stair­cases with shallow steps. On both sides they were flanked by carved reliefs of a procession of men, each bearing some object: a jar of wine, a dish of fruit, a dead gazelle, a string of pearls and so on. They were the twenty-eight Kings bringing tribute to their overlord Darius who, from their subjugation, took his title: King of Kings.

As they walked slowly round, Roger and his breathtakingly lovely companion found that they could converse quite easily in a mixture of Spanish, Portuguese and French. He learned that her name was Lisala and that, three years earlier, her father had taken her from her convent outside Lisbon to accom­pany him to Persia. Apart from its extremes of climate, she liked the country and admired its people for their pride in their own civilisation and for placing such a high value on all forms of art. But she found life there monotonous owing to the social limitations.

There were many feasts and jollifications with exciting dis­plays of juggling, horse-racing, wrestling, polo and so on; but the European population of Isfahan consisted only of a hand­ful of merchants and occasional travellers. The Portuguese, Dutch and Russians, alone among the Western nations, had Embassies permanently established there, so she was almost entirely deprived of the pleasures that a young woman of her age and station had, she felt, a right to expect.

Ingenuously she went on to say, 'One cannot have a love affair with a Persian, a Turk or an Afghan. Alfonso de Queircoz is mad about me, of course, but I do not find him attractive. Since Prince Galitzin left the Russian Embassy six months ago, there has not been a man in the whole city whom I should be pleased to have my hand, let alone aught else. That is why this is such a happy day for me. I hope I shall see a lot of you.'

Staggered as he was by her frankness, Roger appreciated the reason for it. At the age she had left Lisbon she would normally have been about to be married off; so by now would probably be the mother of one or more babies, queen­ing it in the highest society, with a dozen handsome beaux seeking her favours. He was fully conscious of his own good looks; but not so vain as to suppose that, in Lisala's unusual situation, she would not have regarded any personable man who came into her life as manna in the desert. He could only render his thanks to the Goddess of Fortune that it was he, and not one of the attractive junior officers of the mission, who had had the luck to save her from breaking her beautiful neck. He had been favoured by a splendid start over all those youngsters who were coming up with the caravan and, in due course, would meet Lisala, and he was determined not to lose it.

Resorting quite unscrupulously to the oldest gambit in the game of love, he pressed her arm gently and said, 'Senhorita, our meeting today was pre-ordained. For a long time past I, too, have suffered from a terrible loneliness. My wife died in childbirth'—which was true enough, although that had happened some twelve years before—'and since then I have come upon no-one who I feel could expunge the memory of her from my mind'—which was a thumping lie. 'But the moment I looked into your lovely face, it was as though a new sun had risen on the horizon of my life.'

'Can that be true ?' she murmured.

'Indeed it is,' he assured her; and as he said it he really meant it. 'Moreover, although I am attached to this mission, I am not strictly of it. I am an aide-de-camp and friend of the Emperor whom I have known intimately for many years; and a Commander of the Legion d'Honneur. I tell you this not out of boastfulness, but simply to let you know that General Gardane has no power to send me off, as he might any of the others, on some special assignment. My time is my own, to do with as I will; so, when we return to Isfahan I shall count myself blessed if you will allow me to see you frequently, and place myself entirely at your service.'

By this time the party had spent an hour wandering round the ruins, marvelling diat, over two thousand years ago, an Eastern Monarch should have had architects and craftsmen capable of building him a palace with loftier halls and more spacious staircases than those at Versailles. To have fully explored the whole area, with its avenues of strange beasts and innumerable scenes of Court life in the distant past carved on tall walls, would have taken half a day; but it was already well after nine o'clock, and the sun was climbing swiftly in the blue vault of the heavens. As they had yet to see the Royal Tombs, which lay some four kilometres distant, the Ambas­sador and the General agreed that it would be as well to set off there without further delay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of the priests showed them round the Treasury, in which were many early, illuminated bibles and several 'top hats' worn by prelates, made of silk gaily painted with pictures of saints and angels.

For their third expedition, Roger and Mesrop arrived mounted and brought with them a Persian carriage for the ladies, as they were to visit a mosque which lay some four miles outside the city. Its special interest lay in its two min­arets. They were slender towers with wooden platforms about ten feet from their tops. Above the platforms rose roofed brick turrets, from the open arches of which the Mezzsin called the faithful to prayer, and when either of the platforms was walked on, the turret shook to such an extent that it swayed back and forth several feet out of true. That these 'shaking' minarets had never been blown down in a gale seemed positively miraculous, yet they had stood there for seven hundred years.

Half a mile or so further along the road, there rose up out of the plain a hill so large and steep that it could almost be classed as a mountain. It was crowned by a straggle of stone buildings that Mesrop told them was a Zoroastrian temple. He added that the ancient fire worship was still quite exten­sively practised in Persia, and they must not miss the oppor­tunity of visiting such an interesting place.

When they arrived at the foot of the great mound, Dona Christina at once declared that the path up it was much too steep for a woman of her years to climb; but Lisala got out of the carriage, evidently with the intention of doing so.

During the past few days Roger and Lisala had covertly exchanged many meaningful glances, but he had been unable to get her to himself for a single moment. Now, at last, he saw his opportunity. With his most charming smile, he said to the duenna:

'Remain here then, Senhora, and rest for a while in the shade of these trees. The Senhorita and I will make the climb, and I promise to take the greatest care of her.'

'No! No!' the elderly woman protested. 'The Senhorita is in my charge and I cannot possibly allow her out of my sight.*

To Roger's amazement, Lisala suddenly turned upon her duenna. Her leonine eyes blazing, she snapped, 'Hold your tongue, old woman! I am no longer an innocent incapable of taking care of myself. Who are you to decree what I shall or shall not do? Climb the hill and die of it if you wish. That would mean naught to me. Or remain here and snore. You are well paid for your post. Report this matter to my aunt, and I'll see to it that within the month you are dismissed and sent back to Portugal, to face the poverty you have brought upon yourself by your improvidence.'

The Old Sweet Game

In fascinated horror, Roger listened to this outburst, fearing that Lisala had suddenly gone out of her mind. Knowing the discipline to which young ladies of good family were nor­mally subjected, he was afraid the duenna would exert her authority, and Lisala be punished by not being allowed to go out with him again.

On the contrary, the duenna quailed under the lash of her beautiful charge's tongue. Lying back in her carriage, Dona Christina covered her eyes with her hand and whimpered, 'Go then, you terrible child. But spare me the Senhora Arahna's wrath by telling her that I gave you permission.'

With a contemptuous shrug, Lisala turned away and took Roger's arm. Mesrop made as though to follow them, but Roger said to him quietly, 'Dona Christina must not be left alone. You had best remain here to take care of her.'

Several servants had accompanied them, and could quite easily have protected the duenna from unwelcome attentions; but the shrewd Armenian had long since sized up the situation.

Without a muscle of his face moving, he bowed his acquiescence. ¹

As Roger and Lisala set off up the winding track, he said, 'At last we are alone, and can talk freely. We owe that to your courage in having defied Dona Christina. You nearly scared the poor old woman out of her wits.'

'Poor old woman, forsooth!' Lisala replied, a trifle sullenly. 'She is a lazy, befuddled old curmudgeon, and has brought her present servitude upon herself by her own stupidity. My pleasures have been few enough for many months past, and I'll not tolerate her interfering with them now.'

The way was too steep for them to converse with ease, so they plodded on in silence for a while; until round the curve of the mountain, they came upon a succession of caves. Some were occupied by hermits, clad only in a garment of worn animal skin, who were seated cross-legged and gazing vacantly into space. Others were untenanted and, halting, Roger drew Lisala into one. Next moment, still breathless, but with mutual eagerness, they were clasped in each other's arms, their mouths glued together in a long, passionate kiss.

For several minutes they fervidly caressed each other; then he whispered, 'My divine Lisala, this is indeed bliss; but an interlude that must prove all too short. Another chance for us to give expression to our love may not occur for days. Is there no other way in which we could manage to be alone together?'

'Have you money?' she asked quickly.

He nodded. 'Yes, sufficient for most projects. My status as the Emperor's personal agent enables me to draw on French funds as heavily as I wish, without being questioned about the use to which I intend to put the money.'

Her wide-spaced eyes smiled up into his. 'Then you must do as did my Russian Prince last year. There is a house across a narrow alley behind the Embassy. He rented the top floor. The roofs between the two buildings are almost level and can easily be spanned by a ladder. Once you are installed there, I could cross and spend the best part of the night there with you.'

The very thought inflamed Roger to fever pitch. There could have been no clearer declaration that Lisala was not a virgin, and was longing for him to take her.

'I will, my sweet!' he exclaimed, kissing her avidly again. 'This very afternoon I'll secure that apartment, and it shall be our heaven. But what of now? It would take us at least half an hour to get up to the Temple and down again.'

'So be it,' she breathed. 'I have been too long starved of love; and, with you, near dying for want of it.'

He drew her further into the cave, where they came upon a bed of leaves left there by some past hermit. Stripping off his coat, Roger laid it on the leaves. Then, with a delighted laugh, he picked up Lisala, kissed her again and lowered her gently to their primitive couch.

Unashamedly, with shining eyes and fast-drawn breath, she undid her girdle and pulled her full skirts up to her waist, while he unloosed his breeches. Swiftly, but gently, he slid between her wide-open thighs. Gasping, she threw her arms round him and clasped him to her. A moment later she heaved beneath him and cried aloud with rapture.

Twice more within the next half-hour they repeated the act, at greater leisure and with still greater enjoyment. Tem­porarily satiated, but madly enamoured of each other, they reluctantly drew apart, carefully brushed off old leaves that had adhered to their hair and clothes; then, in silent, blissful communion, made their way down the hill.

Dona Christina greeted them with a worried look but, evidently fearful that she might be subjected to another out­burst of Lisala's violent temper, she refrained from asking any questions. She need not have worried. The girl's lovely face showed no sign that she had ever revolted against her usual demure acceptance of her duenna's authority. Getting into the carriage, she patted the old lady's hand affection­ately, and with wide-eyed innocence invented a description of the Fire Temple she had never seen. Not for the first time, Roger marvelled at the convincing duplicity displayed by women to guard their secrets, and conceded that it matched his own.

When they got back to the Portuguese Embassy, Lisala said brightly, as he formally kissed her hand on taking leave of her, 'I look forward, Colonel, to seeing you again tonight.'

For a moment he was flabbergasted, thinking that she had been imbecile enough to refer to a roof-top meeting which, in any case, he might not have the time to prepare for. To his intense relief she added, as he raised his eyes to hers. 'At the dinner to which my father has invited General Gardane, you and several other officers.'

Releasing his indrawn breath, he replied. 'As I left the mission early this morning, the General had not informed me of it; but, naturally, I am delighted to accept.'

Having seen the ladies into the hall and thanked Mesrop for the morning's interesting expedition, he immediately hur­ried round to the house at the back of the Embassy. By good fortune, the owner was at home, and spoke a little Turkish; so, together with the smattering of Persian that Roger had picked up during the past three weeks, they were able to grasp one another's meaning. Fortunately, too, the last tenant of the top-floor flat had left some weeks earlier, so it was again to let. After pretending to make a thorough inspection of the apartment, which he found sparsely furnished but at least clean, Roger went up on to the roof.

There in one corner he saw, to his delight, the means used for bridging the gap across to the Embassy roof, of which Lisala had told him. It was a twelve-foot-long canvas tube containing a ladder which appeared to be comparatively light, as the sides were made of thick, bamboo poles. From them rose low hoops, supporting the canvas covering, so that any­one crawling along the ladder while crossing the gap should not see the alley below and be overcome by vertigo.

Having told the landlord that he would be occupying the apartment only to sleep in, so would be little bother to him, Roger asked the price. The man named an outrageous sum. When Roger protested, the fellow gave an impudent grin, jerked his thumb towards the ladder and said:

'I had that made a year or so ago for a Russian Prince who was having an affair with one of the young women ser­vants in the Portuguese Embassy across the way. Since my lord is coming here only at night, I'd wager a Kashan rug against a string of onions that he means to play naughty games with the same little strumpet, or one of the companions; and a gentleman should pay for his pleasures.'

Roger stoutly denied the implication and offered half the sum asked; but was happy enough to settle for two-thirds, took the apartment for a month, gave the landlord a gold tomaun—equivalent to about fifteen shillings—in advance, and left with a key to the house in his pocket.

A party of sixteen sat down to dinner that evening at the Embassy: de Pombal and his ladies, de Queircoz and another secretary, two obviously rich Portuguese merchants, a Dutch couple, Gardane, Roger and* four other French officers. It followed that the conversation was carried on in a jumble of languages, but all of them were at least bi-lingual and some, like Roger, could talk in several languages; so the party proved a gay one, particularly for the French officers who had been deprived of such social evenings for many months.

Lisala was seated between Roger and dc Queircoz, who obviously regarded him as his rival, and made a malicious remark about gentlemen who had so little work that they could give every morning to taking ladies out sightseeing. Recalling one ravishing sight he had seen that morning, Roger could afford to ignore this offensiveness and Lisala, instead of re­primanding Alfonso for his rudeness to a guest, tactfully praised him for the valuable assistance he gave her father.

Later during the meal, Alfonso casually asked Roger if he liked shooting. When Roger replied that he did, the Portu­guese said, 'Then some time you must go up to the forests on the far side of the mountains north of Tehran. There is the finest sport in the world to be had there, and I could easily arrange it for you as I speak Persian fluently and have many friends at Court.'

Before they left the table, Roger succeeded in passing into Lisala's hand a note he had written. It read:

I adore you to distraction. Tomorrow morning J cannot come for you because General Gardane told me this after­noon that we are to offer our presents to the Shah. But the apartment you told me of is now mine, and the ladder-bridge still up on the roof. I shall await you there tomorrow night with more eagerness than had I been promised a magic carpet to carry me to Paradise.

The following morning everyone at the mission was up early, preparing for the ceremony that Gardane had waited for with such impatience. To wear at the audience, the Shah had sent each officer of the mission a garment of honour, called a calaat, and they chaffed one another about their ap­pearance when they had put on these strange, but costly, silk robes. The presentation was to take place at the Chehel Souton Palace, which was situated in the midst of spacious, well-wooded grounds. Accompanied by the Mahemander Bachi, the Peskis Nuviez and a gorgeously-clad guard of archers mounted upon curvetting chargers, they rode the half mile to the gates. There, they were told to dismount, as no one was permitted to approach the Shah on horseback.

Roger had learned from Mesrop earlier that the Chehel Souton was also called the Palace of the Forty Pillars, al­though in fact it had only twenty. This anomaly was made apparent as their procession advanced towards it along an avenue of sycamores and cypresses. The Palace stood at the far end of a great stone-surrounded pool, some three hundred feet long and fifty wide. The frontage consisted of a terrace raised on several steps, above which was a roof supported by thirty-foot-high pillars. There were only twenty of them, but their reflection on the mirror-like sheet of water made up the forty.

Centrally, beneath the lofty canopy, rose a graceful arch decorated with innumerable small squares of looking-glass and, in front of k, a fountain. The Shah was seated cross-legged upon a throne that blazed with jewels, and on cither side of him were ranged his Viziers, his twenty-four gendc-mcn and many other functionaries. Mounting the steps, Gar­dane knelt and, as he had been informed by the Superior of the Capuchins was strictly necessary, kissed the Shah's foot. He then recited in Persian a brief speech he had been taught, calling down blessings on the King of Kings, the Centre of the Universe, and praying him to deign to give his unrivalled brain to considering the message sent him by his admiring brother sovereign, the Emperor of the French and Monarch Supreme of the Western World.

The Shah graciously inclined his head then, for half an hour, bearer after bearer laid the presents sent by Napoleon on the steps below the throne. When this had been done, the Shah said, through his chief Armenian interpreter, that he thanked his brother sovereign, of whose great prowess in war he had heard, and that his Ministers would report to him upon the communication the General had brought. Rising from his throne, he turned and, followed by his courtiers, withdrew into the interior of the Palace. The audience over, the French retired and, mounting their horses at the gate, rode back to their quarters.

That night, by ten o'clock, Roger was on the roof of the house behind the Embassy. He doubted whether Lisala would be able to join him before eleven at the earliest, but would not for worlds have chanced her keeping the assignation and not finding him there to meet her. As he paced back and forth, the time seemed to drag interminably and by midnight he began to fear that something had prevented her from keep­ing their tryst.

Another twenty minutes elapsed, then his heart gave a sud­den lurch, as he caught sight of a shadowy figure coming to­wards the parapet of the opposite roof. Restraining himself for a moment, to make certain that it was Lisala, he remained still. Then in a low voice she called across to him.

Picking up the hooded ladder, he swiftly thrust it across the ten-foot gap. On the far end were large iron hooks that would secure it to the opposite parapet. Lisala disappeared into the canvas tunnel. Two minutes later, he drew her from it and clasped her in his arms.

Avidly they smothered each other with kisses, then he picked her up and carried her down to the room below. She had on only a light silk robe. Joyfully, she threw it off. For the first time, by the light of the single oil lamp he had left burning, he saw her naked. She had small, upstanding breasts, a narrow waist, big hips and, for a woman of her medium height, long, slender legs. Enraptured to find her body equalled her face in beauty, he cast aside the chamber robe he had been wearing, again took her in his arms and, mur­muring endearments, gently lowered her to the broad divan.

As an expert in amorous delights, Lisala could not have rivalled Naksh; but the passion with which she gave herself was almost unsurpassed in Roger's experience. He had always heard that red-headed women were physically more inflam­mable than others, and Lisala became positively distraught during her erotic paroxysms. She moaned, cried aloud and once bit him so fiercely in the neck that he wrenched himself free of her with a gasp of pain.

When at length his big, turnip watch, which he had laid on a low table beside the divan, chimed the hour of four, she prepared to leave him only with the greatest reluctance; and when he began to thank her for the pleasure she had given him, she stopped his mouth with her hand, declaring that it was the woman who should thank the man capable of carrying her to such heights of ecstasy.

After seeing her safely back to the roof of the Embassy and drawing in the ladder, he was terribly tempted to flop down again on the divan and sleep. But he knew that if he did, he would probably not wake until midday; so he slowly dressed and made his way back to the quarters of the mission where he could be certain of being woken at half past seven.

At nine o'clock, he called as usual for Lisala and her duenna. Mesrop told them that, as the Shah did not live at the Chehel Souton Palace but used it only to give formal audiences, he had secured permission to take them there to see some of the royal treasures.

Except for patrolling guards here and there, the Palace was now deserted. Passing through the high, mirror-covered arch, they entered a long, lofty hall, on the walls of which were painted battle scenes. Ranged in cases about it were many precious objects, ancient Qur'ans beautifully illuminated in gold and gay coloured arabesques, fine examples of Ming china, jewel-hilted scimitars and a collection of paintings on ivory.

The majority of the latter dated from the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries when, under Shah Abbas, the Safavid Dynasty had reached its zenith and Persia entered on her great Renaissance. The fame of her artists, poets and architects had spread to the West and, as Roger knew, Sophy was the English corruption of Safavi. It was thus that Persia had become known as 'The Land of the Great Sophy'.

Many of the paintings were of hunting scenes; others illus­trated the classic work of Ferdusi, Hafiz and Sa'adi, showing turbaned lovers with sloe-eyed maidens picnicking beneath graceful, flowering trees. The workmanship was exquisite and Roger, who had a small gift for painting himself, de­cided to search the Bazaar and see if he could not find a few of the same period to buy and take back with him.

That night, soon after midnight, Lisala again joined him on his roof-top. The passion with which they came together was less ferocious than it had been the previous night, but when they parted in the early hours, their delight in each other had not lessened.

Next morning there could be no expedition, because the officers of the French mission had been invited by the Shah to witness a polo match. For this they went to the Ali Qapa Palace in the huge Maidan Square. The Shah of Shahs re­ceived them on the lofty balcony which formed a perfect grandstand. The extreme formality he had observed when they had been presented to him was now considerably re­laxed. Through his chief interpreter, he spoke pleasantly to the senior officers, expressing the hope that they were enjoy­ing their visit to his capital, and telling them that if there was anything they lacked for their comfort, they must not hesi­tate to ask his Mahemander Bachi for it.

Before the match, a display of wrestling and javelin-throwing took place below the big balcony; then the square was cleared and the players rode out from either end of it. There were twenty a side, but there was ample space for them to gallop in. None of the French had ever seen the game be­fore, and they found it most exciting.

For the third night running, Lisala came to Roger on his roof. By then he would have welcomed a respite of a night or two. Yet he found her so bewitching that, no sooner had she unrobed herself, than he again rose to the occasion and met her embraces with renewed fervour. Again they parted with lingering kisses, vowing that neither of them could ever meet anyone who compared with the other.

Five hours later Mesrop took them to a small mansion in which there was an exhibition of waxworks. Roger had seen that of Madame Tussaud, who had come as a refugee to London during the French Revolution; but decided that her work was of poor quality when compared with that of the Persian artists. The figures were clad in garments representa­tive of every class, from the highest to the lowest, and there were groups wearing the traditional costume of every tribe in the King of Kings' vast dominions. But the striking thing about them was that they resembled human beings so closely that one could have expected them to speak at any moment, or walk out of their cases.

In a place of honour, at the head of a staircase, there was a figure of the great Shah Abbas, and it greatly intrigued Roger to see what this remarkable monarch had looked like. He was portrayed as on the tallish side, with powerful limbs and a handsome head of Aryan cast. His cheeks and chin were clean-shaven, but he had an enormous, handlebar moustache, the points of which stuck out well beyond his ears.

Afterwards Mesrop took them to a quarter of the city where Dervishes were wont to congregate. It was a piece of semi-waste ground, and the buildings on it were little more than heaps of tumbled ruins. The heads of the Dervishes, like those of all Persian men, were shaved; but otherwise, unlike the bulk of the male population who favoured long whiskers but only short beards, their beards were long and tangled. Most of them were wearing only a single garment of animal skin, and the majority appeared strong-limbed, well fed and healthy. The few genuine fanatics, wasted by fasting, sat alone in contemplation, obviously oblivious of their sur­roundings; but by far the greater number of Dervishes were sitting smoking their narghiles and talking animatedly.

Mesrop explained that, with few exceptions, protected by the cloak of religion, they were an utterly unprincipled sect of rogues. Some earned a living at snake-charming or by giving displays with dangerous beasts. Others were profes­sional story-tellers who could recite Ferdusi by heart and knew all the tales told by Shahrazade to her Arab Caliph. But a far greater number of them battened on the super­stitions of the ignorant masses. Witchcraft was rife through­out Persia. Everyone carried charms against the Evil Eye, and for many other reasons. The Dervishes made a fat living by selling bits of parchment with cryptic symbols scrawled on them, and parts of animals which, when carried on a person, were said to work wonders.

The knuckle-bones of a wolf would give courage; its gall rubbed on a woman's belly would cause her to conceive; the skin of an ape's nose was a preventive against poison; the cunning and speed of the animal could be acquired by swal­lowing its ashes after it had been burned; the tail of a horse placed under a child's pillow would ensure sound sleep, and horses dosed with the blood of a hare would increase their speed. However, most of the talismans concerned love. The skin of a hyena worn next to a woman's skin would keep her husband faithful, and the liver of an ape would bring back the affections of one who had become enamoured of another woman.

When, in mid-morning, Roger got back to the mission, he found the big house in a ferment. The royal astrologers had informed the Shah that it would be propitious for him to honour the French visitors by dining with them that night. Soon after Roger had left to collect Lisala and Dona Chris­tina, the Mirzatahcr—as the Comptroller of the King's Household was called—had arrived with a letter from the Grand Vizier, declaring His Imperial Majesty's intention. Three sizes of wax seals were used for such communications, and this had the largest so, even before opening it, Gardane realised that it must be urgent and important.

To the General's surprise, the Mirzataher took immediate charge of the proceedings. With him he had brought car­penters, tent pitchers and carpet layers. Under his directions the whole garden was covered with canvas so that it became a great marquee. Thousands of square yards of carpet were brought in wagons to be laid in the street outside, and the floors of all the downstairs rooms were covered in precious rugs. So, too, was the garden and, at its far end, a huge, silk carpet was folded into thirty-two layers and spread with priceless shawls to form a temporary throne on which the King of Kings would sit.

At midday, a score of cooks and confectioners arrived with pots, pans and vast quantities of food, to take over the kit­chen. A ton of ice was carried in to cool the wines and sher­bets. Meanwhile, upholsterers had draped the whole of the front of the house with gorgeous brocade curtains. The foun­tains were set playing, flowers arranged in their basins and jars of perfume placed beside them, to be tipped in before the Shah entered the building.

While all this was going on, the French stood about, sub­mitting with such grace as they could to being pushed into comers. Gardane looked on speechless and sour, for the Mirzataher had told him that people honoured by the Shah in this manner always paid the cost of the entertainment and, in due course, he would be told the sum due from him.

Early in the evening the crowd was supplemented by His Majesty's singers, and the Luti Bachi—the Shah's jester— who brought with him a score of jugglers, dwarfs and other mountebanks. The time of the King of Kings' arrival was to be after the evening prayer, and Gardane was told that he must go the Palace to precede his royal visitor in the pro­cession. Making the best of matters, he put on his smartest uniform and sallied forth.

The people of Isfahan, having learned of what was afoot, lined the streets and roof-tops to acclaim their Sovereign dur­ing his stately progress. Heading the procession came heralds carrying weighty clubs and trumpets. They proclaimed the mightiness of their master as the Centre of the Universe and by innumerable other titles. Following them came a great body of gorgeously-clad nobles. Then came Gardane with, immediately behind him, the Shah. After them rode two Princes, the Grand Vizier, other functionaries and the royal guards.

When the Shah had duly been escorted through the house to his temporary throne, Gardane,- as he had been instructed was customary, had, to his intense annoyance, to offer his royal guest one hundred gold pieces on a silver salver. The

Shah nodded acceptance of them and through his interpreter told the General that such freely-made tributes inspired con­fidence and would increase his condescension to his host. The courtiers made numerous speeches to their master, flattering him as the greatest, wisest and most generous monarch under heaven; then his dinner was served.

It consisted of a hundred or more dishes and basins, all of solid gold, heaped with different kinds of food. For some twenty minutes he picked a bit here and a bit there with his fingers. When he had done, the two Princes sat down and set to. Only after them were the senior hosts and the Ministers allowed to cat. The dishes were then carried to the junior members of the mission and the Court officials. Finally the still-plentiful mounds of lamb, chicken, fish, rice, fruit, nuts, cakes and sweets went in turn to the guards, jesters, musicians and servants.

An entertainment followed, the star turn of which was the recitation of new piece by a poet. It lauded the Shah to the skies so satisfactorily that His Majesty ordered the man's mouth to be filled with gold, and the French were astonished to see how many pieces he succeeded in having crammed into it without choking.

It was not until well after midnight that, with much cere­mony, the Shah took his departure and his tired hosts were able to discuss the party. Gardane was in an unusually black humour which, at first, Roger attributed to the great expense to which he had been put; but soon learned that it was not for that reason only. The General had optimistically believed that the Shah's visit was to convey to him a reply to the Em­peror's letter and, during the course of the conversations that had taken place, he had opened the subject with the Grand Vizier.

The Minister had expressed great surprise and had con­veyed the reply, 'Surely you did not expect an important decision concerning war or peace to be decided in the course of a few days? It will be another fortnight at least before you receive a reply to your communication.'

He had then gone on to inform Gardane that meanwhile it was His Majesty's pleasure that his guests should amuse themselves by going on a hunting expedition in the great for­ests north of Tehran, and that arrangements were already in train for the whole of the mission to set out, with an appro­priate escort, the following morning.

Later, when discussing the matter with one of the Shah's gentlemen who spoke a little French and with whom he had become friendly, the General had received a hint that the real reason that lay behind sending the mission away from Isfahan was to deprive the French of any opportunity to bribe Ministers into favouring their designs while their Emperor's letter was under discussion.

Apart from the General and Roger, the others were de­lighted at the thought of the expedition. The latter was natur­ally alarmed, as it could deprive him for the next two weeks of further meetings with his adorable Lisala. It struck him, too, as at least a possibility that Alfonso dc Queircoz, having many friends in high places at the Persian Court, might have put the idea into one of the Ministers' heads, with the object of getting Lisala's new admirer out of the way until the reply to the Emperor was ready and the mission no longer had any reason to remain in Isfahan.

He at once told Gardane that he had no desire to go hunt­ing, so would stay on in the capital. But the General would not agree to his doing so. He said that the Grand Vizier had made it plain that the whole mission was to go, bag and bag­gage, and he dared not risk incurring the Shah's displeasure by leaving a French officer behind. In the circumstances, Napoleon's interests not being involved, Roger could not in­voke his privileged position as an A.D.C. to the Emperor; so, seething with internal rage, he was obliged to submit.

Briefly Roger considered making his way as swiftly as pos­sible to his roof-top. But by then it was past one in the morning. Lisala would almost certainly have heard that the mission was giving an entertainment for the Shah that night; and the odds against her still being up there waiting for him were over­whelming. Reluctantly, he abandoned the idea as futile, resigned himself to the fact that he would not even be able to say good-bye to his beloved and went up to his room to pack for the journey.

Next morning, soon after nine o'clock, the mansion the mission had occupied was almost as empty as if they had never entered it. Only two score of trunks filled with surplus clothing, plate, glass, linen that they would not require and, in the basement, a number of cases containing arms, were left behind.

It was on August 18th that, with a considerable retinue of guides, guards and professional hunters, they took the road north to Tehran. They reached the city which—until Shah Abbas had moved to Isfahan and built the marvellous mos­ques and palaces there—had been the capital of Persia, late on the evening of the 20th and spent the night in a big cara­vanserai. Their baggage train caught up with them next day and, taking what they needed from it, in the early afternoon they resumed their march towards the great mountain range that now lay ahead of them.

Although it was high summer, some of the peaks were still capped with snow. To the east, along the chain, Mount Damavand rose above the others to nearly nineteen thousand feet; the highest mountain in Asia west of the Himalayas. But their guides led them through a pass and, by nightfall, they were installed in one of the Shah's big hunting lodges.

Next day they went out equipped for the chase. The coun­try was as unlike central and southern Persia as could pos­sibly be imagined. Instead of precipitous, barren ridges of rock and arid, sandy waste, interspersed by fertile valleys, north of the mountains there was one vast forest, extending right up to the southern shore of the Caspian Sea.

The area was almost uninhabited, but teemed with wild life of every description. There were tigers, leopards, bears, antelopes, wild boar, buck and deer in profusion. Their kill far exceeded anything they could possibly have expected; but the French felt themselves shamed because the Persian hunters proved far better marksmen with their bows and arrows than the Europeans with their latest pattern of musket.

For another two days they rode out to kill, and Roger be­came sickened at this senseless slaughter; so he was much relieved when, on the evening of the 23rd, Gardane decided that they should return to Isfahan; in the hope that, after ten days, the Shah and his Ministers would have come to a de­cision.

Their journey south was as uneventful as that to the north had been, and they re-entered Isfahan late on the evening of the 27th. Roger had no doubt at all that many days ago Lisala had heard the French mission had left the capital on a hunting expedition; so by going up to his roof-top that night there would not be the least chance of his finding her waiting for him.

But his absence had increased his desire for her a hundred­fold. During the journey, and even while shooting dangerous big game, his mind had wandered with great frequency to her. Again and again he had visualised her heart-shaped face; the broad, smooth forehead framed in tresses of rich, reddish hair; the widely-spaced tawny eyes; the full, smiling mouth with its rows of even, white teeth; her slim arms and hands; pouting breasts; Venus-like little stomach and long, shapely legs.

That night, thoughts of her again clasped in his arms and moaning with delight as he possessed her prevented him from sleeping. In the morning, dressed in his best uniform, as early as he decently could, he hurried to the Portuguese Embassy.

To his alarm and dismay, he found it silent and shuttered. In a panic of apprehension he hammered with his riding crop on the door. After some minutes the door was unbolted by a Persian servant. From him Roger learned, to his unutter­able dismay, that His Excellency the Ambassador had re­ceived letters of recall. He had left Isfahan with his whole family and staff three days before.

The Call of Love

Utterly aghast, Roger gaped at the man; then turned away and, with sagging shoulders, slowly walked off down the street. Enormously as he had looked forward to renewing his liaison with Lisala, not until this moment was it fully brought home to him how much she meant to him. Susceptible as he had always been to the attractions of exceptionally beautiful women, it was not alone Lisala's physical perfection that had utterly bewitched him, nor the wild abandon with which she gave herself to his embraces. It was also the subtle fascination of her unusual personality; her strength of will, contrasting with, at times, a sweet docility; the unpredictability of her moods which could change so swiftly from hilarious laughter to violent anger; her ability to talk of serious matters with sound sense coupled with a childish innocence about many aspects of life, and an insatiable desire to learn more of the great world in which, for so long, he had played a part through his acquain­tance with statesmen and monarchs. The thought that he might never sec her again left him completely stricken.

It was a good ten minutes before he had recovered suffi­ciently to turn about and retrace his steps to the Embassy, in order to find out all he could about the sudden departure of the Portuguese mission.

His first eager question of the Persian servant left in charge of the building was: had any letter or message been left for him? But neither had. He then learned that the summons to return to Portugal must have been received by de Pombal the day after the French mission had set out for Tehran; as it was from that day that the whole Embassy had suddenly become a hive of activity. Everyone there had hurriedly set

about sorting and packing the contents of the mansion. In­numerable crates and cases had been filled and corded, and arrangements made to sell off possessions of all sorts that it had been decided to abandon. The Ambassador and his staff had spent the next few days in a marathon round of visits to take leave of Persian notabilities, and on the 23rd de Pom­bal had had a final audience with the Shah. On the following day a caravan of over fifty hired camels had been loaded up, and that evening the whole party had taken the road to Shiraz.

From this last piece of information Roger at once con­cluded that dc Pombal had decided, instead of making the long, overland trek to Antioch, to go down to the Portuguese trading post on the Persian Gulf, there take ship round Arabia up the Red Sea, cross the isthmus and sail again from Alexandria. In mileage, that route would nearly double the length of the journey, but given favourable winds, it should take only a few weeks longer, and be infinitely less of an ordeal.

The Persian could tell Roger nothing of the reason for de Pombal's unexpected recall. Anxious to learn anything he could about it, Roger decided that a fellow diplomat would prove the most likely source of information. Apart from the French mission, the only countries then having one in Isfahan were Russia and Holland; so he hurried round to the Nether­lands Embassy and asked to pay his respects to the Ambas­sador, whom he had already met on several occasions.

After a short wait, the portly Dutchman received him pleasantly. Like everybody else connected with the Court in Isfahan, the Ambassador knew that Roger had been squiring the beautiful Lisala round the city; so he was not surprised by his visitor's enquiry about the sudden departure of the Portuguese.

Thoughtfully stroking his chubby chin, he replied. 'The Marquis did not actually disclose to me the reason for his recall; but from our conversation I formed the impression that, indirectly, your Emperor is responsible for it.'

The Emperor!' Roger exclaimed. 'What possible reason could he have in concerning himself with such a matter?'

The Dutchman shrugged. 'With or without warrant, he has made the affairs of every nation in Europe his concern. And still more so since he announced his "Continental System", by which he hopes to reduce the stubborn English to poverty and impotence. During the past year he has com­pelled every country under his control to close their ports to British shipping, and one can hardly doubt that he will now exert pressure on the smaller countries that still retain their independence, to come into line. Of these, the most import­ant to him is Portugal. As you may be aware, Portugal is England's oldest ally; but since the death of Pitt, Britain has waged her war against France only in a most half-hearted fashion, so whether she has either the will or the means to enable the Portuguese to defy your Emperor is open to ques­tion. However, now that he has inflicted such a crushing de­feat on the Czar, it is reasonable to predict that he will next turn his attention to Portugal, with a view to plugging that serious leak in his embargo against trade with Britain.'

'Your Excellency's assumption is soundly based,' Roger agreed. 'But I still do not see why this should have brought about dc Pombal's recall.'

'Do you know anything of his family history?' .. 'I know, of course, that the first Marquis was one of the greatest statesmen that Portugal ever produced; and that, for over a quarter of a century, King Joseph gave him a free hand to revolutionise Portugal's Army, Navy, finances, commerce and educational system. Also that, on the King's death, his widow displayed such hatred for de Pombal that he was dis­missed and persecuted; but I know no more than that.'

'Then you know enough to realise that the present Mar­quis has the blood of a genius in his veins. I do not suggest that he is one himself; but he is highly intelligent, an able diplomat and very knowledgeable about international affairs. Perhaps even more important, he bears a name that is now rightly honoured by the Portuguese people. Does it not seem to you that, in the emergency with which his Sovereign may soon be faced, it would be a wise move to have readily avail­able the advice and support of such a personality?'

Roger nodded. 'In that your Excellency is certainly right. But by his Sovereign I take it you mean the Don Joao, the Prince of Brazil? For many years past, old Queen Maria has been as mad as a hatter.'

'Of course. In '99, Joao was made Prince Regent, and has since performed the functions of a Sovereign. All that I have said is only speculation on my part. But I give it to you for what it is worth.'

Having thanked the Ambassador, Roger took his leave of him no less depressed, but with the feeling that this possible ex­planation of the sudden departure of the Portuguese was most probably correct.

For the remainder of the day and a good part of the night, he wrestled with the problem of what he should do. Since he was not acting as a British secret agent, duty did not demand that he should remain in Isfahan and, as a lodestone attracts a magnetised needle, he was drawn to rejoin the adorable Lisala at the earliest possible moment.

Should he decide to abandon the French mission and go off on his own? Gardane would protest, but he could do no more than report this desertion to the Emperor. Napoleon's displeasure might lead to a final break with him; but in the past, Roger had on several occasions produced plausible reasons for having apparently abandoned his service for lengthy periods, and he had little doubt about his ability to do so again.

By this time the Portuguese caravan was probably nearing Shiraz. If he took horse next morning and followed post haste, he could be certain of catching up with it before it reached the Persian Gulf. But what then? How could he explain his wish to join de Pombal's party and return to Europe with it? He was by no means anxious to marry again; but if he did, who, other than Georgina, could make a more desirable wife than Lisala? Her personal attractions apart, she was of high birth and, as an only child, would inherit a great fortune. He could declare that his love for her was so great that he had sacrificed his career in order to rejoin her, and ask her hand in marriage.

But how would de Pombal react to that? Roger, as an apparent deserter, would make a far from favourable impres­sion. It was quite probable too that, in any case, the Marquis would not consider him a sufficiently good match for his daughter. Still worse, if the Dutch Ambassador's theory was correct, that the reason for de Pombal’s recall was due to Portugal now being threatened by Napoleon, dc Pombal might possibly jump to the conclusion that Roger's courting of Lisala was being used only as a blind; and that, in fact, Gardane had sent him to travel with the Portuguese as a spy.

'No,' Roger decided. It would not do. For one reason or another, the Marquis would reject his plea to accompany his party back to Europe.

Next morning Roger walked along to the house behind the Portuguese Embassy, to tell the landlord that he would no longer be requiring the upper apartment, so he could let it to someone else if he wished.

The man listened to his glum resignation of his tenancy, then gave an understanding nod and said with a sly look, 'I regret that affairs have turned out so badly for my lord, but a letter was left for him by a young serving woman. I will get it.'

Two minutes later, with trembling fingers, Roger was tear­ing open the scaled paper the man had handed to him. As he expected, it was from Lisala, and read:

My beloved one. Before receiving this you will have learned of the terrible misfortune that has overtaken us. My papa has received orders to return immediately to Portugal, with all his people.

I am desolate. My Russian taught me the joys of passion, but you alone have taught me the true meaning of love. For us to remain separated permanently is unthinkable. I beg you on my knees that you find some way to join me, in Lisbon. Given such an able brain as yours, this cannot be beyond its capacity. For you, nothing is impossible. The thought appals me that, for many weeks to come, I must live without your sweet companionship, gay laughter and those lovely, wicked caresses that send me into a heavenly frenzy. I am already half-dying with desire for you, and will know no peace until you have again become my splendid lover.

As Roger read this desperate appeal to follow her, he found his hand trembling. It was ample evidence that her longing for him equalled his for her. Somehow, he must rejoin her; but how? How? How?

Having given the landlord a gold tounun, he walked slowly back to the headquarters of the mission and spent the rest of the day there in agonised frustration; for, badger his wits as he would, he could think of no way in which to over­come the difficulties that faced him.

By evening his state of depression was so obvious that one of the junior officers, guessing the cause, had the temerity to twit him upon it. Such was Roger's ill temper that, had the implication been made before others, the young man would have found a duel forced upon him; but, as they were alone at the time, Roger did no more than snarl at him, 'Make one more mention in my presence of the Senhorita de Pombal, and I will slice your ears off.'

On the following day the members of the mission were bidden by the Shah to witness an entertainment.

At nine o'clock they found some three hundred nobles at the Palace in the great Maidan Square, round the sides of which many thousand people had congregated. In front of them, to prevent them from encroaching on the square, were triple rows of the Royal Guard in resplendent uniforms.

The display opened with a parade of beautiful horses, the trappings of which were incomparably finer than any the French had ever seen. Some were a blaze of rubies, others of emeralds and others again a groundwork of diamonds pat­terned with precious stones of various colours; their bridles were thick ropes of silk and their hooves shod with gold. They were followed by gold and silver gem-studded carriages, driven by Indians in gold-braided coats.

A row of precious tapestries was then spread out and to each was led by a lion who lay down on it. Behind them were ranged elephants, rhinoceri, white antelopes and snorting bulls; all bedecked with splendid ornaments and kept under control by keepers clad in costumes of different colours.

A space immediately below the high balcony of the Palace was then cleared until only one lion and one bull remained on it. Roaring, the lion strained to get at the bull until, at a signal from the Shah, the lion was unleashed. In a few, swift leaps, it overtook the bull and began to tear it to pieces. In turn, each lion was presented with a bull to slay; but in two cases the bull succeeded in goring the lion, upon which the keepers rushed in with hatchets and quickly killed the bull, because, the lion being the royal insignia of Persia, its defeat could never be permitted.

Then followed displays by acrobats, jugglers, wrestlers, fencers and archers; die aim of the last being so accurate that they could shoot away the plumes from the turbans of an opposing team—except for one instance, in which an arrow pierced the turban of an opponent. As a penalty, the unfor­tunate marksman had his hand promptly chopped off.

The last event consisted of two bodies of horsemen, both a hundred strong. They were all young nobles, clad in chain mail and each armed only with one javelin. On receiving a hit on the body, a combatant had to retire; then, in order to throw his javelin again, the man who had scored the hit had to recover it. To do so necessitated his leaning over from his galloping mount, until his head nearly touched the ground. This extraordinary, swiftly-moving melee provided the spec­tators with a display of superb horsemanship.

The show ended at one o'clock, upon which the Shah re­tired into his palace and, after conversing for a while with some of the Persian courtiers, the officers of the French mis­sion returned to their quarters. All of them were talking en­thusiastically of the remarkable spectacle they had just witnessed, with the exception of Roger, who had sat through it with lacklustre eyes, still obsessed with the problem of how to renew his affaire with the beautiful Lisala.

However, he had hardly settled down in his room when he was roused from his brooding by Gardane's shouting up the stairs: 'Breuc! Breuc! Come down. A courier has arrived with news; extraordinary news.'

And extraordinary news it certainly proved to be. With his officers crowding about him, the General gave them par­ticulars of the despatch he had just received from Napoleon's secretary, Meneval. After the Russian defeat at Friedland, it had been agreed that the Czar should meet the Emperor to discuss the terms of an armistice. The two monarchs had established their headquarters on opposite sides of the river Nieman at Tilsit. A huge raft, carrying a gorgeously-appoin­ted pavilion, had then been anchored in midstream, and there, on June 25th, for the first time the two most powerful men in Europe had come face to face.

To open the conference the two Emperors met alone. Dur­ing a private conversation lasting only three-quarters of an hour, a miracle had taken place. They had emerged enchanted with each other. A large area of the town had then been made a neutral zone for further conferences, attended by the prin­cipal Ministers and Marshals. On July 7th a Treaty of Alli­ance had been signed, which changed the whole situation in Europe.

As a young man, Alexander had held strongly liberal views and fully approved the measures of the National Assembly, which had brought Liberty to the French people. The ex­cesses of the Revolution that followed had horrified him, and turned him against the French. Seven years later, after Napoleon, as First Consul, had shown himself to be a brilliant administrator and had brought order out of chaos, the Czar had conceived a great admiration for him, and refused to aid the Monarchist Coalition in its attempt to destroy the French Republic. But, as time went on, Alexander had gradu­ally come to realise that Napoleon was not simply a French patriot of genius, but a man of inordinate ambition, who was set upon enslaving the people of every country. It was this that had led to his stigmatising the Emperor as a 'dangerous beast' who, at all costs, must be thwarted in his designs; and, at last joined the Allies in their most recent attempt to free from Napoleon's tyranny the countries he had conquered.

Now, in the course of one short afternoon, Alexander had changed his opinion yet again. Napoleon's magnetism and personal charm had entirely won him over. It had been agreed not only that they should sign a peace, but should divide Europe between them. The miserable King of Prussia was thrown the sop of receiving back Silesia; but ordered to for­feit all his Polish territories to Russia. His port of Danzig was to become a Free City, maintaining a French garrison. A new State called the Duchy of Warsaw was to be formed in central Poland, with Napoleon's ally, the King of Saxony, as its ruler. France was to retain military control of Olden­burg, Saxe-Coburg and Mecklenburg until peace was made between France and England.

This amazing reorientation of power and interests could not possibly have been foreseen. It would now be contrary to French interests for either Turkey or Persia to attack Russia. In fact, far from attempting to make Turkey France's ally, it was a reasonable assumption that, secretly, the Emperor and Czar had decided to overrun the Turkish Empire and divide it between them.

After the siesta, the General held a conference with his senior officers. The despatch had made it clear that the Em­peror's designs on India were unchanged. Persian co-opera­tion was essential to that. This now required a most delicate shift in policy. They had been pressing the Shah to attack Russia. Now it must tactfully be put to him and his advisers that in view of recent events this was no longer desirable, but that France still greatly desired the friendship of the Shah, and would assist in the extension of his dominions. As an earnest of this, they would leave with him all the modern weapons sent out for both Turkey and Persia, together with all the French officers nominated to train Oriental troops in their use. Since the Emperor's orders still stood that, after Persia, the mission should proceed to India, with the object of securing the Mahratta Princes as potential allies against the British, it was clear that the sooner Gardane could per­suade the Persians of the Emperor's continued goodwill to­wards them and continue his journey to the East, the better.

Roger made little contribution to the conference, for his mind was busy with a private letter which the courier had brought for him. It was in a hand he did not know, and un­signed. It read:

Our purpose has received a serious set-back; but we must not despair. The gorgon has hypnotised the wolf at his front door, so will now turn his attention to silencing the little dog whose yapping in the back yard annoys him. But other beasts that he has kept fettered in his house may seize the oppor­tunity to break loose while he is out in the yard. You can do only harm by taming tigers; so I trust you will find some excuse to return and give us your valuable help in cleansing the gorgon's lair.

Roger had no doubt that this missive came from Talley­rand. Their agreed purpose was to bring about the overthrow of Napoleon. The set-back was, of course, the Emperor's having turned the Czar from an enemy to a friend. The.an­noying little dog in the back yard could only be Portugal, and the fettered beasts Prussia, the Rhineland, northern Italy and other European countries conquered by France.The tigers were the Indian Princes, with whom Napoleon had sent Roger to treat, and the appeal to return implied that trouble was brewing for the Emperor, of which advantage might be taken to bring about his fall.

From the beginning, Roger had been averse to going to India, and determined to find some way of evading that part of the mission he had been assigned. An immediate return to Europe fined in with his own desires; and, if Portugal was to be the next seat of trouble, he could justify his turning up there by asserting that the close association he had formed with the Portuguese while in Isfahan had led him to believe that he could better serve the Emperor by going to Lisbon, rather than to Bombay.

His problem now was to think of a means by which he could justify to Gardane his leaving the mission. If he could have shown an order from the Emperor to proceed to Por­tugal, all would have been plain sailing; but the cryptic mis­sive from Talleyrand had been far from anything of that kind.

In fact, although its source would have remained unknown and anyone seeing it would have found it difficult to inter­pret, it could have proved dangerous; so, with his habitual caution, Roger had already burned it.

After much thought, just as they were about to go up to bed that night, he tackled the General and asked to have a word with him in his office. As they entered it, he said, 'Mon General, I have been considering the next stage of our mis­sion, and should like to talk to you about it.'

'Sit down, mon ami,' the General replied genially. 'Your observations on our business are always interesting.'

Taking a chair, Roger proceeded. The Emperor's instruc­tions are that we should contact the Mahratta Princes, as they are known to be hostile to the British. Since I once crossed India from Calcutta to Bombay, he labours under the false impression that I know that vast territory from end to end, and many of its Maharajahs. But the fact is that, during my journey, I never even saw a Mahratta Prince, so I can be of no use to you in opening negotiations with any of them.'

The General nodded. 'I am aware of that. You mentioned it to me soon after we left Warsaw.'

'Since I can be of no help to you with the Mahrattas, an­other way in which I could make myself more useful has occur­red to me. No doubt you have a map of the territory we shall have to cross in order to reach India.'

Gardane produced a map and spread it out on a divan. Roger drew his finger across the broadest part of India, and said, 'There we have the huge area, under the control of the Mahratta Confederacy. It includes in the West the great port of Bombay; so I assume it is for there you intend to make?'

'Yes. I plan to travel east through the Persian cities of Yazd, Bafq and Rapsanjan, then south to the port of Banda Abass at the entrance to the Persian Gulf; and from there take ship to Bombay.'

'That appears to be the quickest route,' Roger agreed. 'And now, you will observe that Goa, the colony of considerable extent in which the Portuguese have been established for some two hundred years, lies on the coast only two hundred and fifty miles south of Bombay. As you are aware, during our stay in Isfahan, I developed particularly good relations with the personnel of the Portuguese Embassy and as I have long been fluent in Spanish, I succeeded in becoming fairly well acquainted with Portuguese. If, therefore, I went to Goa and made capital out of my friendship with the Marquis de Pombal, I would be both well received and able to talk in their own language with the principal gentlemen in authority there.'

A slight frown crossed Gardane's brow. 'Admittedly, but I do not see in what way this could benefit our mission.'

Roger smiled. 'It could, since the Emperor has in mind the conquest of India. Obviously, if you can succeed in winning over the Mahratta Princes, the first French Expeditionary Force for their support would be landed in Bombay. Think how advantageous it would be if we landed a second force in Goa. We should then be able to initiate a pincer movement which could result in our swiftly becoming the masters of all central India.'

'As a strategic conception, I agree that it is admirable. But, as things stand, surely you do not suppose that you could induce the Portuguese in Goa to become our allies?'

'Dear me, no!' Roger shook his head. 'That is too much to hope for. But, given a month or so there as a private tra­veller, I could secure knowledge of all the Portuguese defences and the weak spots in them. That could ensure a French expedition's getting ashore with few casualties and seizing the colony without serious opposition, as a valuable base for future operations.'

After a moment's thought, Gardane replied, 'You are right. A French force based on Goa could be of immense advantage in the campaign. And an expert such as you, able to advise how to capture it without heavy losses, would prove a most valuable asset.'

Roger stood up and bowed. 'Mon General, I am happy that you should approve my idea, although it means that, for a while at least, we must terminate our pleasant association. To conclude your negotiations with the Shah and ensure the continuance of his goodwill, can hardly be done in less than a fortnight. Moreover, our routes to India will be different, as I propose to make for the Portuguese trading station at the head of the Gulf, from which it should not be difficult to secure a passage direct to Goa. There is, therefore, no point in my remaining on here, and the sooner I can get to work in Goa, the better. So I propose to make arrangements to leave Isfahan as soon as possible.'

The General agreed to that and Roger left the office well satisfied with the way in which his deception had worked. Later, of course, it would be learned by Gardane that he had never gone to Goa; but not for, perhaps, a year or at least many months. By then, if the question ever arose at all, he could easily produce a reason for the change in his plans.

During the past few days he had been unutterably de­pressed; now he felt his old self once more. To set out alone, except for native guides, across hundreds of miles of desert and mountain was to court many dangers. The journey would entail much hardship and privation. But at the end of it was Lisala.

Of Intrigues in Spain

Roger was up at dawn next morning, making his prepara­tions. Caravans for Shiraz left Isfahan daily, and had he really meant to go down to the Gulf, that was the road he would have taken. As it was certain that his brother officers would come to see him off, in order to give credence to his intentions, as told to Gardane, he had no alternative but to take it.

However, he meant to do so for only a dozen miles, then turn back north-west, heading for the city of Najafabad. There he would strike the Silk Road and, following the same route the mission had taken on its outward journey, return to Antioch. This plan entailed an element of risk for, after leav­ing the caravan, he would have to cross some fifty miles of open, and mainly trackless, country. As he always carried a small compass on his travels, he had no fear of losing his way; but, outside her cities, Persia was still a lawless land, with many bands of roving brigands. It was for this reason that merchants always banded together and travelled well armed, in large caravans.

The risk of his being attacked was not a great one, as such bands did not often marauder so close to the capital; and, if he did fall in with one, he would have no merchandise that might tempt it. All the same, he felt that it would be worth the money to provide himself with an armed guard; so he sought out Mesrop and told him in confidence that he was about to set out on a secret mission, for which he needed a guide who knew the country well within fifty miles of Isfahan, a servant and six reliable, armed men who would accompany him to any place he wished to go during the next two days.

The Armenian, who had become his good friend, willingly obliged; so that very evening of August 30th, Roger, clad in the Balkan costume he had acquired in Constantinople, and accompanied by his private escort, joined the caravan for Shiraz. It started from outside the great Bazaar. Gardane and the majority of the officers who had been Roger's compan­ions for many months, came to see him off. They were loath to part with him, and waved him away, wishing him good luck.

During the cool evening hours, the caravan covered some fifteen miles, then made camp for the night. At first light next morning, as preparations were in the making for the next stage of the journey, and the scores of camels being prodded on to their legs, Roger told the caravan leader that he had changed his plans. Then, accompanied by his bodyguard, he left.

By ten o'clock, the heat was so terrific that they had to take shelter in a mud-walled village. The stench in the hovel that the headman courteously led him to rest in was such that he was nearly sick; but he managed to doze there for some hours; then, after a meal prepared by his own men from his own stores, they set out again. Knowing something of the ways of the country, he feared it likely that, while his troop rested, the gravely-polite headman might have sent word to some brigand chief in the neighbourhood that a foreigner with only a light escort was there, and that evening would be on his way north. But this fear proved groundless. Unmolested, at ten o'clock that night, they rode into the city of Najafabad.

Early next morning he enquired of the master of the cara­vanserai about caravans proceeding to Dezful and learned to his annoyance that one was not due to leave until three days later. Further influenced by the knowledge that if he did go with it his progress would have to conform to that of the slow-moving camels, he decided to retain his escort and push on with them.

At the Persian border they refused to accompany him fur­ther; but he secured Mesopotamian Arabs to replace them and, later, Syrians. On one occasion when riding through a rocky gorge, they were fired upon; but, putting their horses into a gallop, succeeded in getting away, the only casualty being one of the escorts who had a bullet through the fleshy part of his left arm. On another occasion Roger woke one night in the desert, to find one of his Syrian escort in his tent, and about to make off with his musket. The attempted theft could well have been the first act in a plan by them all to mutiny and murder him, then make off with whatever money he had. He could not afford to risk that, so he swiftly cocked the pistol he always kept beside him and, as the man was crawling out of the tent, shot him in the back of the head.

After that, he met with no further troubles. There is much truth in the saying: 'He travels fastest who travels alone.' Moreover, he did not stop for two days in Babylon, as Gardane's party had done on the way out. In consequence, he made considerably better time, completing his journey in well under a month, and arriving at the port of Antioch on Sep­tember 26th.

Inured to roughing it, he decided to take the first westward-bound ship available, and next morning went aboard a felucca that was about to sail for Cyprus. There he picked up a small but fast Greek trader bound for Crete. In Heraklion he was delayed two days, but then found better quarters on a Nea­politan brig which carried him to Catania in Sicily. Protected by the British Navy, the island was still ruled by King Ferdinand, who had fled there when the French had chased him out of Naples; so, while in Catania, Roger had to continue to wear his Balkan costume and pose, as he had done since leaving Antioch, as a Bulgarian merchant. But he was lucky in that only a day later he secured a passage to Valencia in a three-masted barque.

On the second evening out, he had cause for considerable anxiety, as the barque was sighted and chased by a Corsair from one of the ports on the Barbary coast. Armed only with six twelve-pounders, the barque could not have put up a pro­longed resistance and, once boarded by a swarm of ferocious Moors, her crew would have been swiftly overwhelmed. But fortunately night was coming on, and she got away under cover of darkness, landing Roger safely at Valencia on Octo­ber 25th.

The difficulties of shaving during his long journey from Isfahan to Antioch had decided him to let his beard grow and, after much thought, by the time he took ship he had formed a plan about how he should proceed when he reached Lisbon. The plan entailed a change of appearance; so he had continued to refrain from shaving, while crossing the Mediter­ranean, and now had a curly brown beard, moustache and side-whiskers.

Up in his room at the inn to which he had been recom­mended, he studied his face in the mirror, and it struck him that the whole of his lower face being covered by hair might give anyone who knew him the impression that he had de­liberated attempted to disguise himself. Sending for hot water and scissors, he first cut his beard short and shaved his chin, then carefully trimmed his moustache to give it a smar­ter appearance. Next, as Spain was France's ally, he got out of his Eastern garments and put on the well-worn uniform that he had brought in his solitary valise.

After he had dined that evening, die heavy expenses of his long journey had reduced his funds to three gold pieces. How­ever, for many years past he had been in the habit of always travelling with a packet of small diamonds in his moneybelt; so, next morning, he sold some of them to a jeweller for a sufficient sum to get him to Lisbon.

There remained the question as to whether he should pro­ceed there by sea, or overland. The former would have been less fatiguing; but his recent narrow escape from being cap­tured by Barbary pirates made him disinclined to risk taking passage in a ship that would have to sail close to the North African coast before passing through the Straits of Gibraltar. In consequence, he elected to cross the Peninsula and, know­ing how bad were the roads in Spain, to take the highway to Madrid; although that entailed a detour from the direct route. Riding post, he set out from Valencia soon after midday and, four days later, on October 30th, he entered the Spanish capital.

On the following morning, he walked round to the French Embassy. Of the porter on the gate he enquired who was now Ambassador there, and was pleased to learn that it was the Marquis de Beauhamais. The Marquis was the brother-in-law of the Empress Josephine by her first marriage, so Roger had met him on many occasions, both at Court and in the more intimate family circle of the Bonapartes. He sent in his name and, a quarter of an hour later, was ushered into the Ambassador's study.

The tall, thin Marquis came out from behind his desk, gave Roger a friendly smile and said, 'Mon cher Breuc! This is a delightful surprise; and, may I add, it is equally surpris­ing to see one of His Majesty's aides-de-camp in such a tra­vesty of his usual brilliant uniform. What brings you here, and in such a sad condition?'

Roger returned the smile. 'It is a long story, Excellency, and an even longer journey from the Emperor's headquarters in Poland via Constantinople to Persia, then from there back to Madrid. Hence the parlous condition of my garments.'

'Persia! That is indeed a far cry. Please to be seated and tell me of it.'

'Willingly, if Your Excellency has the leisure to listen. But I imagine that you must have many matters requiring your attention; so perhaps it would be better to postpone telling my story until a more suitable dme. Meanwhile, I would add that my journey is not yet completed. I am on my way to Lisbon. I called only to pay my respects and, if you will be so obliging, learn from you how things now stand in Europe. For many weeks, while crossing deserts and the Mediter­ranean, I have been deprived of all news. Has His Majesty yet conquered England, or is he making ready to descend on India?'

The Marquis laughed. 'Neither, as yet; although, no doubt, he will do both in due course. He has, however, made yet another of his brothers a monarch. Some months ago, he con­solidated a number of German Principalities into what is now known as the Kingdom of Westphalia, and gave it to Jerome. But there have been no great battles since Friedland.

'In August, Gustavus of Sweden asked- for an armistice. Austria maintains her neutrality. Russia is our ally. Apart from those, His Majesty is the master of the greater part of Europe, either directly or through subservient Governments who dare not defy his wishes. England alone now remains entirely our enemy.'

'And how has the war against perfidious Albion prospered?' Roger enquired.

'Her Navy still rules the oceans; but on land there is little she can do against us. She is war-weary and, until last spring, her Government had no man of spirit in it. The Duke of Port­land then became Prime Minister, with a Mr. Canning as his Foreign Secretary. Canning is a man to watch, for it was he who inspired the only serious blow against France that has been struck for the past year or more.'

'I pray you, tell me of it.'

The Ambassador took a pinch of snuff. 'It concerned Den­mark. After the Treaty of Tilsit, when the Czar became our ally, the British feared that would lead to the closing of the Baltic, and that they would no longer be able to supply the Anglo-Swedish army, which was still maintaining its hold on Stralsund in Pomerania. There was, moreover, the even more important question of the Danish Fleet. The countries under the Emperor's control can send fifty-nine ships of the line to sea. The Czar could give us twenty-four and, had we been able to use the Danes' eighteen, that would have given us parity with Britain; thus giving us the prospect of reversing the decision at Trafalgar.

'France and England vied with each other in offers to in­duce the Danes to become their ally. The Danes wished to remain neutral and refused all overtures. Fearing that the Emperor would invade Denmark and seize her Navy, Mr. Canning initiated swift and violent action. Under Lord Cathcart, he sent the greater part of the British Navy to Copen­hagen, accompanied by General Sir Wellesley with transports carrying a large body of troops. They attempted to overawe the Danes into surrendering their Fleet, by threatening to bombard the city. The Danish Prince Royal gallantly refused to submit Wellesley landed outside the capital with his troops, and eighty-eight vessels of the British Navy proceeded to fire their cannon upon it. The end was inevitable surrender. For six weeks the British occupied the Danish fortifications, then sailed away with the captured Danish Fleet.'

Hiding his delight, Roger remarked, 'It was an unortho­dox procedure to attack a neutral without provocation; but sound strategically.'

'The British paid a price for it, though,' the Marquis smiled. 'In their anxiety to overawe the Danes, they withdrew their troops and warships from the Baltic to assist in the operation. Left unsupported in Stralsund, King Gustavus was compelled to ask terms of Marshal Brune. So Sweden is now out of the war. Moreover, so incensed were the Danes by Britain's high-handed treatment of them that, no sooner had the English evacuated the strong places in the neighbourhood of Copenhagen than they declared war and are now become our valuable allies.'

'That being so,' Roger remarked, 'the only loopholes left in His Majesty's "Continental System" are the ports of Por­tugal.'

'Indeed yes; and long before the Emperor proclaimed his "System", he endeavoured to close them. As far back as '95 he urged the Directory to exert pressure on Spain to coerce Portugal into withdrawing from her alliance with England. In 1801 after he had become First Consul, he renewed his attempts and, ever since, when he has not been occupied with grave matters, he has again taken up the question.'

'It amazes me that over so many years he has not suc­ceeded.'

'There have been many difficulties. The Portuguese are a stubborn people. They cannot be attacked except by an army that first crosses Spanish territory. The ruling families of both France and Spain being Bourbons, the Revolution and sub­sequent execution of Louis XVI provoked the greatest pos­sible antagonism in this country, and led to Spain making war on France. Yet, even after the brief, inglorious campaign of '94, King Carlos paid only lip-service to the treaty forced on him at Basle, and refrained from exerting pressure on Portugal, because his sister is the Princess of Brazil and the wife of the Prince Regent Joao.

'In 1801, France pushed the issue to the point where Por­tugal actually went to war with Spain. Although the Portu­guese were speedily defeated and by the Treaty of Badajoz France should have got what she wanted, Spain never en­forced its terms. For a dozen years past, Portugal has alter­nately given way to Franco-Spanish demands, then slid back into her old alliance with England, made millions as a broker for her merchandise, and allowed her Navy to use Portuguese ports as bases.'

'It seems then that nothing short of an invasion of the Peninsula will finally solve this problem to the satisfaction of the Emperor?'

The Marquis nodded. 'That is the situation; and for its suc­cess we need Spain's full co-operation, instead of the only half-hearted support which the dictator has for so long given us.*

'You refer to Manuel Godoy, the Prince of the Peace? I met him way back in 1790 when I was here as a very young man. I thought Godoy rather charming, and by no means unintelligent.'

'Then you assessed him rightly. Most people regard him as no more than a handsome, stupid oaf with an insatiable lust for wealth, power and pretty women; who, as Queen Maria Luisa's lover, and with the absolute confidence of King Carlos, has ruled Spain for fifteen years. They are wrong. Boundlessly avaricious and lecherous he unquestionably is; but he has ideals and the cunning to defeat those who oppose them. His main objective has always been to keep Spain out of war, and in that has largely succeeded. He has also had the courage to defy the Church, and has broken its previous stranglehold on the country. Due to him there are in Spain today several Institutes which are outside the control of the Church. He put an end to the barbarous Inquisition and ex­pelled the Jesuits. It was he who permitted the Jews to return to Spain. He is a patron of the Arts and has established a fine Botanical Garden. Villainous fellow though he is, I con­fess to a sneaking admiration for him. His attitude towards our master has always been most friendly; yet his reluctance to involve Spain in war has again and again thwarted French interests. And that is sail the situation.'

At that moment a handsome grandfather clock in a comer of the room chimed the half-hour. Glancing in that direction, the Marquis said:

'You were right, mon cher Colonel. This is not the hour to indulge in a lengthy conversation, as I have much to do before leaving for Aranjuez, where the Court is now in residence. But I shall greatly look forward to hearing about your travels when I return tomorrow or the day after. Meanwhile you must, of course, be my guest. Return now to your inn and have your belongings sent here. I will tell my First Secretary, Jules Baudin, to look after you during my absence. I will, too, give you the address of a good tailor who will quickly make for you a new uniform appropriate to your rank.'

Roger gladly accepted these offers, then took his leave. As he went out into the autumn sunshine he was thinking of his previous visit to the Spanish capital. That had been seven­teen years earlier. He had then been desperately in love with Isabella d'Aranda, the daughter of a former Spanish Prime Minister. He recalled their secret meetings in a garden pavi­lion in the grounds of her husband's house out at Aranjuez —the Versailles of Madrid—and how Manuel Godoy had aided their plan to get her husband sent to Paris, as a Special Envoy.

In those days Godoy had been only a Lieutenant of the Flemish Guard; but he was already powerful through the influence he exerted as the lover of Queen Maria Luisa. Roger had thought her the ugliest woman he had ever seen, and she had the reputation of being the most lecherous in Europe. Her husband, King Carlos IV, had then been on the throne only for two years. He was a strange individual; his only interests lay in hunting and playing the violin. He never drank wine or coffee, abhorred tobacco, had never had a mistress, and resolutely closed his eyes to his Queen's flagrant infidelities. For many years he had regarded Godoy as his closest friend, placed absolute trust in his judgment and showered him with honours. In '92 he had created him Duke of Alcudia and in '95, when Godoy had ignominiously brought to a con­clusion the war with France which he had started so reluctant­ly, given him the title of the Prince of Peace.

As it was Roger's business to be well informed about all the Courts in Europe, he marvelled that Godoy had succeeded in maintaining his influence for so long over the nympho­maniac Queen; since she had summoned scores of other lovers to her bed, and he had been equally unfaithful to her. Quite early in their association he had openly boasted to her of his affaire with the beautiful Duchess of Alba; then, when she heaped furious reproaches on him, had given her a beating. He had had two children by the Queen, and taken as his wife the King's young cousin, Maria Theresa of Bourbon. Yet, he kept installed in their palace his principal mistress 'Pepa' Tudo. To his greed and ambition there were no limits. He collected highly-paid offices as other men collected bric-a-brac, and, greatly as he hated the thought of war, he had even suggested to Napoleon that they should dismember Por­tugal into three parts, one of which should be made into a kingdom for himself. Such was the man who for so many years had held the fate of the Peninsula in his hands.

After the siesta, Roger settled his bill at the inn and had his valise sent to the Embassy, where he made the acquaintance of Jules Baudin, a plump and pleasant man. He then repaired to the tailor. Having chosen the material, he was able, being something of an artist, to draw the type of uniform he wished it to be made up into. He also ordered a smart civilian suit and cloak. The man promised that his assistants should work all night, so that Roger could be fitted the next day, and re­ceive delivery the day after that.

Roger then visited a mercer's, a haberdasher's and a hatter's, in order to replenish his sadly-depleted wardrobe and, finally, bought two stout valises in which to transport his new garments.

That evening at the Embassy he was made aware of the power the French wielded in Madrid. It seemed that half the nobility in the city had come to pay court to dc Bcauharnais; as he was absent, they fawned upon Jules Baudin. Napoleon, having looted half Europe of her treasure, could well afford lavish entertainment in his Embassies, so open house was kept, and nearly forty of the callers stayed on to dinner.

Many of them spoke French and Roger had enough Span­ish to converse fairly freely with others who did not. He soon found that they showed no restraint in airing their opinions. All of them hated Godoy, yet shared his reluctance to send an army to coerce the Portuguese into breaking off relations with England. They had had their lesson when Spain had last chal­lenged the mighty sea-power. The British Navy had promptly stopped the treasure ships arriving from South America, and it was upon them that the life of Spain depended. The coun­try had suffered acutely, and thousands of people had gone bankrupt. Should the English again take up the cudgels on behalf of Portugal, those terrible times would be repeated.

Several of them mentioned Prince Ferdinand, the Heir Ap­parent. His loathing for Godoy was so great that, as a means of bringing about the favourite's downfall, he had gone to the length of conspiring against his own father. Godoy had dis­covered the plot in time, so had saved the throne for King Carlos. The Prince had been arrested and, mean creature that he was, to save himself from permanent imprisonment, had denounced all his associates. Yet, even so, these discontented nobles would have happily accepted his rule rather than have Godoy continue in power.

The general consensus of opinion was that there would be no war; because Godoy, for all his villainy and extortions, had twice saved them from it. By one treaty he had bought non-belligerency for Spain by agreeing to furnish two million francs a month towards Napoleon's war chest. Later, in an­other treaty, he had agreed to raise the contribution to six million. Therefore, the nobles argued, even if it cost Spain still more, he would somehow wriggle out of sending troops into Portugal.

With few exceptions, Roger thought them a stiff-necked, bigoted lot, so blinded by their hatred for Godoy that they had lost all sense of reality.

Three days elapsed before the Ambassador returned from Aranjuez, but Roger was not troubled by the delay. Having nearly completed his journey, he now felt that he had a good margin of time in hand before arriving in Lisbon; because de Pombal's party had gone round Arabia and up the Red Sea, so were not likely to reach the Portuguese capital much before mid-November. Meanwhile, he enjoyed strolling about Madrid, and put up with the inanities of the small-minded hidalgos who frequented the Embassy.

On the evening of the day that de Beauharnais did get back to Madrid, he and Roger enjoyed a long, private talk. Roger gave a skilfully-edited account of his travels, then they dis­cussed at length the pros and cons of the threat to Portugal. To wind up, the Ambassador said:

'In spite of all this banging of drums, I think it very un­likely that it will come to war in the Peninsula. If former occasions of a similar nature are anything to go by, it certainly will not. On one such, the Emperor wrote to a predecessor of mine here: "Tell King Carlos that, unless he complies with my demands, he will be the last Bourbon to occupy a throne." But nothing came of it. Godoy bought him off by offering a greatly-increased subsidy, and the odds are that is what will happen again.'

Roger was not fully convinced. On those previous occa­sions Napoleon had had bigger fish to fry; so it had suited him to let Spain off the hook, at a price. But now he was not engaged in any great campaign, not a musket was being fired throughout all Europe, and he had a very powerful army at his disposal. Moreover, for the past year and more, he had been concentrating on perfecting his 'Continental System'. Now that the ports of Denmark and Sweden were closed to British shipping, those of Portugal remained the only leak. It was argued that he would think more than once about sending an army into the desolate and mountainous wastes of Spain, where it would find little to live on. But he had not hesitated to send one into the equally barren snow-covered lands of Poland. As he went to bed, Roger could only pray, for Lisala's sake that the Ambassador's appreciation of the situation was right.

Resplendent now in the brilliant new uniform the tailor had made for him, he spent another day in Madrid, intending next morning to set out on the road for Lisbon. That evening, on his note of hand as one of the Emperor's people, he drew from Baudin as large a sum in gold as he could without dis­comfort carry in his money-belt, and shortly afterwards went to bed.

It was an hour after midnight when de Beauharnais sud­denly appeared in Roger's bedroom, clad in a chamber robe and clutching a paper in his hand. Roger was just drifting off to sleep. Rousing himself, he exclaimed:

'What is it, Excellency? What brings you here?'

'Mon Colonel, as you are proceeding to Lisbon, I thought you should know of this without delay,' the Ambassador replied tersely. 'I have just received a despatch by fast cour­ier. On the 27th of last month a treaty was signed at Fontainebleau. Spain is to join France in a war against Portugal. That country is to be divided into three parts. France takes the central section, the Emperor's puppet the King of Etruria is to receive the north in exchange for his Italian lands, so that they may be merged with the greater territories already under the direct rule of France, and Godoy is to be given the southern section as a kingdom for himself. But more. The Emperor has secretly massed an army of thirty thousand men in the neighbourhood of Bayonne. General Junot is in com­mand. He has already crossed the Pyrenees and his orders are to drive with all possible speed on Lisbon.'

To Be or Not to Be?

At dawn next morning Roger was to horse. Now that the die had been cast, he felt that he ought to lose no time in getting to Lisbon and finding out the situation there. He knew that Junot would move as fast as the terrain permitted. For him this was not only a matter of pleasing his master. It was a personal affair.

Andoroche Junot, now Due d'Abrantes, had been one of Napoleon's sergeants when he had been a junior officer of Artillery at the siege of Toulon; then when promoted, Bona­parte had made him his first A.D.C. Later, when the Corsican was living on a shoe-string in Paris, Junot had frequently given him bed and board and lent him money. In view of Napoleon's well-known attribute of never forgetting, and al­ways rewarding old friends, it had surprised everyone that, when he had announced the names of the Generals he had selected to become Marshals of the Empire, he had not in­cluded that of Junot. But, when choosing the men he had made Marshals, Napoleon had been influenced by three things. Either, like Bernadotte, they must be kept sweet be­cause they were politically dangerous; or, like Massena, be rewarded because they had led their troops to victory in great campaigns; or—at least like Davoust and Bessieres—shown that they had the qualities needed to command an army in the field.

Poor Junot had none of these qualifications. He was just a brave but not very intelligent soldier; so he had been given the sop of being made a Duke and the Military Governor of Paris. But now, as Roger saw it, in this new campaign, where there could be no opposition from a formidable enemy army, the Emperor was giving his old friend a chance to win his Marshal's baton. That meant that Junot would drive his troops to the limit, in order to reach Lisbon at the earliest possible moment.

Three days after leaving Madrid, Roger reached Alencantares, a few miles short of the Portuguese frontier. At the inn there he again studied his face in a mirror. Side-whiskers, ending in fine 'mutton-chops' graced both cheeks, and a short moustache brushed up at each end gave him the look of a man in the latest fashion; but he was not entirely satisfied that this had sufficiently changed his appearance.

While in Madrid he had bought from an apothecary a bottle of hair dye which, had he used it indiscriminately, could have turned his hair ginger. Adding only a few drops to a basin of water, he proceeded to rinse his hair. To his satisfaction, this resulted in giving his normally brown hair, with its white wings above the ears, just sufficient tint to suggest that either his mother or father had been a red-head.

He then changed into his civilian suit, and went downstairs to cat a dinner, the main course of which was so highly fla­voured with garlic that, after a few mouthfuls, he had to abandon it and make do on fruit.

At the frontier next day he presented himself as Mr. Roger Brook, an English gentleman of means travelling for pleasure; and explained his being unattended by saying that a few days earlier his servant had met with an accident, and would re­join him as soon as he was well enough to leave hospital. At that period many wealthy English 'milor's' spent a month or more in Portugal during the winter, and were always wel­come; so no difficulties were made about Roger's proceed­ing. On the 10th November, he reached Lisbon and took a room at the Leao d'ouro.

That evening, feeling certain that the Foreign Office would know if such a distinguished diplomat as the Marquis de Pombal had returned to Portugal, Roger had himself taken there in a sedan chair, and asked to see someone in the East­ern department. After a prolonged wait, he was taken up­stairs and a junior official dealt with his enquiry. De Pombal had not arrived, and no news of him had been received for several months.

Momentarily Roger was shaken by the awful thought that the ship in which the beautiful Lisala was sailing might have been wrecked or captured by pirates. But he swiftly re­assured himself. After all, he had not expected that she would reach Lisbon before him, and during their long voyage her father would have had no means of communicating with the Foreign Minister.

Roger's next visit was to the British Legation. There he learned that the Minister en poste was Viscount Strangford. Roger had never met him, but knew him by repute. While still a young man he had made quite a name for himself in the literary world, through translating the poems of Luis de Camoens from the Portuguese. They were of a sentimental nature, well calculated to appeal to the romantic-minded young ladies of that day, so enjoyed a great vogue.

Having sent in his name, with a message to the effect that he had a communication of some interest to make, Roger was informed by a secretary that His Excellency would re­ceive him at six o'clock the following evening.

Never before having been in the Portuguese capital, Roger spent the next day first driving round the city, then entering into casual conversation with several people in the parlour of his inn. All of them were aware that the future of their country had again become precarious; but none of them yet knew that Napoleon had already launched an army for its conquest. Having during the past six years been menaced by France and Spain on several occasions and nothing having come of it, the general opinion of the Portuguese was that the present crisis would also blow over.

Roger found them pro-British to a man. Portugal's most valuable export was the port wine from Oporto, at the mouth of the Douro, the second largest city in Portugal, and almost an English colony. In Lisbon, too, there was a whole section of the city known as Buenos Aires, in which lived hundreds of British merchants.

The British were also far more numerous and popular in Portuguese society than the wealthy of any other nation. For many years the genial Prince Augustus, Duke of Sussex, had wintered in Portugal and many English nobles had villas there.

That evening Roger was received by Lord Strangford. The diplomat's age was then twenty-seven. He was a handsome man, whose aquiline nose, firm, thin-lipped mouth and cleft chin gave him the appearance of a born aristocrat. His hair was red, and his eyes bright blue, but set rather too close to­gether. It was evident that he had a very high opinion of him­self, and Roger was not favourably impressed by his lazy and rather pompous manner.

Having made his bow, Roger said, 'Normally, I would not have troubled Your Lordship by requesting an interview; but have only left my name as a British subject who has arrived in Lisbon. However, I have come from Madrid, and felt that it might interest you to know the present situation there.'

'Indeed,' the Minister replied a shade coldly. 'That was good of you, Mr. Brook. But I am extremely busy, and if it is only gossip that you have picked up, I doubt if it could be of much value to me.'

Roger's object in securing an interview was to find out what was going on in Portugal's highest circles; so, instead of showing resentment at this snub, he smiled and said:

'Would Your Lordship regard it as mere gossip if I stated that on October 27th a treaty was signed at Fontainebleau by which, in return for the southern part of Portugal as a king­dom, the Prince of Peace has sold out his country; and that General Junot, with an army of thirty thousand men, has already crossed the Pyrenees on his march to Lisbon?'

Strangford's bright eyes opened wide in surprise. 'How in heaven's name, did you come to learn of this in Madrid, days, nay a week ago, when I had news of it only this morn­ing?'

Roger shrugged. 'Since I was a youth I have spent at least half my time travelling on the Continent. During those years I have made the acquaintance of Kings and Ministers. In Madrid, as in numerous other capitals, I have old friends who, at times, tell me things that they should keep secret. I also have powerful friends in England, Mr. Canning among them.'

The Minister's attitude underwent a sudden change. *You must forgive me, Mr. Brook, for having underrated the infor­mation you may be able to give me. I should be glad to have it. Be pleased to take a chair.'

Sitting down, Roger gave an account of all that he had gathered in Madrid: the universal hatred of Godoy, the abor­tive conspiracy of Prince Ferdinand to usurp his father's throne, the reluctance of the Spaniards to be forced into going to war again, and numerous other matters that might in­fluence Spanish policy.

When he had done, as he had hoped would be the case, Strangford began to talk freely of the situation with him. Heav­ing a sigh the Minister said:

'At the moment I find my position here one of the utmost difficulty. On account of my knowledge of Portuguese, I was sent out in 1802 as First Secretary to the Legation. In 1806, I was promoted to Minister Plenipotentiary. The Portuguese received me most kindly and have a high opinion of me. No diplomat could have occupied a more congenial post, but for one thing—his dealings with the royal family.

'As you must know, Queen Maria is completely mad. Her heir, Don Joao, Prince of Brazil, took over the reins of govern­ment from her in 1792, and formally became Prince Regent in '99. But he is nearly as mad as his mother. He is only thirty-eight, yet as timid, irresolute and as incapable of standing up to any threat as would be a palsied old man of eighty.

'For years past he has hovered and wavered under pressure from France and Britain, upon which side to come down. If only he would make a firm decision, we would know where we are, and could act accordingly. The certainty that, when less occupied with more important matters, Bonaparte would invade Portugal and push him off his throne, has led us to urge him, time and again, to retain his sovereignty by with­drawing to his Empire in the Americas.

'Bonaparte sent here as his Ambassador that uncouth fire­brand, Marshal Lannes, to bully him into submission. Lannes was followed by Junot, charged with the same mission. We succeeded in thwarting them by sending a fleet under Lord Cathcart to menace Lisbon from the mouth of the Tagus if Don Joao gave way.

'Last year Lord Rosslyn, and our great Admiral Lord St. Vincent, arrived here for the special purpose of persuading him to leave for Brazil under British protection. It was even suggested that, on some pretext, he should be got down to the harbour and forcibly abducted in a boat; but they had to abandon the project.

'And now we are faced with the final crisis. Bonaparte's troops are actually on their way. In the intelligence I received this morning, there was a quotation from a recent issue of the Moniteur. The Corsican is reported to have declared: "The house of Braganza has ceased to rule in Europe." Within a few weeks, that may well be. If only he could be persuaded to put his trust in Britain, Don Joao could remain Emperor of Brazil. Yet this flabby-willed Prince continues to shilly­shally, and I am at my wits' end how to persuade him to con­tinue as a Sovereign, instead of throwing away everything.'

For another half-hour they continued talking then, having become fully convinced of Roger's intimacy with many lead­ing statesmen and wide knowlege of international affairs at the highest level the Minister invited him to dine two nights hence, and they parted in friendly fashion.

By midday next day it had leaked out that the French were sending an army to invade Portugal. Rumours of all kinds were rife and the whole city buzzed with excited apprehen­sion.

On the evening of the.13th, Roger went again to the British Legation. He, and several other people who had been invited to dine that night, were told that the Minister was still out at Queluz with the Prince Regent, and it was not known when he would get back. The others accepted that the dinner was off, and took their departure; but Roger decided to stay on.

With grim determination he sat in an ante-room until close on midnight. At last Strangford came in. He looked harassed to distraction and evidently felt the urge to pour out his woe into a sympathetic ear; for, on seeing Roger, he said wearily, 'Come in, Mr. Brook. Come in and join me in a glass of wine. God knows I need one.'

When they were seated in his study and the wine had been poured, Strangford exclaimed, 'What a day! Oh! what a day! I argued with him for hours. No man could have done more to make the poor fool see sense. But the game is lost.'

'You mean,' asked Roger, 'that Don Joao has given way to the French?'

The Minister nodded. 'Yes. This morning he received an ultimatum from Talleyrand. It demanded that I and my staff should be given our passports, that all Portuguese ports should be closed to British shipping, that all British subjects should be expelled and that their goods should be confiscated.'

'Stap me!' Roger cried. 'To require the closing of the ports and the expulsion of our people is a legitimate war aim. But the seizure of their goods would be barefaced robbery. What did His Highness say to that?'

'The spineless creature created a terrible scene, and began to cry like a child. I told him about Bonaparte's having de­clared that the House of Braganza had ceased to reign; and begged him to preserve his sovereign status by letting us take him to Brazil. At that he jumped up and ran to and fro like a crazy man, yelling, "But I love it here. I have never loved Queluz so much, and you want to take me from it."

'He then ran to his mother's apartment. It being no time to observe protocol, I followed him. Falling on his knees in front of her, he implored her advice. For many years the poor old woman has been incapable of giving advice to anyone. She is convinced that when she dies she will go to hell, and thinks of nothing else. Pushing him away, she cried, "The fires! The fires of the inferno. There is no escaping them!"

'Picking himself up, he staggered to his wife's room and gasped out to her the terrible quandary in which he found himself. She at least behaved like a daughter of Spain; tore off her mantilla, threw it at him and cursed him for a miser­able coward.

'The Foreign Minister, d'Aranjo, then arrived. After a while he succeeded in quietening the Prince. They decided that the ultimatum must be accepted and an ordinance pub­lished to give it effect. But that the British should be given some days to get their goods away. Five times the Prince sat down at his desk to sign the ordinance d'Aranjo had pre­pared, and five times threw his pen away; but at last he did sign it, and went off in a flood of tears to don a hair shirt in the monastery. The best I could do was to persuade d'Aranjo that he would at once set about having a fleet prepared in case, at the last moment, the Prince changed his mind and decided to go to Brazil; though I think there is little likeli­hood of such a fleet ever crossing the Atlantic.'

There was nothing Roger could say to console the de­pressed Minister for this major diplomatic defeat; so, having expressed his sympathy and offered his services to help if the Legation had to be evacuated, he bade Strangford good night.

On the 14th, the ordinance was published. The Portuguese were aghast at the news that a French army actually was on its way to Lisbon, and in the English quarter pandemonium ensued. In the so-called 'Factory', where British goods were stored, there were many thousands of pounds' worth of mer­chandise, and to get it all away in the space of a few days was impossible. To add to the desperate plight of these long-established traders, the rates for shipping space rose within a few hours to unprecedented heights and soared still higher when it became known that the Government had comman­deered a large number of ships; although the reason for this action was not disclosed.

For three days these unfortunate people fought ruin and despair with all the energy they could command. Many sold their goods to the Portuguese at great loss, all of them dis­mantled their houses with frantic haste, packing their most valuable possessions to take with them if they could, and arranging to store others with Portuguese friends.

Then, on the 17th, things took a new turn. A British squad­ron appeared on the scene and dropped anchor in the mouth of the Tagus. This caused great rejoicing among both the English and the Portuguese, as they expected a force to be landed that would protect Lisbon from the French. Roger was not so sanguine; for, since the publishing of the Royal ordinance, Portugal and Britain had been, at least techni­cally, at war. It therefore followed that, unless Don Joao was prepared to bring down on his unhappy head the wrath of Napoleon, and so reap the worst of both worlds, he would have to order his forts to open lire on any British troops that attempted to come ashore.

However, that night Roger learned to his delight that the Admiral commanding the squadron was Sir Sidney Smith, an old friend of his and a sailor of exceptional initiative. Sir Sidney had won glory aiding King Gustavus of Sweden in his war against Russia. Later, when commanding a flotilla of British small craft with orders to clear the Channel of French privateers, he had led his ships' boats into the mouth of the river Seine at night, in a daring endeavour to capture an enemy lugger. He had succeeded, but she had been caught in a flood tide and carried upstream; so in the morning, fired on from all sides by French troops, he had been compelled to surrender. He was taken to Paris and for two years had been a prisoner in the Temple. But he had managed to escape. Like Roger, he could speak many languages; and, on one occasion, to secure information about the state of things in Morocco, he had gone ashore and lived there for a time, disguised as an Arab.

When the main British Fleet was based on Naples Sir Sid­ney had three frigates which had been detached for duty at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. Technically, he was under Nelson, who was extremely jealous of him; but, re­garding his superior as too distant to appreciate the local situa­tion, he had ignored him. It was then that Sir Sidney had inflicted the greatest defeat on Napoleon ever achieved by the British, with the one, much later, exception of Waterloo. Napoleon's army was advancing from Egypt up the coast of Palestine, with the object of capturing Constantinople, and dared not leave the great Turkish stronghold of Acre uncaptured in its rear; so laid siege to it. Sir Sidney had sent his sailors ashore and the guns from his ships, and succeeded

in holding Acre until the French army, decimated by unsuc­cessful assaults and wasted by disease, had been compelled to retire on Egypt. That achievement had altered the course of history.

It was during the siege of Acre that Roger had met Sir Sidney, and supplied him with most valuable information. In consequence, they were not only close friends, but the Admiral was one of the very few people who knew that Roger had a dual identity, and was a secret agent.

Next morning, Roger had himself rowed out to the flag­ship, H.M.S. Hibernia. After receiving him with surprise and delight, the Admiral took him to his stateroom, poured two glasses of Malaga wine and asked with a laugh, 'Do I drink with Mr. Roger Brook or M. le Colonel de Breuc?'

'I'm Mr. Brook at the moment,' Roger grinned back. 'But less than a fortnight ago I was living as the guest of the French Ambassador in Madrid.'

'Then I have hopes that you bring me news of special value.'

'Nothing of real importance, I fear; but I can inform you of the state of things in both the Spanish and Portuguese capitals.'

'Go to it then, friend. In me you have an eager listener.'

During the half-hour that followed, Roger gave the Ad­miral a precis of the information he had acquired, then Sir Sidney said:

'My Lord Strangford came off to see me last night. I think little of his slushy poems and still less of his ability to carry out his mission. The fellow has no guts, and what is needed here is a man who will threaten this craven Prince with death and damnation unless he does as we wish.'

Roger nodded. 'I agree. And now that you are arrived it may not be too late to force him to change his decision.'

'Since he is now at war with us, I have it in mind to bom­bard the city.'

'That would be hard on the Portuguese.'

'Perhaps; but it might bring him to his senses.'

The conversation got no further, because a Midshipman, sent by the Officer of the Watch, arrived to report that a barge carrying the Minister was coming alongside.

Sir Sidney, followed by Roger, went out on to the quarter deck to receive him. On coming aboard, after exchanging courtesies with the Admiral, Strangford gave Roger a some­what disapproving look. No doubt recalling the way in which fatigue and despondency had led him into making a confidant of Roger five nights earlier, he said:

'Good morning, Mr. Brook. Your presence indicates that, for a private citizen, you take an exceptional interest in our affairs.'

The Admiral laughed and clapped Roger on the back. 'A private citizen he may be, milord, but quite an exceptional one. He is an old friend of mine. We were together at the siege of Acre, and I know no man I'd rather have beside me at a time of crisis.'

Roger acknowledged the compliment with a bow, and Strangford replied, 'Then I'll not question the wisdom of his being present at our consultations.'

They adjourned to the stateroom. Wine was poured and, as Strangford sipped at his, he said wearily, 'I pray God that I never again have to live through such days as are just past. The Legation has been besieged by scores of our nationals, begging my help to save their properties; but there was naught I could do for them. This morning I decided that to remain longer would only embarrass my Portuguese friends; so I had the Royal Arms removed from above the door of the Lega­tion, and am come with my most important papers to take refuge here.'

Sir Sidney bowed. 'You are welcome, milord. I'll give or­ders for accommodation to be prepared for you and your people. But surely the game is not yet up? For months past, there has been an understanding between the Portuguese Court and Whitehall that, should such a situation as the present arise, the Prince Regent would retire under British protection to Brazil; and we must hold him to it.'

Strangford shrugged. 'I have done my utmost; but terror of the French has decided this miserable man to rat upon his promise.'

'Maybe we'll bring him to honour it yet,' replied the Ad­miral grimly. For upwards of an hour they discussed ways and means of bringing pressure on Don Joao.

Afterwards, as Roger was about to go ashore, the Admiral offered him quarters in Hibernia. Having thanked him, Roger said, 'Later, should events justify it, I will gladly accept your hospitality. But I have a certain private matter to settle in the city, so I shall remain there as long as possible.'

The private matter was, of course, Lisala; and he had long since arranged with an official at the docks to let him know at once should a ship come in carrying the de Pombal party.

Next day the eagerly-awaited message was brought to him by a longshoreman. Unless some evil fate had stricken Lisala during the long journey from Isfahan, she was now once again within easy reach of his arms that had for so long ached to embrace her.

Accompanying the longshoreman back to the dock, he made urgent enquiries, and learned that Lisala was with her father and aunt.

The Biter Bit

On receiving that assurance, Roger's heart began to pound with relief and joy. His beloved had survived the hazards of the voyage and very soon now he would gaze again on her bewitch­ing face and form. He was greatly tempted to hurry down to the dock to see her land, but resisted it because, for her to have recognised him prematurely, could have proved extremely awk­ward. She and her family had known him as M. le Chevalier de Breuc, a member of the French mission, whereas he was now an English Admiral's son. That could be explained away only in carefully-prepared circumstances.

Instead of remaining on the dock, he had himself driven out to the de Pombal mansion. It was a fine house, standing in its own grounds on the outskirts of the city. He had already been out there several times, both to gaze with sentimental longing at Lisala's home and to reconnoitre the garden walls, with the possibility in view that a night might come when he would climb over to keep a secret rendezvous with her.

Now, he had his carriage pull up fifty yards short of the big, wrought-iron main gates. An hour went by, then another. At length his patience was rewarded. A cavalcade, consisting of two coaches followed by three wagons, appeared at the far end of the street. Evidently a messenger had been sent ahead with news that the family had landed, for the gates were opened by a gardener.

As the first coach turned in through the gates, Roger saw the Marquis clearly, then he caught just a glimpse of his di­vinity, and her aunt, on the back seat. Again a surge of relief and delight ran through him. His prayers that no fell disease might strike Lisala during the long voyage, had been answered.

The problem now was how to present himself. Suddenly it struck him that he had been absurdly lax in not already hav­ing thought out a way to do so during the past week. Before that, social life in Lisbon had continued normally. He had taken it for granted that when Lisala did arrive, he would find no difficulty in coming face to face with her at the Opera or at some reception to which he could get himself invited. But since the publication of the Royal ordinance, all normal activities had ceased. There were no Court functions, all places of public entertainment were closed; so, too, were many of the biggest mansions, their owners having retired to country estates from dread of the coming of the French army. That night, he racked his brains in vain for some means by which, without approaching her direct, he could appear before her.

Next day, as he again went off to the Hibernia, he happened to recall one of his Portuguese acquaintances mentioning that when Lord St. Vincent's fleet had been in Lisbon, the Admiral had kept open house in his flagship, and that hundreds of Por­tuguese gentry had been entertained in her and other vessels. He wondered for a moment if he could get Sir Sidney to give a party and include the dc Pombals in his invitations. But he dismissed the thought as impossible almost as soon as it entered his head. Theoretically, at least, Portugal was now at war with Britain.

On reaching Hibernia, he learned that the Admiral was not aboard and might not be back for some hours, as he had only just left to carry out an inspection of one of his other ships. Strangford was in the stateroom, lazily scanning a book of Portuguese verse. After a short conversation, Roger realised that no new plan to get the better of the French was in the making, and it was obvious that His Lordship had given up. Again obsessed with his own problem, Roger had himself rowed back to the city.

That afternoon a possible way of solving it at last came to him. When in Isfahan, a Catholic chaplain had celebrated Mass every morning in the Embassy. No doubt here in Lisbon the de Pombals attended Mass daily at home in a private chapel; but on Sunday, all the odds were that they would go to church. If so, that could provide him with the sort of situa­tion he was so eager to bring about. As it was a Friday, he would have to wait for two days before he could put his. plan into execution, but at least he now had something to hope for.

He had been greatly tempted to loiter in the neighbourhood of the de Pombal mansion, on the chance of catching another glimpse of Lisala; but had resisted it because the last thing he wanted was to be recognised hanging about near the gate. On the Saturday, to keep his mind off this temptation, he again went out to the Hibernia. Neither Sir Sidney nor Strangford had any news for him, but the former invited him to remain on board for dinner.

It proved a somewhat gloomy meal, as Strangford was much more adept at showing his handsome person off in a mixed society, composed mainly of women, than participating in doing his share of hard drinking with men; and Roger found it difficult to keep his mind on the conversation. But he more than did justice to the Admiral's port and, when rowed ashore, was distinctly mellow.

Nevertheless, he was up by five the following morning, as there was the possibility that the de Pombals might attend early Mass. When the closed carriage which he had ordered pulled up not far from the gates of the de Pombal mansion, there were still only a few people about, and he settled down to wait with as much patience as he could. From time to time he took out his big turnip watch and the minute hand seemed positively to crawl. But at last his patience was rewarded. A large, gilded coach appeared; the Marquis and two ladies were in it. He could not see their faces, but had little doubt that Lisala was one of them. His driver already had his instructions, and they followed the coach to the Church of San Miguel.

As the de Pombal party alighted, Roger's heart gave a happy bound. One of the ladies was Lisala, the other her elderly duenna. The two footmen who had been perched on the stand at the back of the coach took prie-dieus for their master and the ladies from the boot, and the whole party went up the steps of the church. As soon as they had disappeared inside it, Roger paid off his coachman and entered after them.

As was usual in those days, the church had no pews, so the majority of the congregation was standing. Roger took up a strategic position in accordance with his plan, beside the holy-water stoup, which was just inside the main door. Now he was filled with impatience and could hardly wait until the service was over.

At last the genuflecting and intoning ceased and, after final bobs in the direction of the high altar, the worshippers turned about, to leave by the door. For an agonising two minutes Roger waited as the crowd flowed past, then he saw the de Pombals coming towards him. Lisala's hand was resting on her father's arm and her eyes were demurely cast down. The Mar­quis was exchanging politenesses with an acquaintance, so he did not notice Roger dip his fingers in the holy-water stoup and extend his hand so that Lisala could not fail to see it.

The practice of a stranger offering Holy Water to a lady after she had attended Mass was very common and nobody thought anything of it. Many years before, Roger had made use of the custom to pass notes to the beautiful Athenais de Rochambeau; but now he had no billet-doux palmed in his hand.

To his consternation Lisala touched his fingers, but did not look up. For a moment his heart dropped like lead. She was about to move on without even a glance at him. His ruse had failed. Then the Marquis, reacting to Lisala's brief pause, turned and looked straight into Roger's face. Halting, he ex­claimed :

'It can't be! Yes, it must be, le Chevalier de Breuc.'

Roger bowed, shook his head, then smiled. 'No, Senhor. You are mistaken. But I understand the reason for your error. It has happened to me many times before. You have taken me for my French cousin. My name is Roger Brook; and I am an Englishman.'

Lisala and the Senhora Christina were now also staring at Roger. With a little gasp, Lisala exclaimed, 'But this is in­credible! The likeness! We are recently arrived from Isfahan and . . . and came to know Colonel Breuc well there. You might be his twin.'

'True, Senhorita, people have often said that.' Roger laughed. 'Our fathers were twins, and my cousin and I were born within a month of each other; he at Strasbourg and my­self in England. Our fathers were so devoted that they even decided to have us christened by the same first name. But may I know whom I have the honour of addressing?'

'I am the Marquis dc Pombal, and this is my daughter,' said Lisala's father.

'De Pombal,' repeated Roger with a bow. 'A famous name. I am honoured indeed. My only regret is that I should have come to Lisbon in such unhappy times. Since you are acquainted with my cousin, it may be that you will consider that sufficient introduction and permit me to call upon you. I am attached to the staff of Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, and find life with the Fleet exceeding dull.'

'Why, yes.' The Marquis smiled. 'By all means do so. I shall be happy to receive you.'

Turning, they left the church together, followed by Lisala's old duenna. Roger escorted the party to their coach and, with many bows, watched them drive off.

When they had disappeared, he drew a long breath and took stock of the situation. His ruse had worked. He felt con­fident that his plausible story, backed by his slightly tinted hair and now flowing side-whiskers, had fooled the Marquis and Senhora de Jahlo. But he was not so certain about Lisala. The great thing was that contact had been established. It was now up to him to consolidate his position.

On the following afternoon he paid his call. The Marquis was out but, after waiting some while in a pillared, marble hall, he was shown through into a spacious drawing room, with wide windows leading out on to a stone terrace, beyond which there was a lovely garden.

At one end of the room, Lisala and her aunt were seated on a sofa. Roger very nearly made the blunder of bowing first to the Senhora de Arahna; but realised in time that he was not supposed to know her. Lisala curtsied in response to the graceful 'leg' he made, then presented him to her aunt, who had been told of the meeting in church. She received him pleasantly and invited him to sit down.

To begin with they talked of Roger's remarkable resem­blance to his French cousin. He then enquired about their journey from Isfahan. They had suffered severely from the in­tense heat while sailing round Arabia and up the Red Sea and, on one occasion, after passing the Straits of Gibraltar, had been terrified that their ship would go down in a violent storm. In other respects, the voyage had been monotonous, but un­eventful.

Roger's first objective was to convey to Lisala that he was in fact her lover. As a means of doing so, he questioned them about Persia, then said, 'I have never been there, but have heard much about its marvels from a friend of mine who has travelled widely in the East. One of the greatest wonders that he told me of was about a mosque a few miles outside Isfahan, with minarets that shake.'

His remark could convey nothing special to the Senhora de Arahna; but it was immediately after visiting the mosque that he and Lisala had gone up the hill, at the top of which there was a Zoroastrian Fire Temple and, in a cave beneath it, enjoyed their first passionate embraces.

As he spoke, he was looking straight at her. She smiled and replied with a little laugh, 'Indeed, that is so. Your cousin took me to see that mosque and afterwards up a hill with many caves, some of which were inhabited by hermits.'

He felt certain then that she had received his message. But the next fence he had to take was the much suffer one of ar­ranging a rendezvous with her. For the purpose he had brought with him a small, three-cornered billet-doux, which said: I shall come in over the garden wall tonight at midnight, and will hoot like an owl. Meet me there if you possibly can. I adore you.

However, to get it to her was another matter. He had hoped that refreshments would be sent for, and that he might man­age to pass it to her under cover while offering her a plate of cakes. But when wine and cakes were brought in they were handed round by a footman who remained in attendance; so Roger was deprived of the opportunity he had hoped for.

For a while they talked of the terrible dilemma with which the Prince Regent had been faced: either to remain in Por­tugal and probably be deposed by the French, or accept the protection of the English and go to Brazil. Then Roger felt that without appearing ill bred and so jeopardising his pros­pects of being received there again, he dared not much exceed the regulation twenty minutes for a first call. A prey to acute frustration, he stood up to take his leave. To have palmed the billet-doux into Lisala's hand as he kissed it could not pos­sibly be done without her aunt seeing the manoeuvre; so he did not attempt it.

A moment later, inspiration came to him. Glancing out of the tall window, he said, 'What a lovely garden you have. And that pavilion over there; how enchanting and romantic. I'd vow that if one were there at midnight, one would see the ghosts of past lovers reuniting.'

It could hardly fail to be a bullseye shot. He and Lisala were past lovers and surely Mr. Roger Brook was the ghost of Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc?

Seven hours later, wearing a long, dark cloak, his white cravat and the greater part of his face hidden by a silk scarf, Roger approached the garden wall. He had reconnoitred it again after leaving the mansion that afternoon and had found a place where, by climbing on to the roof of a shack, he could easily reach its top. On the opposite side there was a large nispero tree. Launching himself forward, he grasped the near­est branch, hauled himself along it and scrambled to the ground.

Cautiously he made his way forward until, from behind a screen of flowering shrubs, he could see the house. A light showed only in one upper window. Treading very carefully, he advanced to the back of the pavilion, then made his way round it to a verandah that faced the house and overlooked a lily pool. As he stepped on the verandah, a board creaked. There came the soft rustle of silk garments and a quick, light step. A figure emerged from the shadowed porch. Next mo­ment he had Lisala in his arms.

He had come prepared to give her an immediate explana­tion of his change of nationality. But when, after their first long kiss, he began, 'I must tell you ...', she whispered breath­lessly, 'Later; later,' and, clutching his hand, drew him inside the pavilion.

There was only a sliver of moon, but it gave enough light for him dimly to make out that the central room was furnished with cane easy chairs and a long settee. On the latter, in pre­paration for his coming, she had piled all the cushions from the chairs. As they embraced again, her hands ran eagerly over him; then she threw herself down on her back on the cushions. She had on only a long, fur robe and beneath it a nightdress. Panting with desire, she threw wide the robe and pulled the nightdress up above her waist. By then Roger, no whit less eager, had undone his breeches and thrust them down. As he bent above her, she clasped her arms round his neck and drew him on to her. They came together with the same de­lirious, blind abandon that had overwhelmed them that first time in the cave.

When it was over, they remained locked together and lay, panting heavily, for several minutes; then Lisala pushed Roger from her, sat up, drew her robe about her and said, 'Oh God, how I have longed for you these past two months; and how happy I am that you should have followed me to Lisbon. But now tell me. Explain to me this extraordinary mystery of your having transformed yourself into an Englishman.'

Still a litde breathlessly, Roger began, 'My dearest love, you are to me as a magnet to a lodestone. How could I not follow you anywhere? But to rejoin you openly I had to make use of my early life of which, while in Persia, I told you noth­ing. I am, in fact, an Englishman and the son of an Admiral. My father attempted to force me to make the Royal Navy my career. But I hated the thought, so in my teens I ran away to France.

'After a variety of experiences, I joined the French Army and was lucky enough to receive rapid promotion. I have served the Emperor well, but have never fought against my own countrymen. The French believe me to be a Frenchman born in Strasbourg; but I have several times been back to Eng­land and have numerous friends there. Naturally, they have no idea that I am also a Colonel in the French Army; and I account for my long absences by having led them to believe that, sometimes for several years, I am travelling in distant parts. Knowing the situation here, I felt certain that your father would regard M. le Chevalier de Breuc as an enemy and refuse to receive me; so, after crossing Spain, I entered Portugal as Mr. Brook and practised this deceit upon him of posing as my non-existent cousin.'