Living under these tight precautions, said the Captain, the Bonaparte was rarely disposed to entertain guests. He had previously refused all such requests, repeatedly expressing his reluctance to meet even with senior officers of the Admiralty. The chances of his being open to a social visit from a group of passing passengers was next to nil – but nonetheless the Captain had done his duty and handed over their letter.
The next day the Captain’s gloomy prediction was confirmed; two uniformed visitors came aboard to announce to the hopeful passengers that their request had been summarily refused: the General had declared himself to be indisposed and incapable of receiving visitors.
This met with an outcry, not merely of disappointment but also of indignation and disbelief.
‘Oh the Beast! After all he has done, does he not owe the world a debt?’
‘But surely, sir, he must lack for company in this lonely place… he who has been used to the most glittering society, the most sparkling conversation…?’
‘He has been heard to say, madam, that he wishes he had perished in the snows of Russia. Or of a bullet, at Leipzig.’
‘Oh, a fitting death it would have been too…’
So it went on, for quite a while, with opprobrium and entreaty being uttered in equal measure until at last the visitors tired of their hosts’ importunities and rose to leave. Their descent was so precipitate that Bahram and Zadig had very little time to distance themselves from their alcove. Zadig managed to whisk himself off, but Bahram found himself face-to-face with the visitors, at the foot of the companion-ladder. Although startled, he managed to respond with some aplomb, performing a stately bow and assuming an air of nonchalance. This retrieved the situation, and he was answered in kind by the visitors. As he was completing his dignified retreat, Bahram had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made a considerable impression, for the visitors could be heard exchanging whispers with their hosts:
‘The one with the turban – is he what they call a Raja?’
‘Better still – he is a prince of ancient Persia…’
‘A pure-blooded Parsee – directly descended from Xerxes and Darius
…’
Bahram smiled to himself, thinking of how his mother would have laughed.
The next day it came to be known that the Cuffnells would have to remain in St Helena somewhat longer than expected because of a minor problem with equipment. For Bahram and Zadig, who were tired of their shipboard quarters and eager to get to their destination, the news caused only annoyance. But the British contingent, on the other hand, responded with a renewed surge of optimism: having learnt that Napoleon liked to go for long walks in the vicinity of his lodge, they arranged to hire horses to take them up to the hills. Zadig predicted that this expedition would prove as futile as all their other efforts – but he was wrong, for the members of the riding party returned with their hopes refreshed. Although they had not seen Bonaparte himself, they had encountered someone who had said that he might well be able to make the necessary arrangements. This gentleman happened to be one of the Quartermasters charged with the provisioning of the General’s household; what was more, he was an acquaintance of one of the passengers and had quickly revealed himself to be the most civil, the most obliging of men: he said that the General had recently evinced some interest in the Cuffnells and he offered to convey their request directly to the Grand Marshal Bertrand, who was the General’s companion in exile. He assured them that they would have their answer the following day.
Sure enough the next day brought the Quartermaster to the Cuffnells at noon. Not long afterwards a lascar came down to tell Bahram that his presence was required above, on the quarter-deck.
No such invitation had ever been extended to Bahram before and he was taken aback. Are you sure? he said to the lascar. Who sent you?
The sahibs and ma’ams, came the reply.
Achha? Chalo. Tell them I’m coming.
Donning a fresh angarkha, Bahram climbed the ladder to the quarter-deck and was greeted with an unprecedented display of warmth.
‘Oh Mr Moddie, please do take a seat.’
‘And you are well today? Not peaked by the weather I trust?’
‘No, no,’ Bahram hastened to reassure them. ‘My health is pink. Please tell, how to be of service.’
‘Well Mr Moddie…’
After some initial awkwardness, and several roundabout remarks, the Quartermaster came at last to the point. ‘I am sure you are aware, Mr Moddie, that Napoleon Bonaparte is a prisoner on this island. Some of your shipmates are most desirous of meeting with him and he has agreed to receive them. But upon one condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘Bonaparte has stipulated that he will see the others only if he can meet with you first, Mr Moddie.’
‘Me? But why?’ Bahram cried in astonishment.
‘Well, Mr Moddie, it has come to the Bonaparte’s ears that there is a Zoroastrian prince on the Cuffnells.’
‘Prince?’ Bahram’s eyes widened. ‘What Prince? Why he wants? What he will do with Prince?’
The Quartermaster cleared his throat before launching on an explanation: ‘It appears, Mr Moddie, that the Bonaparte had once fancied himself as the Alexander of our age. It was his intention to proceed eastwards from Egypt to Persia and India, in the footsteps of the great Macedonian. He had even dreamt, it seems, of encountering Darius at the gates of Persepolis, as had Alexander…’
To Bahram, as to many of his kin, there was no name more hateful than that of the two-horned Greek. The blood rushed to his head and he cried out: ‘Chha! What you are talking Alexander-shalexander? You know what that dirty fellow did? Looting palaces, burning temples, haraaming wives – what he did not do? Even boys he was budmashing. Now this new one has come, you think I will go meekly to visit? You think I am mad or what?’
The flustered Quartermaster hastened to reassure him. ‘You have no cause for concern, none at alclass="underline" the Bonaparte intends you no harm. He is, after all, a Frenchman, not a Greek. And he is interested not only in your sect, but also in learning about the conduct of your business in China. He has been known to remark you know, that it is better that China remains asleep, for the world is sure to tremble when she awakes.’
This mystified Bahram who said: ‘What you are saying? This fellow thinks Chinese are sleeping too much, is it?’
‘Oh no,’ said the Quartermaster. ‘I am sure he was speaking only metaphorically. I meant only to suggest that he is keen to inform himself about that country. That is one of the reasons why he wishes to meet with you.’
Bahram was in quite a belligerent mood now and was not disposed to do anyone’s bidding. ‘Arre! One minute I am Darius, next minute I am Kublai Khan? What does he think? Let him catch some Chinaman. Why I should go?’
‘Oh please, Mr Moddie,’ pleaded one of the English ladies. ‘Will you not reconsider?’
Somewhat mollified, Bahram drummed his fingertips together as he thought about his next step: to be summoned by a man who had only recently been an Emperor was undeniably flattering – but it occurred to him also that it might not be wise to single-handedly confront a General who had routed vast armies. He could almost hear his mother whispering in his ear in Gujarati: If you put your head on a grindstone, then you must expect the pestle.
Bahram scratched his beard and said: ‘I also have one condition. If I go, my good friend, Mr Karabedian, must accompany me.’
His interlocutors exchanged doubtful glances. ‘But why is that necessary?’
‘Because,’ said Bahram, ‘he is talking French, no? He will be my translator.’
‘I’m afraid it may not be possible,’ said the Quartermaster, with a show of firmness. ‘The Bonaparte did not, I might point out, include your friend in his invitation.’
‘All right then! Bas! Why to waste time?’ Gathering his robe together, Bahram made as if to rise. ‘I will take leave now.’