“Sir Eric, we have gained much this year. A shade here, a shade there, but adding up to a significant gain for us. One that will be apparent when the histories are written. This time, we have played our hand in The Great Game well and the balance of forces in the world has shifted in our favor. But in truth nobody has finally won or finally lost. Another hand in The Great Game is being dealt and we must wait to see what the cards will hold for us. The Great Game never ends, my friends, it existed before we were ever born and will go on long after you are dead.
“Sir Eric, Sir Martyn, may I make a suggestion? We are in the courtyard of the Supreme Command Headquarters Building now. Although being appointed Chairman of our Permanent Military Council is a great honor, it means I have work that cannot wait. May I suggest you visit our National Museum? It has many treasures and exhibits of life in the past here. Few visitors to our country go there so the material on the exhibits is in our language only but the guides will be happy to help you and speak about what you see.”
“Why thank you Ma'am, that sounds a delightful way to spend the afternoon.”
The Ambassador got out of the car and spoke quickly to the driver before vanishing into the building. The official limousine drove a few yards and stopped outside the Museum. Inside, it was cool and peaceful, the air filled with the slight yet unmistakable odor of very old things carefully preserved. The two visitors lost track of time wandering around looking at the range of displays.
Unlike most museums, it didn't concentrate on the lives of the wealthy and powerful but also contained exhibits of the life of commoners, of the tools the craftsmen used, the clothes they wore and how they passed the time when their labors were completed. At each point, somebody would step forward and quietly explain what was being shown and fill them in on the background to the exhibit. The guides were students who were doing research work at the museum and helping out visitors was a secondary role for them. As a result, they lacked the smooth patter of professional guides but made up for it by being genuinely interested in their subjects and pleased to share knowledge with other people who shared that interest.
As the visitors went around the building they were absorbed by a richness of a history they had hardly known existed. The museum was laid out in a grid so that, walking around one way, visitors were gently lead through all the different aspects of life at varying points in the country's history. By changing direction they could follow the development of a single aspect of society as it changed through the centuries. They ended in an art gallery, full of paintings of Kings and Queens and courtiers. They varied in quality but some were extraordinarily lifelike, so much so that the figures seemed to leap off the canvas and take possession of the room.
“Eric, look at this.” Sir Martyn's voice was urgent. Sir Eric joined him in front of a large painting, one of the largest in the display. In common with all the others, it was centered around the King and Queen, sitting in the middle, the noblemen and noblewomen of the court gathered beneath them. This painting was different though, for standing behind the King's Throne was a woman, her hand on the back of the throne itself. The symbology of the picture was overpowering, clearly showing the importance and status of the woman.
As Sir Eric looked closely he realized it was the Ambassador. The painter had caught her appearance perfectly, somehow even managing to suggest that, despite the expression on her face, nobody could possibly know what she was thinking. The hands, the stance, the painter had caught everything. The picture was almost frighteningly lifelike, so much so that Sir Eric felt if he spoke to the picture, he would hear a reply from the familiar contralto voice.
“I don't recognize the King, it must be King Ananda. He died in 1946. What a beautiful painting.”
“Can I help you sirs?” One of the guides had seen their interest in the picture and come to speak with them.
“We were just admiring this superb painting, and the lady in the background.”
“Ah sir, that is the King's Personal Ambassador, a very famous person in our country. Many are the tales told of her brilliant achievements as a soldier and as a diplomat. She is an inspiration to all the women of our country.”
“Excuse my ignorance but I do not recognize His Most Gracious Majesty in this picture. Is it King Ananda?”
The girl broke out laughing, the sound echoing the notes of wind-chimes in a gentle evening breeze. “Excuse me sir, but no. That is King Ramkhamhaeng. This painting is more than three hundred years old.”
THE END