‘The Mamur Zapt! To what do I owe this honour?’
‘I have come to apologize,’ said Owen, ‘for the boorish behaviour of some British soldiers.’
The old man started to wave the issue away but then his hand stopped.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it was an insult, and the Mingrelians cannot accept insults. The Mingrelians above all! When you are a small community you have to fight. Otherwise they will break you down.’
‘There is no desire in any way to do that. The Mingrelian community is much respected. The Sirdar and the Consul-General’—this was stretching it a bit—‘have asked me to present their personal apologies. Those responsible will be sought out and punished.’
‘It is the slight to our honour that must be redressed.’
‘Quite so.’
‘We are a small nation but we have our pride.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Some would say we are not even a nation!’
‘Oh, surely no one would say—’
‘Well, they do. They do. They say, how can you be a nation when you haven’t got a country? And I say, we had a country once, only it was taken from us. But, in any case, I say, a nation is more than land. It is spirit. And that spirit we, in our small way, must keep alive even in Cairo!’
‘Absolutely!’
‘And so,’ said the old man, ‘we must defend our honour!’
‘Quite so,’ said Owen, and then, more cautiously: ‘up to a point.’
‘No!’ roared the old man, hammering his fist on the end of the divan. ‘No! On honour there are no half measures!’
‘It is right to resent an affront,’ said Owen, ‘but wrong, after an apology, to nurse a grievance. All that honour requires, surely, is recognition?’
‘Surely courtesy requires recognition, too,’ said the girl.
‘And what has become of hospitality?’
The old man smote himself on the temple.
‘She does right to remind me!’ he said.
He went to sit down on the divan but then, with an apology, left it to Owen and sat down on another divan opposite him. The girl stirred the coffee and poured out two little cups, one for her grandfather, one for Owen.
‘Both courtesy and hospitality,’ said Owen, ‘require thanks.’ The girl smiled at him and went out to replenish the coffee.
‘A good girl,’ said the old man, watching her fondly, ‘and with a mind of her own! Just like her grandmother.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘A disappointment, though!’
‘Oh, come—’
‘No, no. It’s true. Twenty-one and not married! In no time at all she’ll be past child-bearing—’
‘Plenty of time for that, surely?’ said Owen.
‘Well, yes, you’re quite right. In theory. But the years soon go. You know that when you’re as old as I am. And you’ve got to manage more than two. Two only replaces; you’ve got to do better than that if you want to expand. Four! Four children is what we’ve got to aim for. At least!’
‘Anyone as beautiful as your granddaughter should have no difficulty.’
‘Oh, there’s plenty of men who want to marry her. That’s not the problem. The difficulty is on her side. She won’t have them. Mind you,’ the old man conceded, ‘I can’t say I blame her. A spineless lot! No spirit! I’ve been looking at younger ones,’ he said, ‘the fifteen-year-olds, but it’s hard to tell at that age. They’re all so well behaved! Maybe one of them—’
‘For heaven’s sake, Grandfather!’ said the girl, coming back with the coffee. ‘Do we have to bore the Mamur Zapt with our intimate details?’
‘She’s quite right!’ said the old man. ‘She’s right again. You ought to have been a boy, Katarina; in fact, you ought to have been your father. A nice, gentle, loving man, but he hasn’t got your spirit!’
‘Grandfather! There you go again!’
‘She’s right! I’m getting too old, that’s the trouble. I must concentrate. Now, about these soldiers—’
‘Again, I must apologize.’
‘Well, men must be men, I suppose. If they were not, where would we be? Better that than the reverse. There are too many youngsters these days—’
‘Grandfather!’ said Katarina warningly.
‘Yes, well, as I was saying, men must be men. They were soldiers, after all. I was a soldier once—’
There was a faint sigh from Katarina.
‘Not only that,’ said Owen quickly, ‘the fighting started, or so I understand, over a question of honour. National honour.’
‘Really?’ said the old man.
‘Yes. Some of these soldiers are Welsh. That is to say, they come from the Pays de Galles. It’s part of Britain, a separate country, you understand, only we were taken over by England—’
‘A separate country? Taken over?’
‘A long time ago, of course. A very long time ago. Centuries.’
‘You said “we”.’
‘Well, I have to confess, I’m Welsh myself.’
‘You are? Well, that is most interesting. Most, in fact, encouraging. And these soldiers were Welsh?’
‘Half of them. Something stupid was said, whether it was by the Welsh or by the English, I don’t know, but exception was taken to the remark—they were looking for a fight, anyway, I imagine—and then the stupid idiots—’
‘Not stupid at all! Quite proper. One must defend one’s nation’s honour. And some of these were Welsh you say?’
‘Yes—’
‘There are mountains in Wales? I heard them singing of valleys and where there are valleys there must be—’
‘Hills, rather. Yes, the Welsh are very attached to their valleys.’
‘A mountaineering race?’
‘Well, no, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.’
‘You are too modest. Mountaineers and fighting men!’
‘Look, Wales is not exactly like the Caucasus—’
‘Too modest, too modest! But then, you don’t have to assert yourselves like us. We are only a small country.’
‘Wales, actually, is not that large.’
‘A small country too!’ The old man almost rubbed his hands. ‘Then there are affinities between us. Language? Now what is your language?’
‘Welsh. Look—’
‘A separate language? Distinct?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Threatened?’ the old man said significantly.
‘Well, yes, there’s a danger of it dying out—’ The old man sat back.
‘Perhaps this is the answer to our prayers,’ he said.
‘I don’t quite—’
‘So many things in common. Perhaps we could stretch a point: Mingrelians and neighbouring countries.’
‘Neighbouring? They’re about a million miles apart.’
‘I was talking spiritually. Neighbouring in spirit. It’s reasonable. Sometimes we used to go out and capture a woman from a neighbouring tribe and there was never any difficulty about that. She soon became assimilated. Of course, that was a man taking a woman. It would be different if it was a woman taking a man. Of course, times are different now. More liberated. I see no reason why a woman shouldn’t take a husband from a neighbouring tribe, neighbouring spiritually, I mean—’
‘Grandfather!’ said Katarina, scandalized. She took him by the arm. ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘It’s time you went up for your nap!’
‘Yes, yes.’ He stood up shakily. Owen realized that he was far older than he appeared. ‘I accept your apology,’ he said suddenly.
‘Thank you. I can only repeat—’
‘But I’m not withdrawing the complaint.’
‘Not withdrawing the complaint? But—’
‘We have to stand up for ourselves. Even against our friends. We must not back down.’
/> ‘But surely an apology—’
‘No. I feel half inclined, I must say, to accept it from the Welsh but not from the English, but that would hardly be fair. Anyway, what does it matter? What is a complaint? In Egypt?’
‘Well, we don’t like to leave complaints unanswered—’
‘Think nothing of it. Now that you have apologized, we shall not take military action.’
‘Thank you. But couldn’t you withdraw your complaint as well? The fact is, well, there was another complaint too, and it’s a bit awkward—’
‘Another complaint?’
‘Yes, from the Russian Chargé, actually, and we’re a bit afraid there might be international—’
‘Russian? Did you say Russian? The soldiers insulted him as well?’
‘Well, yes, I’m afraid so—’
‘Brave men! Magnificent men! There, what did I tell you?’ he said fiercely, snatching his arm from Katarina’s hold. ‘Men of spirit! God, that’s the way to treat the Russians! Our allies! Didn’t I tell you they were our natural allies? God, if only I was young again—’
Katarina dragged him towards the door.
‘Complaint?’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘No complaint at all. Far from it! The Russians? Oh, no complaint at all!’
Chapter Three
‘It’s an affront!’ said the Chargé.
‘Which we deeply regret,’ said Paul, ‘and shall do something about.’
‘Have already done something about,’ supplemented Owen. Paul had asked for support in his grovel and Owen had agreed to accompany him.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the Chargé. ‘The men have been flogged?’
‘Well, not exactly—’
‘Yet,’ said Owen quickly. ‘There are a few processes to go through first.’
‘A military court, you mean? Well, there is something to be said for letting criminals experience the full majesty of the law. It inculcates respect for authority.’
‘Quite so.’
‘All the same,’ said the Chargé, ‘the sooner they are flogged, the better. It’s like a dog. The longer the gap between crime and punishment the harder it is for the creature to understand. Soldiers are animals and should be treated as such.’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Believe me. I was in the Army myself, the Russian Army, that is. I know. They’re all peasants, you see, and as stupid as oxes. The only way you can drive anything into their thick heads is with the whip. Even then it’s difficult. Being peasants, they’re used to it. They don’t feel it as we would. It’s got to follow sharply after the event. And no half measures, either! How many lashes?’
‘How many—?’
‘I’d advise at least sixty. Some say forty, but I think you’ve got to allow for the sun—’
‘The sun?’
‘Hardens the skin. They don’t feel it as much. No, in my view sixty should be standard. Of course, in a case as serious as this the standard is hardly good enough. No, on second thoughts it should be more. Eighty, perhaps. A hundred for the ringleaders.’
‘We’ll bear your advice in mind.’
‘Do. Do. Glad to share my experience with you. You’ll let them drink, of course?’
‘Well, I rather think they’ve been doing too much of that already—’
‘No, no. Just before they’re flogged. A glass or two of vodka. It makes it easier for them. I used to give them a bottle. I’m a humane man, you know.’
‘Well, of course, each country has its own practices—’
‘It doesn’t have to be vodka. Whisky would do. Or rum. You used to use rum, I believe, in the British Navy?’
‘I believe so, yes. A while ago.’
‘It’s better if they’re drunk. Mind you, some would say they’re drunk all the time.’
‘Yes, our soldiers have much in common.’
‘Discipline. That’s what they need.’
‘They certainly do. And I’m sorry you should have suffered because of a lack of it on the part of our soldiers.’
‘It’s nothing, it’s nothing. If it were just myself I would say no more. But, of course, an affront to my country—well, I am bound to resist that. Especially with the Grand Duke’s visit so imminent.’
‘Grand Duke?’ said Owen.
‘Yes. Only two and a half weeks away. I tick off each day on my calendar. Between you and me, it will be a great relief when it’s all over. If anything goes wrong, it’ll be my head on the block. Not literally, of course. We’re not a barbarous people.’
‘I must apologize once again,’ said Paul, beginning to rise from his chair.
‘Say no more about it. A mere bagatelle. A few drunken muzhiks, that’s all it was. Of course, I cannot formally withdraw my complaint.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Paul, sitting down again. ‘I was hoping—’
‘If it was me, that would be the end of it. But, of course, when it’s my country—’
‘No insult was intended, Chargé!’
‘Of course not. They were too drunk to know what they were doing. But one was received, and since it was in public, and in view of the forthcoming visit—’
‘But, Chargé, precisely because of the forthcoming visit, mightn’t we hush things up? We don’t want a diplomatic incident, do we?’
‘We don’t,’ said the Chargé, ‘but back at home they might.’
‘I must confess this is a blow, Chargé. I had hoped for a quiet run-up to the Grand Duke’s visit.’
‘Me too,’ said the Chargé.
‘You don’t think you could postpone your complaint? Say, till after the visit was over?’
‘It’s already with the Parquet. It wouldn’t look good if I was to withdraw it and then put it back in.’
‘True, true. All the same—the fact is, Chargé, this stupid incident comes at a most awkward time.’
‘I can see that. Any other time, the British wouldn’t pay any attention.’
‘Well, that’s exactly it. Go on, Chargé, be a decent chap and I will send you round a bottle of Château d’Yquem.’
‘Well—’ said the Chargé, weakening.
‘You’re the only one who’s left now.’
‘There were others? Other countries are involved?’
‘No, no! It’s just that the Mingrelian community—’
‘Mingrelian!’ The Chargé shot upright. ‘They were behind it?’
‘No, no! They were on the receiving end, actually—’
‘Assaulted?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
The Chargé leaped up from his chair and threw his arms around Paul.
‘The Mingrelians? Assaulted? But this is excellent news, excellent!’ He folded Owen, too, in a deep embrace. ‘My government will be delighted! Oh, that’s the way to do it! First we give it them back at home, now you give it them here! Excellent!’
He pressed the bell on his desk.
‘Vodka!’ he shouted. ‘Vodka, to celebrate! A toast! Undying friendship between our countries!’ He pressed Paul emotionally to him once again. ‘That is the way allies should behave! I will let my people know at once. The Mingrelians! Thrashed! And that’s even before Duke Nicholas gets here—’
He stopped suddenly.
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Why not? I’ll put it to him. Those fine, brave men! A medal! For service to the Tsar! I’ll do it! You can rely on me!’
‘And the complaint? You withdraw the complaint?’
‘Complaint?’ said the Chargé. ‘What complaint? I have no complaint. Oh, no! Far from it!’
***
‘The Grand Duke’s visit?’ said Owen.
‘I was going to tell you about it. It’s just that I didn’t want to bother you when your mind was on more important things, like the cafés. The Khedive has invit
ed him. In about three weeks’ time.’
‘A State Visit?’
‘Semi-State. Duke Nicholas is only the heir. He’s supposed to be on an informal tour of the Mediterranean. Well, actually, he’s so unpopular at home that the Tsar wanted to get him out of the country before someone threw a bomb at him.’
‘And the Khedive invited him here?’
‘That’s right. You, of course, will be responsible for security.’
***
‘There’s going to be a ball,’ said Zeinab.
‘It’s not been decided yet.’
‘And that, of course,’ said Zeinab, disregarding him, ‘creates a major problem: what am I going to wear?’
‘It’s not been decided yet. The meeting’s not till tomorrow. Look, I know. I’m going to it.’
‘And then there will be the opera as well. I’ll need two dresses. The trouble is, there isn’t a decent dress in Cairo. Anton says he might be getting some in, but everyone will be fighting for them and, besides, they’ll all have seen them. So I thought I would cable Paris direct. Now here’s the problem: I don’t want to do it through Posts and Telegraphs in the ordinary way, or else people will get to know about it. So—look, are you listening, this is important—can you send a cable for me? Using the diplomatic channel?’
‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘I’ll bet the Consul-General’s wife is.’
‘What she does is her own business.’
‘You don’t love me,’ said Zeinab.
‘Of course I love you. Now—’
‘You don’t love me. Not in the way he loves her.’
‘I should bloody hope not,’ said Owen, an image of the Consul-General and his stately lady coming vividly before his mind.
‘I know what it is. You don’t want me to go. You are ashamed of me. There will be all those lords and ladies, those petty princelings from petty little countries, Wales, I wouldn’t be surprised, and you say: what is an Egyptian woman doing among that lot? Well, let me tell you, the daughter of a Pasha, especially the illegitimate daughter of a Pasha, has got more love and life and passion in her little finger than any of them have in their whole body!’
The Mingrelian Conspiracy Page 4
