Patrick O'Brian - The Hundred Days

‘The ruler who was to provide the pay for the Balkan mercenaries?’

‘Just so. A letter requiring him to recall his caravan and load the treasure aboard one of the Dey’s xebecs at Arzila, just south and west of Tangier: the xebec was already on its way and the captain’s orders were to receive the treasure and repass the Strait by night with the strong eastward current and a favourable wind, steering for Durazzo with the utmost press of sail - it is the fastest xebec in all Barbary. This is the information that I wished to give the Commodore so that he, who knows the Strait so well, might intercept the vessel.’

‘I am very sorry indeed, that you should have found the Commodore out of immediate reach. I am also very sorry to tell you that later this evening or perhaps tomorrow a new Dey will be proclaimed, Omar Pasha having by then been strangled by the executioners sent to the Khadna valley with those squadrons I mentioned earlier - strangled as his predecessor was strangled. He impaled one youth too many. An error in his calculations that I had not reckoned upon.’

Sir Peter touched the bell: the tea appeared: and when Stephen had drunk a sip he asked, ‘Do you suppose the Vizier was privy to this usurpation?’

‘I have no doubt of it at all. In the first place they were wholly incompatible: the Vizier despised Omar Pasha as an illiterate brute and the Dey despised the Vizier as a cotquean, in spite of his numerous harem, his collection of guns and his status as an important shareholder in the larger associations of corsairs. Furthermore, the Vizier privately admired Bonaparte and privately stood to receive a huge commission on Ibn Hazm’s gold. But even in so small a court as that of Algiers privacy, real privacy, scarcely exists. I can do favours on occasion, and I have a number of voluntary informants.’

‘I do not think I know the word cotquean,’ said Stephen.

‘Perhaps it is rather out of use now, but we lived in a remote part of Yorkshire and my grandfather often used it - most of his neighbours were cotqueans, particularly those that did not choose to hunt the fox or hare. He meant that they were somewhat effeminate, given to embroidery and probably to sodomy - little better than Whigs.’

After some moments of reflection Stephen said, ‘I grieve for Omar Pasha. He had some excellent qualities; he was truly generous; and I did him a shameful injustice.’

‘Come in,’ called the consul.

‘Sir,’ said the messenger, ‘you told me to warn you the moment the schooner was seen. Moussa believes she is just hull-up in the north.’

‘Shall we go and see?’ asked Sir Peter. ‘I have a telescope on the roof.’

‘Will your poor leg bear you?’

‘It has done so ever since the Ringle vanished.’

The roof, like almost all the others in the city, was whitened against the heat of the sun with tiles or lime-wash, and the mass of them gave the impression of some superhuman bleaching-field; but Stephen’s whole attention was fastened upon the fine stout telescope that stood on a bronze tripod weighed down and steadied by pigs of lead: beside it stood a black boy in a scarlet fez, smiling with triumph.

Sir Peter hurried over, bent double against the wind but moving even more nimbly that when he had climbed the ladder, and inwardly Stephen swore to abide by no obvious diagnosis for the rest of his life.

‘She is certainly fore-and-aft rigged,’ said Sir Peter. ‘But this damned wind does so blur the image. Come and look: here is the focusing knob.’

Stephen peered with lowered head, cupping his eye with both hands. The air was indeed horribly troubled. A little whiteness came, grew almost clear, then utterly dissolved in shimmer.

‘I wish I had a smaller eyepiece,’ said Sir Peter. ‘This atmosphere will not cope with such a magnification.’

‘I have her,’ cried Stephen. ‘I have her... but alas she is not Ringle. She is a craft with a lateen; and she is losing ground on every tack.’

‘I am so sorry,’ said the consul. ‘So very sorry: but at least it shows that some hopes of approaching exist. Let us sleep on that, and conceivably the morning will find her snugly in her berth by the mole.’

‘Sir Peter,’ called a head at foot-level, the speaker standing precariously on the wind-shaken ladder, ‘Dr Jacob sends his compliments and could he be received?’

‘Sir Peter,’ said Stephen, ‘I ask your pardon for interfering, but my colleague, though an excellent physician (God forgive us both he added mentally) and linguist, is no mariner. Pray let us go down and speak to him in safety.’

‘By all means,’ said the consul, and he gave Stephen a hand over the dreadful gulf between the parapet of the roof and the ladder-head.

‘Sir Peter,’ cried Jacob, starting up, ‘I do beg your pardon for this intrusion, but I thought you would like to know that the lot has fallen on Ali Bey.’

‘Not on Mustafa? I am amazed.’

‘So was he, sir: and I fear it is the bowstring for him - he was led away. But I ventured to come in this informal manner to tell you that Ali is to be proclaimed immediately after the evening prayer.’

‘I am very much obliged to you indeed, Dr Jacob. And as I said, I am amazed: of all the candidates Ali was the most in favour of the Allies and opposed to Bonaparte. Perhaps I had misread the situation...’ He pondered, and then went on, ‘And I should be still more obliged if you and Dr Maturin would go on my behalf - it is still generally understood that my health keeps me withindoors - to be the first to congratulate the new Dey. We have all the proper ceremonial garments here. And after that I hope you will both stay with Lady Clifford and me until the wretched south wind dies enough for your ships to come in. These blasts are very rare, but once they have set in doggedly they usually last six or seven days. Though now I come to think of it, I shall go with you. I shall take a stick and you two will support me: that will be a capital stroke.’

Jacob glanced at Stephen, saw assent in his eye, and having coughed he said, ‘Sir, we should be very happy to support you, as being your known physicians. But as for your exceedingly kind and handsome invitation, for my part may I be allowed to decline? Having uttered all the necessary words of congratulation, I should like to retire to an obscure lodging-house near the Gate of Woe, a house in which some of my less presentable Algerine and Berber friends would excite no comment, whereas they might well compromise an official residence.’

‘By all means,’ said the consul. ‘And Mr Maturin shall do just as he pleases - dining and spending the night with us, and walking about with you by day, meeting your no doubt very interesting friends: and I am sure watching barometer and the horizon with as much zeal as Isabel and myself, or even more... the divan will take place at about seven, I suppose?’

‘Just so: within the half hour following the proclamation.’

The city, in a state of intense yet still somewhat restrained excitement, grew wonderfully calm for the evening prayer - aimost nothing but the voice of the south wind in the palm trees - but the last pious words were barely said, the little prayer-carpets were hardly rolled, before the enormous roaring blast of the Algerine batteries saluted the sky; and as the last echoes died away thousands upon thousands of janissaries and of all those citizens who valued their well-being bawled out the name of Ali, competing with countless harsh trumpets and with drums of every pitch.

The city now settled down to open merriment and joy and endless conversation across the narrow streets or the full width of the few great squares; and Sir Peter’s coach and four made its slow but discreetly magnificent way to the palace. Here the consul’s physicians were handed out, gorgeous in their robes, and they supported Sir Peter into the council-chamber, where the new Dey greeted him - the first representative of any foreign state to appear - with great kindness, sending for a particular deeply-cushioned seat for him, and listening with grave satisfaction to Jacob’s fluent, sonorous and no doubt elegant Turkish congratulation, interspersed with Persian verse and proverb. An excellent speech and above all one that did not last too long: when it was finished, and when Stephen had presented the ritual sabre, the Dey returned thanks, calling the blessing of Heaven and peace on King George. He then clapped his hands and four powerful black men carried Sir Peter in his padded chair to the carriage amidst a triple blast of trumpets sustained beyond anything that Stephen had heard in his life.