Patrick O'Brian - The Thirteen Gun Salute

Fox's attach�oder might be indifferent company, but he was an excellent chef de protocole, and he and the Vizier's secretary had arranged the placing of the mission with the utmost precision, the most exact regard for precedence. Each man filed into his allotted place along the eastern wall of the great hall of audience with Fox and his immediate colleagues standing a few yards to the left of the empty throne. They stood there for some little time, listening not without satisfaction to the rain, and then they heard the drums and trumpets for the French. Duplessis came first in a gliding run, followed by his suite, four men in official uniform and Ledward and Wray in bright blue coats with the star and ribbon of some order, then the French naval officers and the troop of attendants, all of them more or less soaked. For the first moments the French were wholly taken up with straightening their line, much upset by the last rush, and with their wet clothes, feathers, and papers; but as soon as they had settled in their due places Duplessis, on the far side of the throne, looked across the open space and gave Fox what could just be described as a bow: it was returned with an exactly matching degree of cordiality. At the same moment Wray caught sight of Stephen's scarlet robe and recognized first his face and then Jack Aubrey's with utter horror. He made a kind of harsh inward sob and grasped Ledward's arm: Ledward looked in the same direction; he stiffened, but betrayed no emotion and the appearance of the Sultan at the far end of the hall diverted the attention of all, yet not before Stephen had noticed the expression of cold hatred on Fox's white, closed face, one that he had rarely seen equalled.

The Sultan advanced, shaded by fan-bearers, supported on either side by his great feudatories and followed by the Vizier and the members of his council; he was a good-looking man, tall for a Malay, about forty-five; and he wore a famous ruby in his turban. He advanced slowly, looking from side to side with a civil expression; the French had the strange notion of clapping, as though at a theatrical performance, but he showed little surprise or displeasure, and when he turned to take his seat on the throne he bowed to each side with equal courtesy.

His attendants had all gathered in the space behind, but now the Vizier, a small dried man, stepped forward and stated in very respectful terms that two envoys had come, the first from the Emperor of France, the second from the King of England, and they begged to deliver their masters' messages. The Sultan said, 'In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, let the first comer speak first.'

Duplessis, with Ledward behind him, took up his station before the throne, and having bowed he began to read from his damp paper. A poor performance: the ink had run, the reader's spectacles were fogged with steam, and he himself was much oppressed by the heat and his wet uniform. Each paragraph was translated by Ledward. A very fluent translation but also unconscionably free; and it was delivered in a hard voice, strangely at variance with its compliments and its expressions of good-will and earnest desire for an even closer alliance between the cousins of Pulo Prabang and the French Empire.

It had been agreed between the Vizier and the two envoys separately that since the Sultan intended to give a feast after the audience rather than hold a meeting of his council, the addresses should not exceed a quarter of an hour. To the astonishment of their party, Duplessis and Ledward did not speak so long; and Fox, who began badly, stumbling over the Sultan's titles 'Flower of Courtesy, Nutmeg of Consolation, Rose of Delight' so that he had to repeat them twice, scarcely reached ten minutes, in spite of a brilliant recovery and a much-admired evocation of the Sultan's illustrious descent. When he came to an end, bowed, and retired, the councillors exchanged covert looks of surprise, accustomed as they were to speeches that flowed on and on in self-generating eloquence; but the Sultan, realizing his good fortune after a moment's silence, smiled and said, 'In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, be welcome, gentlemen. Pray return our best thanks to your rulers, whom Heaven preserve, for their noble presents, ever to be preserved both in our treasury and our heart; and let the feast commence.'

It was now that the value of sterling insensibility became evident. Fox was still so affected by this encounter, although it had been long expected, that his social powers were much obscured, but Johnson, Crabbe and Loder talked away steadily, loudly and with frequent bursts of laughter, and the head of the English table kept up a creditable din. This table ran the length of the banqueting hall, and in compensation for their position during the audience the English were now placed on the Sultan's right, his table crossing the head of the room. Stephen was quite far down, and as he was one of the few who could carry on a conversation in Malay he had been placed between an elderly, morose and taciturn person whose function he never discovered and Van Da, who had first received them. He was an agreeable neighbour: as a passionate hunter he knew a great deal about the forest, the jungle and the higher mountain. 'I saw you the other day above Ketang,' he said, laughing cheerfully. 'You were flying from the bees like a deer - such leaps! it is a dangerous corner, by the red rock: I had to run myself five minutes later, and I quite lost the track of my babirussa, a huge babirussa.'

'A severe pang, I am sure; but I hope it was mitigated a little by the reflection that swine's flesh is forbidden to Mahometans.'

'So is wine,' said Wan Da, smiling, 'but there are days when the Merciful, the Compassionate, is even more merciful and compassionate than others. No, in fact we kill them because they plough up the fields at night and because we use their tusks.'

The wine was real enough, however, a full-bodied perfectly drinkable red whose origin Stephen could not make out. Conceivably Macao? And although it was served not in glass but silver he was reasonably sure that several of the Malays as well as Wan Da were drinking it. The Sultan certainly was. His cup-bearer Abdul, a youth like a gazelle, made no pretence of hiding the dark red stream he poured.

So were the French. While Wan Da was giving a circumstantial account of his pursuit of a honey-bear, Stephen examined the faces opposite him. The sea-officers appeared to match the English reasonably well, and their captain had something of Linois' look, capable, efficient, determined, and cheerful. Duplessis was not a man to send to a hot climate, not a man to send abroad at all; and his official counsellors were not unlike Fox's. Wray had fallen to pieces since Stephen last saw him: flaccid, barely recognizable: the shock of recognition was still strong on him, and it was unlikely that he could sit out the meal - a greenish pallor increasing with every draught of wine. Ledward on the other hand, now that he had recovered his assurance, looked and sounded a formidable adversary, a man of quite unusual powers. Stephen watched him empty his goblet and hold it over his right shoulder to be refilled; and as he made this gesture he glanced towards the throne with a very slight but significant change of expression - a private look. Stephen's eye darted to the left and just caught Abdul's answering smile.

For some time Stephen could not believe that his first impression was not a mistake; but although from this point on Ledward was perfectly discreet, Abdul, behind the Sultan, was not; and the impression grew to a moral certainty. The possible consequences so filled his mind that he lost the thread of Wan Da's narrative until it ended 'So Tia Udin killed the hear, and the bear killed Tia Udin, ha, ha, ha!'

'Jack,' he said, as they walked along the rim of the crater to a point where they could hail the ship, 'did you reflect upon Ganymede at all?'