Julian Stockwin - Artemis

Kydd sighed. Neither the prospect of a discussion on Aristotle nor the inspection of this revered casa article was maintaining his spirits, which had looked forward to tasting the more direct pleasures of these foreign shores. Still, it was kind of the old fellow, and they did need something now, at noon. In any event, he had an hour or two to think of a ploy to raise the state of play to a more satisfactory level.

The priest's modest cell was close by, and they entered the cool room, tastefully set off by the hand-painted blue and white tiles covering one entire wall. The furniture was commodious, in the Chinese style. The chairs were tall and square-backed in dark wood, with a carved central panel. Across one corner of the room was a beautiful black and gilt screen fully six feet high, with an iridescent shell inlay of butterflies and bamboo.

Seated at the round table, sipping their green tea, they waited respectfully. The room smelt of the layered odours of untold centuries, and was redolent of peace.

The priest smiled at them. 'My name is Nunez - my flock call me Honrar. It has been my good fortune to follow in the shadow of Matteo Ricci and Adam Schall here in the College of Sao Paolo for thirty-eight years. You are sailors, no?'

'From the British frigate Artemis’ said Renzi.

'Macao is very old, very set in her ways,' he said seriously. 'We Portuguese, it must be faced, have now passed the time of our greatness. For us, history has ceased.'

Renzi made a gesture, but the priest was looking at Kydd. 'But you, the British, are a race that has found itself in these troubling times, and greatness lies waiting before you.' His face was difficult to read. 'Thus you will pardon me if I make myself clear. Do not expect us to like you. Your manners are turbulent and thrusting, you are impatient with the old ways, you are confident - very sure — and we are afraid of you.'

Renzi stirred. 'But surely you can see that as a nation we trade, we do not conquer?'

'Trade always brings a domination in its wake!' Nunez did not smile, and the two sailors sat uncomfortably.

'We do not allow any of your trading hongs to own land or dwellings in Macao, only to rent. This is because, as you will surely see, you British are rich and powerful and we are not. You are growing restless at your lack of a trading port and may seize our own.'

Hesitating, Kydd spoke awkwardly. 'Sir, I'm only a seaman, but I c'n see that Macao is too small for y'r deep-sea vessels — we saw a rattlin' good place for a port over the other side, Heung Kong its name.'

The priest's eyes glimmered. 'A bare rock on which you will have to build houses, docks, roads — I don't think even the British would do that if there is another for the taking.' Unexpectedly, he got to his feet. 'But I am ungracious! Perhaps it has been so long since — excuse me.'

He swiftly left the room, his dark gown swishing. Kydd turned to Renzi, but at his look did not speak. The priest returned with a bottle and three glasses. 'I hope you will join me at wine, cavalheiros?

It was a musky Sercial, mellow and gentle. From somewhere inside the house floated a tantalising odour of food, but even in its richness there was nothing they could identify.

'We eat in the Chinese style. It is cheaper and more convenient,' Nunez said apologetically. The odour took form and strength, of a potent but mouth-watering character. 'Oh, yes, I hope you do not mind, but it is my regular practice in this season to offer hospitality to another at noon - she will join us soon.'

Renzi seemed not to have heard. His face grew in intensity and leaning forward he asked, 'The soul-stealers of the Kao Hsuang! Can it be that they have overthrown the sacred precepts of Confucius, or do they bend him to their philosophy?'

'Ah! You know of these?' Nunez asked, in amazement. 'Your answer is that in their deviltry they have their own philosophy, and it is based on the Janus-faced sayings of Hsun-tzu, who teaches that—'

The door opened and a figure appeared, limned in the sunlight from outside and therefore difficult to see.

'Oh – Honrar ’ You have guests. I . . .' It was a young woman's voice.

'No, no, child, you are welcome. Please come in and take your place.'

The door closed and Kydd watched a young lady unlace her bonnet to let her auburn hair tumble down in lazy waves. She stood uncertain, a petite but self-assured girl of less than twenty years, with an elfin face and large eyes. She looked directly at Kydd. She was pretty rather than beautiful but the strength in her features and the sharp sculpted curving of her face had its effect on Kydd — a sharp and uncomfortable sensual shock.

Gracefully she sat down at the table, next to Kydd, managing to do so without looking at him again.

'Minha cara, these are my guests,' Nunez said. 'They are sailors from the British warship .. .'

'Nicholas Renzi and Thomas Kydd, horn Artemis frigate,' Renzi offered. Kydd caught his look of interest in the girl.

'Miss Sarah Bullivant,' she said, sitting straight-backed, her hands firmly in her lap. 'I trust your visit will be a pleasant one,' she added, her eyes falling carefully between the two of them.

'It could prove a lengthy one by all events,' said Renzi. Kydd thought that his manner was unnecessarily unctuous.

She looked up. 'Pray, why will that be?' 'Why, I stand amazed the world does not know of it — His Britannic Majesty's envoy Lord Elmhurst awaits a reply from the Viceroy of Canton touching on his mission to the Emperor in Peking.'

'Then be assured, sir, the wait could well be a protracted one.' The coy flutter of her eyelashes as she engaged Renzi in conversation did not escape Kydd.

'It suggests that the British are attempting a separate agreement as to trade,' Nunez agreed.

Just inches from her body, Kydd felt his own respond, and a betraying dull heat crept up his neck. At sea, with not the slightest femininity to trigger sexuality, desire subsided, a quiescence not troubled by ribaldry or images, but the first woman encountered ashore, by her sensual proximity, provoked an immediate awakening. Kydd could detect Miss Bullivant's faint scent, and sensed her body outline beneath her dress.

'Not the odious opium trade, I do sincerely pray.' She dabbed at her generously curved lips.

There! Kydd exulted. Her face was still turned towards Renzi, but her eyes had flicked sideways.

T am in full accord with you, Miss Bullivant,' Renzi said elegantly. To Kydd's savage delight his slight pause was not rewarded by a bidding to continue. 'Yet there are some who point out that we English regularly consume opium without ill effects — laudanum, your Godfrey's cordial. Could it possibly be that the Chinese character is weaker, less in control?'

As the food arrived, Nunez grunted. 'It is well known, saving your presence, that the English have long sought a species of trade that can balance the books for all the tea they must have - and they care not for its origin.'

There was an uncomfortable silence, the clatter of crockery sounding overly loud. Nunez handled the chopsticks like a native; Sarah was capable but without elegance, and Renzi fumbled. Kydd surveyed the cluster of little dishes and resolutely abstracted the flat-bottomed spoon from a dark sauce dish, which he then proceeded to wield on everything.

'Ah, yes, my friend!' Nunez turned to Renzi. 'The Casa Camoes.' He laid down his chopsticks on their little rest. 'It lies within the grounds of a residencia which is let to Mr Drummond, of your East India Company.' He smiled. 'I do believe that were a young lady to desire entrance then you would more readily gain admittance. Sarah, would you . . .'

Sarah's face tightened. 'Sir, it is not my practice to be observed in public with sailors.'