Lempriere's Dictionary (16 page)

Dim though the light is, their leader avoids it, drawing back into the shadows of the chair. Two figures stand behind, flanking him like pillars. A little way down the table a thick-set man takes his seat. He has the air of one more accustomed to movement and shifts uneasily. Beside him his companion, a wiry, compact figure, settles more quickly.

‘Sit down, please,’ he says, as the last takes his place opposite them. There is no air of expectancy, no excitement. Gravity perhaps, as if they are assembled for the final signing of a treaty whose terms have been agreed years before. He leans forward almost imperceptibly, his face remaining in shadow. It is a signal. The company attends to him with a practised manner. There have been many such meetings before this one. The thickset man leans his elbows on the table before him and clasps his hands. The tip of one finger taps noiselessly on a ring he wears on his left hand. It is gold, crudely made with a device upon it. He studies his nails as if the words of the other take up only a fraction of his attention. The contemplative pose is so foreign to him however that the effect is almost comical. The speaker repays his assumed indifference in kind.

‘Word reaches us that the Nawab has dispatched an emissary….’ Behind him the two human pillars, as if the last word were a cue, echo its intonation, first one then the other, from left to right and back.

‘A messenger.’

‘
A mouthpiece
.’

‘A diplomat.’

‘
An eyes and ears
.’

‘An agent of good will.’

’An agent-provocateur
.’

He gestures silence with his hand. ‘An emissary is all we know, it must suffice for the present. He will be identified. A decision can be taken,’ he
pauses for breath, ‘at a later time. He is at any rate only part of our larger problem….’

‘Why wait?’ The larger man unclasps his hands. ‘Why not deal with him now, his presence cannot profit us, surely?’ He looks around the table for assent but, as always, the faces are impassive. The other continues by way of an answer to the interruption.

‘He will be watched. It may profit us to know his identity before we,’ he pauses, ‘before we act. There are no simple distinctions, yet….’

‘Blacks.’

Whites
.’

‘Goats.’

‘
Sheep
.’

‘Debit.’

‘
Credit
.’

He motions silence and looks to the far side of the table at the last to have taken his seat.

‘… yet we might draw one between the detail and the larger picture of which it forms only a part, do you not agree Monsieur?’ This last at the interrupter who had resumed his former position except that now the knuckles of his fingers were whitening as he clasped his hands more tightly together. Across the table the individual originally indicated toyed nervously with a sheaf of papers. He glanced quickly at the man opposite whose smaller companion caught the look and held him unblinkingly. Then he spoke just two words.

‘The report?’

His voice, heard for the first time, was devoid of accent, metallic and cold. The other barely caught the questioning inflection. He arranged the papers in front of him and cleared his throat.

‘Discounting ourselves, the Carnatic debt involves roughly three parties….

‘Roughly?’ queried the larger man opposite him.

‘There are overlappings of interest between the three, as well as the peripheral interests, mostly negligible. It becomes plainer as we continue….’

‘Quite,’ said the unseen man at the far end of the table. ‘Please continue.’

‘Yes,’ he looked down again, ‘they are the Arcot interest, Hastings’ faction and, of course, the Board of Control. Of the three the most powerful, but least organised, is the Arcot interest. Benfield provides a kind of focus, but only to his opponents; it is not our opinion that he could rally support amongst the other creditors. Hastings and his friends are surprisingly, still united. If anything, his impeachment has strengthened his position …’

‘How can this be?’ the metallic voice queried.

‘How can losing everything, what little he had, advantage him? Or his sponsors?’ The larger man threw up his hands.

‘That he had little to begin with is beside the point,’ the unseen face moved in the shadows, ‘his position is a moral one, Hastings is a man of principle.’

‘A paragon.’

‘
A catiline
.’

‘A demigod.’

‘
A basilisk
.’

‘An Aristides.’

‘
A Nana Sahib
.’

The original speaker turned the page. ‘At any rate, the Hastings interest survives. The Board of Control pursues contradictory goals, at least their actions have not been coherent. There are wavering loyalties between Pitt and his creature, Dundas.’

‘Pitt promised support for the Arcot interest in return for their support during the election, we all know this. As soon as he was elected he began the meddling in the Company’s affairs of which we also know. But this has taken a new form. Investigations.’

‘Investigations?’

‘Into abuses, particularly the Arcot interest in the Carnatic. It would seem that Pitt too is a man of principle.’

‘But he betrayed his own supporters,’ the large man broke in. There was a short silence.

‘Pitt is an adept politician,’ came the voice from the far end. ‘Go on.’

‘It became clear that the Nawab had borrowed what he believed to be huge sums from both the Company’s servants, or at least the Arcot interest,
and
the government at high rates of interest, these loans being secured against the land revenues of the Carnatic of which he is now, nominally at least, the ruler.’

‘Certainly he is,’ laughed the large man. ‘We installed him.’

‘At this point, Hastings demanded liquidation of the debt at any cost which, in effect, would have had to be no cost at all, a write-off. The Carnatic land revenues no longer pay even the interest, the debt cannot be serviced. Dundas involved himself when this settlement was agreed and backed the Nawab’s creditors, the Arcot interest, to the tune of four hundreds and eighty thousands of pounds per annum for twenty years. Hastings’ reaction was, as we know, the beginning of his downfall, but Dundas was still not satisfied and he began to take other measures to allay the suspicion that he is in Benfield’s pocket.’

‘Or Pitt’s.’ The hard voice again.

‘These other measures,’ began the thick-set man, ‘they would include the transfer of the Company’s debt to England?’

‘Exactly so, and the current Declaratory Bill. Dundas had a hand in it at the least.’

‘The Declaratory Bill is a nuisance rather than a threat, I cannot see why this should form our concern.’

‘The problem lies at the centre of the web,’ said the older voice. ‘Go on.’

‘Yes, the Nawab himself plays a more devious game than was anticipated. By agreeing to honour all debts, both those of the government and the Arcot interest, he plays the claims of one against those of the other and pays neither. The Nawab has proved himself very agreeable; he will agree to anything’.

‘Which amounts to agreeing to nothing. He is virtually powerless but holds all parties to a sort of ransom by virtue of his own debts!’

‘Quite,’ the voice came from the unseen one. ‘An empty centre at which all interests converge.’

‘Including our own?’ The man flexed his muscles as he spoke.

‘There is no reason to believe our own arrangement is altered, or even implicated. Nevertheless, the attention drawn is,’ he deliberated, ‘unwelcome. Provision should be made. We will await the emissary; this is not, after all, a situation we need to resolve.’ He smiled to himself, ‘Merely … contain. It will be done?’

One by one, all present nodded their agreement. The assembly shifted in its seats before settling back. The resolution had to be ingested. One by one, they signalled this and then a mood of the faintest expectation, the drumming of fingers on the table, an inclination of the head. The older voice spoke again.

‘Word has reached us from Jaques. He has spoken with our colleagues in France.’ A slight tension was felt by the company as Jaques’ mission was touched upon.

‘He returns within the month, we will hear more fully on his return.’

‘The girl?’ The larger man asked, not looking up.

‘The girl will return too, of course. We have uses for her yet.’ This train of thought led him on.

‘Of the other affair, we can anticipate no difficulties at this time. From your silence I take it that the boy has arrived.’ The heavily built man looked up in mild surprise.

‘Arrived and installed,’ he confirmed.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘The Lemprières have been outside the fold too long. The game, gentlemen, has truly commenced.’

The meeting moved on to other, lengthier matters. Later, when the rest of the business had been discussed, decisions taken or deferred, courses of
action resolved, when most of those present had filed out, only two wicks remained and the light in the room was even poorer than before. The large man paced restlessly while the unseen one stayed seated. His eyes followed the other’s every movement.

‘You do not like the business with the boy, that much is plain my friend.’

‘The manner of its execution is wasteful,’ he retorted. ‘Charades, games for children.’

‘That is your only worry?’ The larger man stopped, rested his hands on the table, working hard to keep his expression neutral.

‘It is worry enough,’ he replied. ‘We could accomplish what we want more simply. We should act directly.’

‘It is perhaps a little late to be setting precedents.’

‘Only the practicalities concern me….’

‘Of course, but we are not dealing with a peasant. Decorum has its place in this matter.’

‘Decorum. What’s that to do with it?’ A hint of contempt could be heard in his voice. Tread carefully my friend, thought the other.

‘The Ciceros and Socrates of this world rarely dispute the verdict,’ he said, laying emphasis on the last word. ‘It is the manner of its execution that offends them, the wording, the precise detail of the ritual. It is not what we do, it is how we proceed that matters.’ The larger man seemed to accept this. He nodded and moved towards the lamp. As he snuffed out one of the wicks he was surprised to hear the other’s voice again.

‘I grow old, Nicolas. And tired. There will be time for change.’ He fell silent again. Nicolas Casterleigh turned on his heel and left without answering. The leader was left alone at the head of the table.

He looked about him at the stones of the walls and roof and thought of other such chambers. The sanctum of the Eleusinian mysteries, the inner temples of Orphic cults, their rituals long forgotten, courts in which no defendant appeared, the other cabbalas which had directed the course of the world’s maturation. Hushed meetings such as these had pulled the strings of puppet-despots, directed the transient wills above. The slow rhythm of decisions taken here determined the worldly pulse. The catastrophes, the wars, the deaths of kings were nothing but skipped measures, brief interruptions in the noiseless music of subtler agendas and agreements between those whose faces remained unseen. He knew this. But change too is part of the pattern, he thought. The coming months stretched ahead of him as the last idea took on the shape he had prepared for it. For there will be change, he thought as the last wick guttered. The old city rose in his thoughts, twin towers like sentinels guarding the inner harbour. There will be a return.

Nazim awoke with the dawn and began to prepare for the day ahead. He lay back imagining the city that surrounded him. In his mind he rose from the ground and saw it as a bird would, as a plan of itself, reduced and precise. He traced its alleys and streets, its grand thoroughfares. The task was completed methodically, fanning out from the skeleton of highways to the adjoining streets, from streets to lanes, to alleys, runs and walkways. Caught far from home in the sack of Patna, Nazim still carried a jumbled memory of being borne pick-a-back through the maze of that city’s north quarter. His uncle’s expert step guided them unharmed through the swords of Mir Kasim until they had escaped the city’s walls. Now he focused himself, and when he saw the city plainly, fixed it there in his mind’s eye, a tool for the task ahead.

Reaching into the bag that had served him as a pillow his hands found the broad-brimmed hat and cloak that he had stowed there months before. He dressed quickly, his breath sending small clouds of vapour into the cold air. He pulled his hat down over his face as he gained the street. The Ratcliff Highway was still quiet as he walked westwards towards Smithfield. Rounding a corner of the Tower his steps became more purposeful and he took the Minories at a brisk pace. The sky was cloudless. The sunlight from the wet cobbles dazzled without warming the air. As he cut through George Street a small crowd of children flowed about him. he felt a hand brush his hip and swatted it away casually. The offender, a boy of eight or nine, taller than the rest and ghostly-thin, caught his eye briefly. Nazim moved on and a chant went up instantly.

‘Black Bird! Black Bird!’ He quickened his pace but they skipped along behind him, singing the monotonous refrain over and over. The unsuccessful thief led them, dancing in front of him in time to the tuneless chorus of his companions. He wore nothing on his feet. The stall-holders and passers-by began to take notice, shouting good-natured abuse at the gamins. Nazim felt the focus of unwelcome attention and his mind began to work furiously. They went on, showing no sign of giving up their sport. He spied an alleyway a few yards ahead and turned into it. It was empty. A little way down he slowed his pace. Instantly, he was surrounded by the chanting children. The ringleader was to his left.