 That night after dinner, as the sturdy little Thistle pitched and yawed through a summer squall on the unpredictable Mediterranean, the Empress and her guests sat together in the saloon amidships. All of them good sailors unaffected by mal de mer, Philo and Ardie listened in fascination to Eugénie's reason for this impromptu voyage.
"I was having breakfast at my Villa Cyrnos this morning," she began. "Cyrnos is the Greek name for the island of Corsica, the ancestral home of the Bonapartes.
"A gentleman presenting credentials as a restorer of antique furniture arrived for an interview. One of my agents had sought him out after seeing his work. I wished to make ready for display in her boudoir at Malmaison an unusual washstand which had belonged to the Empress Josephine.
"I invited my visitor to join me for a cup of tea. He accepted in an accent distinctly Slavic, although he never identified himself further, nor did I ask. We spoke for a time of his successes in restoration. He struck me as most knowledgeable, correctly recognizing two rare tables in the room. He made intelligent recommendations for their care.
"Suddenly, he remarked upon a flower prominent in the design of the breakfast-room wallpaper. It is distinctive. Its petals are as luminously red as a jewel, with a tiny heart-like center surrounded by sunny yellow. The wallpaper is a personal memento of the Empress Carlotta, for whose husband, Maximilian, my own husband created a throne in Mexico.
She commissioned the paper from Aztec artisans, and sent it to me as a gift. They told her that the red flower grew only in the Valley of Mexico, on the dried magma flows known as los jardines del pedregal , 'the gardens of lava.'
"The furniture restorer peered at the paper over my shoulder while we chatted, and, abruptly, made a comment that nearly stopped my heart. 'A most delicate and exquisite blossom, the little red one,' he said, adding, 'which I have seen but once, in a remote Outer Mongolian valley. It is known there as Dragon's Heart .'
"The lovely Limoges teacup I held in my hand crashed to the floor, shattering into fragments! He had spoken the code! Mon Dieu ! He was a messenger!
"When I regained my poise, I listened with rapt attention...not wanting to miss a word. His instructions were specific. I was told exactly where to go, whom to bring, and when to be there, but beyond that he offered nothing.
"Mes amis , we have embarked upon an odyssey of mystery, bound for a rendezvous of unknown purpose. I pray that it provides some answers to our enigma."
She rose from her chair. "Gentlemen, we should retire. May I ask that you relax for the next few days until we reach our destination. We should gather our spiritual resources in preparation for meeting whatever challenge God may choose to put before us. Good night."
She nodded her head regally and, despite the untoward lurching of the ship, proceeded steadily from the saloon.
The storm abated by morning.
The Thistle cruised at a leisurely pace along the west coast of Sardinia, sailed around Tunisia's Cape Bon, and called in at Malta.
The Valletta port authorities, being British, accorded the Thistle a royal welcome, foregoing customs formalities. In keeping with her instructions from the messenger, that the voyage was to appear as normal as possible, she accepted an invitation for the three of them to take tea at Government House.
Leaving Malta, they proceeded next to Crete, then threaded their way northward through the Greek isles, passing between European and Asian Turkey at Constantinople before entering the Black Sea through the Bosporus.
Not until then did the Empress advise Philo and Ardie of their final destination.
"I have scrupulously followed the instructions given me in the name of Dragon's Heart," she said as they sat at a small table on the aft deck, under a wide awning protecting them from the hot sun. "The route was specified, and I was counseled to tell not even you, Captain, of our destination. Perhaps it was felt the less talk, the better. We are bound for the Crimean Peninsula. Yes, very soon we shall be in Russian waters. Our rendezvous is scheduled for tomorrow at mid-morning."
She paused, leaning forward and clasping her hands in front of her on the table.
"Captain, there is something else I have not told you. For this, I apologize."
The Empress rose from her chair and walked to the railing. Dressed in lawn, hatless, the wind gently lifting her hair, she appeared to be rested after the peaceful voyage. Hints of her once great beauty showed as they seldom did anymore. She looked out to sea for a moment, then turned back to the men.
"We are not alone on the Thistle ," she announced. "I am not referring to the crew."
Philo was puzzled. "Really? I have seen no other guests."
"Prince Dayan is on board," she informed them. "I was asked by the messenger to bring him with us. These people of the Dragon's Heart have eyes everywhere! The man knew the prince was staying with me at Cap Martin.
"You see, at an Open House I held in England last Christmas, I introduced the boy to a very beautiful girl of titled family. Quel coup de foudre ! A bolt from the blue! Love at first sight! The situation became impossible. Her family treated him badly. He was at his wit's end with unhappiness. I thought a summer on the Riviera tonic enough to heal any young man's bruised heart, so I brought him with me here.
"When the Dragon's Heart messenger asked me to bring the prince, he instructed me to keep him out of sight throughout the voyage. I could not imagine why. 'Are you suspicious of someone of my crew?' I asked him. 'It is only a precaution,' he said.
"Thus, I decided that the prince should be hidden in a cabin which is seldom used. His meals have been taken to him by my own maid. Not even the captain of the Thistle knows him to be aboard.
"It has been very difficult for the prince. He is a lively, athletic boy unused to confinement. He knows, of course, that you are with us. He is so fond of you, Captain.
May I ask you to go to him? My maid will show you the way. No one must see you. A visit from you would break the monotony. I feel free in doing this since we are only hours away from our rendezvous. Would you, Captain?"
"Of course, Madame," he smiled. "I would be delighted. I've had many an enlightening chat with his father. I would like to know what sort of man he has become."
The young man waiting in the cabin was no longer the slim, narrow-shouldered boy whom Philo had last seen at Farnborough Hill when the prince was sixteen. He had filled out, and stood over six feet. Once androgynous in appearance, there was no question of his masculinity now. Although still smooth, his handsome face was cast in strong, square features. His eyes were less almond-shaped, and more round, than might be expected in an Asian from the Far East. His hair was thick and black.
They talked for two hours, principally about Dayan's life in England.
"Having lived all my life among fellow Asians before coming to the West," Dayan said, "I was ill-prepared for the prejudice I encountered here. There is equally hateful prejudice in the East, to be sure, but it is more social than racial, more political than religious. Occidentals seem truly to despise Orientals. I have so often been called 'coolie' that I could very nearly have done without any other name!"
Philo clicked his tongue. "It is stunning to me how the Western mind, creator of great societies, great philosophies and great religions, can almost universally harbor such bias against the non-white races. I recall my sojourns in China, India, and Egypt. How appalled I was at the way foreign whites conducted themselves there! The denigrating terms they employed for decent, hard-working humanity! Perhaps it is apocryphal, but there is a story about the origin of the term 'wog' which aptly illustrates this perversity."
"Please tell me the story, sir," pressed Dayan. "At Cambridge, there was a don, a professor, whom the white students considered most democratic. Even so, he could never walk past me without muttering under his breath, 'filthy wog!'"
Philo shook his head in disgust. "British soldiers stationed in the East were reprimanded by memorandum from London for the use of such words as 'nigger' in referring to the local population. The memorandum spoke of the locals as 'worthy Oriental gentlemen.' It took no more than a day for the lofty designation to be corrupted to the scurrilous acronym, 'W.O.G.' Even 'coolie' began as a perfectly proper Hindi word, quli , which meant 'hired servant.'"
"Ah! There you have it, Captain! That is the feeling I got from the English, that I would never be qualified as more than a hired servant despite my education."
Philo sighed. "In my own country, we enslaved a race of men and women for the folly of not being white. We kidnaped them from their native lands, transported them to our shores, exploited them, and finally set them free to be treated with continuing contempt and denigration! We even killed off the indigenous peoples in our country because they were not white!"
They sat in reflection for a moment, listening to the little ship creak as it carried them through the Black Sea.
Dayan finally spoke. "I...I fell in love...with a white girl...in England, and she with me. Foolishly, we thought our love could overcome all. I had gone so far as to approach her father. I stood before him and presented my credentials. He simply stared at me, Captain, and never said a word. His eyes spoke, nonetheless - 'coolie, nigger, wog.' He turned and left the room. A servant showed me to the door. I never saw my love again."
Dayan went to the porthole. He gazed out at the sunny, rolling sea.
"I shall never marry, Captain, nor shall I return to Europe. Even if my father has not sent for me, I am going home. I'll carve a place in my own world, where I belong."
|