River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [76]
‘The one with the turban – is he what they call a Raja?’
‘Better still – he is a prince of ancient Persia …’
‘A pure-blooded Parsee – directly descended from Xerxes and Darius …’
Bahram smiled to himself, thinking of how his mother would have laughed.
The next day it came to be known that the Cuffnells would have to remain in St Helena somewhat longer than expected because of a minor problem with equipment. For Bahram and Zadig, who were tired of their shipboard quarters and eager to get to their destination, the news caused only annoyance. But the British contingent, on the other hand, responded with a renewed surge of optimism: having learnt that Napoleon liked to go for long walks in the vicinity of his lodge, they arranged to hire horses to take them up to the hills. Zadig predicted that this expedition would prove as futile as all their other efforts – but he was wrong, for the members of the riding party returned with their hopes refreshed. Although they had not seen Bonaparte himself, they had encountered someone who had said that he might well be able to make the necessary arrangements. This gentleman happened to be one of the Quartermasters charged with the provisioning of the General’s household; what was more, he was an acquaintance of one of the passengers and had quickly revealed himself to be the most civil, the most obliging of men: he said that the General had recently evinced some interest in the Cuffnells and he offered to convey their request directly to the Grand Marshal Bertrand, who was the General’s companion in exile. He assured them that they would have their answer the following day.
Sure enough the next day brought the Quartermaster to the Cuffnells at noon. Not long afterwards a lascar came down to tell Bahram that his presence was required above, on the quarter-deck.
No such invitation had ever been extended to Bahram before and he was taken aback. Are you sure? he said to the lascar. Who sent you?
The sahibs and ma’ams, came the reply.
Achha? Chalo. Tell them I’m coming.
Donning a fresh angarkha, Bahram climbed the ladder to the quarter-deck and was greeted with an unprecedented display of warmth.
‘Oh Mr Moddie, please do take a seat.’
‘And you are well today? Not peaked by the weather I trust?’
‘No, no,’ Bahram hastened to reassure them. ‘My health is pink. Please tell, how to be of service.’
‘Well Mr Moddie …’
After some initial awkwardness, and several roundabout remarks, the Quartermaster came at last to the point. ‘I am sure you are aware, Mr Moddie, that Napoleon Bonaparte is a prisoner on this island. Some of your shipmates are most desirous of meeting with him and he has agreed to receive them. But upon one condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘Bonaparte has stipulated that he will see the others only if he can meet with you first, Mr Moddie.’
‘Me? But why?’ Bahram cried in astonishment.
‘Well, Mr Moddie, it has come to the Bonaparte’s ears that there is a Zoroastrian prince on the Cuffnells.’
‘Prince?’ Bahram’s eyes widened. ‘What Prince? Why he wants? What he will do with Prince?’
The Quartermaster cleared his throat before launching on an explanation: ‘It appears, Mr Moddie, that the Bonaparte had once fancied himself as the Alexander of our age. It was his intention to proceed eastwards from Egypt to Persia and India, in the footsteps of the great Macedonian. He had even dreamt, it seems, of encountering Darius at the gates of Persepolis,