Noon in Matodi. The harbour lay still as a photograph, empty save for a few fishing boats moored motionless against the sea wall. No breeze stirred the royal standard that hung over the old fort. No traffic moved on the water-front. The offices were locked and shuttered. The tables had been cleared from the hotel terrace. In the shade of a mango the two sentries lay curled asleep, their rifles in the dust beside them.
“From Seth, Emperor of Azania, Chief of the Chiefs of Sakuyu, Lord of Wanda and Tyrant of the Seas, Bachelor of the Arts of Oxford University, to His Majesty of the King of England, Greeting. May this reach you. Peace be to your house…”
He had been dictating since dawn. Letters of greeting, Patents of Nobility, Pardons, Decrees of Attainder, Army Ordinances, police regulations, orders to European firms for motor cars, uniforms, furniture, electric plant, invitations to the Coronation; proclamations of a public holiday in honour of his victory, lay neatly clipped together on the secretary’s table.
“Still no news from the hills. We should have heard of the victory by now.’
‘ The secretary recorded these words, considered them with his head cocked slightly to one side and then drew a line through them. “We should have heard, shouldn’t we, Ali?”
“We should have heard.”
“What has happened? Why don’t you answer me? Why have we heard nothing?”
“Who am I? I know nothing. I only hear what the ignorant people are saying in the bazaar, since the public men evacuated the city. The ignorant people say that your majesty’s army has not gained the victory you predict.”
“Fools, what do they know? What can they understand? I am Seth, grandson of Amurath. Defeat is impossible. I have been to Europe. I know. We have the Tank. This is not a war of Seth against Seyid but of Progress against Barbarism. And Progress must prevail. I have seen the great tattoo of Alder-shot, the Paris Exhibition, the Oxford Union. I have read modern books—Shaw, Arlen, Priestley. What do the gossips in the bazaars know of all this? The whole might of Evolution rides behind him; at my stirrups run woman’s suffrage, vaccination, and vivi-section. I am the New Age. I am the Future.”
“I know nothing of these things,” said Ali. “But the ignorant men in the bazaar say that your majesty’s guards have joined Prince Seyid. You will remember my pointing out that they had received no wages for several months?”
“They shall be paid. I have said it. As soon as the war is over they shall be paid. Besides I raised them in rank. Every man in the brigade is now a full corporal. I issued the edict myself. Ungrateful curs. Old-fashioned fools. Soon we will have no more soldiers. Tanks and aeroplanes. That is modern. I have seen it. That reminds me. Have you sent off instructions for the medals?”
Ali turned over the file of correspondence.
“Your majesty has ordered five hundred Grand Cross of Azania, first class; five hundred second; and seven hundred third; also designs for the Star of Seth, silver gilt and enamel with parti-coloured rib bon…”
“No, no. I mean the Victory Medal.’
“I received no instructions concerning the Vic tory Medal.”
“Then take this down.”
“The invitation to the King of England?”
“The King of England can wait. Take down the instructions for the Victory Medal. Obverse, the head of Seth— that is to be copied from the photo graph taken in Oxford. You understand—it is to be modern, European—top hat, spectacles, evening dress collar and tie. Inscription SETH IMPERA-TOR IMMORTALIS. The whole to be simple and in good taste. Many of my grandfather’s medals were florid. Reverse. The figure of Progress. She holds in one hand an aeroplane, in the other some small ob-ject symbolic of improved education. I will give you the detail of that later. The idea will come to me… a telephone might do… I will see. Meanwhile begin the letter: “From Seth, Emperor of Azania, Chief of the Chiefs of Sakuyu, Lord of Wanda and Tyrant of the Seas, Bachelor of the Arts of Oxford University, to Messrs. Mappin and Webb of London. Greeting. May this reach you. Peace be to your house.. ‘
Evening and a small stir of life. Muezzin in the minaret. Allah is great. There is no Allah but Allah and Mohammed is his prophet. Angelus from the mission church. Ecce ancilla Domini: fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. Mr. Youkournian behind the bar of the Amurath Cafe and Universal Stores mixed himself a sundowner of mastika and water.
“What I want to know is do I get paid for the petrol?”
“You know I am doing all I can for you, Mr. Youkoumian. I’m your friend. You know that. But the Emperor’s busy to-day. I’ve only just got off. Been on all day. I’ll try and get your money for you.”
“I’ve done a lot for you, Ali”
“I know you have, Mr. Youkournian, and I hope I am not ungrateful. If I could get you your money just by asking for it you should have it this evening.”
“But I must have it this evening. I’m going.”
“Going?”
“I’ve made my arrangements Well, I don’t mind telling you, Ali, since you’re a friend.” Mr. Youkoumian glanced furtively round the empty bar–they were speaking in Sakuyu—”I’ve got a launch beached outside the harbour, behind the trees near the old sugar mill in the bay. What’s more there’s room in it for another passenger. I wouldn’t tell this to any one but you. Matodi’s not going to be a healthy place for the next week or two. Seth’s beaten. We know that. I’m going to my brother on the mainland. Only I want my money for the petrol before I go.”
“Yes, Mr. Youkoumian, I appreciate your offer. But you know it’s very difficult. You can hardly ex-pect the Emperor to pay for having his own motor-boat stole./’
“I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that yesterday evening Mr. Marx came into my store and said he wanted the Emperor’s motor-boat filled up with petrol. Eighty rupee’s worth. I’ve served Mr. Marx with petrol before for the Emperor. How was I to know he wanted to steal the Emperor’s motor-boat? Should I have given it to him if I did?”
Mr. Youkoumian spread his hands in the traditional gesture of his race. “I am a poor man. Is it right that I
