“Everyone thought Seth was going to appear. The royal box was still there, shoddy sort of affair but it provided a platform. Every one kept looking in that direction. Suddenly who should climb up but the Patriarch, who had been released from prison by the rioters, and after him Connolly and old Ngumo and one or two others of the notables. Well, the crowd cheered like mad for the Patriarch, and Ngumo, and the soldiers cheered for Connolly and started firing off their rifles again into the air and for a quarter of an hour the place was in an uproar…”
“… and two bruises on the lower part of my shin where the stirrups came…”
“Poor Mr. Raith…”
“Then came the big surprise of the day. The patriarch made a speech, don’t suppose half the people heard it. Announced that Seth had abdicated and that Achon, Amurath’s son who’s supposed to have been dead for fifty years, was still alive and would be crowned Emperor to-day. The fellows near started cheering and the others took it up—they didn’t know why—and soon they had a regular party going. Meanwhile the Christians had been making hay in the Indian and Jewish quarters, breaking up the shops and setting half the place on fire. That’s when Jag-ger and I made our get-away…”
“… very stiff and chafed…”
“… poor, poor Mr. Raith.”
“All talking shop as usual,” said Sir Samson, as these voices floated in to him through the dining-room windows. “And eating me out of house and home,” he added sourly as he noted that there was a shortage of kedgeree that morning.
“But what about Basil Seal?” Prudence asked.
“He went off with Seth, I believe,’
‘ said the Bank Manager, “wherever that may b.’
Lady Courteney appeared among her guests, wearing gum boots and pushing a barrow and spade. Emperors might come and go, but there was heavy digging to be done in the lily pond.
“Good-morning,” she said. “I do hope you all slept well after your adventures and found enough breakfast. I’m afraid this is a very topsy-turvy house party. Prudence, child, I want you to help with the mud-puddle this morning. Mr. Raith, I’m sure you’re tired after your ride. Take an easy morning like a sensible man. The Bishop will show you the best parts of the garden. Take some deck chairs. You’ll find them on the porch. Dame Mildred and Miss Tin, how are you both? I hope my maid found you all you needed. Do please all make yourselves at home. Mr. Jagger, perhaps you play croquet.”
The Envoy Extraordinary finished his second cup of coffee, filled and lit his pipe, and avoiding the social life of the lawn, pottered round by the back way to the Chancery. Here at least there survived an atmosphere of normal tranquillity. Anstruther, Legge and William were playing cut-throat bridge.
“Sorry to disturb you, fellows. I just wanted to know whether any of you knew anything about this revolution?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Care to take a hand, sir?” 265 “No, thanks very much. I think I’ll have a talk with the Bishop about his Cathedral. Save writing that letter. Daresay everything’ll be all right now that Seth’s left—I suppose I shall have to write a report of this business. No one will read it. But one of you might pop down into town sometime and see exactly what’s happened, will you?”
“That’s going to be a bore,” said William, as the Minister left them. “God, what a mean dummy.”
An hour later he visited them again.
“I say, I’ve just got a letter asking me to this coronation. I suppose some one from here ought to go? It means putting on uniform and mine’s got so infernally tight. William, be a good fellow and represent me, will you?”
The Nestorian Cathedral, like the whole of the city, was of quite recent construction, but its darkness and stuffiness endowed it with an air of some antiquity. It was an octagonal, domed building, consisting of a concentric ambulatory round an inner sanctuary. The walls were painted in primitive sim-plicity with saints and angels, battle scenes from the Old Testament history and portraits of Amurath the Great, faintly visible in the murky light of a dozen or so branch candlesticks. Three choirs had been singing since dawn. There was an Office of enormous length to be got through before the coronation Mass—psalms, prophecies, lections, and many minor but prolix rites of purification. Three aged lectors recited Leviticus from manuscript scrolls while a band of deacons played a low rhythm on hand drums and a silver gong. The Church party were in the ascendent at the moment and were not disposed to forego a single liturgical luxury.
Meanwhile chairs and carpets were being arranged in the outer aisle and an awning improvised through which, after the Mass, the new Emperor was to be led to take the final vows in the presence of the populace. All roads to the Cathedral were heavily policed and the square was lined with guardsmen. At eleven M. Ballon arrived and took his place in the seats set aside for the diplomatic corps. The Americans had all left the town so that he was now in the position of doyen. The native nobility had already assembled. The Duke of Ukaka found a place next to the Earl of Ngumo.
“Where’s Achon now?”
“Inside with the priests.”
“How is he?”
“He passed a good night. I think he finds the robes uncomfortable.”
Presently the Office ended and the Mass began, said behind closed doors by the Patriarch himself, with all the complex ritual of his church. An occasional silver tinkle from inside informed the wor-shippers of the progress of the ceremony, while a choir of deacons maintained a solemn chant somewhere out of sight in the gloom. M. Ballon stirred uneasily, moved by tiny, uncontrollable shudders of shocked atheism. Presently William arrived, carrying cocked hat, white gloves, very elegant in gold braid. He smiled pleasantly at M. Ballon and sat beside him.
“I say, have they started?”
M. Ballon nodded but did not reply.
A long time passed and the diplomat shifted from buttock to buttock in his gilt chair. It was no longer a matter of anti-clericalism but of acute physical discomfort.
