William twiddled his gloves and dropped his hat and gaped miserably at the frescoed ceiling. Once absentmindedly he took out his cigarette case, tapped a cigarette on the toe of his shoe and was about to light it when he caught a glance from M. Ballon which caused him hastily to return it to his pocket.
But eventually an end came. The doors of the inner sanctuary were thrown open; the trumpeters on the Cathedral steps sounded a fanfare; the band in the square recognised their signal and struck up the Azanian Anthem. The procession emerged into the open. First came the choir of deacons, the priests, Bishops and the Patriarch. Then a canopy of bro-cade supported on poles at each corner by the four premier peers of the Empire. Under it shuffled the new monarch in the robes of state. It was not clear from his manner that he understood the nature of the proceedings. He wriggled his shoulders irritably under the unaccustomed burden of silk and jewellery, scratched his ribs and kept feeling disconsolately towards his right foot and shaking it sideways as he walked, worried at missing his familiar chain. Some drops of the holy oil with which he had been recently anointed trickled over the bridge of his nose and, drop by drop, down his white beard. Now and then he faltered and halted in his pace and was only moved on by a respectful dig in the ribs from one of his attendant peers. M. Ballon, William and the native nobility fell in behind him and with slow steps proceeded to the dais for the final ceremonies.
A great shout rose from the concourse as the im-perial party mounted the steps and Achon was led to the throne prepared for him. Here, one by one, he was invested with the royal regalia. First, holding the sword of state, the Patriarch addressed him: “Achon, I give you this sword of the Empire of Azania. Do you swear to fight in the cause of Justice and Faith, for the protection of your people and the glory of your race?’
The Emperor grunted and the ornate weapon was laid across his lap and one of his listless hands placed upon its hilt while cannonades of applause rose from his assembled subjects.
Then the gold spur.
“Achon, I give you this spur. Do you swear to ride in the cause of Justice and Faith for the protection of your people and the glory of your race?”
The Emperor gave a low whimper and turned away his face; the Earl of Ngumo buckled the spur about the foot that had so lately borne a graver weight. Huzzas and holloing in the crowded square.
Finally the crown.
“Achon, I give you this crown. Do you swear to use it in the cause of Justice and Faith for the protection of your people and the glory of your race?”
The Emperor remained silent and the Patriarch advanced towards him with the massive gold tiara of Amaruth the Great. With great gentleness he placed it over the wrinkled brow and straggle of white hairs; but Achon’s head lolled forward under its weight and the bauble was pitched back into the Patriarch’s hands.
Nobles and prelates clustered about the old man and then dismay spread among them and a babble of scared undertones. The people, seeing that something was amiss, broke off short in their cheering and huddled forward towards the dais.
“Tcha!” exclaimed M. Ballon. “This is something infinitely vexatious. It was not to be foreseen.”
For Achon was dead.
“Well,” said Sir Samson, when, rather late for luncheon, William brought back news of the coronation, “I can’t for the life of me see how they think they’re any better off. They’ll have to get Seth back now I suppose and we’ve all been disturbed for nothing. It’ll look infernally silly when we send in a re-port of this to the F. O. Not sure we hadn’t better keep quiet about the whole business.”
“By the way,” said William. “I heard something else in the town. The bridge is down at Lumo, so there’ll be no more trains to the coast for weeks.”
“One thing after another.’
They were all there, cramped at the elbows, round the dining-room table, Bishop and curates, Bank Manager and Mr. Jagger, Dame Mildred and Miss Tin, and they all began asking William questions about the state of the town. Was the fire completely put out? Was there looting in the shops? Did the life of the place seem to be going on normally? Were there troops patrolling the streets? Where was Seth? Where was Seal? Where was Boaz?
“I don’t think it at all fair to tease William,” said Prudence, “particularly when he looks so nice in his uniform.”
“But if, as you say, this bridge is demolished.’
‘ demanded Dame Mildred, “how can one get to Ma-todi?”
“There isn’t any other way, unless you like to ride down on a camel with one of the caravans.”
“D’you mean to say we must stay here until the bridge is rebuilt?”
“Not her,’
‘ interposed Sir Samson involuntarily, “not here.”
“I think the whole thing is scandalous,’
‘ said Miss Tin.
At last, before coffee was served, the Minister left the table.
“Got to get back to work,” he said cheerfully, “and I shall be at it all the afternoon so I’d better say good-bye now. I expect you’ll all be gone before I get through with it.”
And he left in the dining-room seven silent guests whose faces were eloquent of consternation. Later they assembled furtively in a corner of the garden to discuss their circumstances.
“I must admit,” said the Bishop, “that it seems to me unreasonable and inconsiderate of the Minister to expect us to return to the town until we have more reassuring information about the conditions.”
“As British subjects we have the right to be protected by our flag,” said Dame Mildred, “and I for one intend to stay here whether Sir Samson likes it or not.”
“That’s right,’
