Chapter 15A
PLEASING HIS MAJESTY THE KING

The Barcalon prided himself in having direct access to the king, but that didn’t mean he felt comfortable in His Majesty’s presence. He didn’t mind it so much when the king was alone, but when ministers and advisors were present it was different. He was especially uncomfortable when General Phetracha was with the king. This day when he went to see the king to tell him about Phaulkon and his daughter’s birthday party arrangements, the general was there. The Barcalon saw instantly he had chosen the wrong time to approach the king. He knew when he entered he would have to do some fast talking and get out as quickly as possible. The king and the general were in an altercation of some sort apparently over military matters, judging by the tone of their voices and the map on the floor before them. Whatever the disagreement was, the subject was immediately dropped when the Barcalon entered. General Phetracha was not pleased with the intrusion. The Barcalon prostrated himself before the king, something he didn’t do when the king was alone.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” King Narai asked.

The Barcalon rose to his knees. He was taken aback by how very tired the king looked. Something was troubling him. Two servants had been fanning the two men by pulling the ropes of an overhead fan suspended from the ceiling, but the king motioned for them to leave. The room suddenly became warm and like a weight the heat seemed to descend upon them.

“I came to discuss the arrangements for the birthday, Your Majesty,” the Barcalon said, taking his kerchief and wiping his brow. The general seemed pleased in seeing the Barcalon swelter before them.

“Yes, the birthday party,” King Narai replied. “And more problems. At a time like this I have to divert my energies to my daughter’s birthday. And now you come to tell me the costs are more than we expected and that the Arabs want more money. Is that not right?”

The Barcalon knew these were empty words for the king took great satisfaction in pleasing his daughter, and at any cost. “On the contrary, Your Majesty,” the Barcalon said. “It’s quite the opposite.

I have turned the matter over to my new assistant, the foreigner.” He gave a quick glance towards General Phetracha who snarled at the mention of the new foreigner. The general was opposed to any foreigner involved in official matters of the state. The general did nothing to mask his feeling and everyone was aware of his attitude about foreigners. The king usually made some attempt to appease the general when the matter came up but now he let it pass. He was more interested in what the Barcalon had to say than how the general felt.

“I have heard about this man, a Greek I am told,” the king said.

“Tell me about him. What has he done?”

“My assistant, Khun Phaulkon, has arranged it all,” the Barcalon said. “And as you requested, Your Majesty, a Western-style celebration has been prepared.” He took a moment to bow, like an actor looking for praise, and then added, “It will be the most grand celebration ever staged.” He knew his words would bring a quick response.

General Phetracha did not want to hear more and rose to his feet to leave.

“Wait,” the king spoke up before the Barcalon could continue. “This is not a royal coronation. It’s my daughter’s birthday party.” The general hesitated.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Barcalon began. “It will be costly, more than the treasury intended to spend. But it will cost the treasury nothing.”

“It will cost nothing,” General Phetracha interrupted.

“Yes, cost nothing and yet be a grand celebration not seen for a long time in the kingdom,” the Barcalon proudly stated.

 “What, this man of yours, is he a magician?” the general said, half laughing. He stood with his feet apart, his hands at his hips, like a boxer ready for a fight.

“It will cost nothing,” the Barcalon said, “and the treasury will make money at the same time.”

“Enough, enough.” Said the king. “Now tell me what is going on.” The Barcalon explained Phaulkon’s motives, and his method of operation. He told how Phaulkon had not only kept the costs down, but how he had also collected proceeds from previous entertainment functions that had been overcharged by the Arabs. The general remained silent but very much agitated.

The king, after contemplating what the Barcalon had to say, asked if this foreigner was clever, or was he simply quick-witted.

“Both, Your Majesty,” the Barcalon replied. “He is very clever, that is certain, but he is also a man with experience and knowledge far beyond any other man of his young age.”

“Then tell me about this man who serves the Barcalon well,” the king said. He wanted to know if it was true what people were saying about him, that a bright new star had emerged in the shipping business. The Barcalon wasted no words to expound upon the merits of Phaulkon. He praised him highly.

The king then turned to General Phetracha and asked him what he knew about this Greek. The general admitted that he had heard about him, and that he was very feared by merchants and traders due to the fact that he speaks all their languages. He also admitted that what he heard was that the Greek had the keen ability to detect fraud. He then cast the aspersion that thieves know thieves.

“But from what I gather,” General Phetracha concluded, “he is not liked by most people.”

“You are so right, General Phetracha,” the Barcalon acknowledged. “Virtue untested is always questionable. This man of whom we speak will prove his worth, as he has already done.”

In spite of the General Phetracha’s indifference, the king congratulated the Barcalon for having such a fine man in his employ, and said that it takes a wise man to recognize greatness in another man. He continued to expound upon his thoughts, speaking to the Barcalon but obviously intending for the general to hear. “The kingdom needs someone like him, a man with his experience. You have made a wise decision in hiring this foreigner.” The Barcalon dared not look at the general but kept focused upon the king.

“I am grateful for such praise,” the Barcalon said. “And for your gratitude, Your Majesty, I would like to offer His Majesty a present-the most prized possession I could give.” Both King Narai and General Phetracha paused in animation, like two mime performers waiting for a cue. “I offer His Majesty the service of this man, Khun Phaulkon.”

The Barcalon expected King Narai to deliberate on the matter.

He expected him to say he would have to consult with the advisors but it was not like that at all. The king did not have to ponder the offer. “I am happy to accept,” he said. “Now you may leave and attend to this matter of informing everyone about your offer.”

The Barcalon had hardly left the king’s chamber when the king summoned the court officials. They came presently, gave their salutations and waited for the king’s words. General Phetracha sat sullenly to the left of the king. All the time he and the king had waited the arrival of the court officials, they had not addressed the matter. It was an awkward silence. General Phetracha amused himself by withdrawing his sword from the scabbard and wiping the blade with delicate care with a cloth he kept for that purpose tucked in his sash. He knew, perhaps, that it made the king nervous.

Chapter 14
THE NEW ASSISTANT TREASURER

Phaulkon’s first duty as Assistant Treasurer, and one that he didn’t mind at all, was to change his attire. It would not have been proper for him to wear the uniform of an officer in the East India Company. He put away the uncomfortable dress of the Europeans. No more tight woolen trousers, heavy leather boots, long coats, shirts with ruffles, balloon sleeves and lace cuffs and three cornered hats. Now came the more appropriate clothing of the Siamese, clothing suited for the tropics. His new tailor was Siamese, and he fitted out him in Siamese dress: colorful clothes befitting a women more than a man. There were sarongs, but instead of wrap arounds, the ends were tucked between the legs so as to form bulging trousers. There were penangs of various colors and vests that were open fronted. For more formal wear there were velvet Siamese shirts with brocaded sleeves, gold-jeweled epaulettes, belts and sashes, and pagoda headpieces. The one thing that Phaulkon didn’t fancy was the conical, pointed hat that he had to wear to designate his rank.

And there was the matter of the palanquin, the cushioned sedan chairs with overhead canopies for protection from sun and rain, mounted on two long slender poles. It required two bearers to carry one. The Barcalon went everywhere in his palanquin, even to cross the street, but for him it took four bearers to transport him. Phaulkon preferred to walk. Then there were the servants. Phaulkon was, at first, uncomfortable with servants crawling on hands and knees to serve him. But there were some things, he realized, that he had to accept.

When Phaulkon looked at his reflection in the glass, he had to laugh. He amused himself with the thought of marching over to Mr. Fanique’s house, knocking on the door, and announcing to the servant, “Tell your master I am here, in the service of the king. Ask him if I can now marry his daughter?”

The Barcalon assigned Phaulkon an office near his in the palace grounds but, of course, it was not as elaborate as the Barcalon’s. In fact, it was rather simple. Phaulkon continued to live in his quarters near the Portuguese quarter. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but it was near Mr. Fanique’s house.

Phaulkon wasn’t long in his office at the palace when it became a beehive of activity. Every morning he could be seen at the first light of dawn walking along the klongs to the palace grounds. Soon merchants and shopkeepers along the way got to know him and greeted him as he passed. He learned many of their names and called out to them by name. The children, most of all, took delight to see him pass, this strange looking foreign man in Siamese dress. They laughed and giggled, and pulled at their noses in mock imitation of his long nose, and Phaulkon did the same to them which brought on more laughter.

The Barcalon had full control of all the kingdom’s matters and that included transaction of trade, and by making Phaulkon his assistant, he was placing into the Greek’s hands many of the responsibilities of that office. The Barcalon, naturally, having put Phaulkon in office against the wishes of many ministers, desired to see him succeed. He was pleased when Phaulkon took charge, without complaint, and put all matters of business into his own hands. Phaulkon was determined to do well. In a very short time he learned his way around official circles in the capital and mastered the ins and outs of trade in the kingdom. He learned quickly.

As the Barcalon’s assistant, Phaulkon’s duty was to check all trade-related transactions. He had to make certain that when a shipment came in, the king and palace officials got first choice. He negotiated the price on behalf of royalty. Once settled, the rest of the goods went on the open market.

Phaulkon was in his office only a few days when the Barcalon came to visit. It was one of those chaotic yet normal days. Merchants and sea captains crowded the premises, all clamoring to see Phaulkon at once. Christoph did his best to maintain order by keeping everyone in line. Diego in the meanwhile led visitors one by one into Phaulkon’s office. Barcalon had entered the office unnoticed and, as he stood in the rear, he could hear Phaulkon in conversation with the merchants and captains, talking with each in their own language. When a clerk spotted the Barcalon and recognized him, the clerk fell to his knees, and everyone in the office, seeing who he was, followed suit, except for the Europeans. They looked confused. When Phaulkon came out of his office he did the same, went down on his knees. He then admonished the Europeans for their lack of respect and instructed them to do likewise. Like weary domesticated cattle they lowered themselves to the floor. It was comical to watch them. A few could make it only as far as one knee and there they stopped. The Barcalon left the office pleased, chuckling to himself Diego and Christoph had a side room next to the office and they made it their policy to always be at hand in the event they were needed. As Phaulkon’s popularity grew, and more demands were put upon him, either Diego or Christoph followed him wherever he went. One of them would be at his residence waiting for him when he left in the morning to go to the office, and one or the other would accompany him home at night when he left the office. When he ventured out into the streets, they were there. They were doubly cautious when he went to inspect the godowns along the riverfront. As Phaulkon’s bodyguards, they went about their business armed with sabers at their sides and flintlock pistols tucked in their sashes. Phaulkon gave up wearing his saber but he carried a dagger out of sight inside his vest. In the same way as he was much admired and liked, he was also hated. He was aware that he had untold enemies.

At least once a week Phaulkon took time to visit with his teacher Thamnon. The meetings became his respite from a busy schedule’. His walks with Thamnon in the garden were peaceful and enjoyable. They talked about many things, politics, the economy, Siamese society, and the behavior of Europeans in Ayutthaya. Phaulkon learned much from his teacher about the Siamese and their social structure. “Each race feels superior to the other,” Thamnon once said to him. “How the Siamese feel is one thing; how they behave is another.”

“Europeans are much the same,” Phaulkon commented. “The English feel superior over the French, and the Dutch over the Portuguese.”

”And the Greeks?” Thamnon asked.

“We can always fall back on our heritage, and no one can deny that,” Phaulkon replied. “Unfortunately heritage by itself doesn’t put food on the table.”

”And with all Europeans, no matter which country a person may be from, he feels superior to Asians. But remember, Mr. Phaulkon, the laugh is on them. Asians classify all Europeans as barbarians.”

“But I am beginning to think as an Asian,” Phaulkon said. “You even said so.”

“You may proclaim to be Asian, and you may dress accordingly, and speak the language flawlessly, but you are not Asian, and you never could be. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can.” Thamnon said.

“But why not?” asked Phaulkon.

“Because your ears are too small,” Thamnon said and laughed. “What’s so funny about that?” Phaulkon asked, puzzled.

“I read a report by the French to their king, and it said Siamese are very different from Europeans. Siamese have larger ears. Now I spend all my time looking at the ears of foreigners when I see them. They must think it very odd of me. However, I think maybe the French are right. Siamese do have larger ears.”

They both laughed.

The longer Phaulkon was in office, the more the English merchants and other European traders treated him with disdain. Behind his back they referred to him as that upstart “cabin boy.” Phaulkon didn’t mind when he got wind of it. He had more serious problems to worry about than what people thought of him. A difficult situation arose when two ships, perhaps an EIC vessel and another belonging to an interloper arrived and both had the same trade goods aboard. It was his decision as to which ship could open its cargo first. The same applied to exports. No matter which one he chose, the other became his enemy. Often he chose interlopers for the reason they were less arrogant than the British working for the EIC.

Phaulkon encouraged both Siamese and foreign merchants to offer their goods to the king first, and the rest after that for export. Phaulkon in return gave favors to merchants who followed his rule. Merchants who had no regard in giving first choice to the king found themselves last on the treasury’s list of benefits. In time it became the habit of traders and merchants to put the king’s service above everything else.

When goods were seen in market places that hadn’t been cleared through customs, Phaulkon had their source traced, from which ship they came, and then had the goods confiscated. Merchant and traders learned they couldn’t outsmart the Barcalon’s assistant. “Being a smuggler once before, I am aware of the system,” Phaulkon lectured Samuel Potts at one of their disagreements.

With the confiscated goods, Phaulkon obtained authorization from the Barcalon to auction them publicly, and the money received from the sale was donated to the king. The Barcalon and the king were impressed.

Abu Umar won Phaulkon’s favor by conducting the auctions. It was a weird relationship between the two. Both knew they couldn’t trust the other one and it worked well to both their advantages.

One day after Phaulkon was well entrenched in the matters of the treasury, the Barcalon called him to his office. He had an assignment for his assistant. A very special assignment, he said. The king was planning a grand celebration for his daughter’s coming birthday and wanted to use the occasion to express his gratitude to the foreigners in the kingdom. He wanted to invite high-ranking foreign officials, even those from as far away as Sangkau and Mergui, and leading merchants from Ayutthaya to attend the ceremony. The foreign delegation would include English, Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, French, Indian, Japanese, Chinese, Arabs and others. “Since the celebration is basically for foreigners,” the Barcalon said, “the king wants it arranged according to western fashion. Thus I have decided to put you in charge of organizing the celebration.”

The Barcalon explained until then Arabs were in charge of the king’s entertainment. Once Phaulkon accepted the responsibility he knew it would upset the system. The Arabs, naturally, became distraught for being replaced by Phaulkon and they immediately retaliated by presenting the palace with the balance of unpaid bills for past services. Until then they had been willing to let them slide by, intending to make up for it in the next billing. Phaulkon insisted upon seeing the accounting records for past services, and after auditing them, discovered that instead of the king owing money to the organizers as claimed, the organizers had overcharged and actually owed money to the king. Phaulkon demanded payment, which, when paid after duress, he turned over to the Barcalon.

Phaulkon proceeded to organize the birthday celebration and when the final bill was presented to the palace, Barcalon informed Phaulkon that he was on his way to meet the king, and he would inform the king that the celebration would cost less than half of what the king had expected to pay. “I am sure His Majesty will be pleased to hear that,” the Barcalon said. But he didn’t tell Phaulkon what else he intended to tell the king.

Chapter 13
THE TRIAL

For the swelling crowd of Siamese, the monks and the masses, the aristocrats, the boat people, the noblemen, the Hindus and the Muslims and Moors, the Malays, the Burmese, the Laotians, the Chinese and the multitude of European foreigners, both men and women, for them all, as they walked down the busy streets in Ayutthaya, it was just another day, a normal day. No one on the street that morning paid much attention to three men, three European men, on their way to an unknown fate that awaited them. No one gave thought that these three men could very well be walking to their own execution. But the three men knew; and they walked solemnly knowing that the man in the middle, the one with the dark complexion, was in control of their destinies. This the other two didn’t like. If one could have entered the minds of these two men, one could have seen the regret they harbored for bringing the third man to Ayutthaya. But there was little they could do about it now. Their fate was irrevocably sealed. They never once considered that it was due to their fault, through their own miscalculations, that they were headed to see the Governor of Ayutthaya that morning and possibly to their doom.

They reached the Audience Hall at the governor’s office, passed the soldiers guarding the door and entered to find the hall was packed. In the wings were mostly Europeans, the English, the Dutch, the French, the Portuguese, and quite a number of Arab Muslims. Noticeable among the Muslims was Abu Umar, the merchant and his entourage of followers. Less noticeable in one corner was a lone Chinese gentleman, Phaulkon’s teacher, Thamnon. And, of course, present were all of the employees of the East India Company, and many of the VOC as well. A clerk greeted the new arrivals and ordered White and Burnaby to take seats at one side. He motioned for Phaulkon to follow him.

Sitting on a raised platform sat the governor in military dress with all his decorations and at his side sat the Barcalon, dressed in his splendid silk robes with a wide jeweled cummerbund. On the desk before the governor was a dark brown packet; its two red ribbons had been opened and the wax seal broken. Phaulkon prostrated himself before the governor, his forehead touching the floor. When everyone in the hall was assembled and had quieted down, the governor picked up the packet and ordered Phaulkon to rise. He then withdrew a parchment from the packet and read aloud for everyone to hear. He read that the Governor of Ligor suggested that all in the courtroom that day listen to what this man called Phaulkon had to say before judgment was made. The governor laid the parchment down on the table, and looking directly at Phaulkon said, “Let us be quick. What do you have to say for yourself?”

In a commanding voice, like an actor on stage giving his soliloquy, Phaulkon, speaking in high Siamese, addressed the governor, the Barcalon, court and officers of the foreign delegations. He knew, of course, that few people in the room would understand the royal dialect, but he also knew the effect it would have. After he spoke for a few minutes he switched to polite Tai. He told them, passionately, that if it was a crime to protect Siam against its rebels, then he was guilty and accepted whatever punishment might be due him. The room became silent.

The Barcalon asked the first question and wanted to know if it was true that foreigners were organizing in secrecy against the Muslims in the south. Phaulkon was quick to defend himself by disclosing that the intentions and ambitions of the Muslims, that they were not always honorable. They resorted to subterfuge and more often than not they were disloyal to the kingdom that gave them asylum. He rattled on and on, giving example after example, until the question asked by the Barcalon was forgotten.

The Barcalon then asked Phaulkon what was the name of the organization of foreign traders responsible for arming the Muslims. Phaulkon was tempted to look in the direction of Burnaby, White and Abu Umar, to see the reactions on their faces, but he did not. He was certain he would see them squirm in agony. Instead he spoke directly to the Barcalon. He did not falter in speech and avoided the question by diverting the court’s attention to the threat of Muslims operating in the Kra Peninsula.

He pointed out to the Barcalon that the king had an interest in the Kra, and the Muslims were moving into the area. Moreover, the power the Muslims had is not only commercial but political as well. If they were not controlled they could easily take over the king’s storehouses, and they could, with support, say from the Dutch, possibly seize the king himself and force him and his subjects into converting to Islam. He pointed out that the Dutch already had control over the East Indies, and he reminded them that the East Indies was a Muslim country. The courtroom erupted into loud murmurs.

The governor demanded that everyone quiet down. Taking the advantage, Phaulkon continued to hammer home that if the Muslims joined forces with the Dutch, the kingdom could be in great peril. He spoke about the Dutch having already blockaded the river and having forced King Narai to sign a trade treaty in their favor. The Dutch delegation stood up in anger, and in protest they stormed out of the hall, their wicked eyes focused on Phaulkon. Phaulkon quickly turned their departure into his own advantage. “What’s that saying?” he said out loud for the last of the departing Dutch to hear, “If eyes could kill, I guess I would be dead.” He brought laughter to the hall.

The Barcalon, still smiling, told Phaulkon that he need not remind him of the hardship the Dutch had inflicted on the kingdom in times past. Phaulkon said he would not mention it again but he would like to remind the court that there was evidence that the Dutch were arming the rebels.

The Barcalon asked Phaulkon what concern the political affairs of Siam was to foreigners. Phaulkon admitted that, to be honest, foreigners were more concerned about their own business ventures than they were in problems Siam might have. However, if Siam found itself in hard times foreign businesses suffer; even their lives might be in danger. The foreign concern was not Siam’s internal problems; it was about Siam’s enemies-the Dutch and the Muslims who were uniting against them, the foreigners, and against Siam as well.

The Barcalon was impressed with Phaulkon’s honesty. He nodded in agreement, and Phaulkon took the opportunity to speak on his own behalf. “I am no more than a clerk in your great country,” he said, “but I have had many years of experience in trade. I am Greek by birth but a citizen of no country, having left my homeland when I was very young. Siam is my new adopted home; I have no other land I can call home. I can be very useful to Siam, especially to the treasury. The minister of trade, you, my good sir, might find me very useful since the treasury has to deal with foreigners of many nationalities, and it would certainly be very helpful to have someone in His Majesty’s employ who knows the customs and habits and can speak Siamese and other languages as well, to act as interpreter.”

Phaulkon turned away from the governor and the Barcalon, and seeing a Portuguese official in the gathering, he addressed him in fluent Portuguese. To Abu Umar, who looked like he wanted to slide down in his robe, he spoke in perfect Malay, and then quickly switched to Arabic. “Which do you prefer I speak, Malay or Arabic?” he said to Abu, and then made a gesture of a Muslim salutation. When Phaulkon saw his teacher, Thamnon, he spoke to him in Mandarin, and then added a few words in Tonkin. He turned to Richard Burnaby and George White, both of whom were dazed, and in the King’s English, he spoke to them flawlessly in their own language. Phaulkon did this with great showmanship and theatrics. Everyone in the room was impressed. And one was even proud-his teacher Thamnon.

But still Phaulkon was not finished, “Your Majesties,” he concluded, “I am thirty-three years of age, but with the experience of a man twice my age. I am still young, and energetic as you will see.

I am a friend of Siam not an enemy. I beg your leave to go about my business and may that be to honor and show respect to your kingdom even more.”

Phaulkon cleverly managed to get the issue of the shipwreck pushed aside and he overshadowed the incident by stressing that the kingdom had more pressing problems at hand that needed to be settled. Burnaby and White were pleased with the results of the day but they also realized they had created a force that was unstoppable, a formidable force that could be a threat one day. They had already seen it happen. Phaulkon was the victor for now, but only time would tell if it was a Pyrrhic victory.

Before closing the hearing, the Barcalon raised a hand and announced he would like to see Burnaby and Phaulkon in his chambers the next day. The court was dismissed. It was Burnaby who couldn’t sleep that night. He asked himself over and over, what could the Barcalon possibly want with him.

The next day, as scheduled, Burnaby and Phaulkon met the Barcalon in his elaborate chambers in the palace grounds. He was relaxing when they entered, reclining on a couch, puffing on his water pipe, surrounded by smoke and servants. A bevy of young servant girls waited on him, fanning him, providing him with drink from cups of carved silver. A tray of fresh fruit was at his one side and a bowl of sweets in neat little packets of banana leaves on the other. When they entered the room, Burnaby and Phaulkon got down to their knees in front of the Barcalon. He motioned for them to rise and be seated, with Burnaby far co one side upon cushions that the servants brought for that purpose. Another servant came with tea. While she was serving Burnaby, the Barcalon focused his attention on Phaulkon. As was the custom in such formal meetings, he asked Phaulkon again his name and age, and about the languages he spoke, and how he came about them. He then asked if he could keep records and accounts. He seemed pleased with Phaulkon’s replies. Burnaby was kept in suspense as he looked on. What was the Barcalon hoping to achieve? Burnaby didn’t trust him, not at all. The mistrust came, most likely, from way the Barcalon avoided him. Burnaby found it annoying. He still couldn’t figure out why he was there. He was about to find out.

The Barcalon raised himself to a full sitting position, clapped his hands and the doors opened. In walked a half dozen ministers, all bowing graciously to the Barcalon. They prostrated themselves before him. Seemingly satisfied, he motioned for them to be seated upon the cushions the servant girls hastily brought in. When all were seated, and tea poured, the Barcalon dropped the bomb. It was a silent explosion, but a tremendous one. He asked if there was one among them who would disagree if Phaulkon were to be employed in the service of Siam, on his behalf, the Minister of Trade. Burnaby was shocked and displeased. No one had asked him about the decision. After all, Phaulkon was in his employ, wasn’t he? The ministers were likewise as shocked as Burnaby, but there was nothing they could do. They forced themselves to remain calm, as if loaded muskets were pointed at their chests ready to be fired if they disagreed. Finally, they nodded approval, but the displeasure that registered upon their faces could not be easily wiped away. The fear they had of the Barcalon was obvious.

The Barcalon now faced Phaulkon and asked if he would accept the position offered to him. Phaulkon said he would be most pleased to accept the position but he requested that the incident of the shipwreck be forgotten and that it must not to be held against him nor the others involved. And most important, he asked that his guards, Diego and Christoph, be released from bondage: The Barcalon agreed and Phaulkon was now in his employ as Ass1st~t Trade Minister. Diego and Christoph were to become, upon their acceptance, his personal bodyguards.

When Phaulkon and Burnaby left the Barcalon’s chambers and were in the street, Burnaby expressed his feelings to Phaulkon. “How rude these Asians,” he said. “He could have asked me. Not once did he even acknowledge that I was even there. After all, you were working for me. I brought you here, didn’t I, or did you forget?”

Phaulkon didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Chapter 12
A SHORT TALE OF SAMUT KOTE

When the get-together at Phaulkon’s house ended, Burnaby and White retired to their own quarters. Phaulkon saw them to the door. The guard outside, who had been dozing, jumped to his feet and bowed. Phaulkon locked the door and then dragged himself to his bedroom. He slipped off his clothes and stepped into the wash stall. Taking a coconut shell dipper from the wall he doused himself with water from the elephant jar and gave a sigh of relief Home at last! He replaced the dipper on its rack, dried off and put on a robe. He started toward his bed, to get some much needed rest. The window in his bedroom was open and he glanced out across the way to Fanique’s house in the Portuguese quarter. The lane was dimly lighted by oil lamps that flickered casting a mosaic in patches of light upon the buildings and trees that lined the lane. At the far end of the lane he thought he saw movement. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. There was someone there. Two men were walking briskly down the lane. When they drew closer, he saw that they were young men. He recognized them. They were from the palace-Marie’s suitors-and had been at Fanique’s house when he saw them presenting gifts to Marie. The younger of the two was the suitor who had read poetry to her. They were back but Sorasak was not with them. They stopped at Fanique’s door and knocked. Presently the door opened and the two boys entered. Through a window that opened onto the lane, Phaulkon could see lights go on in the inner courtyard. He was mildly disturbed. Young men from the court visiting Marie when it should be him. At least Sorasak wasn’t with them, he reasoned, easing his discontent a bit. He lay down on his bed but he could not sleep. He was tired from the long trip up the river but sleep was impossible. His thoughts were about Marie and the two suitors.

After tossing and turning and unable to sleep, he got out of bed. Perhaps he could find out what was happening at Fanique’s. He put on a shirt, slipped into his trousers, and as quietly as possible, in his bare feet, went to the front door. Through an observation slit in the door he looked out. The guard was asleep on the bench. He slid back the bolt on the door and opened it enough to squeeze by. He quietly dosed the door behind him and stepped out into the lane. It was empty. Gingerly, so as not to be seen, he crossed to the other side, and following along the ridge of buildings, he ducked into the shadows beneath the courtyard window at Fanique’s house. He could hear voices from within, and ever so slowly drew himself up to where he could peer into the courtyard without being seen. Marie was sitting on a couch with her maid at her side. The two young men stood facing them, both trying to speak at the same time. It was nearly comical to watch them, each trying to outdo the other while doting over her. The maid seemed amused.

Marie was asking about life in the palace. “Is it true no one can look upon the face of the king?”

The boys nodded.

Marie then asked, “Does that mean no one in the palace can look upon him either?”

“No, it is much different inside the palace,” the first suitor said.

“We live in the golden age of literature,” the second suitor, the boy who recited poetry, spoke up. “The king loves poetry, and music. Each evening he forms a circle around him, poets, musicians, court dancers and performers. They recite poetry together, and they make up verses and songs. His queen was a poet too. Even the palace gatekeeper speaks in poetry.”

Marie asked about his court and his other wives. “He has no other wives,” the first suitor added. “He lives in the memory of his beloved wife who died giving birth, and there are no others. He lives with his daughter and sister and young adopted son. He loves his daughter very much and protects her. She is a lovely princess.”

“A princess,” Marie exclaimed in wonder. “I always wanted to be a princess.”

Phaulkon pressed his ear harder against the windowsill. He wanted desperately to hear what she had to say.

”And the princesses in the palace,” Marie continued, “do they live the beautiful life that we hear so much about, like the story of Samut Kote?”

“So you like the story of Samut Kote?” the first suitor asked. “Yes, but I can’t remember why, except that it was very romantic, and Samut Kote was very brave,” Marie said. “Tell me the story again. I would like to hear it from you.”

The poet suitor, pleased at the request, began telling the story of Samut Kote with the second suitor giving animation to the tale by jumping about, waving his arms and mimicking like an actor on stage. The poet told how Samut Kote went into the forest to hunt for elephants, and the gods led him to meet Princess Pintumavadi with whom he fell in love, and she in turn fell in love with him. The poet then raised his voice and holding his arms across his face as though to protect himself said, ”And then an evil, wicked god kidnapped Samut Kote while he was asleep. When he awoke, the princess was gone. He desperately looked for her everywhere but it seemed hopeless. The god of heaven, seeing the princess crying and miserable, took pity her and helped her find Prince Samut Kote, The god of heaven overcame the wicked god that had kidnapped Samut Kote and freed the prince. The two are joined together in marriage. End of story, and everyone was happy.”

Marie sighed with content.

“But alas,” the poet shouted and raised up to his feet, “that is not the end.”

Marie gasped. “It’s not?” she cried.

“No, not at all,” the suitor said. “You see, the other princes are jealous of Samut Kote and battle with him. But he has a magic sword, which he got from a wounded magician who he helped cure, and is able to defeat them all.”

“Then what happens?” asked Marie.

“The two lovers are in the forest and come upon a river spanned by two logs,” the poet continued. Phaulkon outside the window edged closer. “They start across, each on a separate log, but the logs drift apart, and the princess is separated from her husband once again. She searches and searches but cannot find him. In great sadness and grief, and feeling defeated, she dropped out of society and became a nun. Artists painted her life story on the walls of the monastery for all to see. Meanwhile, Prince Samut continued to wander, relentlessly, for many, many years in search for his loving wife, refusing to give up.” The poet’s voice became more and more convincing as he spoke. He continued: “One day Prince Samut came to a monastery where a crowd was looking at a painting on a wall. He pushed through the crowd and was astonished at what he found. He recognized the drawing at once. Without hesitating, like a steed that has lost its rider, he dashed into the monastery, and there found his lost love. At last, with great joy and happiness, the two were reunited never to be parted again.”

Everyone in the room fell silent. “Marie, are those tears in your eyes that I see?” the poet suitor asked.

She wiped away the tears. “When I marry my prince one day,” she began, speaking softly and in earnest, “I will never, never be parted from him. No man, not even kings and gods, not even death, will ever part us. That I will promise you.”

Phaulkon leaned closer and closer, not caring now if he was detected, and then heard her ask, “Do you think I will be a princess one day?”

“You already are,” said the first suitor. “You may not have the blood of a princess, but you surely have the heart of one.”

“I know a man who does not have the blood of a prince,” she said, lamenting the thought, “but he does have the soul of a king. But-” she sighed, loud enough for Phaulkon to hear- “he thinks that I am too young.” There was a long pause, and finally she said: “Oh, what does he wait for? Certainly he must know how I feel. He must.”

The poet suitor asked, “This man you speak about, you say he has the soul of a king, but why him above all others? Why is he so special?”

Had Phaulkon gotten any closer to those talking in the courtyard, he would have fallen through the window. He listened, asking himself who was this man that Marie loved so much?

“He is gallant and brave,” he heard Marie say. Phaulkon felt the beating of his heart might give him away. Who was this gallant man she spoke of?

“And how is that, that he is so brave?” the first suitor asked. “Does he fight the evil dragon and demons of the forest?”

“Oh, no, not that,” Marie cried. “Bur he is the only man I know who has been brave enough to stand up to my father.”

Phaulkon no longer cared if he fell off his perch. Were his ears deceiving him? Was she referring to him?

“Oh, that’s a relief,” the poet suitor replied. “Then he cannot be Prince Sorasak, this man you are talking about?”

“Sorasak,” she replied in dismay. “No, not at all, not Sorasak.” “Not Sorasak. But why?” the first suitor asked. “Is he not a prince?” He didn’t wait for Marie to answer. “Sorasak does have the blood of a prince, that is true, and perhaps he may not have the soul to be a king. Still, he would fight dragons in the forest, and he trains elephants.”

“What do you mean, he has the blood of a prince?” Marie asked. “His father is a general, not a king.”

“Is that what you think?” the first suitor asked.

“Be quiet,” the poet suitor said. “We are forbidden to discuss such matters.”

“Discuss what matters?” Marie asked again.

The first suitor explained what he meant, at the objection of the poet. “Sorasak is only an adopted son of the general,” he said. “His real father is King Narai himself who had an affair with a princess in Chiang Mai during the time when he and the general conquered Chiang Mai more than twenty years ago. He was too embarrassed to let it be known. He gave the boy to his General to raise.”

“We don’t really know if it’s true,” the poet interrupted in a hushed voice, a voice that Phaulkon could hardly hear. “It could just be a rumor, but then Sorasak gets away with things only a spoiled prince can do.”

“You know it’s true,” the first suitor said. “We just don’t talk about it.”

The conversation stopped abruptly. Fanique’s voice rang through the courtyard, calling for his daughter.

“In a minute,” she replied to her father. Then to her suitors she said, “I wouldn’t marry Sorasak if he was the last prince on earth!” The suitors expressed their delight to hear that Sorasak was out of the picture, and the poet suitor asked, “Then tell me, who is this man who does not have the blood of a prince but has the soul of a king. Perhaps it is me. Then you shall marry me one day.” He got down on his knees and spread out his arms. Even from where Phaulkon hid, he could see the smile upon his face.

Marie replied with laughter in her voice, “That would not be possible,” she said. “You see, you are very special, and a fine poet, but I could never marry you. You are not a Catholic.”

Fanique called again to his daughter as he stepped into the courtyard. Seeing the suitors there he reminded them it was late and time for them to leave. The suitors thanked Fanique for his kindness, and as they were about to leave, the poet quietly asked Marie, so her father couldn’t hear, “This man, is he a Catholic?”

The expression on Marie’s face changed, and she dared not answer, as if she had been reminded of an impossible dream. All she could do was smile, a beguiling smile. She waved good-bye to her suitors from her window. Phaulkon glanced through the window once more before he departed and there he saw her in the courtyard, with her father at her side, holding with one hand the sapphire necklace around her neck.

The guard was still asleep when Phaulkon sneaked back into his house. Later, in the quietness of his room, he pondered the question whether is it better to know, the night before your execution, that someone loves you, or is it better not to know at all?

Chapter 11B
Counter-Defense

While they were still in custody in Ligor, word reached Abu Umar in Ayutthaya about the shipwreck and the capture of Phaulkon and his crew. Abu was certain they would be beheaded and when he learned to the contrary that they were being sent to Ayutthaya, he was appalled. This was not what he wanted to hear. He immediately ran to Burnaby and White. “He was going to set fire to the ship,” Abu ranted. “What could I do! Phaulkon blackmailed me into telling him that you supplied arms and to the rebels.”

“You what!” screamed White. In an instant he drew his dagger and was about to plunge it into Abu Umar but Burnaby grabbed him by both arms. White continued his harangue. “I ought to cut your liver out.”

Abu quickly gathered his composure. “Kill me if you will, and then you will both go down. Phaulkon is on his way back here. If I go down, you both will go down with me. Instead of threatening to kill me, I think you had better give thought to protecting me. I am the only one who can get you out of this.

Killing Abu, of course, would only compound the matter. They had to be there when the ship arrived and to meet Phaulkon and his crew. That was certain. They could confer with Phaulkon before he went to the Governor’s office and decide beforehand what course of action to follow. They made the bad mistake of underestimating Phaulkon, their own creation.

White and Burnaby were there when the ship arrived with Phaulkon and his men aboard. It was an awkward meeting but they all managed to show civility to one another and spoke kindly among themselves. Burnaby had a letter from the Barcalon that he presented to the officer-in-charge. It stated Phaulkon was at liberty to remain in his own quarters.

“You will be under guard, of course, until the matter is settled,” Burnaby announced with authority. “The Governor says he will take up the matter with the Barcalon and will have a hearing with everyone involved as soon as possible.”

”And my two men?” Phaulkon asked. “What about them?” “There is nothing more I could do about them,” Burnaby said.

“They must go to the lock up for now.” Four guards with leather collars and thongs circled the two men and began gruffly to push them about.

Phaulkon came to their defense and stood with them. “If they go to prison I will go with them,” he shouted to the guard in charge, and then to Burnaby and to White, “I mean it.”

Diego interceded. “No master,” he said. “You will do none of us good if you are locked away. Christoph and I can manage by ourselves.’

“No, Diego. They can go to hell, all of them,” Phaulkon said in earnest.

“Master,” Christoph spoke up, “don’t you remember, there is no hell.”

For the first time Phaulkon smiled. “I thought you had said that,” he said to Diego, and put an arm around them both. “Go then,” he said, “and I won’t forget you.”

Phaulkon and the guard followed White and Burnaby through the streets to Phaulkon’s quarters. No further words were passed among them. They walked in silence and the only sound came from water rushing through the klongs as they crossed over the foot bridges. Once they arrived at Phaulkon’s home, the guard took a position outside the door and they entered. Phaulkon dismissed his servants and they were alone to continue their discussions.

When White made certain the apartment was empty, he said, “Now we can talk.”

Burnaby nodded in agreement.

“Do you mean you will do the talking,” Phaulkon laughed. “You make it sound like you already have it figured out.”

“We have worked out a course,” White said.

”And what might that be?” Phaulkon asked.

“We are all somewhat in trouble,” White began. “We will all agree to that.” Phaulkon nodded. “Then we can proceed. We got you into Siam, and we can get you out.”

“Get me out! Is that what you propose?” Phaulkon asked bluntly. “Yes, precisely,” White said. Burnaby suddenly turned pale. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He felt for his kerchief but couldn’t find it.

”Am I not still in the service of the East India Company? Does that not mean anything?” Phaulkon asked.

“Come off it, Gerakis, you are a smuggler like the rest of us,” White said. It was the first time he called him by his Greek name. “We are offering you a chance to get out of this.”

“The name is Phaulkon, or don’t you remember,” Phaulkon said sharply. “I do believe you are both sincere. Most noble. You want to save my skin, or should I say my head. I do applaud you. Now-” He rose to his feet and looked down at them. Burnaby slithered farther back in his seat. “Now, gentlemen, you both can go to hell. You hear-to hell. You sacrifice me to save yourselves. You are most generous. And may they take off all of our heads tomorrow.”

“Phaulkon, I think you had better listen to reason,” White said. Burnaby began to tremble.

“Listen to reason,” Phaulkon said in mockery. “So I am a smuggler, and how can I deny that. And so are the both of you, smugglers, and you cannot deny that either.” He hesitated, waiting for them to object, but they didn’t, and he went on. ”A smuggler yes. That’s what you are saying. But a traitor no, never, not to the country that opened its doors to me, a country that has given me a chance. So, my honorable, trustworthy friends, don’t ever begin to accuse me of being a traitor. Don’t ever do that.” Both White and Burnaby were a bit dumbfounded. They had never seen Phaulkon like this.

Still, White fired back and reminded Phaulkon again how he and Burnaby had smuggled him back into Siam, and that he should stop talking about Siam opening its doors to him. “We opened the doors for you, not them,” he shouted.

“I am grateful for what you have done,” Phaulkon replied. “You made it possible for me. But once I got to Siam I didn’t sit and wait for things to happen. I made things happen. I saw an opening, an opportunity and I took it. Now you want me to give up what I have. You think you can save me. The truth is you cannot save me, not at all. It comes down to a matter of trust. I have to put my trust into something, into someone. I don’t want to keep running. I have been doing that since I was twelve.”

White listened but didn’t agree. He continued his outrage:

“Trust! Who do you trust? Damn them. Damn them all. They’re all the same, Siamese, Burmese, Malays, rebels, Moors, Muslims- heathens all. Let them all kill one another! Who gives a damn?”

Phaulkon replied in anger, “Well, it’s not their judgment day, is it? It’s our heads we’re talking about. We could all lose our heads tomorrow. “

They started squabbling again, but lowered their voices when the guard looked in upon them. In a whisper, White said, “Phaulkon, we are here to discuss your defense. You have a chance.”

“How’s that, by helping me escape?” Phaulkon barked. “You’d like that. And who will shoot me in the back while trying to escape?” “Don’t you understand, we are your defense,” White said softening his voice.

“Now you listen,” Phaulkon said. “My defense is your defense too.” Before they could further protest, he continued. “At the trial, do you think by selling you out, by pointing a finger at you, that I’d save my own skin? I am not a fool. They’d execute me anyway.”

“So what do we do, sit idly by and listen to you make a fool of yourself?” White asked.

“It’s too late to change my defense now,” Phaulkon said sternly.

“I have already told the Governor in Ligor my own story.” He looked squarely at the two men sitting on edge before him. “Now gentlemen,” he continued, “if I can call you that, all you have to do is stay calm and play this game my way, and then everything will be fine.”

There was no more that anyone could say. White and Burnaby departed.

Chapter 11A
ARMS FOR THE REBELS

Among the documents given to Phaulkon by Abu Umar was a navigation chart-Golfe de Siam, by French engineer M. La Mare. Someone, perhaps George White, had drawn the course which they were to follow. Phaulkon was surprised how remarkably accurate and detailed the French had charted the area. France was obviously focusing her attention on Indochina and Siam, and Phaulkon now wondered if the French might be involved in arming the rebels. He noted their destination-Point of Ligor. It was not far from where the French had built their fort in Songkau. Phaulkon followed their course on the chart. They passed “Pulo Sengor Isle” and “Pulo Gorman Isle” well to their starboard, and it was when they neared Point of Ligor that the storm broke. It was a sudden outburst. The winds and seas seemed to materialize out of nowhere. It just happened, without warning. Phaulkon knew that the seas in the Gulf of Siam and the Malay coast were notorious for sudden storms, for the ocean bottom was shallow and tremendous waves could suddenly build up. But he never expected a storm to happen as rapidly as this one did. The old ship with it heavy cargo was not fit for such violence. Almost instantly her seams began to open up and water started to pour in. Their ship was doomed.

Phaulkon, of course, could have made a more noble effort to save the stricken vessel, but he didn’t. When the crew grew tired and stopped working the pumps, he didn’t admonish them. When the water began to rise in the bilge, he could have had the men turn to with buckets and begin to bail, but he let it rise. It was almost as though he had planned for the storm to happen. Even before they began to ship in water, he had the crew start emptying the gunpowder barrels, and with boards from the broken crates he had them fashion two rafts. Even before the ship went down, they climbed aboard. Instead of being distraught from the loss of the ship, Phaulkon seemed relieved. Like a sinner absolved from his sins, he was exonerated from his crime of smuggling arms to the enemy.

When dawn broke the storm had passed. There was no land in sight, only the scattered wreckage of the ship over the face of the ocean, rising and falling with the ocean swells .. They were farther from land than they thought. Phaulkon along with Diego and Christoph had boarded one raft and the Arabs boarded the other. In the blackness of night Phaulkon could hear the Arabs arguing among themselves, and panic followed. They began paddling, but not knowing the direction of land. When dawn came their raft was nowhere in sight. The vast ocean had swallowed them up. Phaulkon had called out to them that they were wasting their energy but they didn’t hear him. Perhaps, even if they had, they would not have paid heed to his advice. In any event, when the sun rose, they were gone.

Phaulkon judged by the motion of the sea that the current was carrying them toward land, and again he hoped it would take them into Siamese territory. Only time would tell, and they had plenty of that.

For two days they were at the mercy of an unrelenting sun beating down upon them. Without cover, nor a drop of water to drink, they blistered in the heat. Their lips cracked like the bark on a gum tree; their tongues turned into leather. To talk was an effort. They became delirious. Phaulkon listened quietly, in a daze himself, to Christoph uttering to Diego about dying and the afterlife. “They are sending us to hell,” Christoph mumbled.

“Who is sending us?” Diego asked.

“They are. They are sending us to hell,” he repeated, not making any sense.

Diego replied. “There is no hell, I tell you, The Holy Book says there is no hell.”

“Holy Book! Holy Book!” Christoph lamented. “Death is death.

Isn’t it better to go down fighting than to die a slow death as this.” He was quiet a moment and then spoke up. “Per chance there is a hell. Let’s hope. Then at least we’ll all be together.”

“No, we will all be together but it will be here on earth,” Diego insisted, not finding Christoph’s comment humorous. “I tell you we will be back here on the earth. The old man showed us the book, but no hell. The Holy Book doesn’t teach such a thing.”

“What about the padres,” Christoph said, “they read the Holy Book and they say there’s a hell.”

“Are you saying you trust them more than me, your good friend.”

“I am not saying that,” Christoph answered. “Yes you did.”

And so it went, into the night of the second day.

None of them were awake when the surf dumped them on to the beach. They lay there in the sand, lifeless bodies, and awoke only when the light of dawn came, and when Siamese soldiers gave them water to drink. The soldiers at first were friendly, however, they were not too pleased when they discovered the survivors’ raft had been constructed from empty barrels. They knew instantly the barrels were powder kegs. The shipwrecked sailors were smugglers. They hurriedly marched them to the office of the Governor of Ligor.

”And what do we have here,” the Governor said when he saw the men. “Gun runners and smugglers. Where are the guns?”

“They went down with the ship,” Phaulkon said, addressing the Governor and his officers in Malay.

The Governor, who had been sitting, stood and rose up to his full height. He smiled, a smile of victory. “Smuggling,” he said, “arming the Muslims, a crime punishable by a hundred deaths.” He motioned for the guards with their lances to come forth.

Diego and Christoph were aghast. They could not for the world of them understand why Phaulkon admitted that they were carrying guns. There was no proof that they had been. Now Phaulkon admitted to the crime. Had the sun gotten to him? When they looked over at Phaulkon, he grinned at them. He then did the most unexpected thing. He addressed the Governor and his officers in high Siamese, the language of the royal court. Diego and Christoph looked at him beyond belief now. Was this their master talking.

“I am here on a mission,” he said. His voice, and the manner in which he spoke, baffled the Governor. He and his officers could do little more than stand there looking at the three prisoners. They remained mum. The Governor, of course, did not want to admit that he couldn’t fully understand Phaulkon when he spoke in high Siamese. Sensing this, and not wanting to embarrass him and do further harm, Phaulkon now spoke to him in local Siamese. “Perhaps I should address you in Tai,” he said, “so that your men will understand.” The tension passed. “As I said,” Phaulkon continued, “we are here on a mission.” They listened now as Phaulkon explained their circumstances.

He announced he was taking full responsibility, admitting he was the captain of the ship, and he asked the Governor to release him and his crew. The Governor was dumbfounded. Who is this foreigner who speaks in such elegant Siamese? He questioned Phaulkon further.

Phaulkon remained calm, surprising even his own men. In a strong and clear voice, he explained that what had happened was exactly the opposite of what the Governor might think. He told that he and his men were working for an organization of foreign traders who are concerned about the rebel activities in the kingdom that threatens the trade industry. His orders were to be kept secret, but since the mission ended the way it did, he feel compelled to divulge the truth of the matter. He was delivering cargo from Ayutthaya to various towns down south. His mission was to arm the Siamese for a surprise attack against the Muslim rebels in Songkau. Phaulkon also told the Governor he had information that the Dutch were arming the rebels.

The Governor did not know what to say nor what to do. As the governor of a Siamese province, his chief duty was tax collecting for the king. He questioned Phaulkon further but he could not get him to change his story. Not wanting to accept the grave responsibility of making a decision as what to do with Phaulkon and his men, he announced he would send them back to Ayutthaya, under guard. He further made it clear that the Governor of Ayutthaya would receive the full report.

Chapter 10B
Resistance

Fanique exploded in a rage of fury. In two short leaps he closed the distance between him and Phaulkon, and with his sword raised above his head, he brought it down in a sweeping cut. At the same instant, Marie cried out for him to stop. The servants gasped in disbelief. Phaulkon stood immobile as a statue. He neither moved nor flinched. In a terrifying scream, Fanique stopped the downward thrust of his sword a hair’s distance above Phaulkon’s head. The cutting edge was a breath away from split ting Phaulkon skull in two.

Phaulkon’s defiance angered Fanique even more, and he might have taken another cut at Phaulkon, this time not stopping, had Marie not rushed up and stood between them. She pleaded, begging for him to stop.

Fanique shouted again. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Marie attempted to calm him down, at which he called for her to leave the room.

“No,” Phaulkon said, “stay here to listen to this.”

“This is my house,” Fatigue shouted, “and I give the orders here!” He called for the servants to take Marie away. They responded, taking Marie by both arms.

As they began dragging her across the room, Phaulkon shouted to them to stop. They hesitated for a moment giving Phaulkon time to remove the leather pouch from his pocket. He quickly pulled at the string to open it, and with all eyes upon him, he placed the necklace on a table in the middle of the room and stuffed the pouch back into his pocket. Everyone in the room, Fanique, Marie, the four servants, all froze in dismay, dazzled by the beauty of the necklace. Phaulkon then announced to Fanique, and for all to hear, that he will marry Marie.

“You are mad,” Fanique shouted at him. “You are mad. You will never marry my daughter, never. You understand. I have prepared her for better things in life than the likes of you.”

“The likes of me!” Phaulkon cried out. “And who are you to tell me this? Are you no more than a pirate yourself, no more than a black marketeer.” Phaulkon waved his arm above his head, like he was swinging a sword in mockery of Fanique. “If a pirate is good enough to be Marie’s father, then why not a pirate for her husband. She will be my wife one day.”

Fanique threw the final blow. He lowered his sword. “My daughter will never marry a non-Catholic. Do you hear that?” he said and pointed to the door for Phaulkon to leave.

In anger, Phaulkon headed for the door. Marie called to him to wait, and when he turned in her direction he saw her rush up to the table and grab hold of the necklace. She took it in both hands and held it against her breasts.

Phaulkon headed straight to Abu Umar’s shop. He had his strategy worked out. He wouldn’t tell Abu that he had already given the necklace to Marie. He would agree to deliver the shipment under one condition: the jewels would be the down payment and a cash settlement equal to the cost of the jewels had to be made upon completion of the delivery.

“You drive much too hard a bargain,” Abu said after hearing the proposal.

“It’s your decision,” Phaulkon said and withdrew the empty leather pouch from his pocket.

“No, no, agreed,” snapped Abu. “The shipment will be prepared by tomorrow night.” Phaulkon slipped the pouch back into his pocket. He was in his delight. He had no idea of his cargo or the danger involved but the thought of pleasing Marie reigned higher than anything else.

That night Phaulkon sent a message to Diego and Christoph for them to come to him at once. It was near dawn when they arrived. Phaulkon explained to his two friends that he was making a delivery of contraband goods to Songkau and he didn’t trust the Arab merchant. He asked if the two men would accompany him. Diego and Christoph looked at him in amazement. “You don’t know,” Diego said.

“Know what?” Phaulkon asked.

“Arab Muslims at Songkau are rebelling against the Siamese for independence,” Diego said. “They need arms. That’s what they are waiting for.”

Phaulkon could feel his blood run thin. Could the cargo be a shipment of arms, arms against the Siamese and their king? “It can’t be,” he said, refusing to believe it. “Where would this Arab merchant get arms?”

The three men racked their brains for answers but could find none. They knew of no one who might supply the rebels with arms. There was but one way to find out. Diego and Christoph would come aboard just before they sailed. They would check the cargo and then they would know. Before Diego and Christoph departed, Phaulkon asked them if they could find out who the rebel leader might be. “We will do our best,” Christoph said and they silently slipped away into the darkness.

Phaulkon had been instructed by Abu to come to the dock at midnight to take command. Phaulkon arrived an hour before midnight, and with him was Diego and Christoph. Four Arab Muslims crew members were aboard guarding the ship. They said the cargo had been loaded and was in the hold. Phaulkon said he wanted to check it but the men protested and blocked his entrance to the hatch. Phaulkon gave the signal and Diego and Christoph appeared at his side with drawn daggers. Phaulkon ordered the men to step aside. In Malay he told them he was their captain. They had no alternative and they let the three men pass. But Phaulkon knew they would summon help, and maybe even Abu himself.

Diego and Christoph were right. The cargo was arms. They broke open two wooden crates to find muzzle loading muskets and dozens of barrels of gunpowder. There were as many as a hundred crates, enough arms to supply a small army. Phaulkon realized it was too late for him to change his mind. His name would be on the manifest making him an accomplice even before he started. Besides, Marie already had the jewels. He could hardly take them back. There was still a question unanswered. Where did Abu Umar, an Arab merchant, get the arms and supplies? Who supplied him? The three men closely checked the crates. Phaulkon couldn’t believe what they saw. They recognized the East India Company markings.

Phaulkon called for one of the Arabs to come below deck, and when one did, Phaulkon grabbed the henchmen and, pressing a dagger under his chin, shouted at him to go fetch his boss or else Phaulkon would set fire to the ship. He didn’t have to wait long. Abu Umar appeared and Phaulkon and Diego ran topside to meet him. Abu was trembling, and instantly began pleading for Phaulkon not to set fire to the ship. Phaulkon then demanded that unless Abu disclose where he got the cargo, the deal was off. He reached into his bag, and said he would give back the jewels that instant. In panic, Abu Umar told Phaulkon that his bosses were Richard Burnaby and George White. They were the culprits, smuggling arms and ammunition to the rebels.

The words came as a hard blow to Phaulkon. He could understand White’s motives, an interloper, but Burnaby was an employee of the EIC.

”And who are these rebels?” Phaulkon asked.

“I do not know. I swear I don’t,” Abu said. “I only make deliveries.”

Before he could say more, Diego pulled Phaulkon aside and led him below deck where they wouldn’t be heard. “We already found out,” Diego whispered. “It’s a Makassar. He goes by the name Mosafat.”

Had Phaulkon not been sitting on a broken crate of arms he might have fallen over. “I think I know him,” he said. “If he’s who I think he is, we met when Samuel White smuggled me across the isthmus. If he is the one, he and his band can be dangerous, but if need be we can deal with them.” He thought for a moment. “What worries me is the Arab crew aboard. We can’t trust them. Once we deliver the cargo, if we deliver it at all, they might well murder the three of us.”

Abu Umar came down the hatch, said nothing when he saw the broken crates, and announced it was getting late. They had to hurry. He handed Phaulkon the port clearance papers. “In case you get stopped, they will let you pass. You are with the EIC.” His next statement confirmed Phaulkon’s suspicion. When Phaulkon announced he was taking his two men as crew, Abu said there was already enough men on board and two extra men would only add to the confusion. Phaulkon reminded Abu Umar that he was in command, and stated he would take only two of Abu Umar’s men aboard. Abu Umar protested and argued his point but he had no choice in the end other than to agree.

The tiny schooner flying the flag of Siam with its cargo of arms and supplies for the rebels set sail down river an hour after midnight with the tide in its favor. By dawn it had crossed the sand bar at the mouth of River Menam and entered the open sea.

Chapter 10
THE NECKLACE

Through the patience and understanding of his mandarin teacher, Phaulkon was able to learn the extremely refined and hierarchic court language of Siamese royalty. It was fair to say that he enjoyed his time spent with his teacher. They became fast friends, and Phaulkon felt he could speak openly on his most intimate feelings. Thamnon in turn taught Phaulkon more than the many dialects of the Siamese language. He taught him the intricacies of Siamese customs and habits. There were many things that interested Phaulkon, and many things he wanted to learn. He sincerely wanted to know why it was forbidden for the common people to look upon their king. Thamnon explained it stemmed from Hindu influence and not from Buddhism. Hinduism was the foundation of many things Siamese.

“The Ayutthaya kings assume the belief that they are earthly incarnations of the Brahman Gods, primarily Indra and Vishnu,” Thamnon explained. “The devaraja who inhabited this physical environment did not live the life of a mortal. In state functions and ceremonies, and even on royal hunts, as you saw, the king is dressed in the bejeweled costume of a god, with a pointed crown. He is borne everywhere on richly gilded palanquins, chariots or barges.” Thamnon went into detail about the ancient Indian myths of the ten incarnations of Lord Vishnu, particularly the Rama avatar. “In this incarnation, Vishnu assumed the human form of Rama to quell evil on earth. Kings built their palaces to befit the cosmology. The royal palaces you see in Ayutthaya epitomize the vision of what the heavenly abodes of the gods on Mount Meru must be. The throne hall where the king grants audience to his princes and the nobility is roofed with a lofty pointed spire. The palace buildings, made of brick and masonry, are quite different from the timber houses on stilts of commoners. They stand on solid bases, and are highly ornate with decorative elements.” He explained to Phaulkon about the half-human, half-bird figures called Hong Birds that are seen everywhere on the roof gables, and he told about the frightful heads of the Nagas, the great snakes which protruded into the sky. Thamnon was a master storyteller.

Phaulkon gave thought to all this as he walked through his own small garden, mediating about the things he had learned, and about all the things there were to learn still. He felt, had he been a Buddhist, he would have been reincarnated but, being a Christian, he felt he was simply re-born. Life was getting more complicated. Knowledge was not setting him free, as he once heard that it would. Deep down he knew there were those aspects of his life he could not change, that no amount of learning would alter. He came to believe that with all his schooling and learning, to win the heart of Marie, he needed something more than fine talk and manners. He knew to win her hand, he must show her his love by presenting her with something more valuable than Sorasak had given her. But what? He remembered the sapphire. She loved it, but yet she gave it back to Sorasak. Phaulkon remembered Marie saying she would only accept gifts from those who meant something to her. What if he presented her with such a gift, perhaps one even more valuable than the gift that Sorasak had offered her? There was one person in Ayutthaya who might know something about that necklace. That would be Abu Umar, the Arab dealer in gems. Phaulkon went to see him.

“The sapphire necklace, yes, yes, I know it well,” Abu said. “A very valuable piece. That was very much money.”

“I would like one like it, maybe even a better one,” Phaulkon said. “Can you have one made?”

Unbeknown to Phaulkon, this was the break Abu Umar was waiting for. His mind began to race ahead, but he had to remain indifferent. Phaulkon would do anything for such a necklace, he thought. Indeed, he had been waiting for such an opportunity.

“It would cost a great deal of money, but perhaps we can work something out,” he said, waiting until another merchant in his shop had left.

“And what might that be?” Phaulkon asked when they were alone.

“I have a shipment of black market goods to deliver to Songkau,” he said, lighting a cheroot. “If you were in command the shipment could get through.”

”And why me and not someone else?” Phaulkon asked. “That’s an easy run and anyone could do it.”

“Paper work. Clearance,” he replied. “It all takes time, it’s that simple.”

”And for that, you would provide me with a sapphire necklace, better than the one you made for Prince Sorasak?” Phaulkon asked.

“Like the one Sorasak had made, yes,” the Arab gem dealer replied. “You didn’t answer my question. What about the cargo? What is the cargo that makes it so precious?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Abu said. “It will be sealed. No one will know.”

Phaulkon did not like the sound of it. A cargo he knew nothing about. He backed down, thanked Abu and turned to leave. “Let’s forget that I was even here,” he said and departed.

A week later, long after dark, Phaulkon was in his apartment when there came a knock at his door. His first thought was that Monica was back pestering him again. He opened the door and Abu Umar stood there. Phaulkon glanced up and down the street. He was alone.

“I have something for you,” he said when he entered the apartment and hastily unbuttoned his outer garment. From an inside pocket he withdrew a leather pouch. Seeing a lamp aglow on a table where Phaulkon had been reading, he opened the pouch and emptied the contents on the table. It was a sapphire necklace. So magnificent was it that it caught the light of the oil lamp and cast a million tiny stars about the room. “It’s yours,” Abu said.

Phaulkon was thrown off guard, and too stunned to speak. He picked up the necklace, turned it over and set it down again.

“It is real, if that’s what you are thinking, and the very best,” Abu said with a silly smile on his face. He looked at Phaulkon, straight in the eyes, and realized he still had not won the battle. He responded quickly. “Make no decision now. Give it to your lady and then tell me your decision,” he said and didn’t wait for an answer. He bowed, turned and let himself out the door.

Phaulkon slept little that night. By morning he had made up his mind. He decided to give it the test. No more hedging around. He put on his whites, a suit he seldom wore, and placing Abu’s leather pouch into his side pocket, he picked up his pith helmet from the hat rack by the door and stepped out into the street. In ten minutes he was knocking at the front door of Mr. Fanique’s house. A servant opened the door, and seeing who it was, motioned that he should go around to the back door. He did nothing of the kind. Pushing the servant aside, he barged through the front door. Fanique, hearing the commotion, came rushing into the house from the courtyard outside. He was dressed in full samurai clothing. At the same instant, Marie appeared from a side room. They both halted in their steps when they saw Phaulkon standing there.

Fanique had been practicing with his sword in the courtyard, and from where Phaulkon stood he could see bamboo figures tightly bound in straw that Fanique had been using to practice his cuts. “What is the meaning of this,” he shouted. “Is this not my house?” He clutched his sword tightly in his right hand. Even in the dim light of the room the blade sparkled. There was fire in his eyes.

“I have come to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage,” Phaulkon said boldly in a loud voice.

Chapter 9
THE MAKING OF A MANDARIN

Thamnon was a mandarin. He came to Ayutthaya from China as an envoy from the Emperor of the Middle Kingdom. Like all mandarins, he was a scholar, one of the educated elite, a man held in high esteem in Asian society. The practice of sending mandarins to serve as advisors in foreign courts began back in the reign of Kublai Khan during the Mongol dynasty. Kublai Khan was an uneducated nomad who couldn’t read or write, but he realized the importance of being educated. Any male in China who wanted to advance his career through education could do so. A peasant could become a scholar, and a goat herder a gentleman. But the road to becoming a mandarin was not easy. There were no short cuts. It required many years hard work, from sun up to sun down, and discipline. The writings of the great teacher Confucius had to be mastered and the poems of Du Fu and Su Shu memorized. He had to know astronomy as well as calligraphy. It was imperative that he study history, know his politics and be well informed on moral issues. Students were required to pass tough examinations which were held periodically in districts around the kingdom. If a scholar failed the exam he took it again. If he got caught cheating in an exam, it could mean his execution.

Thamnon was one of these elite scholars. He was awarded, by the emperor, the second highest rank of the Seven Ranks of the Mandarin, the rank of Golden Pheasant. He was entitled to wear the Mandarin Patch, a large embroidered badge of a Golden Pheasant, sewn onto his outer garments. He was sent to Siam to serve as an advisor in the Royal Court of King Prasat Thong; but he had not been long at his post when back home in China Emperor Shunzhi’s favorite concubine, Dong, suddenly died-as a result of her grief over the loss of her own child. Overwhelmed with grief, Shunzhi contracted a terrible disease, the report said, and died shortly thereafter. That was one side of the story. The other was the young emperor did not pass away but left the palace to become a monk. Whatever the reason, his title was up for grabs.

Thamnon’s fate was in abeyance. While a new emperor was being chosen and the court of the Middle Kingdom was being shuffled about, he had to wait it out in Ayutthaya. He had been useful to the court of Siam and served King Prasat Thong well, but when King Prasat died, Thamnon’s tenure in Siam was held in suspense. No one was certain what China’s next move might be but, fortunately, mandarins were welcome in Siam for they were the doors through which all thoughts and deeds from China came.

Aside from serving as advisors to courts aboard, mandarins made excellent teachers, especially in the field of science. But King Narai had no sons and in the royal court there were few young students. King Narai had but one wife, the daughter of the ruler of Chiang Mai who he had defeated in battle. She gave birth to a daughter but died had soon after. He loved his daughter very much and became extremely protective of her. King Narai never remarried and he had no consorts or concubines.

When he first sat on the throne, King Narai called upon Thamnon for counsel in matters involving trade with China but the king’s trusted advisor, General Phetracha was opposed to foreign interference, any foreigners, not only Europeans. Thamnon was aware of General Phetracha’s dislike for him, or for any foreigner. In consequence, he spent much of his time in his garden. It was here in the garden that he awaited the arrival of his new student, Constantine Phaulkon.

When his servant announced that Phaulkon had arrived and was waiting in the study, Thamnon went to greet him there. The garden was his private domain and only rarely did he meet guests there. The study was where he kept his books, shelves of them, and on the walls hung astronomy charts and maps. It was here that he practiced calligraphy, and here he enjoyed the company of his friends over a cup of tea or a glass of wine.

Thamnon entered the study. His servants, on hands and knees, made the introduction and quietly vanished from the room. Phaulkon had been seated but now rose and stood at attention. He was dressed in his EiC uniform, his hat tucked under his arm. He looked smart, and much younger than his thirty-one years of age. Thamnon studied him from head to toe, as one might study a bas-relief that one doesn’t understand. Phaulkon on the other hand felt that he was being censured, standing there as he was in his quasinaval uniform. This wasn’t the image he wanted to present.

Whatever Thamnon’s feelings, Phaulkon too was a bit dismayed when he first saw his teacher. When George White told him that a Chinese mandarin had been arranged to tutor him in the Siamese court language, he expected someone quite different, someone perhaps more dynamic.

Phaulkon supposed that Thamnon had to be in his late sixties to have served the previous king of Siam. He was frail and frightfully thin. His fingers were long and delicate. He wore a long dark robe down to his ankles, split along the sides. The sleeves were extraordinarily wide. His Mandarin Patch with the Golden Pheasant was so badly faded Phaulkon would not have recognized it had not White told him about it beforehand.

Thamnon spoke in whispers, making it necessary for Phaulkon to concentrate on his every word. But Thamnon quickly put his student at ease by asking him questions about the sea, knowing that Phaulkon had been a sailor. For the first session, that lasted the entire afternoon, with pot after pot of tea, it was Phaulkon who was the teacher and Thamnon the student. Thamnon was keenly interested in the far ports of the world and he wanted to hear what Phaulkon knew about the sea trade that was rapidly building up between East and West. The second session, however, began in earnest. Thamnon led Phaulkon out into the garden which he rarely ever did with guests.

“We all need time.” Thamnon began, speaking slowly, as they strolled side by side along narrow pathways. “No, we must take the time to contemplate nature, and we do this in the East by creating gardens. We design them as secret enclosures with high walls, where we can be alone with our thoughts. This is a way of escaping from the outer world and returning to nature within.”

Phaulkon had to admit the garden was beautiful, and peaceful. No wonder the Chinese were great poets, he thought. He had never given much thought to gardens, until now. Thamnon’s garden was made up of rocks and bodies of water following the concept of Shan Shui. Thamnon explained that Shan Shui literally means “mountains and water.” Jagged rocks were carefully piled in groups, leaving hollows and crevices everywhere. Connecting pools of water ran among the rocks which were lined with bamboo. They came to a pavilion with a red tiled roof and windows of several shapes placed at different levels. They sat upon a wooden bench. “The windows are at different levels for a reason,” Thamnon explained. “Each one offers views of the garden that differ at various times of the day. In China the seasons are considered but here m Siam we need not consider that.”

Phaulkon was expecting a lengthy lecture on Shan Shui and Yin and Yang when Thamnon said, “When one speaks in a language, they think in that language. What language do you think in?”

A Chinese thinker using Greek sophist reasoning to find an answer, Phaulkon thought. How his father had used that on him. “It depends upon the depth of my thought,” he answered after some thought.

“Then you think because of words, “Thamnon said, and Phaulkon knew then that he had fallen into his trap. His teacher was clever. It was best that he just listen.

“We need words to play with,” Thamnon began again. “For without words there would be no thought. One’s mode of thought, the concepts of images, the very thought pattern, even the sounds of a language are so different that we reach different conclusions with different languages.”

“I will accept that,” Phaulkon said. .

“Then with that in mind, you will understand the concept of Tai royal language. In your travels you have learned the Tai language of the common people. But the language of the common people will not get you very far.” Phaulkon nodded. Thamnon continued “Originally, “khun,” for example, was a Khmer tide and referred to the king. Now it’s being applied to officials and the king’s language has acquired more elaborate tides. And that’s where the difficulty of learning the royal language begins. Royal tides include those for children by the royal queen, for the children by a non-royal queen and for the grandchildren.”

“Then I must learn these tides?”

“I wish that was all. There is more to it than that. Are you still determined?” Thamnon asked.

“Even more than when I arrived here,” Phaulkon answered.

“But you are interested in the royal language. It is the most unusual of all Tai languages. It is called rappratan. You must remember, royalty uses special words for common actions and for parts of the body. This special, formal language is a mixture of words of Khmer, Pali and Sanskrit.”

“But it can be learned, can’t it? Or am I not right?” Phaulkon asked.

“Yes, you can, but you must see and understand what you are attempting to do; even the educated Siamese find it most difficult. There is more than the languages of the common people and that of royalty; there are three distinct languages, and different, say, are the nouns and the verbs that are used by the different classes-royalty, ecclesiastics and common people. The problem rises with the social structure of the Tai people. It’s one of rank and intimacy, and that means a royal language, an ecclesiastic language, and a polite everyday vernacular language. And you might even say there is a fourth, an earthy, pungent slang.”

“When do we begin?” Phaulkon asked.

“We have already begun,” Thamnon replied. “Now would you like something to eat?” Before Phaulkon could answer, Thamnon said, “Tell me that in Tai.”

“Yes,” Phaulkon answered, “I would like to kin.”

“No, we shall begin now by speaking only in royal court Tai, and to eat in rappratan is sawuy. Kin is a common form used between friends. But to use it with a new acquaintance would be viewed as presumptuous and perhaps rude.”

“I do not wish to be rude,” Phaulkon said and for the first time since they had met, Thamnon laughed. It was not a big hearty laugh, but a gentle one, and one that accepted the Greek sailor into his private coterie. For the months that followed, Phaulkon’s life was not his own. But he did learn fast.

Chapter 8B
Getting Closer

At the Fanique residence, Marie was with her father in the courtyard with her maid when they heard someone at the back entrance. She knew who it might be for she had heard a messenger earlier in the day announce that the shipment of cloth was arriving, and George White and his assistant were bringing it in person. She wondered if the assistant might be the young foreign man she saw around town, the stranger who brought the wine two nights ago.

“Father, I think it is your friend again,” she said in an anxious voice.

“Marie, my dear daughter, must I tell you they are not my friends,” he replied. “Mr. White is a trader and he happens to have some merchandise that interests me, and which you also might like to see.”

George White entered the yard, bowed graciously toward Fanique and his daughter, and with a flourish of a hand he motioned for the others to come forth.

Phaulkon stepped out from the darkened doorway, followed by a procession of six assistants carrying bolts of cloth. When Fanique saw that Phaulkon was one of them, he was not pleased. Taking his daughter by the hand, he called for her maid to come and take her away. “Step back, step back, my dear,” he said. “Let these men work and I shall call you when we are ready.” She stepped back with her maid at her side, but only a short distance. She caught Phaulkon looking at her and, seeing her father’s attention was elsewhere, gave him a warm smile.

Phaulkon had not seen Marie face to face until now. Before it was always from afar. She was even more beautiful that he imagined. She wore a simple light green gown and had her hair braided with a ribbon of the same color. There was a moment of silence, and then, before anyone could say a word, Phaulkon boldly took a step forward. Addressing Marie and her father, in sweeping gesture, like a coachman opening a door, he said in a convincing voice, “I am at your service. My name is Constantine Phaulkon.” But he was no coachman.

White’s face turned ashen. He could see the sale of the silk to Fanique vanish before his eyes. Fanique was too bewildered to say or do anything. Marie, on the other hand, blushed and lowered her eyes. Her long lashes fluttered as she did. She curtsied, holding the ends of her gown outward. Phaulkon was prepared for the occasion. White hadn’t paid attention to him when they met earlier in the evening. He hadn’t noticed that his protege wore a scarlet vest and long waistcoat, and that his boots-boots that reached to his knees-were polished to sheen. He hadn’t thought about the peaked officer’s cap which Phaulkon wore, and which he now waved about with one hand as he spoke. Tall and handsome, White had to admit, he did make a fine show, standing there before Fanique and his daughter, his lovely daughter Marie.

“Shall we begin, gentlemen,” White spoke up quickly, breaking the silence that had fallen over everyone. “These are the finest silks from India,” he began, ranting on. “There are no finer in all the lands.”

Phaulkon motioned with a nod for Marie to step aside, away from the others. She was hesitant, glancing at her father, but his attention no longer centered on Phaulkon nor upon her. His eyes fell upon the bolts of silk the attendants began unrolling at his feet. He was delighted, mesmerized, by the river of beautiful colors that flowed across the floor at his feet. He bent down upon one knee to feel the silk’s softness, its smoothness. Marie holding on to her maid slipped away with Phaulkon. He had offered her his arm, but she declined. She lowered her head like a schoolgirl and she and her maid followed him to a corner.

“Your lady is very pretty,” Phaulkon said to the maid. Marie blushed. “And she likes pretty things.”

The smile faded from Marie’s face. She addressed the maid. “Why would anyone who doesn’t know me say that I like pretty things?” “The general’s son is very lavish with gifts,” Phaulkon said to the maid. “He gives your lady fine gifts and she seems very happy, as she was when I saw them together the other night.”

“Maybe you mean that necklace. What you did not see was that I gave it back,” she said, speaking directly at Phaulkon at which the maid admonished her.

“Never mind,” Phaulkon said to the maid. “She has spirit, and I like that in women.”

Marie, pretending not to hear him, continued talking to the maid. “What girl wouldn’t like beautiful things,” she said. “But only those gifts when they came from the right person. Nothing that Sorasak gives me would I like. You might tell Mr. Phaulkon this.”

“Her father doesn’t think so,” Phaulkon said to the maid. “My father is a businessman,” she replied curtly.

“Yes, I know,” Phaulkon said, at first in Siamese and then Portuguese. “You must excuse me, my dear lady. I do not intend to be rude.”

“You are good with languages, I heard,” Marie said. “Is that all you heard?” he asked.

She avoided the question. ”And what about Japanese, do you know Japanese as well?” She then spoke to him in Japanese.

“No Japanese,” he said with reproach, “but that will come next. I shall require a teacher. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied smartly. “You can make use of my teacher. I shall loan him to you. He is old, very old, not pretty at all, and crippled, but he is a very good teacher.”

They both laughed. Marie, who had been shy until now found herself at ease with Phaulkon. He made her laugh. He was different, far more different than anyone else she had met. She liked his company.

There was no time for further conversation. Fanique was pleased with the silk and turned to look about, and saw his daughter in a corner with Phaulkon. His radiance showed displeasure. He came bolting across the room and grabbing her by the arm, shouted at her in Japanese and then at the maid in Portuguese. Like an obedient daughter, Marie listened to her father with bowed head. It was uncomfortable for everyone there. Fanique then announced the meeting was over. He informed White he would send a messenger to his office with his decision about the sale the next day. He curtly bid everyone good-bye, with the exception of Phaulkon. He ignored him.

He then had his servant lead White, his assistants and Phaulkon to the back gate. When Phaulkon looked back, hoping for a last glimpse at Marie, she was not about. Her father had ushered her and her maid away. The courtyard was empty.

“You do not give up easily,” White said to Phaulkon when they were on their way back to White’s apartment for a drink.

“I do not intend to. I am not easily daunted,” Phaulkon replied in a voice of determination.

“I could see that. I might say you even enjoyed it,” White said.

He thought for a moment and continued. “If you are that determined, and you want to succeed, then I fear you have to make some changes.”

“Changes!”

“Yes, changes.”

“What do you mean, changes?” Phaulkon asked, “What do I have to change? You told me I already have the best tailor in the kingdom.”

”And you have done well, but let me tell you, dress is only part of the show. The other is manners. You are rough around the edges. You have not been schooled in the graces of Siamese court life. You are gruff, and might I say, even ill mannered. You point with your toes and pat kids on the head. What you are lacking is culture. Marie is cultured; she likes nice things, it’s true, but she likes music and poetry as well. That is culture.”

“That is all,” Phaulkon said with sarcasm. “Is that what culture is, music and poetry? Tell me, perhaps I should have stayed home in Greece. There’s beauty everywhere there. And even the poorest farmer, the worker pressing wine in the vineyard, they all can recite the Greek poets. Is that the culture you mean, the culture I fled from?”

“You want to get off your high horse. You want to listen? If you are looking for an argument I’ll stop here. You know damn well that is not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” Phaulkon asked, more confused than ever. ”Are you saying that I should be more like Sorasak?”

“Sorasak is a bully. I wouldn’t ask anyone to emulate him nor the likes of him. The culture I am talking about is knowing and liking nice things. You are read, Phaulkon, more perhaps than many missionaries here. You know the poets and fine wines, you have good taste. So why don’t you show it? Stop being a seaman. For some it takes a lifetime to master these things, and some may never get to know them. You are an exception.”

”And what about you?” Phaulkon asked.

“Damn you, Phaulkon. There you go again, always on the defensive. We are not talking about me,” White answered abruptly. “We are talking about you. Do you want to listen? Do you want to learn?”

“Of course, if that is what it takes,” Phaulkon replied. “I am sorry if I give the wrong impression. Time is against me. I don’t want to linger any longer.”

“Then you had better not waste any more time. You have to get started immediately,” White said emphatically.

“I know I can learn. I know I can.” Phaulkon said with earnest. He remembered what Captain Hollingsworth aboard the Northumbrian had told him, that everything he needs to know he can find in books. But there were no books in Ayutthaya.

“You can learn certainly,” White said again. “But all depends how determined you are, and if you have a good teacher. That’s important, a good teacher.”

”And how do I find such a person as that?” Phaulkon asked, a bit down hearted.

“Don’t be so glum,” White said with a laugh and a slap on Phaulkon’s shoulder. “I know just the person, and the best.”