Chapter 21A
Envoy to France Lost at Sea

The baptism should have been a happy affair. Everyone had looked forward to it. For Phaulkon and Marie, especially Marie, it was to be a great event with every detail planned well in advance. A number of people had been invited and they all came bearing gifts and good wishes. Most proud, of course, was Fanique, the infant’s grandfather. He now had a grandson to carry on his tradition, if not his name. And there was George White and his lady Myra, and Phaulkon’s mentor, Richard Burnaby. Samuel White, George White’s brother, had come up from Mergui with his wife Mary and their two young daughters. There was Walter McManus and Diego and Christoph. Phaulkon’s respected teacher Thamnon came in his long black robe with the badge of the Golden Pheasant on his chest. And a number of other close friends came, members of the East India Company, interlopers and merchants. Even Abu Omar came. He and Thamnon were the only non-Christians. Samuel Potts, agent for the East India Company, did not come. He wasn’t invited.

The ceremony, as planned, took place in the Chapel at the Portuguese Church in Ayutthaya and Father Thomas was to give the blessing. The boy was to be named George. Both Marie and Phaulkon were as excited as new parents could be. But their happiness was brought short, along with everyone else’s present that day. Just as Father Thomas was about to begin, a messenger came running, panting and out of breath. He was from Phaulkon’s office at the Palace. He had instructions for Phaulkon to report without delay to the Barcalon’s office at the palace.

The news spread around the small gathering like a grass fire caught in the wind. “It must be something very important,” Father Thomas said, giving the indication that he would halt the ceremony. Whispers were voiced and everyone agreed the matter had to be important. Perhaps something had happened to the king.

Phaulkon had an idea what it might be and, if he was right, it could wait. He instructed Father Thomas to get on with the ceremony but it was most difficult for everyone to be at ease with the bleak thought that something grave must have taken place. The mood had been set. The moment young George was baptized, Phaulkon kissed Marie and the baby, told everyone to enjoy the special Portuguese port wine and left without further delay for the Barcalon’s office.

Phaulkon assumed Samuel Potts was the culprit, the cause of his being called to the Barcalon’s office. The trouble began a few months before when an East India Company warehouse burned to the ground, a warehouse that was under the supervision of Potts. Potts made the report to the home office in London about the fire and the total loss of all goods in the warehouse. Phaulkon sent his men to investigate the fire and he learned that the night before the fire all of the goods in the warehouse had been removed, supposedly at the order of Samuel Potts. Potts was up to his old tricks again. Phaulkon had gathered enough evidence to send him to prison but he was waiting for the right moment when some of the goods would turn up on the black market, making the conviction certain. It was just a matter of time. Phaulkon had feelers out everywhere and nothing moved without his knowledge. But now, on his way to the Barcalon’s office, Phaulkon wondered why the sudden urgency. Surely the Barcalon knew how important the baptism was to the Christian community. He could have waited. Phaulkon hurried that much more.

“I have some bad news,” the Barcalon said when Phaulkon entered the office. He looked worried.

“I can’t imagine what it might be,” Phaulkon replied, trying to act surprised. But what he was about to hear came not only as a surprise but also as a shock. He was stunned. It had nothing to do with Potts.

“I have received news about the king’s envoy to France,” the Barcalon began. He hesitated, at a loss for words, and then continued. “The mission didn’t make it. The ship was wrecked in a storm off the coast of Africa with its royal gifts and everyone lost.”

Phaulkon had to sit down. His first thought was the king. The news must have been devastating to the king, he thought. Aside from some of the trusted members of the royal community, the king’s half-brother Prince Lek was among them.

“How did the king take the news?” Phaulkon asked after he had regained his composure.

“I didn’t tell him,” the Barcalon replied.

“You didn’t tell him!” Phaulkon stormed and jumped to his feet. “He should have been informed immediately.”

“I thought that you might want to tell him,” the Barcalon replied sheepishly. He then, after a moment’s delay, admitted, “I, I don’t have the courage to tell him.”

Phaulkon’s anger quickly passed and he could not be upset with the Barcalon. The Barcalon was having a difficult time with the position and, Phaulkon felt, that in spite of the burden imposed upon him, he was doing the best job he could. Phaulkon had come to like him and, aside from their business association, they had become rather good friends. Phaulkon softened his tone and told the Barcalon that he understood. Besides, it was his duty to tell the king and not the Barcalon.

Phaulkon had no choice but go to see the king himself and inform him of the tragedy. It was not an easy thing to do. For one thing, King Narai was unaccustomed to Phaulkon coming to see him in the morning, especially without a prior announcement.

“Well,” the king said, upon seeing Phaulkon, “is not today the second most important day in the life of your child?” Before Phaulkon could answer, he asked, “Why are you here instead?”

“There is a matter that is very important, Your Majesty,” Phaulkon said. “It grieves me to bring you much sad news.”

“What is it that stands more important between your god and your son’s baptism?” he asked.

As painful as it was, Phaulkon had to break the terrible news. He told the king as politely as he could about the shipwreck, about the loss of his brother and all those on board and all the royal gifts. The king turned frightfully pale, as though he might faint. The color drained from his face. Phaulkon had not seen him like this before. He had no idea the news would be so devastating. The king had long waited for news of the mission’s arrival in France but when no word came his fears mounted steadily. He sat now in silence. Phaulkon did not need to ask but he knew the king regretted sending his half-brother Prince Lek on the mission. Phaulkon asked if His Majesty would want him to mount an expedition to search for the lost ship. The king replied there was nothing that he, Phaulkon, or anyone else could do. The king appreciated his offer and said it was enough that someone knew how he felt. Phaulkon said he would send a message through the missionaries to King Louis XIV of France about the lost envoy and that preparations for a memorial service would be made.

As Phaulkon was about to depart after informing King Narai about the loss of the mission, he was astounded by what the king had to say next. ”A king must not mourn his losses. He must think of his people and the kingdom and be an inspiration to them.” He ordered Phaulkon to begin arrangements for another mission to France, for one to leave as soon as possible.

Arranging for another mission to France, however, was even more complicated than the others. This time Phaulkon called upon Father Vachet to assist and to actually lead the mission. But he would not be making the journey alone. Siamese officials would accompany him. There would be interpreters and an official letter from the Barcalon to the French Foreign Minister. Phaulkon labored over the letter. He knew not to be demanding and, out of politeness, he gathered suggestions from others as to how bonds between the two countries could be strengthened. He went back to King Narai and asked if His Majesty had anything special he wanted to say to King Louis.

Chapter 20B
HOW MUCH DOES THAT CANNON WEIGH?

Early one morning the king called for a meeting in the Assembly Hall for his ministers and court officials. Phaulkon, having recovered from his ordeal from the hunt, was ordered to be there too. He surmised King Narai wanted to discuss the envoy to France. He was certain this was what was on the king’s mind. Phaulkon was in a jovial mood when he left his house, but once he stepped into the hall all that changed. General Phetracha was in one of his rages and he was pouring his wrath upon Phaulkon. Phaulkon quietly took up a position on the floor to one side of the king. Phetracha continued his harangue as though Phaulkon was not there. The general complained vehemently to the king and to the assembly that Phaulkon was dividing the kingdom among his friends, that Richard Burnaby and George White had their sights on Ayutthaya, while George’s brother Samuel was taking over Mergui.

The king listened solemnly, neither looking up nor down, and when all was said he then spoke up. He said in a stern voice, “Tell me, who held the important positions in Mergui before the English were appointed? Tell me. Who was it?

“The Muslims,” one official answered.

“You are right, so right,” the king replied. “And did any of you complain when the Muslims were running Mergui? Not one of you did. So what is your complaint now, that an Englishman is running it, an Englishman who brings us trade and profit through his connections?”

They all went silent.

The king then reminded everyone to remember that General Phetracha refused the position of the Barcalon because he admitted he did not know how to deal with foreigners in matters of trade. “Why do you think I cater to the French, or listen to their missionaries talk about their religion? Why do you think I use Phaulkon to play the French against the English? Who here has more experience than Phaulkon?” No one answered. He continued. “If you can find anyone better suited, present him to me and I shall appoint him.” He let his words settle in, and then, after a long pause, he said, “Let me prove my point. Perhaps even your king might be wrong.” He requested that everyone there come to the assembly hall the next morning.

What possibly could the king have in mind? That’s what each and everyone in the hall thought? The next morning would tell.

When all his officials were gathered the next morning, the king announced he would show them how clever Phaulkon, his chief administrator, really was. He knew that he was taking a gamble but he had confidence in Phaulkon. He told Phaulkon to wait in an outer chamber and then informed the assembly that he would like to know the weight of the heavy Phra Phirua cannon out in the courtyard. He asked that they go out and weigh the cannon and let him know how heavy it was. It was early morning and they had until mid-afternoon to come up with the answer. The officials left the hall, mumbling among themselves, and gathered around the cannon. They consulted one another as to how they might weigh the heavy gun. It had taken two strong elephants and twenty men to put it into place. After much discussion they had an iron chain brought in, but then they realized it would be of no use. There was not a scale in the entire kingdom large enough to weigh the cannon.

Frustrated, they returned to the audience hall, prostrated themselves before His Majesty and confessed that they were unable to carry out his command. The king smiled and ordered Phaulkon to come in to the Assembly Hall. The king explained, while everyone listened, that he would like him to weigh the Phra Phirun cannon in the courtyard.

“I will do as you ask, Your Majesty,” Phaulkon said and went out into the courtyard, with the entire court close at his heels. The hall was emptied and the king sat in silence, alone, and waited.

Phaulkon looked at the cannon, walked around it several times, studying it carefully. Bystanders had now gathered in the courtyard. When Phaulkon sat down for a moment, staring at the big gun, the court officials beamed with satisfaction. The King’s Favorite could not determine the weight either.

Phaulkon suddenly jumped to his feet and began giving orders to the sailors whose duty it was to guard the gun. He informed them that only a short while before, on his way to the hall, he had seen workers repairing the city wall. They had constructed a huge crane enabling them to lift heavy boulders to the top of the wall. Phaulkon wanted one of the cranes to be brought to the cannon site immediately. Working swiftly and without delay, in an hour’s time, they had a crane sited over the cannon. In the meantime, Phaulkon was not idle. He ordered workers to bring half a dozen bullock carts loaded with large stones to the site. Next he told the sailors that he wanted a barge tied up alongside the dock. The ministers mumbled to one another, still uncertain where he would find a scale large enough to weigh the cannon. Phaulkon paid no attention to them, nor to anyone else, and concentrated on the sailors who were now working as he ordered.

Once the crane was in place and the barge moored securely alongside the dock, Phaulkon gave the orders to hoist up the cannon with its series of blocks and tackles and then lower it into the barge. Everyone stood aghast. He was going to sink the cannon. But that did not happen. Slowly the crane operator lowered the cannon into the barge. Deeper and deeper the vessel sank into the river. The water had almost reached to the top of the gunnels when the cannon was fully loaded and the barge sank no farther.

That accomplished, what was next? A mob of impatient onlookers had gathered and lined the entire waterfront. They anxiously awaited for the white man’s next move. They gibed and joked among themselves but not one in the vast gathering there that afternoon ventured to guess what this crazy foreigner intended to do next. Phaulkon took his time, keeping everyone in suspense.

With the barge loaded with the cannon, Phaulkon had the sailors mark the water line along the hull at which the loaded barge lay in the water. He then gave orders to remove the cannon and place it back on the dock. What had he proved, everyone thought, other than the barge could carry the weight of the heavy cannon. They were baffled next when workers arrived with the bullock carts loaded with stones. Phaulkon then had the sailors load the stones into the barge, not stopping until the barge sank to the line they had marked. Satisfied, Phaulkon ordered that the stones be removed, and that each one be weighed. The total weight was tallied up and the weight of the cannon was thus determined. Phaulkon returned to the hall, prostrated himself before the king and informed His Majesty the weight of the cannon.

The king was most pleased with the results, for even he had wondered if Phaulkon could accomplish the task given him. He then praised Phaulkon highly in the presence of everyone gathered in the hall. Turning to the court officials, he remarked that they could now see for themselves that the man he chose to be the kingdom’s trade minister was well qualified for that position and that was why he had given him the highest post in the kingdom.

The king further explained to his court that there was no need for envy, that Phaulkon was serving him and the kingdom faithfully and if anyone could prove to be better qualified than Phaulkon, then he would gladly give to that person Phaulkon’s position. He announced in the presence of Phaulkon that even though he had grown attached to Phaulkon, he would rather have a Siamese in Phaulkon’s position as it would please everybody but it had not happened.

That night after Phaulkon weighed the cannon, and was very pleased with the results, he had another great surprise waiting for him. When he returned home he found Marie had arranged a small dinner party and had invited a dozen of their close friends. She was especially jovial and no one quite knew what the special affair was all about. When the candles were lighted and the wine poured, Marie made the happy announcement. “I am with child,” she said. As the months passed and time went by, the king continued to believe and accept whatever His Favorite had to say and advise. And thus, Phaulkon became, next to the king, the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was now at the zenith of his power. He was accepted by the king’s ministers and the court, and while they accepted him at the same time they feared him. Along with their fear came a mistrust. Phaulkon was aware of this, but he firmly believed in himself Where others had failed he would succeed. He wanted desperately to prove to the court and to the Siamese people that they need not worry about him. All he had to do was to figure out a way to do this. Easily said, but not so easily done.

Chapter 20A
Threats and Safety

Marie had her maid Nana move the couch from the bedroom out onto the balcony where Phaulkon could look out over the city while he recovered from his wounds. It was a quiet street with giant cassia trees that gave shade to those who walked along the stone pathway. But Phaulkon was hurting too much to sit up and enjoy the scenery. Marie patiently attended to his wounds with soothing oils and hot water compresses. She kept up a continuous patter of trivial talk to keep his mind away from his pain. When she wasn’t chattering, she asked him an endless array of questions. Which palace does the king like better, Ayutthaya or Louvo? Will they ever improve the ferry service from Ayutthaya to Louvo? When will the new clay water system in Louvo be completed? Do they plan to complete the gate through the east wall in Louvo? Who did the king choose for the envoy to Paris? Has the new Barcalon learned his trade yet? She also asked him about the hunt. She wanted most of all to know all about this rebel Mosafat.

“Who is this man we hear so much about?” she asked. “He is a very brave man,” Phaulkon said.

“But an evil man,” she answered.

“It depends upon whose side you are on. The Muslims or ours. Both sides claim they are right. The Muslims think they are right and that they have the blessing of Allah.”

“Is that what Mosafat thinks, that with Allah’s blessing he can kill and he doesn’t care if he dies?”

“That’s what he believes, what his religion teaches him, and one doesn’t change one’s beliefs without cause.”

“Then why do you challenge him when he doesn’t care if he dies? He can’t lose, win or die. How can you possibly win against these people?”

“There are ways but neither our Christian principles, nor our Buddhist, would permit it.” “And what is that?” she asked.

“This man, like his followers, is not concerned about his own skin, but he is concerned about his family, his children, his mother and his father?”

“You mean we should go after them and not him?”

“That’s one sure way of stopping these extremists, go after their families, their loved ones. Threaten them, but I am not advocating it.”

“Then what do you advocate?” she questioned.

“They can believe what they want to believe as long as they are no threat to me, to you, or to the Kingdom of Siam.”

Marie’s questions now turned to scorn. “No, it’s more than that. You were trying to prove something. What is it you were trying to prove?”

Phaulkon quickly tried to analyze her words, finding in them that perhaps she was right. He was no longer the seaman before the mast, fighting for his every scrap of food. His life was no longer the same. Marie continued, “To fight a losing battle might be noble in the West, but in Asia, here in Siam, the Asian mind, it is-“

“What I am doing is stupid. That is what you mean, isn’t it?” he answered her in a mocking tone and reached up and grabbed her hand. “You are so right, and I shall heed your advice.”

“Now you make fun of me,” she sighed.

“I could never make fun of you but I must say we have to be cautious. Ayutthaya is entering into a time of troubles. Every foreign power wants a piece of Siam, her neighbors, the French, the British, the Dutch, and now the Muslims.”

“What can we do?” she asked.

“To start with, I want us to move to Louvo,” he said. “I didn’t want to tell you, for it was to be a surprise, but I can no longer hold back telling you the great news. The king has given us land and the architects and workers are building us a new house, right at this very moment. It was to be a secret. And now I have told you. I am not good at secrets.”

“A new house!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, a new house, and everything you might want,” he replied. “It will be ready soon. King Narai is making Louvo his summer palace. It’s much better protected than Ayutthaya and a more pleasant place to live. Besides, the king wants us to be near to him.”

Marie was delighted with the news and instantly began designing the interior. After a while, growing weary of talk, she lay down on the couch next to Phaulkon and soon they were both quietly asleep. After some time, he awoke, sat up, gasping with relief that he was not in the jungle. He looked down at Marie, her figure reduced to almost nothing beneath the silk cover. He kissed her gently on the cheek; she didn’t move. He slid off the couch and stepped out on the balcony, under a cluster of brilliant, unhelpful stars. Wide awake now, without regard of the pain that had racked his body, he fell into deep thought.

Yes, he had fought, and sung, and survived storms and shipwrecks. He was old friends with hunger, cold and fatigue. But this new life with Marie was something that made all else turn vague and shadowy. That was her charm-no, her magic; it was wonderful and he felt his life changing with new and fresh meaning. She gave him complete fulfillment and little else mattered. With her standing by his side, he could deal with the obstacles that he faced as the King’s Favorite. He then noticed Diego in the far end of the courtyard below. He seemed to be brooding about something. He went down to the courtyard to join him.

“I didn’t have the chance to thank you for bringing help so quickly,” he said. “We could have all been chopped to pieces had you not arrived when you did.”

Diego explained that it all happened so fast that he couldn’t even remember running through the forest. “I can’t remember anything. It must be one of those things,” he mumbled.

Phaulkon asked what he meant, ‘one of those things,’ but Diego didn’t answer. He had slipped back into his forlorn reverie.

Ignoring his mood, Phaulkon continued: “Do you remember the conversation we had when the ship went down and we thought we were all going to die?”

“You mean the one about no hell, about coming back to earth?” he replied, snapping out of his reverie. “Yes, that one. I vaguely remember. Why do you ask?”

“I recall what you said,” Phaulkon answered, “but I am not sure if you were saying what was true, or perhaps it was just talk from swallowing too much sea water.”

“What do you remember me saying?” Diego asked.

“About an old man who showed you the Holy Book, and what happens after we die. I don’t know why it matters to me so much now but, I guess, I do not want to be separated, ever, from Marie. If there is a place where the dead continue to live, I will make it my aim that Marie and I will end up there, wherever it is, still together. Death does not disturb me as long as I am with Marie even after it takes me.” Phaulkon then asked Diego to tell him the story about the old man.

Diego hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts and then began. He explained he was only a young man at the time. His family did not have much but they were happy. They were Catholics and went to church together as a family. Everything was normal and then his mother died. His father became so bitter with life that he made living unbearable. Then his father met an old man who was hungry and he brought him home. ‘The old man carried the Holy Book with him,” Diego said, “and showed my father many things in the book, things the Catholic Church has transgressed. I did not understand much about what they were discussing. All I could remember was the expression in my father’s face, an expression of total disbelief. When the old man had gone my father had changed and there was a look of peace and serenity in his face, like he knew something we didn’t. He wrote down something the old man showed him from the book on a piece of paper and pinned the writing next to my mother’s comb that he had kept next to his bed all the years.”

“You remember this?” Phaulkon asked.

“Yes, I remember what my Pa wrote down,” Diego replied, speaking slowly, reverently, almost like he was praying. “It was Psalm 37 with the number 29 after it. I spent many moments just staring at that writing. My father explained to me what the writing meant, that one day we will see my mother again, and we will be a family again, here on the earth. That there is no hell, but we all, if we do God’s will, will come back to inhabit the earth. I have never read the Holy Book nor have I seen a copy of it again. But I will never forget that writing on that piece of paper. That’s the only piece of religion I know, if you call that religion. My father always spoke the truth. He loved everything true. Whatever he spoke to me about, I took it as truth. If he believed what he saw in the Holy Book, I do not question it.” “What became of your father?” Phaulkon asked, feeling now was as good time as any to get to know his friend. But before Diego could answer, Phaulkon heard Marie calling. He excused himself and as he went upstairs he wondered how he could get a copy of a Holy Book. Any Holy Book. It didn’t matter which one. It was important, with all the missionaries in Ayutthaya preaching their gospel, he longed to know what they were teaching. He wanted to know the truth for himself, but he also knew that King Narai would bring up the subject one day and he wanted to be prepared.

Chapter 19B
The Southern Threat

“I know who you are, Greek,” Mosafat said. “I realized who you were the moment you stood up to me. But you do not remember me?”

Phaulkon had to think hard what to say. His subterfuge was over. “I remember you,” he replied. “You held up our caravan demanding a share of food. You have come a long way. It’s more than food you want now.”

“Yes,” Mosafat said, “for the Muslim cause. But not to enrich my own pockets, Luang Wijawendra. You too have come a long way.”

The two men had been speaking together in Malay. Phaulkon now spoke to him in Siamese. “You wane hostages for your cause. You can cake me and release the others.”

Upon hearing this, Sorasak jumped to the front. “Yes, yes,” he shouted, “yes, yes, take him. He’s the king’s lackey.”

Mosafat quickly raised his lance, very much annoyed, but Phaulkon motioned for Sorasak to get back. “You ace a very brave man, Mr. Lackey,” Mosafat said, now reverting back to speaking Malay. “Very brave but I think very foolish. Why do you defend the likes of these men, these parasites?”

“It’s a pity we are not on the same side,” Phaulkon said. “I could get to like you.” He still needed time. Time was the very thing that could save them. Words, words, words were arms. He talked on, about everything that came to mind. He smoked a cheroot with Mosafat, and then another, and talked more. Growing weary, Mosafat stood up and dusted himself off. He then gave orders to his men to bind Phetracha and Sorasak. The rebels quickly separated the two men from the others and began binding their hands and arms behind their backs with strips of rawhide fastened co bamboo poles.

They didn’t finish tying the two men. The king’s soldiers arrived and surrounded the area. Diego had managed to get through and brought help.

“You are not as stupid as I thought you were,” said Mosafat. “And very clever, I must say. You will pay for this, Mr. Luang Wijawendra.”

Phaulkon ordered his men to free Phetracha and Sorasak, but he reminded them all that they were all still at the mercy of Mosafat and his men. The Muslims could kill them instantly the moment the soldiers attacked. Phaulkon still had the upper hand, but it might not be for long. The wrong move and they could all be doomed. He ordered his runner to inform the king’s soldiers to wait for his signal to advance.

Phaulkon turned to Mosafat. “There is certain to be much bloodshed and many good men on both sides shall die today,” he said. “The king will be pleased that you have saved the life of his general, and that Sorasak will be punished. Now you can prevent this bloodshed.” Phaulkon felt it best not to tell him the real reason for the wild pigs, that it was he, Phaulkon, that Sorasak wanted to do in and not the general.

“You think that I fear death,” Mosafat laughed. “We die for Allah. Who do you die for?”

“I do not speak of dying. I speak of living,” Phaulkon said. “You know there will be more blood than what will be shed here today. You know the king’s soldiers will certainly slaughter all of you. Your Muslims in the south will seek revenge and a civil war will erupt and there will be no winners. Withdraw your men, and no harm will befall them. I give you my word.”

Mosafat looked around at his men. He had twenty fighters, all loyal followers. The Greek had outsmarted him. He addressed Phaulkon. “I walk with death,” he said. “I live with death. The general here and all the king’s soldiers have not been able to capture me. They have tried. They have tried hard. They have chased my men and me and hunted us for years but they have not succeeded. Yes, if we resist now we will all die. There will be no revenge. To agree to your terms means to fight another day, and for that reason I will accept your terms.”

“Then you and your men can go,” Phaulkon said.

“Yes, I will go now,” he said, “but I fear one day I will have to kill you. There can be no other way.”

“I will remember that, another day,” Phaulkon said and they parted.

As Mosafat gathered his men and prepared to leave, Phaulkon instructed General Phetracha to tell the army commander to give way so that the Muslims could pass. Phetracha was reluctant to do so. But Phaulkon stood his ground. He informed the general that if he was refused, with the power granted to him by the king, he would take command. “It would be much easier, General Phetracha, if you yourself give the command. You have no choice. Besides, you are the first one they will kill.”

Reluctantly General Phetracha gave orders to the commander of the soldiers to let the Muslims pass unharmed into the jungle.

As the Muslims vanished into the forest, Sorasak shouted to his men to quickly pick up their weapons. “We go after them,” he said brandishing his sword above his head.

“What are you doing?” Phaulkon called to him. “You cannot do that,”

”And why not?” Sorasak barked in defiance. “Because I gave my word,” Phaulkon said.

“And I give you my word,” he shouted. “I shall kill them all, enemies of Siam.”

Phaulkon tried his best to stop them. When Sorasak refused to listen, Phaulkon appealed to his men, asking them to stand fast. A few listened and put down their lances but the rest went with Sorasak as he led the charge into the forest in pursuit of the retreating Muslims. The hunting party returned to Louvo, not in victory but in defeat.

Later that night, when they were safely back at the kraal, word reached them that Sorasak had succeeded and although some Muslims escaped many were killed. Mosafat was not among those killed. He made good his escape.

The following day at King Narai’s court, General Phetracha made his report. He stated, with witnesses to prove it, that Phaulkon had conspired with the chief of the Muslims. Admittedly, what Phaulkon had said to them was not quite known, for he spoke to the rebel leader in a language neither he nor his men understood. He said that before he could act, Phaulkon gave orders for the Muslims to flee. It was Prince Sorasak who stood up to the enemy and with his small band hunted them down and killed most of them. Only a few escaped. “Phaulkon was concerned only about his own safety,” he said vehemently. “He proved that by letting the Muslims go free.”

King Narai, having heard enough, dismissed the gathering. As General Phetracha was about to leave, he said to him, “We have been friends since childhood. I fought with you, and I drank with you. And I don’t believe you.”

At the military barracks that night, Sorasak gathered his men around and spoke to them. They were expecting praise, but that was not what they got. “I gave a command today and not all of you followed,” he cried. “Instead you listened to a foreigner.” At that he clapped his hands and a squad of armed guards entered the barracks. He then gave orders to arrest those who had not joined him that day. The guards arrested eight men and bound them with their hands behind their backs.

“Execute them,” Sorasak demanded, shouting at the top of his voice. “They are criminals and are to die like criminals.” The men in the barracks fell silent. They knew what Sorasak meant, how criminals are executed. “Take them to the kraal,” he continued. No one protested. No words of condemnation were said. The condemned men were hustled out of the barracks and placed on an open bullock cart and paraded through the city streets to the kraal. There was no ceremony, no last rites, no blindfolds. The guards pushed the eight men into the kraal with the wild elephants to be trampled to death.

Chapter 19A
THE ELEPHANT HUNT

The next morning, as planned, the hunting party assembled at the elephant kraal and here they awaited the first light of dawn. General Phetracha and Prince Sorasak had invited a dozen guests, all neophytes at the sport of wild elephant hunting, and included were Phaulkon, Diego and Christoph. It was an exciting moment for those waiting for the hunt to begin. The air pulsated with the sound of drums with an occasional blast of trumpets. The shouts of mahouts, more than a hundred, echoed through the camp as they called out commands and maneuvered their elephants into position. Among the elephants, edging forward and bumping against one another, a hundred or more trainers and assistants, seemingly unafraid that they might be trampled down, ran about among the beasts attempting to keep them calm. It was as dangerous as it was exciting.

Close behind the hunting party waited a company of soldiers, all on foot, ready to advance when the command was given. The excitement grew when word from scouts came that a herd of wild elephants were a short distance to the east.

With the hunt but minutes away, General Phetracha guided his elephant to the statue of Ganesha, the elephant god, while monks performed the purification ceremony given before every chase. Then, with a wave of his sword high above his head, General Phetracha gave the signal. There followed a flourish of blasts from the trumpeters and a thunderous outburst of drumbeats and the hunt began.

A hundred elephants charged with incredible speed. The earth trembled beneath their feet and clouds of dust rose up from the flat plain as the herd thundered ahead in pursuit of wild elephants With dust hanging limpid in the air, visibility was near impossible. Charging elephants came within centimeters of colliding with one another, but miraculously, by their very own nature, they passed one another unscathed. The charging beasts reached the edge of the forest and here the pace slowed. An hour after setting out, they passed the last military outpost guarding the northern periphery of the city. Phetracha ordered the near-exhausted soldiers to remain behind. They fell to the ground like leaves falling from the trees. The party continued and the deeper they penetrated into the forest, the thicker became the foliage. The dust disappeared and the elephants, although still at a run, now had to maneuver around the trees, some so large that three men could not reach around them. As they neared the wild elephant area, the tame elephants became more difficult to manage. It was then that the scouts announced that wild elephants were dose at hand. Sorasak called a halt and made preparations for the final charge. Mahouts lined up their elephants. The assistants made ready with their rope lassoes. Sorasak warned that guests could join the hunt but only by remaining in the rear. He further instructed them, unless told otherwise, they were to remain on their elephants at all times. Their howdahs would provide them with some protection.

Phaulkon attempted to stay as far distant from Sorasak as he could. He suspected some ill doing but what it might be he was uncertain. He knew Sorasak was seeking revenge. Both Diego and Christoph rode side by side next to him, adhering to the adage that there’s safety in numbers. It was only after they reached the wild elephant area that Phaulkon realized it was not Sorasak or his men that he had to fear. It was his elephant. Sorasak had assigned him to an elephant that was easily spooked. What foul play did Sorasak have in mind?

Sorasak had hunted the area before, and he knew that any one of three things can frighten elephants on a hunt-dogs, horses and wild pigs. Early that morning, he had his men place wild pigs in cages deep in the forest, and when his men got the signal, they were to turn the wild, screaming pigs loose. The mahout on Phaulkon’s elephant would not be able to control his beast and both of them, he and Phaulkon, would be flung to the jungle floor, certain to be trampled to death in the confusion.

But Sorasak and his men were not aware that other forces, even more formidable, were at play. A band of rebel Muslims had set up a camp in the jungle where Sorasak intended to lead the hunt. The Muslims had spotted Sorasak’s men that morning when they were setting the cages with the wild pigs and hastily reported their findings to their chief at their camp not far away. The rebels figured the king’s soldiers were plotting to do harm to someone in their party. But who? Most likely someone of high rank among them. It took no time for their scouts to discover that that person was General Phetracha from King Narai’s royal court, and with him was Prince Sorasak. They concluded that it must be the prince who planned to assassinate the general. The Muslims suddenly felt that luck was in their favor. This was the opportunity they had waited for, to kidnap a few of the king’s men and hold them hostage in hope to better their cause for independence in the south. The general or the prince, or both of them, would make a prized catch. They set their plan into motion. They had little difficulty overpowering Sorasak’s soldiers stationed at the dozen cages. Now all they had to do was wait for Sorasak’s next move.

Unaware that his men had been captured, Sorasak led the way at the head of the hunt, and when the elephants reached the appointed spot, he gave the signal for his men to release the pigs. Nothing happened. Sorasak halted the hunt and instead of charging he had the party wait. Still nothing happened. He was confused, uncertain what to do next. The elephants became uneasy. He gave orders for all to dismount. Phetracha was now aware that something had gone wrong, and Phaulkon sensed trouble. There was no time to delay. Phaulkon got Diego aside and instructed him that if trouble occurred not to worry about him. He had to get away as fast as he could and get help from the military outpost that they had passed.

Seeing that there was already chaos, the Muslims released the pigs. The squealing animals went on a rampage through the jungle, scattering the elephants before the mahouts could stop them. At the same time, the Muslims charged the hunting patty, whooping and shouting, brandishing steel blades above their heads. In no time they surrounded the unwary hunting party. It was over in minutes. The rebel leader then made his appearance. He stepped out of the jungle into the clearing. Phaulkon did a double take. He couldn’t believe what he saw. It was Mosafat, the rebel leader he had encountered while crossing the Kra Peninsula. Mosafat didn’t recognize Phaulkon, not at first.

Mosafat ordered Phetracha to tell his men to lay down their arms. Sorasak stepped forward, shouting at Mosafat chat he, Mosafat, would hang for chis, whereupon Mosafat replied, “Who will hang who? When your king finds out you have planned to murder his general who will hang then?”

Sorasak went into a panic. He lost control. He glanced at Phetracha, whose face had turned ashen, and then bravely approached Mosafat to prove to Phetracha chat he was not a traitor and certainly not an assassin. “You are a pig, a pig!” he shouted waving his arms. Mosafat backed away. “That’s a lie, and you ace a pig!” he continued, screaming, and then feeling more defiant, he spit at the rebel leader.

Sorasak misjudged his adversary. Mosafat reacted with fury. He swung his lance to strike Sorasak, but Phaulkon, anticipating chis might happen, stepped between the two men. Phaulkon cook the full blow of the lance on his head and shoulder. The blow knocked him to the ground. Slowly he got to his knees, and with the help of Christoph, he stood up. He was bleeding badly and was covered with dust. He looked around to make certain Diego was gone. He was nowhere in sight. Phaulkon then addressed Mosafat. “You must excuse him, most noble Tuan,” he said speaking in Malay. “He is still a youth and knows not how to control his tongue.”

Mosafat had the look in his eyes that he might strike again. Sorasak chis time backed away.

Phaulkon continued in Malay. He knew he had to buy time until the king’s soldiers from the garrison arrived. It would take Diego an hour to reach the post, and another hour for them to return. He had two hours. He also realized they were in no position to anger their captors. He stepped up to Mosafat, and now standing call on his own, without the support of Christoph, he told the rebel chief that he was King Narai’s Consul, the Luang Wijawendra, the Superintendent of Foreign Trade, hoping it would have some effect on the rebel leader. It didn’t.

Chapter 18B
Unsolved Heinous Crimes

Phetracha’s guards immediately arrested the man. Phetracha was about to go out into the temple yard but the monks told him to remain behind while they found out what the trouble might be. They returned to tell the general that there had been another death in the village. A young woman was found dead. She had been raped and strangled. The old man outside was the girl’s father. “Well what does that have to do with me?” Phetracha demanded. “Find the culprit and punish him. Why bother me?”

There was ominous silence that followed. It was eerie to say the least. Even the temple dogs stopped whining and, it seemed, the black crows in the trees outside fell silent. The head monk, sheepishly glancing around at the other monks, finally spoke up.

“He accuses your son, Prince Sorasak, of the crime,” he said.

Phetracha went into a rage and without heeding advice from the monks he charged out into the yard. “I will have your head on a pole,” he shouted at the old man. “How dare you make such accusations!” Then to the guards he shouted, “String him up. Whip him. Whip him until there is no more life in him.”

The guards took hold of the old man and forcefully dragged him into a corner of the yard to carry out the orders. The general went back into the temple to conclude his business with the monks.

“What did the old man tell you?” Phetracha demanded from the head monk.

The monk was slow coming with his worlds. “The man said the girl was working in the field and under Sorasak’s orders his guards seized her and dragged her into the forest where Sorasak was waiting.”

Phetracha wanted to hear no more. He lashed out verbally at the old man for accusing Sorasak of this heinous crime without having proof He hurriedly started to leave the temple grounds but the head monk stopped him. “Danger comes not from men like Phaulkon,” he said gathering together his courage, like a fighter picking himself up from the floor and coming out for another chance. The monk was relieved, perhaps, that he didn’t have to answer the question that General Phetracha came to seek. Phetracha was momentarily taken back by the monk’s words. He halted in his tracks, cocked back his head and listened.

“No, not the foreigner,” the monk continued, picking up where he left off, “it comes from those evil souls who rape and kill young women. You say it was not Sorasak, so be it; then we must find out who it was. Something must be done, for this is not the first time a young woman has died this way. There were others.” Phetracha heard enough. He cupped his hands in a wai, mumbled thanks to the monk, turned and left the temple without looking back, as he generally did when departing. The monk stood in the arched doorway and watched him leave.

Phetracha knew where he had to go, and that was to see Sorasak and confront him before he had time to make excuses. He had little doubt that Sorasak was innocent of a crime. He headed straight for Sorasak’s house, a good five kilometers distant, kicking up clouds of dust as he scurried through the streets. So rapidly did he move that his guards who followed several paces behind him had a hard time keeping up. The afternoon heat was intense and they sweated profusely. Dust, rising up from the street as they walked, clung to their sweating bodies. Still they did not stop, not until they reached the house where Sorasak lived. The guards took positions outside the building while Phetracha burst into the house through the front door.

He found Sorasak asleep on a couch. Sorasak was out of it and did not hear the general come into the house, which angered Phetracha even more. In a fit of anger he pulled Sorasak from the couch and threw him onto the floor. Sorasak’s clothes were torn-he had scratches across his face. He couldn’t even clean himself up, Phetracha thought.

Sorasak shook his head and sat up. He looked dismayed to see Phetracha standing over him. Phetracha demanded to know where he had been the past night, but no answer came, only incoherent grumbles. “You don’t answer but you can hear,” Phetracha shouted. “Do you hear? Get rid of this evil force that’s enslaving you. Go to the temple. The monks will listen to you. Go or I will deal with you my own way.”

Sorasak was suddenly wide awake. “Do you forget,” he shouted at Phetracha, “you are talking to a future king of Siam.”

“You, a king!” Phetracha cried. “You are not even fit to be called a man and certainly not even to be my son. You are not fit to rule anyone, not even yourself.”

“And you would rather have a foreigner rule Siam?” Sorasak cried.

“Everybody knows the king is sick. When he is gone, Phaulkon will become the next king, as you sit, and as you play soldier, and go and talk to the monks while our kingdom is being taken over by foreigners. You can no longer even talk to the king. Why? Because he is busy with the Greek. And you tell me what I should and should not be doing. You have the duty to keep Siam for the Siamese, not for the farangs. You have a kingdom to worry about. Stop worrying about little village girls.”

Phetracha did not respond. He turned, without uttering a word, and left the room in anger. He hated himself for thinking it, but in his mind Sorasak was right.

General Phetracha did not see Sorasak again until a week later when they had a scheduled audience with the king. At the allotted time they entered the king’s chamber and prostrated themselves before the king who had just taken his seat at the throne when he heard them enter. “We have come, Your Majesty, to discuss the wild elephant hunt that is to take place tomorrow,” Phetracha said. The king did not respond. “Your Majesty asked for us to come see Your Majesty before the hunt.” Still, King Narai did not reply. His thoughts were elsewhere. He was hardly aware that his general and Sorasak were in the same room. Phetracha then noticed that he was not alone. Phaulkon was in the room with him, standing near an open window, and before him mounted on a stand was a new telescope that had just arrived from Europe. The king and Phaulkon had set up the telescope and were gazing through it to the heavens when Phetracha and Sorasak entered.

Suddenly, without uttering a word, King Narai rose from his seat and went to join Phaulkon at the telescope. He left Phetracha and Sorasak sitting on the floor. At the telescope be began fumbling with the settings, excited as a child with a new toy.

Sensing Phetracha’s dissatisfaction, Phaulkon attempted to appease him by stepping away from the window and bringing up the subject of the elephant hunt again. “I have never hunted elephants,” Phaulkon said. “They tell me it can be quite exciting.”

“Then you must join us,” Phetracha said and out of duty offered to take him on a hunt.

The king, upon overhearing the conversation, left his telescope and came to join them. “That is a grand idea,” he said to Phaulkon. “I always thought that one day you should try it.” Phaulkon couldn’t back down now. He agreed to go join Phetracha one day.

“Why not tomorrow?” Sorasak spoke up. He sensed an opportunity that he couldn’t pass up. “I will make all the arrangements for you to join us tomorrow.”

Phaulkon, thinking that perhaps he had accepted too quickly, said he might have a difficult time convincing his wife, Marie, to let him go. Sorasak’s expression changed in an instant. The smile disappeared and a scowl came to his face. He couldn’t conceal his jealousy. The very mention of the name Marie set him on fire. He hated being reminded that it was Marie who should be his wife and not this farang. But when he thought about the coming elephant hunt and what might happen the smile returned.

Phaulkon was forced to accept the invitation.

After Phetracha and Sorasak exited, with Marie still on his mind, the king asked Phaulkon about her. “You must love her,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty, like I have never loved anyone before,” Phaulkon admitted.

The king asked how he could be so sure. Phaulkon explained that he prided himself with knowing what his heart desired, and then fulfilling it, like he did in finding Siam. “I knew the first time I saw Siam that this is where I wanted to be,” he said. “This now is my home, my country. So it was the same when I first saw Marie. I knew right then that she belonged to me, and I to her.”

“Don’t you miss your home?” asked the king. “You came from a great country, a country rich in history, and art, and rich in philosophers. Your country was once the greatest the world has ever known.”

“It is not greatness that pleases me,” he replied. “I have seen many great places and many great lands but to me they’re just places, just lands. I have no feelings for them, as I do for Siam. What is it about Siam that draws me so dose to it? When I saw your kingdom for the first time, I knew, deep down, that I could be happy here. It was like my being born again, being made alive again. I felt, would you believe, Your Majesty, that I was returning home. Yes, returning home. I felt I belonged here. I am not Siamese, not in skin anyway, but it’s my heart that cells me I am Siamese. And is it not my choice? Does not a man have the right to choose who he wants to be? Siam is where I want to belong. No one forced me. I am not like other farangs who want to return home one day. Siam is my home. Am I wrong to feel this way, Your Majesty?”

Before the king could respond, his daughter, Princess Yothip, entered the room to remind the king it was time for his walk in the garden. The king told Phaulkon they would continue their conversation another time, and he reminded Phaulkon to go on the elephant hunt with Phetracha and Sorasak. “It does one good,” he said, “to go spend time in the wild every now and then.” He told Phaulkon it would make Phetracha happy. “And maybe then Phetracha will leave me alone,” he said jokingly, but Phaulkon gathered it was more than a joke.

When Phaulkon agreed to join the hunt, Sorasak’s mind began to work overtime. Here was the chance to rid the kingdom of an evil, and no one would know it had not been an accident. He had a scheme which he discussed with his most trusted men. They agreed it was feasible. He approached Phetracha with his plan. At first the general was opposed, but after Sorasak explained in detail what he intended to do, the general agreed it had possibilities. How different the court would be without the Greek. The general slowly began to change his thinking. After mulling it over, he finally agreed. But in the same breath he warned Sorasak that he had to do things right, and above all, he must not get caught. Sorasak answered sarcastically. If his plan succeeded, he explained, Phetracha had everything to gain. If he failed, only he, Sorasak, would suffer.

At the elephant kraal, a stockade for herding wild elephants, some three kilometers north of the capital, Sorasak held a meeting with his men and explained what had to be done. The deed was settled.

When Marie heard about the wild elephant hunt she became alarmed. “Don’t you realize those men you are going on the hunt with don’t like you,” she said.

“I will have Diego and Christoph with me,” he answered. “They hate them too,” she cried.

“What harm can they do? We will all be on equal ground,” he said.

“They have a plan, I am sure. They will take advantage of your inexperience,” she sighed. But Phaulkon assured her that it was not easy to get rid of him. He added that this might be his chance to prove to Phetracha that he was not an enemy but a friend.

As Phaulkon left for the hunt, Marie ran after him and asked, “What shall I do if you find yourself in harm?” He reminded her of the story of Samut Kote and his princess, and he told her she was safe where she was, and if trouble did come, not to go into the forest looking for him. “That is what matters,” he said, “knowing where you are at all times. Unlike Samut Kote, I won’t need to wander around in the forest searching for you. Besides, nothing can part us ever, remember? Not kings, not gods, not even death.” He held her and kissed her dearly.

Chapter 18A
THE AFFAIRS OF THE KING

Once Phaulkon had recovered from his near-fatal fever, and was settled in his new home with Marie, he dove diligently into his work at the office in the Royal Palace. He had open access to King Narai and they met almost every afternoon. Sometimes the king’s ministers and advisers were present, but more often than not the king and Phaulkon were alone. When they were alone, Phaulkon could express freely both his thoughts and opinions. They talked about many things, about politics, about governments, about war. On matters of a social or public nature, the king used Phaulkon as a sounding board. He was interested in the mundane, the commonplace. He wanted to know what it was like to walk among the docks at the godowns by the river. He wanted to know how it felt, what his people ate, what they did in their free time, and how they felt about royal decrees and public notices. He wanted to hear in detail about Phaulkon’s life with Marie. Phaulkon felt that the king wanted to know intimate things about them, but he never asked. King Narai was discreet but he was also thirsty for knowledge. He thrived on inconsequential bits of information that Phaulkon fed him. Phaulkon became his link to the world beyond the palace walls.

Phaulkon also conferred openly with the king about Siam’s foreign affairs and the kingdom’s involvement with European powers. Foremost in the talks was the Dutch threat. Phaulkon expressed the idea of a French alliance with Siam to counter further Dutch encroachments. King Narai pondered over the idea. He couldn’t dismiss how the Dutch had blockaded the Menam River at Pak Nam and forced the Siamese to sign an unfavorable trading agreement. On the other hand he had no quarrel with the French. French missionaries arrived in 1660 and built schools and hospitals. In 1673 two French bishops brought from Louis XIV a letter to the Siamese king thanking him for his kindness to French missionaries.

Phaulkon reminded the king about the letter which stated that the King of France has a good friend in the King of Siam. Phaulkon suggested that copies of the letter be made, including translations, and that they be nailed on walls in the public squares for everyone to see, especially the Dutch, as a warning that King Narai had the support of France, the most powerful nation in Europe.

The notices were well received and gave thought to King Narai to go a step farther. He entertained the idea of extending Siam’s friendship to King Louis by sending an envoy to France bearing gifts and offerings. “But more than just an envoy,” Phaulkon said when the king told him of his plan. “Send ambassadors and courtiers; make it an official embassy.”

The king responded quickly and ordered, without delay, an embassy to depart for France within two months. A great deal of plans and decisions had to be made in that short time. Finally the ambassadors were chosen, and King Narai decided to send his younger half-brother, of whom he was very fond, Prince Lek. The only obstacle standing in their way was the lack of a ship to carry the embassy half way around the world to France. The French could not provide a ship as they were at war with the Dutch, and the Dutch held command of the eastern seas. The embassy would have to wait. It was disappointing to both King Narai and Phaulkon.

The lack of a vessel wasn’t the only drawback to planning and organizing the mission which King Narai had assigned to the Barcalon and Phaulkon. While the planning was in the process, the Barcalon grazed his leg while inspecting a British merchant ship at the dock in Ayutthaya. It wasn’t a deep wound, only minor, but the Barcalon neglected to take care of it. Infection set in and his condition became critical. Hearing about it, the king sent his physician and Phaulkon scoured the ships at anchor in the river for doctors. A doctor from a British man-of-war down river in Pak Nam came as fast as his oarsmen could row their longboat upriver. He hastily attended to the Barcalon, but he was too late. There was nothing he or anyone could do. When he came out of the treatment room he had sad news to tell those waiting. The infection had spread and there was no hope for the Barcalon. Two days later he died. The kingdom went into mourning and the chief monk at the temple set the date for a Royal cremation. His body was clothed in fine silk, and he was laid to rest upon a pyre of scented wood aboard a beautifully carved royal barge with a gold trimmed serpent’s head at the bow. The pyre was ignited and the barge set adrift on the Menam. It was an unusual cremation, not at all traditionally Siamese, but one that the Barcalon requested. Phaulkon was deeply moved by his passing away. He was indebted to the Barcalon for all that he had done and for what he had helped him became. He watched with tears as the barge floated slowly down the river, consuming in flames the one man, aside from Thamnon, whom he always felt he could count on.

With the cremation over, the king summoned Phaulkon to the palace. Phaulkon surmised before he entered the king’s chambers what the king wanted. He was right. The Barcalon’s position had to be filled. King Narai offered Phaulkon that position, as the Barcalon of Siam. Phaulkon knew that for him to accept would be fatal. His survival depended upon his playing low key. Suspecting that the king might choose him, he planned his strategy. He knew he could not refuse the king. No one refuses the king. He thus told the king he was not worthy of the position and suggested that it be offered to General Phetracha. King Narai did not like the idea. He knew it was a job that Phetracha could not handle. “He is a soldier not a businessman,” King Narai said. ”And furthermore he dislikes foreigners. A trait that’s not acceptable. Barcalon must get along with foreigners. That’s what trade is all about is it not?”

“You are right, Your Majesty, but that is not the issue,” Phaulkon explained. “General Phetracha would be only a figurehead, like those carved images on the bows of those foreign ships you see on the river. Everyone admires a good figurehead, and many are fine works of art. General Phetracha would be a figurehead, a sinecure with capable men under him doing the work.”

The idea appealed to the king, but when General Phetracha was offered the appointment he refused. News had leaked that the position was first offered to Phaulkon and he had turned it down. Phetracha became very upset to know he was the second choice, after Phaulkon. He refused under the pretense that he lacked the use of foreign languages. The king commented that perhaps it is time he learned some skills other than the use of the sword. “Siam is in need of businessmen as well as soldiers,” he said.

King Narai then asked Phaulkon whom he thought would make a good replacement for the Barcalon. Phaulkon explained that there are many capable men in the kingdom and he would attempt to seek the best candidate he could find. What he said was not what he felt. He knew it would be a most difficult task finding the right person. Nevertheless, he had no choice and he began his search.

Among the traders and interlopers there was an Arab trader by the name of Afzal who was of good standing and that everyone liked. The man did speak a half dozen languages and he was very rich, reducing his probability of corruption. And an Arab holding that position might appease the Moors who protested the king’s favoritism to Europeans. Phaulkon approached him and asked if he would consider taking the position as the new Barcalon. “Think it over,” Phaulkon said. “After a month, if the job suits you, you will be hired permanently. Take a few days to think it over.”

Phaulkon knew the Arab didn’t need a few days to think it over.

In fact, he knew he didn’t need any time at all to make up his mind. And Phaulkon was right. Afzal came back the following day and said he had thought it over. He would take the position. He began work the very next day. With the birthday celebration for king’s daughter coming shortly there was no time to lose.

After a week’s observation Phaulkon thought that Afzal had the ability to handle the work, and informed the King he had found the right man.

With Phaulkon’s recommendation, the king accepted Afzal as the next Barcalon. The Arab, however, after a few months did not prove to be as efficient as his predecessor, and Phaulkon found he was forced to take on many of his business matters himself, especially those involving foreigners. Nor could Afzal handle the affairs of arranging an envoy to France. It was too much for him. Nevertheless, with hostilities between the French and the Dutch easing off in Europe, a French ship was commandeered for the voyage. On December 22, 1680, ambassadors and courtiers, assistants and King Narai’s half-brother, Prince Lek, set sail from Ayutthaya aboard Le Soleil d’Orient. There were presents for the French king along with letters which disclosed the desire of King Narai of Siam to establish friendly relationships with King Louis IV of France. The first embassy of the Kingdom of Siam was finally on its way to France.

The king was pleased; Phaulkon was pleased; but General Phetracha was not pleased. When Phetracha heard about the choice of the Barcalon and the departure of the first embassy to France, he became angered and vindictive. He ran straight to the king with his grievances. He made it known to the king that he considered Phaulkon’s choice of the Barcalon only a ploy, a front and a clandestine method for Phaulkon to line his own pockets. The king heard him out but said nothing. He thought it best to let tempers subside. General Phetracha was not a man to reason with when he was angered. King Narai quickly changed the subject and began talking about elephants.

After some thought, General Phetracha was still not pleased with the way the king was handling matters. Finding no sympathy from His Majesty, which he didn’t expect anyway, Phetracha went to the temple to consult the monks. He had to air his grievances somewhere and the monks would certainly give him an ear. Phetracha was a religious man, biased in every respect, unbending, and he would not do a thing unless he consulted the monks. Now he wanted their advice. The head monk, holding the saffron robe that Phetracha presented to him, quietly listened. Phetracha asked what should be done about Phaulkon, a foreigner in their midst who was trying to usurp power from the king. The head monk nodded, for he was aware of what was happening in the kingdom, about the feud between Phetracha and Phaulkon and, with no other choice, he knew what he had to say without giving the matter further thought. He had to tell the general what he wanted to hear. He was about to give his opinion but stopped short when loud shouting came from the temple yard. A young monk ran into the room and announced that an old man had entered the temple grounds and was demanding justice. They could hear him now as he came closer. “Khun Phetracha is here,” he called out. “He is here; they told me he was here.”

Chapter 17B
PHAULKON COMES TO DINNER

Excitement spread in the house of Fanique when it was learned that Phaulkon was coming to dinner. Preparations began a week before. When the day finally arrived, with the help of her maid, Nana, Marie tried on one dress after another, all Western gowns, attempting to determine which one would impress Phaulkon the most. She tried on a long gown with a low-cut front and asked Nana if it was too provocative.

The maid suggested that she not show Phaulkon too much of herself and expressed her thoughts. “Phaulkon is no longer a very young man,” she said. “He may not be moved by passion. I think he is the kind of man who prefers virtue rather than passion.”

“You’re wrong, Nana,” Marie exclaimed. “I can see it in his eyes.

I can feel it in my heart. Oh yes! Constantine is a man of passion.” At home she called him by his Greek name, not by Phaulkon.

“Shh, you’re not to talk that way,” Nana said. “You must not let him know how you feel. You must control yourself.”

“But why?” Marie asked. “I want him to know. I’m sure he would want to know how I feel.”

“I am sure he already knows,” Nana answered. “But you are young and must be cautious. Love increases with more obstacles in the way.”

“Oh, Nana, you don’t really believe that,” Marie responded happily. “I know, but we are different, Constantine and I. We don’t need rules for courtship. We already love each other. We already know we belong to each other. We do, Nana, we do! We just want to be together now and forever.”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Nana said glancing at the door beyond Marie. “You talk as if you already know Master Constantine. He hasn’t even spoken words of love to you.”

“Oh, but he has, Nana,” Marie exclaimed with sincerity. “When our eyes meet we speak to each other. I know how he feels just as much as he knows how I feel. Don’t you understand, Nana? You’ll never understand. No one will ever understand, but Constantine and I do, and that’s enough. Besides, talking about obstacles, father is enough of an obstacle. I don’t want him to make Constantine feel uncomfortable this evening. Oh please pray that father will be nice tonight, even just for this one night.” She stopped talking when Nana placed the sapphire necklace around her neck.

Phaulkon arrived in style at the house of Fanique. A few guests, friends of Fanique, had been invited, and they stood in the courtyard waiting for Marie to make her appearance. Torchlights gave dancing reflections throughout the yard. The stage was set. Fanique looked towards the stairs and at the top landing Marie appeared. She appeared subtly, like an apparition coming to life. Even from afar, her beauty took everyone in the room by with awe. She was young, still a child, and although her beauty was the beauty of youth, there was something ethereal about her. She was more like a Madonna than anything else. Slowly she descended the stairs, holding the tips of her long dress in both hands, and just before she reached the bottom, Phaulkon stepped forth. With an outstretched hand he guided her down the last two steps of the staircase. When she saw him looking at her low-cut dress, she blushed and made the comment that her maid had chosen the dress for her.

During dinner Phaulkon and Marie could hardly take their eyes from one another. Fanique proved to be the perfect host. He expressed his admiration of Phaulkon’s policy that gave special privileges to the interlopers over the East India Company traders. He continued throughout the meal to talk business. At one lull in the conversation, he addressed Phaulkon and asked him if he liked the wine. “A shipment just arrived a few days ago,” Fanique said.

“A present from France for the French missionaries, and from them to us for this gracious evening.”

When the meal ended and the guests were milling in the courtyard, Phaulkon asked Fanique if he could walk Marie to school the next day. He used the excuse that he would like to see the school. Fanique agreed but he reminded Phaulkon that Marie was a very busy teacher and had many children to take care of. It was the opening he wanted. He then said: “Maybe you should spend your time more wisely by studying the doctrine of the Catholic faith, and get yourself baptized. That would please Marie.”

“I will do everything to make her happy, to be my wife,” Phaulkon said. “If that requires me to go to church and learn the Catholic ways, then so be it.” Like some inexorable force compelling him to say these words, words that surprised even him, he announced for everyone’s benefit what Fanique wanted to hear. Phaulkon then added, “I do it for Marie.”

“Not for Marie but for your soul,” Fanique replied.

Then, having said the last word, he excused himself and instructed the servants to serve dessert and coffee on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He told Phaulkon and Marie to go ahead and he would join them later. Phaulkon led Marie to the balcony where they were alone. They talked not about trade and commerce, nor about the affairs of the state; they talked about love. “How do you know you love me?” Marie asked.

Phaulkon took her hand in his. “I knew when I first saw you,” he whispered. “I knew from the very beginning there could be no other woman.”

Marie reached up and touched his face, softly, and said, “No one has spoken words to me like that before.”

Phaulkon gently took her hand down from his face and kissed it. ”And no one before has ever touched me as you have,” he said sincerely.

They embraced, and for that moment they forgot the world around them. They kissed, intending to be circumspect but it hardly turned out that way. Fanique, on his way to the balcony, saw them in each other’s arms, kissing, and froze in his path. Servants coming from the kitchen, carrying trays of dessert and coffee, saw them too, and stopped dead in their tracks. All were aghast. One servant dropped the tray with desert. The noise of breaking glass caused everyone to look toward the balcony. Embarrassed by their behavior, Fanique stood on a step and spoke to his gathered guests. “This man, this Mr. Constantine Phaulkon, the Minister of Trade, has asked my daughter’s hand in marriage.” He cleared his throat, while all waited, and continued. “I am considering his proposal. Mr. Phaulkon has a few things to learn first.” Face was saved and everyone clapped their hands in approval.

Later, when the guests had departed, Marie, turning to her father, begged him, in front of Phaulkon, to allow them to marry. Fanique, still in a state of anger and confusion, but knowing he had the upper hand, told Marie that a marriage proposal does not come from the woman but from the man.

“You know, Sir, I would lay down my life for your daughter,”

Phaulkon quickly said.

“Anyone can say they will lay a life down for another, but let’s see you lay down your pride,” Fanique said. “Make a public confirmation of your faith at church! Father Thomas would be glad to announce it. Then we will talk about marriage.”

Marie, still holding Phaulkon’s hand, squeezed it tightly. She as much told him that everything now depended upon him.

The following Sunday, Phaulkon went to church and sat within view of Marie. He went through all the motions required of devoted Catholics, but deep inside he questioned his hypocrisy, not his belief in God but the manner in which God was revered. The more he delved into the religion, the more difficult he was finding it to accept Catholic doctrine on faith alone. He was deeply disturbed. How could he possibly answer questions the king would ask when he himself did not have the answers. This is what bothered him. So, to appease everyone, he went along with the routine. He went to confession and partook in Holy Communion. During confession, the priest asked, “And what have you to confess, my son?”

Phaulkon answered bluntly, “I have nothing to confess. I have not done anything wrong that I am ashamed of nor that I regret, but I was told unless I come in here, I cannot marry the woman I love. So then, tell me, what am I supposed to do?”

“God is with you, my son,” the priest said and gave him penitence to say.

Thus Phaulkon, hypocrite as he was and hating himself for it, became a Catholic, perhaps not in spirit but certainly in appearance. A few months later after his becoming Catholic, Phaulkon and Marie married on her 18^th birthday in a small chapel in the Portuguese quarter. They moved into their own home, also in the Portuguese quarter.

Phaulkon and Marie enjoyed their new home. They enjoyed their time together. Phaulkon bared his soul to her. He told her that his home is Siam, not Greece or any place else. It was Siam. She was his family, his only family. He promised that he would build her the finest house in the entire kingdom, and that she was his queen. Marie responded by saying nothing mattered to her but her husband, and he was all that she wanted. It mattered not where they lived.

In reply, Phaulkon told her she would have her palace in which to live, and all the sapphires money could buy, and all the children she wanted. Marie answered that she already had all the children she wanted, at the school where she taught. Phaulkon said, “No, I mean your own children, our children.”

Marie confided in Phaulkon her fears. They were both foreigners, she said, and their children would be even more foreign than they. Where would their children belong? Greece or Japan? She confessed about her secret fears of not really belonging to Siam.

“And Japan, what about Japan?” he asked. “No, not Japan either,” she replied.

“You see, Siam is our home,” Phaulkon answered. He then assured her that their children will be children of Siam, and eventually she, being his wife, would find Siam to be her home in the land in which he found his. “I will build you a fine house,” he said, “and when you have your own house on your own land with gardens and gates and guards and servants, you will feel at home and nothing will ever change that.”

Marie was happy and like her husband she had no other home, no other place but Siam. But, still, she had fears she could not conquer, try as she did.

Chapter 17A
The Truth About God

Phaulkon was troubled. Thoughts raced through his head and he could not sleep, try as he did. He got up from bed, went out on to the balcony and there below he saw Diego on duty guarding the entrance. He went downstairs to chat with him. Diego could sense that something was disturbing him as they took seats on the stone bench in front of the door. Diego lighted a cheroot and offered one to Phaulkon which he accepted. Diego waited patiently and shortly Phaulkon opened the conversation with a question, but not really wanting an answer.

“Why does one have to bend to religion?” he asked.

Diego did not answer. He knew there was no need. Phaulkon would tell him the answer. “No one has ever dictated to me how I should live my life, nor what I should believe,” Phaulkon said. “Now that I have been elevated to a position second only to a king, with the whole kingdom at my feet, no longer am I supposed to have control over the matters of the heart.” He thought for a moment, puffed on his cheroot and continued. “I came this far on my own and now I am faced with religion, this Christian religion that doesn’t give me the answers that I want.” He stood up, paced in a circle and sat down again. “Why should I bend to religion? Yet, without bending to God, I cannot have Marie. Ironic, but with all my achievements, with my position and fame and glory, they are not powerful enough to win Marie and quell the agony in my heart. Why, Diego?”

“I cannot answer that,” Diego said. “You must ask a man of God.”

Phaulkon suddenly seized upon an idea. “Go get a lantern, Diego,” he instructed. When Diego returned with a lantern Phaulkon said, “Follow me.”

Through the dark streets with the glow of a flickering lantern to light their path they found their way to the Catholic mission. The huge double doors were locked shut. Not hesitating, Phaulkon pounded on the doors. Presently a monk in a brown robe came and opened the door. “Tell Father Thomas I want to see him,” Phaulkon announced sternly.

“I am afraid he is asleep,” the brother said, annoyed at the disturbance.

“No more,” a voice in the dark called out. A priest in an ankle length gown appeared. It was Father Thomas. Phaulkon recognized him instantly, even in the faded light. His long gray beard gave him away.

“I am in a dilemma that’s tearing me apart.,” Phaulkon said and introduced himself.

“I know who you are,” Father Thomas said. “Only a fool would not know that. Come, follow me inside.” He glanced toward Diego.

“Diego is my good friend,” Phaulkon said. “I keep no secrets from him.”

Although it was late, Father Thomas had been reading and a lamp was aglow on his desk. He bid the two men to be seated, and turning to Phaulkon he said, “If you came to ask for God, I can help. If for Marie, there is nothing I can do for you. Thus, why do you come, my son?”

“So you know about us, Marie and me,” Phaulkon replied. Father Thomas nodded. “Well, the truth be, I came for Marie.” “Why come to me then?” Father Thomas asked.

“Because of the God you serve; I am told only He can release Marie to me,” Phaulkon answered, his voice quivering, betraying his anguish. Why is it, he thought, do we have to fear those who wear a cross? With his utmost effort he took control of himself “Why do I come?” he repeated, “Perhaps you can tell me. Why do I have to become a Catholic to love someone who already loves me? What has God got to do with love and the affairs of my heart? Isn’t it enough that He controls life and death? That He decides who lives and who dies? Isn’t it enough that He rules over heaven and Hades? What does He care about the hearts of men? What does He know about the heart? He doesn’t have one. Is He as real as you people claim Him to be, or is He only a spirit, and spirits don’t have hearts.”

“You sound like you are an expert on God but yet you do not know Him,” Father Thomas said. “God is real, and His heart is real, figuratively speaking that is. Can you see your love for Marie in the physical sense, in matter? Where is this love? Show me? If I cut you open and examine your heart, would your love for Marie be written on it? Can you see love? Can you touch it? Where is this love you talk so passionately about? You can’t show me, just like I can’t show you God. But I can tell you about God, and when you’ve learned about God, then you can feel Him. Such is God, and such is love, my son.”

“I want the truth,” Phaulkon said.

“I am sure you do,” Father Thomas replied. “But what truth do you want?”

“The truth!” Phaulkon responded.

“You have spirit,” Father Thomas said. “You may have left Greece a long time ago, but I see the spirit of Greek philosophers still runs in your veins. Philosophy! Philosophy!”

“I am not here to talk about philosophy,” Phaulkon fired back. “Philosophy, is that what you say!” Father Thomas repeated.

“Indeed, then Philosophy it be! It is beneficial, perhaps, in diplomacy and trade, and in the royal courts of kings and nobles, maybe, but you can’t philosophize when it comes to understanding God.”

Phaulkon could see a lecture coming. He was quick to respond. He vented his anger, not holding back, gathering strength from his own words. “I am in a foreign land,” he began, “because my poverty as a youth forced me to leave my home. You want to talk of God. Where was God when I needed him? I had no God, no king, no pope, and no mission to turn to. I watched my brother die because we could not pay the price for a doctor. I took care of myself, and now look! I have made it, alone. Tell this God you serve to leave me alone.”

Before Father Thomas could stop him, Phaulkon, with Diego close at his heels, stormed from the room and out into the street. Back at his residence he thanked Diego. “I guess I can sleep now,” he said. But he was wrong. He could not sleep.

Several days later, feeling he had an obligation to fulfill, Father Thomas went to Phaulkon’s office at the palace to further confront him. But Phaulkon was not in the office. “I am afraid he is quite ill,” an office assistant said.

“What’s this you say? Phaulkon is ill,” Father Thomas repeated.

The attendant then told him that Phaulkon was down with a fever. “When the king heard His Favorite was ill, he sent his best physician to tend to him.”

Father Thomas lost no time rushing to Phaulkon’s residence.

He arrived to find Marie at Phaulkon’s bedside. When she saw the priest she began sobbing. A fear struck deep at her heart.

“No, Father, no, he’s not going to die,” she cried.

“My child, I came only to see how he is,” Father Thomas said. “Only now did I hear that he is ill.”

Marie explained that the moment she heard Phaulkon was ill, against all protests, she came running to him, and for two days she sat at his side. “The strain has been hard on him,” she said. “But he will get better. I know he will. Please tell me that he will.”

“Only God can answer that,” Father Thomas said. He turned his attention upon Marie. “I wondered why you hadn’t been at school for the last two days. Your students miss you.” He studied her closer. The lines on her face were deep with dark circles under her eyes. “You must get some rest, my dear, or you will be next.”

Marie promised she would go home, which she did, but only long enough to get a change of clothes and return.

For the next week, without leaving the room but for a few minutes at a time, she remained at Phaulkon’s side. She caught what little sleep she could on a rattan couch next to his bed. There were moments when she thought she might lose him. Twice, when his shivers became violent, she curled up next to him in bed to keep him warm. In five days he began to improve. In a week he was sitting up. Ten days later he was back in his office in the Royal Palace serving the king. Marie returned to teaching at the Catholic school for young children. Every morning, as was his habit, Fanique walked her to school. One morning Father Thomas was waiting at the school for them to arrive. He told Fanique about the events that led to Phaulkon’s illness, that it was more than just fever. “He wants to marry your daughter,” he said to Fanique. Being devoted to his religion and to Father Thomas as he was, Fanique agreed to invite Phaulkon to his home for dinner, and perhaps Marie could teach him something about the doctrine of the Catholic faith.

Chapter 16B
New Foreign Trade Minister

The following day, after disrupting the king’s party and causing him embarrassment, Sorasak hurriedly left Ayutthaya, until things cooled off as General Phetracha insisted. It was then that Phaulkon told Marie and her father about his appointment to serve the king.

The swearing in ceremony took place two weeks after the birthday party. It was held at the Royal Reception House in Louvo. The Barcalon did the honors of presenting Phaulkon to the king who sat behind a shuttered window on a balcony at one end of the hall. Guests arrived first through an inner courtyard and then a second courtyard, both of which were flanked by white tiled walls with niches that held delicately sculpted Chinese porcelains. Guests included George White and his brother Samuel White who came up especially for the occasion from Mergui, Richard Burnaby, French and Portuguese missionaries, officers from both EiC and VOC, and ministers and court officials. It was early morning and still cool within the palace walls. The entire assembly lay prostrate on a carpeted floor beneath the balcony. The foreign officers wore white uniforms of their rank, the Barcalon and Siamese in their rich robes, and Phaulkon in the official costume of the Court of Siam, a brocade robe and a conical hat with gold rings on it, denoting his new rank.

Trumpets and gongs sounded and the shuttered window above slowly opened. King Narai was disclosed in full view. A court officer, on hands and knees, approached the king from the side. In his hand was a scroll which he presented to His Majesty. The king unrolled the scroll, scanned it quickly and with his ring affixed his mark at the bottom of the scroll. Then the officer came down from the balcony via a narrow stairway and in a loud voice for all to hear read from the scroll. “The tide of nobility is hereby bestowed upon Constantine Phaulkon,” he read. “You now have the tide of Nobility of Luang Wijawendra, Superintendent of Foreign Trade.”

The shutters dosed, the officer rolled up the scroll, and as everyone was departing he told Phaulkon to follow him. He led Phaulkon to the king’s private chambers. For the first time Phaulkon met His Majesty, King Narai of Siam, face to face. The king sat on a carved bench trimmed in gold with a servant at each side fanning him. Phaulkon fell to the floor, prostrated himself before the king, his arms stretched out before him, palms up, his forehead touching the floor, He did exactly as his teacher Thamnon taught him to do. The king then ordered Phaulkon to rise. He did, to a kneeling position. He looked up upon the king.

How much different the king appeared than he did that first time when Phaulkon saw him and General Phetracha astride their elephants returning from a hunt in the forest. Phaulkon was taken aback by his kindly face, not as stern as he expected. His jaws were firmly set, his hair very dark and thick. But it was his eyes that caught Phaulkon’s attention. They were piercing and Phaulkon found it hard, if not impossible, to stare directly at him. The king quickly put him at ease. He explained to Phaulkon that this position of Luang Wijawendra gave him control over all the royal monopolies. “In other words,” the king said, speaking in royal court language, “all commercial transactions with foreigners now have to pass through your hands, as Superintendent of Foreign Trade.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Phaulkon replied, in the same royal tongue.

King Narai was satisfied. The expression on his face registered his pleasure. He asked Phaulkon a few general questions, a few mundane things, things that he probably already knew. He explained to Phaulkon that he was to report to him every afternoon and then dismissed him.

The first chance Phaulkon had he went to visit his teacher, Thamnon. He wanted so badly to be the one to tell his teacher the news. But there was no need. Thamnon already knew, “The whole kingdom knows,” he said to Phaulkon. When he saw the sad look on his star pupil’s face, he continued. “I can see your disappointment. You wanted to tell me. I laud you. And I congratulate you. The news of your appointment has reached all corners of the kingdom. Your worthiness precedes you.”

“And how do the people feel about this, me a farang being given such an important position in the king’s court?” Phaulkon asked. “The people are not opposed, since their king decreed it, but foreigners in Ayutthaya are uncertain. They fear you might be a traitor to them and to the West.”

“I knew this would happen,” Phaulkon replied. “To the English I will always be that upstart cabin boy.” He then laughed it off and quickly brought up the subject of the Chinese in Ayutthaya. It was something that puzzled him ever since he stepped foot in the kingdom. “Why is it that foreigners are called farangs and yet the Siamese don’t call Chinese farangs?”

“It’s not a derogatory term,” Thamnon said. “Would you rather they called you ‘foreign devil’ as the Chinese call all Europeans.” Phaulkon preferred “farang.”

Phaulkon then asked Thamnon why the Chinese in Siam were so successful. “The Chinese make up an important segment of the community,” he said. “They are mostly engaged in trade between China and Siam. Every year they bring as many as twenty junks laden with all the finest goods of China and Japan. Chinese merchants have very well-established relationships with their clients.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Phaulkon. He asked again why they were successful. Thamnon smiled. “You are a keen observer. You asked and I will be frank. The secret is the Chinese do not look for fame like the Westerners do. For the Chinese, it’s fortune not fame they seek. They marry Siamese women, adopt the ways of the Siamese, and they blend into Siamese society. They do not find it necessary to stand out from the crowd as you Europeans do. Nor are they boastful. Asians respect Europeans for their knowledge of science and progress but not for their culture. They find Europeans are barbarians, hair-covered ‘foreign devils’; they are crude and unmannered. They wear the same garments day in and day out; they do not bathe and they smell. To the Asian, all foreigners look alike and Asians cannot tell them apart, and they read from the wrong side of the book.”

He continued like an alarm clock that wouldn’t stop ringing. “Europeans are merely tolerated,” he reiterated, “and because they are ignorant and don’t know any better, they are excused for their mistakes and misbehavior. As long as they remain foreigners, and do not try to emulate the Siamese, no one cares. When they try to become Siamese, their troubles will begin.”

“Then I can never be Siamese,” Phaulkon said sadly.

“Correct, you must not pretend, and that is most important,” he said. “You see, it as a matter of culture. European and Siamese cultures are so widely different that neither side really understands what they are experiencing. Certainly Europeans have no knowledge or even understanding at all about Siamese cultural concepts or how such concepts translate into the physical manifestations which they think they understand by mere observation rather than through experience. Europeans return home and write about the gilded finery of the king and his court, of riches and contrasts between the royalty and the nobility, about the differences among the commoners and slaves. It is quite plain, however, that the writers understand little of what they are writing about.”

Phaulkon had one final question he wanted to ask Thamnon before he left. He wanted his teacher’s advice about Marie. How could he win her favor?

“Now that you are a man of rank,” Thamnon began, “Mr. Fanique will accept you. But you must not take things for granted. You must go see him and state your desire.” He hesitated, and then said, “But you must be certain of that desire. Is Marie what you really want, or was she the unattainable that you desired?”

“I want her for what she is,” Phaulkon replied, “and not for what I am. I have not loved another woman as I do her.”

“Then do what you heart tells you,” Thamnon said. “If you were Asian I would not give you the same advice, but you are not Asian. You are what you were born and nothing can change that. But do not fret, my friend. We Asians can never fathom the Western concept of love. You love this woman, so do what you must, but beware.”

The next morning Phaulkon rode to the house of Fanique in a carriage from the royal court. A servant opened the door and led Phaulkon to the courtyard, and there stood Fanique, dressed as a Samurai, his legs were apart, and around his waist was a wide sash; his vest was open down the front exposing his chest. With both hands in a tight grip he clutched his sword. It appeared to be longer than he was tall. Its blade glistened. He said nothing, but stared coldly ahead, looking directly at Phaulkon. This time he didn’t let out a loud ear-piercing yell, nor did he leap forward toward Phaulkon, swishing the sword around above his head. He lowered the sword to his side, like a man defeated in battle. “You come to see me about Marie,” he said. “I expected you.”

“Yes, that is why I came,” he answered. “I ask for Marie’s hand in marriage.”

Fanique showed no anger this time. He gently placed his sword into its scabbard, and very politely addressed Phaulkon. “I am Marie’s father,” he began, “and as her father, and knowing her as I do, better than any man, I am the best judge of who she should and who she should not marry. I must explain that my family, of which Marie is a member, is very devout Catholics and because of our beliefs and refusal to change we were exiled from our own land. Never, as long as I am alive, will Marie marry a non-Catholic.”

Phaulkon realized at that moment he was confronted with an issue that Fanique would die defending, and there was no use trying to convince him otherwise. Fanique was aware that he could no longer offend Phaulkon, so he asked him if he would agree to become a Catholic. Phaulkon could not answer.