Artemis(58)

'Ah, sir, then you are a scholar?' Renzi said politely.

The priest flashed a quick look at him and smiled. 'Where there is trade, you find the Englis' and there is much trade here.'

'Then, sir, if you could assist me in a small way, we seek Camoens, the soldier-poet of the last age. Is there trace of him still?'

The priest's face turned from astonishment to bewilderment, and then satisfaction. 'You, sir, are then the scholar!' He shot a speculative glance at Renzi and ventured carefully, 'Aristotle - prophecy in sleep? Sir, I am no friend to his position, but I will gladly debate the matter at—'

He could go no further. The priest grasped his arms and held him at length. lMeu Deus! You are sent to me on this day of days. Pray walk with me to my residencia and we will sup together the lunch.' Recollecting himself, he turned to Kydd. 'You gentlemen are mos' welcome, and you shall see the casa of our Luis de Camoes presently.'

Kydd sighed. Neither the prospect of a discussion on Aristotle nor the inspection of this revered casa article was maintaining his spirits, which had looked forward to tasting the more direct pleasures of these foreign shores. Still, it was kind of the old fellow, and they did need something now, at noon. In any event, he had an hour or two to think of a ploy to raise the state of play to a more satisfactory level.

The priest's modest cell was close by, and they entered the cool room, tastefully set off by the hand-painted blue and white tiles covering one entire wall. The furniture was commodious, in the Chinese style. The chairs were tall and square-backed in dark wood, with a carved central panel. Across one corner of the room was a beautiful black and gilt screen fully six feet high, with an iridescent shell inlay of butterflies and bamboo.

Seated at the round table, sipping their green tea, they waited respectfully. The room smelt of the layered odours of untold centuries, and was redolent of peace.

The priest smiled at them. 'My name is Nunez - my flock call me Honrar. It has been my good fortune to follow in the shadow of Matteo Ricci and Adam Schall here in the College of Sao Paolo for thirty-eight years. You are sailors, no?'

'From the British frigate Artemis’ said Renzi.

'Macao is very old, very set in her ways,' he said seriously. 'We Portuguese, it must be faced, have now passed the time of our greatness. For us, history has ceased.'

Renzi made a gesture, but the priest was looking at Kydd. 'But you, the British, are a race that has found itself in these troubling times, and greatness lies waiting before you.' His face was difficult to read. 'Thus you will pardon me if I make myself clear. Do not expect us to like you. Your manners are turbulent and thrusting, you are impatient with the old ways, you are confident - very sure — and we are afraid of you.'

Renzi stirred. 'But surely you can see that as a nation we trade, we do not conquer?'

'Trade always brings a domination in its wake!' Nunez did not smile, and the two sailors sat uncomfortably.

'We do not allow any of your trading hongs to own land or dwellings in Macao, only to rent. This is because, as you will surely see, you British are rich and powerful and we are not. You are growing restless at your lack of a trading port and may seize our own.'

Hesitating, Kydd spoke awkwardly. 'Sir, I'm only a seaman, but I c'n see that Macao is too small for y'r deep-sea vessels — we saw a rattlin' good place for a port over the other side, Heung Kong its name.'

The priest's eyes glimmered. 'A bare rock on which you will have to build houses, docks, roads — I don't think even the British would do that if there is another for the taking.' Unexpectedly, he got to his feet. 'But I am ungracious! Perhaps it has been so long since — excuse me.'

He swiftly left the room, his dark gown swishing. Kydd turned to Renzi, but at his look did not speak. The priest returned with a bottle and three glasses. 'I hope you will join me at wine, cavalheiros?

It was a musky Sercial, mellow and gentle. From somewhere inside the house floated a tantalising odour of food, but even in its richness there was nothing they could identify.

'We eat in the Chinese style. It is cheaper and more convenient,' Nunez said apologetically. The odour took form and strength, of a potent but mouth-watering character. 'Oh, yes, I hope you do not mind, but it is my regular practice in this season to offer hospitality to another at noon - she will join us soon.'

Renzi seemed not to have heard. His face grew in intensity and leaning forward he asked, 'The soul-stealers of the Kao Hsuang! Can it be that they have overthrown the sacred precepts of Confucius, or do they bend him to their philosophy?'

'Ah! You know of these?' Nunez asked, in amazement. 'Your answer is that in their deviltry they have their own philosophy, and it is based on the Janus-faced sayings of Hsun-tzu, who teaches that—'