‘I want to cross the river,’ she said.
‘It’s complicated.’
‘That’s what people say when they’re about to say no – to their children, I mean.’
He pulled away from her and sat up, looking for his cigars. He only had half of one left. He lit up.
‘Must you smoke?’
‘Worried for my health?’
‘I don’t like it.’
He didn’t reply but he did carry on smoking.
‘I want to go.’ Still he didn’t say anything. ‘I’m going to go.’ He turned to look at her. ‘I’m going to go, no matter what you say.’
‘You might have noticed,’ he said at last, blowing a long stream of smoke into the room, ‘that I’m the person who tells people what to do.’
‘Oh, so what will you do, Your Enormity, have me arrested? Will you hang me up outside the Prada as an example?’
‘You’re raving. You need to take something.’
‘I’m going.’
He looked at her.
‘Go then.’
This took some of the wind out of her sails.
‘Is this one of your little swindles?’ she said at last.
‘No.’
She stood up, quite naked, almost like a miniature woman compared to Riba.
‘I understand. I see right through you to the other side. This is a good way to get rid of me.’
‘So I’m the villain if I let you go and the villain if I stop you from going.’
‘You’re prepared to let me risk my life and the lives of hundreds because you haven’t got the guts to finish with me. Let me save you the trouble – I don’t want anything more to do with you. You’re a liar, and a murderer.’
The insults had let him off the hook. She had made the decision for him and a wonderful sense of relief flooded through him. ‘Well?’ he said, as she put on her clothes.
‘I’m going.’
‘You mean you’re going now or you’re going to cross the Mississippi?’
‘Both.’ She stood up, put on her shoes, walked through the door and took care not to slam it shut.
‘What do you want me to do about it?’ said Cale to IdrisPukke after he’d told him he’d given Artemisia permission to cross the Mississippi. ‘Should I have her killed?’
‘You were brought up very careless. Why does your mind always turn so quickly to murder?’
Cale laughed. ‘I was, yes. But now I have you to tell me right from wrong.’
‘You misunderstand me if that’s what you think. It’s true that sometimes, not very often, moral rules collide and you offend no matter what decision you make. But the world isn’t a wicked place because people don’t know the difference between right and wrong. Nine times out of ten the right course of action is clear enough but for one thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘That it doesn’t suit people’s interests or desires to do what’s right. Granted they have impressive ways of dealing with the anxiety that results – by burying it deep at the back of their minds, or better still, telling themselves that the bad course of action they’re about to take is really the best course of action. The moralist never lived who could tell you anything clearer than the Golden Rule.’
‘There’s a Golden Rule?’ mocked Cale.
‘There is indeed, sarcastic boy: treat others as you would want to be treated. Everything else in morality is just embroidery or lies.’
Cale didn’t say anything for a while.
‘How,’ he said, at last, ‘am I supposed to apply that to sending tens of thousands of people either to die or to kill tens of thousands of other people? In order to survive I’ve had to lie, cheat, murder and destroy. Now I have to do the same so that millions of others can survive with me. How does your Golden Rule help me there? Tell me, because I’d like to know.’
‘But I concede there are other times when morality is very tricky. That’s why we have so many moralists to tell us what to do.’
‘Anyway,’ said Cale, ‘I have my own Golden Rule.’
‘Which is?’ said IdrisPukke, smiling as well as curious.
‘Treat others as you would expect to be treated by them. It always works for me.’ He helped himself to another cup of tea. ‘So why are you against the attack over the Mississippi?’
‘I wouldn’t say I was against it. To be honest, I’m not sure. The thing is that if she fails …’
‘And she might not.’
‘She might not. But if she does, then her failure weakens you at the exact point you need a failure least.’
‘But if she succeeds?’
‘That might not be such good news as first it seems.’
‘A massive blow to the Redeemers and an extra year to prepare – not good news?’
‘Nobody likes you. You agree?’
‘They’ll like me if I’m a success.’
‘Will they? They’ve put you in a position of such power because they’re afraid …’
‘Terrified.’
‘Yes. Terrified is better. While they’re scared witless they’ll put up with you. But now Artemisia is one of them, not any longer one of you.’
‘Is she? They didn’t think so when she was the only one to crimp the Redeemers six months ago.’
‘That was when the alternative was themselves – now the alternative is you.’ He laughed.
‘You think they’ll put her in charge?’
‘No. But they’ll start thinking that they over-estimated you. They’d like that. Don’t forget they’re already thinking about what to do with you, not just if you fail but also if you succeed. If a man threatens the state, kill the man.’
‘It works just as well the other way round: if the state threatens the man, kill the state.’
‘Exactly … that’s exactly what they fear … that you’re going to kill the state if you get too powerful. So a great success by Artemisia, which gives them another year for preparation … they’ll have the time to be a lot less terrified of the Redeemers who are now beatable by someone who isn’t Thomas Cale, beatable by just a woman, in fact. You need her to succeed like you need a hole in the head.’
Cale sighed.
‘You’re sure you’re not making this more complicated than it is?’
IdrisPukke laughed.
‘No, I’m not sure at all. When I heard that Richelieu was dead – now there was a subtle mind – I didn’t think: Oh, Richelieu is dead. What I thought was: I wonder what he meant by that? To be a politician is to see there might be a disadvantage to the sun coming up in the morning. Do you mind if I have the last Eccles cake?’
Cale had been looking forward to eating it himself. IdrisPukke had already had one.
‘No,’ he said. IdrisPukke, like all great diplomats, assumed that this meant No, you have the last cake and not otherwise. He took a large bite. They sat in silence for a moment.
‘Kant,’ said IdrisPukke.
‘What?’
‘Imamuel Kant. Philosopher. Now dead. He said that if you want to know whether your actions are moral you should universalize them.’
‘I don’t know what that means.’
‘If you want to know if a course of action you’re about to undertake is wrong you should ask yourself: what if everyone behaved like that?’
This seemed to intrigue Cale. IdrisPukke could see him thinking back over his past: the men killed in their sleep, the poisoned wells, the execution of prisoners, signing the death warrant of the Maid of Blackbird Leys, killing Kitty the Hare, the death of factory owners hung up outside the houses of hoi aristoi. It took some time.
‘Well?’ asked IdrisPukke at last.
‘The Maid of Blackbird Leys was a good person … courageous, but a dope like Imamuel Kant. What if you ask the same question about your good actions? What if everyone behaved like that? What if everyone took on the Redeemers like her by putting up posters and preaching? They’d end up exactly the way she did – in a pile of ashes. If you fight cruelty with kindness it’s the kindness that goes away not the cruelty. I’m sorry about the camps and what happened to the women and children of the Folk. I have bad dreams. But I didn’t mean it to happen.’