Elias looked him in the eyes. Lord Palmer raised his empty goblet to his lips.
“Our communities used to live well together, often in the same villages,” Elias said softly. “The alliances we had are old. They made us stronger against the Mamelukes, and later against the Turks when needed.”
“I daresay I had no clue,” Palmer said, sounding apologetic. “I’m merely a humble reader of newspapers, not a diplomat. Forgive my ignorance.”
Not even the diplomats had a clue what was happening on the ground, and they did not have to, as their influence was entirely divorced from their competency. Catriona’s blue eyes moved over him warily; something must have shown on his face. He could have just left it at that. Had Catriona not been in the room, he probably would have. He looked at Palmer. “I understand that English maps depict the . . . higgledy-piggledy politics of our region along sectarian lines,” he said. “As such, you can’t tell that different mountain communities once shared villages and alliances.”
The waiter arrived with the ordered brandy tray, and several hands reached out to grab fresh drinks.
“Are you suggesting we have the wrong map?” Lady Lucinda asked, looking genuinely interested.
“I suggest your map doesn’t tell the whole story. But it looks clear and simple, so there’s that.” It also made people in the Near East look like creed-addled fools.
Palmer opened his mouth as if to make another quip but then he thought better of it.
“Would you tell us the whole story, Mr. Khoury?” Mrs. Blackstone asked. “If you please.”
Nods all around.
He couldn’t. He didn’t even know where to begin, how far back in time to go. For the last thirteen hundred years, Maronite alliances had shifted like quicksilver depending on what would best preserve their autonomy under the empire of the day: Byzantines, Muslim Arabs, crusaders, Mamelukes, or Ottoman Turks, they all had been friend as well as foe at different points, well, all except the Mamelukes, who had been hell-bent on eliminating mountain dwellers of all creeds rather than just taxing them. Now, if the pope was key to maintaining self-rule, yes, one would try to win him as an ally. However, had the Emperor of China proven more effective, Elias reckoned the local chiefs would have tried to make a deal with him.
Catriona had quietly receded back into the circle, but Elias felt her attention on his very skin, invisible yet physical like the warmth of the sun on one’s face.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you the story of the maps,” Elias said. “We didn’t draw them; they were drawn up in the forties by an Austrian prince and a British diplomat. I know it was their solution for our peasant revolt, but it was a revolt against ruling elites of all denominations, so how would drawing new borders and shuffling us around depending on creed solve an economic issue? It did the opposite, I think, hence the ‘trouble’ in the sixties, but the maps stuck. C’est tout.”
The silence in the circle assumed a different quality. Ice clinked against the rim of a glass. Lady Catriona was looking at him with a frozen face, as though she had seen a ghost. Damn.
“Quite the story,” Tomlinson said, nodding. “About the maps.”
“The story is called divide and conquer,” Lord Ballentine remarked. His tone was smooth but a cynical glint stirred in his eyes.
“A true and tested tale since the Romans, I’m afraid,” said the beautiful duchess.
“I’ll spoil the ending for you,” Ballentine said to Palmer. “Usually, it is a takeover by a rational third party.”
“I say.”
Elias looked at the viscount more closely. “I believe the prime minister at the time did say that we were in need of a ‘vigorous hand and a powerful head.’？”
“It never ceases to enrage me,” said Lady Lucinda, gesturing with her glass in hand. “The whole ‘not rational enough to manage their own affairs’ trick.”
“Goodness,” said Mrs. Blackstone. “It enrages women everywhere.”
“That’s how it goes,” said her friend. “First, you deny someone the capacity for rational thought, then you establish control over them with a clear conscience.”
“Sweet bulldog,” said Lord Palmer. “Let me grab one of those hors d’oeuvres. Ladies, as always, a pleasure.” He left, carefully balancing his strides as if in a daze.
Mrs. Blackstone thanked Elias for sharing his perspective, then she seemed to switch from political activist back to her role as hostess, a little sheepishly, and tried to steer the conversation to a lighter topic. Catriona was studying the pattern of the rug. Elias took a few deep breaths through his nose. He had never been so careless with his opinions on a stranger’s territory before. She was doing something to him, and he couldn’t say he liked it.