‘When the Bonaparte first arrived he observed to the Admiral that since it was impossible to escape from this island, his sentries and pickets might as well be removed. “No, no, General,” said the Admiral to this: “You are a cleverer fellow than I, so here they must be, and an Officer must see you every twelve hours.” And such has been the rule ever since.’

Living under these tight precautions, said the Captain, the Bonaparte was rarely disposed to entertain guests. He had previously refused all such requests, repeatedly expressing his reluctance to meet even with senior officers of the Admiralty. The chances of his being open to a social visit from a group of passing passengers was next to nil – but nonetheless the Captain had done his duty and handed over their letter.

The next day the Captain’s gloomy prediction was confirmed; two uniformed visitors came aboard to announce to the hopeful passengers that their request had been summarily refused: the General had declared himself to be indisposed and incapable of receiving visitors.

This met with an outcry, not merely of disappointment but also of indignation and disbelief.

‘Oh the Beast! After all he has done, does he not owe the world a debt?’

‘But surely, sir, he must lack for company in this lonely place … he who has been used to the most glittering society, the most sparkling conversation …?’

‘He has been heard to say, madam, that he wishes he had perished in the snows of Russia. Or of a bullet, at Leipzig.’

‘Oh, a fitting death it would have been too …’

So it went on, for quite a while, with opprobrium and entreaty being uttered in equal measure until at last the visitors tired of their hosts’ importunities and rose to leave. Their descent was so precipitate that Bahram and Zadig had very little time to distance themselves from their alcove. Zadig managed to whisk himself off, but Bahram found himself face-to-face with the visitors, at the foot of the companion-ladder. Although startled, he managed to respond with some aplomb, performing a stately bow and assuming an air of nonchalance. This retrieved the situation, and he was answered in kind by the visitors. As he was completing his dignified retreat, Bahram had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made a considerable impression, for the visitors could be heard exchanging whispers with their hosts:

‘The one with the turban – is he what they call a Raja?’

‘Better still – he is a prince of ancient Persia …’

‘A pure-blooded Parsee – directly descended from Xerxes and Darius …’

Bahram smiled to himself, thinking of how his mother would have laughed.

The next day it came to be known that the Cuffnells would have to remain in St Helena somewhat longer than expected because of a minor problem with equipment. For Bahram and Zadig, who were tired of their shipboard quarters and eager to get to their destination, the news caused only annoyance. But the British contingent, on the other hand, responded with a renewed surge of optimism: having learnt that Napoleon liked to go for long walks in the vicinity of his lodge, they arranged to hire horses to take them up to the hills. Zadig predicted that this expedition would prove as futile as all their other efforts – but he was wrong, for the members of the riding party returned with their hopes refreshed. Although they had not seen Bonaparte himself, they had encountered someone who had said that he might well be able to make the necessary arrangements. This gentleman happened to be one of the Quartermasters charged with the provisioning of the General’s household; what was more, he was an acquaintance of one of the passengers and had quickly revealed himself to be the most civil, the most obliging of men: he said that the General had recently evinced some interest in the Cuffnells and he offered to convey their request directly to the Grand Marshal Bertrand, who was the General’s companion in exile. He assured them that they would have their answer the following day.