“Very well then,” Prince Ahmadi said, “a fight is what you shall have. A fight with swords.”

He seemed almost to spit the words at Lord Dorrington and Alyna, feeling that she must break through the horror that was holding her immobile, put out her hand to touch Lord Dorrington’s arm.

“No! No!” she tried to say.

But her voice was stifled by shock and the words were a little above a whisper.

Lord Dorrington was looking at the Prince of Wales.

“Have I your permission, Sire,” he said quietly, “to accept this challenge, which as Your Royal Highness well knows, I cannot in honour refuse?”

“You have my permission.”

The Prince of Wales said the words graciously as if making a gesture of extreme generosity.

“No! No!” Alyna cried again.

She could see, although she felt that Lord Dorrington would not notice it, a light of triumph in Prince Ahmadi’s eyes.

It was what he wanted, what he had intended!

“I accept your challenge,” Lord Dorrington said to him. “Actually the choice of weapons should be mine. But I am delighted to acquiesce to your wishes. We will fight with swords.”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” the Prince Ahmadi snarled.

Then the Prince of Wales intervened.

“It’s always damned unpleasant fighting first thing in the morning,” he said. “I think, Dorrington, your contest should take place now. After all, what could be a better setting than here amongst the flowers and plants? And there is indeed plenty of room.”

“You are quite right, Sire,” Lord Dorrington replied. “There is room, the setting is idyllic and, like your Royal Highness, I have never cared for peering through a dawn mist or prancing about on wet grass.”

“You are content that I should witness your combat?” the Prince of Wales asked Prince Ahmadi.

“I am delighted, Sire,” he replied.

“Then I will provide the weapons.”

His Royal Highness snapped his fingers as he spoke and servants appeared to draw back a few of the plants from the centre of the Conservatory and to bring forward a number of chairs.

“The ladies must be seated,” the Prince of Wales remarked.

Lord Alvanley was anxious to say something to Lord Dorrington and drew him aside.

Alyna, standing alone and trembling with a terror she could not suppress, saw Lord Grenville, the Foreign Secretary, walk up to their host.

“I beg you, Sire,” she heard Lord Grenville say in a low voice, which only she could overhear, “to stop this fight. I happen to know that Prince Ahmadi is an exceptional swordsman. He is noted in Europe for his aggressiveness and ferocity, which exceed the proper rules of punctilio and have on many occasions resulted in the death of his victim. Make some excuse, Sire, I beg of you to prevent what will be a slaughter. You cannot allow this to happen to Dorrington.”