IT WAS DURING THESE events that Seil-kor reappeared at the head of his band of black porters, who were buckling under the weight of copious goods bought with the ransom money. Each contributor had paid to the best of his means, and the families of the poorest sailors, pooling their savings, had resigned themselves to adding their share as a group.
After a long conference with the emperor, Seil-kor came to deliver the news. The letters we’d drafted had returned a sufficient sum, and on that score our freedom was guaranteed. But one unexpected condition remained to be fulfilled.
Ever since the bloody battle against the Drelchkaffian troops, Talou, seeking solitude beneath the tall trees of the Behuliphruen, had spent many hours composing a number of resounding stanzas which, taking as their subject the victory over Yaour, were to enrich the “Jeroukka” with a supplementary canto entitled “The Battle of the Tez.”
Upon his coronation, the emperor would have his troops sing the entire epic; but the new canto, which he’d finished only that morning, was still unfamiliar to the Negro warriors, and long hours of study would be needed to teach it to so large a group.
Consequently, Talou assigned Carmichael the task of performing on the appointed day, in his resplendent falsetto, the most recent portion of the opus. Such a choice would have the further advantage of highlighting the unknown stanzas of the vast poem and underscoring this premiere, making it truly sensational.
To sing “The Battle of the Tez,” the young Marseillais would wear his normal male garb, for Talou wished to be crowned king of Drelchkaff in the same costume he’d worn on the day of his victory, a striking outfit whose shape struck him as particularly majestic. The emperor, moreover, intended to figure in the program himself by singing Dariccelli’s Aubade.
His explanation finished, Seil-kor handed Carmichael a large sheet of paper that he’d covered with strange but perfectly legible words, their perilous pronunciation faithfully indicated in French characters; it was “The Battle of the Tez,” transcribed only moments before by the young Negro under the emperor’s dictation.
The tune was supplied by a single, brief aria, which Seil-kor easily taught Carmichael.
Counting on fear to obtain a perfect rendition, Talou threatened that the slightest lapse in memory would be punished by three long hours of detention. During that time, Carmichael would practice the canto for a new recital subject to the same conditions, while standing perfectly still and facing the sycamores of Trophy Square under a Negro guard’s strict surveillance.
Having obtained the young singer’s reluctant consent, Seil-kor, still relaying Talou’s mandate, demanded from us some simple advice on the role that Sirdah’s thirty-six brothers might play in the coronation ceremony.
It seemed to us that children of that age, all designated as pages, could add to the picturesqueness of the scene by carrying the long train of their father’s gown at the moment when the latter strode majestically toward the altar. But only six at most could fit around the long hem, and so it was necessary to draw lots. Chènevillot therefore agreed to fashion a large gaming die that would serve to elect the winners from among the boys, split into six rows.
As for the emperor’s ten wives, they were to perform the Luenn’chetuz, a hieratic dance intimately linked with certain rare and notable rites.
To finish, Seil-kor showed us a long strip of tightly rolled parchment, covered with Talou’s rudimentary drawings of warring forces.
During his campaigns, the emperor took daily notes using only images instead of words, setting down in sketches, while his memory was still fresh and precise, the various operations his troops had accomplished.
Once back in the capital, he used this strategic guide to compose his verses; in short, we had before our eyes the true canvas of the “Jeroukka.”
Having discovered in our baggage a recording barometer whose workings he’d had explained to him, Talou dreamed of seeing his drawings parade by automatically on the spindles of the precious instrument.
La Billaudière-Maisonnial, accustomed to delicate work, volunteered to fulfill the imperial desire; he removed the fragile mechanism from the barometer casing and accelerated its movement, and soon an ingenious device, carrying the roll of parchment, was set to work near the Incomparables’ stage.