Meanwhile I must speak to the Duke and have one last try. Does Your Highness think he might be fully rested by now?”

“Yes, I should think so. Shall we go and see?”

The Duke was completely his old self again. He greeted Sandoval with delight, having forgotten that he had met him earlier.

“What news, Sandoval? Would you like to see something really special?” And he produced the netsuke again. “Marvellous, eh? Fifteenth century.”

Sandoval expressed proper admiration for the carving, then said:

“And I’ve brought you something rather fine.”

“What’s that? One of your own paintings?” the Duke began, rather anxiously, as Sandoval produced a lengthy scroll.

“No, no. Here you are. How do you like this etching?”

The Duke peered at it, initially rather unsure, then his face lit up, and he immersed himself with increasing delight in contemplation of the picture.

“But it’s a Piranesi! Why didn’t you say so at the start? It’s wonderful! From his best period! How in the devil’s name did you come by this? If it’s for sale I’ll buy it immediately.”

“But Father … !” Princess Clodia broke in, clearly exasperated. “You know how … And you, Sandoval, why are you teasing him like this?”

“It’s not for sale,” Sandoval hastened to reassure her. “It belongs to the National Gallery in Lara—the Director is a close friend. He lent it to me, on the side.”

“Would you let me have it on loan, then? Or as a present?” the Duke began. And his face filled with a child-like yearning. “I’ve always longed for a Piranesi like this. Only this sort, mind you; none of the others.”

“I’m sorry, but the Director has no power to give the gallery’s treasures away. That would require an order from the highest level.”

“The devil with all that. You know perfectly well that I give orders to no one in this country. Take your picture away. Take it away!”

Petulantly, he turned his face to the wall.

“But Your Highness, the day after tomorrow … ”

“What about the day after tomorrow? Are you insane?”

“Your Highness, you must remember that, very soon, you will be the highest authority in the land, and it will be yours to command.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard that so often. And as soon as I wanted to buy that tiny little Ostade, all hell broke loose … ”

“But when Your Highness is King of Alturia, it will be an entirely different matter.”

“What do you mean? You know Alturia. Do you think kings here have money for paintings? All they can afford is their own portraits. Or … will I really be able to have them for nothing?”

“Your Highness simply instructs the Minister of Culture that such and such a picture is to be transferred from the National Gallery to the Royal Palace, or, if you like, here to Algarthe.”

“Is that right? Can I really do that? I’d never thought of that.”

He pondered the idea.

“That changes everything,” he said, after a pause. His voice was fresh, almost youthful. “That makes the whole thing much more interesting. Why didn’t you say so at the start? So, where are these revolutionaries? Let’s see them; let’s have a look at them. I want action, not empty words! Clodia, I hope you’ve made all the necessary arrangements. I’ll keep the Piranesi here anyway.”

He plucked the picture out of Sandoval’s hands and disappeared with astonishing speed into the next room.

“That was an excellent idea,” said Clodia. “Let’s hope he hasn’t forgotten it by the morning.”

“Your Highness, I shall leave you the National Gallery catalogue. Please study it carefully. If the Duke seems to be losing interest, just repeat one or two little propositions: Fouquet … Boltraffio. And a genuine Van Eyck.”

He left the mansion soon after.