Omega (16) "No. I doubt I shall ever return to the Suburbs. I shall go to the City. There are some archives I wish to examine." He then made his farewells and strode out of the breakfast room followed by a hare whom Tudor had detailed to see to his needs. "Have ye both eaten well?" Tudor inquired as a servant closed the large oak door behind the teddy bear. "Very well, thank you, Tudor. When the stomach is full, the heart is glad. As always your servants have prepared a sterling breakfast." "If 'tis so, then 'tis meet we promenade the gardens before ye leave on your travels. Where goest thou, Philosopher? Mayhap 'tis the same course as our Suburbanite friend." "The young man is quite welcome to accompany me if he so wishes. The tread is merry when the tongue does the walking. I shall be heading to the town of Iota, which I believe has been renamed recently, but I'm not sure to what. But a town by any other name must be the same." "'Tis also said that a change of title ist a change in nature." "Exactly, Tudor," agreed the Philosopher, putting on his tall black hat. "But lead on, dear sir, let us see your gardens. There is no beauty greater than that of a well-tended garden. A rose brings joy to the eye and relief to the weary thinker." Tudor led us through a series of doors and eventually out into the early morning sunlight. We were trailed by a retinue of hares and by the slave who kept his head bowed as he followed. The light was radiant compared to the relative gloom of Tudor's castle and I had difficulty in focusing my eyes on what was around, but I was impressed by the its orderliness. The rose bushes and herbaceous borders, the hedges and small statues, were all distinguished by well-defined orthogony. Tudor commented that the garden had been designed on the principle of the octagon, which as he explained was a square with its corners halved. I soon lost track of his account, but it appeared to be of great interest to the Philosopher who had much to say about the number eight, which he remarked was very much like the symbol of infinity. "And who can tell what significance that may portend?" "I trow but little," Tudor replied. "'Tis just a symbol. The power of the number lieth in its universality, not in its expression." "Exactly so," agreed the Terrier, as if this was what he had just said. "If one were two and two were one, their sum would remain the same." I reasoned this out, and it was indeed true. But I couldn't really understand what the Philosopher was trying to say. My attention returned to the garden where some sheep were grazing in the fields, tended by a hare with a crook, and near a herd of grazing fallow deer. Tudor's grounds stretched on with no apparent end, but this was partly because any enclosing wall was obscured by the small copses of oak and birch trees that scattered his estate. My attention wandered back to the conversation between the Philosopher and Tudor as we strolled along the well-paved paths of the garden, with the servants just a few yards behind. They were discussing the coming General Election which enthralled the Philosopher. "Democracy has its merits, Tudor, but it appears to be a political system intrinsically marred by its very openness. Only a fool leaves his door open to all comers. Who can say with certainty who will come in?" "'Tis so. The Election doth trouble me greatly. 'Tis possible that the Red Party couldst gain the greatest number of seats and 'twere so 'twill be great suffering in our land. I and many others would wish to forsake the land of our birth. And where wouldst a Mouse be welcome?" "Democracy is only one system of government. It is often justified as a safeguard against the rule of a single person, as is the case in my country. And as it is in the Kingdom of the Cats. Autocracy is a system even more fraught as its good governance relies overmuch on the wisdom and goodness of that leader. If that ruler is truly virtuous, wise and far-seeing then that nation is truly a happy land. A firm hand at the tiller and the boat sails fair. But too often the monarch, despot or tyrant is flawed. By whatever means the power of the state is invested in a single ruler, by fair means or foul, by inheritance or coup d'état, there is so great a threat that he will be attentive not to the welfare of the people he represents but to that of himself and his family. Self-interest is not the greatest motive for altruism. "An alternative is rule by a group of people: by lords or senators who have each gained power in the same way and thereby share their self-interest. In this situation, not one person has greater power than the others and power is levelled. But how can such a group of people act in the interests of others not in this group? Will they not simply aggregate wealth and power to themselves, and divest beneficences to one another rather than work for the common weal? "Here in your country, there is a Democracy which pretends to represent the interests of the people and not of the rulers, but power is weakened as it serves so many disparate interests. How can a boat be steered if it is dragged both forward and back, sideways, and up and down? The boat will just sink, or, as in your country, remain still as the holes in its hulk are patched when they become too conspicuous. There is a clear failure of democracy as your six main political parties fight and squabble over the direction of policy and resolve nothing. It is a boat adrift on a sea of troubles constantly threatening to overwhelm it, and in which many volumes of discussion have served not at all to calm the waves. This is why your Coition government has chosen to abandon its policy of compromise and consensus." "'Tis so, but I fear 'tis better far so as 'tis, than a government of communists, socialists or anarchists. 'Twere better the rule of one sane ruler than many insane ones." Tudor's ears twitched in agitation as he surveyed his gardens. "Mine estate which I hath the great responsibility to tend wouldst be wrest from me. The labour of mine ancestors wouldst be for naught, and peasants wouldst wander unfettered through my gardens and castle rooms admiring not the legacy of a majestic tradition but its remnants. They would leave their sweet-wrappers and cigarette-ends on my garden paths. They would sneer at the portraits of my noble forbears. 'Tis a nightmare which I hope and I pray shalt ne'er be." "What you fear, Tudor, is not democracy, which has left you and your wealth intact, but the rule of the mobus populis. The anarchy of no government at all, but a state in which no one can say to another: you mustn't do that! You fear that your servants will arise, forget your generosity and kindness, and snatch the wealth your family has accumulated over the centuries. A dinner prepared by chance alone is fit only for the dust-bin. Furthermore, the rule of the mob leads always and inevitably to the assertion of dictatorship. That which the anarchists most detest arises from the chaos, like a phoenix from the ashes." "'Twere best then that the nation be governed by a single ruler from the offing. 'Twould fit more well with the need for order and stability, and 'twould obviate the chaos in which mine inheritance wouldst be seized, the portraits slashed, the garden razed, the castle defaced and mine wealth scattered fruitlessly to the winds." It was clear that these images troubled Tudor considerably, as he paused, surveying his estate, a claw grasping the handle of his sword and his servants trembling at the possibility that the violence of his feelings might be expressed more physically. He regarded us. "The way to the town known formerly as Iota ist beyond mine estate and along the road. 'Tis less than eight furlongs distant. Dost wish to walk? Or dost wish to travel by carriage?" "It's a lovely morning, Tudor," the Philosopher replied. "I would prefer to relish it on foot. Moreover the business I have in the woollen trade will occupy many hours of unpleasant haggling, and I fancy a brisk walk will set me well." With that the Philosopher and I sauntered off along the path Tudor indicated, with the Philosopher's slave trailing us by several yards. Whilst the Philosopher strode along briskly and easily, pointing out with a staff the various flowers and fungi that lined our walk, his slave was burdened down under the weight of a heavy bag carried on his shoulders and another which was strapped to his chest. He didn't appear to relish the morning sunshine nearly as much as his master. After a furlong or so we finally quit Tudor's estate by a gate where a hare standing on guard with a musket was idly admiring the lambs frolicking amongst the daisies. He saluted us as we passed, but relaxed quite visibly when the slave staggered by behind. The countryside was very green and pleasant. The fields were open, there were the occasional copses of trees and a stream babbled along the side of the path, sometimes near and sometimes winding away. The sun brightened the sky and cotton-wool clouds floated harmlessly by. Lambs and leverets were bounding about together in the fields, savouring the innocence of their tender years. The Philosopher revelled in the landscape which he described as an earthly paradise, a model of beauty and good order, and a great source of obscure metaphor. He was very much in good spirits, unlike his servant struggling under the weight of the baggage. When I commented to the Philosopher on this, he merely commented that it was his slave's duty to serve and not his right to complain. The Philosopher's good humour somewhat lessened when we were greeted by a modestly dressed Cat by a milestone that had lost all legibility with age. He was sitting down with a small bag on the end of a stick, a coat that came to below his waist, below which he wore green jerkins and buckled shoes. He wore a small hat on his head which fell between his ears and shaded his eyes from the sun. "Good morning, sirs. Are you heading this way?" The Philosopher was clearly discomfited to be addressed in such a familiar way, but he grasped his staff and replied in the affirmative with a voice struggling to retain its previous air of jollity. "You don't mind if I join you?" The Cat asked, jumping up and walking alongside us before the Terrier could find a reason to decline. "It is so much better to stroll with convivial company, don't you think?" "Good company finds its own stride," replied the Philosopher cryptically. "Where are you heading?" "Oh nowhere in particular," the Cat replied. "I'm on holiday from the Kingdom and enjoy looking at everything. I've had quite a jolly time so far; and I've met some very interesting people. I thought I'd go to the next town and perhaps catch a coach or train to the City or somewhere else. I don't mind where I go as long as I am with friendly company." "And do you meet much friendly company?" I wondered, reflecting on some of the distinctly unfriendly comments Tudor had made regarding Cats. "Oh, most people are very pleasant," the Cat purred, "although there's an awful lot of prejudice towards foreigners from some. Some of the sheep round here, for instance, have been awfully rude to me. They gathered around me bleating in a very abusive manner until I moved on. I really don't understand it at all! Still, I just hope the people in the next town are much friendlier." "Perhaps the reason the sheep abused you was that you're a Cat," commented the Philosopher. The Cat seemed somewhat puzzled by this comment, and his stride became less confident, while his tail wagged in apparent disconsolation. Then he mewed good-humouredly. "Oh, you would say that, because you're a Dog. No offence, but I'd absolutely forgotten. In this country there are so many different types of people that you just completely disregard things like that. I mean, look at all the sheep and hares round here. In the Kingdom there are mostly only Cats. And a few Mice and Dogs, but you hardly ever get to meet many of them. I suppose a lot of you Dogs aren't particularly keen on Cats. Not that I can blame you. The King and his ministers have some pretty bizarre views on Dogs and Mice, haven't they? You'd have thought they'd learnt something from the way history have treated the Feline species, wouldn't you?" "Indeed," remarked the Philosopher without humour. "History is a lesson in the school of life the Cats have definitely not attended. And without a knowledge of History, the Cat is like a tree detached from its roots." The Cat laughed indulgently. "I say! That's jolly good! Where do you get all these sayings from? You don't make them up do you?" The Philosopher didn't reply nearly as amiably. "I am a Philosopher. It is my duty to observe, comment, cogitate and deliberate, and then to disseminate the wisdom I have gained by my efforts." "Well, the very best to you! As I say, I don't blame you Dogs for feeling so sore, but I hope you don't think that all Cats feel the same way as the King about things. I mean, quite a lot of Cats, and I'm one of them, really think the Mice get a really raw deal. It's not their fault they happened to have settled on our ancestral lands. And the same goes for the Dogs in the occupied territories. It must be bad enough to lose a war: it must add insult to injury to then be treated as second class citizens in their own country. Mind you! It's not as if your Dog Republics treat even Dogs very much better than the Kingdom does." "What do you mean?" Growled the Philosopher. If the Cat suspected that his companion was less than delighted by his company he didn't show it. "Well, look at the appalling way the Greyhounds were treated in the tiny Spaniel Republic. Not to mention how the Irish Terriers are being persecuted by the Dalmatians. And if you were a Daschund, are you really better treated in the Canine Republics than you would be as a subject of the Kingdom." "The Dog Republics are at least governed for Dogs by Dogs; not by foreigners trawled in from all over the globe and planted on soil cultivated for centuries by other species. They don't practise a heathen religion which attributes a Divine Right to Rule on a Cat by mere good fortune of his parentage. They haven't plundered their neighbours nor been the author of the atrocities that Cats have visited upon us. And the Canine Republics don't administer foreign countries as if they were their own nor disregard the sovereignty of their neighbours when searching for so-called terrorists." "Oh dear! You really don't like Cats at all do you!" "I'm not prejudiced," snarled the dog viciously. "I would never declare that one species of animal is necessarily superior to another. We all share the same basic design. But the practice of the Kingdom of Cats demonstrates to me that the Cat is as yet unready to govern, as has the Cat been wholly unworthy throughout History. The Kingdom of Cats is nothing more than a bastard state, a political abomination and a threat to regional stability." "I see," mused the Cat thoughtfully. He looked around him nervously, and then spotted the slave stooped down under his load behind us, sweat dripping from his forehead and leaving drops along the dusty path behind him. "And what about your friend? Don't you think he might do with some help with that awfully heavy luggage he's carrying? I could help him, don't you think?" "I think not!" Snarled the Philosopher. "He is my slave and I don't wish to have my property violated by feigned Feline kindness." "Oh! Is that what you think?" The Cat commented, rather unhappily, his tail wagging agitatedly and his whiskers sagging. He looked around him. "Well! Goodness me! An inn!" He announced pointing at one down a small lane to the left. "What I fancy is a nice glass of milk! Would you care to join me?" "No, I would not!" Barked the Scottish Terrier, turning his head away. He strode faster and I had to increase my stride to keep up with him, while his slave almost had to break into a trot. The Cat meanwhile stood alone at the corner of the lane clearly rather unsettled by the Philosopher's sentiments. My companion remained uncharacteristically silent for a furlong or so more, not slackening his pace and his paws gripping his staff so determinedly that his claws left distinct marks on it. "Well, young man," ventured the Philosopher at last, "what brings you so far from your borough of the Suburbs? Is it merely a desire to travel?"
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