Chapter 8

The following morning I was awakened by a hare who offered to dress me before I joined his master and companions for breakfast. As I had great doubts that an animal substantially shorter than I and significantly less dextrous would dress me quite as well as I could, I declined the offer and waited until he had left the bedroom until I pulled my feet free from the confines of the sheets onto the floor several feet below. I grimaced at the sudden cold pang of the stone floor and got dressed on the luxurious carpet in front of the fire.

I then stole out of the bedroom and tried to find where breakfast was served. I looked up and down the long passageways at the suits of armour, the portraits of illustrious rodents and the odd sheep-skin rug, but could see no sign guiding me to the breakfast room or indeed anywhere else. Consequently it was after several minutes of wandering around the ill-lit hallways and through several unpromising rooms that I located my host in a room where chairs were arranged in front of a fire on which some hares were toasting some rolls and buns. Tudor saw me enter the room and greeted me with a gloved paw while munching on a bread roll.

"Good morrow! Thou hast slept well, I trust?"

"Very well," I answered, as indeed I had when I'd finally got used to the hardness of the mattress.

Tudor was accompanied by Hubert, who was sitting down with his columnar legs stretched out in front of him wedged into boots which just about accommodated them, and a Scottish Terrier about the same height as Tudor wearing black clothes ornamented only by a grey lace collar. He had placed a tall black hat like a stove pipe on the arms of his chair and his paws were clasping a mug of tea. "Thou hast not met mine friend, the Philosopher," Tudor remarked. "He hath travelled many leagues from his distant land and ist once again honouring our fair nation with his presence."

"You're very kind, Tudor," the dog barked. "I always enjoy my visits to your pleasant land. And surely there is no pleasure greater than that found in travel and good company. A weary foot and a glad heart are the best comrades a soul can have."

"Are you also on a quest like Hubert?" I wondered.

"Goodness no, young man. No amount of travel could reach the object of my pursuit. Philosophical insights are gained only by contemplation and analysis. The deeper you search the more you uncover."

I nodded, pretending to understand what he was saying, and let my eyes wander about the breakfast room. In the corner were two hares in conversation and a young man in ragged clothes crouched on the floor wolfing down the relics of the meal we had been eating the evening before. He glanced up at me with a sheepish grin and then resumed his chewing on the cold meat on a bone. I scanned my companions in the hope that they might introduce me to this eccentric guest, but they were deep in conversation.

" ... And the moral is that just as in any infinite series of numbers there is an incongruity, so too in any ethical practice there is an element of immorality..." The Philosopher noticed me while licking his tea-stained chops with his long flat tongue. "Are you troubled, young man? Perhaps you are not accustomed to ethical discourse. Be assured that the pursuit of knowledge is not achieved by conversation alone. A bird in the tree may in a flash of inspiration see what has eluded the greatest thinker."

"No, it's not that," I commented, slightly puzzled. "I was just wondering who that fellow is." I pointed at the young man who was scooping at the insides of a soiled bowl with the crust of a stale roll.

The Philosopher suddenly burst into laughter, which was frighteningly like barking. Tudor tittered, but explained my faux pas. "An thou thinkst that wert a guest thou couldst ne'er be further from the truth. Nay, 'tis the Philosopher's slave thou cravest know."

"The Philosopher's slave?"

"Slave. What could be simpler?" smiled the Philosopher. "Perhaps you don't have such things where you come from?"

"No," I admitted. "There are no slaves in the Suburbs."

"'Tis verily true," agreed Tudor. "'Tis rare in this land to encounter a slave. 'Tis forbid in many districts, and I woot the Suburbs ist a borough where 'tis so proscribed."

"So what is seemly to the elephant is unseemly to the mastodon," commented the Philosopher. "No, young man. In my country it is quite normal for those of means to purchase as good a slave or set of slaves as they can. This slave cost me a few crowns I can tell you. He is now my property and I am free to dispose of him exactly as I would any other property. This is a rôle equally sanctioned by my slave and he would no doubt not wish it otherwise."

"Wouldn't he prefer not to be a slave at all?" I wondered.

"That is a most naïve and simplistic view. Wouldn't we all wish to have a different life than we have? The man on the other side of the hill is always on the better side. But we are always best off as we are. My slave benefits from his working relationship with me because I provide him with security, safety, lodgings and food for as long as his work continues to be acceptable. His rôle in life is to serve, just as mine is to be served. The master needs the slave, just as the slave needs the master."

"Why's that, Philosopher?" wondered Hubert who was chewing some toast.

"Because without the one then the other has no existence at all. How can a master be a master if he has nothing to be master of? And for that matter how can a slave be a slave without a master to serve? It is all as it should be. The hare bounds in the field, while the sheep safely graze."

"I may just be acting as the Devil's Advocate here, Philosopher," continued the giant teddy bear, "but have there not been many arguments postulated quite to the contrary. That rather than being natural, slavery is wholly unnatural and indeed unjust. This slave may look like just a ragged wretch, but given different chances in life might he not deserve a better lot? And wouldn't it be better to be wretched and free, than well-fed and enslaved?"

"I don't really understand why so many people in your country believe that liberty is prima facie a good thing. You wouldn't want dragons or demons to wander free in this country. As free as the wind, but also as free as the raft adrift from its moorings. Nevertheless, I recognise the wisdom in such assertions, Hubert, and I would not advocate slavery if I didn't accept its economic necessity. How could the economy of my nation, or of the world, prosper without the very valuable contribution made by slaves? How could we pursue philosophy and poetry, without the wealth creation of this invaluable underclass? Even the worm is needed to aerate the soil so that we can eat. For some to have plenty it is necessary for others to have less than nothing at all."

I wasn't at all persuaded by the Philosopher's arguments but I had no counter to them. I chose a line where I hoped I could get Hubert's support. "I didn't realise that Poetry needed slavery to exist. I thought Poetry was above the economic order."

"Poetry is the expression of Philosophy by elegant language," the Philosopher replied, not really addressing my objection. "And language is the means of all thought and expression. It is through a precise understanding of language and how it is used that we understand all subjects of discourse. But if a sheep wrote Poetry would we understand what it was saying?"

"Or even want to," commented Hubert. "Poetry isn't really Philosophy at all. It may express great insights, but not all these are of a philosophical nature. Some Cat poetry is noted by its absence of philosophical speculation and more by its unquestioning acceptance of what they consider to be the truth."

"Isn't that fatalistic acceptance itself a concern of Philosophy? Great thought is expressed through its absence as much as in its presence. But I am sorry to hear you speak even indirectly of any virtue in Feline practice or poetry. Their despicable behaviour in the war with my nation has shown Cats to be wholly unpossessing of the finer sensitivities, and they are certainly not eminent opponents of slavery. They are, after all, a species who have allowed themselves to be governed by an absolute hereditary ruler. It is true that I would no more advocate the rule of the anarchic mob any more than does the Cat. Good government by a tyrant is better than bad government by the people. I would say, however, that government is practised best by those selected and trained for their skills in the art than either the unschooled mob or those born to luxury. Indeed, luxury is as foreign to the skill of government as it is to logical discourse. A greenhouse is not the best place to grow a turnip."

"I dare say you are right, Philosopher," smiled Hubert. He stood up from the chair and towered above his company. "But I must be on my way. I fear I have business elsewhere."

"Where goest thou? Dost return to the Suburbs?"

"No. I doubt I shall ever return to the Suburbs. I 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 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 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.

"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." 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."