The Prisoner's Dilemma (23 page)

Where will all this all end? she thought once more, only too aware of how little power she had to influence its outcome. But wherever matters might lead, she knew that her first aim was still to protect her father. She had to see Dunbeath pay off the debt or to see out the hundred days. As long as Zweig was away in London, she was safe. As for marriage – well, she still had to play for time, whatever that might mean or she might have to promise.

* * * 

Zweig was immediately awake when James shook his shoulder at midnight. Mona had filled a sack with food for the journey to London and Zweig picked this up as he left. Together the two men set off towards the quay.

It didn't take long for Zweig to have the boat in seaworthy order. The jacht was about thirty five feet long and gaff rigged, ideal for the journey he thought, a tiller helm and a small cabin below, just large enough for a pair of narrow cots and a table. Zweig had seen similar boats in the Baltic and he had no doubt that she would be like them, sturdily built for coastal waters and quite capable of a hundred or more sea miles on a good day.

He knew there would be no time to be squandered but he was confident he should have Dunbeath in London for his meeting. His anxiety, though, was sleep and he wondered if the angry lord could put his hand to steering a course. Nonetheless, he stuffed some cordage into his bag to hold the tiller amidships if his hopes were not met.

Two hours later Zweig and James had the boat readied and in a further few minutes they had sailed her the few furlongs down to the castle. They anchored about fifty yards from the beach and then lifted the small tender down from its cradle on the cabin roof. They dropped it into the water and Zweig climbed down, set the oars in their rowlocks and rowed the two men to the
shore. They dragged the dinghy up onto the sand and then set off to walk to where the colossal boulders were clustered under the castle wall.

Zweig had judged the tide well. It was at its lowest and the rocks showed high above the slopping waves. James looked at them grimly as they approached and shuddered at the memory of a similar night.

He spoke in a low whisper to Zweig.

‘The sea's calm. You'll have no trouble getting in there.'

They reached the sea wall and were about to clamber onto the gigantic stone by the entrance gap when James stopped and turned to Zweig. He spoke in an urgent tone – half mumble, half whisper.

‘Before we go further, Zweig. Tell me again of our bargain.'

‘Very well. If you wish,' replied the captain, softly. ‘Your mother has the telescope hidden. If I don't return within a month from this night she will give it to you. But I shall return, James, have no fear on that. Dunbeath will pay me out and give me the boat. Once I'm safely away from the English, your mother will give you the telescope. I also intend you to have twenty pounds from the money I shall give her.'

He extended his hand towards James.

‘There, you have my word on that agreement.'

James took his hand and shook it.

‘Yes. I agree. Now, I'll show you the way into the castle.'

* * * 

Zweig passed easily through the cave and pushed at the flagstone with his shoulder. He pulled himself up into the storeroom and a few minutes later he was padding through the castle's ancient passages, moving with extraordinary stealth for such a colossal man. He carefully climbed a back staircase and soon reached the third floor; then set off down the corridor there. He began to
count the doors on the side that gave onto the beach.

This was the door that led to the fifth window, he thought. And here he threw the dice. If he was right then this would be Sophie's bedroom. But if it was Dunbeath's or the fat man's, then his plans were finished.

He noiselessly opened the door and crept towards the bed. As he looked down he silently gave thanks when he saw that it was indeed Sophie, and he stood for a moment contemplating her beautiful profile and listening to her childlike breathing. Then he reached down and put the palm of his hand deftly across her mouth.

She woke immediately and sat up with a start, snatching at the bedclothes. Her eyes opened wide with terror but Zweig ignored her alarm and began to speak to her in German in a low, firm voice.

‘I shall take my hand away now, Sophie. And if you desire my death you have only to scream. I have no doubt that Lord Dunbeath would do you the honour of shooting me.'

He slipped his hand away and Sophie shrank back, pulling the blanket towards her. She was greatly shocked. But she had not screamed.

Zweig set down by her bed. He was now on one knee, his head close to hers. His eyes were down as he spoke to her, his voice low, hoarse and almost breaking in its intensity.

‘You will know, Sophie, that I have agreed to sail Lord Dunbeath to London. It will be a desperate race to get him there in time and I've no doubt my good lord will make me risk all in the name of his ambition. Much can go against me on this journey and if I don't return I need you to know certain things. But if I should succeed and come back to Scotland…then I wish that you would think on these same things before you see me again.'

He paused as if searching for the right words. Then he started again.

‘Sophie. I love you. I have always loved you. And I shall never stop loving you until the moment I die. For three days and as many nights you've seen me outside this castle, telling you of that love. For every second of that hard, hard trial you must have known that I was speaking only to you.'

His head dropped further.

‘When I put you in the waves that awful night, with my ship and everything I'd built disappearing beneath me, I felt my heart break in my chest. If you had died, I would have died too, but God brought you here and then he decided that I should live too. Yes, I lived – and now I live as I never did before.

‘Sophie, should I come back from London …I am asking you to return to Königsberg with me. You will have heard of my agreement with Lord Dunbeath and you'll know that even though I was ruined, even from nothing, I have conjured up a boat and the money to start again. You know full well what I can do in life. Think of what we could do together! Think of the excitement, the joys, the plans we could make, the things we would discover. Perhaps the children we would have. And the love we would share.'

Zweig paused, and he seemed to be struggling with a terrible memory. His voice faltered.

‘There is something else that I would ask you to think on. There were thirty four men with me when we left our homes in Königsberg and I have now to see their mothers and wives. I must support these women and their families as their menfolk would have done. They died because of me and their lives must carry on. I owe it to them. But Sophie, I need your help to do this.

‘Please, Sophie, think on my poor words while I am away. Please agree that you will come away with me when I return. Hear the sound of my heart while I am gone - you have only to listen to the wind in the leaves or the waves on the shore. And when you hear them, you will be hearing my voice too …I shall be saying to you, again and again and again …Sophie, I love you,
I love you, I love you.'

Zweig stopped, his eyes were on the floor and he rose quickly to his feet. He turned and walked to the door without a backwards glance.

Sophie looked at his departing back. She hadn't said a word.

Once he'd closed the door to Sophie's bedroom Zweig walked noiselessly down the staircase to the entrance hall. He opened the front door and stepped out, quietly closing it again behind him. Then he turned and hammered heavily with the huge knocker.

Before long Dunbeath appeared, his arms filled with rolls of charts and diagrams.

‘Good morning, my lord. You have everything?'

Dunbeath handed the charts to him and Zweig began to truss them together with a length of twine. The two men worked together for some minutes, packing the presentation, when Zweig looked up to see Sophie coming to the bottom of the stairs in a long nightdress and with a silk shawl about her shoulders.

‘And a good morning to you, Miss Kant,' he said as she handed some further charts to the earl. Dunbeath looked these over and then handed them to Zweig, together with a small travelling bag that he'd brought downstairs with him.

‘You take very little, my lord,' Zweig said, feeling its weight, ‘do you not need clothes for your meeting?'

‘Hmm?' muttered Dunbeath, distracted by checking that he had included all the material he'd require for the Board. ‘Taking little? I need only enough to get me to my house in London. I have clothes for a hundred of these absurd gatherings once I'm there.'

Zweig picked up Dunbeath's bag and the rolled charts.

‘We must make a start sir, there is no time to be lost.'

He turned and headed down towards the shore but Dunbeath held back for a moment.

‘Goodbye my dearest,' he said to Sophie, once Zweig was out of earshot. She looked at Dunbeath, his tenderness surprising her. ‘I spoke to Mr Hume yesterday,' he continued, ‘and he has agreed to stay here at the castle with you while I'm away. If that army officer, L'Arquen, should call again he will be here to deal with
him. You have only to stay out of sight. Don't be afraid, my dearest, and have no fear for me either, for I shall do our work justice with the Board. You will see, I shall return with the Prize.'

He took her hands and quickly kissed them, then turned and walked down to the beach to join Zweig. By now James had disappeared back to Dunbeaton and together the two men rowed out to the boat and hauled the tender onto the cabin roof of the jacht. They lashed it down and Zweig made his way back to the cockpit. He looked out to sea.

‘There will be a fresh breeze out there when we're clear of the land, my lord. We shall be making good time soon.'

* * * 

David Hume came into the great salon just as dawn was breaking. He saw Sophie standing in the huge bow window, looking out at the vastness of the sea and at the speck on the horizon that was all that remained of Dunbeath's rapidly disappearing boat.

‘Many apologies for my lateness, Sophie. I intended to rise earlier. Did they get away?'

Sophie continued to look distractedly at the sea's shining surface and the flecks of white that danced on the tips of the waves.

‘Yes, they did,' she said in a dull voice, ‘but God knows when they will return. Zweig may have had powder with him when he came but he carries another explosive now.'

Hume pulled his dressing robe tighter about himself.

‘Ah, you refer to Dunbeath's Urquhain curse, of course. Yes, we have seen something of that these past few days, have we not? I hope he can keep the Rage in his pocket while he is with your ship's captain. The determination he showed out there on the dunes doesn't lead me to think he's a man that would tolerate too much insurrection. And as for the Board, I only hope they
give him an attentive reception.'

Sophie turned back to the room and smiled at Hume with an air of resignation.

‘I'm sure the work will speak for itself. Let us hope so anyway.'

She was about to walk towards the fire when Hume gave an apologetic cough.

‘Forgive me, but I awoke in the night with a strange thought. I am no sailor of course, I have scarcely ever been to sea, but I wondered about our captain's intentions.'

‘What do you mean, Mr Hume?'

‘Well, as I say, I know little about it, but would you not have thought that he should have left when the tide was at its highest rather than its lowest? Surely the ebbing of a high tide would have taken him out to sea rather than the other way round?'

‘How strange,' replied Sophie, now struck by the same thought. ‘I must say that your logic would appear to be correct. No, I have no idea why that should have been. Now you'll excuse me please, Mr Hume, I shall dress and breakfast. And then perhaps we might explore the Dilemma a little further. I have been thinking more on Tit for Tat.'

Indeed, how very strange, she thought to herself as she walked from the room. Whatever was Zweig up to with the tide? Perhaps it had something to do with his visit to her? The only thing she could be certain of was that everything he did was for a reason. Quite what, only time would tell.

* * * 

For three days Zweig stayed close to the shore as he sailed south, snatching sleep whenever he felt the wind was steady enough for him to lash the tiller. He'd managed to doze fitfully for the occasional hour but the accumulation of lost sleep was being added to the energy he'd spent on the dunes. Together, they were
taking their toll.

On the fourth morning, Dunbeath emerged from the cabin. He yawned and asked how they were progressing. He had spent much of his time on board preparing the speech he intended to give to the Board and, as he felt increasingly confident of getting to London in time for the meeting, his manner had become less hostile towards Zweig. Bit by bit he was beginning to fall under the spell of the big man's personality.

‘We do well, my lord,' replied Zweig cheerfully, ‘this wind is a gift from God. I believe he wants the world to know you have discovered his secrets. That point you can see over there to starboard is Flamborough Head and I have hopes of being in London the day after tomorrow.

‘But, I'm afraid I have need of rest. I have stolen some minutes' sleep with the tiller tied but I must have more, I fear. Can you come and steer for an hour or two? I can easily explain how.'

Dunbeath looked doubtful for a second but then became more interested. He couldn't believe it would be hard to hold a tiller and the captain never seemed to do anything more demanding than look ahead and make the occasional adjustment. He now came aft and sat alongside Zweig. The truth was that he was rather fascinated by how the boat worked and he listened hard as the captain took him through where to aim and how to keep the sails filled.

* * * 

Sophie sat by the enormous fireplace, her Prisoner's Dilemma calculations laid out beside her on one of the gilt sofas. She was lost, deep in thought, and she now lifted her head and stared into the distance, working through a chain of logic. David Hume sat opposite her on a library chair and watched in silence. He knew her mind well enough by now to pick his moment to comment.
Smiling at the signs of her concentration, he saw a change come over her face as if she'd reached a conclusion. He leant forward.

‘What are you imagining now, my dear?'

‘These Gesellschaftspiele,' she replied dreamily, ‘the power these parlour games have to show us the way.'

‘I greatly agree,' laughed Hume, ‘but where are your thoughts taking you now?'

‘Well,' she replied, ‘we were talking before of the success of the Tit for Tat strategy in inducing people to co-operate and then rewarding them for continuing to do so. Its aim was clearly to find people that one could have three point relationships with. However, you'll remember that Tit for Tat also punished defectors by responding to their choice and immediately defecting if this was what they had done.'

‘Indeed I do,' said Hume, setting down the book he'd been reading. ‘The strategy prospered through its clarity because a defector knew that the other person would follow his choice and do what he did.'

‘Quite,' continued Sophie, ‘but I now see that the approach contains a great weakness. What if the other person kept defecting? When would the Tit for Tat strategy pull them out of their one point feud? What if the rewards of co-operation became lost in the blindness of their hatred? We see this all about us, do we not - people who cannot forgive and think it would be a weakness to do so? They have no way out of their hostility and as time passes they lose sight of any other way of living. And it's not just individuals either – there are whole groups of people trapped in this way too. I understand that on some of the islands of the Mediterranean Sea, for example, there are families that have been at war with each other for generations.'

‘Why look so far afield?' Hume said with a laugh. ‘Why, we have clans here in Scotland who have been sworn enemies since time out of mind. They say the Campbells and the MacDonalds will never find a soft word for each other, however long one
might wait, let alone consider the idea of co-operation. And Lord Dunbeath's own clan, the Urquhain, are known throughout Scotland for their fierceness. Indeed, Dunbeath's fabled Urquhain Rage is much admired by his people.'

Hume rose to his feet and walked over to the fireplace, humming quietly to himself as he thought about what Sophie had just said.

‘You must be quite right, Miss Kant – about Tit for Tat being used as a reason for conflict. How often has one seen an opening triviality between people grow into a war? And always are the words ‘well, they started it' used as the motive to punish each other. It has often seemed to me that the only conflict in history that had an indisputable cause was the Trojan War, and that was because it was over a beautiful woman. I cannot think of another with such a clear explanation. And what have all these wars ever produced or gained? Nothing.'

‘But, what if one was not a warrior, Mr Hume?' said Sophie, looking up at him. ‘As you said some time ago, there is a great difference between a committed defector, completely satisfied with his actions, incapable of seeing the benefits of co-operation – and someone who's made a mistake and knows no way back to the comfort of trust and the great dividends of three point relationships. What if there's an accident or an unthinking error? Followed by a series of recriminations from which there becomes no escape? Tit for Tat will not help because it has no mechanism for people to start afresh.'

She looked down at her notes again.

‘I believe the only way around this is to break the discipline of Tit for Tat –
and forgive occasionally
. Not every time, of course, because one's opponents would take advantage of that. But, randomly. My poor workings here suggest that a rough average of once in every three offences gives the best returns. I think of it as Generous Tit for Tat because its big heartedness allows a defector to think again. The world is not rational and mistakes
are made – Generous Tit for Tat stops accidents from becoming vindictive cycles, what I believe the Italians call vendettas.'

Hume stood pondering on what Sophie had said. She was continuing to work through her calculations on the sofa when he had a sudden thought.

‘Perhaps this is what people mean when they talk about turning the other cheek? To do so constantly – in other words to play Always Co-operate – would allow the other person to take one for granted. But to do so occasionally would give someone who regrets his actions the chance to change his behaviour. Is it possible that Tit for Tat is an eye for an eye and Generous is to turn the other cheek? I am not a believer, Sophie, but do you think that Christians believe their Lord played these parlour games?'

* * * 

It was only half an hour since Zweig had asked Dunbeath to take the helm. He had given him the clearest of instructions – but much was going wrong. Dunbeath's attention had wandered away from Zweig's orders for a few minutes and the sails were now backing and filling in the most alarming way. Even to Dunbeath's untutored eye, the boat was sliding fast towards the coastline. In his anxiety to correct the course, he'd compounded the problem and had loosened sheets and forced the boat to run before the wind.

Dunbeath was now on the verge of panic, completely bewildered by his inability to get the boat to do what he wanted and increasingly unable to solve the problem. He stared again at the rapidly looming cliffs and realised he had only one option. He swallowed his pride.

‘Zweig! Zweig!' he shouted. ‘Quickly man. Or we're finished!'

In an instant Zweig was on deck. He summed up the situation in a glance and pushed the tiller hard over. He clapped
Dunbeath's hand to it.

‘Don't move!' he ordered.

The captain slipped like lightening around the jacht, tightening sheets and slackening others. He flew back to take the tiller from Dunbeath and, without a word, pushed it hard over to put the boat about. The sails swung across and filled again. As the boat was carried by the rushing tide a black rock came roaring alongside, missing its beam by a coat of paint.

Almost immediately, Zweig put in a further tack and the boat's head came up. He closed Dunbeath's hand on the tiller again and once more he flashed forward to reset the sails. The boat heeled as it came up closer to the wind but, inch by heart-stopping inch, it pulled away from trouble.

Zweig came aft to take the tiller and only then did he remove his eyes from the sails and look over towards Dunbeath's pinched and anxious face. There was something about the man's expression and the complete collapse of his arrogant confidence that made Zweig instinctively burst out laughing. There was not slightest trace of recrimination in the laugh, but simply the joy of being alive. And then Dunbeath started to laugh too. Tightly at first. But, as the tension left him, more and more, until his head went back and tears ran down his cheeks. Then he began to roar uncontrollably, consumed by the total and joyful laughter of release and the two men stood on the deck, shaking, staring at each other, sharing a hilarity that could only come from having so narrowly avoided death.