Chapter 62
Salon of Peace
Palace of Versailles
Versailles, France
The Salon of Peace, located at the southern end of the Hall of Mirrors in the Palace of Versailles, hummed with expectation.
Ten rows of chairs bisected by a center aisle seated two hundred guests, including the delegations from the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Qatar, Bahrain, and Jordan.
Additionally, sixteen members of the French foreign office, twelve Germans, ten Brits, and two Americans.
Paintings of Greek gods, of victories and defeats stared at them from every wall.
Flags lined the perimeter of the ornate room.
The green, black, and red colors of Islamic states.
The blue and white of Israel. The bleu, blanc, et rouge of France.
Television cameras flanked a lectern, behind which stood the president of France.
It was not the first treaty ever signed in the room.
In 1783, the Treaty of Paris concluded hostilities between Great Britain and the nascent United States of America.
The year 1871 saw the signing of a treaty ending the Franco-Prussian War; in this case, France the ignominious loser.
The Treaty of Versailles was signed in 1919 to formally end the First World War, known at the time as the “Great War.” The signatories were too numerous to list but included the United Kingdom, France, Germany, and the United States.
Tonight, another treaty would be signed, not to end a conflict or officially terminate armed hostilities but to create a new alliance that would prevent any such calamity from occurring again.
In a region as scarred by turmoil as any in history, the treaty would ensure peace, commerce, and the peaceful exchange of cultures. It was, in short, a miracle.
At 5:40 p.m., the president of France, Jean-Pierre Renaud—a short, vain man with hair dyed shoe-polish black and a bulbous nose that betrayed his lifelong love of wine—took his place behind the lectern.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please.”
All discussion ceased. The room grew quiet.
“On behalf of the French Republic, it is my honor to welcome you here tonight to bear witness to an event of historic significance, an event that will reshape the modern Middle East and, in so doing, reshape the entire world.”
The president paused, bathing in the warmth of the audience’s applause, basking in the international community’s respect.
He glanced at his remarks, printed in large letters, for he detested wearing reading glasses.
A look to his right and left acknowledging the negotiators from the signatory countries.
His eyes continued to the far side of the room, where a long table had been erected and covered by a white damask tablecloth.
Standing at the center of the table was a bottle of champagne like no other.
A methuselah, no less. A monument to one of France’s greatest creations.
The president continued with his remarks. If he spoke a bit too quickly, he was to be excused. He was counting the minutes until he uncorked the bottle and filled his glass. He was, after all, a connoisseur.
Everyone knew that the Domaine du Roi ’68 was one of the finest vintages in history.