The White Rajah (1961)

by Monsarrat, Nicholas

  The recital, macabre, horrifying to a Western mind, was ended, on the same matter-of-fact note with which the Rajah had begun it. He added only: ‘It was with such stories that my nurse lulled me to sleep when I was a little boy,’ and then he clapped his hands lightly and called to the major-domo: ‘A glass of wine!’ Richard sat silent, as the wine was brought and served to them all; he was beginning to feel as perhaps Sunara was feeling – that this had been no more than a story, a recollection of the evil past, and its reality and truth existed no longer. But there was a point which, for some reason strangely connected with his peace of mind, he wished to establish.

  ‘Your Highness has a notable memory on which to draw … But I would like to think that, in this beautiful country, the happier aspects of history have now overtopped the rest. Times have changed, have they not? Cruel blood runs thin, and some worthier strain takes its place. After all, this is the nineteenth century! Your father, for example, was not so–’ he searched for a word which would not offend a possibly devout son, ‘–so determined a ruler?’

  ‘By no means,’ agreed the Rajah. ‘Of course he was subject to sudden rages. I saw him once, on board the state barge, walk down to the rowing benches, and seize a parang from the overseer, and strike off the hands of one of the slaves, as they rested on the oar. The man had ceased working, or had fainted, and the result had been a delay which, for some personal reason, was intolerable. But such anger, as I have said, was only a matter of impulse. He was not a cruel man by nature. I myself am even less given to harshness. And my daughter’ – he gestured carelessly towards Sunara, but it seemed that there might be more to his words than a simple jest – ‘is a very model of gentle behaviour. Of course, much of my father’s reign was taken up with repelling adventurers and invaders from the outside world. Thirty and forty years ago, Makassang had more than headhunters to deal with. Every pirate saw a quick fortune here. Every trader had ambitions to barter glass beads for prime rubies. And more than pirates and traders! There were many expeditions from other nations – including your own – who had conceived the idea that Makassang would make a desirable addition to their possessions.’

  ‘I had not heard that,’ said Richard.

  ‘Perhaps because the outcome was total failure … Nay,’ added the Rajah, raising his hand, ‘I intended no insult. It was not your country which made the most determined effort, in any case. The English, so Andrew Farthing taught me, do not fight hard in the first instance. They conquer by accident, and then they hold on to their conquest like the claws of death himself … In fact, it was the Dutch who came nearest to making this country their own.’

  Richard smiled. ‘I had not heard that, either.’

  ‘The Dutch would not boast of it now … They made many such attempts, and they sent an expedition here, in the middle years of my father’s reign, which was planned to be the final one. It was commanded by a determined fellow who, on landing, told my father that, since most of the islands hereabouts belonged to the Dutch, there was no reason why Makassang should not belong to them also.’

  Richard smiled again, enjoying a story which he knew must have a happy ending – happy for Makassang. ‘What befell this determined fellow?’

  ‘My father welcomed him,’ answered the Rajah, surprisingly. ‘It chanced that the Royal Regiment had been weakened by some contagious sickness, and was not ready to take the field. It was therefore a time for thinking, not for fighting. It was a time when my father did not give way to foolish anger … He welcomed the Dutch expedition – and I must tell you that it was a well-planned affair, intended to endure as well as to succeed. In addition to a strong ship, and plenty of fighting men, there were carpenters to build houses, and gardeners with the choicest plants, and bankers to count money, and women to breed children. They made their landfall in this very bay – like yourself, Captain Marriott – and the commander came ashore with a show of force, and some cannon shots to frighten the ignorant, and said to my father: “I am now the ruler of your country.”

  ‘My father made them welcome,’ went on the Rajah, ‘and was at great pains to point out the best choice of a landing place – not on this side of the bay, naturally; this is unhealthy swampland, as anyone can see – but across the inlet, to the west of the Shwe Dagon, where the jungle meets the sea. I cannot tell you,’ said the Rajah, who was now enjoying himself, ‘the number of misfortunes which fell upon this Dutch expedition. That part of the island which my father recommended turned out, alas, to be fever-ridden; it is safe to say that within a year, fully half the expedition – especially the women and children – perished of malaria, and tick-bite fever, and those diseases of the lung which our moist climate encourages. There were also losses from snakes, from crocodiles, and even from tigers which, though very rarely seen so far from the interior, somehow made their way towards this tempting bait … There were forest fires in the dry season, and rivers which burst their banks at the time of the monsoon. There was a stampede of elephants. Crops were destroyed by evil spirits in the course of a single night-time hour. The Dutch ship’s anchor cable parted during a storm, and she was driven ashore and wrecked, so that they could not escape, or send for aid; and another ship which arrived in the spring was set upon by the largest number of pirate-prahus ever seen in these waters, and not a single Dutch seaman lived to tell the tale or take back the news.’

  ‘My heart bleeds for this expedition,’ said Richard cheerfully. He sipped his wine, restored in his spirits; there were fearful tales to be told of Makassang, but there were brave ones also, and he was happy to be sharing this moment of memory. ‘How did it end?’

  ‘It ended cruelly,’ answered the Rajah. ‘Cruelly, but justly. These were, after all, usurpers. They had come to steal something which did not belong to them; if they had succeeded, they would have drunk our blood. But the undertaking proved too difficult … There came a time when the expedition was reduced to a handful of men, and one woman, and a dozen children. But the children were of equal strength with their elders; they were all of them scarecrows, weakened by fever, and half starved, and praying only for rescue. It was now that the Royal Regiment made ready for action. They had recovered their strength, they were eager to slake their spears … They made a stockade of their shields, circling the Dutch settlement which had its back to the sea; and each day they advanced the stockade by a few feet, so that the space it enclosed grew smaller, and nearer to the water’s edge. No one could pass by it, not even the smallest of the children. In course of time, the only space left to the Dutch expedition was a few yards of sand, enclosed by a double ring of shields made of elephant hide, and behind them, men with sullen faces and glittering spears, ready to kill.’

  Richard waited. There could be only one end to such a story, and, as the Rajah had said, it was indeed a cruel one; he was less happy now with the recital, which seemed to have degenerated into a second version of the story of Prince Costafaga, having the same vein of brutality running through it, the same lust for revenge, the same cheapness of human life. Of course the Dutch had been wrong, to try to steal this fair land; but surely there were other ways ofpointing out their wrong-doing, less terrible methods of defeating them … Or were all these Eastern seas dyed with the same stain, infected with – the same wickedness? – was this ruthlessness, which he himself had practised, in a lesser degree, for the past ten years, an inescapable part of the fabric? Perhaps it was wrong to blame the Royal Regiment, taking such pleasure in stalking their wretched prey, when Richard Marriott, a few days earlier, had fallen treacherously upon the Mystic, with the same lust to exterminate.

  But the Rajah was speaking again; and it might be that he had sensed Richard’s disquiet, for he concluded his story quickly, as if to point the fact that no man of any commonsense could have devised a different end to this tale of misfortune.

  ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘it never came to killing, for the Royal Regiment – not with their spears. Perhaps their bearing alone was fierce enough to win th
e victory. But whatever the truth, there was an evening when the remnants of the Dutch expedition had been reduced to a few miserable yards of beach, hemmed in by the shields; and there was a morning when there was nothing left of them at all. No men, no forlorn woman, no children. There were some footprints in the sand, which was smoothed over by the next tide. But no living humans … My people are now inclined to ascribe this disappearance to magic. But the truth of course is simpler.’

  ‘What is the truth?’ asked Richard.

  ‘They decided to swim away,’ answered the Rajah. ‘Back to Holland, I have no doubt. But I would not wager any money that they reached their homeland.’

  There was silence now; the story was ended; the last Dutch pioneer had been drowned, the last fair-haired child had been throttled by the sea. But there was one thing which Richard became aware of, in all this variety, and that was the silence of Sunara. She had not spoken a word since her father had begun to tell the story of Prince Costafaga; she sat between them in the bower of trees, staring seawards, keeping her counsel. Richard could not divine what was in her mind; he could not even guess it. She might draw pride from such stories as these – they were, after all, victories for men of her own name and blood. She might draw shame, being the heir of such gross cruelty. She might, in total indifference, be thinking of love, of perfumes, of shades of silk … Rather to provoke some comment from her, than to answer the Rajah, he said: ‘So perish all the enemies of Makassang! … Of course, one cannot truly blame them for their enterprise. This island is a temptress in all things. It is a most beautiful country. And, by all evidence, it is a rich one also.’

  It was, indeed, Sunara who answered him, stepping delicately out of her silence as if passing from one room to another; but she did not give an answer which he could have expected, nor one which he understood.

  ‘You have not yet seen our riches,’ she said, in a quiet voice.

  He was puzzled by her choice of phrase. ‘I have seen much of Makassang,’ he answered hesitantly. ‘Your Highness has been kind enough–’

  ‘You have not seen our riches,’ she repeated, with a special emphasis on the last word. ‘There is a common talk, we have heard, of the state treasure of Makassang. It is not a fable. If you are interested in such things’ – there was no irony in her voice – ‘I would like to show you the treasure vault of the Sun Palace.’

  ‘I would be more than honoured–’ began Richard.

  ‘With my father’s permission.’

  Richard had been taken by surprise; the Rajah, clearly, was not. Though he exchanged a glance with his daughter, it seemed to Richard that this was something they had spoken of before, and agreed upon. It was part of a pattern, natural and ordained. He was to be shown the state treasure of Makassang. He had not asked to be thus complimented. He could scarcely have done so without impertinence, or worse. It was something freely offered, making him a privileged friend – the reverse of a marauding pirate … In the surprise and confusion which swept over him, he hardly heard the Rajah answer: ‘I am happy to give my consent.’

  ‘Thank you …’ Sunara turned to Richard. ‘You are still wakeful?’

  ‘Yes, your Highness.’

  ‘Then we will visit it now.’ She rose, small as a jewel, graceful as a doe; within the starlit bower, her beauty glowed like a candle in the dusk. ‘Will you come with us, Father?’

  ‘I think not,’ answered the Rajah. ‘I have talked long. It is time for old men to sleep.’ But he seemed far from sleep; he was looking at them both with alert eyes. ‘Say good night to me now, Sunara … The servants will light torches for you. Do not lose yourselves in the vaults.’

  ‘If we are not here in the morning,’ said Sunara lightly, ‘pray send searchers for us.’

  ‘I will send searchers,’ answered the Rajah, with dry irony, ‘at ten o’clock precisely.’

  Alone, holding their torches which the servants had brought, standing poised at the top of a flight of steps which led down into total, underground gloom, they exchanged half a dozen brief sentences which seemed to point their private solitude as nothing else had yet done.

  ‘I do not care,’ said Sunara, ‘for such stories as my father has told us. He is an old man, and I love him. But these memories belong to a wicked past.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Richard, and it was now true. ‘There is more to life than fighting and hatred.’

  ‘More to your life?’

  ‘My life is changed.’

  She nodded, in grave concord. ‘That is why I am showing you the state treasure.’

  Thus they stepped, together, out of one world, and into another they had never shared before.

  He was conscious of tremendous excitement as he followed her down the stone steps, where the flaring torches cast giant shadows against the darkness of the walls. For the first time, they were alone together, in extraordinary circumstances which he did not yet understand. There was no reason why she should be showing him these riches of Makassang, unless she were judging him to be a different kind of man from the one who had stepped ashore, a few short weeks ago.

  She knew, or could guess, his past; she had called him a mercenary, and it had been true when she had used the word; she must be aware – from his looks, from his bearing, from his taut ship and warlike skills – that he was nearer to being a pirate than many a man who had stamped his footprints upon the sands of Makassang. And yet she was showing him the treasure … Was it foolishness? Was it guileless innocence? Was it a test of his honour? Was it love? Did she think that he could be brought to candour and integrity by her own display of these qualities? Or did she think nothing at all, except that such a joint errand would be an agreeable climax to a day which had had a special quality of enjoyment?

  He speculated thus, as step by step they went down the winding staircase to the vault below. But within a few minutes, such questions faded to nothing before the wonder of what she had to show him.

  At the bottom of the steps, in the gloomy, echoing darkness, there was a small antechamber bare of adornment, and at one end of it, a great door of unpolished teak, studded with nails, and supported by ornamental hinges extending to its full width. To Richard’s surprise, it was unbarred; and when, following her gesture, he raised the latch and began to push back its ponderous weight, he spoke of this. Above its slow, laborious creaking, he asked: ‘Is your treasure vault left unlocked? Are you not afraid of thieves breaking in?’

  She shook her head as if the question were all but meaningless. ‘It is the royal treasure,’ she answered. ‘By tradition, it is holy. Also, its protection is a matter of honour. No one except a palace servant could approach even as near as this. They would come only to sweep, and to brush away the spiders, with their eyes cast down. Anyone in the household who stole from it would be torn to pieces.’

  ‘But if it were done secretly?’

  ‘There are eyes watching.’

  He ceased to probe, though he did not understand. Whether she meant that the vault was in fact guarded in some latent fashion, or that anyone approaching the head of the stairs would excite instant attention from others in the Sun Palace, was not clear. And in a moment it mattered not at all. The door swung open under his thrusting hands. Sunara, waiting upon his efforts, stepped to his side to join him, and together they crossed the shadowy threshold.

  It was a vault so huge that their torches, though flaring brightly, were as candles in the dead of night. But there were other torches, unlit, set in ancient mirrored sconces all round the vault; and when – crossing and recrossing like fireflies in the dusk – they had set flame to a dozen of these, the fantastic treasure house emerged out of the darkness and shone with a thousand lights.

  Richard, who had known much of plunder and riches during the past ten years, caught his breath as he took in the scene; it had a barbaric extravagance such as he had never before witnessed, nor even imagined. There was row upon row of chests, open-mouthed, crammed and heaped with gold ornaments which gleamed du
lly in the torchlight. He saw gold cups, and chalices, and jewelled pectoral crosses fit to grace any prince of the church; there was bar gold in stacked heaps, and coins which he could recognize at sight – English guineas, Dutch rix dollars, Spanish pieces-of-eight – and others less familiar dredged up from the glittering past – Portuguese moidores, French pistoles, even coins with stern Roman heads upon them. Ancient iron boxes, which Sunara opened casually, revealed crimson rubies, yellow diamonds, emeralds as green as the sea at sunset. There were silken altarcloths, and tapestries with forgotten battles marvellously worked in Persian thread; there was a statuette of the lovegod, exquisitely formed of bronze, with silver wings and a bow encrusted with a hundred tiny diamonds.

  Round the walls were hung rows of blazoned banners, trophies from long ago, standing sentinel over the staggering wealth below them, for which, it seemed, the seven seas must have been ransacked for many hundreds of years.

  Richard was spellbound; he wandered from shelf to shelf, from chest to chest, examining, fingering, touching gold bars and silver boxes, allowing a rain of rubies to drip through his fingers like liquid fire, holding an ice-blue diamond up to the torchlight till its myriad facets confused his eye. Sunara was watching him rather than the treasure; her face was grave, as usual, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes as she saw this pirate wandering at will among fantastic riches. At the end of this strange day, there could be nothing more strange than to see him thus beleaguered by what he had striven for and pursued, for so many ardent years.

  He turned from examining a heap of uncut emeralds, whose fire shone even through their rough, unpolished surface, and caught her eye.

  ‘But this is stupendous!’ he exclaimed. His face and his voice were both boyish in their wonder. ‘I have seen nothing like it – there can be nothing like it, in all the world! Where did such treasure come from?’