But John Keston had his solemn tale to impart, and he would not be turned aside by joking.
‘You said to watch the ship and the crew,’ he began without preamble. ‘It’s as well that I did … They’ve nothing to do on board but talk, and they’re making the most of that, I can tell you!’ His hands were busy now with the folding of clothes, but his look was directly towards Richard. ‘And there’s drinking all the time, and women coming on board in canoes after dark, and the hands fighting for their favours – not that they’re worth the fighting! It’s time you came back aboard, to knock all their heads together.’
‘I’ll do that, if need be,’ said Richard easily. ‘But talk and drinking is cheap – it does no harm. And they’re welcome to make free of the women, if the women are so free already … Is that all the bad news you have?’
‘It is bad news,’ said John Keston obstinately. ‘You had a good crew, a while back. Now you have a gang of idlers. They say you won’t be coming back, and they might as well take the ship, and sail off home again.’
‘Who said that?’ demanded Richard.
‘Peter Ramsay was the first to say it. Now it is common talk, and Nick Garrett has not been backward, when it comes to talking, either.’
‘I would not expect any miracles from Nick … What does he say?’
John Keston hesitated; then he threw back his head, as if in determination. ‘He says you are planning to keep the rest of the prize for yourself.’
‘So? What harm does that do? I will prove him wrong, when I come on board with the money in gold, and he will look a fool.’
‘He has other plans, maybe. He told some of the crew that this was no time to think of leaving Makassang, whether you came back or no. He said he could promise them a change for the better, and he has been visiting ashore.’
‘So?’ said Richard again. He was savouring his coffee, allowing nothing to spoil the delicate flavour. ‘Let him visit, it will give him an appetite.’
‘An appetite for what he has no right to. He has been visiting up at the Golden Pagoda.’
‘It is worth a call.’
‘He came back drunk, the last time. Drunk, and full of schemes. He said – it was to Peter Ramsay, down on the orlopdeck, but I overheard them – that there would be a new captain before long. And new guns. And – these were his own words – “another try”.’
‘Another try at what?’
John Keston shrugged. ‘He did not say more.’
‘I’ll be bound he did not!’ Though the news might have its ominous side, Richard was still not at all disturbed. He had known Nick Garrett, and the others, for a long time; he knew how they talked, and also how their talk ran dry, and was forgotten, as soon as work took its place. It was a fit time to worry, when sullen silence fell … But John Keston still meant much to him; it would be wrong to scoff at his fears, or to dismiss as idle gossip something which had so clearly troubled the other man. He sat back against the pillows, and tried for a more reasonable tone.
‘Nay, John, do not give way to worry. This is just so much talk – talk and liquor. New guns? Where would they get them? And if they did succeed, they would still be my guns … A new captain?–’ he laughed, dismissing the idea, ‘–that is no more than Nick Garrett himself, scheming to take over from his betters. He has done that for five years, and he is still my first-lieutenant! And as for “another try” – if he means another try at the Golden Pagoda, he is welcome to it. There is no profit to be had there, except gold leaf and tawdry ornaments. If he means another try to win this country, or to get his hands on the treasure, he is welcome to that also. He will run his head into a noose, and I will be the first to take a strong pull at the slip-knot!’
John Keston, his hands now idle, looked at his master. Conscience struggled with the habit of trust; he had come ashore to warn, but in the face of such confidence, how could he labour this point, which the bright morning, and the sunshine casting bars of shadow along the length of the balcony, were rendering foolish? Yet he was an obstinate young man, and a loyal one also. He put forth a last effort to say what was in his mind, whether he was seemingly made a fool thereby, or not.
‘Sir,’ he said, more formally, ‘can I speak my mind?’
Richard, brought up short by the change of tone, stared at him. ‘You know that you can. Why do you ask such a question? We have shared too much in the past, for you to grow delicate all of a sudden.’
‘But it is not the same now.’ Clearly, Keston was struggling with deeper thoughts than any that had troubled him during the years of which Richard spoke. He gestured round the room, richly appointed, replete with all the trappings of ease. ‘You are a great man again, now that you have come ashore. And you are soon to be greater, maybe.’
‘How, greater?’
‘Oh, there is talk here, too … What we would know, sir – what I would know, is – when do you plan to return to the ship?’
‘In due time,’ answered Richard. ‘I have set no day for it. What is the harm in living ashore? I can be back on board in thirty minutes!’
Keston swallowed; talking thus plainly, he had become ill-at-ease. But he was determined to persist to the end. ‘Sir, you will lose the ship, unless you return. The men will not follow someone they cannot see, the ghost of a man who has forgotten them.’ He gestured round the room again. ‘Perhaps it does not matter to you, giving up the Lucinda. It does not matter to me, if I know what is in your mind. But you should not lose the ship by default, for want of a word of warning. Or for want of energy, either.’
Richard sat up at that, stung out of his calm, prepared to give way to ill-temper. ‘What is this, energy? What sort of word is that?’
John Keston, once he had ventured past the edge of boldness, saw no merit in retreating. ‘There is more to do here,’ he said – and his country burr was strong, and his tone rough, ‘than pick flowers.’
Glaring at his servant, within an ace of dismissing him for insolence, or ordering him from the room until he could learn his manners, Richard Marriott found himself dissolving into laughter instead. It was no use wearing such a grim mask – he could not, on this morning of love and sunlight, hold a grudge or sustain a quarrel. He knew John Keston for what he was – a faithful servant, an honest man, a friend. The fact that he had been betrayed, by fear or rumour, into this rare display of feeling, could not alter his worth.
Nor could it alter what he, Richard Marriott, the sudden darling of fortune, felt and thought and hoped, either … He waved his hand, in most genial dismissal, to John Keston, and settled himself back on his pillows again, preparing to take the half-hour of ease which remained before he need be up and about. Later, he might worry – but not now. Later, he would return to his ship – but not today. Later he would pronounce the name of action, but not before he had kissed Sunara, and put the sign of love on all that lay ahead.
Yet he was to have another reminder, that day, that there were other things beside love in Makassang; and this from an unexpected quarter.
The Rajah summoned him to audience at sundown, an hour before the time set for the banquet. The old man seemed troubled and fretful; at first Richard thought it might be the matter of Sunara – the Sun Palace, like the treasure vault, had many eyes, and he and the Princess might well have been observed, in circumstances likely to affect a father’s composure. But this apparently was not so. Though the Rajah did mention his daughter, it was in quite another sense from that which Richard might have expected. His thoughts, though indeed dynastic, were directed to a larger canvas altogether. His theme and his preoccupation, it seemed, was the future.
‘I have been thinking much today,’ said the Rajah, when the civilities were done, and Richard, with permission, had sat down on a couch opposite the smaller throne in one corner of the audience chamber. They were alone, save for the two drowsy slaves pulling slowly at the mechanism of the punkahs; the heat of the day was diminishing, leaving behind it the promise of a cool, scented dusk. ‘Ind
eed, I have had much in my mind, for these many days past.’
Richard, wary and formal, expressed the hope that the Rajah’s thoughts had been happy ones.
The Rajah shook his head. He seemed especially old, on this evening; old and frail and scarcely able to fend for himself; his hands, clasped together on his lap in an attitude of resignation, were almost transparent in their delicacy. ‘Happy thoughts are rare,’ he answered, in a melancholy voice. ‘They are for the young and hopeful who, alas, often live too swiftly to enjoy them … I would like to hear, Captain Marriott,’ he continued, turning off at a tangent, in the manner of old people, ‘what you think of Makassang?’
‘It is very beautiful,’ replied Richard, with the same wariness. Faced by the Rajah’s unheralded question, he could not escape the thought that he was being stalked, like some quarry in a quiet forest – or, if that were too fanciful an idea, that he was being brought under examination, for some special purpose. He felt the need for care, even though he could not see the reason for it. ‘It is the most beautiful island I have ever seen, in many ways.’
‘You are drawn to it?’ asked the Rajah. His eyes, the most notable feature in a face inscrutable and shadowed, were now closely fixed on Richard. ‘You feel happy here?’
‘Very happy, your Highness.’
‘I thought as much … And my daughter?’
‘I beg your pardon, your Highness?’ answered Richard. He was far from ready to declare himself – he had not seen Sunara for more than a few minutes, on that busy day, and they had not spoken a word of the future – and the sudden query had seized him with the need to temporize. There were rules to be observed here, customs of which he knew nothing; it was probable that he had already stepped far beyond the permissible limits of protocol, and had the prospect of a royal wrath to face, as well as a father’s. ‘I do not understand.’
The Rajah gestured, with minor impatience. ‘You are drawn to Makassang, you say. You are happy here. Are you drawn to the Princess Sunara?’
The Rajah’s tone contained no hint of anger, only of the desire to be informed. He might have been speaking of day-to-day matters. But such unconcern was not dependable. Perhaps the honest answer was the best one.
‘I am very much drawn to her.’ Richard replied, as bravely as he could. ‘When you summoned me, I was of a mind to speak to your Highness–’
The Rajah, raising one of his frail hands, interrupted him. ‘Later,’ he said, with a return of his fretful manner. ‘These are not things to be settled as between a father and a suitor. They are affairs of state. All that matters to me is to know that you have a certain intention.’
‘I have that intention,’ said Richard. It seemed a foolish form of words, to cover the urgency of his feeling for Sunara – to describe, for instance, the magical happenings of last night – but he saw, or thought that he saw, the path which was being indicated to him. It now became, as the Rajah had said, an affair of state – another, even more foolish phrase to disguise such living, breathing wonders.
‘Excellent!’ said the Rajah, with an abrupt change of spirit He sat up suddenly, and clapped his hands together. ‘Wine!’ he called to the servant who appeared at the head of the long room. ‘Bring wine!’ In the silence that followed, he surveyed Richard Marriott as if he were indeed a favourite son; and when the wine was brought and served, he raised his glass as if he were already toasting the bridegroom himself. ‘You have made me happy,’ he said, when he had set down his glass. ‘This can only mean that you plan to remain with us in Makassang.’
It was a statement rather than a question; it left Richard with little room for anything save agreement. ‘Why, as to that,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I have made no plans. Your Highness will recall that I undertook to fight Black Harris and his allies. Now that this is done–’
‘Now that this is done,’ the Rajah interrupted, ‘we can all of us settle down in peace. Until danger strikes again, as well it may.’
It was clear, thought Richard, that he must tread delicately here. There were some promises he was very ready to make, others that he still shunned. He wanted Sunara – that was undeniable; but he wanted her alone, he did not want the island of Makassang caught up in the girdle at her waist; he did not want other men’s cares, other men’s quarrels … Yet this was not the moment to make his thought clear; the best that he could do was to display a general goodwill, without commitment.
But before he could speak, he was forestalled. ‘I cannot live forever,’ said the Rajah, with a swift return to his former manner. It was something which Richard had noted of late – the way in which the old man’s mood could change, within the course of a few moments, from dejection to joy, and back again. ‘I want peace – I want to see the future clearly, and to be content with it … I need someone to help me, a strong man, a young man. During the past weeks, I have come to hope that this young man would be yourself.’
‘I should feel most honoured–’ began Richard.
‘I thought that you had been sent by the Lord Buddha to help us,’ said the Rajah, almost bad-temperedly. ‘Surely you wish to stay in Makassang? And if not, what can persuade you to stay? Is it money? You may have all that you wish … Is it a matter of honours? There need be no limit to them. What is it that you are seeking?’
The swift questions, irritably thrown in his direction, could not be answered with any particularity; indeed, Richard scarcely knew the answers, and he could not venture upon such seas without careful preparation. ‘I need no honours,’ he said slowly. ‘I need no money, either.’
‘What then?’
‘Your Highness, please believe me when I say that I have planned nothing.’
‘But you are planning to leave?’
‘I have planned nothing,’ Richard repeated. He dared not show his impatience, but he made his tone as firm as possible. ‘I am happy here, and that is enough for the moment. But–’ he hesitated, uncertain how much involvement in argument he should risk, ‘–I am surprised that you should think that you need more help from me. The country is quiet and orderly. You have your own advisers. Amin Bulong, Colonel Kedah–’ he gestured. ‘They are your strong men, surely?’
‘The country is not quiet,’ said the Rajah peevishly. ‘It is never quiet. It was not quiet in my father’s time, nor in his father’s either. We are always being plagued by rebellion from within, or by attacks from outside. You know that all the islands hereabouts are Dutch. They have proved cruel rulers, cruel and grasping; I would as soon be ruled by crocodiles … The Dutch would have taken Makassang too, if they could but we have been strong in the past, and there are such elements as headhunters and pirates to discourage colonists. However, they will always have envious eyes … If anyone is to take us,’ said the Rajah more thoughtfully, ‘I would wish it to be your own country. But that is because of Andrew Farthing’s goodness … Amin Bulong sits at the head of my Council of State,’ he said, going off on another of his bewildering tangents. ‘But he is old. I am old, too. Ihave no son to follow me. Sunara, being a woman, cannot rule in her own right. Kedah is a brave soldier – nothing else. Makassang needs more than this. And I need more. I need a man to stand at my right hand. A young man whom I can trust. A young man bound to me by ties that go beyond paid service, or self-interest.’
He ceased, and there was silence, while the punkahs creaked and swung to and fro in the heavy air. Richard did not know what to say. If the Rajah were proposing anything at all, he was proposing a mighty change in Richard’s circumstances; not only that he should stay in Makassang forever, but even that he might come to rule the country when the Rajah had gone. How else to interpret the words: ‘I have no son to follow me’? And the talk of Sunara? And the talk of England? … With a sense of growing confinement, unwilling to commit himself to so bizarre a future, Richard sought, once more, to temporize.
‘I will give thought to it, your Highness. Much thought. But I am scarcely fitted–’
‘There are men,’ said the Raja
h, breaking in, ‘who can grow to be giants, if need be, in order to fulfil their destiny. You are such a man …’ Then he looked up suddenly, almost suspiciously. ‘You said that the country is quiet and peaceful. Yet you know that the Anapuri once ruled here, and would do so again, if they could. And I–’ his eyes sparked with brief cruelty, ‘–I would hang them all from their own pagoda, if I could … Have you heard no rumours?’
‘None, your Highness. Rumours of what?’
‘Of Black Harris.’
‘How can that be?’
‘It is bazaar talk,’ said the Rajah. ‘It may be true, it may be false. But they are saying that he is not dead, after all. They are saying that he slipped ashore after the battle, and took refuge.’
‘I saw him killed.’
‘You saw him fall. He has been seen since, by many people.’
‘Seen?’ Richard was astonished. ‘Seen where?’
‘At places a hundred miles apart,’ answered the Rajah ironically, ‘on the same day at the same hour. But there is much talk in the bazaars, none the less. They say also that some of the Mystic’s guns have disappeared.’
‘But she was wrecked, and burnt.’
‘Do guns burn?’
Richard shrugged, at a loss for an answer. He could not credit any of this, nor see its purpose either; he guessed only that it was part of a general subterfuge, to persuade him that there was still danger, and thus to keep him in Makassang. But he could not say so, in so many words; though the old man was amiable enough, yet there were risks involved even in implied contradiction, risks which no prospective son-in-law in his senses would choose to run … Observing that the Rajah had risen to his feet, to mark the end of the audience, Richard followed suit.
‘Well, we have talked enough,’ said the Rajah, with a return to his cheerful mood. ‘Let the rest of the day be given to pleasure, and to happiness … The Princess will be joining us at the conclusion of the banquet.’
The White Rajah (1961) Page 20
