It was a relief when the nearly headless survivor from the East Garrison staggered across the causeway, a fearful bearer of fearful news, and once more plunged their small world into bloodshed and horror.
ii
It chanced that both Richard and Amin Sang were at the causeway when the messenger of death stumbled in; they had ridden down together to inspect the garrison, and had planned to spend the night there. During all these days, they were finding each other excellent company; Richard liked the tall young man who was so good a soldier and so firm a friend, and Amin Sang had at least one other strong admirer in the royal household – the boy Adam, who had attached himself to the guard-captain and consumed, as of right, much of his off-duty time. Among other pastimes, Adam was at present being taught the intricacies of ceremonial spear drill, with a miniature (and blunted) weapon, under the disapproving eye of his nurse Manina.
In the late afternoon Richard and Amin Sang had ridden out beyond the fortification with a small troop of horsemen; and it was when they were turning for home that one of the outriders shouted a warning, and pointed northwards. His attention had been caught by the single figure of a man stumbling and staggering his way across the bare plain; the stranger seemed in the last stages of exhaustion, weaving from side to side like a drunkard, his feet stirring slow puffs of yellow dust as he laboured onwards; both his hands were curiously clasped about his head. As Richard and Amin Sang spurred their horses and started towards him, his leaden feet tripped for the last time, and he dropped to the ground, and lay motionless.
When they reached him, and dismounted swiftly, his hands were still clamped rigidly to his temples, and the frightful reason for this immediately became apparent. He had a gross wound on one side of his neck, and his head, in fact, was nearly severed from his body; if he had walked far, with that lolling burden thus held in place, his strength and courage must have been superhuman. It was Amin Sang who reached him first, and who cradled his shoulders and gently turned him over on his back, only to catch his breath at what was then displayed. The whole of the upper part of the man’s body was glistening black with blood from the hacked wound; exuding already a vile stench, he crawled and hummed with blowflies.
‘By God, I know this man!’ said Amin Sang, his voice tense. ‘He is one of the guard from the East Garrison regiment!’ He bent low over the fearful, noisome, gasping figure. ‘What has happened, my brother?’
It took many long minutes to piece together even the outline of the story; the man, who was in the last extremity, could only croak a few words at a time from his gurgling throat, and water, when tipped into his mouth, ran uselessly out from the hole in his neck. But, seeing his captain’s face above him, he was determined not to die before he had delivered his message; the same spirit which had brought him, holding on to his own head, through a hundred miles of jungle, now brightened and possessed the last moments of his life.
He was from the East Garrison (the story came slowly, with agonies of waiting, and agonies of pain also). It was the time of the year when the wagon train of silver, the output from the mines which the garrison safeguarded, was sent on its annual journey down to the Sun Palace. To make this transfer, the East Garrison had been split, as usual; half to act as convoy, half to remain in the garrison camp.
‘I was with those left to guard the camp,’ gasped the man, staring up at Amin Sang as if his salvation depended upon never letting go his glance. ‘We had been alone for two days, with the wagon train on its way, when a ship came into the bay, and anchored … She had heavy guns, and many men, but they took us by a trick … They came ashore under a flag of truce, asking for water, and we agreed, and they landed some twenty water barrels … The barrels were full of guns, and gunpowder too … They breached the walls and stormed the fort at dusk, while we were off our guard.’
Standing behind Amin Sang, Richard said, with a sense of foreboding: ‘Ask him, what ship?’
The dying man heard the question, and answered it, without turning his eyes from Amin Sang.
‘I do not know what ship … It was a white man in command – a small man with a black beard, a shouting man … He took the fort, and began to shoot the prisoners, and then other men – Land-Dyaks from the tribe of Latangi – came out of the forest on a signal, and began to cut us to pieces with axes and spears … I had this wound’ – his head moved loosely, terribly – ‘and I lay for dead two days, and then I escaped, and crawled out, and began this journey.’
His voice ceased, with a rattling gurgle, so that Richard thought he had at last given up the ghost. He had just begun to think, with anger and amazement: It must be my own ship – it must be Black Harris, when the doomed man made a supreme effort, and took up the remnant of his tale.
‘That was many days ago … I kept a count of them, but then I lost it … I passed the wagon train in a clearing … They had been slaughtered, to a man, and the silver taken. The ship’s captain with the beard must have followed them swiftly, as soon as we were put down …’ His eyes suddenly opened very wide, burning with the last of the flame of life. ‘We have lost many brothers, my captain,’ he said clearly, and on the words ‘my captain’ he died, with a final convulsion, and his head fell aside, and his neck parted like a ghastly gaping mouth, opening his wound to the sky.
Amin Sang raised himself slowly, and looked at his men standing in a ring round him. There was a glitter of tears in his eyes, but his face was as if made of stone, and so were the faces of his men, and of Richard Marriott too. None of them were strangers to death; and the picture of this man crawling and stumbling through the jungle, carrying his own orchestra of loud-buzzing blowflies, holding his head on his shoulders like a bloody water pot, was a picture which, though briefly daunting, persuaded them towards one end, and one end alone. That end was not sackcloth and wailing … This their dead comrade had been valiant in agony, because he was a soldier with a report to bring back. When the time came, they must not do less; and if the time were now, so much the better for their resolve.
Amin Sang, brushing a tear from his cheek with unashamed, indifferent fingers, summed up their feeling: ‘This was a brave man, and a brother … Now it is our turn to be brave.’
But it was one thing to make a stern resolve, with a dead comrade lying at one’s feet, and another to come to grips with an enemy whose whereabouts could not be determined, even to the nearest hundred miles. Though Richard and Amin Sang returned with all despatch to the Sun Palace, this proved to be the only swiftly-moving part of the affair. For there was no agreement in counsel; uncertainty, and divided opinion, ruled from the very beginning of their discussions.
The Rajah, whom the theft of a year’s tribute of silver had put into a vile temper, wished to take the offensive at once; and Colonel Kedah, his single eye blazing with a like fury, was of the same opinion. Amin Sang, a dutiful soldier who was also a vengeful man, was inclined to agree with his colonel and his rajah; but he had come to trust Richard’s judgement in all things, and Richard, for once, was wary. Certainly they must attack – so ran Richard’s argument; but where and when, and whom should they fight?
‘Your Highness, we cannot march off into the blue, on the chance of coming up with Black Harris.’ Richard put forward his objections as reasonably as he could, in the face of a climate of opinion which was clearly against him. ‘We do not even know for certain if it is Black Harris who has done this – though it is very likely – and we do not know where he is to be found, in any case. If we attack to the north, he will melt away into the jungle, before we reach the East Garrison camp. Or he will take to his ship again, and land at our backs. We must wait, until we find out more about him.’
‘Wait?’ repeated the Rajah scornfully. He looked round the small audience chamber, where they were gathered, as if he could not believe his ears. ‘What sort of talk is this? How can we wait, when a whole garrison has been wiped out, and a wagon train of silver stolen? Are we to be the laughing stocks of Makassang?’ He turned his gaze
on Colonel Kedah. ‘What do you think of this plan of waiting?’
Kedah’s tone was as cold as his single eye was hot. ‘I have lost four hundred men,’ he said, staring fixedly at Richard. ‘I am not in the mood to wait. No one could wait, who has a spark of pride in him!’
‘I have a spark of pride,’ said Richard, equally cool. ‘I also have my wits.’ He could not resist a caustic comment. ‘I am sure your Highness realizes that I would welcome employment of any sort. And when it is a matter of fighting Black Harris, that is doubly true.’
The Rajah chose to ignore the main sense of Richard’s remark. ‘Then fight him!’ he commanded. ‘Give him no chance to go free! Seek him out, wherever he is! Destroy him, and recover the wagon train!’
‘In good time, we will do all those things. But we have waited for many months for Harris to show his hand. A few more days, or weeks, will not matter.’ He saw this thing, Richard realized, on a different plane from the others; as well as a sense of caution, inherited from hazardous experience, he had a special feeling about Black Harris – Harris who was his betrayer, his nemesis, the dark mysterious enemy who had roamed the seas round Makassang, or lurked in the interior, refusing to give up his own chance of vengeance. Black Harris was Richard’s own man, his own hated spectre from the villainous past, and this time he was never to escape. They were bound together by chains of loathing and suspicion, forged in blood, linked in treachery; to have such a close enemy was like having someone to cherish, almost to love.
Amin Sang had been watching Richard, intent on his words, and now he made his contribution. ‘What do you suggest, Tunku? That we should send out scouts?’
‘Scouts?’ interrupted the Rajah. ‘We shall be sending out women next!’
‘The guard-captain may be right,’ said Richard. He still kept his tone as reasonable as he could, though his patience was not far from its end. ‘Certainly we should take time to consider what Black Harris’ next move will be. For myself, I am almost sure that I know.’
‘We are all ears,’ said Kedah sarcastically.
‘He will come here,’ said Richard. ‘For the treasure.’
The Rajah gestured impatiently. ‘He has one treasure already. A year’s silver!’ The old man’s voice was strident with spite and anger. ‘What more would he want? He can live like a pirate king for the rest of his days!’
‘He will always want more,’ Richard insisted, ‘and he will come here to get it. Your Highness, I know this man! I know what drives him, and what the scope of his greed is. He will never leave Makassang, while the main prize is still to be taken. That is why he has stayed on here, for more than half a year. The wagon train of silver is one thing – and not a small one, either. But the state treasure, here in the Sun Palace! He would give his life for it!’
‘Would you give your life to stop him?’ asked Colonel Kedah.
Richard had had enough of such transparent insolence. ‘Hold your tongue!’ he snapped, with sudden harsh authority. ‘You forget your position – and mine!’
‘Your position?’ said Kedah, taken aback.
‘I am of royal blood,’ said Richard. ‘A son of the Rajah. I need no army colonel to teach me my business. And when it comes to stopping Black Harris, I am worth more than rank to Makassang, and I have proved it already!’
Kedah, recovering his cold composure, appealed confidently enough to the Rajah. ‘Your Highness, I am sure you will not permit such insulting–’
The Rajah held up his hand for silence, and Richard knew without hearing his next pronouncement that, within the turning of a few words, the Rajah had reversed his position and conceded his status. He needs me, thought Richard, in surprised perception; he needs me, and now he knows it.
‘My son is right,’ said the Rajah, and his voice was icy enough to quell the most rebellious heart. ‘Whoever questions his authority, questions mine.’ He allowed a long moment for the rebuke to sink in, and then he turned to Richard. ‘We will hear you. What is your plan?’
‘That we should wait, as I said.’ Richard spoke now with calm authority; the tide had turned, and in the space of thirty loaded seconds he had ceased to be a toy prince, and was a valued fighting man again. ‘We must find our enemy first, make certain of his position and strength, muster our forces, then work to destroy him.’
‘But if we do not fight Black Harris immediately,’ said the Rajah – and there was now suggestion in his voice, not command, ‘then should we not go against the Land-Dyak village in the interior, and punish them for their part in the storming of the fort? The Latangi tribe have always been the backbone of revolt, and now they have joined in this outrage, like jackals. We could at least execute justice there.’
‘The Latangis are little men,’ answered Richard. ‘In this matter, they are like dolls jerked by a string. We are after bigger – the biggest of all – the man whose hand is on the string – Black Harris. Certainly we should reinforce the West Garrison, to make sure that the ruby mines do not go the way of the silver. But we should not mount any attack, anywhere, at this stage. We should keep watch, and wait for Black Harris to join his ally.’
‘His ally?’ It was Colonel Kedah who put the question, in a voice much subdued. ‘But who is that?’
‘Who else but Selang Aro? There is another man who is not dead …’ Richard did not look directly at Colonel Kedah, or try to outface him further; it was enough to know that the proud, supercilious soldier had, for the moment, been taught the lesson of hierarchy. ‘In due time, these two will join up together, as they did before, and make another attempt on the palace. They still have a ship, don’t forget–’ he laughed, without mirth or pleasure, ‘–my ship, and a good one, with extra guns retrieved from the Mystic. But it is important to know when they do come together, and where.’ He looked towards the Rajah. ‘You have spies, your Highness?’
‘I have spies.’
‘Let them watch the Shwe Dagon. That is the point where this thing will fester, and ripen, and burst out. Then, when we have sighted our enemy, and judged his plans, we can strike – once, for all time.’
They lay in their broad bed between silken sheets, drawing from each other the comforts of love and nearness. Sunara’s head was pillowed in the crook of his arm, and her small body patterned closely to his; it was at such moments of warmth and gentleness that they were most happy, and most glad of each other. But tonight, at this moment, Richard’s thoughts were not of her, and through the taut-muscled frame and the encircling arm she could easily sense this. When presently he sighed, she divined without difficulty that it was not a lover’s sigh. She waited, but since he did not speak she brought her free arm across, and touched him gently on the shoulder, and said: ‘Tell me your thoughts, Richard. You are not easy tonight. Is it Harris still?’
He nodded, to her and to himself, in the darkness. ‘Yes, it is Black Harris, our friend, our enemy … But do not take on my worries, Sunara. I can bear them myself.’
‘If you worry, I worry … For my part, I cannot imagine how he comes to be alive.’
Richard smiled, sardonically. ‘It was my bad aim, and nothing else. I could have sworn I dropped him, but he was only winged, it seems. He must have jumped, not fallen, and swum ashore.’
Her body stiffened within his grasp. ‘I wish he were ten times dead!’
‘You speak like the gallant colonel.’
‘I am not Colonel Kedah!’
He caressed her slim flank. ‘Agreed … Kedah is becoming an enemy, I think. Or at least, a critic. I will not tolerate it! Nor, it seems, will your father.’ He smiled again, in memory of that afternoon’s scene. ‘Your father changed over, and took my side of the argument, within a few moments. It was extraordinary.’
‘Why did he do so?’
‘He saw that I felt insulted, and angry enough to act on impulse. He feared that the next thing I would say to Kedah would be: “Very well – fight Harris yourself!” Your father could not afford that. He needs me, Sunara. It is the same a
s when I first arrived in Makassang … But sometimes I wonder what his real opinion is.’
‘Of you?’ She felt him nod his head. ‘He trusts you, I am sure of that.’
‘Only because he has to.’
‘No, it is more than that. It is a kind of admiration, admiration touched by his own pride … He is becoming old, of course; he changes from day to day; at one time he is happy to lean on you, at another he is jealous of what you have become, of what he has made you. But he trusts you, I know … Are you so sure of what Black Harris will do?’
‘I could not be more sure! I told your father, I know Harris as I know myself. He is greedy, and determined, and he never forgets. And I know him so well because he is the man I might have been, myself.’
‘You could be like Harris? Never say it! He is no more than a pirate!’
‘Exactly so.’
‘But you are different.’
‘I have become different, with your help … But before we met, and before I settled in Makassang, Harris and I might have been twins. We each had a ship, and a fighting crew, and a great hunger for gold, and as much conscience as a shark in the shallows. I agree that many things are changed now, Sunara. He has become worse, and I have become better. But at one time we were the same man.’
‘I do not believe it.’
He chuckled. ‘I would be disappointed if you did … Well, I will do my best to bring him to ruin, in any case. I owe it to myself, because it is an old score which I must pay off, for honour’s sake, and I owe it to you and to your father, for many other reasons.’
The White Rajah (1961) Page 25
