The White Rajah (1961)

by Monsarrat, Nicholas

  ‘Hold your tongue!’ The old man turned to Richard. ‘The time has come for truth,’ he said, in a voice entirely changed. It was easy to divine that he had been thinking, and that his thoughts had been as swift as change itself. ‘If you have secrets, you may tell them. If you have news for me, I will hear it. That is the purpose of this audience. But do not trifle any longer. You have enjoyed your play-acting. Now tell me of the ship.’

  Richard set down his glass. For the first time, he felt ready to confront his enemies with the facts. It was true, as the Rajah had said, that he had enjoyed his play-acting; and true also that the moment of reality was at hand. For Kedah, he felt nothing save sworn hatred; but looking at the Rajah, he could almost feel pity for an old man whose star was waning. It was certain that he had brought it upon himself. But who could hold a grudge against cruelty which turned to fear, against strength which grew feeble? All one must do was to guard against surprise or treachery – and in that resolve, he felt as strong as he had ever been.

  It was, on sober second thoughts, no occasion for pity, nor for the luxury of forgiveness. It was time to take a step into the inexorable future.

  ‘I will be brief,’ said Richard, and his tone was crisp and businesslike. ‘I went out to visit the great ship, for reasons which must be clear to you. In any case, they are clear enough to me. I will not beg for friends in Makassang; I do not have to, I will find others – and I have found them today. The ship is called the Warrior; she comes from my country, as you have discovered; she is the greatest ship in the world – she is worth a whole navy in herself. There are two others in company, gunboats; altogether it is the strongest fleet in these seas, by far. I have seen the guns, as close as I am to your Highness; they are the most powerful afloat.’ Richard paused, conscious that he was not in fact being brief, as he had promised, but somewhat garrulous; though judging by his hearers’ expressions, his small touches of detail were not being wasted. ‘I took the barge,’ he concluded, ‘and went on board.’

  ‘How were you received?’ asked the Rajah.

  ‘How should I be received? Your Highness must have heard the saluting guns. I was received with honour. There was an added reason for this. The Warrior carries an English admiral. He is my brother.’

  Kedah’s face assumed its customary sneer. ‘I am sure of it. All white men are brothers.’

  Richard shook his head. ‘Your bitterness is wasted – save it for your friends. I mean, he is in truth my brother – my father’s son.’

  After an astonished moment: ‘Then you sent for him!’ Kedah burst out. ‘This was a trick! You knew the ships were coming to Makassang!’

  ‘Not so,’ said Richard. ‘I was as surprised as you are now. The first I knew of it was when he stepped forward, and clasped my hand. I have no spies – how could I guess who commanded the ship?’

  The Rajah, whose devious mind was playing freely with this fresh news, said: ‘Whether you knew it or not, is no great matter. The fact is that your brother is here, with his fleet.’ There was some alarm in the old man’s voice, though not as much, thought Richard grimly, as there would be presently. ‘Myself, I do not believe in such chance happenings …’ His old eyes, narrowing their glance, bored into Richard’s face. ‘You say that you did not know of his coming. But did he know that you were here?’

  ‘Yes, your Highness.’

  ‘And he came – to do what?’

  It was the crucial question. Richard would have liked to have answered: He came to deliver me from such as you, and Kedah. But there were larger affairs at stake, a richer hand to be played; it was a moment when the plain truth was good enough to use.

  ‘Your Highness, it is a greater matter than myself. He had heard that I was here, certainly. But his larger news was of Makassang itself. I will be plain. He had heard of the struggle with the Anapuri and the Land-Dyaks, which can always break out again. He had heard that the future of the rule was uncertain, that I was in disfavour, that this man’ – he indicated Colonel Kedah – ‘was plotting to seize power, either now or later.’ And as Kedah sought to intervene: ‘Be quiet,’ said Richard carelessly. ‘I have not finished … I must tell you that my brother, with his ships, represents the Queen of England. England is afraid that, if the rule of Makassang is weak, some other nation – likely to be the Dutch – will take advantage of that, and seize the kingdom for its own profit.’

  ‘So?’ inquired the Rajah, though from his face he knew the answer.

  ‘So he has come on a mission.’ When the silence had stretched a long time, he said: ‘His mission is to take this country for the Queen of England, and to choose some great man to rule it for her.’

  The Rajah said, angrily: ‘A great man rules here already.’ After another long silence, Richard answered: ‘But it is true that the rule is weakened.’

  Kedah came out of his furious silence, as if a trap had been sprung, and he had jumped for his life. ‘I am not plotting to seize power,’ he said roughly. ‘It is a lie! You are trying to slander me before his Highness!’

  The time had come for this aspect of truth, also. ‘You plotted to leave me standing alone,’ Richard told him, with equal force, ‘and then perhaps to kill me when I was friendless. You have divided the kingdom, and you hope to seize power out of it. You may succeed, for a day or a week. But you forget that there are other eyes watching. In the end, you will find that there is nothing to seize.’

  ‘We must fight,’ said the Rajah.

  ‘We cannot,’ answered Richard. ‘This is not the Anapuri, with spears and knives. It is not the Dutch, with a few soldiers and settlers. It is the might of England, and a thousand men with modern arms.’

  ‘They are determined?’

  ‘They will not let Makassang fall to anyone but themselves.’

  ‘We must still fight,’ declared Kedah, echoing the Rajah’s words.

  ‘You fight,’ said Richard contemptuously. ‘You are the Commander-in-Chief.’

  ‘You are afraid!’

  ‘I am certainly afraid,’ answered Richard, ‘of eight-inch guns and armour-plated ships. If you are so brave, go ahead and fight! Sink them with your spears! I will hold your tunic while you do it.’

  ‘Coward’s talk!’

  ‘If you had not been so quick to divide one man against his brother, Makassang would be stronger today, and no one would wish to seize it for themselves.’

  Once again, the Rajah had been thinking his swift and devious thoughts; once again, he arrived at a swift answer, the answer of expedience.

  ‘If we cannot fight, then we must talk, and delay.’ He was speaking to Richard. ‘Your brother, Tunku – he is not your enemy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He loves you?’

  ‘Yes, your Highness. But he is a determined man, and he speaks and acts for England.’

  ‘What is his intention, now?’

  ‘He comes ashore tomorrow, to eat with me.’

  ‘You must talk to him. Find out his plans. Even if England took this island for herself, I might still rule.’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘It has been done elsewhere.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When does he come ashore?’ asked Kedah.

  ‘At noon.’ Catching a certain expression in Kedah’s eye, Richard continued forcefully: ‘No, Kedah – there will be no treachery! He is not to be killed, or poisoned, or ambushed, or taken prisoner. If any harm befell him, this whole country would be put to fire and sword, within half a day. And there would be one man, above all other men, who would hang from the highest yardarm of the Warrior. Yourself! I have made sure of that.’

  ‘Will you talk, on my behalf?’ asked the Rajah. ‘So that we may find agreement?’

  ‘Yes, your Highness. I will do my best. But I have two conditions.’

  ‘Name them.’

  ‘My friend Amin Sang is still imprisoned.’

  ‘He is freed.’ The Rajah turned briefly to Colonel Kedah. ‘See that this is done.�
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  ‘Your Highness–’ began Kedah, embarrassed for the first time.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It may not be possible to free him immediately.’

  ‘You damned dog!’ shouted Richard. ‘Is he dead already?’

  ‘No, he is not dead.’

  The Rajah rounded on Kedah again, fiercely alert. ‘What then? Speak! Was he tortured?’

  ‘Your Highness, he was – questioned.’

  ‘Fool!’ shouted the Rajah. ‘I said only to imprison him!’

  ‘Your Highness, he threatened you with arms, when he was drunk–’

  ‘You say so … But if he dies–’

  ‘He will not die,’ said Richard, ‘if he is well cared for. Is that not so?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kedah.

  ‘See to it,’ said the Rajah. ‘On your life …’ He turned back to Richard. ‘You had two wishes. One is the life of your friend. What is the other?’

  ‘Safe conduct for my brother.’

  ‘It is promised.’

  ‘Your Highness, I must be certain of this. Otherwise, we are all ruined. I must have, at the very least, a guard of honour of two hundred men, chosen from the Royal Regiment by Captain Paratang himself.’

  ‘Two hundred!’ exclaimed Kedah. ‘The Rajah himself does not have so many.’

  ‘This is a stranger, as well as a great man,’ answered Richard. ‘Two hundred trusted men are not too many, when we think of what is at stake.’

  ‘I agree.’ The Rajah stood up, ending the audience; suddenly he was an old man, exhausted within a short space like other old men; bereft of strength, clinging to power at the will of strangers. ‘See to it, Tunku,’ he said to Richard. ‘Talk to your brother – discover what is in his mind. He will not find me too stubborn … Nor too weak … After all, the dynasty of Satsang has loyal followers … My father was loved and feared …’ He was wandering, and he knew it, and pulled himself up. ‘The audience is ended,’ he said formally, and went slowly from the room under a bowed back.

  ‘I will walk with you,’ said Kedah.

  ‘I am armed,’ replied Richard, ‘and I have no hesitation in telling you so.’

  ‘You mistake me,’ said Kedah. ‘I wished to escort you back to your apartments.’

  ‘Exactly so,’ said Richard. ‘And I propose to arrive there in safety.’

  They fell into step, in the long passageway, in the silence of the Sun Palace at midnight. Richard kept his hand on the butt of his pistol, and Kedah must have been aware of it; but no danger threatened from any side, no shadow moved where a shadow should have stood still. Together, two men bound by hatred and fear of treachery, they traversed the dark corridors of the night.

  ‘One thing I do not understand,’ said Kedah presently.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘You said, the English would take possession of the island, and then choose some great man to rule it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Richard.

  ‘What great man is this to be?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Would it be a great man in Makassang, or a great man from England?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Richard again.

  Their footsteps echoed under the archways; the darkness rang with a small hollow dissonance. Kedah, as secret of thought as the night itself, pursued his questioning, his furtive search under the stones of the future.

  ‘Then the ruler might still be the Rajah?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘Or the greatest man in Makassang, after the Rajah?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘Or your brother himself?’

  ‘No. My brother has other duties.’

  ‘Then, another great man from England?’

  ‘It is possible,’ said Richard, for the third time. ‘But I do not know. All I know is that I want peace and order for this island, under a wise ruler, and that is what my brother wants also. Who gives it peace and order, is still to be decided.’

  They had come to the end of a long colonnade; one passage led to Richard’s stairway, the other to the barracks and Colonel Kedah’s quarters. They stood still, eyeing each other in the dim light.

  ‘So the chosen ruler,’ Kedah persisted, ‘might be the greatest man in Makassang. It might still be the Rajah.’

  ‘Yes. You have spoken these words before.’

  ‘Or his successor.’

  ‘Yes.’ In the eerie light, Richard felt a prickling sense of danger. It was the last of the night’s hazards, and the greatest. ‘I warn you, Kedah,’ he said suddenly, ‘I will shoot you now if I feel threatened.’

  Kedah laughed, on a low mocking note. It was impossible to tell what was in his mind, save that it could not be well-disposed. ‘You are nervous, Tunku?’

  ‘I am prudent,’ said Richard. ‘If you choose this moment to try to become the greatest man in Makassang, I have a bullet waiting for you.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Kedah, ‘I bid you good night.’

  ‘The same,’ said Richard. ‘But I will watch you turn and walk away.’

  iv

  Behind each guest, three servants stood. There was a senior chamberlain who never moved, but, watching his appointed charge, snapped his fingers discreetly when a goblet or a plate needed replenishing; there was, for each, an under-butler who saw to the wine, and another who saw to the food. There were cooks bringing fresh dishes to the side tables, and other, smaller cooks who removed the food when it was no longer needed. There were punkah-slaves, and men with cool towels to wipe the brows of the guests. There were musicians who played on the pipes and drums, and Durilla, the major-domo, who oversaw the whole meal; and finally John Keston, resplendent in palace livery, who oversaw Durilla.

  There was a fabulous service of gold plate, and the promised filigree goblets from Ethiopia. There was food in delicate abundance – rainbow fish in a transparent mould, a sucking pig which, from the fashion in which it melted upon the tongue, had died for this moment; turtles’ eggs in a sauce of Spanish wine, avocados stuffed with wild rice and Amboina cloves; a salad of the tiny fronds of sea anemones; grapes from far-off Portugal, walnuts steeped in black vinegar, rivers of Javanese wine, golden ewers with scented water and poinsettia petals, for bathing the hands. As a final compliment to the English guests, there was an honest English Stilton cheese rescued from the ruined go-down of the Da Costa brothers … Sunara had been as good as her word. It was a meal to remember.

  ‘You keep some state, Dick!’ declared Admiral Sir Miles Marriott, as he arrived at the top of the Steps of Heaven in the first of three gilded palankeens, accompanied by the two hundred-strong guard of honour, bravely decked in their burnished breastplates and scarlet Spahi pantaloons. From that moment forward, neither he, nor Mr Possitter, nor the admiral’s flag-lieutenant, who completed the shore party, ever quite ceased to look as if they had been transplanted to fairyland.

  In accordance with custom, Sunara did not eat with them. ‘The Princess will join us after luncheon,’ said Richard, in explanation. ‘As one of the royal house, she should hear our discussion.’ In the meantime, the only women present were the slave girls who danced briefly while the courses were being changed, drawing discreet side glances from Mr Possitter, and a more candid admiration from the flag-lieutenant, a personable young man who was of an age to give proper attention to this spectacle. As course succeeded course, a pervasive good humour ruled their meeting.

  The talk was general, in vaguer form than that on board the Warrior, though still concerned with the affairs and prospects of Makassang. But it was clear that Miles Marriott had spoken to Mr Possitter, in precise terms and to some purpose; though the latter was not less prim and withdrawn, yet he seemed ready now to listen rather than to lecture, to discover what Richard Marriott had in mind for Makassang, even to hear evidence of his fitness to be a ruler. He sat on Richard’s left hand, a small tidy skeleton at a lavish feast, and in the intervals of eating daintily, peeping sideways at the dancing girls,
and appraising the table appointments which were unsurpassed in their richness, he assimilated the evidence for the disposition of one hundred thousand souls.

  There was one point which Richard Marriott was eager to impress on his guests, even at this stage of their discussion; and that was, the unsuitability of a rigid ‘foreign rule’ for a country such as Makassang.

  ‘I have seen it a thousand times,’ he told them. ‘In these waters, and in the Pacific islands as well. Europeans have a corrupting influence on simpler peoples. They may come with the best intentions, but they introduce unhealthy novelty, they change what should be left unchanged, they turn innocence into evil. It is a horrible thought that our most potent legacy, in many parts of the world, has been venereal disease … I do not claim that we have an island paradise here, but I do say that if you clamp European rule on Makassang, and European customs, and that other European disease which is ingrained superiority, then the country will be utterly spoiled.’

  ‘But all these countries must advance,’ objected Miles. ‘They cannot remain in a past century. If they do, they become a prey to something far worse than British rule, and that is, decay and eventual death.’

  ‘They must advance at their own pace. Certainly we can help them, but if we hurry them – and it is usually done for selfish motives of profit – then we are likely to destroy all that is good.’

  Mr Possitter, busy with birdlike appetite on a dish of shrimps which had come to a resplendent end in hot Madeira wine, looked up inquiringly.

  ‘But you yourself are European,’ he said, ‘and you have had, as I believe, some influence in this country. Has that been harmful?’

  ‘I hope not,’ Richard replied. It was an important question, and he was at pains to answer it fairly. ‘I have tried to learn from this country, as well as to teach. I have tried to promote the best of their customs, and to curb the worst, which are cruelty and corruption. I believe that my rule will–’ he smiled, ‘–would be suited to Makassang, because it would be designed to nourish and help its people, not to turn them into dependants – and certainly not to promote the interests of white traders and rascals.’