Brace yourself for the worst, he thought as they walked down the hall. The rajah may have been brooding over that play all night. Let’s hope the actors got away.
He descended the steps and entered the throne room. The rajah was already there, reclining upon his throne. Several bottles had been placed on a table nearby and he held a large glass full of a sparkling pale-yellow liquid in his hand.
“Good morning, my lord!” he exclaimed as Yanez entered, followed by the Malays. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“At your service, Highness,” replied Yanez.
“Sit with me, my lord.”
Yanez took a chair and placed it on the dais by the throne.
“My lord,” said the rajah, handing him a glass of champagne, “Drink this. It isn’t poisoned, I assure you. I had the bottle uncorked in front of me and tasted the contents myself.”
“I trust you, Highness,” smiled Yanez. “And I love champagne! To your health!”
He raised his glass and drained it in one shot.
“Now, Highness, what do you want to discuss?”
“Tell me, my lord, how are you getting along with my favorite?”
“Not well.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I don’t know. The Greek disapproves of my presence in your court.”
“I’ve heard you had a disagreement.”
“White men from different nations always quarrel, Highness. I’m British, he’s Greek.”
“It’s more than that. He wants to kill you.”
“Maybe I’ll kill him first.”
“You may have the chance. He asked me to allow you to settle your score by combat. There’s nothing I like more than watching brave men battle for their lives. What should I tell him?”
“I’m ready, Highness.”
“Which weapon have you chosen, my lord?”
“I let him choose. It’s all the same to me.”
“Have you been told where the battle will take place?”
“No, not yet.”
“Teotokris has requested the duel be fought publicly in the grand courtyard. He would like all my courtiers to attend.”
“Very well,” Yanez replied indifferently.
“You have incredible courage, my lord.”
“I’m not afraid of anything, Highness.”
“It’s decided then. I’ll have everyone gather in the courtyard two hours before sunset. My servants will make all the preparations.”
“It’ll be a great show.”
“Let’s hope it’s better than that wretched play we watched last night!” the rajah exclaimed with a frown. “Have you heard that the entire troupe has fled the city?”
“What?” asked Yanez, feigning surprise.
“Gone, the lot of them. I’d wager the poisoner must have been among them.”
“It’s possible,” replied the Portuguese.
“They’ve probably crossed the border by now, but should they ever set foot in my kingdom again, I’ll behead them all, old and young alike. Have another glass of champagne before you go, my lord, it will bolster your courage for this evening’s battle.”
“Thank you, Highness,” said Yanez, accepting the glass the rajah handed him.
He drained it in one shot and rose to his feet.
“My lord,” whispered the rajah, leaning forward, “Do not underestimate Teotokris! He’s a highly skilled fighter and he’ll kill you if you’re not careful. Good luck! I’m expecting quite a battle!”
Yanez bowed and left, but as he emerged from the throne room his look of confidence turned to one of worry, the rajah’s last words weighing heavily upon him.
He slowly walked back to his apartments; the khansama had ordered breakfast brought up to the room and had been awaiting his return.
“I’ll eat later,” said Yanez. “I have more pressing matters on my mind.”
“Anything I can help you with, my lord?” asked the servant.
“Perhaps,” replied the Portuguese. “I’ve heard the favourite is a skilled fighter; have you ever seen him fight a duel?”
“Once a few years back when a thug was received at court. They fought with rumaals.”
“Who won?”
“The favorite, my lord, the thug was no match for him. Had the rajah not granted him his life, he would have been killed there and then.”
“Was Teotokris a thug?”
“No one knows much about his past.”
“I should have expected as much,” said Yanez. “Bah! It wouldn’t be the first time I fought a thug. I’ll be ready. Teotokris will be the one to fall, I assure you. Come, let’s have breakfast.”
“Immediately, my lord,” said the khansama.
Yanez walked into the drawing room and ate with relish. Once he had taken his last mouthful, he drew a few slips of paper from his wallet and began to write. When he had finished, he dismissed the khansama and summoned Kechik.
“Deliver these to Sandokan,” he whispered. “You’ll probably be followed so be careful. If you can’t shake the spies, deliver them to Surama. She’ll find a way to send them to the Tiger of Malaysia.”
“I’ll go tonight, captain,” said the Malay. “It’ll be easier for me to slip away after dark.”
“Go, my friend. See you soon.”
When the Malay had disappeared, the Portuguese stretched out on a couch, lit a cigarette, and began to think, absently watching the rings of smoke as they wafted towards the ceiling.
When the khansama returned three hours later, the Portuguese was asleep, snoring peacefully.
“My lord,” said the servant, “the rajah awaits you.”
“Ah, yes, by the devil!” replied Yanez, stretching his arms. “Mustn’t hold up the show. Is everyone in the courtyard?”
“Yes, my lord. Everyone except you.”
“Bring me a glass of gin. That should help wake me up. Make sure it isn’t poisoned.”
“I’ll open another bottle just to be sure, my lord.”
“Good man! Your deeds will be amply rewarded, my friend.”
He stood up, drained the glass of gin that the khansama had handed him, summoned his Malays and walked down into the large courtyard with a cigarette pressed between his lips as calmly as if he were on his way to a party or grand feast.
A small arena had been constructed, enclosed by a ring of awnings, beneath which sat the rajah and his courtiers. All were dressed in bright-coloured clothes, the women adorned with their finest jewelry. The Greek stood in the centre, next to a small table that bore a scimitar and a rumaal. He was a little paler than usual, but appeared as calm as his opponent.
As the Portuguese entered the spectators rose to their feet, every eye watching him advance with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The rajah, sitting among his ministers, waved in greeting, a smile spreading across his lips.
Yanez saluted the rajah and the crowd with a tip of his hat, motioned to his men to go stand at the far end of the ring then slowly walked towards the Greek.
“Here I am,” he said.
“At last,” Teotokris replied with a smile. “I was beginning to think you’d fled in fear.”
“And miss your last hour on this earth?” said Yanez. “Not a chance. Guns or swords?”
“Neither.”
“How shall we do this then?”
“This is Assam. We’ll fight with Indian weapons. A scimitar for you, a rumaal for me. I believe you’d call it a strangling scarf.”
“A bandit’s weapon,” Yanez said dryly. “You’ve fallen even lower in my estimation; something I did not think was possible. No matter, I was fool enough to let you choose the weapons, now I’ll show you how an English lord deals with men of your ilk.”
“Sir!”
“Call me ‘my lord’,” said Yanez.
“Show me your papers first.”
“I’ll stuff them in your mouth after I’ve slit your throat. You Greeks are all the same, all talk and bluster,” said Yanez.
&nbs
p; “Enough! The rajah is growing impatient!”
“There’s always a short wait before the show, by Jupiter, at least in all the London theatres.”
“Take your scimitar.”
“Gladly! My compliments, it looks like a fine blade. Would you rather I cut off your head or run you through?”
“Enough with this inane banter!”
“It’s a habit, I’m afraid. We Englishmen like to jest.”
“One jest too many, that may very well be your epitaph.”
“Call me, my lord.”
“Enough of this! Time to begin!”
“Yes, yes. Let’s get on with it; I’d like to finish this before dawn. The sooner I dispatch you, the sooner we’ll all be happier at court.”
Yanez cast away his cigarette, picked up the scimitar from the table and slowly took a few steps back, stopping a few feet from the Malays who had been watching that exchange closely, ready to spring to their captain’s defense at the first sign of betrayal.
Teotokris, seething with rage, grabbed the rumaal, went to stand ten paces from his opponent and quickly fashioned one end into a lasso.
Silence fell over the courtyard as all eyes were fixed on the combatants, the rajah and his courtiers almost not daring to breathe.
The Portuguese had raised his scimitar, standing on guard like a swordsman to better protect his neck.
Teotokris wound the end of the rumaal about his left arm then began to spin it over his head like a cowboy preparing to rope a wild mustang.
A thug’s weapon and a gaucho’s style, thought Yanez. The scoundrel has travelled about.
“Shall we begin, my lord?” he asked.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Death will be swift, take one last look at all you leave behind.”
“Pride before a fall, Mr. Teotokris,” replied Yanez. “Pride before a fall.”
“Fitting last words.”
“Are you going to talk me to death or are you merely trying to distract me with all this chatter? Enough, Mr. Teotokris, get on with it.”
The rumaal was spinning faster and faster; the spectators all rose to their feet, sensing the supreme moment was at hand.
Yanez crouched back, waiting for the attack, his eyes fixed on his opponent.
Suddenly the rumaal came hissing through the air; Yanez parried it with his scimitar, then jumped back and cried out in rage. The blade had snapped and fallen to the ground at the touch of that first blow.
“Wretch!” shouted Yanez at the Greek, who was quickly taking in his rumaal to attempt another shot. “Move and you’re dead!”
He had cast away the hilt and drawn one of his pistols from his sash, cocked the hammer and pointed it at Teotokris as his Malays leveled their rifles.
A great cry arose among the spectators at that unexpected turn. Even the rajah appeared displeased; someone had tampered with that scimitar, there was no other explanation.
Teotokris, as pale as a sheet, had remained stone still, his rumaal on the ground. Large drops of sweat beaded along his forehead.
“Give me another scimitar!” shouted Yanez. “We’ll see if he can break another one.”
One of his Malays drew the one that hung from his side and offered it to him.
“Use this, my lord. Made of good Borneo steel. There is none finer.”
The Portuguese grasped the weapon firmly, cast his pistol to the ground and walked to within ten paces of the Greek, barely able to contain his rage.
“You cowardly wretch,” he said coldly, “Is this your idea of an honourable duel?”
“I swear, I had no part in—”
“Spare me your oaths, I do not believe you.”
“Sir!”
“I’m going to carve you into little pieces.”
“You will die!” shouted the Greek.
“Cast your weapon!”
The Greek slowly picked up the rumaal and began to spin it over his head, his eyes fixed on Yanez, waiting for the right moment to strike. The Portuguese did not move, his eyes trained on the lasso.
Suddenly Teotokris cast the rope and jumped to one side, howling loudly to distract his opponent.
Yanez, however, was ready. He saw the lasso descend over his head, but before it could tighten, he severed it in two with a quick swipe of his scimitar. Then he raised his blade and charged, and with a mighty swing struck the Greek in the chest.
Teotokris had jumped back, but could not dodge the blow. He stood there for a moment then fell heavily to the ground, covering his chest with both hands. Blood gushed through the gash in his coat, reddening the white flannel.
A cry from two hundred mouths had greeted the brave tiger slayer’s victory.
“Should I finish him?” asked Yanez, turning to the rajah, who had also risen to his feet.
“I beg you to spare him, my lord,” said the rajah. “As a favour to me.”
“So be it then,” said Yanez.
He gave the scimitar back to the Malay, picked up his pistol, bowed deeply to the rajah and his courtiers then left the courtyard to return to his quarters, the women showering him with a rain of mussaenda flowers they pulled from their hair.
As he walked away escorted by his Malays, the court physician and six servants picked up the Greek, set him on a palanquin and quickly carried him to his quarters.
Teotokris had not uttered a word since his fall, save for a few muttered curses. He appeared more angered by his defeat than by the pain caused by his wound.
“Check it and bind it! Quickly!” he thundered, his eyes turning to the doctor. “It’s little more than a scratch. The dagger I had concealed beneath my coat deflected the blade.”
The doctor carefully removed the Greek’s coat and shirt.
The scimitar had cut a six-inch gash beneath his right breast, but it did not look very deep.
“It’s as you said!” exclaimed the doctor, drawing an object from inside the Greek’s coat pocket. “You owe this your life, sir.”
“The dagger’s hilt?”
“Sliced through. If it hadn’t been for this, you’d be dead now, stabbed through the heart. I saw the blow quite clearly; he intended to kill you.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Teotokris. “How long will it take to heal?”
“You’re stronger than most, sir; you’ll be up and about in two weeks or so.”
“Sailors heal quickly,” said the Greek, forcing a smile. “Patch me up now, hurry.”
The doctor skillfully stitched the wound shut, covered it with a balm, then bandaged the Greek’s chest tightly. He had just finished, when a Sikh officer entered and announced the rajah.
Teotokris frowned.
“Leave us,” he ordered the doctor and servants.
The rajah entered; he had a slight look of worry on his face, but at the sight of his favourite sitting up, he smiled in relief. When all had left, he gestured for the officer to go, then took a chair and sat down at the bedside of his wounded friend.
“How are you, Teotokris?” he asked. “I thought you would have fared much better.”
“So did I, Highness.”
“Is the wound serious?”
“No, Highness. I’ll be back at work within a fortnight, and then I’ll waste no time I assure you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to find out who that English lord really is.”
“You bear that brave hunter an awful grudge.”
“I’ll bear it for as long as I live,” the Greek replied coldly.
“That was a foul trick you played on him.”
“Pardon, Highness?”
“The scimitar’s blade had been cut so it would give way at the first touch.”
“Who dares accuse me of that?”
“I do,” said the rajah.
“Well then, Highness, since it’s you, I confess I had a swordsmith saw the blade.”
The rajah looked at the Greek sternly.
“Why?”
“As a fa
vour to you, Highness,” the Greek replied boldly.
“As a favour to me!?!” exclaimed the rajah.
“Yes, Highness.”
“He’s done nothing to warrant your hatred.”
“He’s plotting against you, Highness, I’m certain of it. Everything he’s done, returning the Shaligram, killing the kala baagh, has just been a ruse to win your trust.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“He’s an Englishman, and they always have ulterior motives. They’ve swarmed over India like a plague; how many once proud kingdoms do they now rule? And what of that Indian princess he brought with him? What’s her part in this? Do not put your trust in him just yet, Highness; we need to learn more about him.”
“He said he came here to kill tigers,” said the rajah.
“You may believe that, but I don’t. I’ve dealt with Englishmen before.”
The rajah fell silent for a moment then began to pace about the wounded man’s bed.
“What should I do?” he asked suddenly, stopping before the Greek whose eyes had followed him closely. “I can’t dismiss him without a good reason. It could cause me great problems with the Governor of Bengal.”
“I wouldn’t advise that either, Highness,” said the Greek.
“Then what should I do?”
“Leave it to me.”
The rajah looked at him suspiciously.
“You’d have him poisoned or murdered in an alley? That would only invite trouble.”
“No, Highness. I have other plans. I ask only that your men keep a close eye on him.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’ll abduct that Indian princess. Once she’s in my hands, I’ll force her to tell me who he is, and what he’s up to.”
“Excellent,” said the rajah. “Proceed. But do not bring her here.”
“I’ll have her taken to my house,” said the Greek. “I’ll go there this very night. Tell everyone that I’m in my apartments at court and that I must not be disturbed, no matter the reason.”
“It shall be done, my friend. Goodnight, get well soon.”
Chapter 13
Surama’s Abduction
FOUR DAYS AFTER the duel between Yanez and Teotokris, late in the afternoon just as the air was beginning to cool, a bizarre looking figure was spotted making his way towards Surama’s doorstep.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 12
