“You’re the rajah’s chief huntsman; I have nothing to fear.”
“Wait here and keep your eyes peeled,” Yanez instructed his men. “If I miss, open fire. Now then, sir, lead on.”
“Follow me, sahib.”
They walked in silence, moving cautiously among the rubber trees, eyes wide open, ears straining to catch the slightest sound.
A deep silence reigned over the forest. The breeze had stopped and the leaves were still; even the bighana, it seemed, had yet to rise from their slumber.
After they had gone three hundred paces, the headman stopped suddenly.
“Let me listen for a moment,” he whispered to Yanez. “The crocodile pond is just a few paces that way.”
“Do you hear anything?” asked the Portuguese after a minute had passed.
“Heavy breathing. The rhinoceros must be behind that bush.”
“It’s not hungry tonight then?”
“It may have had a large meal this morning.”
“I’ll flush it out.”
He looked around, spied a large broken branch, picked it up and hurled it into the bush. A hoarse whistle sounded from behind it followed by a loud grunt.
“It’s awake,” whispered Yanez, quickly pressing the rifle butt against his shoulder.
Even the old Indian had leveled his carbine and pointed it at the bushes.
“Aim for its eyes,” said Yanez.
They waited, stone still, ready to fire at the first glimpse of the beast; a minute passed and then another, but the rhino did not stir. Suddenly the bush began to shake and rustle, then the branches parted and a large bellowing rhinoceros stepped into the clearing before them.
Three shots tore through the air, followed by a loud cry from the elderly headman.
“Run, sahib!”
Barely scratched by those three bullets the rhino charged with fury. The Portuguese turned and ran back to where the Sikhs and Malays had been waiting. Fortunately, the forest was thick about them and slowed the beast enough to allow the two men to reach the hunting party.
“My horse!” shouted Yanez.
A Sikh promptly brought him the black stallion and the Portuguese leapt into the saddle.
The Sikhs and Malays, still mounted upon their steeds, spying the rhino charging through the banyan trees, fired a volley, but before they could reload, their horses bolted in among the trees, too frightened to hold their ground.
The rajah’s official had been the first to flee, not even bothering to fire a shot. Yanez’s horse had leapt to the right and narrowly escaped a blow from the angry beast, while the headman had scrambled up to safety in the branches of a nearby tree.
Enraged by its wounds, the rhino barreled forward another three hundred paces, then abruptly turned about and charged towards where it had come from, snorting and bellowing angrily.
Yanez alone remained before it, his horse suddenly neighing in pain, bucking and kicking furiously to throw off its rider. Knees pressed tightly against his mount, the Portuguese held firm, pulling at its bridle as he tried to spur it forward.
“Go!” he shouted. “Go you wretched beast!”
But no matter how hard he kicked or pulled the horse refused to run. The rhinoceros was drawing nearer, barreling towards them, its head low, its horn level, determined to impale its prey.
Cold sweat began to bead upon Yanez’ brow. This was the trap he had been expecting; the Greek had set it to snap in the moment of gravest danger. He looked up; a thick branch hung just a metre above his head.
“Thank heavens!” he exclaimed, slinging his carbine about his shoulder.
He had barely uttered those words when the rhino drove its horn into the stallion’s stomach and lifted horse and rider into the air. The steed alone came crashing to the ground, for Yanez had grabbed onto the branch and pulled himself to safety.
The horse, gutted with one blow, tried once more to stand, only to fall back on its side with a last stifled neigh.
Gripped with rage, the rhinoceros drove its horn into the horse’s stomach, then began to trample the steed beneath its hooves, its angry bellows drowning out the crack and snap of bones.
Yanez, safe atop the branch, quickly reloaded his rifle. Several gunshots thundered from nearby, he looked up and spied the six Malays riding past in a frenzied gallop about a hundred and fifty paces from the tree, barely able to control their horses.
He turned his eyes back towards the rhino, pressed his legs about the branch and pointed his rifle. The beast had not moved from the stallion, its heavy legs grinding it into a pulp.
Yanez fired. A bullet struck the beast just above its left eye and calmed it for an instant. It looked up, its lips parted in surprise. Yanez fired into its mouth; the bullet struck it in the palate and drove into its brain. It was a mortal wound, but the rhino did not fall. It began to gallop about the trees with dizzying speed, knocking several smaller ones to the ground.
“By Jupiter!” muttered Yanez, reloading the weapon. “I’m going to need a cannon to take it down.”
He waited for the rhinoceros to pass beneath the tree once more then fired again, his bullets striking the beast in the back of its neck and head. The beast reared up on its hind legs, then fell heavily to the ground, and lay there stone still.
“Five bullets to take it down!” exclaimed Yanez as he slid down the trunk. “Much harder than I anticipated. Now then, let’s see what Teotokris was playing at.”
He cautiously walked toward the rhinoceros, and once assured it was dead, turned his attention to the rajah’s horse. The once great steed was almost unrecognizable. Blood streamed from its crushed body; its heart, lungs, liver, and intestines were strewn about it, torn to pieces by the rhino’s horn.
“Poor thing,” muttered Yanez. “You did not deserve such a fate.”
He studied it for a moment, then unfastened the girth and removed the saddle.
“The scoundrels!” he exclaimed.
Three small steel spikes, each a centimetre long, had been embedded into the lining.
No wonder it was bucking madly, thought the Portuguese. As soon as I jumped into the saddle, those spikes drove into its flesh.
Teotokris had struck from his sickbed and the blow had almost been lethal.
“Brilliant,” he conceded. “The rajah’s chief huntsman, gored by a rhino, no one would have questioned it.”
The official was likely in league with the Greek, he would have to be very careful.
He calmly loaded his rifle then fired a couple of shots into the air. The retort had not yet faded beneath the trees when he spied his Malays advancing towards him, the rajah’s official following a few paces behind them.
“Problem solved,” said Yanez, a note of irony in his voice, his eyes fixed on the Indian. “Not as difficult as I imagined.”
The official remained silent for a moment, looking at him with amazement.
“It’s dead,” he said.
“It’s dead,” confirmed Yanez.
“You’re the greatest hunter in all of India.”
“Most likely.”
“The rajah will be pleased.”
“I hope so.”
“I’ll have the Sikhs cut off its horn; you can present it to the rajah as a gift.”
“You can present it to him in my stead. He’ll happily reward you.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
“Have someone bring me another horse. See if you can find one with a better temperament.”
The official pretended not to hear. The Sikhs had ridden up at that moment accompanied by the headman, and he beckoned to one of them to dismount and give his horse to the chief huntsman.
Yanez was about to climb into the saddle when the Sikhs suddenly grew nervous and cried out:
“A bhainsa! A bhainsa!”
Yanez heard the bushes rustling behind him and quickly turned about.
A large beast that at first glance looked like an Indian buffalo had suddenly emerged from the veget
ation.
“Fire! he thundered.
The six Malays fired simultaneously.
“No!” shouted the headman. “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
It was too late. The beast, struck by five or six bullets dropped to the grass without a sound.
“A curse upon these bloody foreigners!” shouted the headman, as he rushed towards the dying beast and raised his arms to the heavens. “They’ve killed our mother cow!”
“What?” asked Yanez.
“You’ve killed our mother cow,” repeated the headman. “You’ve doomed us all.”
“Is this a ploy for money old man?” said Yanez. “Fine, I’ll pay you for your beast.”
“One does not merely pay for a cow,” replied the rajah’s official.
“You can all go to hell!” shouted Yanez, finally losing patience.
“I’m afraid, my lord, the rajah will have to decide upon this matter. In Assam as in all of India, cows are sacred; no one is permitted to kill them.”
“Then why did your men shout ‘bhainsa’? I may not speak Hindi but I know that word. A bhainsa is a jungle buffalo, a powerful beast that’s every bit as dangerous as a rhinoceros. I ask you again, why did your men shout that word?”
“An easy mistake to make at night.”
“Then the blame lies with them.”
“You’re the one who fired the bullets.”
While they were exchanging those words, the headman continued to circle the cow, his despair mounting with each step.
“Murderers! Assassins!” he thundered, glaring at Yanez and his men. “May Brahma curse you all your days! May—”
“Enough you ungrateful wretch!” shouted the Portuguese. “I just risked my life against that rhino for you and your village, and I will not tolerate further insults. Utter another word and I’ll have my men beat you.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” the official said sternly.
“Who’s going to stop me?” asked Yanez. “You?”
“Yes. I represent the rajah.”
“I’m an English Lord, you’re nothing more than a court clerk, even my servants outrank you.”
“My lord!”
“Go to hell,” said Yanez, climbing onto his horse.
He turned towards the Malays who were eyeing the Sikhs fiercely, ready to charge at them at the first suspicious movement.
“Let’s go back to the city,” he said. “I’ve had enough of this.”
“My lord,” said the officer, “the elephants are waiting.”
“Take them back yourself, I have no need of them.”
He ordered the Malay who had given him his horse to mount behind him, then galloped off, while the headman shouted after them:
“Damned foreigners! May Brahma strike you all down!”
When they emerged from the forest, the small band of men headed in among the plantations and headed for Guwahati.
It was still dark when they reached the palace. The guards immediately opened the gates and led them into the vast courtyard. Squires and servants were sleeping beneath the spacious porticoes, stretched out upon simple mats. Yanez had the guards awaken a pair of squires, entrusted them with the horses, then walked up to his quarters, awakening the khansama as he entered.
“You, sir!” exclaimed the servant, rubbing his eyes.
“You didn’t expect me back so soon?”
“No, sir. Have you already killed the rhino?”
“With three shots from my carbine. Bring a bottle and a few cigarettes to my room and wait for me, I have need of some information.”
“Yes, sahib.”
Yanez put away his carbine, dismissed his Malays, then retired to his room where the khansama had already lit the lamp and set the table with a bottle of gin and a packet of beedis - thin, Indian cigarettes filled with tobacco flake and wrapped in a katmauli leaf tied with a string at one end.
He drained a glass of gin then stretched out in a chair and quickly related all that had happened during the hunt, ending with the killing of the cow.
“What do you make of all that?”
“It’s a serious thing, my lord,” the khansama replied worriedly. “Cows are sacred; whoever kills one is severely punished.”
“The Sikhs had shouted that it was a bhainsa and I ordered my men to fire without getting a good look at it.”
The khansama shook his head.
“Serious business, my lord! Serious business!” he said
“They should have kept it in the village.”
“You’re right, my lord, but it was still your mistake.”
“That headman is a scoundrel. Did I not kill the rhino that had been devastating his crops? The Greek is behind all this! He must be! Who else would have had those iron spikes stitched into the saddle.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” replied the khansama. “He hates you.”
“I know. He wants revenge for that blow I dealt him.”
“Of course, my lord. You almost killed him.”
“This was all a plot. First that rhino, then that blasted cow. I’d wager that village headman must have been in on it from the beginning.”
“You’re probably right, my lord.”
“By Jupiter! I’ve had enough of all this subterfuge. I’m going to rest and if the rajah sends one of his minions here before noon, tell him I’m asleep and I do not wish to be disturbed. If they insist, launch my Malays at them. It’s time to show that dog of a Greek and the wretched drunk he serves, that British lords do not let themselves be pushed around. That is all, khansama.”
Once the servant had left the room he blew out the lamp, lay down on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly.
Chapter 22
The Trial
HE WAS DREAMING of Surama, seated on the rajah’s throne, dressed in a blue dhoti embroidered with diamonds from Gujarat and Visapur, when three loud knocks at his bedroom door, made him spring to his feet.
“Enter, by Jupiter!” he thundered. “What is it?”
The khansama stepped into the room.
“It’s noon, my lord,” he said apologetically.
“Ah, fine then. My apologies. I’d forgotten the instructions I gave you last night. Has anyone asked for me?”
“Several times, sir, one of the rajah’s officials came back repeatedly and insisted on seeing you.”
“Did my men deal with him?”
“They threw him down the stairs.”
“Let’s hope he broke a leg at least.”
“I think he may have bruised his ribs.”
“That’ll do,” said Yanez. “Has the hunting party returned yet?”
“They arrived this morning, shortly after sunrise.”
“Scoundrels! Who knows what lies they’ve already spread about me. Bah! I won’t go down without a fight. It’s time to show the rajah and that wretched Greek just how tough an English lord can be.”
The thought of the hunt appeared to have put him in ill-humour, he seemed agitated, almost to the point of anger. He washed his face, put on fresh clothes, instructed the Malays to wait for him in the apartment until his return, and left.
When he reached the Hall of Audiences he found a guard standing watch before the door.
“Tell the rajah I wish to see him,” he commanded.
He entered the grand hall and sat down on one of the sofas lining the marble walls, drew a cigarette from his pocket and began to smoke.
Less than a minute later, the silk curtains behind the throne parted and the rajah stepped into the room.
“Good morning, Highness,” said Yanez, casting away his cigarette and walking to the dais.
“I summoned you three times,” replied the rajah, his voice harder than usual.
“I was sleeping,” Yanez said dryly. “I was exhausted from the hunt.”
“I received the rhino horn this morning. That must have been quite a large beast you killed, my lord.”
“A large ornery beast, Highness.”
&n
bsp; “Rhinos are always in a foul mood.”
“As are some of your men.”
“Pardon, my lord?” asked the rajah, feigning astonishment.
“You have a few scoundrels at court, Highness.”
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“Someone tried to kill me,” Yanez said angrily. “During the hunt.”
“How?”
“That horse you sent me. Someone tampered with its saddle. Steel spikes had been sewn into the lining so they’d pierce the beast’s flesh the moment I sat upon it. The poor thing went mad with pain just as the rhino attacked. If it hadn’t been for a branch hanging just above my head, I wouldn’t be standing before you now.”
“I’ll have the culprit found and punished,” said the rajah. “It may not be easy though, if someone were indeed plotting to take your life, it’s likely he covered his tracks. There is another matter, however, that we need to discuss. This morning the village headman requested an audience with me. I thought he’d come to praise you, but instead I learned that you and your men killed their most precious cow.”
“I believed in good faith that it was a bhainsa.”
“He claims otherwise and has proposed a challenge.”
“A challenge!” snapped Yanez. “Pistols at ten paces? Have him come whenever he wishes; I’ll put a bullet in his skull.”
“I doubt you’d be so cruel,” smiled the rajah. “He wants you to prove that what you claim is true.”
“What? He thinks he’s right?”
“Without question.”
“Where is that scoundrel?”
The prince took up a silver mallet from a nearby shelf and struck a bronze disc that hung on the wall three times. Immediately the door to the magnificent hall opened and the headman entered, accompanied by the official and the six Sikhs who had witnessed the cow’s demise.
Yanez frowned.
The Greek’s minions, he thought. What do they have in store for me now?
The rajah had sat down on his throne and was reclining against a large crimson silk cushion embroidered with gold. A hand had emerged from the curtains and given him a beautiful blue crystal narghile with a long red leather hose and an ivory mouthpiece.
The headman approached the dais and bowed deeply in greeting, but the rajah barely acknowledged him.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 23
