“Ah, there you are, you old rascal,” Yanez said contemptuously. “What do you want?”
“Justice,” said the Indian.
“After I rid your village of that rhino? How ungrateful!”
“You killed our most precious cow! You’ve cursed us all! Its death will do us far more harm than the rhino ever did.”
“You’re an old fool.”
“I’m an Indian who worships Brahma.”
Yanez was going to call the headman a superstitious idiot but caught himself in time and merely glared at the old man in silence.
The rajah leaned forward and studied the two men for a moment.
“What do you want, Kadar?” he said, blowing a smoke ring into the air.
“Justice, rajah.”
“The chief huntsman argues that you have no claim against him.”
“I have witnesses.”
“And what do they say?”
“That the sahib killed our mother cow even though he knew it was not a bhainsa.”
“You’re a lying scoundrel!” shouted Yanez.
“Quiet, my lord,” the rajah said harshly. “Let him speak. You shall have your turn.”
“Fine then, listen to this ingrate.”
“Continue, Kadar,” said the rajah.
“That cow was the mother of our village. We made offerings to Brahma of her milk and ghee, and we prospered. He will not take her murder lightly; he’ll seek vengeance. Our village will fall into misery; we’ll all die of starvation and it’s all because of him.”
“I’ll get you another cow,” Yanez said flatly. “Will that appease Brahma’s wrath?”
“No, it wouldn’t be the same beast.”
“What is it you want then?”
“Your punishment.”
“I did not kill that beast on purpose.”
“You did.”
“That’s a lie!”
“These men bear witness to my claim.”
“It’s true,” said the official who had been in charge of the hunt. “You ordered your men to fire on purpose, I heard you give the command myself.”
“You accuse me as well?”
“As do the Sikhs.”
Yanez struggled to contain his anger. He turned his eyes back towards the throne just as a hand came though the curtain and handed the rajah a glass of gin.
“Highness, do not believe a word of this,” he said. “These scoundrels are lying!”
The rajah drained the glass then fixed his eyes on the Portuguese.
“Eight men have accused you, my lord,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “According to our laws, I must give greater weight to their claim because they greatly outnumber you.”
“My men will corroborate my story.”
“Servants cannot testify against warriors. They are of lower caste.”
“What should I do then?”
“Confess that you killed the cow and accept the consequences.”
“And what are the consequences?”
“The crime is a serious one. If you were one of my subjects, my lord, and found guilty, I’d have you executed, your head crushed by an elephant, as is our custom, but as you are a foreigner, and an English lord, and as I do not desire problems with the Viceroy of Bengal, I regret that I have no other option but to banish you from my kingdom.”
“Highness, I will not confess to a crime I did not commit!”
“I challenge you then!” said the headman.
“Challenge me? To what?”
“A trial by water! We’ll soon see who’s telling the truth!”
“What mad folly is this?”
“It’s an old custom for settling a dispute,” said the rajah. “Two poles are erected in the river a few metres from shore. The claimants dive to the bottom, grasp onto the poll and stay underwater for as long as they can. The first to surface loses.”
“I see,” said Yanez. He looked the old man up and down then added coldly, “When?”
“Tomorrow morning, sahib, if you don’t mind,” replied the headman.
“That’s fine. I’ll prove to the rajah that your claim is nothing but lies.”
“If he loses, he’ll receive fifty blows of the lash,” said the rajah, gesturing that the audience had come to an end.
Yanez bowed and left, casting a look of scorn upon his accusers and spitting on the official’s red shoes as he passed.
“Another of the Greek’s moves,” he muttered as he climbed the stairs to his quarters. “Bah, he won’t get rid of me that easily.”
The khansama was waiting for him at the door of his small apartment, an anxious look upon his face.
“Well, my lord?” he asked.
“It’s to be a trial by water,” replied Yanez.
“That could prove quite difficult, my lord. The headman grew up along the Brahmaputra and is likely a skilled diver.”
“Bah! I’ve spent half my life at sea; I know Malay fishermen who would kill for lungs like mine. I’ll defeat that old rascal and settle the score with all of them. Now, have lunch brought up. I could do with a good meal.”
He ate heartily, then wrote a note to Surama and instructed Kechik to deliver it. The Greek was proving to be a powerful foe, far more relentless than he had ever imagined; he had to warn Sandokan of this latest development and to be ready if things turned for the worse.
He spent the evening chatting with his men and went to bed early so as to be well rested for the trial early the next morning. Confident of victory, he slept soundly, trusting in himself, and in that lucky star of his that never seemed to abandon him.
The clock on the palace clock tower had just struck five, when the khansama woke him up and brought him his morning tea.
“My lord,” said the loyal servant, “the headman, the rajah’s judges and the witnesses have already left for the Brahmaputra. There’s an elephant waiting for you in the square below.”
“The scoundrels are anxious to see me drown!” said Yanez. “Bah, I’ll give them a show! In a couple of hours either that wretched old headman will be getting a taste of the lash, or I’ll be traveling to the border of Bengal. Bring me a large glass of gin, khansama, to get my blood flowing. Any word of the favorite?”
“He won’t be attending as far as I know, though I’ve heard he’s risen from his bed and is getting closer to a full recovery.”
“I should have expected as much. The next time we duel, I’ll use my carbine instead of my scimitar. A few copper tipped bullets will put an end to him once and for all.”
He drained the cup of tea and the glass of gin that the khansama had brought him and went downstairs. Five Malays awaited him in the square before the marble steps, Kechik having already left for Surama’s villa.
An elephant, richly caparisoned with a red velvet saddle cloth and a white domed howdah with golden arabesques, stood waiting to take him to the river.
“Let’s go, mahout,” he said as he climbed the rope ladder and took his place in the howdah. “Full speed.”
The Malays had quickly followed, sitting down on either side of him.
“My friends,” he said, “The stakes are high today; one wrong move and this game of ours will end. Keep your guard up and your eyes open, but do not attack unless I give the signal, no matter what happens. Understood?”
“Understood,” the men replied in unison.
The elephant set off. As it was still early, the streets were deserted and the great beast quickly reached the river.
The trial was to have been conducted in private and the rajah had ordered a small enclosure constructed during the night, a semi-circular bamboo wall that enclosed a small tract of water.
Several courtiers and officials had already gathered by the riverbank. The village headman was chatting with the three judges who were sitting on a mat upon a raised platform. Two poles had been driven into the riverbed, about two metres apart, where the water was deep.
At the arrival of the chief huntsman, the crowd fell silent, eve
ry eye turning towards him to take his measure. But if they had expected to see worry or fear in his face, they were disappointed; Yanez was as calm as ever.
“Here I am, you old rascal!” he said, stepping into the enclosure and halting before the Indian. “Perhaps you were hoping I wouldn’t come.”
“No,” Kadar replied dryly.
The three judges rose to their feet and bowed in greeting.
“Are you familiar with the rules, my lord?” asked the eldest.
“The rajah explained them to me,” said Yanez. “And I’m looking forward to it! There’s nothing better than a morning swim to sharpen the appetite.”
“You’ll have to stay underwater for as long as you can.”
“This old brigand will tire long before I do.”
“I doubt it, sahib,” replied Kadar. “I have justice on my side. Brahma will give strength to my lungs.”
“Maybe you should ask him to lend strength to your back; those lashings are going to sting.”
He removed his jacket, trousers and boots, then walked to the riverbank dressed in his shirt and underwear.
“Come, let’s begin.”
“My lord, you have the pole on the right, Kadar has the pole on the left,” said one of the judges. “Once you’ve swum out to it, wait for our signal to commence.”
“Fine,” said Yanez. “A word of warning to the three of you: try to cheat me in any way and I’ll order my men to kill you.”
He turned and strode into the water, Kadar following a few steps behind him. The two men swam out to their poles, grabbed hold of them, and turned to face the judges. The crowd fell silent as they waited for the trial to begin.
Suddenly the eldest judge raised his arm and shouted:
“Down!”
Yanez and Kadar dived simultaneously, swam down a couple of metres and wrapped their legs about the base of the poles. The crowd drew closer to the water’s edge; all seemed anxious.
Thirty seconds passed, then thirty more, but still neither man emerged.
Ten more seconds went by, and then at last, a head shot up from the water. Kadar the headman had lost.
The crowd immediately began to shower him with insults.
“Wretch!”
“Fool!”
“Good for nothing!”
“Go back to your fields!”
“Beaten by a foreigner!”
“What a disgrace!”
Kadar could only cough in reply. His eyes were bloodshot and he struggled to catch his breath.
Yanez’s head shot out of the water three or four seconds later; he gulped for air and smiled when he saw his foe.
“I guess Brahma sided with me,” he said ironically. “Now you’ll get the beating you deserve.”
That said, he turned and swam to the riverbank. The spectators, who had placed their hopes on Kadar, welcomed him with stony silence.
“You won, my lord,” said the eldest judge. “You were right and that wretch will be punished, unless you decide to show him mercy.”
“Mercy? To that lying scoundrel?” said the Portuguese. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
A Malay handed him a towel; he dried himself quickly, donned his clothes and left without another word.
His countrymen still showering him with insults, the old headman had swum back to his pole, afraid of the welcome he would receive when he set foot upon the shore.
“Take me back to the royal palace immediately,” said the Portuguese as he climbed onto the elephant.
Ten minutes later, a guard escorted him into the Hall of Audiences; the rajah was waiting for him, seated on the throne.
“I was informed of your victory,” he said with a smile. “Congratulations! I’m happy you prevailed.”
“Your idea of justice is barbarous, Highness.”
“It’s been that way for thousands of years, my lord, and has always served us well. What may I do for you now? I owe you a reward for killing the rhino.”
“I ask none, Highness. I’m happy to serve. If you’ll excuse me now, I must go and rest. It has been quite a morning.”
“Of course, my lord, of course. I’ll select a gift myself; something grand to apologize for the trial you had to endure.”
Yanez, who had barely been able to stifle his anger, bowed and left.
Chapter 23
The Greek’s Revelations
YANEZ HAD BARELY walked out of the great hall, when the curtains behind the throne parted and Teotokris stepped onto the dais. He had not yet fully healed and it seemed the rajah had not been expecting him, for at the sight of his favourite he started in surprise.
“You!” he exclaimed.
“Good morning, Highness,” said the Greek.
“Out of bed so soon? You risk reopening your wounds.”
“We Greeks are of sturdy stock,” he said, “and I was getting bored of just lying there.”
“So your wounds have healed?”
“All trace of them will be gone in a few days, no more than that.”
“Why did you get up?”
“I wanted to hear what your chief huntsman had to say.”
“Have you not heard? He won!”
“Unfortunately,” said the Greek. “If he’d lost, you’d have been able to rid yourself of that spy once and for all.”
“Spy!” exclaimed the rajah.
“Yes, he’s a spy!” said the Greek. “And I have proof.”
“What!”
“He’s plotting with a princess, from where I cannot say but—”
“What tales are these, Teotokris?” interrupted the rajah, his face suddenly ashen, the cup of gin dropping from his hand and its contents spilling upon the silk blanket that covered his throne.
“Even while lying in bed wounded, my men were not idle, Highness.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had the hunter’s mistress abducted.”
“What?”
“For your safety, Highness,” replied Teotokris.
“And where is she now?”
“In my palace.”
“And you think she’s a spy?”
“And perhaps something more.”
“Continue.”
“She may be conspiring to take your crown.”
The rajah had taken another cup from a table, but dropped it at this new revelation, his eyes widening in surprise.
“What!” he exclaimed, enraged. “You have proof of this? If it’s as you say, I’ll have them all executed!”
“Kill the hunter first.”
“Why?”
“He’s the princess’ close friend and he visited her frequently before you appointed him chief huntsman.”
“Who told you that?”
“A fakir who begs near the mysterious princess’ villa.”
“Is that all the proof you have? We’ll need much more than that. We must be cautious. His lordship may have been sent here by the Viceroy of Bengal to stir up trouble. The British would love an excuse to send in troops and take control of my kingdom.”
“But she’s an Indian princess, not a white woman.”
“I’ll have her banished from my kingdom.”
“She has friends, Highness.”
“Friends? What sort of friends?”
“I don’t know their names or where they’re from. One is a foreign prince, a warrior skilled in battle. He defeated our Sikhs when they attacked the old Krishna pagoda; I received a full report upon their return. All they could say for certain was that he was neither Indian nor European. But Highness, what is clear, is that the princess, his lordship, and this foreign prince are all conspiring against you.”
“And this is the first you speak of it!” the rajah exclaimed angrily.
“I needed to be certain,” replied the Greek.
The rajah drained two more glasses of gin, then rose from the throne and began to pace nervously in front of the dais.
Teotokris leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms and watched him
in silence.
“Well?” the rajah asked at last, “What do you advise me to do?”
“Accuse the chief huntsman directly. If you can’t have him executed, have him imprisoned.”
“And then what?”
“Well… anything can happen in prison,” smiled the Greek.
“What do you mean?”
“If after some time you do not hear from the Viceroy of Bengal, a few drops of poison will resolve this problem quite neatly.”
The rajah looked at him for a moment.
“Wise counsel indeed,” he said. “That would solve all our problems.”
“You’ve made your decision then, Highness?”
“We’ll do as you suggest.”
“Accuse the hunter directly?”
“Yes,” said the rajah.
“When?”
The rajah thought for a moment.
“I’ll give a party tonight in the Hall of Elephants. At the height of festivities, I’ll summon my chief huntsman and confront him directly. You’ll have fifty Sikh guards at the ready, his lordship is always armed and never goes anywhere without his band of brutes.”
“It shall be done, Highness.”
“No one will take the crown from me, not while I’m alive!”
The Greek bowed and disappeared through the curtains; the rajah took up a bottle of gin, sat back on his throne, and began to drink.
***
While Teotokris was beginning his preparations, Yanez, unaware of the plot against him, was having breakfast with the khansama and his Malays.
Despite the Greek’s machinations, he was confident he would soon triumph, the rhino hunt and the water trial appearing to have put him back in the rajah’s favour.
The lack of news from Sandokan and Surama troubled him somewhat, but the silence did not necessarily mean they were in danger, and he could not risk meeting them face-to-face now that he was living at the palace.
Kechik, having found the captain was still being well treated upon his return, had not informed him of Surama’s abduction, certain the Tiger of Malaysia would succeed in freeing her.
When the meal was over, the Portuguese stretched back in a bamboo chair and fell asleep, the butt of his cigarette still pressed between his lips. While the khansama cleared the dishes, the Malays retired to the large room that served as their quarters and soon drifted off to sleep.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 24
