by John Burgess
Then he sat down to wait.
Toward dawn, a group of soldiers strode in, carrying torches.
‘Show us the plans, then!’ the commander demanded.
Sovan pointed to the kilns. The man went close and peered into the fire holes, scrutinizing what remained, afraid to get too close, because His Majesty’s authority was somehow invested in the plans, even if they were only ashes. Then he barked an order: ‘Bind his hands!’ When the cord was pulled tight, Sovan winced and wondered if he was really up to what would come.
At the palace, he was held in a guardhouse for an hour. Then two soldiers brought him toward the audience hall, pushing him rudely as he walked, his hands still tied. Inside, they pressed him to the floor, face down.
The King’s voice boomed. ‘Tell me this isn’t true, what the Brahmin says, what the soldiers say! Tell me that you faked it.’
‘Majesty, I cannot tell you that,’ said Sovan, into the floor.
He heard the stamping of feet, and the sound of a blade being swished through the air above him. A very strong arm closed around his neck. The King had seized him from behind; the blade was cold at his throat.
‘You will begin right now to draw everything again.’
Sovan swallowed. ‘Majesty, I cannot. When I try to imagine the Temple of the Eighteenth Reign, I get only a blank.’
The King ran the blade across Sovan’s skin. ‘Do you feel that, Architect? I have killed quite a few men. You would be just another. I can find another builder. He will finish the job.’
‘Majesty....’ Sovan faltered – he had not slept in almost two days. But then he found his tongue. ‘He will not be able to...not in the way that the temple must be built. The vision came to me alone when I was young. It showed the precise form that Heaven expects this temple to assume. Heaven placed the vision there. And now...Heaven has removed it. If you kill me, the temple will never take its proper form...and that is the only form that will guarantee you your place alongside the gods in the next life.’
The knife made another short swipe.
‘I have prayed, Majesty, and Heaven has told me that the inspiration will return, that I will be able to recreate everything precisely as it was, to continue with the construction as it must be done. I will be able to do this, Majesty, if...if the Lady Sray is allowed to go free.’
Sovan shut his eyes. He would say nothing more. The vision of the mountain-temple was the central religious experience of my son’s life, perhaps the only real one. He did in fact believe that he was the sole vessel on earth for creating this glorious edifice. Now he could only hope that Heaven would accept his reasons for putting its construction at risk and would protect him and see him through.
58: Ransom
Nol wasn’t present when the soldiers came for me because he was in Kralann, inspecting the tools and artisan teams that made the King’s fans and parasols. A male servant, one with enough courage to deliver the news, was dispatched to run the distance from the Capital. He reached the village shortly before noon, exhausted, just as the headman was showing the master a new loom.
Nol gave off a bellow of horror and disbelief that terrified everyone who heard it. All went to their knees, headman included, but then Nol shouted at them, why are you wasting time? Get my palanquin ready! The headman scurried off to find the six young men who bore it. Nol hobbled as best as he could to the conveyance and as it left the village, bearers straining to hurry the load on their shoulders, he berated the men for being slow. Then he turned his attention to the still-winded servant, who trotted alongside: how many soldiers came to the house, who was their leader, what precisely did they say, what were the charges, how did the Lady react, why had the servants put up no fight? The man answered between breaths. He knew nothing about the reason for the arrest and didn’t dare make up an answer. But one thing he did know – he’d seen it with his own eyes – and he told it to the master over and over, and I will repeat it to you now: that in being led away I had displayed a quiet dignity that left the soldiers ashamed and speechless.
I know that Nol found some comfort in that, but it did not last long. Though I was certain that the arrest was related to the young prince’s killing those years ago, Nol was certain it wasn’t. After such a long time, he reasoned, no one could connect the wealthy Lady Sray with a shy young girl who had disappeared from a far-away estate. It had been thirty-six years! To Nol, the only explanation was Rom. The woman had been jealous of him even in childhood, jealous of me, jealous of Bopa. He began to question how it was he had never dealt with that woman properly, why he had allowed a threat like hers to fester year after year.
As the palanquin passed the mountain-temple site, a plan was taking form in his mind. He would go straight to the palace, never mind a bath first. He would step into His Majesty’s presence and in a voice infused with outrage denounce whatever absurd charge Rom was making. No accusation against me could be anything but fabrication. He would reveal the sabotage of the crown prince’s horsemanship, the sleeping drug fed to Bopa, the false accusation against the concubine Channary. He would recount all the things His Majesty had always refused to consider concerning Rom. This would be her ruin.
He reached the palace gate after sunset, just after my son had left to return to his house. A pair of sentries stood, lit by a torch. Only the King was allowed to ride onto the royal grounds, so Nol got down as nimbly as his joints allowed and began to walk through the entranceway. A guard stepped into his path.
Nol hissed: ‘Out of the way! Don’t you see who I am?’
‘I do, sir. But King’s orders, sir. If the parasol master comes, he is not to be admitted.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ He pressed straight on, ignoring the guard’s cajoling, but then two sets of hands took hold of him. He pulled at them, but the hands merely held tighter. He resisted again, with energy that surprised the soldiers, and in the struggle everyone fell to the ground.
‘Parasol Master,’ whispered one of the guards, hoping for a way out of the confrontation. ‘If you give your word to go back, we will let you up.’
‘All right.’
But the moment he was on his feet, he lunged forward. The hands grabbed at him again. This time the soldiers lifted him and placed him outside the twin gates and swung them closed.
He pounded on the wood, shouting threats and insults. All men harbour possessive feelings about their wives, do they not? I can imagine that at this moment he was having the worst kind of thoughts, that scenes were playing out in his mind, of me, eyes closed, beneath the King on a sleeping mat.
Nol’s servant found words to get their master back to the palanquin. The bearers lifted the load and moved quickly from the gate, eager to get away from this place. They headed for the parasol pavilion, but half way there, Nol stopped them: Go to the house of the Brahmin Subhadra.
You can imagine how shocked the priest was on seeing my husband’s beat-up condition. He called for water and wet cloths, then had servants help Nol inside to a mat. Finally resting, my husband breathed a bit more slowly.
He and the Brahmin had never entirely liked or trusted each other, but on this day their interests would surely be one.
The Brahmin had welcome news for Nol: I was safe in the chamber inside the palace. I had not been physically mistreated in any way. The King, he said significantly, had not seen me. The priest apologized for not stopping the arrest. It had come on the direct orders of the King, the first orders he issued on arriving from the field of rebellion. Nol stirred. Rebellion?
And so my husband heard the full story. When it was done, he swallowed and said: ‘I was right, then. The concubine was behind this.’ I suppose that saying this made him feel in control again.
‘It does appear that way,’ the priest replied. ‘The soldiers are looking for her but so far she’s missing. She’s not at the concubine pavilion, not at the old orchid farm. She will be found, probably. But we will have to be careful even then. You know how His Majesty is swayed by her.
’
‘He’ll see through her lies this time!’
‘We can only hope so.’ The Brahmin let that sit a moment, then said: ‘Nol, there is another thing. A member of the Council of Brahmins has interviewed your wife. I’m afraid, I’m afraid that I must tell you she acknowledges having helped save the elephant from execution.’
‘What? I can’t believe it.’
‘My friend,’ said the priest, ‘she explained in some detail. You told her the King had ordered the animal’s death, so she used a piece of jewellery that you brought her from the campaign in the north to buy the animal’s way out of the palace stable and take it to a place of safety. I venture to say it is in line with her character. She took great risks for the safekeeping of this holy beast. She gained nothing for herself.’
For a moment, Nol forgot his concern: ‘But if she did that, she endangered me, endangered the family! A woman cannot do such a thing without her husband’s permission!’
‘Parasol master, I have never been married. But I have learned that all wives have secrets from their husbands. And in the case of the Lady Sray, there was someone other than the husband who wanted to know those secrets. I mean the concubine, of course. She is still free, but her household staff is in custody. We have discovered that one of her men, the former bodyguard of her son, received a special assignment some years ago, to try to discover things about the background of the Lady. This man has confessed everything. He has told us that Rom believed that no one could have a character as pristine as the Lady’s was claimed to be, that there must be something to learn about her. How sad – she cannot imagine true virtue.’
‘Indeed she can’t. Go on.’
‘The man went to many places around the Empire that had some connection with the Lady. He looked around, he talked to people. Eventually he found something right here in the Capital, a man who was a foot soldier in the unit that provided the Lady’s security when she travelled. The man had become quite ill, and was living without support of family in a Brahmin hospital, the one behind the central market. Rom’s man took to visiting him, pretending to be from his home district and concerned for his health. He brought fruit and coconut milk. The man liked to talk, and he mentioned with pride the many trips his unit had taken with the Lady, and he recalled that on one the group visited an elephant corral outside the Capital, and the Lady had seemed quite interested in a particular animal there. Later Rom’s man went and found that corral. He posed as a potential donor and friend, this time to one of the men who worked there. The two went drinking and after four or five cups of rice wine this assistant elephant keeper swore him to secrecy and told him all about his master, a man named Sadong, who had among the elephants a very special one. An elephant named Kumari. The whole thing came out, including the Lady Sray’s role. Later, the concubine sent some other men to break into the corral at night and take the elephant away. She kept it for some time in a corral of her own. Then it was taken to Chaiyapoom to be cynically used in the rebellion.’
Nol kept silent. He was of course wondering now if next he would hear that the concubine’s man had found evidence of the killing of a young nobleman. But the Brahmin said nothing about that.
They talked further, then it was agreed the Brahmin would go to court to take the measure of His Majesty’s mood. Nol hardly noticed him leave. He was thinking through his next move. It involved property.
Forgive him, please – but my husband is a man who in his youth lost everything. He lived in poverty for more than a decade. The property he had now was near to his heart, as it would be to any man’s.
He called for chalk and slate, then compiled a list. Two estates in the north, one in the west, which needed major work on its irrigation system, the honey farm that supported a traveller’s rest place, sixteen hundred weight of silver, give or take a few dozen, held on account by various Chinese merchants in the market, four ferry boats, the horse-breeding stable, the hire-elephant business (twenty-eight animals at last count), the furniture factory, the forge that made bronze Naga heads for the handles of palanquins, the three teak forests with sawyers and elephants, the two quarries, also with men and animals. Then there was of course the full set of buildings and businesses outside the west gate of the mountain-temple site – how many? Nol would have counted them on his fingers. More than fifty, certainly. And the three villages further west, including the one where I had my retreat house. His house and grounds by the palace compound.
Beneath this list, Nol wrote out another, shorter one, the property that would be offered as blandishments to free me: one estate, the honey farm, one teak forest and two hundred weight of silver. Plus the elephant business – the King would be in particular need of elephants, to haul supplies for the campaign against the rebels. If His Majesty balked at this list, other things could be offered up one by one until his price was reached, and they were duly noted toward the bottom of the slate.
Again, please do forgive him! Such were his ways, placed in his heart by Heaven. When the Brahmin returned, Nol made an announcement: ‘I am ready to go before His Majesty, with an offer.’
‘I don’t think you can for the present, parasol master. I wasn’t able to see him myself. Your son has created an uproar in court and His Majesty is receiving no one at all.’
59: The magic amulet
And what of my daughter? She was by now again under the spell of the chief concubine Rom!
Bopa had fallen asleep on the mat of my son’s house. We summoned an ancient Brahmin physician, who poked and prodded even as she slept, then proposed more sleep, more water, ground powders, and a small wooden support for the girl’s neck when lying down. He chanted a prayer, then departed. Presently Bopa sat up. Suriya brightened at this and called for rice soup. Bopa slurped down a bit, then put it aside. She asked where her brother was. He’s gone to the palace, Suriya replied. The family is doing everything possible for our mother. Bopa felt suddenly ashamed. She had forgotten about me. But don’t forget that she had been through such a trauma of her own.
Then, with the rice soup going cold, a mysterious bit of news from a servant: Bopa was being asked for out front.
Suriya told her to stay. I’ll go and see who it is. But Bopa rose and followed right behind.
Outside, in the flickering light of a torch held by the house’s watchman – Rom. Standing by an oxcart, attended by three men with knives in their waists.
Bopa shrieked with joy, then raced past her sister-in-law. The two concubines embraced, tears flowing from the eyes of the younger one, who whimpered that she had missed the Elder Sister, missed her desperately, had thought about her all the time. The other declared that she felt that way too, more than could be known, that Heaven one day would punish the palace priests who’d kept them apart all these years.
Rom pulled back and took Bopa by the shoulders. ‘Well, get your things! I’ll take you back to the palace. Everything will be how it used to be.’
Bopa hurried inside. Her strength was restored – perhaps the Brahmin’s prayers had worked. When she returned with her basket, she found Suriya in some kind of dispute with the Elder Sister.
‘Perhaps Bopa should remain here for the time being,’ Suriya was saying, in her composed way. ‘Taking her would be quite an imposition on you.’ The watchman, standing close with the torch, nodded to confirm that his mistress knew best.
‘It would be no trouble at all,’ countered Rom.
‘You’re kind, but surely it would. In any case, my husband, her brother, is due back soon. I think we should hear his opinion.’
Bopa was about to protest when one of the visitor’s men stepped directly in front of Suriya. It was quite remarkable – he simply stood there, hand on the hilt of his knife, looking the woman in the eye, like he was daring her to keep it up. It had its intended effect; Suriya was shocked into silence, even her watchman seemed paralyzed. Bopa hurried past and got in the cart. I have no doubt that she never noticed that this man had threatened her sister-in-law.
>
Rom, looking amused, spoke. ‘It’s so kind of you, Architect’s wife, to change your mind. She’ll be fine with me.’
The cart rolled into the darkness, the two concubines aboard. Bopa gave a quick look back. Suriya was still standing still in the light of the torch – my daughter found the scene touching in an odd kind of way. The watchman had gone to his knees, as if he was apologizing for something. Bopa moved closer to Elder Sister, reaching for her hand, and the burdens of the past days seemed to lift.
‘You must be thirsty,’ whispered Rom. From somewhere she produced a small porcelain jar and filled two cups. It was honey wine. Bopa beamed and took hers. The cart lurched, spilling a bit on her sampot. The two women laughed. Bopa took a sip – well, why not a gulp? Down it went.
Rom turned suddenly serious. ‘You have a sterling heart, you know, you always have. You’ve forgiven me even for how I behaved the day of the river rite.’
‘We all make a bit of trouble from time to time, Elder Sister. Some mischievous spirit puts the feeling in us. In me as well.’
They laughed again, and the talk flowed easily on. Soon Bopa was recounting the attack on His Majesty. Rom listened carefully, appearing horrified, interjecting questions. You actually heard Darit’s speech, did you? Did the King’s men seem won over by it. She seemed quite impressed that Bopa had been so close to such remarkable events.
Later the cart passed through a city gate, turned left, right, then right again, wheels splashing through puddles, then crunching across gravel. Presently it stopped. Bopa looked out. There was no palace gate, just a tiny, weathered house pressed close up to others like it. She was confused – this place was almost like the old childhood neighbourhood. She noticed too that the cart in which they had ridden was old, a farmer’s thing.
Rom said: ‘I was thinking that it’s better that we wait until daylight to go to the palace. Don’t you agree? Now let’s go inside quickly.’