Afternoons are usually stiflingly hot in India. Rich and poor alike, in every city and village on the subcontinent, usually rest from noon to four to escape the heat. Sun stroke can be fatal, especially to Europeans; a British officer once reported that a major and twenty-three soldiers of one regiment perished from it in a single day. The moon as well can cause much harm, falling asleep exposed to its rays can lead to moon blindness, a state where a person cannot see at night by moonlight even though their vision may be fine during the day.
The khansama awakened the Portuguese at five, bearing a perfumed note and a finely engraved gold box upon a silver tray.
“Ah!” exclaimed Yanez, rising to his feet. “The rajah’s reward.”
The box contained a magnificent ruby ring worth several thousand rupees. The note was an invitation to a party to be held that evening in the Hall of Elephants.
“By Jupiter!” Yanez exclaimed again. “Far more generous than I expected. He knows how to apologize, I’ll give him that.”
He slipped the ring onto a finger and began to prepare for the party. He washed quickly, donned a clean white flannel suit and well-shined boots, wrapped a red sash about his waist, hid his kris and pistols within its folds, then tucked his scimitar at his side.
“You never know what can happen at the court of an Indian rajah,” he muttered to himself.
His Malays had also donned new clothes and had cleaned their carbines and scimitars. They had filled their sashes and pockets with ammunition, as if they were going on a hunt rather than a feast, their instincts no less sharp than their captain’s.
Three loud notes from a pepa, a hornpipe made from a buffalo horn, sounded in the large courtyard, followed by the rumble of large kettle drums announced to all that the festivities had commenced. Yanez, the khansama, who was dressed in a large yellow silk dhoti, and the Malays left the apartment with the Portuguese leading the way.
The entrance to the Hall of Elephants was at the far end of the courtyard. It was a vast hall larger and more beautiful than the Hall of Audiences; its roof was decorated with mosaics and supported by eight elegantly shaped columns.
The throne was towards the rear, and, like the Great Mughal’s, stood on six golden feet set with jewels; its back of gilded brass spread out in the form of a peacock’s tail, and was inset with diamonds, sapphires, rubies and delicate enamelling. It was sheltered by two immense velvet parasols embroidered with pearls, with gold handles inlaid with diamonds.
The rajah was already seated there, surrounded by his ministers and favourites, receiving homage from the capital’s most revered citizens, offering a glass of toddy to all new arrivals.
A platform, covered with an elegant Persian carpet, had been raised not far from the entrance. Drummers beat out a rhythm on their dhols, twin-faced drums, accompanied by thirty musicians playing ramsingas, long copper trumpets; and shehnais, oboes; or plucking the strings of sitars, sarindas, and omertis, a type of bowed violin made of bamboo and coconut shell similar to a ravanahatha.
Fifty beautiful nautchni with long dark flowing hair, dressed in brilliant costumes and sparkling with precious stones and spangles, twirled and whirled to the music between the hall’s majestic columns.
Yanez quickly scanned the guests, crossed the room with his Malays following three steps behind him and went to greet the rajah, who offered him a cup of Burmese arrack from his own hand in welcome.
The rajah appeared to be in good humour; the Portuguese, not spying Teotokris among the ministers, raised the cup in salute, drained it in one shot and went to sit on a sofa along the wall to the right.
The dances continued, some accompanied by bin and sitar, others by a tabla, a hand drum; a taal, a type of cymbal; a gogona, a type of jaw harp; and a xutuli, a clay whistle, the nautchni performing the best of their repertoire from the dance of the Pandours to the Taza-bi-Taza. One delighted the audience with the egg dance from Bhopal, a whirling number with two dozen eggs that required much gracefulness and agility.
From time to time, a throng of exquisitely dressed servants, bearing large gold or silver platters, entered the hall, offering guests pastries, ice cream, beverages, tobacco pipes and betel boxes.
The festivities had been in full swing for about two hours when the Portuguese noticed a sudden commotion upon the dais. The ministers, who until then had been seated by the throne, drinking and smoking merrily, had shot to their feet and were talking with great urgency. The rajah had also risen, summoned several officials and quickly issued orders. He seemed angry, almost enraged.
“What could have happened?” muttered Yanez. “A revolt in some part of the kingdom?”
The thought was still in his head when he saw the rajah leave the dais and disappear behind a curtain, followed by one of his ministers. Almost simultaneously he spied a Sikh officer walking towards him.
A sudden fear swept through him. Had Sandokan attacked and been defeated?
“My lord,” said the officer, stopping before him and leaning forward so no one could hear. “The rajah wishes to speak with you.”
“What happened?”
“I do not know: he asked I escort you to him immediately.”
“Of course,” replied Yanez, forcing himself to remain calm.
The Malays, who had been leaning against the wall, stood up to accompany him, but the officer quickly stayed them with a hand
“The rajah wishes to speak to his chief huntsman alone. Those are my orders.”
“Wait for me here,” said Yanez, turning towards the Malays, and warning them with a look.
He followed the officer, walking past the dancers and musicians who had continued to perform as if nothing at all had happened.
They walked through an arch to the left of the throne, and entered a room elegantly furnished with sofas, mirrors and beautiful chandeliers. The rajah was sitting on a bamboo chair, in front of a curtain that must have concealed a door. A minister and two Sikh officers were with him.
As the Portuguese entered the rajah frowned.
“How may I be of assistance, Highness?” asked Yanez, stopping a few paces from him. “Have they found me another beast to hunt?”
“There’s another beast, my lord,” snapped the rajah, “and he’s standing right here before me.”
Yanez stifled a gasp with great effort, then looked the rajah squarely in the face.
“Is this a joke, Highness?” he said coldly.
“I couldn’t be more serious.”
“Explain yourself then.”
The rajah rose to his feet and took a step forward.
“Tell me about the princess,” he said bluntly.
Once again the Portuguese forced himself to remain calm.
“Which princess, Highness?” he asked, paling visibly.
“The one that recently purchased the villa opposite the old Tabri pagoda.”
“Ah!” Yanez said, attempting to smile. “What fool told you she was a princess?”
“That is of no consequence to you, my lord. Do you know her?”
“Yes. I have for years.”
“Who is she?”
“A beautiful woman I met in Mysore. She always accompanies me on my travels. We’re in love. Does that satisfy you, Highness?”
“No,” the rajah replied dryly.
“What else would you like to know?”
“Why did you come to my kingdom?”
“I’ve already told you, to hunt big game.”
“For that you do not need many men.”
“I only brought six with me.”
“What about those men hiding in the old Krishna temple? Are they not friends of yours?”
Stunned, Yanez hesitated a moment.
“No,” he said, forcing conviction into his voice.
“You don’t know them?”
“Never heard of them.”
“That’s odd. Your woman knows them. How is it that you do not?”
“What?” said Yanez.
“Yo
ur woman, your mistress; call her what you will, she knows those men.”
“That’s a lie!”
“A lie? She told us so herself.”
Yanez’ hands went instinctively to his sash where he had hidden his guns.
“Where is she?” he said, glaring at the rajah.
“In our hands.”
“Wretches!” thundered Yanez. “You have no right!”
“I have every right,” said the rajah, “this is my kingdom and I’ll arrest whom I please. I certainly do not need to be granted permission from a foreigner at my court.”
“I’ve served you well, Highness.”
“And you’ve been well rewarded.”
Yanez tore the rings from his fingers and cast them upon the ground.
“Here’s what I think of your gifts, Highness!” he exclaimed. “Have your servants gather them.”
The rajah, surprised and somewhat appalled by that sudden outburst, frowned and fell silent for a moment.
“Highness,” continued Yanez, the anger even sharper in his voice, “you’ve acted like a scoundrel. I’m a British subject, a lord, and my woman is under the protection of the British government. There are enough troops in Bengal alone to invade this kingdom and tear that crown from your head.”
“You offend me, my lord,” the rajah replied angrily.
“I do not care. Release that woman or I’ll…”
“You’ll do what? Attack me? You’d be wiser to surrender your weapons.”
“What!” shouted Yanez, taking a step back.
“You have weapons hidden in your sash,” said the rajah.
“An Englishman always carries his weapons when he’s living among savages.”
“Surrender them immediately or my men will take them from you.”
Yanez crossed his arms and stared at the rajah defiantly.
“Try it. We’ll see what happens.”
The rajah, frightened by the Portuguese’s boldness, fell silent, his eyes turning from one guard to the other, as if to ensure that they would protect him.
His minister, trembling slightly, had prudently retreated to one of the two doors that led into the great hall.
“Well?” said Yanez, seeing that the rajah could not find the strength to speak.
“My lord,” the rajah said at last, drawing from what little courage remained him, “have you forgotten that I have more than two hundred Sikhs at my disposal, ready to fight to the death?”
“Have them come for me. I’ll wait.”
“Surrender your weapons.”
“Never!”
“Take his weapons!” thundered the rajah.
“So this is how you treat your chief huntsman?” shouted Yanez.
He ran out of the room and into the great hall.
“To me, men!” he thundered.
He drew his pistols from his sash and pointed them towards the door, ready to fire at the two Sikh guards if they dared to follow.
The Malays, hearing their captain’s voice and seeing him rush in among the dancers and the audience with his weapons drawn, leaped forward like tigers, quickly arming their rifles and aiming them at the crowd.
Cries of terror erupted throughout the large room.
“Everyone out!” shouted Yanez. “Out or I’ll open fire!”
The dancers, musicians and guests, aware of the bold hunter’s reputation and knowing that those words were no idle threat, rushed towards the door that led into the courtyard, pressing and squeezing to be the first to leave. Screams and cries of fear filled the air, all believing that the hunter’s men were about to fire upon them.
Yanez took advantage of the confusion to close and bolt the two small thick bronze doors that connected to the adjoining rooms.
Once the last guests had rushed out to safety, the Malays noisily closed the two large bronze doors behind them.
“That should hold them for a while,” said Yanez. “They’ll need a cannon to blast through those doors. Prepare yourselves for quite a fight, my friends. We’ve been discovered, Surama has been abducted, and I don’t know what’s happened to Sandokan. This may very well be our last battle. How much ammunition do you have?”
“Four hundred shots,” replied Burni.
“Too bad Kechik didn’t make it back. One more carbine would have been of great use to us.”
“He may have already been killed, captain,” said one of the five Malays.
“Then we’ll avenge him,” said Yanez. “Burni, you’ll be my second.”
“Yes, Captain.”
At that moment, something hard struck one of the two doors that communicated with the courtyard.
“Open, by order of the rajah!” cried an imperious voice.
Yanez, who was already heading towards those bronze doors, believing the attack would have come from there, immediately stepped back.
“Tell his Highness that his chief huntsman has no intention of following his orders.”
“If you refuse to obey, my lord, we’ll break down these doors.”
“My men are all ready for battle. We’ll fight to the last and take a good many of you with us.”
“You refuse to surrender then, my lord?”
“Absolutely.”
“And that’s your final word?”
“My last one,” said Yanez.
There was no response.
Yanez approached one of the bronze doors and pressed his ear against it. A hum of voices could be heard on the other side, but he could not make out the words.
“The Sikhs most likely,” he muttered to himself. “What’s next?”
Suddenly he started.
A loud frightening bellow had sounded from the other side of the door.
“An elephant!” he exclaimed. “By Jupiter! I hadn’t thought of that! To me, my friends!”
The five men retreated rapidly towards the center of the room.
“What should we do, Captain Yanez?” asked Burni.
“We’ll construct a barricade! Pile the sofas and chairs behind the doors.”
The Malays set to work immediately and minutes later had raised an imposing mound of furniture behind the doors, it would not stop the elephant’s advance but it would definitely slow it down. Then once the beast was within range of his carbine, Yanez was certain he could fell it with a couple of well-placed shots.
“We should be able to keep them at bay for quite a while,” he told the Malays. “One of you keep an eye on the two small doors. The bulk of their force will charge through the main entrance.”
The elephant bellowed again, this time from much closer.
“To me!” commanded Yanez. “Whatever happens, stay behind the barricade!”
The thick bronze doors shuddered frighteningly and the clang of metal echoed throughout the hall. The attack had begun.
“Seven or eight more blows like that and those doors are going to come crashing down,” murmured Yanez.
The echo had barely faded when a second blow, more powerful than the first, shook the door from top to bottom. Then came a third, then a fourth, each time louder and more violent. The fifth blow brought down the doors with a deafening shriek of metal, crushing several of the sofas as it struck the tip of the barricade.
“My friends!” shouted Yanez, “prepare to fire at my command!”
Chapter 24
The Battle
A LARGE ELEPHANT stood in the doorway with a thick iron rod still clutched in its trunk. Instead of charging, however, the mahout astraddle its neck quickly drove it back twenty or twenty-five metres.
Thirty or forty Sikhs immediately assembled by its hind legs and flanks, the vanguard of a large force, judging by the shouts and commands that could be heard in the courtyard.
The bronze doors still lay where they had fallen, resting against the barricade at a gently sloping angle, unexpectedly bolstering Yanez’ defences. Undeterred, the Sikhs opened fire, hoping to trick the Malays into emptying their carbines, but the Portuguese and his men, well
sheltered from the bullets, merely waited for that rain of metal to end.
When the Sikhs had burned through a hundred cartridges to no avail, their captain ordered them to hold their fire and waved the elephant forward. The great beast calmly strode to the entrance and halted at the threshold, its immense body filling the doorway.
It was the moment Yanez had been waiting for.
“There’s our new barricade,” he muttered to himself.
Kneeling behind a large sofa, he raised his carbine and fired two shots in rapid succession while his men emptied their weapons into the beast almost simultaneously. Riddled with bullets the elephant tried to retreat, but its strength suddenly gave way and it fell to the ground, its great mass blocking the entrance.
Howls of rage came from the courtyard as the mahout scrambled back to safety. The poor beast had been struck in the shoulder joint and was far beyond rescue. It bellowed four times in pain, then its breath began to rasp and rattle. Large tears fell from its eyes and blood streamed from its shaking trunk, death was fast approaching.
“That ought to put a dent in their plans,” said Yanez. “Burni!”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Take two men, take apart the stage and raise another barricade in front of the two small doors. They’ll likely try to come through there.”
Then he turned to the two Malays who were kneeling by his side, their eyes fixed on the dying beast.
“Keep your carbines trained on the door,” he said. “Once that elephant is dead, they’ll try to climb over it. Fire as soon as you get a clear shot.”
He inched his way up carefully, peered between two sofas and cast his eyes upon the doorway. The elephant was still struggling to breathe and several soldiers had assembled behind it. It was obvious, however, that the Sikhs were waiting for the poor beast to expire, before attempting to climb over it, afraid perhaps of stoking its ire.
Burni and his two men had just finished barricading the two small doors with whatever they could find when the elephant let out a low mournful cry.
“It’s about to die,” said Yanez. “Stand ready to fire!”
“Someone has already started climbing up its back,” said Burni.
A Sikh warrior, certain now that the elephant was dead, had climbed onto the giant and was crawling towards the barricade. Burni, who kept his eyes trained on him, rose up from behind the sofa, studied him for a moment, and fired.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 25