‘They are dead,’ said Kedah.
It was a mortal shock. The look of grim triumph on Kedah’s face showed both that he knew it, and that it gave him pleasure to break the news thus suddenly and brutally. Richard, seeking respite from the blow, put his hands upon the sun-hot surface of the stone wall, and leant against it. But the warmth did nothing to aid his chilled spirit; rather did it seem to point the difference between benign nature and cruel humankind. He knew, even better than Kedah, how deep this wound might prove, how shattering to his confidence.
In this one swift stroke, he had been told, not of the loss of old friends, but of a worse bereavement – the loss of hope. Snatched from his world were two men who had been able to confer a matchless blessing on him; two trusted messengers of the future, two bright spirits who, though despised Portuguese Jews, had reached down to draw the Tunku of Makassang from his mire of despond.
He had been building higher than he realized on these foundations. Now, it seemed, they had been destroyed out of hand.
An old gardener with a watering pot shuffled past, glancing at him curiously. The peacock screamed again, completing its fundamental curse. Richard straightened his shoulders, and faced Colonel Kedah with burning eyes. There were still things to be said, and, perhaps, to be done.
‘What do you mean, they are dead? What befell them?’
‘Death.’
Richard had no weapons, and Kedah knew it; if he had crossed the wall, it could only have been to claw and club the insolent soldier with his bare fists. He made an enormous effort of will – against his rage, against desolate sorrow – and brought himself upright, and said: ‘I will not be mocked in this … How did they die?’
‘They were executed.’
Richard frowned, aware of a forest of confusion, of words and thoughts which were shapeless and nonsensical. ‘Executed? How, executed?’
Kedah answered him in precise, almost mincing tones; having dealt one blow, he had the pleasure of a second one, more vicious yet, which was his to administer. ‘After due trial, they were tied back to back, strangled with the same cord, and thrown into the sea.’
His eyes were glittering, his breath shorter than before; without any proof, Richard guessed that Kedah had witnessed this execution, that his own hands were likely to have knotted those bonds, tightened that noose. But something else besides Kedah’s gruesome relish plucked at his attention, something more unspeakable still.
‘Back to back?’ he said, in stupefaction. ‘But that is the punishment–’
Kedah nodded. ‘Just so. It is the punishment for unnatural acts between men. We have ample proof that the sentence was justified.’
‘But they were brothers,’ said Richard hoarsely.
‘They were—’ Kedah used a loathsome term, which Richard had never heard save among the vilest; it galvanized him to action. He summoned all his strength, as a man striving to escape from a nightmare of pursuit, to reach the shores of reality again.
‘This is monstrous!’ he cried. ‘I knew them. They were honourable men. Such charges are insupportable! It is shameful that they should die in this fashion. And why should they die, in any case?’
Kedah was smirking. ‘What does it matter? They were Portuguese Jews!’
Richard felt the rags of his patience falling from him. ‘What was their real offence?’
‘They were Portuguese Jews.’
The contemptuous laugh which accompanied this was too much for Richard’s self-control. Now he did mount the balustrade which divided them, and leapt down, and confronted Colonel Kedah, his fists clenched, his face full of menace.
‘I warn you, Kedah,’ he said, in a voice thick with anger. ‘Do not play the fool with me. You have committed a disgusting crime–’
Kedah did not even allow him to complete his sentence; once more, the new authority was apparent in every look and word. ‘You warn me!’ he said contemptuously. ‘Who are you to warn me? If I had not interceded for you, you would have shared the fate of the Da Costas!’
‘Interceded?’ repeated Richard, stupefied.
‘Yes, interceded! These men were plotting, and you were closely involved. Can you deny that they came to the palace to see you, and that you spent hours of every day talking and scheming, in their go-down at Prahang? Do you think we are fools? What would you have in common with this sort of scum, except plotting?’
‘There was no plotting,’ said Richard. He had fallen back a pace, as if to give himself room to answer this absurd charge. ‘We did everything openly–’
Kedah gave a barking laugh. ‘I took good care that this was so! Every word of what you said was brought back to me, by more faithful men. And when the time was ripe, I plucked these Jews of yours from their lair, by their own beards, and dashed them against the stones!’
Something in his voice made Richard’s blood run cold. ‘Were they tortured?’
‘Certainly they were tortured!’
‘With what result?’
‘They revealed nothing of consequence.’
‘There was nothing to reveal.’
‘That is not true,’ answered Kedah. ‘But it was no great matter. We had enough proof already. The torture was part of their punishment for treason – and part of my pleasure in uncovering it.’
Sickened by the inhuman words, Richard said: ‘It was a wicked crime. There was no treason. And as for the other charge–’ he looked at Kedah, seeing in him the sum of all the unspeakable cruelties of Makassang. ‘Why did you have to shame them like that?’
‘For the best of all reasons – because they deserved nothing but shame … It seems to me, Tunku,’ went on Kedah – and his very use of the title was now satirical and contemptuous, ‘that we shall never agree, because of our differing standards. We have disputed this Western conduct before, have we not? – your sacrilege in attacking the Shwe Dagon was an example of this, the worst until now.’ And as Richard made to interrupt: ‘You will hear me out, Tunku! I speak for the Rajah, I can promise you … If you see no harm in meeting and plotting with such greasy filth as the Da Costas, then I cannot teach you to avoid guilt. But I can prevent it, and punish it, and I have done so. It will be worth your remembering.’
‘You have no proof of plotting. There was none.’
Kedah looked at him as if he were a servant caught lying. ‘No proof? Do you take us for children? I have enough proof to hang a hundred Da Costas! And proof of your own guilt!’ Suddenly his anger was blazing, and he spoke in a full and bitter flood of accusation. ‘I will tell you what was heard. I will jog your memory! … You said that the palace treasure belongs, not to his Highness, but to all Makassang … You said that men should not be governed, but should be left alone … You said that you would be an admiral, with your own fleet … You said that you would raise your own taxes, and set up your own customs service, and for this you would take bribes from these Jews … You have taken bribes already! Cheeses and meats! Are you so hungry, Tunku? … You said that Makassang must be changed, and become like a western nation, and that anyone who resisted would be thrown into the sea … And lastly–’ Kedah suddenly whipped a piece of paper from his belt, and flourished it, ‘–do you recognize this? It is a list of arms – guns, cannons and rifles for your traitors. Three hundred rifles! What do you want with three hundred rifles, if not to overthrow the Rajah and rule in his place?’
Richard shook his head; the torrent of accusation had all but overwhelmed him. ‘The guns were to protect Makassang. The rifles were to equip the Rajah’s own guard.’
‘They were to equip a revolt … Don’t deny it! You were heard to say – and we have a dozen witnesses to this – that all these arms were to be kept a secret, until they were procured, to surprise the Rajah.’
Kedah fell silent at last, and Richard, sick at heart, did not know how to answer him. The ridiculous charges, the phrases set in isolation, the twisting of words, had indeed been skilfully marshalled; in a sense, he could not blame this wicked man for i
mputing a worse wickedness to himself. He realized, with a bitter conviction of guilt, what stupidity had governed his actions of the last few weeks, and how his hope of employment, leading him to idiotic folly, had also led innocent men to a vile end.
He knew now that it was his mood of elevation which had betrayed him, and betrayed the Da Costas at the same stroke. The time spent with the brothers had transformed his own feeling and mood altogether; but no such time had been spent by the Rajah, in whom suspicion and spite naturally remained unaltered. Living his days in a dreamworld of hope, Richard had forgotten the envious eyes forever fixed on him, forever spying out his smallest action, and the ears privily alert for a single word which might be out of tune with the general song.
In despair, he muttered to himself, accusingly: ‘I did not think of this.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
Kedah’s words were spoken with their customary blend of coldness and disdain. But when Richard. after a silence, raised his head, it was to find that Kedah had done an extraordinary thing; he had turned slowly on his heel, and walked away some twenty paces, his head bent, his whole manner thoughtful and preoccupied. At the limit of his steps, he turned slowly again, and walked back. It was as if he were deliberately softening the climate of their meeting, allowing the bitterness of charge and counter-charge to recede, relieving the terrible pressure which thoughts of murder, treachery, and lying had induced. When he reached Richard again, at an unhurried pace, his manner was perceptibly easier, and his words no longer threatening, merely inquisitive. He said, softly: ‘Why the arms, Tunku?’
‘I have told you,’ answered Richard, without spirit. ‘They were to make Makassang stronger, and to bring the Palace Guard, and later the Royal Regiments, up-to-date with the rest of the world.’
Kedah shook his head slowly from side to side: but he did not cease to watch Richard’s face with the most careful attention. ‘No, Tunku … I mean, the real reason for the arms. I would like to hear what your true plans were. Believe me, I am interested.’
His manner was subtle and secretive; it had also an air of intimacy which Richard found at least as distasteful as the former hectoring, and which placed him on his guard immediately. He answered in a brief sentence: ‘I gave you the true reason.’
Kedah sighed, prepared to be patient, to spend time if need be in overcoming this stubborn spirit. ‘We are alone, Tunku,’ he murmured. It was true that they were alone; the Sun Palace stood silent and withdrawn, no gardeners loitered nearby, their meeting place at the top of the steps was open to heaven, and to nothing else. Only the spirits of the dishonoured dead could be serving as spies. ‘Remember that I stood between you and the Rajah’s anger. We need not be enemies, if we open our hearts, if we resolve our differences … How were you planning to use the arms?’
‘I have told you.’
Richard’s tone was final enough. But Kedah had not done. The mysterious, loaded exchange continued, like men talking at cross-purposes in a dream, with the key always hidden, always an inch beyond the grasping.
‘You have told me what perhaps you told your Jews, your agents … How were the arms to be used?’
‘To strengthen the defences.’
‘And to strengthen yourself?’
‘No.’
‘A new supply of arms might be necessary, if the rule became weak.’
Richard frowned. ‘Why should it be weak?’
‘It might be weak, until his Highness mends his health. If he mends his health.’
‘If he mends?’
‘He is an old man, as we know … What was your plan with the arms? What would you have attacked first? The palace? Or one of the garrisons?’
‘I have told you. There was no plan.’
‘The palace attack might have favoured you. A swift stroke, with the Rajah ill, confined to his apartments, perhaps not knowing what was happening until it was too late. Then would come the turn of the garrisons. Or perhaps they would surrender, with a strong ruler installed here, and ready to march. Or perhaps they already prefer loyalty to someone such as yourself, in the line of succession. Perhaps they would acclaim you, without a weapon raised except in homage.’
‘I know nothing of these things.’
‘Soldiers often prefer a strong ruler, an armed man who knows his own destiny.’
‘His Highness is a strong ruler.’
‘Beyond a doubt. But we must remember the great age of the Rajah Tuah.’
At that, Richard, whose wits were laggard, awoke to the true tenor of the exchange. It was the title ‘Rajah Tuah’ which was the key to this dream. It meant, in strict terms, ‘Old Rajah,’ but in this part of the world it had undertones also of withdrawal or supersession – it could mean the ‘retired Rajah’, even the ‘ex-Rajah’ … Colonel Kedah, the loyal commander who believed he had smelled out a plot, was ready, after all, to come to terms with treason. This single phrase was his offer of complicity.
Every instinct of Richard’s recoiled from the prospect. It had been delicately done; under the clear sun, the sword had flickered once from its scabbard; the pass could be forgotten, or denied. He stared at Kedah as if he understood him for the first time; though in truth all heunderstood, at this moment, was his treachery and utter disrepute. He would as soon have made a compact with some mangy tiger, prowling the edge of the jungle, seeking hyena’s meat.
He said: ‘I hope his Highness will enjoy good health and a long life.’
It was enough. Kedah’s face, which had been expectant and confederate, now became veiled again. Perceptibly, his bearing grew taut and trim; the conspirator was now the polished soldier, resplendent in honour and duty. Answering in his turn, he said: ‘So do we all …’ After a pause, he spoke again, and his tone had become cold, regaining that austere authority which Richard had noted earlier. ‘I have brought you your news, Tunku … You now know the Rajah’s mind … He will not tolerate plotting, nor plans to turn Makassang into some Western paradise for Jews … He will be slow to forgive, and he will take all precautions against traitors, wherever they may be found.’
‘Good luck attend his search,’ answered Richard ironically. Then the spectacle of Kedah became odious, and anger overcame prudence as he added: ‘I do not need these lectures from you, nor from anyone else whose nature makes him suspect a traitor under every stone! Who are you to tell me what the Rajah is thinking, and what he plans?’
‘You will learn,’ said Kedah, and with that he turned on his heel, and marched off, his manner as different from that other turning-away as blood was from oil.
It was the same ceremony as before, and yet how altered! The Council of State must have been summoned some days earlier, at short notice, and many of the outlying chiefs had not reached Makassang in time; there were not more than ten of them present, and the invited guests were numbered by the score instead of by the hundred. A strong guard of the Royal Regiment ringed the audience chamber; at the high table, only the Rajah, Kedah, Richard Marriott, and Sunara had been accorded places of honour. The oath was administered by a priest of the Anapuri, a small fat man looking and sounding like a backsliding abbot in some absurd medieval morality play. Nervous as a circus wire-walker, he gabbled through his liturgy as though he were playing with gunpowder, and he knew it.
The whole occasion had an air of political purpose, rather than of celebration. When the Rajah lifted the ceremonial wine-cup towards Colonel Kedah, and announced: ‘We take you as our son,’ he seemed to sound a note of defiance, not of benevolent accolade. There was no answering murmur from the crowd, no smiling acclaim; they had been brought there to witness a dictated act, and, like the fat Anapuri priest, they knew it well enough.
But it was only when the Rajah, holding up his arm for silence – which was deep enough already – continued: ‘We name you also First Minister and Commander-in-Chief, in the place of our trusted Amin Bulong,’ that Richard Marriott realized the full measure of his defeat.
No wonder, he thou
ght savagely, that Kedah’s authority and assurance had blossomed in the last few hours! This ceremony explained everything – even his treachery. The attempt to suborn Richard had been his first stroke of policy, his first essay in active treason, and Richard himself designed to be the first instrument of it.
On the words ‘Commander-in-Chief’, Richard caught Sunara’s eye, and their glances locked, expressionless and yet closely communicating. She was the only woman present, in all the gathering; she sat on the side of the dais opposite from him; he could not even press her hand … Sunara was pale – as pale as he had become when he had last spoken to her, an hour before. He had barely had time to tell her of the murder of the Da Costa brothers, before they were summoned to audience, and to this farce of adoption.
Richard caught other glances, as the ceremony reached its close, and the guests mingled sparsely in the vast room.They were discreet glances, of mystification, of astonishment, often of sympathy; though Kedah was receiving his share of formal congratulation, the covert attention of the room was on the man who seemed to have been supplanted, even insulted, by this new appointment. Rumour, flying from mouth to mouth, spoke of arrests, imprisonments, and disappearances, all within the last few hours, increasing the secret, speculative tension beneath the surface of the formal gathering. But no one voiced his thoughts out loud; and Richard bore all looks with an equal indifference. He had risen, and perhaps he had fallen. But he was still a man.
The Rajah ignored him; Kedah made no effort to break away from the courtiers who formed a ring about his chair. Indeed, in all that evening Richard remembered only one exchange, and this was with Captain Sorba of the Palace Guard, whose duties took him to the dais. Sorba, an officer of limited intuition, less than expert in the niceties of palace intrigue, greeted him with deference, and remarked: ‘What a pity that Captain Amin Sang could not be here in time to honour his grandfather’s successor.’