THE LIVES of private soldiers of the royal guard of a Khmer king were far from thrilling. Their most important assignment was to guard duty, which fell to the lot of each soldier once in every four days. There were drills daily, both upon foot and upon elephants, and there were numerous parades and ceremonies.
Aside from the care of their own weapons they were called upon for no manual labour, such work being attended to by slaves. Once a week the straw which formed their pallets was hauled away upon bullock-carts to the elephants’ stables, where it was used to bed down the great pachyderms, and fresh straw was brought to the barracks.
Their leisure, of which they usually had a little at various times during the day, the soldiers utilised in gossiping or gambling, or listening to the story-tellers, certain of whom were freely admitted to the royal grounds. Many were the stories to which King listened—stories of ancient power and stories of kings who owned a million slaves and a hundred thousand elephants; stories of Kambu, the mythical founder of the Khmer race; of Yacovarman, the king of glory; and of Jayavarman VIII, the last of the great kings. Interwoven throughout all the fabric of these hoary tales were the Nagas and the Yeacks, those ever-recurring mythological figures that he had met in the folk-lore of the people beyond the jungle, in the dark dwelling of Che and Kangrey, and now in the shadow of the palace of the great King, Lodivarman.
Or when there were no story-tellers, or he tired of listening to the idle gossip of his fellows, or became bored by their endless games of chance, King would sit in silence, meditating upon the past and seeking an answer to the riddle of the future. Recollection of his distant home and friends always raised a vision of Susan Anne Prentice—home and friends and Susan Anne—they were all one; they constituted his past and beckoned him into the future. It seemed difficult to think of life without home and friends and Susan Anne when he thought of them, but always the same little figure rose in front of them, clear and distinct, as they faded slowly out of the picture: sad eyes in which there yet dwelt a wealth of inherent happiness and mirth, a piquant face, and gleaming teeth behind red lips. Always his thoughts, no matter how far they roamed, returned to this dainty flower of girlhood, and then his brows would contract and his jaws clench and he speculated upon her fate and chafed and fretted because of his inability to succour her.
And one day as he sat meditating thus he saw a strange figure approaching across the barracks yard. “Ye gods!” he exclaimed, almost audibly; “one by one my dreams are coming true! If it isn’t the old bird with the red umbrella that I saw just before Che and Kangrey rescued me, I’ll eat my shirt.”
King had had considerable difficulty in differentiating between the fantastic figures of his fever-induced hallucinations and the realities of his weird experiences in the jungle, so that though Che and Kangrey had insisted that there had been an old man with a long yellow robe and a red umbrella and although King had believed them, yet it was with somewhat of a shock that he recognised the reality. As Vay Thon passed among the soldiers, they arose to their feet and bowed low before him, evincing the awe and reverence in which they held him. He passed them with nodding head and mumbled benediction, gazing intently at each face as though he sought some particular warrior.
Seeing that the others rose and bowed before the high priest, King did likewise; and when Vay Thon’s eyes fell upon him they lighted with recognition. “It is you, my son,” he said. “Do you recall me?”
“You are Vay Thon, the high priest of Siva,” replied the American.
“He whom you saved from My Lord the Tiger,” replied the priest.
“An obligation which you fully discharged when you commanded Che and Kangrey to nurse me back to life.”
“An obligation that I may never fully discharge,” replied Vay Thon; “and because of this I came to search for you, that I may offer you proof of my undying gratitude.”
“How did you know that I was here?” asked King.
“I have talked with Fou-tan,” replied Vay Thon, “and when she had described the warrior who had rescued her, I knew at once that it must be you.”
“You have seen Fou-tan and talked with her?” asked King.
The high priest nodded.
“And she is well—and safe?” demanded King.
“Her body is well, but her heart is sick,” replied the high priest; “but she is safe—those who find favour in the eyes of the King are always safe, while the King’s favour lasts.”
“Has she—has he—”
“I understand what you would ask, my son,” said Vay Thon. “Lodivarman has not yet sent for her.”
“But he will,” cried King.
“To-night, I think,” said Vay Thon.
The anguish in the young man’s eyes would have been apparent to one of far less intelligence and discernment than Vay Thon. He laid his hand in compassion upon the shoulder of the American. “If I could help you, my son, I would,” he said; “but in such matters kings may not be crossed even by gods.”
“Where is she?” asked King.
“She is in the King’s house,” replied Vay Thon, pointing toward a wing of the palace that was visible from where they stood.
For a long moment the eyes of the American, lighted by determination and by a complexity of other fires that burned within him, remained riveted upon the house of the King.
Vay Thon, the high priest of Siva, was old and wise and shrewd. “I read your heart, my son,” he said, “and my heart goes out in sympathy to yours, but what you plan is impossible of execution; it would but lead to torture and to death.”
“In what room is she in the house of the King?” demanded the American.
Vay Thon shook his head sadly. “Forget this madness,” he said. “It can lead but to the grave. I am your friend and I would help you, but I would be no friend were I to encourage you in the mad venture that I can only too well guess is forming in your mind. I owe you my life; and always shall I stand ready to aid you in any way that lies within my power, except in this. And now, farewell; and may the gods cause you to forget your sorrow.”
As Vay Thon turned and walked slowly back in the direction of the temple, Gordon King stood gazing at the house of Lodivarman; forgotten were Vay Thon; forgotten were his wise words of counsel. King seemed hypnotised; a single figure filled the retina of his mind’s eye—a tiny figure, yet it crowded out all else—through walls of tile and lead he saw it crouching in despair in the house of the King.
The afternoon was drawing to a close. The warriors who were to relieve the palace guard at sundown were already buckling on their brass cuirasses, straightening their leather tunics, adjusting their helmets, polishing weapons until they glistened even in the dark interior of the barracks.
Gordon King was recalled to his surroundings by two tardy warriors who were hastening to accoutre themselves for guard duty; and in that instant was born the mad scheme that, without the slightest consideration, he was to attempt to put into execution.
Turning quickly, he overtook the men just before they entered the barracks and touched one of them upon the shoulder. “May I have a word with you?” he asked.
“I have no time. I am already late,” replied the warrior.
“I shall be quick, then,” replied King. “Let me take your place on the guard to-night, and I will give you all of my next pay.”
Instantly the man was all suspicion. “That is a strange request,” he said. “Most warriors would pay to be relieved of guard duty. What is your purpose?”
“There is a certain slave girl attached to the house of the King, and to-night she will be looking for a certain warrior.” And the American nudged the other in the ribs and gave him a sly wink.
The warrior’s face relaxed into a grin. “It might go hard with us if we were caught,” he said; “but, by Siva, three months’ pay is not to be considered lightly. Quick! Get into your harness, while I explain the matter to the others of the ten. But be sure that you do not say anything about the pay, for if they knew that, each would want his share.”
“You are doing it for friendship,” said King with a laugh, as he hastened into the interior of the barracks. As he hurriedly adjusted his cuirass and helmet, the warrior whose place he was to take was explaining the matter to the other members of the ten, who received it with rough laughter and broad jokes.
At first the petty officer in command of the ten positively forbade the exchange, and it was necessary for King to promise him a month’s pay before he, at last, reluctantly acceded. “But remember,” he admonished them, “I know nothing of it, for no such thing may be done with my knowledge.”
As the ten marched toward the house of the King, the American’s excitement increased, though outwardly he was calm. Just what he was going to do and just how he was going to execute it, the man could not know, because he had no idea as to what obstacles would present themselves, or, upon the other hand, what good fortune might lie in store for him. He fully appreciated that his proposed action was unwise, ill-considered, and almost definitely doomed to defeat; but could he have turned back he would not have done so.
Presently they were halted at the King’s house, a little to one side of the main entrance and before a low doorway. Other contingents of the guard were arriving from other barracks, while members of the old guard emerged from the low doorway and were formed for the brief ceremony that marked the changes of the guard.
Immediately following the ceremony a number of the new guard were told off to relieve the sentries upon their posts about the grounds and within the interior of the palace, and King happened to be among these. As he was marched away he could not help but wonder what post Fate would select for him, though wherever it should be he was determined that he would find the means for gaining access to the interior of the palace.
The detail of the guard was first marched to the far end of the wing, and here a sentry was relieved who paced back and forth in front of a tiny doorway, shadowed by trees and shrubbery. King thought that this would have been an excellent post; but it did not fall to him; and as they continued on about the wing of the palace, relieving sentry after sentry, he began to fear that he was not going to be posted at all; and, indeed, the detail traversed the outside of the entire wing, and still the American had been assigned no post. And then they came at last before the ornate entrance to the King’s house, where ten men were detached from the detail to relieve those posted at this important spot.
All the sentries hitherto relieved were then marched away, and King found himself one of five who had not as yet been posted. These, to the astonishment and gratification of the American, were marched into the palace. Three were detailed to posts in the long entrance corridor, while King and the other remaining warrior were marched to the doorway of a large and luxuriously furnished apartment. At one end of the chamber, raised slightly above the floor level, was a dais covered with gorgeous rugs. Upon it stood a low table laid with a service of solid gold, with bowls of fruit and sweetmeats, several massive golden jugs, and ornately carved goblets. Behind the table was a pile of pillows covered with rich stuff, and over all a canopy of cloth of gold. On the floor of the chamber, below the dais, was a long table, similarly though not so richly laid; and this was entirely surrounded by rich cushions.
On either side of the doorway, facing the interior of the room, stood King and his fellow warrior, two bronze statues cuirassed in burnished brass. For five minutes they stood there thus facing the empty chamber; and then a door at the far side opened, and a file of slaves entered, some twenty-five or thirty in all. Two of these took their places at opposite ends of the dais back of the table and the pillows, standing erect with arms folded and eyes staring straight to the front. The other slaves took similar positions at intervals behind the long table on the main floor and faced the dais. Between the long table and the dais and facing the latter stood a richly garbed individual whom King mentally classified as a sort of major-domo.
Again there was a wait of several minutes, during which no one spoke or moved. Then, through the doorway which King and his fellow guarded, a party of men entered the chamber. Some were warriors, cuirassed and helmeted in gold, while others were garbed in long robes of vivid hues, richly embroidered. A number of these wore fantastic headdresses, several of which were over two feet in height.
These banquet guests formed in little groups behind the long table, engaged in low-toned conversation. There was no laughter now and they spoke scarcely above a whisper. It was as though a pall of gloom had enveloped them the instant they entered the gorgeously appointed chamber. Almost immediately an arras at the rear of the dais was drawn aside, revealing a warrior of the guard, who sounded a fanfare upon a golden trumpet. As the last note died away, the slaves in the chamber prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads to the floor, while the guests kneeled with bowed heads; and then Lodivarman, the Leper King of Lodidhapura, came slowly through the opening at the rear of the dais. Only the trumpeter and the two guards at the door remained standing as Lodivarman advanced and seated himself upon the pillows behind his table. For a moment he looked about the apartment through his dull eyes, and then, apparently satisfied, he struck his palms together a single time.
Immediately all in the apartment arose to their feet. The major-domo bowed low three times before the King. Each of the guests did the same, and then, in silence, took their places at the banquet table. When all had been seated, Lodivarman struck his palms together a second time; and immediately the slaves stepped forward upon noiseless feet and commenced to serve the viands and pour the wine. A third time Lodivarman gave the signal, upon which the guests relaxed and entered into low-voiced conversation.
From his post at the entrance-way, Gordon King noticed the bountiful array of food upon the long banquet table. Only a few of the articles did he recognise, but it was evident that fruit and vegetables and meat were there in abundance. The largest bowl upon the little table of the King was filled with mushrooms, aside from which there was little else upon Lodivarman’s table other than fruit, sweetmeats, and wine. From what he had previously seen of Lodivarman and from the gossip that he had heard in the barracks he was aware that this monarch was so addicted to the use of mushrooms that the eating of them had become a fixed habit with him almost to the exclusion of proper and natural food, and his taste for them was so inordinate that he had long since ordained them royal food, forbidden under pain of death to all save the King.
As the tiresome meal progressed, the banqueters carried on their forced and perfunctory conversation, while Lodivarman sat silent and morose, his attention divided between his mushrooms and his wine. As King watched he could not but compare this meal with formal dinners he had attended in New York and Washington, and he sympathised with the banqueters in the hall of Lodivarman, because he knew that they were suffering the same boredom that he had once endured, but with the advantage that they did not have to appear to be happy and gay.
Presently Lodivarman made a sign to the major-domo, who clapped his hands twice; and immediately all eyes turned to a doorway at one side of the chamber, through which there now filed a company of apsarases. About the hips the girls wore girdles of virgin gold, which supported skirts that fell to within a few inches of their ankles. From their hips two stiff-pointed panels of cloth bowed outward, falling almost to the floor. Above the hips their bodies were naked, except for rich armlets and necklaces. Their headdresses were fantastic contrivances that resembled ornate candelabra, heavy ear-rings fell to their shoulders, and above their bare feet were anklets of precious metal. A few wore masks of hideous design, but the painted lips and cheeks and darkened eyes of most of them were pretty; but there was one among them who was gorgeous in her loveliness. As the eyes of Gordon King fell upon her face, he felt his heart quicken, for she was Fou-tan. She had not seen him when she entered; and now she danced with her back toward him, a dance that consisted of strange postures of the feet and legs, the hips, the arms and hands and heads of the little dancers. As they went through the slow steps of the dance, they bent their fingers, their hands, and their arms into such unnatural positions that Gordon King marvelled, not only upon the long hours and days of practice that must have been necessary for them to perfect themselves, but also upon the mentality of an audience that could find entertainment in such a combination of beauty and grotesqueness. That the dance was ritualistic and had some hidden religious significance was the only explanation that he could place upon it, yet even so he realised that it was fully as artistic and beautiful and intelligent as much of the so-called aesthetic dancing that he had been compelled to endure in modern America and Europe.
There were twenty apsarases taking part in the dance, but King saw only one—a lithe and beautiful figure that moved faultlessly through the long sequences of intricate and difficult posturing. Mad scheme after mad scheme passed through his mind as he sought for some plan whereby he might take advantage of their proximity to effect her release from the palace of the King, but each one must needs be discarded in the light of sober reflection. He must wait, but while he waited he planned and hoped.
As the long dance drew to a close, Gordon King saw Lodivarman beckon to the major-domo to him and whisper briefly to that functionary; and as the apsarases were withdrawing from the room, the man hastened after them and touched Fou-tan upon the shoulder. He spoke to her, and King could see the girl shrink. Lodivarman clapped his hands three times, and again the slaves prostrated themselves and the guests kneeled; while Lodivarman rose to his feet and walked slowly from the chamber through the same doorway by which he had entered. Immediately after he was gone the guests arose and left the chamber, apparently only too glad to be released from the ordeal of a state banquet. The slaves began to gather up the dishes and bear them away, while the major-domo led Fou-tan across the chamber, up on to the royal dais and bowed her into the doorway through which Lodivarman had disappeared.
Gordon King could scarce restrain himself as the full import of what he had just witnessed revealed itself to his tortured mind. Inclination prompted him to run across the chamber and follow Lodivarman and Fou-tan through that doorway of mystery, but again sane judgment interposed.
With the passing of the King and the guests, the American’s fellow guardsman had relaxed. He no longer stood in statuesque immobility, but lounged carelessly against the wall watching the slaves bearing away the trays of unfinished food. “We should enjoy that more than the guests seemed to,” he said to King, nodding toward the viands.
“Yes,” replied the American, his mind upon other matters.
“I have stood guard here many times in the past,” continued the warrior, “and never have I gone hungry after a banquet.”
“I am not hungry now,” said King shortly.
“I am,” said the warrior. “Just beyond that door they stack up the dishes. If you will watch here, I can go in there and eat all that I want.”
“Go ahead,” said the American.
“If you see an officer approaching, whistle once.”
“If I see one I shall whistle. Go ahead,” said King, seeing here a God-given opportunity to carry out the plan that the presence of the other warrior would have thwarted.
“It will not take me long,” said the warrior, and with that he hurried quickly toward the little door through which the slaves were carrying the food.
Scarcely had the door closed behind his companion when King crossed the apartment and leaped to the dais. At the moment the chamber was empty, not even a single slave remaining within it, and there was no witness as the American parted the hangings and disappeared through the doorway that shortly before had swallowed Lodivarman and Fou-tan.