Le Colonial (28 page)

De Béhaine chewed his knuckles. His catlike eyes stared in reproach at François. But even in his agitation, he kept his voice steady. “Priest, you are consumed by your own pride. You are not serving God. I know why you are seeking me out. You are trying to show me your victory, to prove that I am a failure. You have wanted to do that for so long. Well, you have succeeded. You are on the winning side, but only for now! Remember, you are not here to make the heathens happy. You are here to make them Christian. You may offer them a better life today, but I promise them a better life after death.”

François turned away. In a low voice, he said, “I didn’t come to gloat. My aim was to introduce you to the rebel leader so that our mission could be made easier. But I see clearly how different our beliefs are. Farewell, Bishop. The next time we meet, the two of us will be on opposite sides of a battle. My last warning to you is about those women and that infant you are hiding. The Mountaineers are looking for them. Sooner or later they will find and kill them, including those who harbor them.”

He adjusted his armor and reached for the door.

“Wait!” the bishop called after him.

François looked over his shoulder. In the yellow candlelight, a woman emerged, carrying a newborn baby in swaddling clothes close to her bosom. He was unable to see her face in the dim light. The child sucked at her exposed breast, the reason for its silence.

“You must help me hide them,” pleaded de Béhaine.

“Give me one reason why I should.”

“Y-you m-must,” came the shaking voice of the bishop, “because when it is about deceit, you are the master. I need you, François Gervaise. Or should I address you as Vicomte Étienne de Charney?”

His malice cut through François, knocking him off balance.

The bishop continued, “Remember at Hue Citadel when I told you that I knew more about you than you realized? Well, I did.”

Suddenly, François felt like a criminal. He choked, repressing his tears. “When did you know?”

“From the first time we met, I have had my doubts about your past. But it wasn’t until I discovered the stiletto in your possession that I felt the need to investigate its origin. While you were ill with cholera, I went to see Father Dominique in Villaume. The priest recognized the dagger and was deeply affected by its sight. That particular heirloom, with the coat of arms from a noble family, belonged to the twenty-year-old Vicomte Étienne de Charney.” He took a breath and continued.

“You see, Father Dominique was not only the family priest for the de Charneys; he also taught Étienne fine art and music. According to the good father, the vicomte was a promising artist, blessed with nobility, wealth, talent, and handsome looks. However, all that came to an abrupt end when he was challenged to a duel by a Freemason over the daughter of an innkeeper.

“The night before the duel, Étienne vanished, too cowardly to fight his opponent and too ashamed to face his father. Imagine my surprise when I heard your confession. You claimed to have murdered the vicomte and kept his dagger. Did I mention that I also met that Freemason, who has since wedded Helene, the innkeeper’s daughter, and still resides in the south of France? His name is François Gervaise.”

François shuddered. The mention of his past was shocking, even to him.

The bishop continued, “One thing I didn’t understand then—why did you confess to me a crime that you didn’t commit? And it occurred to me, it is a matter of pride. You would rather have me judge you as a criminal than as a coward. Cast out from Villaume by your self-inflicted disgrace, you abandoned your identity and came to the charterhouse in Villeneuve lès Avignon. There you heard about my mission to Annam. And you thought that in this faraway land you could start your life over and find your courage.”

He chuckled bitterly. “It is ironic, isn’t it? You were not only a coward, but also a liar. Still, I accepted you. I saved your life, rescued your soul, and gave you a chance to be the man you wanted to be. For what? To watch you condemn my mission, forsake me, and make a fool of me?”

Lost in his rage, the bishop made a fist and struck a stone statue. The collision made a hollow sound. He bent and clutched his hand in pain. François hurried over.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “Vicomte de Charney, did you find what you have come here for? Remember, I am not the only person who can see you as you really are. I am not your enemy. It is the man you look at in the mirror.”

The wall echoed his accusing words. François fell to his knees.

“I am not a coward,” he cried. “I didn’t fight the duel because I knew I couldn’t kill anyone.”

For the first time since she entered the hall, the young mother spoke. “Peasant priest, if you truly favor peace, you must help Cha CA save us.” She reached for his hand.

He looked up at her through a wall of tears.

“I am Princess Jade Bình, daughter of King Le of the North. I was betrothed to Prince Ánh when I was ten years old as a peace offering. If the Mountaineers put me and my son to death, my father will declare war on them. Our deaths will only escalate the ancient rivalries between the two kingdoms. If you believe in peace and harmony, then I cast the responsibility for our lives into your hands.”

François sank back on the floor. Surely, in the eyes of humanity and of God, to save this kingdom from further destruction he must help Ánh’s wives and child to survive. But would he help them to save himself?

Holding his head in both hands, he said, “You know the Mountaineers are looking for you. And they won’t rest until they find you. Only extreme measures can help you avoid detection. Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to keep yourself and your child alive?”

She traced her finger across the infant’s delicate eyebrows. Her voice was steady. “I will do anything you say,” she said, “provided that I am not parted from my child.”

“Very well,” said François. “Come with me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

T
he horse, carrying Xuan and the prince, leaped into the river.

Henri flung himself to the edge of his boat to catch the animal’s reins. He missed. With a terrible splash, the water opened and swallowed them. The current broke them into three pieces. The prince was the first to emerge, gasping and struggling. Henri grabbed him by the collar. Ánh choked. His eyes blinked with terror.

“Hold on to the side of the boat,” said Henri.

“There’s water in my eyes,” Ánh cried. “I can’t see and I can’t swim. Help me!”

Henri looked ahead. Twenty feet away, Xuan thrashed against the violent flow. On the cliff above them, as the sky was growing dark, burning arrows spat flames in their direction.

Henri placed Ánh’s hand on the boat’s rim. “Lift yourself in while I release the boat.”

Bolted to the wooden gunwale was an iron prong meant to support an oar. Ánh fumbled and found it. He pulled himself out of the water. As he slid headfirst into the boat, an arrow pierced his upper arm, nailing him to the hull. He screamed, but his voice was drowned out by the shouts of the Mountaineers, who were descending the steep shore. Henri slashed the rope that bound the boat. The river swept them away.

They rode the rapids, passing Xuan. Despite his efforts at the oar, he could not get to her. In the warm dusk, he could see she was becoming exhausted, her arms flailing with diminishing vigor.

“Xuan, Xuan,” he screamed, turning the boat against the current.

She saw him and stopped struggling. The swift turbulence tossed her toward him with a dangerous momentum. He let go of the oar to catch her and braced his knees against the rough wood as he pulled her in with all his might. The vessel shuddered and leaned, threatening to turn over. The prince wrenched himself from the floorboard and crawled to the opposite side to balance the boat with his weight.

“Let her go,” he bellowed to Henri. “You’ll kill us all.”

Henri ignored him. She was in his arms, and no force of nature or royal command could part them. He pressed his face against hers, inhaling the aroma of soapberry in her hair. As the boat tumbled downstream, the trees seemed to be flipping like pages of a book. The forest murmured and was filled with a soft, blurry light that erased all his fears. How wonderful it was to be in the mouth of Death and no longer afraid!

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear and sank back, embracing her.

She nestled against him. The river curled away behind them as the vessel plunged into the darkness.

The current took them deeper into the jungle. Above, thin shafts of moonlight crept upon them through the foliage. Swarms of mosquitoes came out of their nests and feasted on the runaways’ exposed skin. Henri swatted his face and neck. The smell of blood from the squashed insects mixed with the odor of rotting leaves.

They huddled together, cold, wet, and hungry. The rushing of water, the creaking of the boat, and the heavy thud of unseen creatures kept them alert. Henri could find no shelter along the steep, rocky shore.

With Henri’s knife, Xuan cut away the arrowhead that broke through Ánh’s upper arm. Her movement was skillful, despite the darkness. Ánh rested his head on her shoulder and bit down on a piece of wood. Henri could hear his sniffling and occasionally a breathless hiss. The prince was fortunate that the arrow was not dipped in poison.

“Help me pull the stem out of His Highness,” Xuan said to Henri.

The novice intoned a prayer. Then, with a quick tug, the arrow came free in his hand. Xuan tore a strip from her tunic and pressed it against the wound.

Ánh raised his head toward the heavens and howled.

At daybreak, they woke to the distant crowing of a rooster. Thatched huts and thin strands of smoke appeared beyond the thick greenery, signs of a village. The boat was moving slowly as the river divided into many smaller branches. A dozen feet away, the bank was a patchwork of stagnant mires and hyacinth grassland that reached to the edge of the forest. Decay was strong in the air.

Henri rose and rubbed his hands together for warmth. His body was soaked in dew. He yawned and scanned the stream, searching for a place to dock. The water undulated, bubbling with an eerie unease. He craned his neck, then stiffened. What he saw sent a shiver through him.

In the black mud, barely visible in the dead grass, were the scaly backs of crocodiles, dozens of them entwined like tree roots. Xuan, following his gaze, withdrew in dread. The prince, haggard and pale, looked on with indifference. The blood had dried on his wound. He clutched his injured arm to his chest.

Six feet above the stream’s surface dangled the branches and secondary roots of a banyan tree. Henri grabbed one and guided his boat to land. The movement of the vessel dispersed the reptiles. Some vanished under the torrid water. Others waddled away.

“I don’t want them near me,” Xuan whispered.

“Listen to me,” said Henri. “We have to find shelter in a village. The prince needs to rest so his wound can heal. I’ll go first. You both will follow me. Run as fast as you can.”

Without giving her a chance to object, he dipped one foot into the mud. It swallowed him up to his ankle. His movement, although slight, ignited a reaction all across the marshland. The crocodiles lifted their heads in anticipation. The four nearest him scuttled through the mud. Their feet made a slurping noise. Xuan tried to hold Henri back, but he had already gone beyond her reach. The crocodiles, familiar with the terrain, were able to move faster than he. Before they could snap their jaws into his flesh, Henri jumped up and clung to a banyan branch. He hoisted his body upward and swung his legs around the limb. The suddenness of the danger made him scream with nervous excitement.

“I can’t watch,” whimpered Xuan.

The prince could not help but chuckle. “Fool! If he thinks I am going to do that, he is mad.”

Henri came to the end of the marsh, a flat expanse of dry, cracked mud strewn with clumps of grass and rocks. He looked back. The crocodiles were crowding around the boat. One of them raised itself off the ground. Its head was an inch above the vessel, its mouth open. Clear eyes, cone-shaped teeth, and powerful jaws were the weapons it brandished with deadly patience. The prince sat in the hull, holding Xuan in his good arm. She buried her face in her hands. The two of them seemed lost among the creatures, many more than four feet in length.

Ánh stared at Henri, his hand clutching a dagger. Behind him, the water was thick with floating reptiles, brown under an intermittent sun. The boat swayed.

“Do not fear, Your Highness,” Henri said, breaking off a tree branch.

With a shout, he thrashed his crude weapon and walked toward the boat. The leaves made a rattling noise, and the crocodiles dispersed. He stopped, realizing in amazement that these swamp creatures could be frightened easily by sudden noises. After a few more thrusts, a path was clear. The prince, with the help of Xuan, got off the boat. Together they ran to dry land.

“Twice you have come back to save us,” said Ánh, out of breath. “Why?”

“Hush!” whispered Henri. “I think I hear a voice.”

The runaways hid behind a clump of bamboo. The voices seemed to be getting nearer. The strangers spoke to one another in a low and cautious tone. Henri strained to listen.

“I swear I heard someone,” said a male voice. “The scream came from this direction.”

“Are you sure it was human?” asked a second voice. “It could have been an animal.”

The first man replied with conviction, “What I heard was no animal. It was a human voice.”

“Very well, let’s search for it.”

They separated. Footsteps shuffled across the ground. Soon, Henri realized, it would be impossible for them to hide. He looked at Xuan and the prince, asking permission with his eyes. Ánh nodded. Together they jumped into the trail. The prince jabbed his knife at the air.

“Stop,” he yelled. “One more step and I will use it.”

The men stood still. There were four of them, armed with spears and bows. Their peasant clothing suggested that they were hunters, not soldiers. It occurred to Henri that they could be West Mountaineers.

One of the hunters, dressed only in a loincloth and carrying a quiver of arrows on his back, pointed his bow at the prince. Most of his skin was covered in scars and blue tattoos of ancient symbols. “Look at the middle one and his silk robe,” he said. “He must be the dragon prince that we are looking for.”

“Prince Ánh?” asked another, scratching his high cheekbone with his spear.

“Be careful, he could be one of the decoys,” added the third, the oldest of the four. His whiskers were gray and sparse.

“One thing we know for certain,” said the last man, laughing grimly. His authoritative nature gave Henri the impression that he was the leader. “If we find the royal seal on him, he must be the true prince. Seize the seal and capture him alive, and we will bring great fortune to our village. The citizens of Ben Song will be exempted from taxes for at least three years.”

The hunters spread, blocking the path. There was no escape, except to return to the river.

Henri whispered to the prince, “We still have the boat, Your Highness. We can get away.”

They turned and ran toward the shore. But Henri’s hope was quickly dashed. The boat was gone. In their hurry, they had not thought to secure it. The current had carried it away. Henri ran alongside his companions, realizing that they, like him, were in deep despair. The captors were behind them, watching and laughing at their consternation.

On the bed of mud, the crocodiles scattered as they sensed the approaching footsteps. A few bold ones snapped at the intruders, but they, too, withdrew after the initial show of aggression. Xuan plunged into the water, followed by Henri.

He shouted, “The water is shallow. We can make it to the other side, Your Highness.”

His words proved false as he stepped into a deeper part of the stream. Henri swam. Xuan paddled beside him. He could feel movement in the water. The reptiles’ rough hides lurked beneath the leaf-strewn surface, hidden among the reeds. Despite their passive behavior on land, in the water they became bold at the sight of the runaways.

Luckily, they did not have to swim far. Land was just a few feet away. Xuan stopped abruptly and made a headlong turnaround.

“What are you doing?” Henri shouted. He had to protect her at all costs.

She gathered her strength to reply, “His Highness can’t swim. I cannot abandon him.”

He grabbed her shirt. “It’s too late to turn back. You’ll never make it.”

She struggled against him. “Let me go!” she shouted. “He is my husband.”

Henri refused to release her. “They will not kill him,” he said. “We can do more alive than dead.”

She wept but stopped resisting. With fading strength, they reached the opposite bank, only to find that it, too, was infested with crocodiles.

“I am sorry, I am sorry,” she kept chanting in a breathless voice. “Your Highness, I never should have left you.”

Tears mixed with mud rolled down her cheeks. Henri took her by the hand and ran to a clearing, away from danger.

Across the stream, the prince knelt among the reptiles. Behind him stood the hunters. He raised his hands toward the heavens.

His voice was choked with emotion as he spoke. “Dear ancestors, why must you torment me this way? Am I not the true king? Is my blood not noble? Show me your will. If you want the Nguyens’ bloodline to become extinct, let the swamp creatures devour my body. I would rather die in the jaws of these beasts than at the filthy hands of the traitors of Ben Song Village.”

The laughter drained from the hunters’ faces.

Ánh pressed his hands on the mud and bowed his head three times, giving reverence to his ancestors. Then he rose to his feet. Grabbing the branch that Henri had dropped, he swept a path in front of him. As he reached the water’s edge, he stepped on what appeared to be the back of a large crocodile. Xuan screamed. Henri watched in horror. He could not fathom that the prince was about to come to such a bitter end, nor could he bear to witness it. Yet he was unable to look away. The animals made no attempt to snap at Ánh.

The tattooed hunter pulled back his bowstring, aiming. But the chieftain placed his hand on the man’s arm. “Stop! We have seen a miracle. Be careful. You must not offend the gods,” he said, and fell to his knees.

As the prince walked across the stream, Henri realized that what they all thought to be the crocodile’s back underneath Ánh’s feet was actually the bottom of the upturned boat. When the vessel floated away, it must have been flipped over by the current or the creatures of the swamp. The hem of Ánh’s ornate robe glided on the water’s surface, giving the illusion that he was riding a dark-skinned reptile. Henri ran to the bank of the stream to help the prince to land.

The boat slipped deeper into the water.

On the other side, the rebels remained kneeling with bowed heads. “Forgive us,” they begged. “We were so blind that we could not recognize the true king.”

Ánh turned to the hunters and pointed a finger at them.

“Today you have seen proof that heaven is on my side,” he said. “No human can ever take my life. Tell the others, who will tell their children, and their children’s children, how the gods protect the rightful king.”

He staggered and collapsed into Xuan’s outstretched arms. Henri looked away.