Temple of a Thousand Faces (37 page)

The fight continued, and when someone grunted, Thida turned back to the melee in time to see a man roll away from the king, clutching his side. Indravarman kicked him, then spun to face the other Cham. Thida wished that the smaller man’s weapon would strike home. She feared Indravarman to a degree that she would not have believed possible. He’d brought so much suffering to her people. With each passing day she saw, heard, and felt their anguish.

The king shattered the second warrior’s pole, then reversed his strike, bringing his weapon up and into the man’s chin. Flesh split and blood flew. The Cham crumpled, and as he lay writhing, Thida couldn’t help but pity him. Not one of the many observers came to his aid until Indravarman dropped his pole and walked
away. He strode toward Thida, his body glistening with sweat. Despite spending so many nights with him, she was still surprised by his size. He was an immense man who moved with the speed and dexterity of someone much smaller.

“Walk with me,” he said.

“Yes, Lord King.”

He led her away from the courtyard and into a hallway. A golden bas-relief graced the near wall, and Thida studied the carvings of various Gods and demons. Cicadas buzzed. The scent of burning wood lingered. Indravarman turned to his right, proceeded up a long flight of stone stairs, and came to the second level of Angkor Wat. He then entered another courtyard and climbed a long, steep stairway that led to the top of the temple. For a moment Thida wondered what would happen if she pulled him backward. The fall would be terrible, perhaps even fatal. With one tug on his shoulder she could send him toppling and take control of her own fate. Yet she did nothing, merely following in his footsteps, soon panting with effort.

They reached the summit of Angkor Wat, stepped through massive, elaborately painted doors, and walked to an opening in the western wall that provided an unparalleled view of Angkor. Thida leaned against the parapet, her fists clenching at the sight of her country. Gardens, canals, and rolling green hills attracted her gaze, drawing her in and not letting her go. The bronze and gold towers of several temples sparkled in the midmorning light. Birds wheeled beneath her, riding thermal breezes.

“A beautiful land,” Indravarman commented absently.

“Yes, Lord King.”

“Do you understand why we came here?”

She glanced up at his broad face, wondering how she should answer. “Isn’t your land as beautiful?” she asked.

“Perhaps. But when you can have two sapphires why would you make do with one?”

“I don’t know.”

He grunted, then wiped sweat from his eyes. “Do you think me harsh? For how those men were killed?”

“What…what did they do, Lord King?”

“They did nothing. But their allies hid, plotted, and attacked. If such crimes went unpunished we would live in a lawless land. And I need law. I need order. Without them we’d be no better than the savages who live in the mountains, who make good slaves but are useful for nothing else.”

“Yes, Lord King.”

“I don’t savor cruelty. Truly I don’t. But it’s a weapon and I will use it as needed.”

“I hope that…you’re not attacked again. Then, Lord King, there will be no reason for more cruelty.”

Indravarman laughed. “How my timid Thida speaks up. You must be quivering inside.”

She nodded, leaning slightly away from him. “I only want peace.”

“Then tell me, are you willing to help achieve it?”

“What do you mean?”

“What has your friend Voisanne told you of my man Asal? I know him to be strong and able—the best of my officers. He is a crutch that I have leaned on from time to time. But his absence troubles me. Why have they still not returned?”

She shrank away from the fierceness of his stare. “I told you, Lord King. She ran away, and a Siamese warrior hurried after her. I heard her scream. Then Asal grabbed me…and he ran after them. I called for them but…but neither answered.”

“Do you think they died?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they died, why were their bodies not found?”

“Lord King, I know only what I’ve told you,” Thida replied, understanding that Voisanne needed her protection and trying to honor that need. “She doesn’t care for him. Nor he for her. She pretends to, but that’s all.”

“Perhaps they deceive you.”

“Perhaps.”

Indravarman peered toward a distant temple. “Do you know why I worry over their fate?”

“No.”

“I worry because I value him. I need a few good men and he’s such a man. But every man has a weakness. Some covet gold. Others seek fame and glory. Maybe Asal has found salvation in that woman. If he has, that makes him harder for me to control. And a king needs to control his subjects.”

Thida nodded, wondering what he wanted from her. “I don’t know him, Lord King.”

“But you know her. And you shall tell me what she says of him.”

“But, Lord King, he isn’t here. Nor is she.”

Indravarman clenched his jaw, his facial muscles tightening. “I am both an easy and a hard man, Thida. Give me what I want, and I shall be easy. Deny me those wants, and I shall be hard. So when they return, as I believe they will, ask her about him. Women are cunning creatures, and I expect to learn much about those two from you.”

She glanced up at him and then lowered her eyes. “I will try, Lord King.”

“The dead have tried, Thida. They tried and died. The living…they have done more than try. That is how they live. Do you understand me?”

“I—”

“If you want to live, if you wish to avoid an unnecessary and unpleasant fate, you shall do as I say.”

“Yes…I will.”

“Good. Then come to me tonight, when the moon has risen. I shall reward your loyalty.”

“Thank you, Lord King.”

He turned away so suddenly that she was startled. Striding down the hallway, he ran his fingers along the carvings of dancing women, then turned a corner and was gone.

Thida tried to steady herself, to slow her breath. She thought about Voisanne and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She trembled. Though she would never seek to betray her friend, Thida was terrified that Indravarman might see into her as easily as he did into others. She’d witnessed how his paranoia had led to the execution of both his friends and his foes. If he was worried about Asal, then he would look to her for answers. But what answers could she give? How could she possibly protect herself and Voisanne? To do both required skills that she did not possess. Until that very moment, deceit had never been a part of her life. She had always been taught the virtues of honesty, of truth.

To protect her friend, she would have to lie—an art for which she had no skill.

Thinking about the unfairness of life, of how others laughed and smiled while she suffered, Thida closed her eyes, prompting a tear to fall. She shuddered, filled with a sense that the world was too cruel for her. She had not been raised for such a world. Her mother had been too kind.

B
oran waited patiently on his knees with his head bowed low. He had never been in the presence of a king, and despite the sweat that rolled down his back, his mouth felt dry. After
glancing to his right to ensure that Prak was also prostrate, Boran rehearsed what he would say if questioned. The Khmer warriors who had accompanied Boran’s family were in the midst of explaining to Jayavar and several of his officers what they knew about the Cham positions. When they finished, it might be Boran’s turn.

Jayavar stood in front of a lotus-filled pond and the Citadel of Women. He was a broader man than Boran had expected, thick with aged muscles. His face was pleasant, however, and his voice and mannerisms encouraged conversation. Unlike the kings of stories and legend, Jayavar wore no jewels. He was dressed as a common warrior, carrying a round shield with a sheathed sword at his side.

Somewhere unseen near the temple were Soriya and Vibol, awaiting the conclusion of this meeting. Boran wished that they were with him. They would have enjoyed listening to the king.

The warriors finished their report, answered a few more questions from Jayavar, and left the courtyard. One of the king’s men called Boran and Prak forward, and the fisherman’s heart surged at the request. He rose to his feet, walked toward Jayavar, and again got down on his knees, lowering his head.

“Please stand,” Jayavar said softly, motioning upward with his hands. “There is no need for formality here.”

Boran nodded, though he kept his gaze downcast as he stood up. “Thank you, Lord King.”

“‘My lord’ will suffice.”

“Yes…my lord.”

“I am told that you’ve seen the Cham encampment at the Great Lake and that you possess an idea of how to defeat them there.”

Boran started to speak and then stopped, his carefully rehearsed speech failing him. He was the son of a boat maker, a
man who had no right to stand before a king. “My lord, we are…simple fishermen.”

“Yet without fish we all would surely starve.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Kindly tell me what you saw at the Great Lake. Tell me everything.”

Boran glanced at Jayavar’s face, then lowered his gaze. “They have many men there, my lord. At first it was…maybe two thousand. Then some went away—maybe half.”

“And the number of war elephants and horses?”

“I counted forty elephants, my lord, but could hear more. The horses…maybe two hundred.”

“And the boats. Please tell me about the boats.”

Boran smiled for the first time since meeting the king. He understood boats. His confidence growing, he looked up. “I believe, my lord, that the boats are important to them.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re large, well manned, and come and go at all hours of the day. The Chams use them to bring supplies from their homeland. They’re always carefully guarded, my lord. Smaller vessels, full of warriors, protect the bigger ones. And sometimes…sometimes, my lord, I think the Chams pile our treasure into these boats. I see the glitter of gold, and then the boats wallow deeper in the water.”

Jayavar’s fists tightened. “And what is your idea for how to defeat our enemy?”

“If it…pleases you, my lord, my son should speak,” Boran replied. “For it’s his idea. That’s why I asked that he accompany me here.”

The king nodded, and Prak straightened. To Boran’s surprise, his son didn’t keep his head low, but stood proud and ready. “Before I say anything, my lord, I should tell you that I’m
nearly blind. My ideas come from my thoughts, rather than my eyes.”

“As they should.”

Prak smiled. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“What do your thoughts tell you?”

“They tell me that the Chams could be trapped at the water’s edge. I heard their laughter many times. They don’t seem worried about an attack. They feast and laugh and sleep.”

“And how would you attack them?”

Prak’s hands came together. He remembered what his mother had said about needing to protect his brother, to save him with a plan that would ensure their victory. “The Chams are wound up like a ball of fishing line,” he replied, his voice quickening. “They were cutting down trees to make room for their men, though for a while now I haven’t heard their axes. And the stink of their encampment makes me think that they’re packed tightly together.”

Jayavar shook his head. “Armies always stink.”

“Did you know that we sold them fish? We tricked them. And when we were tricking them an idea came to me.”

“Tell me.”

“The land where they’ve camped is so dry. During the wet season, the lake was higher, and all sorts of plants and trees grew in that wetness. But we’re now in the dry season. The Great Lake is low, and all of that land, where the water previously was, is filled with dried-out bushes and trees. This time of year the wind often blows to the south, from Angkor toward the Great Lake. If we came from the north, if we waited for such a wind, we could light a fire that would race toward the Great Lake. That fire could trap the Chams, forcing them into the water, away from their elephants and horses. We could follow the flames, attacking from the land, or we could fight them from boats. Either way, we’d be in a far better position than they are.”

To Prak’s surprise, Jayavar laughed. “You say that you cannot see, but you’ve seen everything.”

“I think fire would panic them, and when we came rushing in, they wouldn’t know what to do. We would crush them, and maybe we could capture some of their elephants and horses. I’ve heard that no one can ride an elephant like a Khmer. Why don’t we capture some for our warriors?”

Jayavar smiled again. “Retaking Angkor will require many steps. But yours could be the first. Indravarman wouldn’t expect an attack at the Great Lake.”

“And there are other Khmer fishermen selling their catch to the Chams. What if that catch was poisoned, or old enough to make some of the Chams sick? We could sell the old fish, then attack the next day.”

The king turned to Boran. “Your son is wise beyond his years. Where did such wisdom come from?”

“I don’t know, my lord. Certainly not from me. My life and thoughts are simple.”

“My wife shall want to meet you both,” Jayavar replied. “And to meet the rest of your family. She told me this morning that you’d be coming. She told me to listen to you, and I’m glad I did.”

Prak didn’t notice his father bowing. “But how did she know?” he asked without thinking. “How did she know we were coming?”

“Because, like you, she has the gift of vision. She sees signs. And the signs said that you would come.”

“I wonder if—”

“We should leave, my son,” Boran interrupted. “The king is a busy man.” He turned to Jayavar. “When you’re ready for us, my lord, when the queen is ready, we’ll be yours.”

Jayavar nodded, moving his hand to his sword hilt. “There is
a secret place, my new friends, not far from here. It’s full of water and fish, and I think you will like it very much. I will soon travel there. And I’d be honored if you would accompany me.”

“We’ll gladly go with you, my lord,” Boran replied, lowering his head once again.

The king bid them farewell and turned to one of his officers.

Boran took his son’s hand and led him away from Jayavar, squeezing Prak’s palm firmly. When they were beyond earshot of their fellow Khmers, Boran told his son of his pride in him, because he’d advised a king and that king had listened. He added, “I think I just watched my son become a man. And the best sort of man.”