Temple of a Thousand Faces (40 page)

He needed to run.

B
ecause their Cham guard would not likely follow them into the moat, Voisanne removed her skirt cloth, covered her privates with a cupped hand, and stepped into the dark water, following Thida. Holding her skirt cloth with her other hand, Voisanne waded out, the water rising from her ankles to her knees to her belly. Since the day was overcast and cool, the moat was not as crowded as usual during the hot season. Still, children chased water bugs, warriors cleaned wounds, and women washed their bodies, their hair, and the clothes of their loved ones.

Across the waterway, a group of Khmer men was gathered around what Voisanne assumed was a pair of fighting roosters or boars. Behind the men and across a road sprawled the marketplace, which was dominated by scores of stalls and many hundreds of shoppers. Occasionally, the shoppers were obscured as elephants moved along the road, either pulling wagons or carrying several Cham warriors. Dust rose from beneath the beasts’ feet, hanging like a cloud over everything and everyone. It seemed to Voisanne that more elephants were on the move than usual, and she wondered why.

On the other side of the moat sprawled Angkor Wat. As she stepped backward into an empty stretch of water, Voisanne eyed the temple, which dominated the entire western horizon. The perfect symmetry of the soaring central towers held her gaze, and she wondered who had dreamed up the site. She couldn’t imagine where such inspiration came from and was glad that Angkor Wat not only moved her, but had also made Asal question the necessity of the Cham invasion. Perhaps there were other Chams who felt as he did—that the builders of such a wonder ought to be celebrated instead of subjugated.

Though not even a full morning had passed since she had said good-bye to Asal, Voisanne felt as if she hadn’t seen him in days. She missed him more than she had ever expected to, feeling vacant in his absence, as if he’d once dwelled within her but had gone away. The memories of their laughter and conversations and lovemaking weren’t enough. She needed his immediate presence in her world, and her thoughts focused on how and when they might be brought together.

When Thida finally reached an area of water that was unoccupied by either Khmer or Cham, she turned to Voisanne and hugged her. Voisanne held her friend tight, stroking the back of her head, the water up to their shoulders. “I’m sorry I left you
when the Chams attacked,” she said quietly. “But I couldn’t stay there. I had to go.”

“Don’t be sorry. You did what I should have done.”

“But friends don’t leave friends. I thought of myself when I should have thought of you.”

Thida shook her head, eased away from their embrace, and began to wash her skirt cloth. “Indravarman found me and…laughed at me.”

“Why?”

“Because I screamed when I saw him. He was covered in blood. His face was…crazed. And I just screamed.”

“And he thought that was funny?”

Thida nodded. “He laughs at me because I’m weak. Because I cry. I think he enjoys seeing me distraught.”

Guilt flooded into Voisanne as she remembered leaving Thida beneath the burning cart. “Just because he’s as big as a mountain doesn’t mean that he’s strong.”

“He is strong.”

“If he were strong, Thida, I don’t think he’d laugh at you. He wouldn’t revel in your fear. That’s what the weak do. They lift themselves up by beating others down.”

Thida wrung her skirt cloth. “I don’t know. Everyone fears him. And why would everyone fear him if he were weak?”

“Asal doesn’t. At least, not much.”

“Well, he should.”

An elephant trumpeted. Voisanne remembered how Asal had told her to keep silent about their plans for escape. She wanted to honor his wishes but was conflicted because of the guilt she felt over leaving Thida. “You’re not weak,” she reiterated, squeezing Thida’s hands. “And you can prove it.”

“How?”

“You can escape with us. Asal is making arrangements. In a
few days, he and I shall leave along with my sister. You should come with us, Thida. And when you do, you’ll prove to Indravarman that he misjudged you, that there’s more strength in you than he ever knew.”

“He’ll kill us.”

“Only if he catches us. And he won’t.”

Thida backed away, shaking her head. “No. It’s too dangerous. He watches you, Voisanne. And if you leave the city, he’ll hunt you down.”

Stepping forward, Voisanne gently pushed aside a pink lotus flower floating on the water’s surface. “We know that he watches us. But we can still escape. Just because a snake watches a frog doesn’t mean that the frog will be eaten.”

“You don’t understand him! He has spies everywhere. He—”

“Shh,” Voisanne interrupted, putting her finger to Thida’s lips.

“Maybe…maybe I am weak,” Thida said, “but I’ve heard how his executioners peel the skin from men, gouge out their eyes, cut off their manhood. That’s how Indravarman treats those who cross him. And you will be crossing him, Voisanne. You’ll cross him in the worst possible way.”

Voisanne glanced around, suddenly afraid. Fortunately, neither Cham nor Khmer was nearby. “But I think…that is how he rules. He creates fear. He depends on it. He believes that your fear has made you a beaten woman, Thida. But you don’t have to be beaten. You don’t have to spend every day in fear. Asal is smart and strong. His plan will be good. And when we’re free, you can go back to being whoever you were before Indravarman swept into your life. Don’t you want to be that person again?”

Thida nodded, though she looked away.

“Then come with us. When the time is right, I’ll get you. Just be ready to go.”

“And you’ll…stay with me?”

“I promise,” Voisanne replied, taking her friend’s hands. “I won’t leave you again. When I did that, I was afraid, just like you were. And I’m not going to be afraid anymore. Because fear is what Indravarman is counting on. The only way to beat him is to take that away from him.”

A koi broke the water’s surface—a flash of orange and white that disturbed the reflection of the sky.

“I’ll…be ready,” Thida said quietly.

“And tell no one.”

“I won’t.”

Voisanne squeezed Thida’s fingers. “It’s all going to be fine. Have faith in the future, Thida. Have faith that goodness will overcome wickedness, that your strength will overcome your fear.”

L
ater that day, as the sun had started its descent, Po Rame followed Thida while she walked along Angkor’s streets. One of the assassin’s informants, whom he’d assigned to report on Voisanne, had told him of their emotional meeting earlier that afternoon. Though the informant hadn’t heard what was discussed, he had seen their hugs and tears, and after the meeting he had followed Voisanne back to Angkor Wat, where she had prayed. Oddly, she had then purchased a small cooking pot, spices, and a bag of dry rice. Only when Voisanne had returned to her quarters did the informant seek out Po Rame and tell him about Thida.

As Po Rame followed Thida down an alley, he wondered why she had been so distraught during her rendezvous with Voisanne. Certainly the woman could have been airing her grievances against Indravarman, or perhaps she was simply lonely. But Po Rame believed that the cooking pot and the rendezvous were connected. Normally household slaves bought such goods and
prepared the meals. A woman of Voisanne’s position had no use for the cooking pot and wouldn’t be expected to buy one.

Thida left the most populated part of the city and headed north, following a tree-lined road. Po Rame trailed her at a distance, dressed as a common Cham warrior, hating the attire but believing it was necessary. He studied Thida’s movements, unaware of a pair of blue butterflies circling each other to his right. Nor did he hear the cry of cicadas or the banter of passing priests. His senses were completely homed in on Thida. She was more a part of his world than the dirt beneath his feet or the trees that filtered out the weakening sunlight. He was convinced that she was still distraught. Her uncertain gait told him as much, as did the way she clenched and unclenched her fists. Something was troubling her, something perhaps that she had learned from her rendezvous with Voisanne.

Though a part of him wondered if he should expend so much time on a pair of women, Po Rame knew that his old adversary, Asal, was on dangerous ground. His tardiness had almost cost him his life. Encouraged by Po Rame’s allegations, Indravarman had been close to gutting him. And yet in the end Indravarman had let Asal live, mainly because the king counted on him more than he would care to admit. He respected him as well, treated him as more of an equal than any other man, including Po Rame. During the past several months, Po Rame had felt particularly slighted by Indravarman’s favoritism toward Asal. While it was true that Asal had planned much of the invasion of Angkor, Po Rame had also experienced more than his share of successes.

Despite Indravarman’s reliance on Asal, Po Rame knew that the king would not stand for another failure or betrayal, and Po Rame believed that Asal and Voisanne’s relationship could be exploited. Something between them wasn’t right. He needed only to determine what that something was and then bring it to Indravarman’s
attention. At that point the king would allow Po Rame to do what he had longed to do for several years—slit Asal’s throat and watch as his life force emerged and offered itself for the taking.

The farther Thida walked from Angkor Wat, the fewer people shared the street. She had nearly reached the northern gate to the city, which overlooked a portion of the moat. Of course, the gate was mostly for decorative purposes, as the only way to cross the moat on foot was via the causeway on its western side. Po Rame allowed the distance between himself and Thida to increase. She seemed unaware of him.

Thida stepped into a drainage ditch that bordered the street. In the wet season the ditch would be full of water that would run into the moat. But now the ditch was dusty and brimming with weeds. She continued walking until she arrived at a smaller street that ran perpendicular to the one she had been following. At this intersection the ditch entered a brick tunnel that ran beneath the secondary street. She paused at the entrance to the tunnel, bent over, and called out.

Po Rame watched as Thida removed something from within the folds of her skirt cloth. She whistled softly, holding out her right hand. Po Rame was reminded of her beauty as she leaned over, her high, full breasts swaying. Thida’s long, thin legs seemed to glow in the dying light. Suddenly Po Rame felt an urge to extinguish such beauty from the world, to look into her eyes as he choked the life out of her. His victims had been old and young, men and women, healthy and sick. But never had he stolen life from someone as beautiful as Thida. In a world where objects were usually more striking than the people who made them, she was a notable exception. Her face and body were so perfect in their dimensions and contours that surely the Gods must have spent much time creating her.

Understanding why his king desired Thida, and craving her for himself, Po Rame crept closer. He heard a kitten’s cry come from the tunnel, which prompted Thida to shake her hand and whistle louder. After a Cham warrior leading a horse had passed by, Thida tossed something into the tunnel. She waited patiently, then called again.

Only when the street was almost empty did the kitten emerge. It had a gray back and a white belly. At first it sniffed at Thida’s outstretched hand, then rubbed the side of its head across her fingers. It nuzzled against her, arching its back. Thida took the kitten in her hands and stood up. She cradled it, kissing its forehead.

Po Rame moved closer. He was now only about twenty steps from her. He sat down in the shade, set the old spear he carried on the ground, and pretended that he had a splinter in his foot. He plucked at the imaginary splinter, all the time looking at her, listening to her. As long as no one else was present on the street, her words carried to him. At first she told the kitten how good it was to see it. She asked if it was hungry, fed it something, and then stroked its back. The kitten meowed, prompting her to kiss it again.

An elephant and its Cham rider approached and Po Rame cursed his luck. He wished he could kill with a stare, then imagined the warrior toppling off the elephant and the beast turning away. Neither event happened, however, and Thida turned to her left, placing herself between the beast and the kitten. An instant before her gaze fell on him, Po Rame focused on the imaginary sliver, swearing as he pretended to pick at his heel.

The elephant disappeared through the northern gate. Po Rame continued to pick away, nodding to himself when she refocused her attention on the kitten. She held it against her chest, saying that she was sorry for not bringing more food, but that the
kitten would have to learn to survive by itself because she would soon be leaving.

Po Rame’s fingers stilled at her words. As far as he knew, Indravarman had no intention of taking Thida outside the city again. And if that was true, why would she speak of leaving? Did she plan to flee without his consent? Is that why she had been so emotional with Voisanne in the moat?

For a moment Po Rame considered interrogating her then and there. But Indravarman had not ordered him to shadow her, and if she was innocent of any wrongdoing, the king would be furious with his unwelcome intervention. No, it would be better to continue to watch her. If she fled, he could capture her and return her to Indravarman. At that point, if betrayal had been on Thida’s mind, Po Rame was certain that Indravarman would give her to him.

His pulse quickening at the thought of possessing her, Po Rame pretended to pluck the sliver from his heel. He stood up and walked toward the northern gate, staying in the shadows, avoiding even the dying light of the sun. Her voice changed to a whisper and she held the kitten close, against her chest and under her chin. What she said to it he did not know. But when she looked up at him, he smiled. If she left Angkor, if she took a step in the wrong direction, he would be there.

Are you afraid to leave? Po Rame said to himself. Is that why you argued and wept in the moat?

Still deep in thought, he stepped through the northern entrance to Angkor. Before that day he’d always believed that Thida was too weak to run. But perhaps Asal’s woman was fueling a mysterious fire within her. Perhaps they would run together. If they did, Asal could be blamed, regardless of whether he had anything to do with their flight.