Temple of a Thousand Faces (55 page)

As final preparations were being made to get under way, Ajadevi glanced from her husband to the Khmers behind her. Hundreds of women and children, guarded by dozens of warriors, were gathered in a circle. Ajadevi recognized the nearly blind boy and his mother. Without question the boy’s idea concerning the poisoned fish had worked, for Khmer officers had reported that many of the Chams had been enfeebled by illness, which all but ensured their slaughter.

Not far from the boy stood the Cham officer Asal and his lover. Asal’s hands were still bound, though Ajadevi believed he was no threat. Jayavar, however, was less trusting in the matter.

Once the warriors sailed for battle, the women and children
would take the remaining boats and pull away from shore. Positioned in such a way, they would be protected from Indravarman in the likely event that upon learning of the Khmer attack, the Cham king led an army to the lake. Far from shore, and with every boat gone, the women and children would be safe. After Jayavar defeated the approaching Chams, he would turn his fleet around and return to protect whoever had been left behind.

Ajadevi believed that Jayavar’s plan was sound, but she didn’t like the thought of being separated from him. Her place had always been by his side, and now, in his moment of greatest need, she would be beyond his reach.

“I should accompany you,” she said as he came close enough that his shadow fell on hers.

He shook his head. “This conversation has already occurred.”

“But you may need me.”

“Yes, I may. But whoever is left behind shall also need you. I’d rather have you in charge than anyone else.”

“There are other—”

“No one is as quick as you, my queen. You must stay for the sake of our people.”

For the first time in her life, Ajadevi wished that he didn’t trust her judgment. He wasn’t just saying that she would be the best person to lead the collection of women, children, and warriors—he believed it. “My place is with you,” she finally replied, knowing that he wouldn’t relent but unable to stop herself from speaking.

A faint smile graced his face. “Whatever I am, it is because of you. You gave me strength when I had none, faith when my doubts were many.”

She saw that the boats were full and ready. His officers were waiting for him, standing on the decks, their weapons glistening.
Because many eyes were on her, and she wanted to do him honor and thereby inspire the men he commanded, she knelt on one knee and kissed his hand. “If you should fall, look for our light,” she said. “But do not fall, Jayavar. There’s still so much for us to do in this life, precious moments still to unfold.”

He helped her rise. “You are most precious. I could journey throughout our land, searching year after year, and find nothing and no one as lovely.”

Wanting to stay strong in front of the men, she held back her tears. “Return to me. Let me journey with you.” She kissed him once on the lips, then stepped backward, knowing that he should go.

“I shall always love you,” he said, bowing to her.

“And I you.”

He turned away.

She resisted a nearly overwhelming urge to reach for him, to pull him back to her. Willing herself to remain still, she watched him go, tears finally falling to her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip, holding back a shudder, terrified that she would never see him again. Suddenly there were so many things that she wanted to tell him, so many thoughts left unsaid. But she stayed still, watching him move along the dock and step into a boat. He waved to her, then to his people.

The fleet set sail. She watched it fade away, allowing herself a brief moment to lament his departure. Then, thinking of her countrymen, she steeled herself and turned around, ready to organize those who remained. Her first order of business was to ensure that Nuon was in a large boat surrounded by able fighters. The two women exchanged farewells. Then Ajadevi hurried from vessel to vessel, anointing leaders and telling them what she expected.

She wanted to be off this bloody and vulnerable stretch of
land as soon as possible, wanted to be on the water, where at least she could touch its wetness and wonder whether Jayavar touched the same thing.

I
t didn’t take long to board the women, children, and remaining warriors onto the boats. For a reason unknown to Asal, the Khmer queen asked that he, Voisanne, and Chaya travel with her. Their boat was crammed with crying children, worried mothers, and some fighters well past their prime. Despite the many distractions, the queen organized everyone, and soon they set sail. Though his hands were still bound, Asal volunteered to help row and, sitting on a bench, he dipped a long oar into the water and pulled with the Khmers.

They drew away from shore. Other boats followed their lead, and soon their force was safely in deep water, far enough from land that no arrow could reach them. The queen ordered that the sail be dropped, the oars left still, and the anchor lowered. Their craft swayed idly. Mothers fed children. Warriors scanned the horizon. The queen conferred with a wrinkled man who held a spear.

Asal glanced at Voisanne, who was talking with Chaya. Voisanne saw his gaze and smiled at him. She looked at ease on the rocking boat, and he felt a surge of pride. Now that she was reunited with her people, she seemed more confident and mature. Her beauty had blossomed as well. She stood with her back straighter, her head held high. He had fallen in love with her when she was beaten down, and now that she had risen, his attraction to her was even stronger.

Though Asal wanted to leave his post and go to her side, he resisted the urge. Instead he studied the shoreline, certain that Indravarman would lead his army to the lake. It would take some
time to organize thousands of warriors and march them here, but before long they would come. Scouts should have arrived already, and seeing none, Asal asked himself about their absence. Aside from birds that circled and pecked at the dead, the shoreline was bereft of movement.

Sweat rolled down Asal’s back. The sun beat upon him. He glanced at the queen and saw that she was still speaking with the old spearman. Did they also wonder about the silence? Why no one had appeared?

Asal imagined what Indravarman would do upon hearing that his base had been attacked. The king, who commanded so many more men than the Khmers did, would surely seize the opportunity to crush his foe. As with any looming engagement, scouts would be sent ahead.

Thinking that perhaps the scouts would come by water, Asal scanned the horizon. Yet he saw no one. The Khmer fleet had recently disappeared into a distant haze. The Great Lake was an endless shimmering mirror.

Uneasiness began to seep into Asal. Something was wrong. He knew Indravarman too well to believe that the king would ignore an invading army. Indravarman’s plan was unfolding, but what it was, Asal could not guess.

Cursing softly in his native tongue, Asal continued to scan the shoreline and the lake. Though he had felt fear many times in his life, this helplessness was worse. The woman he loved was standing nearby. He could hear her voice and see her face. Yet he felt incapable of protecting her because whatever was happening, he was blind to its intricacies, naked to its dangers.

Indravarman was out there somewhere, and whatever trap he was planning was about to be sprung.

*    *    *

D
ue south, in the deep waters of the Great Lake, Indravarman waited. He had found the approaching Cham force, and after having alerted its officers to the Khmer plan, there was nothing he could do but sit idle. His boat was at the rear of his fleet, opposite where the Khmers would appear. He wanted to remain unseen until his trap was set in motion and the enemy was completely surrounded.

Restless, Indravarman shifted on his dais. He had told his officers to have their men appear at ease. Music and singing emanated from several boats, and the scent of roasting fish hung heavily in the air. Men rowed, but with no sense of purpose. A few warriors, all fit and young, swam alongside their boats, racing one another. Bets were cast and men shouted encouragement.

Indravarman had spread the word that at most seven thousand Khmers and Siamese would oppose them, and his men were confident of victory. He shared their outlook and was increasingly impatient for the killing to begin. Gazing at his army, he tried to count all the boats but lost track, bored by the tedious exercise. On the flat waters of the Great Lake, his men seemed infinite in number. These were hardened fighters, and with two of his men for every Khmer and Siamese, his force would give him a resounding triumph.

The dream that Indravarman had conjured up so long ago was finally about to come true. He would shatter one empire while expanding his own. After the Khmers had fallen, he would consolidate his forces, demand reinforcements, and then march on the Siamese. Their land was rich in resources, harbors, and history; and he longed to beat down the men who had joined forces with the Khmers to oppose him.

To the north, the lake seemed to shimmer under a thin haze. Indravarman wished that a breeze would arrive, but the Gods ignored his request. Spurning them as they had him, he thought
about Asal, believing that he would appear, hoping he would. Asal was now an enemy, and one to be reckoned with. The only death that Indravarman coveted more than Asal’s was Jayavar’s. Both men posed threats. Both were strong, in part because of their women. Indravarman had heard of Ajadevi’s exploits and wanted to take her alive, though he doubted he could do so. She was too wise to let him capture her. Yet Voisanne was another story. She was still young, and even if Asal died, she would want to live. She would attempt to flee and would be tracked down.

Indravarman tried to picture her, thinking that though she wasn’t as striking as Thida, her face had held his gaze. He’d given her as a reward to Asal, and she had corrupted him. So she must be much more resilient than he had suspected. She must be a prize.

An oar stroke splashed him, and Indravarman glared at the crewman. He wondered how he might keep Asal alive long enough for him to understand that his woman had been captured and was now the property of a king. Or perhaps he should simply entomb them forever, wall them up in a room of thick stone and let them die in each other’s arms.

You should have stayed away from me, he thought, but I know that you didn’t. You hate me, and so you shall come. Yet you come only to the end, Asal, like a moth to a flame. Do you not know that your death is imminent, that you rush toward it with open arms?

I was wrong to think so highly of you, as only a fool would return to me. And if you’ve brought your woman, then you’re twice the fool. Because whatever pain I give you, she shall receive tenfold. She stole you from me; she twisted you, and in doing so, she mocked me.

Perhaps you need time to think, Asal. Perhaps being entombed will suit you. You’ll want to end her life, her misery, but
shall be powerless to do so. Yet you shall see her tears, hear her suffering. Countless deaths she shall die before you watch the light finally fade from her eyes.

S
till far away and approaching from the north, Jayavar’s fleet moved steadily toward its foe. Wanting his men to see that he did not place himself above them, he held an oar and moved it to the cadence of the captain’s voice. Sweat glistened on his face, back, and chest. Though he was pleased with how his plan was unfolding so far, he felt ill at ease. The fight on the shoreline had gone well, but a Cham spear had almost impaled him. It would have but for a man to his left who had lifted his shield at the last moment and saved his king’s life.

Jayavar had fought in many battles and had always believed in his blade. But on the shoreline his foes had seemed to be younger, stronger, and quicker than he remembered. His own weapon was slow, barely parrying thrusts, downing only two of his enemies. For the first time in his life, his age had begun to betray him. He had never seen the spear flying toward him, or recognized a warning shout. Equally distressing, while his men, almost all of whom were half his age, charged forward and fought with fury, the surge of bloodlust that always accompanied battle had carried him only so far. In the end, he’d had to rely on his wisdom and experience rather than on the strength of his sword arm. And he knew too well what happened to warriors in hand-to-hand combat when their arms tired and their reflexes slowed.

Battle was a place for the young. Yet he had to lead his men, had to be in the heart of the fight. Somehow he would have to find the vigor to bring down quicker and stronger warriors. Recalling how he’d once seen an old tiger fight off a much younger
adversary, Jayavar reminded himself that the old could dominate the young—at least for a moment. His challenge would be how to string together a succession of such moments.

If Ajadevi had sensed his apprehension, which was likely, she had chosen not to speak of it. Nor had he mentioned his shortcomings to her. Their mutual fear held the subject at bay, it seemed, as if by speaking of weaknesses they would become real.

Jayavar eased back on his oar, rowing with less vigor. Sweat continued to roll down his skin, and men on nearby boats applauded his efforts. No one appeared to notice that he was conserving what remained of his strength. He knew that only two great battles remained. If he could survive those, if he could lead his people to victory, he would never need to lift a sword again. He’d rule with peace in mind, and if someday another war became inescapable, he would command from the rear ranks.

For the first time in many years, Jayavar felt completely alone. The weight of an empire pressed down on his shoulders. Based on his actions, his people would rejoice or lament the day’s conclusion. In so many ways, he should have felt empowered and encouraged.

Yet, drawing closer to his enemy, he continued to worry, wondering if he had the strength to do what must be done.

A
s the mothers around her managed their children and the handful of warriors assigned to her boat scanned the horizon, Ajadevi stood at the stern and resisted the urge to pace the deck. With every passing heartbeat she felt Jayavar pulling farther away from her, and the separation left her increasingly troubled.