Temple of a Thousand Faces (36 page)

He smiled. “I look for him. I swim for her.”

“You see, such things can’t be stolen.”

“I’ve tried to tell myself that. But after a battle, when I’ve endured loneliness and regret, I’ve still felt wronged—slighted by the Gods.”

She moved against him. “I don’t always understand the Gods,” she said, running her hand along his thigh, “but I think that they can be fickle, granting favors one moment and ignoring our pleas the next.”

The fire crackled, sending sparks toward the black sky.

“You speak the truth,” he said. “Because now I no longer feel cheated, but blessed. The Gods brought me to Angkor; then they brought me to you. Some of the wrongs in my life have been righted. And that’s why, my lady, I’ll go with you. I’m not so foolish as to turn from such a blessing.”

“You truly see me…in this way?”

“I see you…as something that fills the emptiness inside me, that warms the cold, that brightens the night.”

She smiled, still stroking his thigh. “A warrior-poet. I’ve found myself a warrior-poet.”

“I’m less the poet, my lady, and more the warrior.”

“Then I’d hate to be your enemy.”

It was his turn to grin. “When we return to Angkor, I’ll find
a way for us to escape. But it may take time. You must be patient and tell no one our plans. Not even your sister. When the time is right we’ll simply come for her.”

“And then we shall run? To my people?”

“Yes. We’ll run for days and nights, and I don’t know where the paths will take us.”

An owl hooted in the darkness, prompting Voisanne to toss another branch on the fire. “I think you should trick Indravarman,” she said. “If he’s as mistrustful as you say, you should convince him that someone else is about to betray him. We could persuade Thida to whisper into his ear that you believe a traitor exists, and that you plan to track him to the north as he heads for a rendezvous.”

“Yes…a version of that might work. But be careful, my lady. Be very careful. Treachery is Indravarman’s weapon of choice, and if we fight him with that blade, he could turn it against us.”

“Then maybe we should just sneak away in the night and run.”

“Patience, my lady. You must have patience. Even though it suits you poorly.”

She threw another stick in the fire and sparks flew. “What I must do is escape with you, because the Gods have also cheated and blessed me, and we can’t waste this unexpected gift. It might not come again.”

“You’re the gift,” he replied, kissing her lips. “A gift that I see, that I hear, and that best of all…I feel.”

She leaned back so that she was lying on the ferns and looking up at him. He bent down to kiss her again, moving unhurriedly, like the dancing flames. He tried to further slow himself, for they had last come together in frantic need, and this time he wanted to savor their union. The Gods had blessed him, and he longed to honor them, as well as Voisanne. She was to be cherished,
celebrated, and he could do neither if his desire overrode his control.

His lips and hands moved upon her, professing his feelings to her. He spoke not with words but in the way he held her. Though so much of him rejoiced at the sight of her, a part of him also feared that she would be pulled from him, that two people could not stand in the path of war and emerge unscathed.

Soon they would be back in Angkor, where he would be unable to protect her, to share his feelings as he was now.

Asal’s lips parted from hers. His pulse raced, and he wanted to slow it, to make everything remain forever as it was now. But the fire burned, the trees swayed, and he bent down to kiss her again, his hands moving with more speed, his mind, body, and soul restless to consume all that she had to offer.

he temple of Banteay Srei was as Ajadevi remembered it. The only major temple in the Angkor region not created by a king, Banteay Srei wasn’t much larger than a cluster of ten homes. Built by a wealthy patron of the Hindu Gods, the site was made of light red sandstone and was much more detailed than the massive temples to the south. Surrounded by a head-high wall made of large, laterite blocks, the temple consisted of a platform that supported three towers.

Ajadevi and Jayavar had followed a long raised walkway to the main entrance, which brought them to a second walkway. This structure was roofed and graced by smooth pillars. At its end were several courtyards and a pair of ponds. The platform supporting the three towers was covered in intricate carvings that depicted demons, Gods, dancing women, snakes, and lotus flowers. Large swaths of sandstone had been carved to re-create heroic scenes from the Hindu epic
The Ramayana
. And though the temple was devoted to Shiva and Vishnu, inscriptions also championed the poor, the blind, the weak, and the ill.

The carvings were so intricate, it was said that only women could have made them. And, in fact, many of the carvings were of female dancers and guardians. Smiling feminine faces were everywhere, adding serenity and beauty to walls, columns, and towers. The Citadel of Women, as it was known by many, could not have been a more apt name. Whoever had designed the temple surely meant to celebrate women as well as the Gods.

Standing on the platform between two of the towers, Ajadevi stared to the south. Though the temple grounds boasted open courtyards and lotus-filled ponds, towering fruit-bearing trees rose from just within the surrounding wall. The bare-trunked trees were more than two hundred feet tall and featured leafy canopies. Khmer warriors had secured ladders to the trunks and nailed wooden platforms near the trees’ summits. The views must have been unparalleled, and Ajadevi wondered whether the sentries could see all the way to Angkor.

“You were wise to inspect our position here,” she said, turning to Jayavar.

“This place,” he replied, “is the eye of the needle. It is the key to our future.”

“If the Chams come, our troops will be well positioned to see them.”

He nodded, his face glistening. “Yes, and our men on the ground will have time to flee. But our men in the trees will likely be sacrificed.”

Ajadevi looked up, suddenly aware of how long it would take to climb down from such a vast height. Not long after the warnings had been given, the sentries would be surrounded by Chams and killed. “But how can we help them?” she asked.

“Nothing can be done. They might have enough time to climb down; then again, they might not. But they are volunteers. Most were wounded in the attack on Angkor. Some have arrows
and will fight. When the time comes, the others will leap from the trees.”

Though accustomed to the casualties of war, Ajadevi shuddered at the thought of men jumping willingly to their deaths. “Then we must attack the Chams before they discover us here.”

“And we shall. But we need more time.”

“Tell me why.”

Jayavar wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Because many of the Siamese mercenaries haven’t yet arrived. Nor have most of our spies returned from Angkor. I’m somewhat blind to the Chams’ numbers, to their defenses, and still lack a complete battle plan.”

“How long will you need?”

“At least half a moon. We shall celebrate the Festival of Floats and then attack.”

Ajadevi sighed, then turned around slowly, studying the thousands of carvings that graced walls and towers. She felt empowered within the Citadel of Women, as if the strength of each female face had somehow infused her with wisdom. The faces were telling her something, she was certain. But what they were saying she could not surmise.

“What?” Jayavar asked, turning so that he could better see her.

She walked over to a tower and touched one of the dancing women. “Banteay Srei doesn’t soar, but of all the temples, it may be my favorite.” Her fingertips traced the contours of the carving’s face, lingering on its eyes. “And yet this temple was not built by a king, but by a commoner.”

“What of this commoner?”

“Perhaps you place too much emphasis on your own designs for battle. Perhaps there’s someone among us, a commoner, who has seen the Cham defenses and can give you the ideas you seek.”

“But I’ve made inquiries. No one has come forward.”

“Ask again,” she replied, then studied the small groups of Khmer warriors clustered around the temple. The men seemed grim, she thought, aware that the usual banter among warriors was lacking.

“You must inspire them,” she said. “You must inspire your people.”

“I have ideas on how to do so, but might you have another?”

“You should make a float for the festival. And when we celebrate, you should set your float among the others. Speak to our people then, as you would to me. Not as their king, but as someone who cares for them, who loves them. Let them know that we shall win this battle and that it’s one worth fighting for; that after we’ve won, our empire will be greater, and more noble, than it’s ever been.”

A dog barked, its cries echoing off the nearby walls.

“Look around you, Jayavar,” she continued. “See how the temple inspires? How the dreams of its makers can still be felt on this day? You must inspire our people just as our temples do, by convincing them that they’re part of something far more beautiful and glorious than themselves. That’s what Khmers have always believed and what we must continue to believe.”

His hand went from the hilt of his sheathed sword to the stone face that she had just touched. “Your father told me once, when I was courting you, that his pride in you was unequalled.”

“He did?”

“He said that I’d come to cherish you above all else, and he was right. While there was a time when I coveted power and possessions, those desires have faded with the passing years. Now I simply long for this war to end so that we may spend the rest of our days together in peace, as I believe we were meant to.”

“But we shall not spend them idly, my love, for we’ll have so much to do.”

“I agree. And those accomplishments will mark the summit of our lives.”

She smiled, envisioning such a future when she need not worry about death and despair but simply how to share their blessings with those less fortunate. “When this war is over,” she said, “we shall build hospitals and roads and courtyards. But we shall also build a temple to honor you, a temple with your face on it.”

He shook his head while scratching a smudge of green lichen from the carving. “You make me into more than I am.”

“Perhaps.”

“And when this war is through, what shall I do to honor you?”

“Live, Jayavar. That is how you will honor me. Because the enemy will come for you and I so very much need you to live.”

He had opened his mouth to speak when the sound of a horn pierced the air. The horn blew twice, indicating that a group of supporters, likely Khmers, was approaching. Four blows would have indicated the presence of Cham warriors. Jayavar’s hand once again went to his sword hilt. “Come, my queen,” he said. “Let’s see who has arrived.”

She watched him walk away, so familiar with the cadence of his movements. After a few paces, he turned around, seemingly surprised that she wasn’t beside him. And so she went, as she always had and always would. She took his outstretched hand and squeezed it, and something within her trembled at the permanent yet untested nature of their connection.

W
ithin one of the courtyards of Angkor Wat, Thida watched Indravarman practice his warfare. He wielded a bamboo pole, as did his two opponents. Though smaller men, they were skilled with their weapons and took turns assaulting him. Thida had
seen Indravarman fight on several occasions but couldn’t remember witnessing the fury that seemed to explode now with each of his attacks. A blurred shape, his pole swept and darted, humming as it sliced through the air. Each of his adversaries had been struck, and large bruises had already formed on their battered flesh. Yet Indravarman showed them no mercy, attacking as they retreated, using his pole, his fists, and even his knees. Drops of sweat and blood darkened the gray sandstone beneath their bare feet.

When Indravarman had his back to her, Thida glanced up at the magnificent towers of Angkor Wat, hoping that the majestic sight would overwhelm her memories of the previous day. She had stood beside the king as four hundred Khmer men had been rounded up, speared, and left in a pile for everyone to see. Wives and children had clung together, shrieking, and the cries still reverberated in Thida’s mind. She had never seen such horror, and the very thought of it made her legs tremble. At one point she had started to ask Indravarman to stop the killings, but the intensity of his gaze had silenced her.