Temple of a Thousand Faces (43 page)

He nodded. “In a few days all the Siamese mercenaries will be here, and then we must march.”

“When you march, Jayavar, when you lead, you must do so as a king.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve shown your people the nature of yourself, how you’re gentle and noble, good and pure. But now you must show your ferocity. To lead lions you must be a lion.”

“You needn’t worry about how I shall lead my men, nor about the strength of my sword, Ajadevi. Just because I’ve buried my thirst for revenge doesn’t mean that it’s been quenched. Just because I’ve grieved doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten my duty.”

“Your destiny, Jayavar. Your destiny.”

“Angkor’s destiny. That is what I will fight for, what I will kill for.”

She turned to him. “Good.”

He stepped into the water, which rose to his knees. Extending his hand to her, he helped her off the platform. “Let’s celebrate this night with our people. Let’s celebrate as one. Because war approaches and we shall not hear laughter, as we do now, until many long days have passed.”

M
uch later that same night, Thida and Indravarman lay in his oversize bed, which, in the fashion of the Chinese, was raised off the floor and layered with soft fabrics. A silk sheet had been cast aside and half of it had fallen to the floor. Surrounded by an almost transparent mosquito net, Thida was naked and on her side, facing Indravarman. For some time she had been pretending to sleep, hoping that he would also close his eyes, but he remained propped up on an elbow, drinking rice wine. For the most part he
was still and silent, but every so often he would grunt or mutter to himself.

Normally Indravarman fell asleep soon after their sexual encounters, or sent Thida on her way, but he seemed preoccupied tonight. She knew that he had a bevy of Cham women also at his disposal and wished that he would call one of them, as he sometimes did. Soon the moon would rise, and she was increasingly worried about being late for the secret rendezvous with Voisanne. Thida’s breathing started to speed up. Sweat glistened on her back. She imagined Voisanne waiting for her in the darkness and began to panic, terrified of being left alone.

Thida opened her eyes and then slowly sat up. She wiped her brow, staring at Indravarman’s flat face rather than his naked body. “I can’t sleep, Lord King,” she said quietly. “The heat is too much.”

He sipped his wine. “What would you have me do?”

“I…I’d like to return to my quarters. The breezes there are much stronger than—”

“No wind exists tonight. The Gods make no mischief.”

She looked down, rubbing the back of her hand. “Still, Lord King, I’d like…I’d like to go if I may.”

“I’m waiting for someone. When she arrives, you may leave.”

“And is she—”

“Silence, woman! Must you fill my head with your senseless questions and laments? When she is here you will go. No sooner or later.”

Thida shrank away from him, fearing his temper. She knew what he was capable of and suspected that only her beauty had protected her from his fists. Indravarman safeguarded beautiful objects, and to him she was an object, little different from a golden statue.

Through a window at the far end of the room, Thida could see
the faintest light outside and worried that the moon had already risen. They might be waiting for her, wondering where she was and preparing to flee. “No,” she whispered unconsciously, wringing her hands.

Indravarman’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing…Lord King. But may I have some wine?”

“Why? You’ve never drunk my wine before.”

“Because I think…it will help me sleep.”

Indravarman handed her his bamboo cup. She drank deeply, resisting the growing urge to leap out of bed and hurry toward the rendezvous point. Almost never did she stay so late in his room, and she couldn’t believe her ill luck. If she had known that he would keep her so late she would have thought of a better excuse to return to her quarters. She silently cursed her stupidity. When would the woman arrive? Why was she so tardy?

Thida handed the cup back to him and glanced at the window again. The light outside seemed to be getting stronger. She felt trapped. The room appeared to become unsteady, as if she stood on the deck of a small boat instead of resting on a bed. Walls tilted, her thoughts became muddled, and her skin itched. Again she imagined Voisanne waiting for her, growing restless and impatient. Soon they’d leave, and when that happened Thida would have no one.

She lay back on the bed, praying for the other woman’s arrival, squeezing the sheet with her right hand. Without question the moon was already out. Her coconspirators would be under the tree, looking to the south, across the empty moat. She wanted to be swimming in that water, to be calling out to them. Instead she was an arm’s length from Indravarman. She felt bound and gagged and immobile—as helpless as an infant left alone in the jungle. Though she tried to hide her emotions, she was restless and agitated.

A knock sounded on the distant door. A woman’s voice called out. Profound relief surged into Thida and she sat up quickly, bumping into Indravarman’s arm. He started to respond to the woman, then turned to Thida. His eyes narrowed. She shrank from him, but suddenly his hands were around her throat. He pressed his thumbs against her windpipe and she couldn’t breathe.

“Why do you wish to run?” he demanded.

She struggled against him, clutching at his thumbs, her chest heaving.

He released her, then slapped her across the face. She cried out, trying to roll from the bed. The mosquito net became entangled in her arms and was ripped from the ceiling. He struck her again, producing whimpers and tears. “Where do you seek to go with such haste?” he roared.

She shook her head. She tried to flee him. Then she saw the rage in his face, she saw his open hand rise once more, and words tumbled from her. She sought to stop herself, but the words kept coming. She wept, told him everything, and finally pleaded that he be merciful.

Indravarman picked her up and threw her against the nearby wall. He began to shout, calling for his men. Thida screamed. She screamed to her friend that they were coming for her, that she should run and never stop running.

The king’s fist flew through the air, striking Thida on the side of the head, turning light to dark, horror to nothingness.

B
eyond the moat on the northern side of Angkor Wat, Asal, Voisanne, Chaya, and the Khmer guide hid within the branches of the fallen teak tree. They had been waiting for so long that their skin had dried after swimming across the moat. The moon had risen and drifted partway across the sky. Though it was still
the dead of night, time seemed fleeting, and everyone was restless.

His hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, Asal closed his eyes and prayed. He didn’t want to leave Thida behind, but they had already waited too long and taken too great a risk. They should have been far into the jungle by now, having put a substantial distance between them and their soon-to-be pursuers. Asal knew that Indravarman would send men after him, likely Po Rame and some other trackers. These men wouldn’t know the exact route that he’d take but would assume that he was fleeing to the north.

Asal finished his prayer, peered through the branches surrounding him to study the moat, and leaned close to Voisanne. “We have to leave,” he whispered. “We’ve lingered too long already.”

She squeezed his free hand. “Why is she late? She promised me that she’d come. Something must have happened.”

“All the more reason to leave now.”

“But I swore an oath to her. I left her once, and I promised that I’d never fail her again.”

The Khmer guide, a weathered man who had already seen five decades come and go, urged haste. Chaya tugged on her older sister’s skirt cloth. It was obvious to Asal that Voisanne was torn. Yet at this point, fear needed to be the stronger motivator. And to drive that point home, Asal put his lips against her ear. “If we’re caught,” he whispered, his words audible to no one but her, “your sister will suffer grievously.”

She looked at him, nodding. “We should go.”

“You go. I’ll stay a short time longer, because of your oath, and then follow.”

“No. We have to stay together. I won’t leave you behind. Not when—”

His finger touched her lips. “I can move faster than you on the trail. I can wait. And I’ll catch up.”

“But—”

“Your oath to her is important. You’ve told me as much. You shouldn’t have to break it because I lost my courage.”

“Asal, please come with us. Please. You’ve nothing to prove to me. Nothing at all.”

“If we flee, and she’s caught, Indravarman will skin her alive. Let me stay for a short time, and then, with or without her, I’ll find you.”

She shook her head but was pulled away from him by her sister and the guide. Breaking from their grasp, she embraced him, kissing his lips, his cheek, drawing him as close as possible. She told him of her love for him and he smiled at her words, echoing them with his own. The guide once again explained his intended route, saying that he would leave twice-torn leaves as signs. Asal thanked him, promised that he would soon catch up to them, and kissed the back of Voisanne’s hand. “Now run, my lady. Run as I know you can.”

She started to reply but was pulled from him. Her face was wet with tears and he longed to kiss that wetness. Instead he smiled, waved farewell, and watched them depart, vanishing into the darkness of the jungle.

As soon as they were gone he unsheathed his sword and peered over the moat. He would stay until the moon reached its summit. Then he would run. He would run and never look back. But until that moment he’d linger, because he knew that the oath was important to her, and he longed to see it fulfilled. Also, if Thida came to this place and they were gone, if she were caught, her screams would be heard across all of Angkor. Those screams would be on his conscience, on Voisanne’s conscience, and would be a heavy burden to carry.

Without Voisanne’s presence, Asal became more aware of the night. A breeze rustled the dried-out leaves of the dying tree. The soil was damp beneath his feet. The moon, already too high in the sky, seemed to shimmer. As he had many times before, Asal wondered about its features, which were plainly visible on this night. The moon seemed young, yet old; strong, yet feeble.

Reaching upward, Asal touched the necklace that Voisanne had given him. He kissed the jade, imagining how she must have wrapped the silver wire around it. Not since his parents died had someone thought about him in such a way, and he suddenly wished that he was beside her. In a life full of uncertainties, he felt sure of only one thing—that he should stand next to her, beholding the beauty of her face and her spirit.

A shadow appeared across the moat. Asal squinted, wondering if his imagination was toying with him. Or perhaps Thida had finally arrived. Perhaps she would come to him and they could flee together.

The moon dimmed as a cloud drifted in front of it. Asal peered into the moat. He thought he heard a splash. Though he wanted to call out to Thida, he dared not use his voice. Instead he crouched within the branches, his knuckles whitening on his sword hilt. Somewhere a dog barked.

The edge of the moat was about fifty paces away and Asal saw a figure materialize. Only this figure was not thin and narrow, as Thida would be, but broad and seemed to carry a spear. Another shadow appeared and then another. At that moment Asal knew that he’d been betrayed. He turned to flee but realized that he would only lead his pursuers to the woman he loved. He could run in the opposite direction, but then the approaching men might simply choose to head to the north, as they had likely been told to do. They might find Voisanne. And Asal could never flee when that possibility remained. He had to kill these men.

The shadows emerged. There were eight of them, and they moved like warriors, bent and ready for action. Each held a shield and a spear. Spreading out, they crept straight toward the tree, and Asal wondered how many he could surprise before they were upon him. He kissed his necklace again, then beseeched the Gods to give him strength, to make his sword dreadful that night. He needed to be dreadful; otherwise he would never see Voisanne again. The thought of such separation made his chest heave, and so he tried to focus his energy on the approaching men, looking for the stoutest, the man who would be most difficult to bring down and so should be slain without warning.

Asal spied such a man—a huge and muscled brute who carried a thick spear. The warrior neared Asal’s hiding spot, and without a word Asal swung his blade through a small branch, grunting as the weapon struck his countryman’s side, where it bit deeply and became lodged against bone. Asal let go of the hilt and grabbed the dying man’s spear. He thrust it into another warrior’s chest, deflected a blow with his shield, and whirled, swinging his spear like an axe, trying to keep his attackers at bay. One man shouted a war cry and rushed forward. Asal bent low and pushed up with his shield, throwing the warrior upward. The man landed on a broken branch, screaming as it pierced his leg, but Asal wasn’t aware of the warrior’s misfortune. He was already rushing forward, trying to take two Chams by surprise. Perhaps the Gods had been listening, for they did grant him strength, and while thrusting with his spear he lifted the edge of his shield up hard under a man’s face, breaking his nose, sending him reeling backward. Asal spun around, aware that four more adversaries remained. Something struck him on the side of the head. His knees buckled, but he did not fall. Blood obscured his vision, and he stabbed wildly with his spear, attacking his foes, taking the fight to them rather than being surrounded and overwhelmed.

Just as he slew another warrior, many more Chams emerged from the water, emerged like shadows in some dark underworld. He didn’t see them come, yet he felt the shafts of their spears as they beat him down, pulverizing him as the world spun around him and he stumbled to his knees. Finally dropping his weapon, he tried to protect himself with his shield, but feet, fists, and elbows slammed into him, battering him as the monsoon rains might assault a leaf, relentless and unforgiving.