Love's Odyssey (24 page)

I must follow their customs, Romell reminded herself, and dropped to her knees. After a few moments, the silken hangings of another door stirred. Two male servants entered. One looped the silk aside while the other stood waiting beside the doorway with an opened gold parasol.

The Raden stepped into the room, dressed in a white and gold sarong that fell to his ankles. A shirt with gold embroidered edges covered his upper arms and chest. He advanced toward the couch, the servant holding the gold parasol over his head. Sora tapped Romell’s leg, and Romell glanced sideways at her and saw Sora's head bowed. Obviously, she wanted Romell to do the same.

I won't, Romell decided. It will have to be enough that I am kneeling. She watched the Raden instead. He was a handsome man, at least a head taller than most of the Javanese men she had seen, with even features and a superb carriage. His skin was the color of wild honey, a golden-brown.

Ignoring Romell and Sora, he seated himself on the couch, dismissing the male servants with a flick of his fingers. He spoke several words. Sora raised her head, then rose, bowed, and backed from the room. Romell got to her feet, wondering if she had been dismissed as well.

"You will remain," the Raden said, in excellent Dutch.

When she'd gotten over her surprise, Romell said, "I didn't realize you knew Dutch. They told me only one man was permitted to speak to you."

The Raden waved his hand. "Adat," he said. "The custom. It is considered improper to speak to me except in krama, and my subjects know only the common language."

"I certainly don't know krama either. Even my Dutch is far from perfect—I am English."

"Ah, I have never met an English woman before. You will be interesting to me. Indeed, I haven't had the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with any foreign lady, Dutch or English. Chinese, I know, and Japanese."

"It is kind of you to offer your hospitality," Romell said, not liking the sound of what he'd said since his wording implied he meant to keep her here for a time. "I fear I must impose on your kindness further and ask if you can arrange for me to be sent back to Batavia."

"Come here," he said.

Slowly, Romell approached the couch. When she was an arm's length away, she stopped.

"Closer," he commanded.

She took one more step. The Raden reached out a hand and pulled her down beside him. He fingered her hair. "Sir," Romell protested, "I'm not used to being treated this way. In England, gentlemen respect ladies."

"Ah, but I am the Raden and may do as I choose." He pushed the fabric of her scarf aside and ran his hand over her bare shoulder,

Romell stiffened and started to draw away.

"No," he said. "Where do you think to go? The palace is mine, and all the land and the people surrounding it. My word is law. Pretty English woman, you will do as I wish."

Romell stopped moving, but sat rigid as he examined her hands and even looked into her ears.

"I have heard tales of how foreign woman differ from my own people," he said. "Disrobe."

"I shan't!"

The Raden shrugged. "You would, perhaps, prefer to have one of my men remove your clothes?"

She shuddered, shaking her head.

"Very well then. Disrobe."

Slowly, Romell took off the scarf that covered her shoulders, not meeting his eyes.

"Why do you object? You cannot be married, for I heard you say 'nonee' when you appeared from the jungle. If you are sufficiently interesting, I may decide to marry you. Now, take off the sarong."

Staring defiantly at him, she stood and unwound the batik, letting it fall to the rug, then she stepped out of her sandals.

The Raden's gaze traveled over her body, lingering on her breasts and her hips. She felt herself flush with embarrassment and anger.

"How unusual," he said. "You are much fairer of skin where the kain covers your body."

"The sun has burnt my skin," she said, her words clipped.

"Ah. Then if you were to keep inside, you would soon be white all over. I would like that, yes."

"I do not wish to be your wife."

"But you have no choice. If I decide I want you, you will be."

"You need a wife from your own people," she said.

"I have nine of them now." He smiled hearing her gasp. "It is adat, the custom. I find the foreigners' insistence on one wife very strange."

He grasped Romell's arm and pulled her to him, this time pushing her into a semi-reclining position on the couch. He fingered her breasts, smiling again when he stimulated her nipples into hardness.

"You are no different here," he said. "But the pinkness, yes, that is delectable—pink instead of brown."

What shall I do? Romell asked herself. If I fight him, he'll call the male servants and I'll be forced to submit anyway. If I push him away and run from the room, there's no place to hide and he'll have me brought back. I couldn't bear to have servants watching what he does.

I can do nothing but let him have his way.

The Raden ran his hands over her thighs, pushing her legs apart. His fingers touched her intimately, stroking gently. At least he hadn't hurt her so far, she thought, but she was repulsed by what he was doing.

"I was told lies," he said. "You differ only in detail from the women I have known. Still, I find the details intriguing, as you no doubt have noticed."

Taking her hand, he placed it around his distended organ. "You see, we Javanese are quite like other men."

He wrapped his fingers about hers, so his sex was hot and naked inside her hand and began to slide back and forth within her grasp.

She looked away. Pieter had sometimes done this when she had been forced to submit to him on the island and she found it as repulsive as everything else he’d done. She liked what the Raden was doing no better.

When he groaned with release and she felt the hot, sticky result in her hand, she gagged.

He lay back among the pillows on his couch, while she use the pillow next to her to wipe off her hand. "You may go," he said languidly. "It pleases me to wait until after the ceremony to have you. I enjoy anticipation."

Chapter 24

In the days that followed Romell did all she could to learn more of the Javanese language. Although she wasn’t allowed to venture out of the women’s quarters, she persuaded Sora to arrange for her to met with the interpreter who spoke Dutch, in the women’s courtyard for an hour each day.

Through Torat, Romell learned that Sora was the Number One Wife, being the Raden’s favorite. As for the others in the harem, some were wives, some concubines. She was told the prince’s peron was sacred. No one was allowed to touch him without his permission on penalty of death.

She’d greatly prefer not to be granted that privilege, but saw no way to convince the prince she didn’t want to be wife number ten. For some reason he didn’t repulse her as much as Hendrik had, but that didn’t mean she wanted to lie with him. Or that she could ever love him.

Marriage to the Raden would be a farce.

Romell sighed. Torat had told her the kraton was situated near the Indian Ocean, on Java’s south coast, many miles from Batavia.

Romell realized she could never find her way back alone. But if she managed to convince the Raden to return her to Batavia, what would she do there? Here, on the other hand, already some of the women's curiosity had changed to veiled hostility. Sora was still friendly, but how long would that last?

Sora took her to the children's quarters where Romell counted thirty children, ranging from babies to about ten years of age. "Older ones train other places," Sora said, and Romell discovered that the Raden's offspring totalled fifty-two in all.

"Your child is here?" Romell asked.

Sora smiled shyly and touched her stomach lightly. "First baby," she said.

Romell noticed then that Sora's waistline was thicker than one would expect in such a tiny woman. How would it feel to be having a first child that would be your husband's fifty-third? Sora seemed proud and happy, but then to her this way of life was adat.

It could never by my custom, Romell told herself. I couldn't bear to have a child of mine of such little importance to my husband. The Raden obviously can hardly tell one from another among the fifty-two.

She waited apprehensively for a summons to the prince's chambers again, or to be told to prepare for a wedding ceremony. When, one morning, Sora announced that there would be a wayang the next evening, Romell's heart sank. She didn't know the word, but Sora had smiled and added that Romell would especially enjoy it.

After an uneasy few minutes of explanation, Romell discovered that a wayang was a Javanese play. The night she had stumbled on the Raden's encampment, they had been watching a wayang kulit, a shadow play where leather puppets made of water buffalo hide were manipulated behind a lighted screen while the audience watched their shadows.

"We see the puppets again?" Romell asked. She still had trouble remembering that the Javanese used only the present tense.

"No, we see wayang orang. Men perform."

Romell looked forward to the Javanese play, for she was beginning to feel stifled among the women. Stifled and excluded. Somehow she must escape, though she could see no chance of it at the moment. The play, at least, would be a diversion.

On the evening of the wayang, the tinkling, repetitious notes of the gamelan—the gong and flute orchestra—drifted into the women's quarters as they readied themselves for the performance.

The muted thumping of the gung-gung, the drums, made Romell's heart beat faster, in anticipation. When everyone was seated in one of the pendopos, its sides open to the sweet-scented night, the gold curtain across a small stage opened to reveal a backdrop of blue sky with a palace of gold floating on clouds.

After a moment, five actors came on stage, all masked in grotesque travesties of human faces and wearing high tiaras of jewel-set gold. Gold thread glistened in their sarongs. The men were naked to the waist where each wore a long kris.

One mask was particularly hideous—with a bulbous nose, round eyes, and a huge open mouth with a protruding black tongue, its tip painted red. Romell felt sure that this actor represented evil.

The actor with the most ornate headdress stepped forward to recite in a singsong tone. Romell understood little of what he said, but thought he was introducing the characters. "Brahma," he chanted. "Vishnu, Siva."

"Those are the gods," Sora whispered. The man wearing the hideous mask, she added, was a wicked giant. As for the hero, he hadn't come on stage yet.

The wicked giant unsheathed a short, broad sword and waved it menacingly at the gods. He continued brandishing the sword for some time and nothing else happened. Romell grew bored.

Glancing about, she saw some of the women whispering and giggling together. The Raden, who sat apart from his subjects on an elevated platform, ate fruit as he watched the wayang.

The masked gods flourished swords and krises, posturing and dancing, while the man with the tall headdress continued to explain.

"The gods can't kill the giant," Sora told her. "Only a brave and pure mortal can kill him, so now there is a search for such a man."

On and on the singsong went and still nothing more happened. Romell stifled a yawn. Women spoke openly to one another now. The Raden drank lemonade. Servants moved through the audience, offering honey cakes and slices of fresh fruit. Romell could hardly hear the actors for the talking. Was this to go on all night?

A man appeared on stage with no mask at all. “Ardjuna," the audience murmured almost as one. Silence fell. Ardjuna was a handsome man with light tan skin, a long straight nose, and glowing almond eyes. He looked much like the Raden.

"Ardjuna is the mortal, the hero," Sora said.

Four women came onto the stage now in gold sarongs, their bare breasts concealed only by gold and jeweled necklaces. They began dancing about Ardjuna, swaying, holding their arms out enticingly. He gazed over their heads, arms folded, acting very much the way the Raden behaved in public.

"Ardjuna resists temptation," Sora murmured.

The gods spoke to Ardjuna and the giant challenged him. The gods postured and waved their krises--the giant brandished his sword. The dancing girls moved aside, and Ardjuna unsheathed his gleaming kris.

Romell leaned forward. The mock battle went on and on until Romell's eyelids drooped and she slumped back. She dozed and jerked awake more times that she could count. At last, a collective intake of breath roused her. She opened her eyes and sat up straighter.

Ardjuna had his kris aimed at the red-tipped black tongue of the wicked giant. As Romell watched, the hero pricked that spot with the point of his kris and the giant fell dead.

The end, Romell thought, with a relieved sigh. 

But no, Ardjuna had to be rewarded by the gods because in his purity he'd rejected the amorous dancers, thereby achieving enough virtue to kill the giant. His reward was to be allowed to marry all four of the dancing girls in a lengthy ceremony.

Watching the wedding, Romell wondered if hers to the Raden would be similar. Did the Raden marry his wives one at a time or in sets, like Ardjuna? She tried to smile at the thought, but tears pricked her eyes. I don't belong here, she told herself. I never can. I never will. I must find a way to convince the Raden to return me to Batavia. Once there, I'll manage somehow.

Romell slept late. By the time she located Sora, it was past noon. "I must talk to the Raden," she told Sora.

The girl stared at her. "How can you?"

"There must be a way. Please try."

"The Raden is not at the kraton. Very early he leaves."

"He comes back when?"

"No one can tell," Sora said. "He hunts the terrible Nicholas."

At first, Romell thought Sora meant some jungle beast, but she finally understood that Nicholas was a man, a dangerous man, as evil as the wicked giant in the wayang. She didn't comprehend all Sora told her. Later that day, when she met with Torat in the courtyard, Romell asked him about Nicholas.

"Tuan," Torat told her. "A Chinese pirate lord with many ships and many men. All very vicious."

"Why has the Raden gone off to hunt this Nicholas?" Romell asked.

"Because the Raden fears this pirate lord plans to attack his lands. He takes warriors to the water to surprise Nicholas."

"How long will this take?"

Torat shrugged. "Who can say?"

Romell spent a restless day. In the early evening she watched the serimpis—the very young dancing girls— practicing, but the sight of their slender unripe bodies dipping and bending failed to enthrall her the way it usually did. She wanted to be gone from the place, to be with her own kind. How long would she have to wait before the Raden returned? Even then, could she convince him not to take her as a wife, to let her go? When the adult women dancers, the bedayas, began their swaying, seductive dance, Romell slipped into the women's courtyard.

"You are not happy?" Sora asked, entering the courtyard and coming to sit with Romell on the stone bench under the mango tree.

In the lily pond, the pink flowers were closing for the night, and the doves in their cages overhead cooed softly. Serenity, unacceptable to Romell.

"I am not happy," Romell admitted, making an effort to smile at Sora, who had been kind and friendly from the first. Would I have behaved as courteously in her place? Romell wondered.

"Why not ask your gods to bless you with serene thoughts?" Sora said.

Romell sighed. "My god cannot help me."

Sora shook her head. "I tell you of my gods—they help me. There is Allah who rules over all. Then we have Brahma and Siva and Vishnu. Also the old god, Buddha--the earth mother, Sri, who gives us our food. And there is the green goddess who rules the sea, Njai Loro Kidul."

Romell remembered the crumbling statue she had seen in the jungle clearing and described it to Sora.

"That is Buddha."

"Do you still worship Buddha?"

"All the gods watch over us. When I pray, I decide which one will grant my plea. That is the one I address."

"I don't believe in your gods," Romell said, "but if I did, I'd choose the sea goddess to pray to, for I wish to travel far across the water to my own land--to Virginia."

Sora put her fingers to her mouth, her eyes wide. "You must use care when you address Njai Loro Kidul. She changes as the weather changes, and your prayer may twist so as not to be to your liking."

Romell only half-heeded her, for in speaking of Virginia, memories overwhelmed her. Her father teaching her to judge the tobacco leaves, the soft air of spring, the colors of fall--

She closed her eyes, seeing her father among the orderly rows of tobacco plants, checking for weaklings. He raised his head and looked at her with his bright blue eyes, and Romell realized that she'd imagined Adrien's face instead, that it was Adrien who stood waiting for her in the tobacco fields of Virginia.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Since she had little chance of ever seeing Adrien or Virginia again, there was scant use in wishing.

"Do you tire?" Sora asked. "I go to bed."

Romell rose to follow her. She might just as well try to sleep, and hope her dreams were pleasanter than reality.

Perhaps because she had slept little the night before, Romell fell asleep immediately and woke sometime later to shouts and screams and the bright glare of fire. In the quarters, women scrambled about crying.

"Help! Oh help me!"

"We die!"

"Amok! Amok!"

Romell asked what was happening, but no one heard her. She put on her sandals, adjusted her sarong, and tried to make sense out of the confusion of voices around her.

"What happens?" she demanded, over and over.

"Nicholas!" one of the wives cried when Romell grasped her by the arm to force an answer.

"Flee!" The woman jerked her arm free and hurried away.

Nicholas! The pirate lord that the Raden had gone to fight. Nicholas was attacking the kraton?

Sora appeared beside her. "Come quick. There are secret places. Hurry!" They left the now nearly deserted quarters to run through sections of the palace Romell had never been to before. No servants or guards were in sight, although Romell heard the sound of metal striking metal, the unmistakable clang of swordplay. A man cried out, an agonizing scream of pain and despair. Running footsteps sounded behind them. Men shouted words in a language that was unknown to Romell.

"Here!" Sora cried, darting through silken draperies.

She led Romell past bronze and ivory statues, set in niches in front of golden circles, to where a rug had been shoved in a heap. Romell saw the faint outline of a trapdoor. It took the two of them to raise the heavy marble-topped door. Other women already crouched below in a shallow stone-lined cavity where there was barely enough room left for two more. Sora urged Romell forward, but Romell hesitated.

The pursuers were close behind. They would see the crumpled rug and certainly discover the hiding place. But if someone were above ground to put the rug into place over the trapdoor--