18

His Majesty, the Susunan of Surakarta, was seated under the lofty square roof of the royal pendopo, which was resplendent with crystal chandeliers and Javanese lanterns. A carved wooden canopy of gilt and red hung from the roof above the throne. The throne was more like a large stool, in truth, but wrought entirely of silver. To one side stood two chairs, clearly set there for the principal guests, and on the other side was a table on which stood the royal regalia, the crown jewels, as it were, of Java. There were gold bowls and salvers, figurines of an elephant, a serpent, a bull, a deer, the royal betel box and spitting pot. Next to this were two more chairs, one occupied by a very small, fine-boned woman dressed in a shimmering bodice and sarong made of songket, a cloth of silk woven with silver and golden threads. Rows of chairs formed an aisle before the throne, one side occupied by royal princes, the other empty. Behind these chairs, on the ground, sat the rest of the court.

Guarding the king were rows of women, cross-legged and straight-backed, holding swords before them. They were beautiful, their brown skin covered with golden coats and pants, their dark hair crowned with golden headdresses and on their backs golden bows and arrows. Charlotte had never seen women warriors before, and her first view of the king was entirely eclipsed for her by these soldiers and by a group of dwarves and albinos crouching near the throne.

The king was clad in the jacket of a colonel in the Dutch army, complete with epaulettes and medals. Over his lower limbs he wore golden pantaloons and a sarong of brown and white. The Resident and, indeed, all the men had removed their hats as they went forward. The king rose to greet them. As he took his hand, the Resident bowed, and even the Duke removed his huge cockade hat. The Resident presented the letters of introduction from the golden tray, and the king passed them to his minister, who squatted at his side. The Duke and the Resident took their places on the dais; everyone else took their seats opposite the royal princes, who were dressed, rather indiscriminately, in the various ranks of the Dutch military. One, Nathanial pointed out quietly, wore a jacket designating him as an Admiral of the Fleet. Takouhi, Charlotte and Nathanial took up the last seats. Several princes ogled Charlotte with undisguised interest, some smiling at her with their pointed black teeth.

The Resident introduced his guests, while Mevrouw Snijthoff, seated next to the queen, spoke quietly to her. All seemed to be proceeding as decreed, when suddenly the Minister shuffled forward urgently and raised his hands in salute, waiting. After a short exchange the king rose and waved his hand towards Takouhi. Takouhi seemed unable to act until Nathanial whispered to her. The Susunan was now waggling his hand excitedly, giggling and saying something in Javanese.

“Go forward, Miss Manouk; he is calling for you.”

Takouhi rose and with hesitant steps made her way towards the throne. The king and queen came forward to speak to her. A loud murmur went round the court. The Resident rose, taken aback at this sudden shift in protocol. With a flourish, all the guests were ordered to make way for Takouhi to sit in the chair nearest the throne, the king himself shifting them along like so many children at a garden party. The Duke stared at Takouhi as he might a prize specimen of onion.

“It is because they have found out she is a daughter of a royal princess of the palace,” Nathanial said. “I’ll stake my life on it. The king is delighted to find any reason at all to displace or annoy his Dutch guests.”

The toasts began: “To the Susunan.”

Charlotte almost dropped her glass as a cannon boomed, seemingly just behind her head.

“To the King of the Netherlands.”

This time she was ready. And so it went, dozens of toasts, dozens of cannon volleys. “To the Susunan, to the Resident, the Resident’s lady, the Queens of the court, the Princes, to the ladies of Java and, finally—to Java!”

The gamelan burst forth. The Resident rose, helping the Duke to his feet and into the arms of the servants. As the Duke teetered off, the Resident took leave of the Susunan and shook hands with all the princes as he passed down the line, put his hat on his head, held out his arm for his wife and promptly departed. The royal couple retired, accompanied by their female bodyguard, dwarves and albinos. With bewildering speed, the courtyard emptied. An old woman came forward and spoke to Takouhi.

“She wants us to go to meet the ladies of the court,” Takouhi explained. Charlotte could come, but Nathanial must go. Already the lanterns and torches were being extinguished.

Takouhi and Charlotte followed the old woman down darkened passages until they passed, finally, into a large room where a dozen women were seated on a faded carpet.

They rose as one and came to Takouhi, their hands raised to their foreheads in salutation. When Takouhi addressed them in Javanese, the ice was broken and they all laughed and pulled her and Charlotte to sit with them, chattering and touching Charlotte’s white skin. A very old lady entered and sat amongst them. She took Takouhi’s hands and began to speak. Charlotte could make out nothing other than that this was an affecting tale, for Takouhi’s eyes at one moment filled with tears.

“This old lady was friend of my mother’s. They grew up together here in the palace. She was a Srimpi dancer, like my mother, a court dancer.”

The old woman continued to relate her tale, her audience at moments letting out a sigh or a gasp.

“My mother was daughter of king and selir, secondary wife. Selir is not high rank. Daughter have more rank, but not high like child of main wife. She tell about what happened.”

Two young princesses came next to Charlotte and took her hands to comfort her, perhaps not realising that Charlotte could not understand. The story had clearly reached a harrowing point, for several of the young girls were sobbing. Takouhi gripped the hands of the old woman, a tear rolling down her cheek. She turned to Charlotte.

“I cannot say like her, so sad, so terrible. She my mother’s good friend. When they sixteen, they called to dance for guests of my grandfather, the king. King like guests very much, spend all day eating and drinking with them. They are Resident and foreign guests, also my father. My father bring very good present for King. Two Spanish silver musket, Dutch lace, French sabre. They all drunk. Srimpi dancer is royal dancer, not ronggeng dancer, but all men drunk. All men and even king dance with girls. My mother very young, very pretty. My father want her and take her on his lap. She struggle and cry.”

Takouhi choked and, seeing her distress, the young princesses surrounded her.

“King think is joke, but if man touch her how can she marry good husband? He say she is his daughter, offer her to my father for wife. Joke maybe, but already she is dirty, shamed. Other women watching this and send for Minister. Minister try to speak to king, but what can he do? King angry and order imam to come, marry them. Take them on his knee, give blessing, laughing, drinking. My mother must obey king.”

Takouhi was calmer now, as she continued this tale. “Next day, big scandal. All palace shocked, but too late. My mother no more virgin girl. She married to my father and must go with him. She covered in dishonour. This old lady cry and cry for her friend but never see her again. This girl raised to be good girl, good wife. How can I tell you the shame of this?”

She looked more intently at Charlotte. “I think when my father wake up he cannot believe this. I think she is nothing for him. He want one drunken night with her, but she is a princess so he forced to take her. Poor child, poor my mother.”

She gripped the old woman’s hand and put her cheek against her cheek, reaching out, through this friend who had known her, to this ruined girl who had been ripped from her family and thrown upon an uncaring world.

“Mother body come back here. They bury her at old graveyard at Kartasura. We visit her.”

Charlotte nodded, and they rose to make their way back, walking silently through the corridors of shadow and flame in the footsteps of a ghost.