Chapter V

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The chamber stretched from both ends, from the doorway to the windows on the farthest of the room, covered with beads of blue, orange, and purple. The walls, carved with patterns of vines and flowers coated with gold, were made of lumber from palm trees laminated with banyan resin. Tapestries with the heads of water buffaloes embroidered on them hung on the gaps between windows with the same bead curtains set aside to let the sun in, though the skies remained overcast.

Upon the bamboo floor was a carpet made of animal hide sewn together and dyed purple and gold. In the middle of the carpet were four wooden stoves lined up, with clay pots placed on them, brewing tea. On each side of the carpet were clay cups, waiting for the tea to turn the water black, and on each side were two councilmen of the Kadatuan of Hamabar, three men dressed in robes of ashen blue and headdresses of white, and a woman, who wore a silk dress that flowed down to her ankle, waiting for Datu Linaw, sitting on the floor with legs crossed as he brooded, to speak.

To Datu Linaw's sides were two warriors, of the timawa class, carrying spears of bamboo, dressed in woven loincloth and headdresses with golden water buffalo heads embroidered on them.

The Datu, wearing a diadem of gold and brass which held down his hair, kept his silence. He had his face down, allowing his large nose to touch his upper lip, surrounded by wrinkles betraying his age. He wore a piece of garb made of hemp and rough silk draped from his shoulders down to his thighs, covering in part his torso featuring tattoos patterned after hibiscuses, lilies, lotuses, and centipedes, flowing down from where his collarbone was, to his stomach. He sighed multiple times. He didn't even pour tea on his cup.

"My liege," said a councilman, who was past middle-aged, speaking in a voice that made him sound younger than his age, "we know you're having some personal trouble, a pox on it all, but we need to start. You've called for us, and now, we are here. Does this have anything to do with the ties between Hamabar and Selurong, something we've been meaning to discuss as a whole?"

"Perhaps," said another, who was around the same age, but had a stern build, bearded, and speaking with a rugged voice. "But perhaps this is about our allegiance to Sriurvana, Datu Linaw. In such case, then it is graver than we expect. Perhaps it's about time we sent another envoy to Sriurvana to ask for aid."

"Aid is what we cannot have now," said the councilwoman across him, a woman of slender build, speaking in a voice with the pitch of a sparrow. "It is clear that Sriurvana won't help us out in such situation, even as the looming threat of the Kamenangan Empire will fall upon us. The sightings of Menangese warships along the Halas Strait isn't proof enough for us. Understandably so, since both Hamabar and Selurong are land-locked states. This is all so perplexing."

"To add, Jalili," said the last councilman to speak, an almost elderly one whose voice had been constricted by his age, "Hamabar is deep in debt. The reason for that is the ruling of past inept. What we need to do is to pay what we owe to the empire . . . and then, they might consider all that we desire."

"Where are we supposed to get enough rupians to pay Sriurvana?" All the councilmen turned their heads toward the datu, who had his head up, but still staring into nothingness, speaking with a voice filling the hall. "This is all my father's fault. The old man . . . he had to bury Hamabar with such burden. What was he thinking? Now, Sriurvana refuses to support us. We do not have enough troops for defense."

"Then, what of it?" Jalili, the lady councilor, spoke. "We did agree on a truce with the Kadatuan of Selurong, yes, Datu Linaw? Our combined military might will fend off whatever attack the Menangese have in store. And I'm sure all your worrying is exaggerated. If it's true that they have massive warships along the Halas Strait, then . . ."

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