King of a Distant Country Ch. 04

"That's Piepsecker, Your Highness, but don't you think that's why everyone here hates the British, Your Highness? You have come into their country and changed everything, replaced their ruler and now you are trying to get them to follow European style laws and embrace democracy."

"One day, Mr Cocksucker, you will understand that somebody has to act as the world's policeman. At present that task falls upon the British Empire. Who knows, one day it may fall upon yourcountry and then you will realise that once the burglars have been arrested, nobody but nobody wants anything to do with the police. When the thieves are running riot then they can't call you in quickly enough but once things are under control they can't wait to get rid of you – until the next time."

"That's Piepsecker, Your Highness."

I really can take no more of the man and have sent him on a fact-finding mission into the most lawless place I can think of. I doubt even his readers back in Chicago or wherever would miss the little berk if the locals decide to relieve him of his ghoolies. I suppose I can't blame him too much as my story is trifle unusual but, all the same, being constantly questioned and criticised gets somewhat tedious after a while. I wouldn't mind so much but he's another bloody Christian. Talks about being 'born again', whatever that means. You just know they're proper bastards the moment they begin to smile at you. If I ever get religion, I want it to be Buddhism. From what I've seen, they at least have no interest in what anyone else does but are concerned solely with how they live their own lives. There's none of this penchant for finding other people's weaknesses or pointing out someone else's supposed sins. I know I find it difficult enough to judge people on secular matters where we have clearly written laws. To judge on the basis of opinion and narrowly-drawn morals is increasingly beyond my capacity. So many of the views I held so firmly when I first came to this country have been stood on their head or proved to be misguided folly. Whatever else, I have certainly become a lot more tolerant since becoming king here.

July 1872

We are in the middle of a terrible heatwave. There is rarely a breath of wind and the sky looks like beaten bronze. Water is becoming a problem – the early monsoon all but failed - and the rice fields have dried and are parched. The river is down to a trickle as there is no snow melt to speak of and clouds of insects plague us all. Even nightfall brings little relief and one can smell the all-pervading odour of dust that hangs in the air, there being no breeze to disperse it. The cattle are in a particularly bad way. Whatever pasture there was has long since dried up and blown away and one can count every rib on any beast one sees. Overhead, the kite hawks gather waiting for something to die while their accomplices, the carrion crows assemble in large numbers wherever there is room for them to perch. They, at least, are doing well out of this drought.

The heat saps the will to do anything. As I write, I am half blinded by the sweat and wish only to go and lie in a tepid bath. We are almost entirely out of ice and there is little prospect of getting more before the winter. Baljit and Cat keep urging me to go up into the hills where it will be cooler but there is too much to do down here to alleviate the suffering of the locals and no one I can trust to see to it properly. Mr Piepsecker is back, complaining of a rare old bout of dysentery but not filing much copy. "King does good works" is apparently not an attractive headline. Once again I have opened the royal granaries to stop the speculators from driving prices too high for the ordinary folk and have made it known that anyone caught profiteering in the bazaar will have their hands cut off. Why is it that some people seem able to see only the opportunity to get rich at everyone else's expense? I know it is too much to hope that people will willingly co-operate and share but we are all at the same pass and one might expect some recognition of a problem shared. I honestly believe that, at the minute, if a fire were to break out, someone would try and sell the water to extinguish it. Sometimes I despair.

Last night the sky was riven with lightening and we all prayed that we see some unseasonal storm. Sadly, all we got was the celestial pyrotechnics and not a drop of rain or the faintest zephyr to ease our suffering. Already there have been a number of deaths from the heat and we may expect more as time goes on. News reached me today that there has been more trouble up on the frontier. I dare say that the weather is making everyone fractious but, even so, I will have to keep an eye on it.

It is too hot for any energetic fucking and Cat, Baljit and I each lie apart on separate couches moved under the high windows with the shutters flung wide. I have rigged mosquito netting to spare us from the worst of the insects. The gecko on my wall is treated to such a feast he is grown fat and indolent and can scarce be bothered to shoot out his tongue but waits for some particularly suicidal bug to alight on his nose.

August 1872

We got some much-needed relief last week. The tail end of a typhoon swept in from the Bay of Bengal and, for a good few hours, the heavens opened and the wind blew like a good 'un. This, of course, caused its own problems and we received numerous reports of flash floods and people and animals being swept away. A deputation from one of the villages arrived claiming that their entire stock of rice was ruined by the sudden storm. I commanded the quartermaster to fix them up with a wagonload from our stores but I have also sent merchants out to secure fresh supplies, as our own reserve is all but exhausted. At least the rain settled the dust and the air feels much cleaner and fresher as a result.

The storm broke around midnight and I rushed out onto the terrace with Cat and Baljit by my side. We watched the lightning come up on the wind and felt those first revitalising drops splatter and plop all around us. Pretty soon there was a steady downpour that extinguished the torches in their iron sconces and I stripped off my shirt and britches and danced naked in the rain. It wasn't long before Cat and Baljit also shed their clothes and I watched, caught between lust and admiration as they pranced about before me. Cat is as slender as a lath and her body is taught and firmly muscled. Baljit is more voluptuous and I was much taken by the way her heavy breasts bounced as she danced. Indeed, I was so moved that I seized her up and bent her over the balustrade, slipping into her yoni from behind. Cat, not to be left out, hopped up onto the top of the top of the wall and stood bent-kneed, legs wide apart, offering her yoni to my eager lips. It had been some weeks since we last disported ourselves and so it took no time at all before I was hollering and yelling and pumping a quantity of accumulated seed into Baljit's accommodating yoni. Quick as a flash, Cat was on her knees, pulling me clear of Baljit and clamping her lips around the head of my lingam and sucking like a vacuum pump. Once she drained me to her satisfaction (and mine) she switched to Baljit and thrust her tongue deep into that girl's yoni, exploring every crevice and licking out any of my seed that might have escaped her.

The sight of this soon had me raring to go again and as Baljit moaned and wriggled under the ministrations of Cat's tongue, I crouched behind Cat and slammed into her, alternating between her yoni and her arse and reaching round in front of her to play with her jewel. Soon she was mewing like her namesake and all three of us reached a massive climax almost simultaneously. I suppose it must have been the effect of prolonged abstinence but it wasn't long before I was ready for a third bout and this time it was my turn to sit on the balustrade while Baljit and Cat set to work with lips and tongues on my member. I leaned back and relaxed while one nibbled gently on the head of my lingam while the other laved my balls and sucked gently on them. The feeling was indescribable and I shut my eyes and tried to guess which of them was doing what at any given time. It wasn't long before it ceased to matter and I was delighted to see that they each had their hands between the other's legs and periodically left off from sucking me to nibble on a nipple or to embrace each other with my member sandwiched between their breasts.

It is not hard for me to understand their pleasure in each other. After all, who would have a man when they could have a woman? Women are soft and fragrant whereas men are sweaty, scratchy and rough. I cannot for the life of me understand how pederasts can possibly be attracted to a man. Baljit was by now giving it her all. Her head was bobbing up and down like a jack-in-the-box while Cat tugged and played on her nipples. Her other hand was wrapped about my balls, squeezing them and milking me and I felt that irresistible force begin to rise at the base of my spine. I bellowed aloud that I was coming and Baljit pulled back, pumping me with her hand and directing the flood of seed over the pair of them before darting back and sucking like a new-born babe as my lingam slowly collapsed. Cat was on her hands and knees licking my seed from Baljit' breasts, neck and face and I shut my eyes and sighed with utter contentment, letting the rain wash over me and cool my aching body.

September 1872

Once again we are called upon to march up country. It seems that we have been invaded by a tribe from over the border and they are marauding through the hill villages, robbing and killing as they go. Of course, this is just the latest manifestation of some old blood feud but, even so, I must act to dive out the insurgents or word will get around that the kingdom is easy pickings and we'll be up to our oxters in hairy-arsed tribesmen before me know it. The most damnable thing is that the perpetrators and their victims are closely related – cousins or very near it – but that seems to make little difference to the ferocity of the attacks. By the time we get up there the latest bunch will no doubt have fled back over the border and there is little point in trying to garrison the passes as there must be a hundred different little trails they can take if they've a mind to.

October 1872

My predictions proved entirely accurate. By the time we struggled up to the hill country, all was quiet. My old adversary, Shohib Khan was one of the victims this time around. They left his head on a lance just outside his village and none had quite found the courage to take it down. We reunited the grisly trophy with the rest of its owner and gave him a good funeral, which surprised his son, Amir, who has now taken over. We had a long chat and I explained that I was happy for him to rule his little patch as long as he stayed away from the lowland villages. I have no desire whatsoever to usurp the local tribal chiefs and as long as they keep to their side of the bargain, there will be no trouble. Indeed, I offered him assistance with any cross-border raiders and he was grateful if mightily puzzled by my attitude.

What the young bugger would really like from me is a couple of my six-pounder mountain guns but he has more hope of flying. Artillery is the one real advantage I enjoy and I'm damned if I'll give it up. Of course the natives have a few bronze cannon but my mule-back guns can go where such heavy pieces never can. I've a mind to order some of these new German howitzers that can be broken into mule-sized loads to augment the six-pounders. The rough, rocky terrain is suited to explosive shells but a few air-bursts from the howitzers might add a bit of a spice and make life a tad more unpleasant for any wily tribesman sheltering in anullah or behind a wall of rocks, immune from everything bar a direct hit.

We spent a couple of weeks patrolling the frontier area and there was the odd long-range skirmish. I think the mountain guns did score a couple of times but the devils sloped off before we could ever really try conclusions with them. We were hampered by the weather, which was wet and foggy in the mountains. It was mostly low cloud but really restricted visibility. Then word came of some other unpleasantness on the far side of the border and our insurgents melted away to join in the general mayhem. I brokered a deal between Amir and his neighbour. The two would co-operate in fighting any cross-border incursions in return for a yearly stipend from yours truly. I count the oddlakhof silver rupees money well spent if it keeps order up on the frontier for a while.

I ordered the army back to the capital and we returned yesterday. It is clear that there is an air of boredom about the place when the troops are in barracks so I have decided to introduce Nambhustan to the magnificent mysteries of the noble game of cricket. I sincerely believe that if we British spread the game of cricket instead of our rather killjoy religions, the world be a far happier place. Indeed, let us all play cricket and leave religions to whither into the dust of history.

(Editor's Note: The man's quite mad!)

December 1872

You would be amazed at the impact of cricket on the locals. We now have six teams and play matches every weekend. There are two army sides, a palace XI that I captain myself, a Hindoo team, a Musselman team and one from the city itself. I think it won't be long before we have at least one more city side. Preparing a suitable wicket on which to play has been the most difficult part but a little ingenuity and a couple of elephants soon flattened out a square on themaidan. We play in front of wildly excited crowds. One might suppose that the land of India has been waiting specifically for cricket, so enthusiastically have they embraced it. The standard of bowling may leave something to be desired as yet but there are already some first class batsmen.

At present, we are having to improvise with the equipment but I have placed a substantial order with Messrs Gunn and Moore of Nottingham so by next season we will have the full set of gear. My palace team is the best so far but I am even-handed with my coaching and the others are not far behind. We have had many close and exciting games and the few Chinese who reside in the city have gone into a gambling frenzy every time a match is played. Maybe I'll recruit a professional next year to really teach the boys how to play.

It was after one such game when I returned, hot and sweating from the field having just beaten the army by a mere sixteen runs, that I found Cat waiting for me in a state of great agitation. I flung my bat into a corner and headed for the bathhouse, needing to soak away a couple of bruises as well as refresh my tired muscles. No sooner had I dropped my grateful, aching body into the fragrant hot water than Cat leapt in beside, fully clothed. She was so beside herself that she was chittering at me in her native language of which I speak not a word. I managed to calm her by the simple expedient of ducking her head under the water and keeping it there until the struggles lessened. This had the effect of restoring her coherence, as well as half drowning her. It transpired that the cause of her massive loss of composure was the visit to the palace of a delegation from her own land of Siam. This would not normally cause much of a stir – we receive several such visits each year - but this particular deputation included Cat's own younger sister, a maid of about seventeen as far as Cat could tell.

Cat was adamant that her sister, whose name was something like Bandong, should join our establishment. I had no objection to this in principle but feared there would be some difficulty in achieving such an harmonious arrangement. Cat's sister was clearly the concubine of the plenipotentiary leading the Siamese delegation. Cat, however, would brook no objections and insisted that she and her sister must be reunited after all these years.

I used Christmas as the excuse, explaining to the Siamese minister the Christian tradition of exchanging gifts. (Bloody religion can have its uses, don't y'know.) I managed to manoeuvre the old boy quite expertly. I took him to the seraglio and had the girls, excluding Cat and Baljit, parade before him and invited him to take his pick. I thought he'd expire with excitement at the beauty on display. He took hours making up his mind but at length he selected a Madrasi girl with skin so dark that it seemed to shine with almost a blue hue. The contrasting pink of her yoni was indeed a wonder and he was drooling by the time the selection was made, poor chap. I could tell he could hardly wait to sample her delights but good manners forced him to reciprocate and he paraded his own harem for me to choose from.

Ordinarily I would have been singularly unimpressed with the girls on offer. Cat's sister was far and away the prettiest and the youngest by a wide margin. It was clear that the remainder had been with the chap for years and the amount of flabby stomachs, sagging bosoms and stretch marks had to be beheld to be believed. I was surprised, therefore, at his palpable relief when I chose Bandong. He expressed his heart-felt gratitude that I did not choose one of his more mature ladies, as he had grown very attached to them all over the years. It was also clear that he was finding Bandong a bit of a handful and I could fully understand this, particularly if she was even remotely like her sister.

In the end, the whole thing was accomplished rather neatly and to everyone's satisfaction. Cat and Bandong fell on each other and rushed off, chattering like a pair of magpies; the minister retired to sample the delights of his new concubine and Baljit and I retired to bed to make love in a rather sober and unhurried fashion that was very sweet and enjoyable for all that. Sometimes a change is as good as a rest.

January 1873

Looking back, I find have been keeping this journal for five years and have been in this strange but beautiful land for a few months more. In all this time I have never really tried to describe the country itself. Nambhustan lies in the foothills of the Himalayas, divided from the Raj by the great sweep of the Nambhu River. The river is navigable at least as far as the main city, Nambhupore, and the land either side is rich and fertile – a veritable rice bowl. The North West of the country is wild and mountainous, home to lean, hard men whereas to the east is lush, thick jungle down to the coast where little fishing villages sit beside the white sand fringing the Bay of Bengal.

The people of Nambhustan are a polyglot bunch. By and large, hill tribes excepted, they are gentle and courteous and while the majority may seem poor to European eyes, they consider themselves affluent enough if they have a full belly and shelter from the elements. Their skin-tone is not particularly dark and their features regular. One of the things that some visitors to this country find a trifle disconcerting is the very fact that the natives look only a little different from a dark-eyed Englishman. It is true that their hair tends to be truly black, rather than the various shades of brown encountered in London, but their features are very much the same as ours. There is none of the marked difference of say, your Chinaman or African.

This happy circumstance I have used to my advantage on a number of occasions. A simple vegetable die to colour my hair and eyebrows and with my brown eyes and heavily tanned skin, I can pass among the local populace unnoticed. My command of the language and my, by now, Nambhustani accent permit me to come and go in the bazaar untroubled. Thus it is that I am able to 'take the pulse' of the people from time to time.