“Towards the latter part of his reign, the late Rajah, being at war with the Prince of Gelgel, suffered a great defeat; and notwithstanding the bravery of his son, the present Rajah, who commanded the army, would have lost his dominions, for the Gelgel Rajah had already invaded them; but his niece, the Ratu, then a princess, presented herself before the troops accoutered as a warrior, spoke of the bravery of her ancestors, harangued them, distributed gifts, and put herself at their head. This reviving their courage and spirits, the soldiers fought like lions, and succeeded in destroying the invading army and taking the Prince of Gelgel and his family prisoners.”
“A plucky girl that!” said Martin—“a kind of Balinese Joan-of-Arc. Of course the Rajah married her; I would if I had been he.”
“The Rajah married her to his son, Sahib Martin,” said Prabu.
“A very proper promotion, too! I hope he deserved her.”
“He did: she has ever since been his chief wife and queen.”
“Well, that’s something, certainly; but if I had been the princess, I should have expected, after all I had done, to have been his only one. But, anyhow, it is a good story, if only for being the first I have heard in which the Dutch are not mixed up.”
“But they were, sahib,” said Prabu. “It was the Hollanders who incited the Prince of Gelgel to war against the Rajah of Blilling.”
“Well,” cried Martin, at random—for he was, as it were, caught in his own trap—“thank Heaven, I am no Dutchman!”
“Allah be praised you are not!—for then Prabu could not have befriended thee, even at thy utmost need,” replied our companion. “But, sahibs,” he added, “the good Queen’s death happening at this time is especially unfortunate.”
“Why more at this time than any other?” I asked.