Chapter 372: Hunting the Sultan's Eldest Son

Karawang, the Mataram frontline city.

A frontline scout was reporting to Said, eldest son of Sultan Agung, on what he had seen at the front: "…The Great Xia men built a dam out of grass and wood, diverting the Ciliwung River…"

"The water level in the southern stretch of the river at Batavia has already dropped by the height of three palms…"

"A dam built of grass and wood?" Said repeated in disbelief.

The scout nodded: "Yes, I saw with my own eyes the Great Xia men cutting bamboo and trees, weaving palm leaves into mats. In the end they assembled something shaped like a rolled-up quilt and sank it into the water, and the river changed course."

The Mataram people had lived on Java for generations and knew the rainforest swamps intimately. When attacking Batavia, Sultan Agung had specially formed a scout corps, called the "Tarikh" in Javanese.

This corps was divided into two groups. One group disguised themselves as civilians and lurked in the slums of Batavia — the secret letters Sultan Agung had received before were delivered by this group of Tarikh scouts.

The other group was the jungle scouts. The one reporting to Said was a centurion of the jungle scouts named "Yurasawa," which in Javanese meant reticulated python — hence his nickname, "Old Python."

The periphery of the hydraulic works on the Ciliwung River was guarded by large numbers of Great Xia soldiers, but Old Python was experienced and supremely skilled at disguise. He could not infiltrate to sabotage, but hiding in the underbrush to spy was as easy as turning his hand.

Who would have thought that after hearing this, Said flew into a rage, seized his Malay kris, and struck Old Python hard across the arm with the scabbard.

Old Python's body swayed from the blow. He knelt sideways, pressed his palms together, and kowtowed before the prince's feet, admitting fault: "Forgive me, Your Highness."

Mataram was a state of extreme centralized royal power. A mere centurion, beaten unjustly by the prince, had no right to argue — he could only kneel with his head bowed and admit fault. Said rose to his feet, looking down at Old Python: "His Majesty the Sultan has personally campaigned against Batavia twice, using over a thousand men and vast quantities of sand, stone, and earth, yet still could not build a dam.

Outsiders from across the sea — Great Xia men — managed to build a dam with palm leaves and rope instead? Do you take me for a three-year-old child?"

Old Python bowed his head: "Noble prince, everything I say is the truth. Those Great Xia craftsmen are as if… as if they cast a spell on the grass mats. The moment the mats are placed in the water, they sink on their own, and then the flow grows less and less, until at last it barely runs at all."

"Enough! It's all nonsense!" Said paced about, agitated.

The Mataram had besieged Batavia twice, and Said knew all too well what the Ciliwung River meant to the city. He truly dreamed of cutting off the Ciliwung.

When the Mataram conquered Java, their greatest strength was the war of attrition — surrounding a city and cutting off its water and food.

But Batavia had a powerful fleet at sea delivering fresh water and grain, and the Ciliwung River delivering fresh water by land.

Both sieges had failed because they could not sever the water and food lines.

Now the Great Xia had destroyed the Dutch fleet and cut off the water source, clearing every obstacle for the Mataram — did that not mean Batavia was within easy reach?

Said's mind raced with calculations. The Dutch, besides relying on their fleet, were formidable for their strong walls and guns.

And according to the scouts, the Great Xia also had a great many guns — nearly every one of their soldiers carried a flintlock musket.

If a surprise attack defeated the Great Xia, seized their guns, and captured their hydraulic engineers, then wouldn't Batavia and the water-control technology both belong to the Mataram?

As for whether they could win? In Said's view, that was not even worth considering.

Mataram was the true master of Java, with forces far outnumbering the Great Xia expeditionary army.

The southwestern vassal lords alone could field ten to twenty thousand men — more than the Great Xia and Dutch combined.

The Great Xia lacked the Dutch strong walls, and would be caught in a pincer between a surprise attack and a siege — defeat was certain.

Said's ambition burned like a wildfire in his chest, growing ever fiercer.

But before he could advise his father, he had to see that dam with his own eyes.

Three days to build a dam out of palm leaves — how could that be possible?

So Said said: "Lead the way. I will go and see for myself."

Old Python said urgently: "Your Highness, how can your noble body risk going before the enemy in person?"

Said laughed: "You can go — why can't I?"

Old Python tried to dissuade him further, but Said waved a hand: "It's settled!"

Old Python had no choice but to gather his best men to accompany Said through the rainforest to the Ciliwung River.

The Tarikh scouts lived in the wild year-round and moved swiftly through the jungle, while Said, the most militarily accomplished of Sultan Agung's sons, was strong and fit — gritting his teeth, he could keep pace.

The party of twenty soon reached the outskirts of the Ciliwung.

Beneath a teak tree, Old Python was grinding river mud and camphor leaf juice in a hollowed tree root, pounding it into a sticky brown paste. He scooped up a bit and smeared it on Said.

"Your Highness, please take off your upper garment and apply this. It will conceal your skin tone, ward off mosquitoes, and mask your scent."

The mud looked like dung and smelled of the pungent odor of camphor balls. Said stripped off his clothes, suppressed his discomfort, and let Old Python apply it. Old Python was extremely thorough — every inch of exposed skin was covered — while he cautioned: "Your Highness, we are still three days from the dam. During this time you must not go near any water source. Wherever we stop, you must be careful — don't step on twigs, don't leave footprints, don't speak…" Said said disdainfully: "Still three days away — is all that really necessary?"

Old Python said very seriously: "The Great Xia are extremely cautious. Their patrols scout upriver for over a hundred li, their sentries stand thick as a wall, everywhere through the woods — and I keep feeling something is wrong in the forest air, as if we're being watched…"

Said laughed confidently: "You're too tense. The Great Xia are just like the Dutch — a pack of fools who know nothing of the rainforest." "Yes, Your Highness." Old Python then picked up a small wooden sliver covered in black powder, dipped his fingertip in it, and reached for Said's face.

Said dodged: "What is that?"

"Charcoal. Applied around the eyes, it prevents sweat from making them shine, and blackening the eyes also guards against glare."

Said said: "I hardly think that's necessary."

Old Python insisted: "It must be applied."

Said reluctantly agreed, and the party set off again, twenty men in a single-file line, with one man at the front clearing the way with a parang. Though it was called clearing the way, the blade was used with great restraint — any branch or vine that could be pushed aside was never cut.

This was to avoid leaving any trace of their passage.

At the rear of the column, a man was tasked with erasing footprints and restoring broken branches and vegetation — anything that could not be restored was hidden as best as possible.

Of course, professional Tarikh scouts never left traces that could not be restored — the broken plants were almost all stepped on by Said. Five hours after the Tarikh scout team departed, the silence of the rainforest was broken once again.

A tall, powerful figure, utterly silent, slowly emerged from among the palm leaves and aerial roots.

This man carried three javelins, wore a Siraya war knife at his waist whose scabbard was tufted with hair thick as a horse's mane, and a long-sleeved hand-painted camouflage suit of ramie — it was Aban, the leader of the Siraya mercenaries. Even his face was covered in black-and-green paint, with almost no bare skin anywhere on his body. Aban's eyes fixed on a patch of false staghorn fern — in the rainforest, nothing more than an ordinary fern.

But Aban froze as if rooted to the spot, crouching down to examine it closely.

Behind him, two more Siraya warriors emerged from the vines.

One leaned in and whispered: "Chief, is there a problem?"

Aban said nothing. He drew his Siraya knife and lightly probed among the fern stems with the tip — in a moment, two or three toppled over.

Their stems bore clear creases — the plant had been trodden down by a foot, then propped back up with a stem from the same plant. In the dim, plant-choked rainforest, this flaw was so tiny it could almost be overlooked.

Had a wild beast stepped on it, there would be other tracks around — and beasts did not erase footprints. These were clearly human footprints.

The two Siraya warriors exchanged glances, both breaking into excited smiles. After so long at sea with the fleet, they had finally found prey.

And judging by the methods of this prey, it would be quite a tricky catch — truly interesting.

Aban sheathed his blade, judged the direction of the footprints, and pointed toward the direction Tariq's scouts had advanced. The three moved forward, their camouflage shifting as they walked, and soon vanished into the rainforest.

The next evening, Tariq's scout squad picked a slightly cleaner clearing to rest. Old Python pulled out rice balls and smoked dried fish and handed them to Sayyid. The rice balls were made of glutinous rice wrapped in palm leaves, cooked with coconut milk and lemongrass for flavor—much like the zongzi of the Great Ming. They had originally carried a fragrance of coconut and milk, but after being carried along the way, they had become soaked with the stench of sweat, making Sayyid gag at the smell.

The smoked dried fish was itself slightly salty, and after being soaked in sweat, it turned both sour and fishy. Sayyid could not bring himself to eat it either.

In contrast, the accompanying Tariq scouts ate with great relish.

Old Python said apologetically, "Your Highness, it is not convenient to light a fire in the forest. Please condescend to eat a little."

Sayyid had endured hardship alongside him the whole way, and his resentment had piled up to the limit. Upon hearing this, he said irritably, "There are still two days of travel left, and you are this cautious—surely this is overdoing it! Have you feared the Xia people to such a degree?"

Upon hearing this, Old Python hastily prostrated himself with palms together and knelt, saying, "Your Highness, the Xia are different from the Dutch. They are more cunning, more cruel—no amount of caution is excessive!"

Sayyid gave a cold snort and was about to rebuke him further.

Suddenly, a faint sound came from the forest in the distance. Every member of the scout squad immediately stopped chewing, silently reached for their weapons, and stared toward the direction of the sound as if facing a great enemy.

Old Python grabbed his javelin with his right hand, placed his left hand to his lips, and made a silencing gesture to Sayyid. Then he slowly turned to face the threat, not touching a single leaf or making a single sound the entire time.

The sound grew closer and closer, clearly moving toward the temporary camp. However, judging from the sound, whatever was approaching should not be large in size.

A moment later, the bushes in the distance shook, and a dark shape charged out. At the same time, Old Python heard a whistling sound rush past his ear. With a shrill "squeal" of agony, the dark shape tumbled to the ground—it was a Javan wild boar about half a man's height.

A javelin was stuck in the boar, entering through its right foreleg and exiting through its left hind hoof, with blood spurting out like a fountain—it had been thrown by Sayyid. After falling, the boar immediately got up and ran two more steps with the javelin still in it, then collapsed like a drunkard, its four limbs thrashing incessantly as it squealed in agony.

Sayyid charged over in a few strides, pulled out his Malay kris, and stabbed it into the boar's heart. The boar deflated like a punctured ball and soon ceased to breathe.

Under the shocked gazes of all the scouts, Sayyid pulled out his short sword and said disdainfully, "It's just a wild boar, you bunch of cowards. Let it—" Before he could finish speaking, another javelin flew out from the forest, heading straight for Sayyid. With a thud, he was pierced through from behind. The javelin carried tremendous force, staggering Sayyid forward.

Old Python let out a heart-wrenching cry: "Your Highness!"

Before Sayyid could react, he dazedly looked down and saw a section of javelin protruding through his body. The head was made of fine steel, and the shaft was of finely polished white ash wood, though painted black. The craftsmanship and materials far surpassed Mataram's weapons.

The steel javelin was covered in dripping blood, and more blood continuously flowed down the pitch-black shaft.

Sayyid inhaled and immediately coughed violently as if choked. Blood tinged with bubbles flowed continuously from his mouth and nose. Only then did he realize his body was growing cold, and searing pain came from his wound.

He wanted to call Old Python to save him, but when he looked up, he saw javelins falling like rain. Five or six scouts were pierced through before they could even react. Old Python was surrounded by two men painted in camouflage, and after a few exchanges, his arm was chopped off. Then a steel blade was thrust into Old Python's belly. The next second, someone grabbed Old Python's hair from behind and yanked his head up, then used a knife to slice his head clean off, tossing it into a net bag beside them like picking a mushroom. Soon it was Sayyid's turn, and someone did the same, grabbing his hair and lifting him up.

"I am—" Sayyid wailed through tears, but the moment he spoke, only a mouthful of bloody foam sprayed out.

Aban expressionlessly cut off Sayyid's head and stowed it in his net bag, kicked the mutilated corpse over, pulled out the javelin, and flicked the blood clean. Tariq's scout squad was on a reconnaissance and infiltration mission, traveling light, while the Siraya warriors each carried three javelins, all forged from fine iron. They were greater in number and had lured the enemy into an ambush from concealment—so the battle was a one-sided slaughter.

After Aban had finished collecting his favorite trophies, the Siraya warriors melted back into the rainforest, leaving only twenty headless corpses and a wild boar on the ground.

Several days later, news that the prince and his scout squad had gone missing reached Karawang.

The local patih official was scared half to death and dispatched multiple scout parties deep into the rainforest along the prince's route. They finally discovered Prince Sayyid's headless corpse at a spot two days' travel from the Ciliwung River.

The Patih of Karawang personally went to the Mataram royal court, explained the situation, and knelt in tearful confession.

High above, Sultan Agung remained silent for a long time.

No one dared to look up at the Sultan's expression. The atmosphere in the council hall was stifling beyond measure.

After a long while, Sultan Agung spoke: "How are the army's preparations?"

Though he strove to suppress it, one could still hear a slight tremor in the Sultan's voice. Every word seemed to scrape across his vocal cords like rough gravel—hoarse and quivering. The Patih of Karawang said, "The various patih of the southwest have assembled an army of fifteen thousand men."

Sayyid had been the one sent to muster the troops, so the Patih of Karawang was very clear on the state of the army's assembly.

Moreover, to counter the Dutch threat, Mataram had established numerous military camps and granaries in the cities of western Java, stockpiling large quantities of weapons and supplies. One could say the entire nation's military focus was in western Java, allowing troops to be mobilized with great speed.

Sultan Agung said, "Bahu."

"Your servant is here!" In the council hall, a powerfully built man knelt with palms together. This man was named Tumenggung Bahu—Sultan Agung's foremost fierce general. He had participated in every major campaign of Agung's unification of Java and was practically the number one figure in the Mataram military.

"Mobilize the royal guard!"

"As you command, Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty!" The prime minister stepped forward and said, "Your humble servant believes that the troops of the southwestern patih are sufficient to deal with this battle. Why must we mobilize the royal guard?" Before the coming of Islam, the nations of Southeast Asia were most deeply influenced by Indian culture, and their central and local governance used a mandala political system resembling a mix of enfeoffment, tribal chieftainship, and parallel commandery-kingdom structures.

The so-called "patih" were local lords and chieftains who combined military and civil authority.

Mataram was a small state that rose in central Java. In the process of unifying Java, most of the small states and tribes in the west and east submitted to Mataram as patih.

So for Mataram, sending the southwestern patih's army to campaign against Batavia would not diminish royal power—it might even strengthen it. But if the royal guard were deployed and suffered defeat, the outcome would be entirely different.

Mataram was still digesting the bitter fruits of its two previous failed sieges of Batavia and could not afford a third disastrous defeat.

But no sooner had these words been spoken than Sultan Agung ground his teeth and said, "Not only will we mobilize the royal guard—I shall lead the campaign in person!

This time, I will dye the sea red with the blood of the Han and the Dutch!"

His voice was like rolling thunder, echoing through the council hall, frightening the ministers into kneeling prostrate with palms together.

During the period after the Sultan's eldest son's death and Mataram's troop mobilization, the water level of the Ciliwung River continued to drop.

The day after the rat-head levee was successfully closed, the original channel of the Ciliwung River completely ran dry.

Batavia barely held on by intercepting the last bit of fresh water through its complex dam engineering.

Meanwhile, Van Diemen also had people repair shallow wells, fountain water circulation channels, rainwater collection tanks, deep-layer storage cisterns, and a series of other projects within the city, and established rationed distribution of fresh water.

Batavia's water quality consequently declined dramatically, but at least the water needs of the tens of thousands within the city were stabilized.

Unfortunately, after the flood-and-overflow strategy failed, the Great Xia army's approach trenches advanced rapidly, pushing to within a hundred paces of the city walls.

Wang Ruzhong brought in twenty-four-pounder siege cannons and pounded the walls from dawn to dusk. As the approach trenches advanced, the cannons moved closer to the walls, and the force of the bombardment grew ever greater, until the walls were covered in dense cracks.

At the same time, the cannon positions at the southeast and southwest corners continuously used ricochet fire to sweep the top of the walls clean.

In a single day, five cannons were destroyed and twenty-five men wounded. The Dutch were forced to withdraw most of their cannons and guards, keeping only observation posts on the walls.

Another day passed, and the Great Xia army brought out their ultimate siege tactic. Dozens of kites rose into the sky from the trenches, and freshly printed surrender leaflets drifted into the city like falling snow.

Amid the heavy snowfall, Van Diemen was summoned to the Governor-General's residence. Along the way, he could see Dutch civilians and soldiers snatching up the leaflets and vying to read them.

Even without reading the leaflets himself, Van Diemen could tell what was written on them from the passersby's comments and reactions.

The leaflets were written bilingually in Chinese and Dutch, with very concise content. First, they defined the Dutch East India Company as a pirate organization, making clear that this war was fought to eradicate pirates—executing only the chief culprits and harming no civilians.

Second, they guaranteed that after the Great Xia army took over the city, they would maintain public order and ensure the residents' food and drink. After basic order was restored, Dutch residents would be permitted to freely relocate. Dutch soldiers who voluntarily surrendered their weapons would also be treated favorably, with treatment equal to that of naval sailors who surrendered their ships.

A Dutch soldier patrolling an alley said, "This is true—I saw with my own eyes the day before yesterday that the Xia released thirty naval prisoners of war." His companion said, "Really? But we're in the middle of fighting!"

"Of course it's true! All the gunners on the south wall saw it."

"And then? What happened afterward?"

"They were hoisted up in baskets, and what happened to them afterward is unknown—those people seemed to vanish from the city..." Fan Ti knew that after those prisoners returned to Batavia, they had been locked up again, on the grounds that the Governor-General feared they would talk too freely and undermine morale. But the release of the prisoners had been done in full view of the southern city garrison, and the Governor-General had no way to make everyone close their eyes—the matter still leaked out. Fan Ti had been at the Governor-General's side at the time, so he knew the full story.

But having worked for the Governor-General's residence for so long, he knew well that some words should not be spoken, and wisely chose to keep his mouth shut and continue forward.

Passing by a tavern, he heard several Han Chinese inside holding leaflets and saying: "... It says here that mercenaries get no preferential treatment—once captured, they labor until death. What does that mean? Are... are we counted as mercenaries?"

Another person spoke in a drifting tone: "No... no, we're just protecting our homeland, and we haven't taken any pay, have we?"

"Is Batavia our homeland? And hasn't that surnamed Su raised our wages?"

"Damn it! To throw away the rest of our lives for a day's worth of drink money—that's not worth it at all! How about we run..."

Fan Ti knew those were Han Chinese militiamen recruited by the Chinese Kapitan Su Minggang. In the chaos of the siege, the only ones still coming back to taverns for diversion were the ronin mercenaries and these Han Chinese militiamen.

When Fan Ti crossed the canal bridge, he saw that the water had changed from black-green to brown-black, and the river surface was covered with a layer of palm leaves, dead fish, and rat carcasses—the stench was suffocating.

This was the consequence of closing the sluice gates—the moat, the canals, and the Ciliwung River had all become separate stagnant pools, and the water quality deteriorated rapidly. The shallow wells Fan Ti had dug within the city were actually just canal water seeping through, filtered by layers of sand and soil—the well water looked much better, though murky and foul-tasting, at least it wasn't black, and there was no feces or corpses in it.

But he knew in his heart that as long as the Ciliwung River did not resume flowing, Batavia's water quality would only get worse, and the shallow wells' toxicity was only slightly less than that of the canals.

Already, people in the city had contracted malaria and dysentery.

"Mr. Fan Ti, let's hurry."

Seeing Fan Ti lingering for so long over a river like a cesspool, the Dutch guard responsible for escorting him, his face flushed red, urged him repeatedly. Fan Ti immediately said with embarrassment: "Yes, yes, His Excellency the Governor-General is still waiting for me."

On the other side of the bridge, quite a few common folk had gathered, waiting to cross.

Fan Ti was going from the west city to the east city, while these people were going from the east city to the west—many of them carrying large bundles and small packages.

This was because of the last sentence on the leaflets—the Great Xia Army warned all Dutch civilians to leave the east city immediately and cross the canal as quickly as possible. Batavia's east district was mainly the Company's administrative offices, shops, and markets, with few residences—the population there was never large to begin with—and with three large bridges over the canal, plus the chaos of war within the city keeping everyone afraid to go out, not all civilians heeded the Great Xia Army's advice, so the bridge was not particularly crowded.

What Fan Ti couldn't figure out was why the gentlemen outside the city wanted the civilians to leave the east district.

Carrying his doubts, Fan Ti reached the outskirts of the Governor-General's residence when he suddenly heard a volley of cannon fire rolling in from beyond the southern city wall.

A moment later, the southern city erupted in a violent explosion, as if a volcano had erupted.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen