The Moghul Part 10

Hawksworth translated the reply and a cheer rose from the men.

"Hear that, mates?" Master's mate Thomas Davies turned to the crowd, his face a haggard leer. "Let the rottin' Portugals swab cannon in h.e.l.l. I'll be aswim in grog an' snuffin' my wick with a willin' wench.

Heathen or no, 'tis all one, what say?"

A confirming hurrah lifted from the decks and the men resumed their labor with spirits noticeably replenished.

Hawksworth turned and ascended the companionway ladder to the quarterdeck, leaving behind the tense bravado. As he surveyed the deck below from his new vantage, he suddenly sensed an eerie light enveloping the chip, a curious glow that seemed almost to heighten the pensive lament of the boards and the lulling melody of wind through the rigging. Then he realized why.

The moon!

I'd forgotten. Or was I too tired to think? But now . . . it's almost like daylight. G.o.d help us, we've lost the last of our luck.

"Ready to cast off." Mackintosh mounted the companionway to the quarterdeck, his face now drawn deep with fatigue. "Shall I board the men?"

Hawksworth turned with a nod, and followed him down to the main deck.

Oarsmen began scrambling down the side of the _Discovery_, a motley host, shoeless and clad only in powder- smudged breeches. Though a rope ladder dangled from the gunwales, the seamen preferred to grasp the dead-eyes, easing themselves onto the raised gunport lids, and from there dropping the last few feet into the pinnace. They were followed by George Elkington, who lowered himself down the swaying ladder, breathing oaths. Hawksworth lingered by the railing, searching the moonlit horizon and the darkened coast. His senses quickened as he probed for some clue that would trigger an advance alert. But the moonlit water's edge lay barren, deserted save for an occasional beached fishing skiff, its sisal nets exposed on poles to dry. Why the emptiness? During the day there were people.

Then he sensed Karim standing beside him, also intent on the empty sh.o.r.e. The pilot's back was to the lantern that swung from the mainmast and his face was shrouded in shadow. Abruptly, he addressed Hawksworth in Turki.

"The face of India glories in the moonlight, do you agree? It is beautiful, and lies at peace."

"You're right about the beauty. It could almost be the coast of Wales."

Hawksworth thought he sensed a powerful presence about Karim now, something he could not explain, only detect with a troubled intuition.

Then the pilot spoke again.

"Have you prepared yourself to meet the Shahbandar?"

"We're ready. We have samples of English goods. And I'm an amba.s.sador from King James. There's no reason to deny us entry."

"I told you he is a man of importance. And he already knows, as all who matter will soon know, of your exceptional fortune today. Do you really think today's battle will go unnoticed in India?"

"I think the Portugals noticed. And I know they'll be back. But with luck we'll manage." Hawksworth felt the muscles in his throat tighten involuntarily, knowing a fleet of warships from Goa would probably be headed north within a fortnight.

"No, Captain, again you miss my meaning." Karim turned to draw closer to Hawksworth, flashing a joyless smile. "I speak of India. Not the Portuguese. They are nothing. Yes, they trouble our seas, but they are nothing. They do not rule India. Do you understand?"

Hawksworth stiffened, unsure how to respond. "I know the Moghul rules India. And that he'll have to wonder if the d.a.m.ned Portugals are still master of his seas."

"Surely you realize, Captain, that the Portuguese's profits are staggering. Are you also aware these profits are shared with certain persons of importance in India?"

"You mean the Portugals have bribed officials?" That's nothing new, Hawksworth thought. "Who? The Shahbandar?"

"Let us say they often give commissions." Karim waved his hand as though administering a dispensation. "But there are others whom they allow to invest directly in their trade. The profits give these persons power they often do not use wisely."

"Are you telling me the Moghul himself invests with the d.a.m.ned Portugals?" Hawksworth's hopes plummeted.

"On the contrary. His Majesty is an honorable man, and a simple man who knows but little of what some do in his name. But do you understand there must be one in his realm who will someday have his place?

Remember he is mortal. He rules like a G.o.d, but he is mortal."

"What does this have to do with the Shahbandar? Surely he'd not challenge the Moghul. And I know the Moghul has sons . . ."

"Of course, he is not the one." Karim's smile was gentle. "But do not forget the Shahbandar is powerful, more powerful than most realize. He knows all that happens in India, for his many friends repay their obligation to him with knowledge. As for you, if he judges your wisdom worthy of your fortune today, he may choose to aid you. Your journey to Agra will not be without peril. There are already those in India who will not wish you there. Perhaps the Shahbandar can give you guidance.

It will be for him to decide."

Hawksworth studied Karim incredulously. How could he know? "Whatever I may find necessary to do, it will not involve a port official like the Shahbandar. And a trip to Agra surely would not require his approval."

"But you must find your way." Karim examined Hawksworth with a quick sidelong glance, realizing he had guessed correctly. "My friend, your defeat of the Portuguese today may have implications you do not realize. But at times you talk as a fool, even more than the Portuguese. You will need a guide on your journey. Believe me when I tell you."

Karim paused for a moment to examine Hawksworth, as though wondering how to couch his next words. "Perhaps you should let the stars guide you. In the Holy Quran the Prophet has said of Allah, 'And he hath set for you the stars' . . ."

"'That you may guide your course by them."' Hawksworth picked up the verse, "'Amid the dark of land and sea.' Yes, I learned that verse in Tunis. And I knew already a seaman steers by the stars. But I don't understand what bearing that has on a journey to Agra."

"Just as I begin to think you have wisdom, again you cease to listen.

But I think now you will remember what I have said."

"Hawksworth!" Elkington's voice boomed from the pinnace below. "Have we sail'd a blessed seven month to this nest o' heathens so's to idle about and palaver?"

Hawksworth turned to see Humphrey Spencer gingerly lowering himself down the ladder into the pinnace, the feather in his hatband whipping in the night wind. The oarsmen were at their stations, ready.

"One thing more, Captain." Karim pressed a hand against Hawksworth's arm, holding him back. "One thing more I will tell you. Many _feringhi_, foreigners, who come to India are very unwise. Because our women keep the veil, and dwell indoors, foreigners a.s.sume they have no power, no influence. Do not act as other foolish _feringhi _and make this mistake. In Surat . . ."

"What women do you mean? The wives of officials?"

"Please, listen. When you reach Surat, remember one last admonition from the Quran. There it is written, 'As for women from whom you fear rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart.' But sometimes a woman too can be strong-willed. She can be the one who banishes her husband, denying him his rights. If she is important, there is nothing he can do. Remember. . ."

"d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l," Elkington's voice roared again, "I'm not likin'

these moonlight ventures. Tis full risk aplenty when you can see who's holdin' a knife to your throat. But if we're goin', I say let's be done with it and have off."

Hawksworth turned back to Karim, but he was gone, swinging himself lightly over the side of the _Discovery _and into the pinnace.

Across the moonlight-drenched swells the _Resolve_ lay quiet, her stern lantern rea.s.suringly aglow, ready to hoist sail for the cove. And on the _Discovery_ seamen were at station, poised to follow. Hawksworth looked once more toward the abandoned sh.o.r.e, troubled, and then dropped quickly down the side into the pinnace. There was no sound now, only the cadence of the boards as the _Discovery's _anchor chain argued against the tide. And then a dull thud as the mooring line dropped onto the floor planking of the pinnace.

Hawksworth ordered Mackintosh to row with the tide until they reached the shelter of the river mouth, and then to ship the oars and hoist sail if the breeze held. He had picked the ablest men as oarsmen, those not wounded and least touched by scurvy, and next to each lay a heavy cutla.s.s. He watched Mackintosh in admiration as the quartermaster effortlessly maneuvered the tiller with one hand and directed the oarsmen with the other. The moon was even more alive now, glinting off the Scotsman's red hair.

As the hypnotic rhythm of the oars lulled Hawksworth's mind, he felt a growing tiredness begin to beg at his senses. Against his will he started to drift, to follow the moonlight's dancing, prismatic tinge on the moving crest of waves. And to puzzle over what lay ahead.

Half-dozing, he found his thoughts drawn to the Shahbandar who waited in Surat, almost like a gatekeeper who held the keys to India. He mulled Karim's words again, the hints of what would unlock that doorway, and slowly his waking mind drifted out of reach. He pa.s.sed unknowing into that dreamlike state where deepest truth so often lies waiting, unknown to rationality. And there, somehow, the pilot's words made perfect sense . . .

"Permission to hoist the sail." Mackintosh cut the pinnace into the river mouth, holding to the center of the channel. Hawksworth startled momentarily at the voice, then forced himself alert and scanned the dark riverbanks. There was still nothing. He nodded to Mackintosh and watched as the sail slipped quietly up the mast. Soon the wind and tide were carrying them swiftly, silently. As he watched the run of the tide against the hull, he suddenly noticed a group of round objects, deep red, bobbing past.

"Karim." Hawksworth drew his sword and pointed toward one of the b.a.l.l.s.

"What are those?"

"A fruit of our country, Captain. The _topiwallahs _call them 'coconuts.'" Karim's voice was scarcely above a whisper, and his eyes left the sh.o.r.e for only a moment. "They are the last remains of the August festival."

"What festival is that?"

"The celebration of the Hindu traders. Marking the end of the monsoon and the opening of the Tapti River to trade. Hindus at Surat smear coconuts with vermilion and cast them into the Tapti, believing this will appease the angry life-force of the sea. They also cover barges with flowers and span them across the harbor. If you were there, you would hear them play their music and chant songs to their heathen G.o.ds."