The Moghul Part 7

But the stolid air lay inert, refusing to lift. He would have to prepare the chest in suffocating misery. So be it.

Brushing the hair back from his eyes, he unlocked a bronzed sea chest and began to extract one by one the articles entrusted to the Company by King James. First was the letter, in English with a formal copy in diplomatic Spanish, both scribed on parchment and sealed in a leather case secured with His Majesty's impression in red wax. The seal, set in London over seven months before, was soft in the heat now, pliant to his touch. He surveyed the room for a moment and then his eye hit on the pair of formal thigh- length stockings the Company had insisted he pack. Perfect. He bound his hose around the king's letter, knotted it protectively over the seal, and tossed the bundle into the smaller wooden chest he would take ash.o.r.e.

Then he began to transfer the royal presents: a brace of gold-plated pistols, a half dozen silver-handled swords, a small silver-trimmed saddle, a set of delicate Norwich crystal, jeweled rings, a leather- bound mirror, a silver whistle studded with emeralds, a large c.o.c.ked hat trimmed in silk, a miniature portrait of King James, and finally, a dozen bottles of fine English sack. He checked each item for damage and then packed them tightly into the small chest. Finally he inserted a tightly fitting false bottom and covered it with a coa.r.s.e woolen rug.

Then the second packing began. He started with more gifts, these for port officials, mainly silver-trimmed knives and rings set with small inexpensive pearls. He also enclosed several boxed sets of English gold sovereigns, which the Company had requested be distributed as widely as possible, in hopes they would begin to be accepted.

Finally he looked about the room for personal goods. First he folded in a new leather jerkin, then next to it packed a new pair of leather boots. He stared at the boots for a moment, and then removed them while he carefully wrapped two primed pistols and slid one deep into each hollow toe. Next to the boots he packed a case of Spanish brandy he had been saving, for personal use aland. Lastly he took his glistening English lute from its corner berth, held it for a moment, and tested the strings. He adjusted the tuning on one string, then wrapped the lute's melon-shaped body in a silk cloth, and nestled it next to the brandy.

As he secured the lock on the chest and pocketed the large bra.s.s key, he suddenly asked himself how he would get the chest into India without its being searched. I'm not a genuine amba.s.sador. I'm the captain of a merchantman, with no

diplomatic standing. The Company, for all its mercantile wisdom, neglected to consider that small difficulty.

So I'll just have to sound like an amba.s.sador. That shouldn't be so hard. Just be impressed with your own importance. And find nothing, food or lodgings, sufficiently extravagant.

Then he drew himself erect and unlocked the door of the Great Cabin.

Only one thing remained.

"Mackintosh!" The quartermaster was in the pinnace now, fitting the tiller, and he glanced up in irritation. "Send the pilot to my cabin."

Hawksworth had scarcely seated himself behind the great oak table before the tall chestnut-skinned man appeared in the doorway.

Hawksworth examined the face again, expressionless and secure, asking himself its years. Is he thirty; is he fifty? The features seemed cast from an ageless mold, hard and seamless, immune to time.

"May I be of service?"

"Repeat your name for me." Hawksworth spoke in Turkish. "And tell me again the business of your vessel."

"My name is Karim Hasan Ali." The reply came smoothly, but almost too rapidly for Hawksworth to follow. "My ship was the Rahimi, a pilgrim vessel on her return voyage from Mecca, by way of Aden, to our northern port of Diu. We carry Muslim pilgrims outbound from India in the spring, and return after the monsoon. As you a.s.suredly must know, for a thousand years Mecca has been the shrine all followers of Islam must visit once in their life. Our cabins are always full."

Hawksworth recalled the vessel, and his astonishment at her size. She had had five masts and was easily twelve hundred tons, over twice the burden of the _Discovery_ and greater than anything he had ever seen before, even the most ambitious Spanish carrack. But when they spotted her, tacking eastward across the Bay of Cambay, she was unarmed and hove to almost before they had fired across her bow. Why unarmed, he had asked himself then, and why strike so readily? Now he understood.

"And you were the pilot for the _Rahimi_?"

"I am called the _musallim_." A note of formality entered the Indian's voice and he instinctively drew himself more erect.

"Is that the pilot?"

"Yes, but more. Perhaps it is like your first mate. But I am in full charge of navigation for the _nakuda_, the owner. To you he would be captain."

"And what was your salary for the voyage?"

"I received two hundred rupees for the trip to Aden, and am allowed two extra cabins of goods for personal trade."

Hawksworth smiled resignedly to himself, remembering he had unquestioningly delivered to the _nakuda _a bag of Spanish rials of eight equivalent to five hundred Indian rupees to buy out the pilot's contract. Then he spoke.

"Tonight, we go upriver to Surat. You're still in my service and you'll be pilot."

"I had expected it. I know the river well."

"Will there be any Portugal traders on the river?" Hawksworth searched his eyes hoping to monitor their truthfulness.

"I would not expect it. Although this year's monsoons are past and the river has returned to normal, there are new sandbanks. Every season they shift, becoming more treacherous. Only those of us who know the river well understand the moods of her sands. I have never seen _topiwallah _traders in Surat this early in the season." Karim paused, following Hawksworth's puzzled expression, then continued, with an air of condescension," _Topiwallah _is our word meaning 'men who wear hats.' We call Christian traders _topiwallahs_." He fixed Hawksworth squarely. "And we have other names for their priests."

"Call Christians what you will, but just remember England is not Portugal." Hawksworth's tone stiffened. "England has rid herself of the popery that still rules the Spaniards and Portugals. Along with their fear-mongering Jesuits and their d.a.m.ned Inquisition. It's now treason to practice Catholic rites in England."

"I have heard something of your petty European squabbles, your Christian rivalries. Is it your intention now to spread them to India as well?"

"All England wants is trade. Nothing else." Hawksworth shifted his leg, leaning forward to tighten the bandage. "I'm here as an amba.s.sador. To convey the friendship of my king, and his offer of free and open trade."

"And after you begin this trade, what then? Will you next try to drive the Portuguese from our ports? So that you can steal away shipping from our own merchantmen, as they have done, and demand we pay you for a license to ply our own seas?"

"I told you we only want trade. England has no use for sailing licenses, or priests. Our only enemies here are the Portugals. And the d.a.m.ned Hollanders if they start trying to interfere."

Karim studied Hawksworth in silence, fingering his jeweled earring in thought as he recalled the morning's battle. Two small English merchant frigates had prevailed over four Portuguese warships, galleons. Never before, he told himself, have the Portuguese been humiliated before our eyes. Pigeons must already be winging word of this incredible encounter to Agra. Separately, no doubt, to the Moghul and to the queen. But Queen Janahara will know first. As always. And she will know her Portuguese profits are no longer secure.

And what about Prince Jadar? Yes, the prince will already have heard, hours ago. What will Prince Jadar decide to do? That's the most important question now.

"Just tell me about the navigation of the river," Hawksworth continued unable to decipher Karim's distant expression. "How long will it take for our pinnace to reach Surat? We cast off at sunset."

"The tide will be running in tonight, and that will aid your oarsmen."

Karim instantly became businesslike. "There will also be a night breeze off the sea. But the Portuguese have no authority on our river. Once you are inland you are under the rule of the governor of Surat. . . .

and, of course, Prince Jadar, whom the Moghul has appointed to administrate this province."

Hawksworth heard the first bell and walked to the stern

windows to monitor the slant of the dying sun and to inhale the fresh evening air. Then he wheeled and examined Karim, the pilot's face shadowed in the half light.

"And who are these officials? This governor and prince?"

Karim smiled and carefully secured the fold of his turban. "The governor administers the port of Surat. He collects trading duties of the Moghul's court in Agra. Prince Jadar is the son of the Moghul and the military ruler of Gujarat, this province."

"Then who will I meet in Surat?" Hawksworth groped for a pattern. "The governor or the prince?"

Again Karim paused, wondering how much to tell, before continuing evenly, "Neither of these need concern you now. The first official you must satisfy will be the Shahbandar, what the Moghuls call the _mutasaddi_. The Shahbandar controls the customs house, the portal for all who would enter the Moghul's domain. His power over the port is absolute."

Hawksworth slapped one of the bronze cannon to punctuate his dismay.

In India also! Good Jesus, every Muslin port in the world must have this same petty official. I've heard that Shahbandar is Persian for "Lord of the Haven," and if that's true the office is named perfectly.

Every one I've known has had the right to refuse entry to anyone, at his whim, if bribes are insufficient and no more powerful official intervenes.

"Who does the Shahbandar here answer to? The governor? The prince? The Moghul himself? Or somebody _else _you haven't told me about yet?"

Hawksworth tried to push back his rising anxiety.

"Captain, you have, in your guileless _feringhi _way, raised a question it is wiser not to pursue. I can only a.s.sure you the Shahbandar is a man of importance in Surat, and in India."

"But who should I seek out when we reach Surat?"

At that moment two bells sounded on the quarterdeck, and with them a ray from the fading sun pierced the stern window, glancing off the oak boards of the table. A twilight silence seemed to settle uneasily over the _Discovery_, amplifying the creaking of her boards.