The Moghul Page 4

  CHAPTER TWO

  The events of that morning were almost too improbable to bedescribed. After taking on the Indian pilot, Hawksworth's plan had beento make landfall immediately, then launch a pinnace for Surat, there tonegotiate trade for their goods and safe conduct to the capital at Agrafor himself. If things went as planned, the goods would be exchangedand he would be on his way to the Moghul capital long before word oftheir arrival could reach Goa and the Portuguese.

  The pilot's worth was never in question. A practiced seaman, he hadsteered them easily through the uncharted currents and hidden swallowsof the bay. They had plotted a course directly east-north-east, runningwith topgallants on the night breeze, to make dawn anchorage at themouth of the Tapti River. Through the night the _Resolve_ had stayedwith them handily, steering by their stem lantern.

  When the first light broke in the east, hard and sudden, there it lay--the coast of India, the landfall, the sight they had waited for thelong seven months. Amid the cheers he had ordered their colors hoisted--the red cross, bordered in white, on a field of blue--the first Englishflag ever to fly off India's coast.

  But as the flag snapped its way along the poop staff, and the menstruck up a hornpipe on deck, their triumph suddenly was severed by acry from the maintop.

  "Sails off the starboard quarter."

  In the sudden hush that rolled across the ship like a shroud, freezingthe tumult of voice and foot, Hawksworth had charged up thecompanionway to the quarterdeck. And there, while the masts tuned amelancholy dirge, he had studied the ships in disbelief with his glass.

  Four galleons anchored at the river mouth. Portuguese men-of-war. Eacheasily a thousand ton, twice the size of the _Discovery_.

  He had sorted quickly through his options. Strike sail and heave to, onthe odds they may leave? It was too late. Run up Portuguese colors, theold privateers' ruse, and possibly catch them by surprise? Unlikely.Come about and run for open sea? Never. That's never an Englishseadog's way. No, keep to windward and engage. Here in the bay.

  "Mackintosh!" Hawksworth turned to see the quartermaster already poisedexpectantly on the main deck. "Order Malloyre to draw up the gunports.Have the sails wet down and see the cookroom fire is out."

  "Aye, sir. This'll be a bloody one."

  "What counts is who bleeds most. Get every able man

  on station."

  As Hawksworth turned to check the whipstaff, the long wooden lever thatguided the ship's rudder, he passingly noted that curious conflict ofbody sensation he remembered from two encounters in years past: once,when on the Amsterdam run he had seen privateers suddenly loom off thecoast of Scotland, and then on his last voyage through theMediterranean, when his convoy first spotted the Turkish pirategalleys. While his mind calculated the elements of a strategy, coollyrefining each individual detail, his stomach belied his rational facadeand knotted in instinctive, primal fear. And he had asked himselfwhether this day his mind or his body would prevail. The odds were verybad, even if they could keep the wind. And if the Portuguese hadtrained gun crews . . .

  Then he spotted the Indian pilot, leaning casually against the steeringhouse, his face expressionless. He wore a tiny moustache and long,trimmed sideburns. And unlike the English seamen, all barefoot andnaked to the waist, he was still dressed formally, just as when he cameaboard. A fresh turban of white cotton, embroidered in a delicatebrown, was secured neatly about the crown of his head, exposing hislong ears and small, jeweled earrings. A spotless yellow cloak coveredthe waist of his tightly tailored blue trousers.

  Damn him. Did he somehow know? Did he steer us into a trap?

  Seeming to read Hawksworth's thoughts, the pilot broke the silencebetween them, his Turki heavily accented with his native Gujarati.

  "This is your first test. Officers of the Moghul's army are doubtlessat the shore, observing. What will you do?"

  "What do you think we'll do? We'll stand the bastards. And withMalloyre's gunners I think we can . . ."

  "Then permit me an observation. A modest thought, but possibly useful.Do you see, there"--he pulled erect and pointed toward the shore--"hardby the galleons, there where the seabirds swirl in a dark cloud? Thatis the river mouth. And on either side are many sandbars, borne therefrom the river's delta. Along the coast beyond these, though you cannotsee them now, are channels, too shallow for the draft of a galleon butperhaps safe for these frigates. Reach them and you will be beyondrange of all Portuguese ordnance save their stern demi-culverin. Thenthey will be forced to try boarding you by longboat, something theirinfantry does poorly and with great reluctance."

  "Are there channels on both sides of the river mouth? To windward andto leeward?"

  "Certainly, my _feringhi _ captain." He examined Hawksworth with apuzzled stare. "But only a fool would not hold to port, to windward."

  Hawksworth studied the shoreline with the glass, and an audaciousgamble began to take form in his mind. Why try to keep both frigates towindward? That's what they'll expect, and any moment now they'll weighand beat to windward also. And from their position, they'll probablygain the weather gage, forcing us to leeward, downwind where we can'tmaneuver. That means an open fight--when the _Resolve_ can barely mustera watch. How can she crew the gun deck and man the sheets? But maybeshe won't have to. Maybe there's another way.

  "Mackintosh." The quartermaster was mounting the quarterdeckcompanionway. "Order the mains'l and fores'l reefed. And the tops'lsshortened. We'll heave to while we run out the guns. And signal the_Resolve_ while I prepare orders for Kerridge."

  The grizzled Scotsman stood listening in dismay, and Hawksworth readhis thoughts precisely in his eyes. There's nae time to heave to. Andfor wha'? We strike an inch o' canvas an' the fornicatin' Portugals'lltake the weather gage sure. Ha' you nae stomach for a fight? Why najust haul down colors and ha' done with it?

  But he said nothing. He turned automatically and bellowed orders aloft.

  Hawksworth felt out the morning breeze, tasting its cut, while hewatched the seamen begin swinging themselves up the shrouds, warmingthe morning air with oaths as the _Discovery _pitched and heeled in thechop. And then he turned and strode down the quarterdeck companionwaytoward the Great Cabin to prepare orders for the _Resolve_. As hepassed along the main deck, half a dozen crewmen were already unlashingthe longboat from its berth amidships.

  And when he emerged again on deck with the oilskin- wrapped dispatch,after what seemed only moments, the longboat was already launched,oarsmen at station. He passed the packet to Mackintosh without a word,then mounted the companionway ladder back to the quarterdeck.

  The Indian pilot stood against the banister, shaded by the lateen sail,calmly studying the galleons.

  "Three of these I know very well." His accented Turki was almost lostin a roll of spray off the stern. "They are the _St. Sebastian_, the_Bon Jesus_, and the _Bon Ventura_. They arrived new from Lisbon lastyear, after the monsoon, to patrol our shipping lanes, to enforce theregulation that all Indian vessels purchase a trading license fromauthorities in Goa."

  "And what of the fourth?"

  "It is said she berthed in Goa only this spring. I do not know hername. There were rumors she brought the new Viceroy, but early, beforehis four-year term began. I have never before seen her north, in thesewaters."

  My God. Hawksworth looked at the warships in dismay. Is this the courseof the Company's fortune? A voyage depending on secrecy blunders acrossa fleet bearing the incoming Viceroy of Goa. The most powerfulPortuguese in the Indies.

  "They are invincible," the pilot continued, his voice still matter-of-fact. "The galleons own our waters. They have two decks of guns. NoIndian vessel, even the reckless corsairs along our southern coast ofMalabar, dare meet them in the open sea. Owners who refuse to submitand buy a Portuguese trading license must sail hundreds of leagues offcourse to avoid their patrol."

  "And what do you propose? That we heave to and strike our colors?Without even a fight?" Hawksworth was astonished by the pilot's casualunconcern. Is he
owned by the Portugals too?

  "You may act as you choose. I have witnessed many vain

  boasts of English bravery during my brief service aboard your ship. Butan Indian captain would choose prudence at such a time. Strike colorsand offer to pay for a license. Otherwise you will be handled as apirate."

  "No Englishman will ever pay a Portugal or a Spaniard for a license totrade. Or a permit to piss." Hawksworth turned away, trying to ignorethe cold sweat beading on his chest. "We never have. We never will."

  The pilot watched him for a moment, and then smiled.

  "You are in the seas off India now, Captain. Here the Portuguese havebeen masters for a hundred years." His voice betrayed a trace ofannoyance at Hawksworth's seeming preoccupation, and he moved closer."You would do well to hear me out. We know the Portuguese very well.Better perhaps than you. Their cruelties here began a full century ago,when the barbarous captain Vasco de Gama first discovered our MalabarCoast, near the southern tip of India. He had the Portuguese nose forothers' wealth, and when he returned again with twenty ships, ourmerchants rose against him. But he butchered their fleet, and tookprisoners by the thousand. He did not, however, simply execute them.First he cut away their ears, noses, and hands and sent these to thelocal raja, recommending he make a curry. Next a Portuguese captainnamed Albuquerque came with more warships to ravage our trade in thenorth, that on the Red Sea. And when servants of Islam again rose up todefend what is ours, Allah the Merciful once more chose to turn hisface from them, leaving all to defeat. Soon the infidel Portuguese camewith many fleets, and in a span no more than a male child reachingmanhood, had seized our ocean and stolen our trade."

  The pilot's face remained blandly expressionless as he continued, buthe reached out and caught Hawksworth's sleeve. "Next they needed aPortuguese trading station, so they bribed pirates to help storm ourcoastal fortress at Goa, an island citadel with a deep port. And thisplace they made the collection point for all the pepper, spices,jewels, dyes, silver, and gold they have plundered from us. They lackedthe courage to invade India herself, as the Moghuls did soon after, sothey made our sea their infidel empire. It is theirs, from the coast ofAfrica, to the Gulf of Persia, to the Molucca Islands. And they seeknot merely conquest, or enforced commerce, but also our conversion totheir religion of cruelty. They have flooded our ports with ignorantpriests. To them this is a crusade against Islam, against the one TrueFaith, a crusade that has triumphed--for a time--where barbarousChristian land assaults on our holy Mecca have always failed."

  Then the pilot turned directly to Hawksworth and a smile flickeredmomentarily across his lips. "And now you English have come tochallenge them by sea. You must pardon me if I smile. Even if youprevail today, which I must tell you I doubt, and even if one day moreof your warships follow and drive them from our seas entirely--even ifall this should take place, you will find your victory hollow. Astheirs has been. For we have already destroyed them. The way Indiaconsumes all who come with arms. The ancient way. They have robbed ourwealth, but in return we have consumed their spirit. Until at last theyare left with nothing but empty commodity. It will be no different foryou, English captain. You will never have India. It is India who willhave you."

  He paused and looked again toward the galleons, their sails swelling onthe horizon. "But today I think the Portuguese will spare us thetrouble."

  Hawksworth examined the pilot, struggling to decipher his words. "Letme tell you something about England. All we ask is trade, for you andfor us, and we don't have any priests to send. Only Catholic traders dothat. And if you think we'll not stand well today, you know even lessabout the English. The thing we do best is fight at sea. Our sea dogsdestroyed the entire navy of Spain twenty years ago, when they senttheir Armada to invade England, and even to this day the Spaniards andPortugals have never understood our simple strategy. They still think awarship's merely a land fortress afloat. All they know to do is throwinfantry against a ship and try to board her. The English know seabattles are won with cannon and maneuverability, not soldiers."

  Hawksworth directed the pilot's gaze down the _Discovery_.

  The ship was of the new English "race-built" class, low in the waterand swift. Absent were the bulky superstructures on bow and stern thatweighed down a galleon, the "castles" that Spanish and Portuguesecommanders used to stage infantry for boarding an enemy vessel. A fullthirty years before, the English seaman and explorer John Hawkins hadscoffed at these, as had Francis Drake and Walter Raleigh. They sawclearly that the galleons' towering bow and stem, their forecastle andpoop, slow them, since the bluff beamy hull needed to support theirweight wouldn't bite the water. A superstructure above decks servesonly to spoil a warship's handling in a breeze, they declared, and tolend a better target to an English gunner.

  "Your ships assuredly are smaller than Portuguese galleons, I agree,"the pilot volunteered after a pause, "but I see no advantage in this."

  "You'll see soon enough. The _Discovery _may be low, but she'll sailwithin six points of the wind, and she's quicker on the helm thananything afloat."

  Hawksworth raised the glass and studied the galleons again. As heexpected they were beating to windward, laboring under a full head ofcanvas.

  Good. Now the _Resolve_ can make her move.

  The longboat was returning, its prow biting the trough of each swell,while on the _Resolve_ seamen swarmed the shrouds and rigging.Hawksworth watched with satisfaction as his sister ship's main courseswiveled precisely into the breeze and her sprits'l bellied for a rundown the wind. Her orders were to steer to leeward, skirting the edgeof the galleons' cannon range.

  And if I know the Portugals, he told himself, they'll be impatientenough to start loosing round after round of shot at her, even from aquarter mile off. It takes courage to hold fire till you're under anenemy's guns, but only then do you have accuracy. Noise and smoke arebattle enough for most Portugals, but the main result is to overheatand immobilize their cannon.

  As the _Discovery_ lay hove to, biding time, the _Resolve_ cut directlydown the leeward side of the galleons, laboring

  under full press of sail, masts straining against the load. The Indianpilot watched the frigate in growing astonishment, then turned toHawksworth.

  "Your English frigates may be swift, but your English strategy isunworthy of a common _mahout_, who commands an old she-elephant withgreater cunning. Your sister frigate has now forfeited the windwardposition. Why give over your only advantage?"

  Even as he spoke the four Portuguese warships, caught beating towindward, began to shorten sail and pay off to leeward to intercept the_Resolve_, their bows slowly crossing the wind as they turned.

  "I've made a gamble, something a Portugal would never do," Hawksworthreplied. "And now I have to do something no Englishman would ever do.Unless outgunned and forced to." Before the pilot could respond,Hawksworth was gone, heading for the gun deck.

  The ring of his boots on the oak ladder leading to the lower deck waslost in the grind of wooden trucks, as seamen threw their weightagainst the heavy ropes and tackles, slowly hauling out the guns. The_Discovery_ was armed with two rows of truck-mounted cast-ironculverin, and she had sailed with twenty-two barrels of powder andalmost four hundred round shot. Hawksworth had also stowed a supply ofcrossbar shot and deadly langrel--thin casings filled with ironfragments--for use against enemy rigging and sail at close quarters.

  Shafts of dusty light from the gunports and overhead scuttles relievedthe lantern-lit gloom, illuminating the massive beams supporting thedecks above. Sleeping hammocks were lashed away, but the space wasairless, already sultry from the morning sun, and the rancid tang ofsweat mixed with fresh saltpeter from the gunpowder caught inHawksworth's mouth, bittersweet.

  He walked down the deck, alert to the details that could spell victoryor loss. First he checked the wooden tubs of vinegared urine and thelong swabs stationed between the cannon, used for cleaning burningfragments of metal from the smoking barrels after each round. Fail toswab a barrel and there c
ould be an unplanned detonation when the nextpowder charge was tamped into place. Then he counted the budge-barrelsof powder, now swathed in water-soaked blankets to fend off sparks, andwatched as Edward Malloyre, the man some called the best master gunnerin England, inspected each cannon's touchhole as its lead plate wasremoved, assuring himself it had not corroded from the gases expelledduring their last gunnery practice, in the Mozambique Channel.

  "Master Malloyre."

  "Aye, sir, all's in order. We'll hand the Spanish bastards a taste o'English iron." Malloyre, who had never troubled to differentiatePortugal from Spain, was built like a bear, with short bowed legs and atree-stump frame. He drew himself erect, his balding pate easilyclearing the rugged overhead beams, and searched the gloom. "TheWorshipful Company may ha' signed on a sorry lot o' pimpin' applesquires, but, by Jesus, I've made Englishmen o' them. My sovereign toyour shilling we hole the pox-rotted Papists wi' the first round."

  "I'll stand the wager, Malloyre, and add the last keg of brandy. Butyou'll earn it. I want the portside battery loaded with crossbarforward, and langrel aft. And set the langrel for the decks, not thesail."

  Malloyre stared at him incredulously. The command told him immediatelythat this would be a battle with no quarter. The use of langrel againstpersonnel left no room for truce. Then suddenly the true implicationsof Hawksworth's command hit him like a blow in the chest. "That shot'sfor close quarters. We lay alongside, and the bastards'll grapple andboard us sure. Swarm us like curs on a bitch."

  "That's the order, Malloyre. Be quick on it. Set the starboard roundfirst. And light the linstocks." Hawksworth turned to count the shotand absently picked up one of the linstocks lying on deck--an iron-plated staff used to set off a cannon--fingering the oil-soaked matchrope at its tip and inhaling its dank musk. And the smell awoke againthe memory of that last day two years before in the Mediterranean, withTurkish pirate galleys fore and aft, when there had been no quarter,and no hope . . .

  "Beggin' your pardon, sir." Malloyre's voice was urgent, bringing himback. "What's the firin' orders?"

  "Just fire the starboard round as a broadside, and set for the lowergun deck."

  "Aye aye, sir." He paused. "And Lord Jesus pray we'll live to swabout."

  Malloyre's parting words would have followed him up the ladder to themain deck, but they were swallowed in the muffled roll of cannon firesounding over the bay. The galleons were spreading, circling the_Resolve_ as they bore down upon her, and they had begun to vomit roundafter round, jets of water randomly around the frigate as she plungedtoward the shallows and safety. Any minute now, Hawksworth toldhimself, and she'll be in the shallows. If she doesn't run aground on abar.

  Then he saw the _Resolve_ begin to come about, reefing and furling hersails. She's made the shallows. And the Portugals' guns have quieted.

  "Permission to set sail, sir. The bleedin' Portugals'll be on her in atrice." Mackintosh stood on the quarterdeck by the steering house. Andhe made no attempt to disguise the anxiety in his eyes.

  "Give the Portugals time, Mackintosh, and you'll see their second fatalmistake. The first was overheating the cannon on their upper decks. Thesecond will be to short-hand their crews. They're out of cannon rangenow, so they'll launch longboats, and assign half the watch as oarsmen.Here, take the glass. Tell me what you see."

  Mackintosh studied the shallows with the telescope, while a smileslowly grew on his hard face. "I'm a motherless Dutchman. An' there's aking's guard o' Portugal musketmen loadin' in. Wearin' their damn'dsilver helmets."

  They haven't changed in thirty years, Hawksworth smiled to himself. ThePortugals still think their infantry is too dignified to row, so theyassign their crews to the oars and leave their warships shorthanded.But they won't find it easy to board the _Resolve_ from longboats. Notwith English musketmen in her maintop. And that should give us justenough time. . . .

  "Are all the longboats out yet, Mackintosh?"

  "Aye, sir." The quartermaster steadied the glass against the roll ofthe ship. "And making for the _Resolve _like they was runnin' from hellitself."

  "Then bear full sail. Two points to windward of the bastard on theleft. Full press, and hoist the spritsail. Keep the wind and pay herroom till we're in range."

  With an exultant whoop Mackintosh jabbed the sweat-soaked telescopetoward Hawksworth, and began bellowing orders to the mates. Withinmoments sails unfurled and snapped in the wind, sending the_Discovery_'s bow biting into the chop and hurtling spray over thebulwarks. Hawksworth kept to the quarterdeck, studying the nearestwarship with the glass. The galleon's forecastle towered above thehorizon now like some Gothic fortress, and with the glass he could makeout pennants blazoned from all her yardarms. Then he turned toward theIndian pilot, whose gaze was riveted on the Portuguese warships.

  "What's the name of the galleon on the left, the large one?" Hawksworthpointed toward the vessel he had been observing with the glass. "Ican't read it from this distance."

  "That one is the _Bon Ventura_. We know her to be heavily armed."

  "I'd say she's over a thousand tons burden. I wonder how handy she'llbe with her best men out in the longboats?"

  "She'll meet you soon enough, with her full bounty. It is said thatlast year she caught and sank a twenty-gun Dutch frigate trading in theMoluccas."

  "She'll still have to come about into the wind." Hawksworth seemed notto hear the pilot now, so absorbed was he in the looming battle.

  As though in answer to his thoughts, the _Bon Ventura _started to heelslowly about, like an angered bull. But the _Discovery_ now had thewindward position secure, and the Portuguese ship would have to tacklaboriously into the wind. Her canvas was close-hauled and she would beslow. We've got the weather gage now, Hawksworth told himself, andwe'll hold it. Then he noticed that the second galleon in the row, the_St. Sebastian_, had also begun wearing around, bringing her sternacross the wind as she too turned to meet the _Discovery_.

  "They've deciphered our plan," Hawksworth said quietly to himself, "andnow it's two of the bastards we'll face. But with luck we'll engage the_Bon Ventura_ before the _St. Sebastian _can beat to range. And the_Bon Ventura_ is drawing away from the fleet. That bit of bravado willcost her."

  The _Discovery _was closing rapidly on the _Bon Ventura_. In minutesthey would be within range. Mackintosh was at the whipstaff now,holding their course, his senses alert to every twist in the wind. Heinvoluntarily clenched and unclenched his teeth, while his knuckleswere bloodless white from his grip on the hardwood steering lever.Hawksworth raised the glass again, knowing what he hoped to see.

  "The Portugals have just made their third mistake, Mackintosh." Hetried to mask his excitement. "They've sealed the lower gunports toshut out water while they're tacking. So after they get positionthey'll still have to run out the lower guns."

  "Aye. That's why two-deckers won't buy a whore's chastity on a day likethis. But they'll have the upper guns on us soon enough."

  "Wait and see, Mackintosh. I'll warrant their upper guns are overheatedby now. They'll think twice about trying to prime them just yet.They'll have to wait a bit. Perhaps just long enough for us to getalongside. Then the upper guns'll touch nothing but our rigging."

  The breeze freshened even more, driving the _Discovery _rapidly towardher target. Mackintosh eyed the galleon nervously, knowing the frigatewas heavily outgunned. Finally he could bear the tension no longer.

  "We've got range now. Permission to bring her about."

  "Steady as she goes. They're slow on the helm." Hawksworth glanced atthe line of seamen along the port side, untying bundles of musketarrows and lighting the linstock. "Bosun! Are the men at stations?"

  "Aye, sir." A gravel voice sounded through the din. "Stocks were a bitdamp, but I warrant the hellish sun's dryin' 'em out. We'll give thefornicators a fine English salute."

  Hawksworth gauged the galleon's course, estimating her speed and herability to maneuver. Then he saw her start coming about in the water,turning to position the starboard batt
ery for a broadside. Gunports onthe lower deck flipped up and cannon began slowly to emerge, like hardblack fangs. Nervous sweat began to bead on Mackintosh's brow as the_Discovery _held her course directly down the galleon's windward side.

  The _Bon Ventura_'s broadside battery was not yet set, but a suddenburst of black smoke from her starboard bow-chaser sent a ball smashingthrough the _Discovery's _quarter gallery, removing much of its ornateembellishment. Then came another flare of smoke and flame, hurtling asecond ball through the lateen sail above Mackintosh's head. Thequartermaster went pale, and looked imploringly at Hawksworth.

  "Steady as she goes, Mackintosh, they still haven't fully set theirguns." The knot in Hawksworth's stomach was like a searing ball offire. God, for a brandy. But we've got to hold till we've got surerange. To come about now would keep our distance, and mean a classicbattle. One we're sure to lose.

  He pushed away the realization of the immense chance they were taking.But now there was no turning back, even if he wanted. Finally he couldbear it no longer. God make it right.

  "Now, Mackintosh! Bring her hard about!"

  The quartermaster threw his weight against the whipstaff, shoutingorders to the two seamen on the deck below to haul the tackles on thetiller, helping him flip the rudder. Then he turned and bellowedcommands to the mates.

  "Hands to the braces. Bring her hard about."

  The seamen poised incredulously in the maintop and foretop cheered asthey began to haul in the ropes securing the yards, and in moments thesails swiveled off the wind. The _Discovery _careened in the choppingseas, responding readily to the shift in rudder and canvas. By thistime Hawksworth was standing over the scuttle above the gun deck,shouting to Malloyre.

  "Coming about. Prepare to fire the starboard battery when your gunsbear."

  The _Discovery_ had wheeled a sharp arc in the water, laying herselfbroadside to the galleon, hardly fifty yards away. The English seamenaloft stared mutely at the towering forecastle of the Portuguesewarship, most never before having seen a galleon at close range.Although the guns on her upper deck were still silent, had they spokennow they would have touched nothing but the frigate's tops'ls. But asthe galleon turned, the cannon on her lower deck were coming into finalposition. In moments she would lay the _Discovery_ with a broadside.Hawksworth watched her carefully, calculating, and then the knot in hisstomach dissolved like ice in the sun. The _Discovery _would be inposition seconds ahead.

  Malloyre's command to fire cut the awe-stricken silence. The nextinstant a low roar seemed to emanate from all the timbers of theEnglish frigate, while red-tipped flame tongued from her starboardside. The ship heeled dangerously sideways, while black smoke, acridand searing, boiled up through the scuttles and hatch, as thoughpropelled on its way by the round of cheers from below decks, thetraditional salute of ship's gunners. Hawksworth later rememberednoting that the battery had fired in perfect unison, not losing the setof a single gun by the ship's recoil.

  A medley of screams came first, piercing the blackened air. Then thesmoke drifted downwind, over the side of the _Bon Ventura_, revealing asavage incision where her lower gun deck had once been. Cannon werethrown askew, and the mangled forms of Portuguese gunners, many withlimbs shattered or missing, could be seen through the splintered hull.But Hawksworth did not pause to inspect the damage; he was alreadyyelling the next orders to Mackintosh, hoping to be heard above thedin. The advantage of surprise would be short-lived.

  "Pay off the helm! Bring her hard about!"

  Again the rudder swiveled in its locks, while seamen aloft

  hauled the sheets and braces, but this time the _Discovery _came abouteasily, using the wind to advantage. As he turned to check thewhipstaff, Hawksworth heard a high-pitched ricochet off the steeringhouse and sensed a sudden dry numbness in his thigh. Only then did helook up to see the line of Portuguese musketmen on the decks of the_Bon Ventura_, firing sporadically at the English seamen on decks andaloft.

  Damn. A lucky shot by some Lisbon recruit. He seized a handful ofcoarse salt from a bucket by the binnacle and pressed it against theblood. A flash of pain passed briefly through his consciousness andthen was forgotten. The _Discovery's _stern had crossed the wind. Therewas no time to lose. He moved down the companionway to again shoutorders to Malloyre on the gun deck. "Set for the fo'c'sle and rigging.Fire as your guns bear."

  The _Bon Ventura_ still lay immobile, so unexpected had been thebroadside. But a boarding party of Portuguese infantry was poised onthe galleon's forecastle superstructure, armed with swords and pikes,ready to fling grapples and swing aboard the frigate. The Portuguesehad watched in helpless amazement as the _Discovery_ completely cameabout and again was broadside. Suddenly the captain of the infantryrealized what was in store and yelled frantically at his men to takecover. But his last command was lost in the roar of the _Discovery's_guns.

  This time flames and smoke erupted from the _Discovery's _portsidebattery, but now it spewed knife-edged chunks of metal and twistingcrossbars. Again the screams came first, as the musketmen and infantryon the fo'c'sle were swept across the decks in the deadly rain.Crossbars chewed through the galleon's mainsail, parting it into twoflapping remnants, while the rigging on the foremast was blown by theboards, tangling and taking with it a party of musketmen stationed inthe foretop. Now the galleon bobbed helpless in the water, as the lastseamen remaining on the shrouds plunged for the decks and safety.

  "When you're ready, Mackintosh."

  The quartermaster signaled the bosun, and a line of

  seamen along the port gunwales touched musket arrows to the lightedlinstock and took aim. Streaks of flame forked into the tatteredrigging of the _Bon Ventura_, and in moments her canvas billowed red.Again the Portuguese were caught unaware, and only a few manned waterbuckets to extinguish the burning shreds of canvas drifting to thedeck.

  They were almost alongside now, but no Portuguese infantry would pourdown the side of the forecastle onto their decks. The galleon's deckswere a hemorrhage of the wounded and dying.

  "By Jesus, 'tis a sight for English eyes." Edward Malloyre's blackenedface, streaked with sweat, bobbed up through the hatch over the gundeck, and he surveyed the wreckage of the _Bon Ventura_. "Had to give'er a look, Cap'n. See if my lads earn'd their biscuit." He beamed withopen pride.

  "Malloyre, how does it stand below decks?" Hawksworth yelled from thequarterdeck.

  "Starboard side's swabbed out. How shall we load 'em, sir?" Malloyreleaned backward to gain a better look at the galleon, which now toweredabove them.

  "Round shot, and run them out fast as you can."

  "Aye, sir. An' no more close quarters if you please. Ne'er want to bethis close to one o' the bastards again." Malloyre started to retreatthrough the hatch, but then he turned, paused for a second, and yelledat Hawksworth. "Beggin' your pardon, Cap'n. I knew all along 'twas bestto pull alongside and lay 'em wi' crossbar. Just wanted to give thelads a bit o' a scare. Keep 'em jumpin'."

  Hawksworth waved his hand and watched as Malloyre's pudgy frame droppedthrough the gun-deck hatch like a rabbit diving for its warren.

  Mackintosh was standing on the main deck, his tangled red maneblackened with smoke, watching as the _Discovery _drifted slowly towardthe side of the bobbing galleon. Then, when they were only feet away,he signaled the bosun, and a line of English seamen lit the waitingfuses and began to loft clay powder pots across the waist of the _BonVentura_, now almost above their heads. When they had finished, hepassed orders and the _Discovery _began to pull away, before her sailscould ignite. Then one by one the powder pots started to explode,spewing burning sulphur over the Portuguese vessel's decks.

  Hawksworth watched the carnage, and asked himself if he had been rightto do what he'd done. They'd have sunk us. Cut down the men and takenthe officers and merchants to a Goa prison. And then what? We couldn'thave sunk them with cannon in a week. The only choice was fire.

  Then he turned to see the _St. Sebastian _making toward them. Hercannon were already run ou
t, and at any moment she would start comingabout for a broadside. Again he felt the throb in his thigh, and ittriggered a wave of fear that swept upward from his stomach. The Indianpilot stood next to him, also watching the approaching galleon.

  "I have seen a miracle, Captain. Allah the Compassionate has watchedover you today." The pilot's face showed none of the strain of battle.And his clothes were still spotless, oddly immune from the oily smokethat blackened all the English seamen. "But I fear there cannot be twomiracles on the same morning. You are about to pay for your fortune.Perhaps there is still time to strike your colors and save the lives ofyour men."

  "We surrender now and we'll rot in a Goa prison forever. Or be pulledapart on the _strappado_." Hawksworth glared back. "And I seem torecall the Quran says 'Do not falter when you've gained the upperhand.'"

  "You do not have the upper hand, my Captain, and the Holy Quran speaksonly of those who trust in Allah, the Merciful. . . ." His voicetrailed off as he turned to stare at Hawksworth. "It is not common fora _feringhi_ to know the Holy Quran. How is it you--?"

  "I just spent two years in a Turkish prison, and I heard little else."Hawksworth turned and was testing the wind, weighing his options. The_St. Sebastian _was almost on them. Her cannon were already run out,and at any moment she would start coming about for a broadside. Hecould still hear the trucks of the cannon below decks, as the starboardbattery was being run out, and he knew the portside crews were only nowbeginning to swab the last glowing shreds of metal from the cannonbarrels.

  Good God, there's no time to set the ordnance. They'll blow us to hell.He deliberated for a long moment, weighing his options. As he watched,the _St. Sebastian _began to shorten sail, preparing to come about andfire. Only minutes remained. Then he noticed that the wind on theburning _Bon Ventura's _superstructure was drifting her in thedirection of the approaching _St. Sebastian_, and he hit on anothergamble. They've shortened sail in order to come about, which meansthey're vulnerable. Now if I can make them try to take their bow acrossthe wind, with their sails shortened . . .

  "Mackintosh, take her hard about! Set the courses for a port tack."

  Once again the _Discovery_ heeled in the water, her stern deftlycrossing the wind, and then she was back under full sail, still towindward of the burning galleon. The sudden tack had left the burning_Bon Ventura _directly between the English frigate and the approachinggalleon. The _Discovery _pulled away, keeping the wind, forcing thegalleon to tack also if she would engage them. Hawksworth watched,holding his breath as Portuguese seamen began to man the sheets,bringing the _St. Sebastian's _bow into the wind.

  It was fatal. The approaching galleon had shortened too much sail inpreparation to come about for the broadside, and now she lacked themomentum to cross the wind. Instead the sluggish, top-heavy warshiphung in stays, her sails slack, her bulky bow fighting the wind,refusing to pay off onto the opposite tack. All the while the _BonVentura_ was drifting inexorably toward her, flaming. I was right,Hawksworth thought. She didn't have the speed to bring her bow around.With his glass he watched the galleon's captain order her back to theoriginal tack. But time had run out.

  Blinding explosions suddenly illuminated the gunports of the burning_Bon Ventura_, as powder barrels on the gun decks ignited, first theupper and then the lower. In only moments the fire found the powderroom aft of the orlop deck, and as the English seamen looked onspellbound the galleon seemed to erupt in a single cloud of fire,rocketing burning timbers and spars across the sea's surface. Themainmast, flaming like a giant taper, snapped and heaved slowly intothe fo'c'sle. Then the superstructure on the stern folded and droppedthrough the main deck, throwing a plume of sparks high into the morningair.

  Although the _St. Sebastian _had righted herself, she still had notregained speed, for now the sails had lost their luff and sagged toleeward. Why isn't she underway, Hawksworth asked himself, surelyshe'll circle and engage us? He looked again with the glass and thereason became clear. The Portuguese crewmen on the _St. Sebastian_ hadbegun throwing themselves into the sea, terrified at the sight of the_Bon Ventura's _blazing hull drifting slowly across their bow. The windhad freshened again and was pushing the burning galleon rapidly now.The blaze had become an inferno, fueled by casks of coconut oil storedbelow decks on the galleon, and Hawksworth involuntarily shielded hiseyes and face from the heat that, even at their distance, seared the_Discovery_. As he watched, the drifting _Bon Ventura _suddenly lurchedcrazily sideways, and then came the sound of a coarse, grinding impact,as her burning timbers sprayed across the decks of the _St. Sebastian_.In moments the second galleon was also an abandoned inferno, her crewlong since afloat in the safety of the sea, clinging to debris andmaking for shore.

  "Allah has been merciful twice to you in one morning, Captain. I hadnever before known the extent of His bounty. You are a man mostfortunate." The pilot's words, spoken softly and with pronouncedgravity, were almost drowned in the cheers that engulfed the decks andrigging of the _Discovery_.

  "The battle's just begun. Boarding parties are at the _Resolve_, andthere are two more galleons." Hawksworth reached for the glass by thebinnacle.

  "No, Captain, I doubt very much the Portuguese will trouble youfurther. Your luck has been too exceptional. But they will returnanother day." The pilot squinted toward the shore, as though confirmingsomething he knew should be there.

  Hawksworth trained his glass on the two galleons that still held the_Resolve_ pinned in the shallows. They were heeling about, preparing torun southward on the wind under full press of sail. He also realizedtheir longboats had been abandoned. Some were following futilely afterthe retreating galleons, while others were already rowing toward theriver mouth. The English frigate had been forgotten. Then he noted thatalthough pennants no longer flew from the yardarms of the galleons, thelarge, unnamed vessel had run out a brilliant red ensign on her poopstaff. He studied it carefully, then turned to the pilot, extending theglass.

  "Take a look and tell me what the colors are on the large man-of-war.I've never seen them before."

  The pilot waved away the telescope with a smile. "I need no Christiandevice to tell you that. We all know it. With all your fortune, youhave failed to understand the most important thing that happenedtoday."

  "And what is that?"

  "Those are the colors of the Viceroy of Goa, flown only when he isaboard his flagship. You have humiliated him today. The colors speakhis defiance. His promise to you."

  As the pilot spoke, Mackintosh came bounding up the companionway to thequarterdeck, his soot-covered face beaming. "What a bleedin' day! _What_a bleedin' day!" Then his eyes dimmed for an instant. "But a man'd becalled a liar who told the story."

  "How many dead and wounded, Mackintosh?"

  "Two maintopmen killed by musket fire. And a bosun's mate took asplinter in the side, very bad, when the bastards laid us wi' the firstbowchasers. A few other lads took musket fire, but the surgeon'll sew'em up fine."

  "Then break out the last keg of brandy. And see that Malloyre's men getthe first tot. . . but don't forget to send a tankard to thequarterdeck."

  Mackintosh broke an appreciative grin and headed down the companionwayladder. The sun was baking the decks now, and a swarm of locusts hadappeared from nowhere to buzz about the maintop. The wind was beginningto slacken in the heat, and silence slowly settled over the_Discovery_. Hawksworth turned his glass one last time to the largegalleon. He could still make out the ensign over the crests of surf,blood red in the sun.