The Moghul Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Pinnace is afloat, Cap'n. I'm thinkin' we should stow thegoods and be underway. If we're goin'." Mackintosh's silhouette wasframed in the doorway of the Great Cabin, his eyes gaunt in the lanternlight. Dark had dropped suddenly over the _Discovery_, bringing with ita cooling respite from the inferno of day.

  "We'll cast off before the watch is out. Start loading the cloth andiron-work"--Hawksworth turned and pointed toward his own locked seachest--"and send for the purser."

  Mackintosh backed through the doorway and turned automatically toleave. But then he paused, his body suspended in uncertainty for a longmoment. Finally he revolved again to Hawksworth.

  "Have to tell you, I've a feelin' we'll na be sailin' out o' this piss-hole alive." He squinted across the semi-dark of the cabin. "It's mynose tellin' me, sir, and she's always right."

  "The Company's sailed to the Indies twice before, Mackintosh."

  "Aye, but na to India. The bleedin' Company ne'er dropped anchor inthis nest o' Portugals. 'Twas down to Java before. With nothin' but afew Dutchmen to trouble o'er. India's na the Indies, Cap'n. The Indiesis down in the Spice Islands, where seas are open. The ports o' Indiabelong to the Portugals, sure as England owns the Straits o' Dover. Sobeggin' your pardon, Cap'n, this is na the Indies. This might well beLisbon harbor."

  "We'll have a secure anchorage. And once we're inland the Portugalscan't touch us." Hawksworth tried to hold a tone of confidence in hisvoice. "The pilot says he can take us upriver tonight. Under cover ofdark."

  "No Christian can trust a bleedin' Moor, Cap'n. An' this one's got acurious look. Somethin' in his eyes. Can't tell if he's lookin' at youor na."

  Hawksworth wanted to agree, but he stopped himself.

  "Moors just have their own ways, Mackintosh. Their mind worksdifferently. But I can already tell this one's not like the Turks."Hawksworth still had not decided what he thought about the pilot. Itscarcely matters now, he told himself, we've no choice but to trusthim. "Whatever he's thinking, he'll have no room to play us false."

  "Maybe na, but he keeps lookin' toward the shore. Like

  he's expectin' somethin'. The bastard's na tellin' us what he knows. Ismell it. The nose, Cap'n."

  "We'll have muskets, Mackintosh. And the cover of dark. Now load thepinnace and let's be on with it."

  Mackintosh stared at the boards, shifting and tightening his belt. Hestarted to argue more, but Hawksworth's voice stopped him.

  "And, Mackintosh, order the muskets primed with pistol shot."Hawksworth recalled a trick his father had once told him about, manylong years past. "If anybody ventures to surprise us, we'll hand them asurprise in turn. A musket ball's useless in the dark of night, clumpof pistol shot at close quarters is another story."

  The prospect of a fight seemed to transform Mackintosh. With a grin hesnapped alert, whirled, and stalked down the companionway toward themain deck.

  Moments later the balding purser appeared, a lifelong seaman with anunctuous smile and rapacious eyes who had dispensed stores on many aprosperous merchantman, and grown rich on a career of bribes. Hemechanically logged Hawksworth's chest in his account book and thensignaled the bosun to stow the heavy wooden trunk into the pinnace.

  Hawksworth watched the proceedings absently as he checked the edge onhis sword. Then he slipped the belt over his shoulder and secured itslarge brass buckle. Finally he locked the stern windows and surveyedthe darkened cabin one last time.

  The _Discovery_. May God defend her and see us all home safe. Everyman.

  Then without looking back he firmly closed the heavy oak door, latchedit, and headed down the companionway toward the main deck.

  Rolls of broadcloth lay stacked along the waist of the ship, and besidethem were muskets and a keg of powder. George Elkington was checkingoff samples of cloth as they were loaded irto the pinnace, noting hisselection in a book of accounts.

  Standing next to him, watching idly, was Humphrey Spencer, youngest sonof Sir Randolph Spencer. He had shipped the voyage as the assistant toElkington, but his real motivation was not commerce but adventure, anda stock of tales to spin out in taverns when he returned. His face oftwenty had suffered little from the voyage, for a stream of bribes tothe knowing purser had reserved for him the choice provisions,including virtually all the honey and raisins.

  Humphrey Spencer had donned a tall, brimmed hat, a feather protrudingfrom its beaver band, and his fresh doublet of green taffeta fairlyglowed in the lantern's rays. His new thigh-length hose were animmaculate tan and his ruff collar pure silk. A bouquet of perfumehovered about him like an invisible cloud.

  Spencer turned and began to pace the deck in distraught agitation,oblivious to his interference as weary seamen worked around him to dragrolls of broadcloth next to the gunwales, stacking them for others tohoist and stow in the pinnace. Then he spotted Hawksworth, and his eyesbrightened.

  "Captain, at last you're here. Your bosun is an arrant knave, my lifeon't. He'll not have these rogues stow my chest."

  "There's no room in the pinnace for your chest, Spencer."

  "But how'm I to conduct affairs 'mongst the Moors without a gentleman'sfittings?" He reviewed Hawksworth's leather jerkin and seaboots withdisdain.

  Before Hawksworth could reply, Elkington was pulling himself erect,wincing at the gout as his eyes blazed. "Spencer, you've enough to dojust mindin' the accounts, which thus far you've shown scant aptnessfor." He turned and spat into the scuppers. "Your father'd have me makeyou a merchant, but methinks I'd sooner school an ape to sing. 'Tistradin' we're here for, not to preen like a damn'd coxcomb. Now look toit."

  "You'll accompany us, Spencer, as is your charge." Hawksworth walkedpast the young clerk, headed for the fo'c'sle. "The only 'fittings'you'll need are a sword and musket, which I dearly hope you know enoughto use. Now prepare to board."

  As Hawksworth passed the mainmast, bosun's mate John

  Garway dropped the bundle he was holding and stepped forward, beaming atoothless smile.

  "Beggin' your pardon, Cap'n. Might I be havin' a word?"

  "What is it, Garway."

  "Would you ask the heathen, sir, for the men? We've been wonderin' ifthere's like to be an alehouse or such in this place we're goin'. An' afew o' the kindly sex what might be friendly disposed, if you follow myreckonin', sir."

  Hawksworth looked up and saw Karim waiting by the fo'c'sle, his effectsrolled in a small woven tapestry under his arm. When the question wastranslated, the pilot laid aside the bundle and stepped toward thegroup of waiting seamen, who had all stopped work to listen. He studiedthem for a moment--ragged and rank with sweat, their faces blotched withscurvy and their hair matted with grease and lice--and smiled withexpressionless eyes.

  "Your men will find they can purchase _arak_, a local liquor as potentas any I have seen from Europe. And the public women of Surat aremasters of all refinements of the senses. They are exquisite, worthyeven of the Moghul himself. Accomplished women of pleasure have beenbrought here from all civilized parts of the world, even Egypt andPersia. I'm sure your seamen will find the accommodations of Suratworthy of their expectations."

  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 inhell. 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 theirlabor with spirits noticeably replenished.

  Hawksworth turned and ascended the companionway ladder to thequarterdeck, leaving behind the tense bravado. As he surveyed the deckbelow from his new vantage, he suddenly sensed an eerie lightenveloping the chip, a curious glow that seemed almost to heighten thepensive lament of the boards and the lulling melody of wind through therigging. Then he realized why.

  The moon!

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

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

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

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

  Then he sensed Karim standing beside him, also intent on the emptyshore. The pilot's back was to the lantern that swung from the mainmastand his face was shrouded in shadow. Abruptly, he addressed Hawksworthin Turki.

  "The face of India glories in the moonlight, do you agree? It isbeautiful, 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 ambassadorfrom 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 whomatter will soon know, of your exceptional fortune today. Do you reallythink today's battle will go unnoticed in India?"

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

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

  Hawksworth stiffened, unsure how to respond. "I know the Moghul rulesIndia. And that he'll have to wonder if the damned Portugals are stillmaster of his seas."

  "Surely you realize, Captain, that the Portuguese's profits arestaggering. Are you also aware these profits are shared with certainpersons 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 asthough administering a dispensation. "But there are others whom theyallow to invest directly in their trade. The profits give these personspower they often do not use wisely."

  "Are you telling me the Moghul himself invests with the damnedPortugals?" Hawksworth's hopes plummeted.

  "On the contrary. His Majesty is an honorable man, and a simple man whoknows but little of what some do in his name. But do you understandthere must be one in his realm who will someday have his place?Remember he is mortal. He rules like a god, but he is mortal."

  "What does this have to do with the Shahbandar? Surely he'd notchallenge the Moghul. And I know the Moghul has sons . . ."

  "Of course, he is not the one." Karim's smile was gentle. "But do notforget the Shahbandar is powerful, more powerful than most realize. Heknows all that happens in India, for his many friends repay theirobligation to him with knowledge. As for you, if he judges your wisdomworthy of your fortune today, he may choose to aid you. Your journey toAgra will not be without peril. There are already those in India whowill 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 Imay find necessary to do, it will not involve a port official like theShahbandar. And a trip to Agra surely would not require his approval."

  "But you must find your way." Karim examined Hawksworth with a quicksidelong glance, realizing he had guessed correctly. "My friend, yourdefeat of the Portuguese today may have implications you do notrealize. But at times you talk as a fool, even more than thePortuguese. You will need a guide on your journey. Believe me when Itell you."

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

  "'That you may guide your course by them."' Hawksworth picked up theverse, "'Amid the dark of land and sea.' Yes, I learned that verse inTunis. And I knew already a seaman steers by the stars. But I don'tunderstand 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 wesail'd a blessed seven month to this nest o' heathens so's to idleabout and palaver?"

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

  "One thing more, Captain." Karim pressed a hand against Hawksworth'sarm, holding him back. "One thing more I will tell you. Many_feringhi_, foreigners, who come to India are very unwise. Because ourwomen keep the veil, and dwell indoors, foreigners assume they have nopower, no influence. Do not act as other foolish _feringhi _and makethis mistake. In Surat . . ."

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

  "Please, listen. When you reach Surat, remember one last admonitionfrom the Quran. There it is written, 'As for women from whom you fearrebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart.' But sometimesa woman too can be strong-willed. She can be the one who banishes herhusband, denying him his rights. If she is important, there is nothinghe can do. Remember. . ."

  "Damn it to hell," Elkington's voice roared again, "I'm not likin'these moonlight ventures. Tis full risk aplenty when you can see who'sholdin' a knife to your throat. But if we're goin', I say let's be donewith it and have off."

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

  Across the moonlight-drenched swells the _Resolve_ lay quiet, her sternlantern reassuringly aglow, ready to hoist sail for the cove. And onthe _Discovery_ seamen were at station, poised to follow. Hawksworthlooked once more toward the abandoned shore, troubled, and then droppedquickly down the side into the pinnace. There was no sound now, onlythe cadence of the boards as the _Discovery's _anchor chain arguedagainst the tide. And then a dull thud as the mooring line dropped ontothe floor planking of the pinnace.

  Hawksworth ordered Mackintosh to row with the tide until they reachedthe shelter of the river mouth, and then to ship the oars and hoistsail if the breeze held. He had picked the ablest men as oarsmen, thosenot wounded and least touched by scurvy, and next to each lay a heavycutlass. He watched Mackintosh in admiration as the quartermastereffortlessly maneuvered the tiller with one hand and directed theoarsmen with the other. The moon was even more alive now, glinting offthe Scotsman's red hair.

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

  Half-dozing, he found his thoughts drawn to the Shahbandar who waitedin Surat, almost like a gatekeeper who held the keys to India. Hemulled Karim's words again, the hints of what would unlock thatdoorway, and slowly his waking mind drifted ou
t of reach. He passedunknowing into that dreamlike state where deepest truth so often lieswaiting, unknown to rationality. And there, somehow, the pilot's wordsmade perfect sense . . .

  "Permission to hoist the sail." Mackintosh cut the pinnace into theriver mouth, holding to the center of the channel. Hawksworth startledmomentarily at the voice, then forced himself alert and scanned thedark riverbanks. There was still nothing. He nodded to Mackintosh andwatched as the sail slipped quietly up the mast. Soon the wind and tidewere carrying them swiftly, silently. As he watched the run of the tideagainst the hull, he suddenly noticed a group of round objects, deepred, bobbing past.

  "Karim." Hawksworth drew his sword and pointed toward one of the balls."What are those?"

  "A fruit of our country, Captain. The _topiwallahs _call them'coconuts.'" Karim's voice was scarcely above a whisper, and his eyesleft the shore for only a moment. "They are the last remains of theAugust festival."

  "What festival is that?"

  "The celebration of the Hindu traders. Marking the end of the monsoonand the opening of the Tapti River to trade. Hindus at Surat smearcoconuts with vermilion and cast them into the Tapti, believing thiswill appease the angry life-force of the sea. They also cover bargeswith flowers and span them across the harbor. If you were there, youwould hear them play their music and chant songs to their heathengods."

  "And the coconuts eventually float out to sea?"

  "A few, yes. But mostly they are stolen by wicked boys, who swim afterthem. These few perhaps their gods saved for themselves."

  Hawksworth examined the bobbing balls anew. The coconut was yet anotherlegend of the Indies. Stories passed that a man could live for days onthe liquor sealed within its straw-matted shell.

  The moon chased random clouds, but still the riverbank was illuminatedlike day. The damp air was still, amplifying the music of the night--thebuzz of gnats, the call of night birds, even the occasional trumpet ofa distant elephant, pierced the solid wood line on either side of thenarrowing river. Hawksworth tasted the dark, alert, troubled. Where arethe human sounds? Where are the barges I saw plying the river mouthduring the day? I sense an uneasiness in the pilot, an alarm he doesnot wish me to see. Damn the moon. If only we had dark.

  "Karim." Hawksworth spoke softly, his eyes never long from the denserampart of trees along the riverbank.

  "What do you wish, Captain?"

  "Have you ever traveled up the river before by moonlight?"

  "Once, yes, many years ago. When I was young and burning for a womanafter our ship had dropped anchor in the bay. I was only a _karwa_then, a common seaman, and I thought I would not be missed. I waswrong. The _nakuda_ discovered me in Surat and reclaimed my wage forthe entire voyage. It was a very hungry time."

  "Was the river quiet then, as it is now?"

  "Yes, Captain, just the same." Though Karim looked at him directly, thedarkness still guarded his eyes.

  "Mackintosh." Hawksworth's voice cut the silence. "Issue the muskets."His eyes swept along the shore, and then to the narrow bend they werefast approaching. Karim is lying, he told himself; at last the pilothas begun to play false with us. Why? What does he fear?

  "Aye aye, Cap'n." Mackintosh was instantly alert. "What do you see?"

  The sudden voices startled Elkington awake, and his nodding headsnapped erect. "The damn'd Moors have settl'd in for the night. Ifyou'd hold your peace, I could join 'em. I'll need the full o' my witsfor hagglin' with that subtle lot o' thieves come the morrow. There'sno Portugals. E'en the night birds are quiet as mice."

  "Precisely," Hawksworth shot back. "And I would thank you to take amusket, and note its flintlock is full-cocked and the flashpan dry."Then he continued, "Mackintosh, strike the sail. And, Karim, take thetiller."

  The pinnace was a sudden burst of activity, as seamen quickly hauled inthe sail and began to check the prime on their flintlocks. With thesail lashed, their view was unobstructed in all directions. The tiderushing through the narrows of the approaching bend carried the pinnaceever more rapidly, and now only occasional help was needed from theoarsmen to keep it aright.

  A cloud drifted over the moon, and for an instant the river turnedblack. Hawksworth searched the darkness ahead, silent, waiting. Then hesaw it.

  _ "On the boards!"_

  A blaze of musket fire spanned the river ahead, illuminating theblockade of longboats. Balls sang into the water around them whileothers splattered off the side of the pinnace or hissed past the mast.Then the returning moon glinted off the silver helmets of thePortuguese infantry.

  As Karim instinctively cut the pinnace toward the shore, Portugueselongboats maneuvered easily toward them, muskets spewing sporadicflame. The English oarsmen positioned themselves to return the fire,but Hawksworth stopped them.

  Not yet, he told himself, we'll have no chance to reload. The firstround has to count. And damn my thoughtlessness, for not bringingpikes. We could have . . .

  The pinnace lurched crazily and careened sideways, hurtling aroundbroadside to the longboats.

  A sandbar. We've struck a damned sandbar. But we've got to face themwith the prow. Otherwise . . .

  As though sensing Hawksworth's thoughts, Karim seized

  an oar and began to pole the pinnace's stern off the bar. Slowly iteased around, coming about to face the approaching longboats. No soonerhad the pinnace righted itself than the first longboat glanced off theside of the bow, and a grapple caught their gunwale.

  Then the first Portuguese soldier leaped aboard--and doubled in a flameof sparks as Mackintosh shoved a musket into his belly and pulled thetrigger. As the other English muskets spoke out in a spray of pistolshot, several Portuguese in the longboat pitched forward, writhing.

  Mackintosh began to bark commands for reloading.

  "Half-cock your muskets. Wipe your pans. Handle your primers. Castabout to charge . . ."

  But time had run out. Two more longboats bracketed each side of thebow. And now Portuguese were piling aboard.

  "Damn the muskets," Hawksworth yelled. "Take your swords."

  The night air came alive with the sound of steel against steel, whileeach side taunted the other with unintelligible obscenities. TheEnglish were outnumbered many to one, and slowly they found themselvesbeing driven to the stern of the pinnace. Still more Portuguese pouredaboard now, as the pinnace groaned against the sand.

  Hawksworth kept to the front of his men, matching the poorly trainedPortuguese infantry easily. Thank God there's no more foot room, hethought, we can almost stand them man for man . . .

  At that moment two Portuguese pinned Hawksworth's sword against themast, allowing a third to gain footing and lunge. As Hawksworth swervedto avoid the thrust, his foot crashed through the thin plankingcovering the keel, bringing him down. Mackintosh yelled a warning andleaped forward, slashing the first soldier through the waist andsending him to the bottom of the pinnace, moaning. Then thequartermaster seized the other man by the throat and, lunging like abull, whipped him against the mast, snapping his neck.

  Hawksworth groped blindly for his sword and watched as the thirdsoldier poised for a mortal sweep. Where is it?

  Good God, he'll cut me in half.

  Suddenly he felt a cold metal object pressed against his hand, andabove the din he caught Humphrey Spencer's high-pitched voice, urging.It was a pocket pistol.

  Did he prime it? Does he know how?

  As the Portuguese soldier began his swing, Hawksworth raised the pistoland squeezed. There was a dull snap, a hiss, and then a blaze thatmelted the soldier's face into red.

  He flung the pistol aside and seized the dying Portuguese's sword. Hewas armed again, but there was little advantage left. Slowly theEnglish were crowded into a huddle of the stern. Cornered, abaft themast, they no longer had room to parry. Hawksworth watched in horror asa burly Portuguese, his silver helmet askew, braced himself against themast and drew back his sword to send a swath through the English.Hawksworth tried to set a parry, but his arms were pinned.

&nbs
p; He'll kill half the men. The bastard will . . .

  A bemused expression unexpectedly illuminated the soldier's face, asmile with no mirth. In an instant it transmuted to disbelief, whilehis raised sword clattered to the planking. As Hawksworth watched, thePortuguese's hand began to work mechanically at his chest. Then hishelmet tumbled away, and he slumped forward, motionless but stillerect. He stood limp, head cocked sideways, as though distracted duringprayer.

  Why doesn't he move? Was this all some bizarre, senseless jest?

  Then Hawksworth saw the arrows. A neat row of thin bamboo shafts hadpierced the soldier's Portuguese armor, riveting him to the mast.

  A low-pitched hum swallowed the sudden silence, as volleys of bambooarrows sang from the darkness of the shore. Measured, deadly.Hawksworth watched in disbelief as one by one the Portuguese soldiersaround them crumpled, a few firing wildly into the night. In whatseemed only moments it was over, the air a cacophony of screams andmoaning death.

  Hawksworth turned to Karim, noting fright in the pilot's eyes for thevery first time.

  "The arrows." He finally found his voice. "Whose are they?"

  "I can probably tell you." The pilot stepped forward and deftly brokeaway the feathered tip on one of the shafts still holding thePortuguese to the mast. As he did so, the other arrows snapped and thePortuguese slumped against the gunwale, then slipped over the side andinto the dark water. Karim watched him disappear, then raised the arrowto the moonlight. For an instant Hawksworth thought he saw a quizzicallook enter the pilot's eyes.

  Before he could speak, lines of fire shot across the surface of thewater, as fire arrows came, slamming into the longboats as they driftedaway on the tide. Streak after streak found the hulls and in momentsthey were torches. In the flickering light, Hawksworth could make outwhat seemed to be grapples, flashing from the shore, pulling thefloating bodies of the dead and dying to anonymity. He watchedspellbound for a moment, then turned again toward the stern.

  "Karim, I asked whose arrows . . ."

  The pilot was gone. Only the English seamen remained, dazed anduncomprehending.

  Then the night fell suddenly silent once more, save for the slap of therunning tide against the hull.

  BOOK TWO

  SURAT-- THE THRESHOLD