The Moghul Page 7

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The room was musty and close, as though the rainy season hadnot passed, and the floor was hard mud. Through crude wooden shuttersthey could glimpse the early sun stoking anew for the day's inferno,but now it merely washed the earthen walls in stripes of golden light.

  Hawksworth stood by the window examining the grassy square that spannedout toward the river. The porters, in whose lodge they were confined,milled about the open area, chanting and sweating as they unloadedlarge bales of cotton from the two-wheeled bullock carts thatcontinually rolled into the square. He steadied himself against theheavy wooden frame of the window and wondered if his land legs wouldreturn before the day was out.

  "God curse all Moors." Mackintosh stooped over the tray resting on thegrease-smudged center carpet and pulled a lid from one of the earthenbowls. He stared critically at the dense, milky liquid inside, thengingerly dipped in a finger and took a portion to his lips. He testedthe substance--tangy curds smelling faintly of spice--and his facehardened.

  "Tis damned spoilt milk." He spat fiercely onto the carpet and seized apiece of fried bread to purge the taste. "Fitter for swine than men."

  "What'd they do with the samples?" Elkington sprawled heavily in thecorner, his eyes bloodshot from the all-night vigil upriver. "With noguards the heathens'll be thievin' the lot." He squinted toward thewindow, but made no effort to move. His exhaustion and despair weretotal.

  "The goods are still where they unloaded them." Hawksworth revolvedtoward the room. "They say nothing happens till the Shahbandararrives."

  "What'd they say about him?" Elkington slowly drew himself to his feet.

  "They said he arrives at mid morning, verifies his seal on the customshouse door, and then orders it opened. They also said that all tradersmust be searched personally by his officers. He imposes duty oneverything, right down to the shillings in your pocket."

  "Damn'd if I'll pay duty. Not for samples."

  "That's what I said. And they ignored me. It seems to be law."Hawksworth noticed that the gold was dissolving from the dawn sky,surrendering to a brilliant azure. He turned, scooped a portion ofcurds onto a piece of fried bread, and silently chewed as he puzzledover the morning. And the night before.

  Who had saved them? And why? Did someone in India hate the Portugueseso much they would defend the English before even knowing who theywere? No one in India could know about King James's letter, about theEast India Company's plans. No one. Even George Elkington did not knoweverything. Yet someone in India already wanted the English alive. Hehad wrestled with the question for the rest of the trip upriver, and hecould think of no answers. They had been saved for a reason, a reasonhe did not know, and that worried him even more than the Portuguese.

  Without a pilot they had had to probe upriver slowly, sounding forsandbars with an oar. Finally, when they were near exhaustion, theriver suddenly curved and widened. Then, in the first dim light ofmorning, they caught the unmistakable outlines of a harbor. It had tobe Surat. The river lay north-south now, with the main city sprawledalong its eastern shore. The tide began to fall back, depleted, and herealized they had timed its flow perfectly.

  As they waited for dawn, the port slowly revealed itself in the easternglow. Long stone steps emerged directly from the Tapti River andbroadened into a wide, airy square flanked on three sides by massivestone buildings. The structure on the downriver side was obviously afortress, built square with a large turret at each corner, and alongthe top of walls Hawksworth could see the muzzles of cannon--they lookedto be eight-inchers--trained directly on the water. And in the waningdark he spotted tiny points of light, spaced regularly along the top ofthe fortress walls. That could only mean one thing.

  "Mackintosh, ship the oars and drop anchor. We can't dock untildaylight."

  "Aye, Cap'n, but why not take her in now? We can see to make alandin'."

  "And they can see us well enough to position their cannon. Lookcarefully along there." Hawksworth directed his gaze toward the top ofthe fortress. "They've lighted linstocks for the guns."

  "Mother of God! Do they think we're goin' to storm their bleedin'harbor with a pinnace?"

  "Probably a standard precaution. But if we hold here, at least we'llkeep at the edge of their range. And we'd better put all weapons out ofsight. I want them to see a pinnace of friendly traders at sunup."

  The dawn opened quickly, and as they watched, the square blossomed tolife. Large two-wheeled carts appeared through the half-dark, drawn bymuscular black oxen, some of whose horns had been tipped in silver. Oneby one the oxen lumbered into the square, urged forward by the shoutsand beatings of turbaned drivers who wore folded white skirts insteadof breeches. Small fires were kindled by some of the men, and theunmistakable scent of glowing dung chips savored the dark clouds ofsmoke that drifted out across the river's surface.

  Then Hawksworth first noticed the bathers that had appeared along theshore on either side of the stone steps: brown men stripped toloincloths and women in brilliantly colored head-to-toe wraps wereeasing themselves ceremoniously into the chilled, mud-colored water,some bowing repeatedly in the direction of the rising sun. Only thewaters fronting the stairway remained unobstructed.

  When the dawn sky had lightened to a muted red, Hawksworth decided tostart their move. He surveyed the men crowded in the pinnace one lasttime, and read in some faces expectation and in others fear. But in allthere was bone-deep fatigue. Only Elkington seemed fully absorbed inthe vision that lay before them.

  Even from their distance the Chief Merchant was already assessing thegoods being unloaded from the carts: rolls of brown cloth, bundles ofindigo, and bales of combed cotton fiber. He would point, then turn andgesture excitedly as he lectured Spencer.

  The young clerk was now a bedraggled remnant of fashion in the powder-smudged remains of his new doublet. The plumed hat he had worn as theycast off had been lost in the attack downriver, and now he crouched inthe bottom of the pinnace, humiliated and morose, his eyes vacant.

  "Mackintosh, weigh anchor. We'll row to the steps. Slowly."

  The men bobbed alert as they hoisted the chain into the prow of thepinnace. Oars were slipped noisily into their rowlocks and Mackintoshsignaled to get underway.

  As they approached the stairway, alarmed cries suddenly arose from thesentinels stationed on stone platforms flanking either side of thesteps. In moments a crowd collected along the river, with turbaned menshouting in a language Hawksworth could not place and gesturing thepinnace away from the dock. What could they want, he asked himself? Whoare they? They're not armed. They don't look hostile. Just upset.

  "Permission to land." Hawksworth shouted to them in Turkish, his voiceslicing through the din and throwing a sudden silence over the crowd.

  "The customs house does not open until two hours before midday," atall, bearded man shouted back. Then he squinted toward the pinnace."Who are you? Portuguese?"

  "No, we're English." So that's it, Hawksworth thought. They assumed wewere Portugals with a boatload of booty. Here for a bit of privatetrade.

  The man examined the pinnace in confusion. Then he shouted again overthe waters.

  "You are not Portuguese?"

  "I told you we're English."

  "Only Portuguese _topiwallahs_ are allowed to trade." The man was nowscrutinizing the pinnace in open perplexity.

  "We've no goods for trade. Only samples." Hawksworth tried to think ofa way to confound the bureaucratic mind. "We only want food and drink."

  "You cannot land at this hour."

  "In name of Allah, the Merciful." Hawksworth stretched for his finalploy, invocation of that hospitality underlying all Islamic life.Demands can be ignored. A traveler's need, never. "Food and drink formy men."

  Miraculously, it seemed to work. The bearded man stopped short andexamined them again closely. Then he turned and dictated rapidly to thegroup of waiting porters. In moments the men had plunged into thechilled morning water, calling for the mooring line of the pinnace. Asthey to
wed the pinnace into the shallows near the steps, other portersswarmed about the boat and gestured to indicate the English shouldclimb over the gunwales and be carried ashore.

  They caught hold of George Elkington first. He clung futilely to thegunwales as he was dragged cursing from the bobbing pinnace and hoistedon the backs of two small Indian men. Arms flailing, he toppled himselffrom their grasp and splashed backward into the muddy Tapti. After hefloated to the surface, sputtering, he was dragged bodily from thewater and up the steps. Then the others were carried ashore, and onlyMackintosh tried to protest.

  The last to leave the pinnace, Hawksworth hoisted himself off the prowand onto the back of a wiry Indian whose thin limbs belied theirstrength. The man's turban smelled faintly of sweat, but his well-wornshirt was spotless. His dark eyes assessed Hawksworth with a practicedsidelong glance, evaluating his attire, his importance, and theapproximate cash value of his sword in a single sweep.

  Only after the porters had deposited them on the stone steps didHawksworth finally realize that India's best port had no wharf, thathuman backs served as the loading platform for all men and goods. As helooked around, he also noticed they had been surrounded by a crowd ofmen, not identified by turbans as were the porters but uniformed moreexpensively and wielding long, heavy canes. Wordlessly, automatically,the men aligned themselves in two rows to create a protected pathwayleading up the steps and into the square. Hawksworth watched as theybeat back the gathering crowd of onlookers with their canes, and hesuddenly understood this was how the port prevented traders frompassing valuables to an accomplice in the crowd and circumventingcustoms.

  Then the tall bearded man approached Hawksworth, smiled professionally,and bowed in the manner of Karim, hands together at the brow. "You arewelcome in the name of the Shahbandar, as a guest only, not as atrader."

  Without further greeting he directed them across the open square towarda small stone building. "You will wait in the porters' lodge until thecustoms house opens." As he ordered the heavy wooden door opened, hecurtly added, "The Shahbandar will rule whether your presence here ispermitted."

  He had watched them enter, and then he was gone. Shortly after, thefood had appeared.

  Hawksworth examined the room once more, its close air still damp withthe chill of dawn. The walls were squared, and the ceiling high andarched. In a back corner a niche had been created, and in it rested asmall round stone pillar, presumably a religious object but oneHawksworth did not recognize. Who would venerate a column of stone, hemused, particularly one which seems almost like a man's organ? It can'tbe the Muslims. They worship their own organs like no other race, butthey generally honor their law against icons. So it must be for thegentiles, the Hindus. Which means that the porters are Hindus and theiroverseers Moors. That's the privilege of conquerors. Just like everyother land the Moors have seized by the sword.

  He glanced again at the tray and noted that the food had beencompletely devoured, consumed by ravenous seamen who would have scornedto touch milk curds six months before. After a moment's consideration,Hawksworth turned and seated himself on the edge of the carpet. There'snothing to be done. We may as well rest while we have the chance.

  George Elkington had rolled himself in a corner of the

  carpet and now he dozed fitfully. Humphrey Spencer fought sleep as heworked vainly to brush away the powder smudges from his doublet.Mackintosh had finished whetting his seaman's knife and now satabsorbed in searching his hair for lice. Bosun's mate John Garwaylounged against a side wall, idly scratching his codpiece and dreamingof the women he would soon have, his toothless smile fixed in sleepyanticipation. The master's mate, Thomas Davies, dozed in a heap by thedoor, his narrow face depleted and aged with scurvy. In a back cornerdice and a pile of coins had miraculously appeared, and the otherseamen sprawled about them on the floor, bloodshot eyes focused on thechance numbers that would spell the longest splurge in port. Hawksworthstretched his wounded leg once more, leaned stiffly against the frontwall, and forced his mind to drift again into needed rest.

  Hawksworth was suddenly alert, his senses troubled. The sun had reachedmidmorning now, and it washed the mud floor in brilliant yellow light.He sensed that a heavy shadow had passed through its beam. He had notspecifically seen it, but somehow, intuitively, he knew. Without a wordhe edged to the side of the heavy wooden door, his hand close to hissword handle. All the others except Mackintosh were by now asleep. Onlythe quartermaster had noticed it. He quickly moved to the side of thedoor opposite Hawksworth and casually drew his heavy, bone-handledknife.

  Without warning the door swung outward.

  Facing them was the same bearded man who had invited them ashore. Thesquare behind him was bright now with the glare of late morning, and inthe light Hawksworth realized he was wearing an immaculate whiteturban, a long blue skirt over tightly fitting white breeches, andornate leather shoes, turned up at the toe in a curved point. Thistime, however, he no longer bore welcome.

  "Where have you anchored your ships?" The Turki was accented andabrupt.

  News travels fast, Hawksworth thought, as he tried to shove the hazefrom his mind. "Where is the Shahbandar?"

  "Your merchantmen were not in the bay this morning. Where are theynow?" The man seemed to ignore Hawksworth's question.

  "I demand to see the Shahbandar. And I'll answer no questions till Ido."

  "You do not demand of the Shahbandar." The man's black beard workednervously, even when he paused. "You and all your men are to be broughtto the customs house, together with your goods."

  "Where is he now?"

  "He is here."

  "Where?"

  The Indian turned and gestured quickly across the maidan, the square,toward the large windowless stone building that sat on the water's edgeopposite the fortress. Hawksworth looked at the cluster of armed guardsand realized this must be the mint. This was the building, he nowremembered Karim telling him, where foreign money was "exchanged." Allforeign coins, even Spanish rials of eight, were required to be melteddown and reminted into rupees before they could be used for purchase.Supposedly a protection against counterfeit or base coin, thisrequirement produced months of delay. The Shahbandar gave only onealternative to traders in a hurry: borrow ready-made rupees atexorbitant interest.

  "After he has authorized the beginning of today's work at the mint, hewill verify the seal on the door of the customs house"--he pointed tothe squat building adjoining their lodge--"and open it for today. Allgoods must be taxed and receive his _chapp _or seal before they canenter or leave India."

  The men had begun to stir, and Hawksworth turned to translate. TheEnglish assembled warily, and the air came alive with an almostpalpable apprehension as Hawksworth led them into the bustling square.

  "We must wait." The tall Indian suddenly paused near the center of themaidan, just as a group of guards emerged from the mint. Each wore aheavy sword, and they were escorting a large closed palanquin carriedon the shoulders of four bearers dressed only in white skirts foldedabout their waist. The guards cleared a path through the crowd ofmerchants, and made their way slowly to the door of the customs house.The crowd surged in behind them, blocking the view, but moments laterthe tall doors of the customs house were seen to swing open, and thecrowd funneled in, behind the palanquin and the guards. Then the Indianmotioned for them to follow.

  The interior of the customs house smelled of sweat, mingled with spiceand the dusty fragrance of indigo. As oil lamps were lighted andattached to the side walls, the milling crowd grew visible. Through thesemi-dark porters were already bearing the English goods in from the_maidan_ and piling them in one of the allotted stalls.

  The tall guide turned to Hawksworth. "You and all your men must now besearched, here in the counting room."

  "I'll not allow it." Hawksworth motioned the English back. "I told youI demand to see the Shahbandar."

  "He'll receive you when he will. He has not granted an audience."

  "Then we'll not be searched. Tell him that. Now."


  The Indian paused for a moment, then reluctantly turned and made hisway toward a door at the rear of the large room. Elkington pressedforward, his face strained.

  "Tell the bleedin' heathen we're English. We'll not be treated likethis rabble." He motioned around the room, a bedlam of Arab, Persian,and Indian traders who eyed the English warily as they shouted for theattention of customs inspectors and competed to bribe porters.

  "Just hold quiet. I think they know exactly who we are. And they knowabout the ships."

  As they waited, Hawksworth wondered what he should tell the Shahbandar,and he again puzzled over the words of Karim. Think. What can you tellhim that he hasn't already heard? I'll wager he knows full well we wereattacked by Portugals in the bay. That we burned and sank two galleons.Will he now hold us responsible for warfare in Indian waters? I'll evenwager he knows we were attacked on the river. And who saved us.

  The large Indian was returning, striding through the center aisleaccompanied by four of the Shahbandar's guards. He motioned forHawksworth to follow, alone.

  The door of the rear chamber was sheathed in bronze, with heavy ornatehinges and an immense hasp. It seemed to swing open of itself as theyapproached.

  And they were in the chamber of the Shahbandar.

  As he entered, Hawksworth was momentarily blinded by the blaze of oillamps that lined the walls of the room. Unlike the simple plaster wallsand pillars of the outer receiving area, this inner chamber wasforbiddingly ornate, with gilded ceilings almost thirty feet high. Theroom was already bustling with clerks straightening piles of accountbooks and readying themselves for the day's affairs.

  The room fell silent and a way suddenly cleared through the center, asthe Hindu clerks fell back along the walls. They all wore tight, neatheaddresses and formal cotton top shirts, and Hawksworth felt a suddenconsciousness of his own clothes--muddy boots and powder-smeared jerkinand breeches. For the first time since they arrived he found himself ina room with no other Europeans. The isolation felt sudden and complete.

  Then he saw the Shahbandar.

  On a raised dais at the rear of the room, beneath a canopy of gold-embroidered cloth, sat the chief port official of India. He restedstiffly on a four-legged couch strewn with cushions, and he wore aturban of blue silk, narrow- patterned trousers, and an embroidered tanrobe that crossed to the right over his plump belly and was securedwith a row of what appeared to be rubies. He seemed oblivious toHawksworth as he cursed and drew on the end of a tube being held to hismouth by an attending clerk. The clerk's other hand worked a burningtaper over the open top of a long-necked clay pot. The tube being heldto the Shahbandar's mouth was attached to a spout on the side. SuddenlyHawksworth heard a gurgle from the pot and saw the Shahbandar inhale amouthful of dark smoke.

  "Tobacco is the only thing the _topiwallahs _ever brought to India thatshe did not already have. Even then we still had to

  devise the hookah to smoke it properly." He inhaled appreciatively. "Itis forbidden during this month of Ramadan, but no man was made to fastduring daylight and also forgo tobacco. The morning sun still rose inthe east, and thus it is written the gate of repentance remains open toGod's servants."

  The Shahbandar examined Hawksworth with curiosity. His face recalledhard desert nomad blood, but now it was softened with ease, plump andmoustachioed. He wore gold earrings, and he was barefoot.

  "Favor me by coming closer. I must see this _feringhi _captain whobrings such turmoil to our waters." He turned and cursed the servant asthe hookah continued to gurgle inconclusively. Then a roll of smokeburst through the tube and the Shahbandar's eyes mellowed as he drew itdeeply into his lungs. He held the smoke for a moment while he gazedquizzically at Hawksworth, squinting as though the air between themwere opaque.

  "They tell me you are English. May I have the pleasure to know yourname?"

  "I'm Brian Hawksworth, captain of the frigate _Discovery_. May I alsohave the privilege of an introduction."

  "I will stand before Allah as Mirza Nuruddin." He again drew deeply onthe hookah. "But here I am the Shahbandar." He exhaled a cloud andexamined Hawksworth. "Your ship and another were in our bay yesterday.I am told they weighed anchor at nightfall. Do English vesselscustomarily sail without their captain?"

  "When they have reason to do so." Hawksworth fixed him squarely,wondering if he was really almost blind or if he merely wanted toappear so.

  "And what, Captain . . . Hawksworth, brings you and your contentiouswarships to our port? It is not often our friends the Portuguese permittheir fellow Christians to visit us."

  "Our ships are traders of England's East India Company."

  "Do not squander my time telling me what I already know." TheShahbandar suddenly seemed to erupt. "They have never before come toIndia. Why are you here now?"

  Hawksworth sensed suddenly that the Shahbandar had been merely toyingwith him. That he knew full well why they had come and had alreadydecided what to do. He recalled the words of Karim, declaring theShahbandar had his own private system of spies.

  "We are here for the same reason we have visited the islands. To tradethe goods of Europe."

  "But we already do trade with Europeans. The Portuguese. Who alsoprotect our seas."

  "Have you found profit in it?"

  "Enough. But it is not your place to question me, Captain Hawksworth."

  "Then you may wish to profit through English trade as well."

  "And your merchants, I assume, also expect to profit here."

  "That's the normal basis of trade." Hawksworth shifted, easing his leg.

  The Shahbandar glanced downward, but without removing his lips from thetube of the hookah. "I notice you have a wound, Captain Hawksworth.Yours would seem a perilous profession."

  "It's sometimes even more perilous for our enemies."

  "I presume you mean the Portuguese." The Shahbandar cursed the servantanew and called for a new taper to fire the hookah. "But their perilsare over. Yours have only begun. Surely you do not expect they willallow you to trade here."

  "Trade here is a matter between England and India. It does not involvethe Portugals."

  The Shahbandar smiled. "But we have a trade agreement with thePortuguese, a _firman_ signed by His Majesty, the Moghul of India,allowing them free access to our ports. We have no such agreement withEngland."

  "Then we were mistaken. We believed the port of Surat belonged toIndia, not to the Portugals." Hawksworth felt his palms moisten at thegrowing game of nerves. "India, you would say, has no ports of her own.No authority to trade with whom she will."

  "You come to our door with warfare and insolence, Captain Hawksworth.Perhaps I would have been surprised if you had done otherwise." TheShahbandar paused to draw thoughtfully on the smoking mouthpiece. "Whyshould I expect this? Although you would not ask, let me assume youhave. The reputation of English sea dogs is not unknown in the Indies."

  "And I can easily guess who brought you these libelous reports ofEngland. Perhaps you should examine their motives."

  "We have received guidance in our judgment from those we have trustedfor many years." The Shahbandar waved aside the hookah and fixedHawksworth with a hard gaze.

  Hawksworth returned the unblinking stare for a moment while an ideaformed in his mind. "I believe it once was written, 'There are thosewho purchase error at the price of guidance, so their commerce does notprosper. Neither are they guided.'"

  A sudden hush enveloped the room as the Shahbandar examined Hawksworthwith uncharacteristic surprise. For a moment his eyes seemed lost inconcentration, then they quickly regained their focus. "The Holy Quran--Surah II, if I have not lost the lessons of my youth." He stopped andsmiled in disbelief. "It's impossible a _topiwallah_ should know thewords of the Merciful Prophet, on whom be peace. You are a man ofcurious parts, English captain." Again he paused. "And you dissemblewith all the guile of a _mullah_."

  "I merely speak the truth."

  "Then speak the truth to me now, Captain Hawksworth. Is it not true the
English are a notorious nation of pirates? That your merchants live offthe commerce of others, pillaging where they see fit. Should I notinquire, therefore, whether you intrude into our waters for the samepurpose?"

  "England has warred in years past on her rightful enemies. But our warsare over. The East India Company was founded for peaceful trade. Andthe Company is here for no purpose but to trade peacefully withmerchants in Surat." Hawksworth dutifully pressed forward. "Our twomerchantmen bring a rich store of English goods--woolens, ironwork, lead. . ."

  "While you war with the Portuguese, in sight of our very shores. Willyou next make war on our own merchants? I'm told it is your historiclivelihood."

  As he studied Hawksworth, the Shahbandar found himself reflecting onthe previous evening. The sun had set and the Ramadan meal was alreadyunderway when Father Manoel Pinheiro, the second-ranked PortugueseJesuit in India, had appeared at his gates demanding an audience.

  For two tiresome hours he had endured the Jesuit's pained excuses forPortugal's latest humiliation at sea. And his boasts that the Englishwould never survive a trip upriver. And for the first time MirzaNuruddin could remember, he had smelled fear.

  Mirza Nuruddin had sensed no fear in the Portuguese eight years before,when an English captain named Lancaster had attacked and pillaged aPortuguese galleon in the seas off Java. Then the Viceroy of Goa brayedhe would know retribution, although nothing was ever done. And a merefive years ago the Viceroy himself led a fleet of twelve warships toMalacca boasting to burn the eleven Dutch merchantmen lading there. Andthe Dutch sank almost his entire fleet. Now the pirates of Malabardaily harassed Indian shipping the length of the western coast and thePortuguese patrols seemed powerless to control them. In one shortdecade, he told himself, the Portuguese have shown themselves unable tostop the growing Dutch spice trade in the islands, unable to ridIndia's coasts of pirates, and now . . . now unable to keep otherEuropeans from India's own doorstep.

  He studied Hawksworth again and asked himself why the English had come.And why the two small English vessels had challenged four armedgalleons, instead of turning and making for open sea? To trade a cargoof wool? No cargo was worth the risk they had taken. There had to beanother reason. And that reason, or whatever lay behind it, terrifiedthe Portuguese. For the first time ever.

  "We defend ourselves when attacked. That's all." Hawksworth foundhimself wanting to end the questions, to escape the smoky room and theShahbandar's intense gaze. "That has no bearing on our request to tradein this port."

  "I will take your request under advisement. In the meantime you andyour men will be searched and your goods taxed, in keeping with ourlaw."

  "You may search the men if you wish. But I am here as representative ofthe king of England. And as his representative I will not allow mypersonal chest to be searched, no more than His Majesty, King James ofEngland, would submit to such an indignity." Hawksworth decided toreach for all the authority his ragged appearance would allow.

  "All _feringhi_, except ambassadors, must be searched. Do you claimthat immunity?"

  "I am an ambassador, and I will be traveling to Agra to represent myking."

  "Permission for _feringhi _to travel in India must come from the Moghulhimself." The Shahbandar's face remained impassive but his mind raced.The stakes of the English game were not wool, he suddenly realized, butIndia. The English king was challenging Portugal for the trade ofIndia. Their audacity as astonishing. "A request can be sent to Agra bythe governor of this province."

  "Then I must see him to ask that a message be sent to Agra. For now, Idemand that my personal effects be released from the customs house. Andthat no duty be levied on our goods, which are samples and not forsale."

  "If your goods are not taxed, they will remain in the customs house.That is the law. Because you claim to represent your king, I will forgomy obligation to search your person. All of your men, however, will besearched down to their boots, and any goods or coin they bring throughthis port will be taxed according to the prevailing rate. Two and one-half percent of value."

  "Our Chief Merchant wishes to display his samples to your traders."

  "I have told you I will consider your request for trade.

  There are many considerations." He signaled for the hookah to belighted again. The interview seemed to be ended.

  Hawksworth bowed with what formality he could muster and turned towardthe counting-room door.

  "Captain Hawksworth. You will not be returning to your men. I have madeother arrangements for your lodging."

  Hawksworth revolved to see four porters waiting by an open door at theShahbandar's left.

  I must be tired. I hadn't noticed the door until now.

  Then he realized it had been concealed in the decorations on the wall.When he did not move, the porters surrounded him.

  No, they're not porters. They're the guards who held back the crowdsfrom the steps. And they're armed now.

  "I think you will find your lodgings suitable." The Shahbandar watchedHawksworth's body tense. "My men will escort you. Your chest willremain here under my care."

  The Shahbandar returned again to his gurgling hookah.

  "My chest will not be subject to search. If it is to be searched, Iwill return now to my ship." Hawksworth still did not move. "Yourofficials will respect my king, and his honor."

  "It is in my care." The Shahbandar waved Hawksworth toward the door. Hedid not look up from his pipe.

  As Hawksworth passed into the midday sunshine, he saw the Shahbandar'sown palanquin waiting by the door. Directly ahead spread the city'steeming horse and cattle bazaar, while on his right, under a densebanyan tree, a dark-eyed beggar sat on a pallet, clothed only in awhite loincloth and wearing ashes in his braided hair and curious whiteand red marks on his forehead. His eyes were burning and intense, andhe inspected the new _feringhi _as though he'd just seen the person ofthe devil.

  Why should I travel hidden from view, Hawksworth puzzled?

  But there was no time to ponder an answer. The cloth covering waslifted and he found himself urged into the cramped conveyance, madeeven more comfortless and hot by its heavy carpet lining and bolsterseat. In moments the street had disappeared into jolting darkness.