by Tim Severin
The artilleryman gave a dismissive grin. ‘Some of the so-called doctors at the Mogul court are complete charlatans. All mumbo-jumbo and dog Latin. They’ve been getting away with it for years. You know the old saying: a doctor buries his mistakes.’
‘I’d rather not put my limited medical knowledge to the test.’
Tavares considered for a moment. ‘How about offering your expertise as a navigator or a pilot? Aurangzeb doesn’t have much of a fleet, but you could apply to the mir-i-bahr, the officer in charge of the navy.’
‘I don’t know these seas well enough to call myself a pilot.’
The good-natured artilleryman was not to be put off. ‘Yesterday you told me that you were picking a way through coral reefs for the captain of that sloop.’
‘That was what Tew asked me to do.’
Tavares rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Whatever happens, don’t say that you sailed with Tew. He sacked a thirty-gun ship out of Surat only last year. His name would be known to the mir-i-bahr as a notorious pirate.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ said Hector. He wondered what had happened to the eager young sailor who had sheltered beside him on Amity’s foredeck. The young man’s hopes of a quick fortune and swift return home under Tew’s command had been dashed. ‘But I wasn’t involved. I was in the Caribbean at the time.’
He stopped short, thinking that he had as good as admitted his dubious background of piracy.
To his relief Tavares merely cocked an eyebrow. ‘Whatever you were up to in the Caribbean makes little difference to the supreme ruler, who calls himself “Seizer of the Universe”.’
‘Have you ever met Aurangzeb?’ Hector asked.
‘Not in person. But I’ve seen him close up dozens of times. The Moguls treat their big guns as symbols of status, so the artillery is attached to the imperial household and is separate from the Mogul army. Whenever the emperor goes on a journey, even in peacetime, he likes to take along his gun batteries. They’re hauled by teams of elephants and shown off to his people.’
‘You make it sound as if the guns are no practical use.’
The Portuguese shrugged. ‘On the battlefield they scare the opponent’s war elephants with the noise. The bigger the bangs the better. Come with me, and I’ll show you what I mean.’
He strolled with Hector to the low, intricately carved wooden balustrade that overlooked the lower deck.
‘See those big cannon down there,’ said Tavares.
Hector found himself gazing down on the same place where he had been pulled from the sea. The scene had not changed: scores of pilgrims sprawled on untidy heaps of baggage that left little room to move. Tavares leaned over and pointed to the two large guns that still had a cloth spread between them to provide shade.
‘Those two are 30-pounders, monsters, as big as anything I saw in the Portuguese army. It takes ten or twenty minutes between each shot, sometimes longer if the gunners are out of practice. I’d be careful about the amount of powder I’d stuff into them. They’re made locally of cast iron, not bronze, and I wonder just how safe they are. On the other hand they make a magnificently loud noise when firing a salute.’
He straightened up and turned to Hector. ‘They were already fitted to this vessel when I came aboard, and I’d be surprised if they’ve ever been fired in anger. They’re all show and little substance.’
He gestured toward the yellow turbaned sentry who stood guard at the head of the companionway. ‘The same goes for him and his lot. They’re supposed to be crack troops, seasoned musketeers, but they were mostly picked for their size and swagger. They make an impressive sight when escorting the emperor’s sister on land. But there are only a handful of them, and I very much doubt they’ve seen active service.’
Hector looked down again at the crowded lower deck. It did not take an expert to see that it would be nearly impossible to defend the great ship, either with cannon or muskets, until the clutter was cleared away. He wondered where all the pilgrims’ mass of baggage could be stowed if, as Tavares said, the Ganj-i-Sawa’i was already overloaded.
He felt a discreet nudge on his elbow. ‘Here they come to inspect their ill-gotten gains,’ Tavares muttered. Manuj Dosi and three other merchants had emerged from their cabins and were making their way towards the companionway that led to the lower deck. The artilleryman steered Hector off to one side, well out of the way of the group who treated Hector to a hostile stare as they walked past. Tavares waited until they were well out of earshot before he confided with a chuckle, ‘Rumour has it that when Tew ransacked that thirty-gun ship, a good part of the lost cargo belonged to Manuj. Of course he was safe in his counting house in Surat at the time.’
Hector scarcely heard him. His mind was racing ahead. He was sure that Maria would agree to him obtaining a post with the Mogul navy if it meant they were free from harassment from the authorities in London. She had already spent several years in Peru in the household of a Spanish colonial official so she knew what it was like to live in a foreign country. As for Jezreel and Jacques, they too could follow his example and work for the Moguls. It was certainly a better option than reverting to outright piracy. For the first time since coming aboard Ganj-i-Sawa’i, he saw a glimmer of hope for the future.
✻
That evening, back in his makeshift cell, Hector sat in the dark, with his arms around his knees, his back pressed against a bulkhead. The more he considered Tavares’ scheme, the more attractive it seemed. There were questions he needed to ask Tavares: was India a safe place to raise a child? And was it normal that Frankish officers were accompanied by their foreign wives? With so much to think about, it was difficult to relax. He tried to settle, shifting his position on the hard boards and unable to stretch out fully. The constant noises of the ship all around him made it difficult to do much more than doze in short spells. There were the different creaks from the various timbers as the ship moved on the swell, a scuttling sound that could have been a rat, footsteps on the deck overhead, cabin doors opening and closing. Once was he jerked wide awake by the sound of female voices. He leaned across and pressed his eye to the crack between the door and its frame. There was a momentary glimpse of candlelight and veiled figures as the Turkish slave girls moved about in the passageway. Eventually he must have fallen into a deeper sleep because he was only faintly conscious of the fajr, the predawn call to prayer, and, a little while later, a distant thunderclap. After a few seconds the thunderclap was repeated, followed by a long interval, then twice more. He lifted his head and listened. It was not thunder he was hearing, but the thud of cannon fire from far away, the sound travelling a distance across water. He slowed his breathing and concentrated, but there was nothing more. His first thought was of the freebooter squadron led by Avery with the Amity. It was now the third day since he had left them, and there was no way of knowing where their ships had got to. The gunfire might be nothing to do with them. He told himself to be patient and wait for the guard to bring him his food or for Tavares to visit. Either man might be able to explain.
The hours dragged by, and the wait lengthened. From the unchanged, steady motion of the ship, he could tell that Ganj-i-Sawa’i was keeping her course, sailing on as before. The patter and scuff of bare feet on the deck above him could have been sail handlers at work, and that was nothing out of the ordinary. Further along the passageway the doors to the cabins occupied by the merchants opened and shut several times. He caught a snatch of conversation that sounded anxious though it was in an unknown language and meant nothing to him. From the women’s cabins across the passageway there was neither sound nor movement, and no one – not even a guard to bring food – came to see him. Deep in his bones he sensed that something was amiss aboard the ‘Exceeding Treasure’. It made no difference to his decision: he would do as Tavares had suggested. He would claim to be Portuguese and, if all went well and he survived a trial for piracy in Surat, he would seek employment with the Great Mogul.
It was long past midday when fin
ally he heard the key turn in the lock. Tavares was standing in the open doorway, his expression grim. ‘Hector, you’re wanted on deck,’ he said. There was a tense edge to his voice.
Hector followed the artilleryman along the passageway and out on deck where a dozen merchants clustered in an agitated group, talking amongst themselves in loud shrill voices and with much waving of hands. With a curt nod to the sentry at the foot of the companionway, Tavares hurried him up to the next deck, two steps at a time. There Hector’s eyes had to adjust to the bright glare reflected from the sea. All should have been well. It was another perfect day, full of sunshine. Overhead the banners and pennants still fluttered and snapped in the breeze, and the nakhoda Ibrahim was standing by the rail, looking astern.
Hector saw at once why he had been summoned.
A couple of miles in distance, trailing in the wake of the ‘Exceeding Treasure’, were three ships. He knew them at once – Fancy, Pearl and the Portsmouth Adventure from the freebooter squadron.
‘Friends of yours?’ Ibrahim asked, turning, his voice as calm and soft as usual.
Hector stood silent, not knowing how to answer. He stole a quick sideways glance to the spot where Aurangzeb’s sister had sat with her attendants. The canopy had been removed and the deck was bare. There was no sign of the emperor’s sister.
The silence stretched, then Ibrahim gave a slight shrug. ‘They will not overtake us until long after dark. So nothing will happen until tomorrow.’
Tavares, standing beside Hector, shifted uneasily. It was clear that he was troubled. ‘My friend, if you do know anything about them, you should tell us,’ he said.
Hector’s mind whirled. He was torn between his loyalty to Jacques and Jezreel on the one hand and his new-found belief in Tavares. He trusted the artilleryman and needed his help if he – and his friends – were to enter Mogul employ.
‘The large vessel is Fancy, commanded by Captain Henry Avery,’ he said slowly, trying to gain time and see a way out of the trap in which he found himself.
‘How many guns and what weight?’ Tavares demanded sharply.
‘Forty, I think, demi-culverins.’
Tavares made an unhappy clicking noise with his tongue. ‘What about the other two ships?’
‘The second vessel is the Pearl, but I don’t know much about her.’
Ibrahim was pointing to the third and smallest ship. ‘What about that little one?’
‘Portsmouth Adventure. She mounts only eight guns and I believe they are small, only six-pounders,’ Hector told him.
‘Then Fancy is the only real danger,’ Tavares summed up. ‘My guess is that she already outmatched Fateh Muhammed and has overwhelmed her. That was the gunfire we heard this morning.’
Hector detected the fatalistic tone in the artilleryman’s voice and recalled Tavares’ description of the weakness of the great ship’s defences – too few musketeers and unreliable cannon. All of a sudden he saw a solution to his dilemma.
‘Henry Avery is a former officer in the English navy. He seeks only to plunder this ship. Not destroy her.’
Tavares looked at him stony-eyed. ‘Are you hinting that we surrender?’
‘Afterwards Avery would allow Ganj-i-Sawa’i to proceed on her way. Her pilgrims would reach Surat unharmed. No one would be hurt.’ Also, he thought to himself, Tavares would take considerable satisfaction from the financial losses that Manuj Dosi and his merchant fellows would suffer.
‘No surrender,’ the nakhoda murmured in a tone of calm finality. There was something about the old man’s expression that told Hector the veteran mariner was prepared to accept the consequences.
‘With a member of the emperor’s family on board, surrender would be treason,’ Tavares added. His mouth curved down in a grimace of distaste. ‘Also, Hector, you’re forgetting the well-being of our other passengers. Even a captain of the English navy cannot guarantee that they reach the imperial court intact if we allow this ship to be pillaged.’
It took Hector a moment to understand that the Portuguese artilleryman was referring to the gift for Aurangzeb: the Turkish slave girls. He tried to form a response but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt thick and clumsy. Tavares was right. There was no chance whatever that Avery would be able to restrain the crew of Fancy once they boarded the vessel.
A sudden disturbance made all three of them turn. The merchants from the deck below had forced their way up the companionway. There were at least a dozen of them and they erupted on deck, angrily pushing the hapless guard ahead of them. They surged forward, their frightened voices rising in panic as they demanded to speak with the nakhoda. They gathered around Ibrahim, all shouting at once, wanting to know what he proposed to do to protect their lives and their goods. Their hysteria was palpable. Tavares pulled out a silver whistle hanging on a cord around his neck, and blew three loud blasts to summon more guards. Hector was pushed aside and, with Ibrahim struggling to make himself heard over the hubbub, no one took any notice of him until one of the merchants caught sight of him and began bawling that Hector was a spy, that he had wormed his way aboard so that he could signal his companions on the pursuing ships. Soon it was Hector who was at the centre of the frenzied mob. They pressed around him, shouting and threatening. Hands reached out to grab him. He had to duck as someone swung a blow at his head, and for a moment he thought he would be bundled to the ship’s rail and heaved into the sea. Then the extra guards arrived, and began shoving back the merchants violently, making plain their dislike of them. Hector stepped off to one side, panting heavily, as order was restored.
Tavares came over to him, brushing down his jacket. ‘For your own safety, Hector, I think we should return you to your cubbyhole. I’ll place a guard outside.’
Hector nodded toward the three freebooter ships still shadowing Ganj-i-Sawa’i. Even in the bright afternoon sunshine there was something darkly sinister about the way they were closing the gap yard by yard. ‘What do you propose to do about them?’
A stubborn look came into the artilleryman’s brown eyes. ‘I’ll earn my gold rupees,’ he said softly.
TEN
Next morning the crash of an opening broadside obliterated the last fading echo of the fajr. It was the same sound Hector had heard all those months earlier when he first laid eyes on Fancy sailing into St Mary’s and firing a salute. This time the blasts of the warship’s demi-culverins were followed by several shuddering thumps as the iron cannon balls struck the enormous bulk of ‘Exceeding Treasure’. There were wails of terror from the rooms across the passageway where the slave girls had their accommodation, and a single, piercing scream. Moments later and much closer to hand, a number of deeper, heavier cannon blasts signalled that Tavares’ gunners were returning fire. Hector swore aloud in frustration. He turned around, braced himself against the bulkhead behind him, and kicked vigorously at the door with both feet, trying to break out from his prison and observe for himself what was going on. He discovered that the door – like the rest of ‘Exceeding Treasure’ – was stoutly built. The lock was not about to burst. So he concentrated his efforts on the weakest point, the lower corner furthest from the hinges. He kicked repeatedly until he succeeded in making a narrow gap between the door and the frame. He turned around, lay flat on the floor and squinted out into the corridor. It was deserted.
He had no fears for his own safety. The Ganj-i-Sawa’i was built of massively thick timbers and his cubbyhole was deep inside the ship. During the brief exchange of fire between Amity and Fateh Muhammed he had seen how several of Amity’s six-pound shot had bounced off the hull of her opponent. Fancy’s demi-culverins threw a heavier, nine-pound ball, but he doubted they would penetrate the hull of ‘Exceeding Treasure’ except, possibly, at point-blank range. Besides, he knew that Avery and his men were trying to keep damage to a minimum. They wanted to capture Ganj-i-Sawa’i without risking any valuable cargo she might be carrying and they certainly did not intend to sink their target. They would be hoping that a brief but a
ccurate cannonade – accompanied by bloodthirsty shouts and brandishing of weapons – would intimidate the defenders of ‘Exceeding Treasure’ into an early surrender.
He smiled grimly to himself. Avery was in for a disappointment if he thought that Ganj-i-Sawa’i would give up meekly. Ibrahim and Tavares would battle to the finish. Avery would have to get Fancy close enough for grappling irons to be thrown, and the two ships lashed together. Next, a boarding party armed with pistols, pikes and cutlasses would be faced with clambering up the towering sides of the great ship. And even when they reached Ganj-i-Sawa’i’s deck the outcome of a hand-to-hand fight was far from certain. Avery’s men were likely to find themselves outnumbered.
Hector slumped back against the bulkhead. His main dread was that Jacques and Jezreel – or Tavares – might be killed or maimed. As for the hapless pilgrims crowded on the lower deck, he could only hope that they had managed to take refuge in the hold. They were innocent bystanders in the fight. So too were the men who had rescued him, the humble sailors who worked the great, lumbering ship. Unarmed, they were completely vulnerable as they went about their duties. He could imagine their terror when Avery’s gunners began to concentrate their fire on the mast and sails of ‘Exceeding Treasure’, intending to cripple her and bring her to a halt.
The cannonade continued. In his head he began keeping a rough tally of the number of cannon shots, first from Avery’s ship of war and then from Tavares’ guns. But he abandoned the count when it became clear that Fancy was firing three or four times as often as the Ganj-i-Sawa’i. He recalled Tavares telling him that Ganj’s unwieldy cannon were difficult to load, and that his gunners were poorly trained.
Sometime later, in mid-morning, he heard scraping sounds from the next-door cabin and a voice, low and urgent, giving instructions. He pressed his eye against the crack and peeked out. A worried-looking merchant, a man he did not know, was standing in the corridor. He was supervising two servants who were dragging a small iron-bound chest out of the cabin. The chest was so heavy that it took both servants to lift the box between them. They staggered off, closely followed by their anxious master. Hector guessed that the merchants were removing their most valuable possessions from their cabins, taking the treasure down into the hold, below the waterline.