by Tim Severin
‘Just wanted to check that we’ve got the right ones,’ said Mayes from the doorway. He addressed Tavares lying on the floor. ‘Are these the women you were guarding?’ There was an edge of menace in his question.
When there was no reply he walked across and prodded Tavares firmly in his bandaged ribs with the toe of his boot. The pain must have been agonizing.
The wounded artilleryman stayed silent.
‘We’ll find out from someone else, if you’re stubborn,’ Mayes said coldly. ‘I repeat: are these the women you were escorting?’
This time there was a slight nod from the bandaged head.
‘Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.’ Mayes turned on his heel, and ordered his men to take away the two women.
Aurangzeb’s sister gave an angry shriek and stepped in their path, preventing them from leaving. Hector listened to her stream of instructions mingled with abuse. Quivering with rage, she was demanding that her servants be set free at once, or she would see to it that her brother’s executioners put the foreign bandits to death by the most painful means known. The feringhee scum, as she called Mayes and his men, should know who they were dealing with.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ demanded Mayes, glancing at Hector.
Hector hesitated, unsure how to answer. The simple deception practised by the three women was unlikely to survive for long. If he failed to reveal their true identities now, and Mayes found out later that he had been duped, the consequences would be disastrous for himself and his two friends. He looked across the cabin at Tavares on his mattress, and felt sick. If Mayes learned that Tavares had just lied to him, the sadistic captain would also take it out on the injured man.
Yet if he told Mayes that the ‘old hag’ was the right person to be taken hostage, there was no turning back. He would have committed himself to the rash attempt at extracting a ransom from the Aurangzeb, and his chance, however slim, of a new life in the service of the Great Mogul would have vanished.
Just at that moment the taller of the two women, the one dressed in her silk finery, caught his attention. She raised a hand to adjust the scarf she held across her face. For just a second her eyes were revealed and she was looking directly at Hector. There was a message of pleading.
He understood.
‘The old woman is a former nurse in the imperial household, now retired,’ he invented. ‘She helped raise the princess you are taking away. She does not wish to be separated from her former charge and demands to accompany her.’
‘I’d sooner ship a scorpion,’ Mayes scoffed. He nodded to one of his men to bundle the protesting woman aside.
As the little group left the cabin, taking the two taller women with them, Hector had time for one final look over his shoulder. Tavares still lay propped up on his pillows, his ghostly white head turned toward him. It was impossible to read any expression in the narrow gap in the bandages that had been left for his eyes. Aurangzeb’s sister was hunched in a corner where she had been thrust so unceremoniously. There was an odd look on her wizened face, a blend of contempt and calculation.
✻
‘Lynch, tell the women that I’m giving up my cabin for them and the door will be kept locked for their own protection,’ Mayes announced as soon as they were back aboard Pearl. He allowed himself a malicious chuckle. ‘Can’t have them trying to jump into the sea like some of those pretty musketeers.’
As Hector relayed the message to the two veiled captives, he looked across at the huge ship they had just left. There was very little sign of activity aboard Ganj-i-Sawa’i. Her dispirited crew had not even begun to hoist the great mainsail to proceed on their way, bringing news of their catastrophic voyage to the outside world. He wondered what Mayes would do next now that he had in his grasp the woman he believed to be a member of the imperial family. No doubt Pearl’s captain had already devised a plan to set about extorting a ransom from the Great Mogul. But whatever his scheme was, he would have to put it into effect very quickly if he was to retain the initiative. Mayes would know that seizing the hostage had been the easy part. Prising a satisfactory ransom from the Mogul treasury was going to be far more difficult and dangerous.
✻
Mayes lost no time in giving orders for a canvas shelter to be rigged under the break of the poop deck to serve as his temporary accommodation. ‘Come over here, Lynch, your job’s not yet over,’ he called out when his personal belongings had been moved into its shade. As Hector made his way across, he saw that Mayes had a sea chart spread on the lid of his sea chest. Gibson the quartermaster had also been summoned.
‘By my calculation this is approximately where we are now,’ said Mayes, laying a thick finger on the map as the two men joined him. The chart was a general sketch of the seas between Africa and India. In some places the surrounding coastline was drawn clearly in ink, elsewhere it was left vague and uncertain. ‘This is where the Moors will be heading.’ The finger slid eastward across the map to one of the few places marked with confidence – Surat.
‘It will take them at least a week to reach her home port,’ Mayes went on. ‘We can get there a couple of days ahead of her, make contact with the English merchants, and ask them to inform the authorities that we hold a member of the imperial family, and expect a reward for her safe return.’
He gave a wolfish grin. ‘But I don’t trust those money-grabbing bastards. They depend on the goodwill of the Great Mogul for permission to carry on their business so they’ll try to double-cross us.’
He flicked aside a small insect that was crawling slowly across the map.
‘So Pearl heads here instead.’ The captain’s finger moved to where the coastline was marked with very few details, and tapped on the name of the only port shown. Hector read the name written beside it in faded lettering: Diu.
Mayes looked up at Hector from under heavy black eyebrows. His gaze was far from friendly. ‘And this is where you make yourself useful once again.’
Hector frowned down at the map. He racked his brains trying to recall what he had heard of Diu. It was not much. At one time the place had been a major port for foreign ships trading with India. Now it was bypassed and little used. He tried to remember why it had gone into decline, and – all of a sudden – it dawned on him why Diu was part of Mayes’ plan.
‘So I’m to be your negotiator,’ he said.
‘Well done!’ said Mayes, his tone laced with sarcasm. ‘I’ll be setting you ashore in Diu with Quartermaster Gibson and a couple of trusted men. Your job will be to get word to the Great Mogul about what we expect by way of payment for safe delivery of our important passenger.’
Gibson gave a grunt of approval. ‘And Pearl waits offshore until we get a reply?’
Mayes nodded. ‘To show that we’re not bluffing, you’ll take Her Highness’s attendant ashore with you as proof of whom we hold aboard.’
Mayes’s attention returned to Hector and his face hardened. ‘Don’t imagine that this is a chance for you to disappear, Lynch. I’ll be allowing you to land, but your two friends stay on Pearl.’
✻
‘Why you?’ demanded Jezreel when Hector re-joined his two friends.
‘Because the Portuguese control Diu. They’ve a fort and governor there, and Mayes has seen me get on well with their compatriots, men like Tavares. My guess is that he thinks the Portuguese will be more likely to cooperate in his scheme than the English in Surat. He may even offer them a cut of the ransom.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘What our captain doesn’t know is that neither of his hostages is in fact a member of the emperor’s immediate family.’
Jacques rolled his eyes. ‘Hector, you’d better tell Jezreel and me exactly what’s going on.’
Hector explained the deception that had taken place on ‘Exceeding Treasure’. ‘So when Pearl gets to Diu – if not before – Mayes is going to learn that he’s been made a fool of, and then things are going to turn very ugly indeed. It’s possible that I’ll be ashore at the time, but you and Jezre
el will still be on Pearl and will suffer.’
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Jezreel spoke up. ‘As I see it, there’s nothing we can do to change the situation until we reach Diu. So let’s hope that those two women manage to keep up their disguise until then.’ He looked around at the slovenly appearance of the ship. Most of her company were gathered in small groups to talk among themselves or play cards and dice. Some were stretched out on the planks, dozing in the sun. Three men were at the stern rail, trailing fishing lines in the water. ‘This lot aren’t up to much. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get away from them if the chance presents itself. Then Captain Mayes can go hang.’
THIRTEEN
Diu’s fort was not what Hector had expected. He had no idea that it would be so huge and imposing – much more of a castle than a fort. Mayes seemed equally impressed by the distant grey hump that first appeared on the low, featureless coastline, then gradually resolved itself into a massive military structure. He ordered sail to be reduced. Very cautiously Pearl crept closer until he gave the order to anchor while his ship was still out of range of even the largest cannon. The distance from land caused a good deal of discontent and grumbling among the sailors whom he ordered to row the landing party ashore in the ship’s boat. Mayes had to threaten and curse until they obeyed his instructions. Eventually Hector climbed down the rope ladder with the two sailors who had volunteered for the mission, quartermaster Gibson and the veiled figure of the woman whom Mayes still believed to be the attendant to the emperor’s sister. Neither she nor her companion had spoken a word to their captors from the day they had set foot on Pearl.
It took more than an hour for the sullen oarsmen to row to land, and Hector had ample time to study Diu’s defences. Facing the sea was an immense curtain wall made of thousands upon thousands of honey-coloured bricks. It had a central bastion and multiple embrasures for cannon. A large donjon tower commanded the harbour mouth with twin platforms for gun batteries, and the Portuguese had fortified a small island in the middle of the entrance, sealing it completely against hostile ships. With its watch turrets and signal masts, Diu castle could anticipate an attack and then withstand a major siege. Yet he sensed something was missing. Only in the last hundred yards did he realize what it was: the vast fortification should have been swarming with soldiers. But as he gazed up at the towering walls, he saw only a few heads peering out between the merlons and a solitary figure high on the lookout platform where the Portuguese flag on its pole flapped languidly in the sultry afternoon breeze.
Gibson, as quartermaster, was at the rudder. He steered for the landing slip close to the foot of the donjon. As the keel touched the worn stones, a postern gate swung open and half a dozen soldiers emerged in loose formation. They were led by an under-officer wearing what Hector took to be the uniform of Portugal’s colonial troops – knee-length green coat with the cuffs and lapels turned back to show a buff lining, white gaiters and black shoes, and a broad-brimmed black hat with a black feather. By contrast his men were dressed in a motley selection of jackets and smocks of different colours under cross-belts festooned with old-fashioned wooden cartridge cases that made a gentle rattling sound as they shuffled into a line to face the visitors. Their muskets, Hector noted, were older models than those that he had seen in Adam Baldridge’s warehouse back in St Mary’s.
‘Papers and state your business!’ barked the under-officer in Portuguese, then repeated the instruction in English and Dutch at Gibson. He had climbed out of the boat and walked up the slipway with Hector close behind him. The under-officer was short and bandy-legged, with hard, untrusting eyes and his left cheek was puckered with a star-shaped scar that looked like the wound left by a pistol ball. Hector guessed he was a veteran who had been sent to the colonies on an easy final posting before his retirement.
‘I’m quartermaster of the ship Pearl, with a message from Captain Thomas Mayes for the governor,’ said Gibson.
‘The governor is not here,’ answered the under-officer. Behind him his men were openly gawping at the newcomers, particularly at the veiled figure of the woman still huddled in the stern of the boat. Hector assumed they were locally recruited troops. Their complexions were dark and, though none of them wore beards, every one of them sported a glossy black moustache that seemed to be a local fashion. One or two, he noted, were barefoot.
‘Perhaps we could speak with the governor’s deputy,’ Hector suggested tactfully, speaking in Galician.
The under-officer flashed him a quick, surprised look of relief. Then his air of professional suspicion returned.
‘What was your last port of call?’ he demanded in Portuguese.
For an alarmed moment Hector thought that news of the attack on the pilgrim fleet had already reached Diu. Then he realized that it was a routine question, to check whether there was a risk of importing foreign disease and, if so, the need for quarantine.
‘We called at the Cape to take on water and provisions from the Dutch at De Kaapsche Vlek,’ he lied.
The under-officer seemed satisfied. ‘Very well, you may come with me. But your boat and its crew must return to the ship.’
‘With your permission, may two of our sailors and the woman also come ashore?’
After a moment’s hesitation, the under-officer nodded and Hector returned down the slipway. He held out his hand to the woman to help her climb out of the boat, but she shrank back, refusing to touch him, and insisted on climbing over the gunwale unaided. Wrapping her shawl and gown tight around her, she followed the rest of the landing party as it was escorted through the postern gate.
Inside, they turned to their left and entered the ground floor of the donjon through an arched doorway. A short corridor led into a guard room with a high vaulted ceiling, a floor of broad grey flagstones and high narrow windows in the walls that were three foot thick. Here the under-officer ordered them to wait with their escort while he stamped up a flight of wooden stairs to an upper floor. Looking around him, Hector calculated that the guardroom had been designed to accommodate at least fifty men. Judging by the empty weapon racks on the walls and the handful of chairs and benches, it currently housed less than a quarter that number. There was also a slight musty smell in the air. He could only conclude that Diu’s garrison was badly under-strength and the castle was largely deserted.
Half an hour passed before the under-officer returned. Gibson and Hector were to follow him to be interviewed, the others to remain where they were.
‘Don’t try any tricks now. I might not speak the language but I can pick up the general idea of what’s being said,’ warned Gibson out of the side of his mouth, as the two of them mounted the stairs, their footsteps echoing on the wooden treads.
On the upper floor the under-officer rapped on one of several doors that led off the landing. A voice called on him to enter and he threw open the door, stepped inside and gave a smart salute. ‘These are the visitors who asked to speak with the governor, sir,’ he reported, then gestured for Hector and Gibson to come forward. He closed the door behind them, joining them in the interview room.
A small, compact man with a neat pointed beard and an alert, clever face was seated behind a desk. His hair was tied back in a queue and he was dressed informally in a loose white shirt open at the neck to reveal a small cross hanging from a gold chain. Hector put his age at close to forty.
‘I’m afraid that the governor is unavailable. My name is Pedro Vieira, his deputy. How may I help you?’ he enquired politely. He did not invite his visitors to sit.
Gibson, encouraged by the deputy governor’s slow, careful English, answered, ‘We’re from Pearl, anchored offshore. Captain Mayes would be obliged if you could send a message to the Great Mogul to tell him that among our passengers is his close relative, returning from the pilgrimage to Mecca.’
Vieira’s face betrayed no emotion. ‘I’m sure that the emperor will be pleased to hear the news. A lookout reported the presence of your vessel to me earlier tod
ay.’ He paused. ‘Is there a reason why your captain has chosen to anchor at such a distance? If he is worried about dangers in the approach channel to our harbour, I could send a pilot.’
Hector sensed an ironic undertone in the question. Gibson, however, was oblivious. ‘Captain Mayes needs to make sure that everything is prepared for the reception of Her Highness, if I may call her that,’ he said.
‘Her Highness?’ Vieira raised an eyebrow. ‘The Mogul’s relative aboard your ship is a woman?’
‘A sister, or maybe his aunt,’ said Gibson uncertainly, then darted a sideways glance at Hector, who gave a slight nod of encouragement. He had been looking around Vieira’s office while the two men had been talking. It was sparsely furnished with only Vieira’s desk and half a dozen chairs – all heavy pieces in the Portuguese style – and a large wooden cross prominently displayed on one wall. There were no pictures or carpets or any decoration. He had the impression that the deputy governor’s office, like the guardroom, had seen busier times.
‘And how is it that a member of the imperial family travels aboard your ship after the pilgrimage?’ Vieira asked quietly. ‘It is my understanding that the authorities in Jeddah license only vessels of their co-religionists to carry pilgrims.’
‘Let me put it this way,’ said Gibson, treating his listener to a knowing look. ‘During her voyage Her Highness accepted our invitation to transfer to Pearl.’
Watching the deputy governor closely, Hector had no doubt that Pedro Vieira grasped what Gibson was implying. But the quartermaster was disappointed if he expected to lead Vieira into a discussion of a ransom.
Vieira merely nodded. ‘I’m told that a woman has landed with you.’