Freebooter

by Tim Severin

  ‘Jezreel Hall.’

  ‘I take it that you were both members of the crew of Fancy, Captain Henry Avery, when it took the Mogul’s vessel, Ganj-i-Sawa’i?’

  ‘That is correct, though—’ Hector began, but the big man cut him short with a wave of his hand.

  ‘We’ll go into that later. I am Samuel Annesley, in charge of the East India Company Factory in Surat. This is Mr Bendall, a member of the council. Both of you will be travelling to Surat with us. I will explain the details later.’

  His glance strayed over Hector’s shoulder to where Jacques stood talking quietly in French with Dufour whose extravagant clothing was hidden beneath a long winter cloak. ‘And if these are your friends, they ought to join you in seeing justice done.’

  Hector was confused. Two of the kotwal’s men had closed in on each side and were gripping him firmly by the elbows. Alarmed, he looked about him and saw that Jezreel was being treated in similar fashion. Moments later he was being bundled up past the first tier of the viewing stand and on to the upper level, where he was turned to face into the fog. Jezreel was set in place beside him. From below, Bendall looked back up at him with a wry smile that managed to be reassuring yet also contained a warning. ‘Mr Lynch,’ he called up, ‘we kept the upper level, where the view is better, for you and your friend, though he is tall enough not to need it.’

  Mystified Hector looked out over the heads of those in the front row. He had the impression that the fog was finally thinning, but very slowly. To his right was the brighter patch where the sun was beginning to show through. Somewhere ahead in the haze and as yet unseen would be the ramparts of Lal Qila and the balcony where Aurangzeb and his courtiers had watched the combat of the elephants. Very faintly he heard a sound that was vaguely familiar, a rhythmic thud and scrape. He was still trying to identify what it was when a rent in the fog briefly showed him the figure of two labourers with shovels, some fifty paces in front of him. They were digging a hole in the sand. Then the fog closed in again. He shuddered. He could only imagine that they were digging a grave.

  Time passed, and he became aware of the growing impatience of those on the stand below him. There was a shuffling of feet, an occasional cough, an easing of shoulders. Only the kotwal’s men remained unmoving, impassively staring ahead of them. Hector supposed that they were the only ones who knew what would happen next. Gradually the fog dissolved and with it the visibility improved: at first as far as the mouth of the hole that had been dug and the small mound of gravelly sand heaped beside it like a molehill; then across the expanse of flat ground where, weeks earlier, he had watched the combat of the elephants. The mud-brick wall that had separated the fighting beasts was gone. It had been levelled, leaving no trace. Farther out to the sides a handful of idlers loitered where previously a crowd of spectators had stood in a great hollow square to watch the spectacle. The whole scene, Hector decided, had a forlorn and ominous look.

  Finally the fog dispersed enough for him to make out the looming defences of the Lal Qila. A movement at the foot of the wall below and slightly to the left of the emperor’s observation balcony drew his attention. A massive double gate that he remembered had been used for the elephants, opened just wide enough for a small procession to emerge on foot. It was led by four men carrying two stretchers. Behind them walked a number of guards in the imperial colours of red and gold led by an officer wearing a broad green sash. Hector had to squint into the diffused glare of early morning sun as he tried to make sense of what was happening at the rear of the little group. Two men whose plain shirts and loose trousers marked them out as ordinary workmen were supporting someone between them, their arms around his waist as they partly carried him, and partly guided his unsteady footsteps.

  He heard Annesley pass a remark to his colleague in a loud, braying voice. ‘It appears that the Moguls have had the decency to give him some poppy. I doubt the others are in a fit state to need it.’

  That was when Hector recognized the heavy black beard and hulking shape of the man who was being helped forward. It was Quartermaster Gibson.

  Slowly the procession made its way across the open ground towards the viewing stand. A few yards short of the earth molehill that marked the open hole, it came to a halt. Directed by the officer in charge of the guards the men who carried the stretchers moved off, one to each side, and laid their burdens on the ground some ten yards apart. By now Hector was in no doubt that the limp forms on the stretchers were the two sailors from Pearl who had been too ill to appear before the qadi. Next Gibson was brought towards the open hole in the ground. He was close enough for Hector to see that the quartermaster’s head was lolling forward and his legs were buckling with each step. The men supporting him shuffled forward with great care, and took up their positions on each side of the open hole. From the strain on their faces it was evident that they were finding it difficult to support Gibson’s weight as they shifted their grip from his waist to his arms. Then they attempted to lower him vertically into the ground. At the last moment Gibson’s left foot caught on the edge of the hole and the leg bent back. There was an angry shout from the officer, and they had to hoist him up again. When he was clear, the officer gestured to one of his men who ran forward and knelt down beside the hole so he could clasp Gibson’s legs together and guide them into the narrow opening. Finally, when his supporters released their grip, Gibson dropped upright to the full depth of the hole that had been dug for him. It left his head and neck above ground. He was facing towards the viewing stand, eyes closed, and his black beard brushing the sandy soil.

  Hector’s mouth had gone dry, and when he tried to swallow, his throat hurt. Deliberately he tried to empty his mind of all thought, trying to make it seem that the scene in front of him was something imaginary. When he shifted slightly as if to turn away, the kotwal’s men on each side of him tightened their grip, digging their nails into the soft flesh of his arms so that he was forced to concentrate and the pain brought him back to reality.

  One of the labourers came forward with his spade and began to shovel the loose earth into the gaps around Gibson’s body. ‘They’re going to bury him alive!’ Jezreel burst out beside him.

  When the labourer finished his work, he tamped down the earth all around Gibson’s neck so that the quartermaster was wedged in place, able only to turn his head a few inches. To Hector’s horror he saw Gibson’s eyelids flutter.

  By now the number of casual spectators had grown. They were still less than a hundred strong, looking on silently, apparently to satisfy their curiosity yet with an apathy that Hector found deeply unsettling. The workmen who had lowered Gibson into the ground moved off, followed by the stretcher bearers and the labourers with shovels. They began the long trudge back towards Lal Qila with the air of men whose work for the day was done. Only the liveried palace guards remained and they took up their position off to one side, and stood at ease. Hector could only imagine that they were there to prevent any last minute attempt to free the condemned men. If that was the case, their presence was a formality. Neither Gibson nor the two invalid sailors were capable of rescue.

  For fully an hour everyone waited. The sun rose high enough to burn off the last of the fog, and Hector began to feel the sweat trickling down inside his padded jacket. Out of respect for the condemned, he felt that he should stay as motionless as possible. Annesley and Bendall unwound their woollen scarves and handed them to attendants. Dufour took off his cloak and folded it over his arm. Hector was glad to see that the Frenchman had chosen to dress in sombre colours, though his shirt front was a mass of flounces and frills.

  Eventually, just when Hector was beginning to think that Jezreel had been correct and that Gibson’s punishment was to be buried alive, a trumpet blared from the battlements of the fort. The great gate at the foot of the wall was opening. Out of the dark mouth of the entrance appeared an elephant, followed by two more. Each animal carried its mahout, riding high on its neck, while two attendants walked each side of the swing
ing trunk. As the animals advanced toward the viewing stand, Hector saw that they were fully as large as the great bull elephants that had been in combat. Each beast had a circle of small brass bells tied around the ankle of its front right leg, and with each step the little bells made a pleasant jingling sound which contrasted oddly with their look of ponderous menace. Each tusk had been cut off square close to the tip and reinforced with a steel band. It made a blunt weapon. In a nervous moment Hector looked for the dark line of discharge oozing down the side of their heads indicating that they were mast. There was nothing. He concluded that these were trained war elephants from Aurangzeb’s stables and under perfect control of their riders.

  With a jingle of their anklets, the three animals spread out and came to a halt a few yards short of where Gibson was entombed and the two sick sailors lay on their stretchers. They stood there, swaying silently from side to side, their broad ears flapping placidly.

  The officer in charge of the guard stepped forward and called out a proclamation. In the silence that followed, Hector distinctly heard the gurgling rumble of elephant guts.

  The officer took a couple of paces back and waved to the mahouts. In horrified fascination Hector looked on as the three mahouts kicked their heels into the soft area behind the great flapping ears. The three beasts lumbered forward with a soft jingling of ankle bells. Guided by the attendants on each side the two outer elephants came right up to the two sick sailors on the ground and paused. Then, with infinite delicacy they placed the left front foot beside the stretcher, before raising the right foot and holding it above the limp bundle of cloth.

  The elephant in the centre, in front of Gibson, was distinctive. Larger than the others it had a large patch of pink skin on its forehead. Urged forward by its rider, it approached to within two yards of where Gibson’s head protruded from the ground. There the great beast stopped. It reached out with its trunk and tested the air above the quartermaster’s head. Its mahout kicked it twice behind the ears, but the elephant baulked. It refused to advance.

  Sick to his stomach, Hector wondered if perhaps the execution would be cancelled. The mahout reached down between his legs and tugged out a small carpet on which he had been seated. He tossed it down to one of the attendants and called an instruction. The man caught the rug and went forward. Carefully he spread it over Gibson’s head before returning to his position. The mahout produced a short iron staff with a hook and sharp point and he gave his mount a gentle prod behind its right ear.

  This time the great beast stepped forward, and placed one foot on the carpet’s fringe. The other foot it raised directly over the bump that was Gibson’s head.

  Meanwhile the two flanking elephants had grown restive. They had edged backward, and it was another few moments before their mahouts could manoeuvre them into position once again. Finally all three elephants were in position, in a line with their right front feet poised above their victims.

  Hector took several deep breaths, trying to stay calm. He felt his gorge rising. The kotwal’s men on either side held him tight, so he was obliged to watch.

  The moment stretched, and then the mahout in the centre glanced to his left and then to his right to make sure his colleagues were ready. In a high-pitched shout he called out, ‘Hai!’ and the three beasts brought down their right feet in unison with a majestic slow descent. Hector imagined he could hear a soft crushing sound.

  For what seemed like an age, the three elephants stood there, pressing heavily down on their victims. Then the lead mahout called out ‘Hai!’ again, and the three animals lifted their right front feet clear, leaned back and with remarkable agility swung round, pivoting on their hind legs and began to walk back toward the fort, the anklet bells softly jingling.

  Hector tore his eyes away from the grisly shapes left on the ground, and looked up toward the observation balcony used by Aurangzeb and his courtiers. It was deserted.

  ✻

  Hector was glad that the kotwal’s men held him steady as they helped him and Jezreel down off the viewing stand and brought them around in front of Annesley and Bendall. Annesley was wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and looking pale. Beside him, Bendall had his thin lips pressed tight together as he maintained his composure.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hector saw that the captain of the palace guard was conferring with the senior of the kotwal’s men. The policeman came over to where Annesley was standing and with Luis’ help relayed a message: ‘The mansabdar says that the two pirates, now that they have witnessed the power of Algemir’s justice, are to collect their personal possessions. Afterwards I am to bring them to you and place them in your custody.’

  ‘Please inform the captain that I intend to set out for Surat the day after tomorrow,’ Annesley replied. His voice was slightly unsteady. Turning to Hector and Jezreel he told them, ‘Aurangzeb’s treasurer has demanded that we take the two of you to Surat and demonstrate to the foreign merchants how the English deal with pirates. I promised him we’ll make an example of you. You should be grateful that a public hanging is more merciful than what we have just witnessed.’

  During the long walk back to the city, Hector noticed Dufour was deep in thought. When they were nearly at the city wall, the gem dealer spoke up. ‘There’s something going on here that I don’t fully understand.’

  ‘It’s clear enough to me,’ Jezreel told him, ‘they wanted to give Hector and me a bad fright, to make us think that we were due to be executed . . . and they succeeded.’

  ‘But it’s only a reprieve,’ Hector pointed out. ‘From what Annesley said, we’ll be hung as pirates when he gets us to Surat.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to work out: what purpose does the delay serve?’ Dufour said. He paused to adjust the frills of his shirt cuff. ‘I’ve lived long enough in Delhi to know that it pays to look behind the scenes whenever the royal family is involved.’

  ‘And you have a better idea who was behind the screen when we appeared before the qadi?’

  The jeweller nodded. ‘I’m certain now that it was the Begum Gaucharara, though her lady-in-waiting may also have been with her. The Begum would not have wanted to see you executed for piracy when your intervention meant she escaped Mayes’ clutches.’

  ‘But what about Jezreel and Jacques? How did the Begum know about them and that they weren’t part of Mayes’ kidnap plan?’

  ‘Because I told her lady-in-waiting,’ Luis interrupted in a quiet voice.

  Hector swung round and stared at the young man. ‘You told her?’

  ‘She summoned me when we were getting ready to leave Diu fort and travel to Delhi. She wanted to know all about you and your friends. She asked why you had helped her mistress. I couldn’t refuse to answer. She’s a Mogul.’ He gave an apologetic shrug.

  ‘And you told her that Jacques was from France?’

  ‘She wanted to know about the brand mark on his face. I know that GAL is a sign for someone who has served on the galleys of the King of France.’

  Dufour looked pleased. ‘Well, there you have it. Both the Begum and her lady-in-waiting concocted that scheme to make sure that all three of you didn’t get stamped to pulp.’

  ‘Then why have a trial at all?’ Jacques asked.

  ‘Because Aurangzeb demands a response to the attack on Ganj-i-Sawa’i. You’ll remember that he was furious that his ship had been attacked and looted, and that pilgrims had been assaulted. As news of the execution spreads, people will know what happens to those who dare to steal from the Great Mogul, whether they are pirates or highway robbers.’

  ‘Everyone will tremble at the wrath of Algemir,’ Luis agreed. ‘That is how the Moguls keep their power. They parade their great guns and their thousands of horsemen and – when it comes to exacting punishment – they make it . . .’ He searched for the right word. ‘A theatre.’

  ‘You’re right, Luis,’ said Hector thoughtfully. ‘Our so-called trial was also a piece of theatre, with spoken lines that had bee
n composed with care. The qadi only said that we were to be taken to the place of execution. He did not say that we would be put to death.’

  Dufour nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, he’d been coached in what to say. Another reason why your trial was held in an annexe of the zenana.’

  ‘But what will happen when Aurangzeb gets to hear that only three of the pirates have been put to death today?’

  The gem dealer gave a thin smile. ‘That’s what’s so clever about those ladies. I have no doubt that the zenana is already busy persuading the emperor that it is a master stroke to have the English merchants in Surat publicly hang two of their countrymen. It shows that Mogul justice is merciless and wide-reaching. Meanwhile Jacques is safe because he’s French, and three crushed English pirates are enough to satisfy Aurangzeb’s immediate demands for retribution.’

  ‘Do you think that Annesley and his colleague Bendall are somehow involved in all this?’

  Dufour shook his head. ‘No. It strikes me that they are being kept in the dark, and fully expect to hang you when you reach Surat.’

  ✻

  Nothing more was said until they arrived back at Dufour’s house, where the doorkeeper handed Luis a cloth-wrapped package. ‘He says that this was delivered earlier this morning from Lal Qila. There was no message except that it is for the sailor feringhee who speaks Persian.’

  ‘That must mean you, Hector,’ said Dufour. ‘We’ll open it after we’ve had a chance to wash away the sights we saw today.’

  In his rooms he went straight to the cupboard where he kept his flask of Shiraz wine and filled a generous glass for each person.

  Hector sat down, feeling utterly drained. The relief that he and Jezreel had avoided execution had worn off. In its place was the worry about what would happen next. He looked across at Jacques, who had seated himself by the window and was staring morosely down into the street outside. ‘Jacques, I know that you’re thinking you should come to Surat with Jezreel and me. But I don’t think that’s a good idea even if Annesley would agree to it. He may well decide that three pirates on the gallows look better than two.’