‘Please, sit down.’
Covilhã sat focusing his sight on the vizier, studying his face and reaction as he read the message.
Silence reigned over the room until Attar spoke. ‘This letter is from my friend the rabbi of Alexandria. He asked me to help you on your trip to India, and to keep nothing from you. Clearly he holds you in the highest regard. Will you tell me more about yourself? What is the situation like in Morocco?’
Covilhã knew that the rabbi in Alexandria traded in spices with Attar, but he did not want to declare it. It doesn’t matter, Covilhã thought, at least he wouldn’t feel alone now. He said, ‘Our kingdom is at war with Portugal and Spain, Your Excellency. We now trade with the East rather than the West. Our coasts come under frequent attack from the north, and people are grumbling about these endless conflicts.’
The vizier gave Covilhã a strange smile, before he said, ‘The world is no longer as safe as it used to be, my Moroccan friend!’
Attar turned to his daughter, pointing at her. ‘This is my daughter, Halima. She has not yet travelled outside our kingdom, but she likes to know what’s going on in the rest of the world.’
Covilhã smiled. This was his chance to take a good look at her and admire her beauty. He said, ‘I will be happy to answer any questions. I have travelled far and wide, and have many stories to tell, but I would like to know more about your kingdom first, Your Excellency.’
Attar smiled again and said, ‘It would seem we are going to tell each other many stories. Very well, I’ll start.
‘Ancient Hormuz was located on the Persian coast. It was a small forgotten village when a Yemeni sheikh called Mohammed Koub arrived. The sheikh started opening up prospects for the locals to trade, and encouraged them to do business with India and China in the east, and the African coast in the west. He took advantage of the seasonal winds that blow in the summer from the west to the east, making them ideal for ships sailing to India and China; and in the winter from the east to the west, which are ideal for ships travelling from China and India to the Gulf and Africa.’
Attar explained the wind patterns with the help of hand gestures, as though there were a large invisible map floating in the air. ‘As the years passed, this village prospered and became a large, wealthy city. Sheikh Mohammed minted his own coin, which he called the “dirham”. He became known as Sheikh Mohammed Dirham Koub.
‘In 1301 in the Frankish calendar, the Mongols attacked Hormuz and destroyed many parts of it. The king decided to abandon the city and move to the island of Jirun, which was a few thousand cubits away from the coast. This is the location of our present kingdom.’
Halima saw there was an opportunity here to ask Covilhã a question. ‘What do you trade in exactly?’
‘I trade in everything, my lady. But I found that trading in spices was the most lucrative. I was told in Aden that I could sell one consignment of spices in Alexandria at ten times the price I pay in Calicut, sometimes twenty if sailing conditions are rough.’
Attar interrupted. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear. Most merchants do not tell the truth. They are envious of one another, and consider everything they know a secret that no one else must know. If they have to divulge something, they first distort it and stretch it until it becomes wildly inaccurate.’ He then asked, ‘Do you know anyone in India? I will give you a letter to some of my acquaintances there so they can help you in your business. Clearly you are a newcomer.’
Covilhã raised his hand to his forehead then to his chest, and said, ‘I am deeply grateful for your generosity and courtesy, Your Excellency.’
The vizier’s face changed suddenly. ‘We have received news that the Portuguese have reached Yemen and the coast of India. Have you heard anything about this?’
Blood rushed to Covilhã’s face. He had not expected Portuguese ships to arrive here so soon. He had kept the Portuguese plans secret even from the people closest to him, but clearly ports kept no secrets. ‘Are you saying they arrived in India? I was in Aden nearly two weeks ago and heard nothing about it! Are your certain, Your Excellency?’
Attar replied plaintively, ‘I heard that they’ve burned a ship called the Maryam near the Indian coast. The boat was carrying pilgrims back home. It was a tragedy that all sailors have been talking about on our shores, but people forget quickly on this side of the world.’
Covilhã was still struggling to believe the news. ‘You are sure the Portuguese have arrived there?’
‘Yes, definitely. Some in India are hopeful about their arrival, because they pay more for the spices than other merchants. Some kings in India have even agreed for the Portuguese to establish their trading forts on their territories.’
Covilhã tried not to appear too keen. ‘Why did no one talk about them at the ports?’
Halima replied this time. She said, ‘You must know that there are many ships that come from all around the world to trade in spices, and pass through our seas. Portuguese merchant ships would not draw too much attention.’
Covilhã whispered to himself, ‘I hope this remains the case.’
– 8 –
Cairo, Egypt
Hussein spurred his horse after emerging from the gates of the castle in the direction of Muqattam Mountain, galloping the animal towards the edge of a cliff where he liked to go to watch Cairo from up high and afar. Once there, he tethered his horse and dismounted, contemplating a city he neither loved nor liked, but where he was now forced to live. Cairo to Hussein would always be the troublesome, noisy city he first encountered many years earlier. It did not help that this was also the place where his captor had sold him into slavery for a fistful of dirhams.
He listened attentively to the noises around him: his horse chewing dried plants nearby, and the rustling of the wind as it blew over the edge of the mountain, making a sad whistling sound. He heard the echo of the azan coming from a mosque at the edge of the desert. The call to prayer brought back many memories, the most recent of which was what happened that night when he heard the imam yelling at the worshippers, ‘Woe to the Arabs for evil is approaching!’
It was many days ago that Hussein had heard the imam’s speech. It had distracted him from the big Eid celebrations. He remembered the sheikh’s expressions as he spoke about a massacre that had taken place at sea and his strange, cryptic shouts of ‘Woe to the Arabs!’ Hussein had waited until the cleric finished his speech to try to get an explanation. The people’s shouts and cries of ‘God is great!’ made it impossible for Hussein to hear anything, and even now, the noise and pandemonium still clouded the way he remembered the episode.
When the sheikh was finally alone, Hussein went towards him to ask him about what had happened. The imam’s eyes were tearful, his face pale and his voice hoarsened by emotion. He dried his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.
The imam told Hussein how, several months earlier, a ship called the Maryam left the port of Jeddah, with 300 Muslims on board – women, children and elderly people. After they performed their pilgrimage, on their way back to India, Portuguese ships attacked them. The Portuguese boarded their boat and stole the money and cargo it carried. They sliced off the fingers of the women and stole their jewels. They then took the girls and boys that they liked. They cut off the hands of the ship’s captain and crew before throwing them into the sea. ‘And as if that were still not enough, they put the rest of the women and elderly in the belly of the ship and burned them alive. The Portuguese watched as their victims drowned in their fiery grave. They did it all in front of the Indian coast, as the victims’ loved ones watched the massacre helplessly,’ he said.
The sheikh started crying bitterly. He wiped his tears with his sleeve again, before he continued. ‘That ship was not their only victim. They have destroyed and burned many ships at the mouth of the Red Sea. They take pleasure in severing limbs and burning people alive. We don’t know from which pit of hell those demons have come, but our sultans must set aside their differences and unite to repel this ene
my.’
The cleric asked Hussein to help him lean against a column in the mosque; standing for all that time had exhausted him. Hussein felt compassion for the sheikh; he had different concerns than those of the Mamluk amirs and also those of ordinary people, but the sheikh empathised with their worries. Hussein felt that the man spoke for him, and he had listened to him carefully.
Hussein slipped in and out of his memories, recollecting what the sheikh at the mosque had told him. ‘The Portuguese ships reached India. They seized the ports there and barred Muslims from trading. Spice convoys stopped coming, money ran out and poverty spread. I believe this is only the beginning and that the worst is yet to come.’
The sheikh had wiped his eyes with the tail of his turban and said in a weepy voice, ‘Some of the Muslim kings have sent messengers asking Caliph al-Mustamsik to intervene and protect them.’ The sheikh bowed his head slightly and added, in a sorrowful voice, ‘I think they’re unaware of our actual situation. They don’t know the real state of our poor caliph, and how the Mamluk amirs manipulate him. They don’t know that his power holds no sway beyond the quarters of his harem.’
The sheikh summoned his strength and took a deep breath. ‘We are in deep trouble, the extent of which only God knows. We no longer know how to make a living. We don’t know how we can do our pilgrimage or travel. All roads are dangerous. Even Cairo’s alleys have become a haven for killers, thugs and bandits, without our rulers lifting a finger to do anything about it. All they care about is money and keeping Egypt’s riches for themselves.’
That night, Hussein had noticed some people trying to leave the mosque, fearing they would be punished for listening to the bold imam. These days, crimes such as banditry and theft were not as serious as daring to speak about public money and the corruption of the sultans and amirs. Many outspoken imams had been found dead or disappeared from their homes after giving audacious sermons. Clearly, the amirs knew how much people hated them, but they did not want them to say it out loud. They insisted on repressing all those sentiments or driving them underground, though it was hard to imagine this would change anything.
Hussein had seen many people clapping and cheering when the sultans’ processions marched in front of them, only to spit on the floor in contempt and shout obscenities at them after they passed. Did the sultans know about this? Hussein realised that they probably did, but that they did not care.
He felt as if a lightning bolt had struck him that day, after his encounter with the sheikh at the mosque. ‘Did what he described really happen?’ he asked himself. If so, when and how did the Portuguese manage to get behind their backs? Would they enter Cairo via the Nile as he had heard before? Were they the Gog and Magog he had heard so many stories about in the mosques? Were these signs of the Day of Judgement that he was seeing?
A chill went down his spine. He wished Suleiman were there to hear all this. ‘Where is he now?’ he wondered. He was in dire need for his friend to dispel his fears in these turbulent times.
At sunset, Hussein got on his horse and set off back to the castle. He reached it at dawn, as the roosters were crowing and the guards were just returning from their night shifts. Hussein went to his room, put on his uniform and walked to the sultan’s court, trying to get there before it became crowded. He did not have to wait for long before he was allowed to enter. When the sultan saw him, he smiled at him as usual; Hussein was like a son to the new ruler. Hussein did not waste time on pleasantries; the familiarity between the two men was strong enough for Hussein to get straight to the point.
Hussein spoke. ‘Cairo abounds with rumours that the Portuguese have breached the Dam of Dhul-Qarnayn, and that they are at the gates of Mecca and Medina and could enter Cairo at any time. Have you heard of this, Your Grace?’
‘Yes, I have, my son. I asked our representative in Suez to investigate the matter and send back whatever information he can get as soon as possible.’
A servant entered, announcing that breakfast was now ready. Sultan al-Ghawri patted Hussein on the shoulder and invited him to eat. Hussein was not hungry, but he thought this would be a good opportunity to continue speaking to his master away from the din of the court and its demanding guests.
Ghawri sat on a cotton cushion opposite a copper plate containing a variety of foods, and ordered Hussein to sit across from him. It was a simple meal. Hussein was tempted by a dish of fava beans soaked in olive oil. He was hoping Ghawri had a plan to confront the Portuguese, but the sultan was quiet as usual, and was preoccupied with his food as though Hussein were not there.
Hussein said, as he looked at the mini-banquet, ‘Your Grace. A few days ago I was at the grand mosque near the castle. I saw with my own eyes how angry and frustrated the people were. I fear these could be the signs of an imminent revolution. People can no longer cope with all the calamities thrust upon them from every direction. But the Portuguese incursion has become their primary concern. We must do something about it. As the custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, you are required to defend them, and the people look to you for leadership in these turbulent times.’
Ghawri continued to chew his food quietly, then drank from a jar that was sitting to his right. The sultan ordered the servants to clear the table and bring the wash pots.
A servant brought a long ewer that had a neck resembling that of an ostrich and a spherical metallic saucer, which he placed under Ghawri’s hands. He poured water from the ewer then gave the sultan a cotton towel to wipe his hands.
Ghawri signalled to Hussein to follow him, and walked back to the court. He sat silently.
Hussein was a little annoyed. Although he was accustomed to Ghawri’s way of thinking and talking, he felt that the situation was too urgent for this. Something quick had to be done to halt whatever the Portuguese were plotting.
Suddenly, Ghawri spoke. ‘Can we defeat them, Hussein?’
Hussein did not expect such a question. His eyes met his master’s, as though querying him about how serious the question was. He gulped and his colour changed, before he replied, ‘As you know, Your Grace, we do not have a large fleet that can sail on the high seas. We have neglected shipbuilding for too long, and no longer have skilled shipwrights. It is hard to bring back this craft. I don’t think we have what it takes to do anything!’
Hussein continued tensely. ‘When you neglect something important that you didn’t need at one time, you lose it completely and do not have it when you desperately need it.’
Ghawri sighed deeply. Hussein knew he had struck a painful chord in his master. Ghawri enunciated his words calmly, carefully weighing every word. ‘Ever since I heard those rumours, Hussein, I have been thinking along those lines. I have reached out to the Ottoman sultan asking him to send material to help us build ships, and he promised he would. I also contacted Venice for the same purpose. If the Portuguese succeed in their plans, the Venetians stand to lose, and vice versa. I think we should take advantage of their concerns about the future of their trade.’
Ghawri spoke like a seasoned politician who knew what he wanted, unlike Hussein, who was clouded by his youthful enthusiasm.
The sultan shook off the breadcrumbs that had stuck to his clothes then said, ‘We have allowed our relationship with the Ottomans to strain for too long. We are going to need their help now to build a fleet. This is always our problem. We fight among ourselves, then when a common threat emerges we close ranks; when the threat is over, we go back to infighting. I hope this doesn’t happen with the Ottomans.’
Ghawri’s tone suddenly changed. ‘Go to Suez now. I will send you all the help I can get. You must begin building ships, and then lead the fleet to fight the Portuguese. I appoint you the admiral of our fleet, effective immediately.’
Ghawri waved his hand in a mechanical way, as though pushing the air away. ‘Go now. You have a difficult mission to accomplish in a short space of time.’
Hussein travelled to Suez to personally oversee preparations and construction of the fleet. He fe
lt he had a huge responsibility that he must now fulfil in the best way possible.
His mission consumed his time and energy. Every day, he would go to the shipyard before sunrise and not leave until sunset. Hussein succeeded in inspiring the workers; he told them they were facing a great challenge and a sacred mission that must not fail. In a few months, Suez became a hive of unrelenting activity. This was a boon to businesses in the city, which expanded with the influx of craftsmen from Cairo and other regions of Egypt.
Everyone worked tirelessly. Sultan al-Ghawri fulfilled his promises and sent them all the tools and guidance he received from the Ottomans and the Venetians. Convoy after convoy came carrying timber, iron, copper, gunpowder, tar, ropes and all other supplies needed for shipbuilding. In less than a year, Suez was turned into a naval powerhouse. Ships were then launched one after the other, amid cheers from the sailors and shipwrights.
On the promised day that the fleet was set to sail to defend the shores of Islamdom, Hussein sat near Sultan al-Ghawri, who was attending the ceremony in person and was keen to portray himself as defender of the lands of the Muslims. Ghawri had the ability to emotionally manipulate people. On the one hand, he sent his soldiers to kill his opponents, and on the other hand, he cultivated his appearance as a religious man intent on preserving the lives and livelihoods of Muslims.
His presence today would firmly root this image in the minds of his people. Present with him were also the high-ranking Mamluk amirs, atabegs, and Amirs of One Thousand, wearing their best uniforms and accessories. It was a memorable day that everyone made sure they attended, especially the four chief judges, the caliph and the ambassadors of the other kingdoms.
The officials sat under a large tent erected by the seaside near the port. Beautiful lanterns hung from the tent, and around it, the khasikis belonging to the sultan and the amirs present stood guard. Cavalrymen wearing distinctive uniforms were lined up next to the tent.
The Holy Sail Page 8