The Holy Sail

by Abdulaziz Al-Mahmoud

  Bin Rahhal realised that it was only a matter of time before the entire Mamluk fleet was destroyed. In the distance, he saw some of the ships trying to approach the Portuguese caravels to engage them in direct combat, but the Portuguese ships soon turned their guns and fired on them. The boats sank quickly with everyone aboard.

  He turned to Hussein and tried to convince him to end the battle and cut his losses. The plan had failed. The Portuguese ships clearly moved faster and had out-manoeuvred them, and had more powerful cannons with a longer range.

  Without warning, a Portuguese cannonball hit a spot on the ship’s deck near them. Shrapnel flew in all directions, and a shard of wood pierced Hussein’s side. Hussein fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Bin Rahhal ordered the crew to sail at full speed back to the port to get him help.

  Bin Rahhal stood watching the Portuguese ships taking his burning ships one by one. Portuguese soldiers would jump onto a ship, take the flags of Sultan al-Ghawri and Hussein Pasha, and then leave the ships to burn down. When everyone saw the Portuguese desecrating the sultan of Egypt’s flag, their morale collapsed and the defeats rolled in.

  As night fell, the bay in Diu was overrun with shipwrecks, floating corpses and wounded survivors screaming in agony as they made their way to shore. There, the survivors were stretched out around fires lit by volunteers. Mamluk officers wrote down the names of the dead and ox-drawn wagons took the corpses away to their final resting place.

  The Portuguese ships imposed a tight siege on the harbour to remind people who had triumphed. The Portuguese also wanted to let the people of Diu know this was just the beginning.

  Malik Ayaz appeared on his steed. The horse moved warily around the port, as though it had caught scent of the blood. Its hooves touched the ground cautiously, trying to avoid stepping on an injured person or a dead body. Malik Ayaz moved between the bodies and fires. He was visibly in shock.

  Everyone saw a floating flame coming from the sea towards the port. They concluded it must be a small boat that had lit a fire along its mast, probably carrying a messenger sent by Albuquerque to dictate the terms of surrender. When the boat finally reached the shore, they saw a man armoured from head to toe debark. He then asked to meet Malik Ayaz in person.

  The messenger was taken to the ruler of the city, who had a look of absolute despair on his face. Ayaz had lost everything, and his city was on the cusp of being destroyed by Portuguese cannons.

  The messenger approached him. Without greeting Ayaz, he handed him a letter, looking directly in his eyes to deliberately insult him.

  Ayaz broke the seal and read the letter.

  To the Great King Malik Ayaz of Diu,

  I represent King Manuel of Portugal, and govern on his behalf all the lands he possesses with the blessing of the Pope under the Treaty of Tordesillas. I therefore warn you not to antagonise the king or myself, because our wrath will be violent and great, and will destroy your kingdom and every living soul in it.

  There is no personal animosity between us, and there is nothing to prevent an agreement between us. I order you, however, to expel the commanders of the Mamluk and Arabian fleets from your city by sunrise. You must expel all combatants from your kingdom within three days to whence they came.

  Consider this an ultimatum, and heed it and obey. My messenger must return to my ship with your answer.

  Afonso de Albuquerque

  Representative of His Majesty the King of Portugal

  Malik Ayaz folded the letter and kept it in his hand for a few seconds, while looking at the messenger. He said in a faint voice unusual for him, ‘I surrender the city to Albuquerque. I will do what he asks, and expel those people from Diu before sunrise.’

  The messenger left quickly back to the boat he had come in. The Portuguese ships remained stationed at the mouth of the bay, waiting for Malik Ayaz to fulfil the agreement.

  Before dawn, three horsemen emerged from the back gate of Malik Ayaz’s palace, before they galloped their horses off toward the north. The men were Bin Rahhal and Hussein, who could barely sit up straight on his horse, along with Si al-Tayeb.

  Hussein and Bin Rahhal had no idea where to go now that their fleets were destroyed. Malik Ayaz had asked them to leave his territories quickly, and all the areas along the western coast of India were now either under direct Portuguese occupation or did not want to antagonise Albuquerque. The two men felt they were stranded in an ocean of adversaries, and had to be very vigilant.

  Bin Rahhal, Hussein and Si al-Tayeb did not know the area. They headed towards a small village a day away to the north of Diu. There, they stayed in a small, filthy inn for a few days, during which time Si al-Tayeb wrote to his father-in-law, Qasimul Haq, asking advice and assistance.

  Qasimul Haq wrote back saying that the situation had become very dangerous, and advised them to keep a low profile until the crisis blew over. Albuquerque was emboldened by his victory in Diu. Everyone was apprehensive about the next steps in his destructive plan. They were told they had to reach the port of Debal further north, where it would be easier for Hussein and Bin Rahhal to travel to Hormuz or Aden in disguise. Qasimul Haq sent them clothes and money with the messenger who brought his letter, to help them get by without drawing much attention to themselves.

  Si al-Tayeb decided to travel with them to Debal, where he would remain in hiding for some time until he found his way back to Calicut. Hussein and Bin Rahhal decided to take a ship from Debal to Hormuz because it was the closest destination, especially since Bin Rahhal could contact his father-in-law, Khawaja Attar, who would help them return home.

  They walked for several days through hot farmlands infested with mosquitoes and cobra snakes – a single bite from which would be enough to kill a horse in minutes. Their feet sank into rice fields flooded by farmers for irrigation. Travelling across the area was troublesome, difficult and stressful, and there was nothing to shelter them from the sun except some straw and leaf huts. Starved and exhausted, the three men stumbled and staggered in the heat for days, until they reached a small village called Nawanagar. They tethered their horses near a miserable-looking eatery along the coast. They weren’t hungry, and ordered a herbal drink Si al-Tayeb recommended. The men then started making queries about the best way to cross the sea into the north.

  The villagers in the area were dark-skinned and emaciated, and wore turbans that were disproportionately big for their bodies and ornamented in a way that contrasted oddly with their destitution.

  The fishermen there told them the best way was to wait for the ferries that operated at daytime between the coast and Mandra, a village further north. The ferries did not operate at night, as the winds were not strong enough to propel the crafts. With sunrise, however, a breeze blew and the ships used it to cross the sea.

  Back on the road, Hussein suddenly fell off his horse. All that time, he had been suppressing his pain to avoid hindering the others. But now he could go no further.

  Bin Rahhal lifted Hussein’s shirt and saw blood covering the area between his waist and legs. The reeking wound had festered and was oozing pus. Bin Rahhal estimated that Hussein would survive his injury only if treated quickly.

  The following morning, the three rode to Mandra. It was a poor, remote village consisting of straw huts inhabited by a small number of villagers who earned their livelihoods from drying small fish they caught from the coast nearby. The stench of sun-dried fish was overpowering and clung to everything: the water, the air, the food and even the people there.

  From Mandra, they continued onwards to Debal, a town located in marshland that ran along the coast. The three men had to find safe routes to avoid falling into the quicksand pools concealed by wild plants, ready to swallow their next victim.

  The town was inhospitable. It was very hot. The water was brackish and tended to be yellow, and the locals who drank complained of bloated bellies. Hussein did not understand why anyone would live in such a dirty swamp, until someone explained to him that this was the on
ly place they could hide from powerful northern tribes that rustled their cattle, kidnapped their children and stole their crops.

  They asked for a healer who could treat a deep festering wound. The villagers pointed them in the direction of a mud hut where they said an old man might be of help.

  By the time they brought him Hussein, his wound had become much worse. The old healer pulled up Hussein’s tunic, revealing the festering infection, and put his hand on his nose. He looked at Bin Rahhal and Si al-Tayeb in a way that suggested he blamed them for the delay in his treatment. Bin Rahhal handed the man several silver coins and one golden one, which the healer shook in his palm before putting them in his pocket. He instructed them to move Hussein to a wooden bedstead in the corner of the room.

  The old healer stood up and brought a heavy-looking bag. He sat near Hussein, untied the bag, and looked inside. The Indian instructed Bin Rahhal and Si al-Tayeb to restrain Hussein using fibrous ropes made from coconut coir. They did as he asked, and gave him a look that suggested they now expected him to do his part.

  The healer reached inside the bag and took out a heap of small black leeches, and laid them out on Hussein’s wound. The leeches seemed starved. They latched themselves on to the wound and the congealed blood around it.

  Suddenly, Hussein started to laugh. ‘They’re tickling me! They’re tickling me!’

  Everyone laughed with him. After some time, the tickling turned into itching, and Hussein cried, ‘Untie me! I want to scratch the wound!’

  The healer signalled to Bin Rahhal and Si al-Tayeb not to move.

  ‘Untie my hand. I need to scratch the wound. The leeches are killing me!’

  No one reacted. A short time later, Hussein started screaming in pain and the healer spoke. ‘Go and get some sleep. He’s going to be like this until sunrise.’

  Bin Rahhal and Si al-Tayeb did not understand anything and they seemed reluctant to leave their suffering friend in the hands of a stranger.

  Hussein’s screams shattered the quiet of the night, even though the old healer put a cloth in his mouth to bite on.

  Bin Rahhal and Si al-Tayeb could not sleep that night, and decided to stay up near the fire they lit outside the hut, waiting for the sun to rise. When they entered the hut at dawn, they saw Hussein was perspiring profusely. He had dark circles under his eyes.

  The healer removed the cloth from Hussein’s mouth and examined the wound, where the leeches were now frantically pushing against one another. He started removing them one by one and replacing them in the sack, revealing a pinkish, clean wound. The old man dried it with a clean cloth. He then placed some herbs and ointments on the site, before he wrapped it with a large cloth and left Hussein to sleep for the rest of the day.

  Si al-Tayeb asked the old healer about his strange treatment. The healer explained that the leeches ate dead flesh and congealed blood, so when he put them over the wound and the leeches started moving, Hussein had a tickling sensation. Then when the leeches latched on to the dead flesh, he felt itching, and when the leeches started nibbling away at the rotten flesh, Hussein started feeling pain. The Indian healer said it took the leeches several hours to eat off the infection.

  ‘His wound is clean now. You can take him with you, but he has to be careful to avoid re-infection. He should wash the wound with clean sea water twice a day to keep it clean,’ the old man urged.

  Si al-Tayeb decided to remain in the village for a few months until it was safe to return to Calicut. Bin Rahhal and Hussein decided to continue their journey once Hussein was recuperated.

  They waited for a few days until they could find a ship bound for Hormuz. Not many ships were sailing these days. The two men had to show they had money to finally convince the captain to take them on board.

  ‘Hormuz has been conquered by the Portuguese. The Arabian Sea is now under their control,’ the captain told them, explaining that he would be travelling by night parallel to the coast to avoid Portuguese ships. The Portuguese often intercepted ships and seized their cargoes, before burning them and killing or capturing their passengers, the captain said.

  The ship moved in the dead of night without any light, emerging out of the tall grass that hid the village in the direction of the sea. Sailing in water this shallow was not easy. A man had to stand near the bow of the boat to guide the captain.

  The only source of light was the moon that illuminated the swamps, which were teeming with exotic life and sounds. Before dawn, the ship reached the sea, though it travelled extremely close to the shore. By midday, the captain hid the ship between the rocks and grass lining the coast or in small, uncharted bays.

  Before they arrived in Hormuz, the captain told them he would cross the gap between the Persian mainland and the island at night, and enter the port at dawn when everyone would be asleep. He instructed them to get off the ship as quickly as they could, after which he would sail back to the mainland, all before sunrise.

  Hussein and Bin Rahhal disembarked in Hormuz disguised as merchants. They did not exchange more than a few words with anyone there, as the two men knew their lives depended on keeping their lips tight at all times. The dreary, near-empty port met them there.

  The Mamluk admiral and the Arabian vizier jumped on the pier, letting the captain deal with the tax collector. They breathed a sigh of relief as the sun finally rose, and they were able to blend with people in the market without being noticed.

  Hussein walked behind Bin Rahhal, who knew the way to Attar’s home.

  They knocked on the door. A servant opened it but did not recognise them.

  ‘Is Attar here?’

  ‘Yes, he is, but who are you?’

  ‘Tell him he has two guests from Bahrain who want to meet him urgently.’

  ‘Wait here.’

  The guard closed the door behind him, and did not let Bin Rahhal and Hussein in. He came back a few minutes later, and asked them to follow him. The servant took them to the same hall where Bin Rahhal had asked Attar for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Nothing in the house had changed.

  Bin Rahhal drew in a deep breath. Halima had sat on that chair when he visited their home for the first time. Could Halima be here? he asked himself, wishfully.

  A few minutes later, Attar entered. He took a quick look at the guests then, scrutinising Bin Rahhal’s face, smiled. ‘Bin Rahhal? Is that you?’

  The two men embraced warmly. Attar reminded Bin Rahhal of his wife, and Bin Rahhal reminded Attar of his daughter.

  ‘You’re the last person I expected to see, Bin Rahhal. When the servant told me there were guests from Bahrain, I thought Halima had sent me a messenger. She wrote to me several months ago, telling me you had gone to India to fight the Portuguese.’ He almost whispered the last two words, fearing someone might hear him. ‘Who’s with you?’

  ‘This is my friend Hussein Pasha, Egyptian admiral and ruler of Jeddah.’

  Attar stood up and greeted Hussein, using both hands to shake his. ‘Welcome to my home. Your presence here honours us, Pasha.’

  Bin Rahhal did not want to put his father-in-law in harm’s way should they be discovered. The situation in Hormuz was not reassuring due to the heavy Portuguese presence. They were enemies of Albuquerque, Hormuz’s new ruler, and if they were found to be hiding at Attar’s home, then Albuquerque would make sure they all died a slow, agonising death that he would personally inflict and enjoy.

  Almost unmindful of what Attar said about Halima’s letter, Bin Rahhal asked the Hormuzi vizier in a plaintive voice, ‘Is Halima here?’

  Attar was bemused. ‘No, she is not. Did you expect to find her here?’

  Bin Rahhal’s tone turned sorrowful. ‘Yes, I did. I had asked her to come here as soon as I left Bahrain. I don’t know what happened!’

  Attar sat back down. He could no longer stand for long periods of time. ‘She told me in her letter that she was planning to come, but that the Portuguese presence prevented her. After that, everything broke down. The letters don’t
arrive as before.’

  Bin Rahhal sat, and Hussein followed suit. ‘We don’t want to compromise you with our presence, Khawaja. We are in a hurry to go back home. I especially want to return to Halima. I left her all alone, and now only this sea stands between us, and I intend to cross it as quickly as possible. We ask for your help to return to our homes. Hussein would then go to Al-Ahsa from Bahrain, and from there, to Jeddah with the caravans that travel to the Red Sea. We also ask you to give us some money and clothes, as we have exhausted everything we had during our arduous journey.’

  Attar smiled, bringing much-needed reassurance to his guests. They did not know much about the exact situation in Hormuz, and whether the vizier still held sway there or was struggling to keep his head above water himself. His smile restored some of their hopes that he still controlled some strings which he could move whenever he wanted. ‘You will get everything you need, gentlemen. Just stay here and do not leave until I tell you.’

  Bin Rahhal asked what had happened in the region after he left for India.

  Attar exhaled audibly, as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. ‘The situation is extremely bad. Albuquerque is the actual ruler of all these ports except the ones still held by the Jabrids. He’s hesitant to move on them because he doesn’t have sufficient numbers of soldiers. I think he’s trying to raise more money to hire mercenaries. If he pulls this off, he would be able to seize Bahrain and even Al-Ahsa.

  ‘A messenger sent by Safavid Shah Ismail recently visited Albuquerque. They agreed on a number of things, including offering Portuguese help to move Shah Ismail’s forces across the sea to seize Bahrain. These forces would be ready to march on Hejaz whenever the shah orders it. The shah is waiting for the Ottomans to be defeated to declare himself caliph of the Muslims, and this is something he wouldn’t be able to do unless he has the holy sites in his hands.’

  Attar fell silent when some servants brought food and drinks for the guests. After they left, he continued. ‘I cosied up to Shah Ismail’s messenger, who then shared with me everything that took place between him and Albuquerque. I think the plot goes way beyond Albuquerque seizing the ports of the Gulf and India, as the messenger also told me there were secret contacts between Shah Ismail and Sultan al-Ghawri.’