Monsoon

by Wilbur Smith

  Despite the heavy seas, the work of transforming the Seraph was begun at once. Ned seemed inspired by the task that Hal had set him, and his carpenters used paint of mixed colours to patch and dapple the hull. He had an old suite of sails from the Atlantic voyage brought on deck then deliberately sullied and tattered it. He selected certain parts of the rigging, including some of the upper yards and spars, for removal so that the ship’s sailing qualities would not be too adversely affected. These would be sent down as soon as land was in sight. The Seraph would present a truly sad, bedraggled appearance when she limped into Zanzibar harbour.

  Three days later, the skies began to clear and, although the seas were still high and unruly, the tropical sun burned down on them once again. The effect on the spirits of the crew was gratifying to Hal as he watched them set about their duties with new heart and vigour. At noon he was able to make his first sun-shot in all those weeks of sailing. He found that the ship’s position was on the twelfth parallel of south latitude, two hundred and fifty miles further north than his dead reckoning had suggested. ‘Depending on our eastings, we should raise Madagascar island within the week,’ he commented, as he marked the new position in the ship’s log, and ordered a change of course up into the west, towards the island and the African mainland.

  As always, the birds gave warning of the proximity of land. These were of species that neither Tom nor Dorian had ever seen before. They saw fairy terns, with plumage white as frost on a December morning at High Weald, and long-tailed tropicbirds hovered over the shoals of small fish that darkened the surface in their multitudes. Closer to the island, they came across villainous-looking frigate birds, black as hell with scarlet throats, hanging on the high currents of the monsoon wind. They were lying in ambush for the flocks of terns as they returned from their fishing forays. Tom and Dorian watched them dive on their quarry with wings shaped like the blade of a half-folded clasp knife, forcing their victims to disgorge the hard-won fruits of their labours, then swooping to gobble the partly digested fish from their crops.

  The sea changed colour, taking on a yellowish hue. When the boys asked why, Aboli explained, ‘The rains of the great storm have engorged the rivers of the mainland, and they have discharged their muddy flood-waters into the sea. We are very close to land now.’

  The next morning as the dawn exploded silently in the eastern sky behind them, and turned the horizon the colour of fire opals and rose petals, from the masthead they saw a blue wavy line scored across the horizon ahead of the ship’s bows. ‘Land!’ The joyous cries rang through the ship.

  Hal knew these islands well, and as the day wore on he climbed into the rigging and was able to identify the blue mountains of the north tip of Madagascar as they rose higher and higher from the sea.

  All that day both watches laboured at the heavy work of slinging down the spars from the topmasts to make the ship appear storm-crippled. Without her top canvas the Seraph became baulky and recalcitrant, and when close-hauled she refused to sail more than eight points to the wind. However, the trade winds were behind her and Hal was able to free her sails and lay her on a direct course towards the land. It was as well that they completed this work before the ship sailed closer in and met any of the small fishing dhows that would report their arrival in these waters and describe the Seraph’s condition.

  The following noon Cap d’Ambre, at the northern tip of Madagascar, lay ten leagues off their port beam. With this fix on his position Hal was able to shape a course directly across the Mozambique Channel for Zanzibar. This inner sea was bejewelled with lovely little islands. The Seraph wove her way between them, sometimes so close that they could see the dark, half-naked islanders waving from the white beaches. The sailors climbed into the rigging and waved back lustily, speculating on the gender of the tiny figures on the sand.

  These waters were dotted with the sail of small trading vessels and fishing dhows. As the Seraph passed, their crews called questions in Arabic and other unintelligible languages. To the delight of the Seraph’s men, there were women in some of the dhows.

  ‘By God, I can see that one’s titties from here. Brown as a pair of Easter buns hot from the oven.’

  ‘Then I’ll lick the sugar coating off them, so help me, I will.’

  ‘Say you’ll marry me, you little heathen beauty, and I’ll jump overboard this moment,’ one of the topmastmen shouted.

  ‘They don’t understand the word marry. Just tell them jig-jig. They’ll understand that well enough!’ his mate suggested. The faint tinkle of delighted feminine laughter from the dhow drifted back to confirm the wisdom of this counsel.

  Through his telescope Hal could make out damage to the palm trees and the other vegetation on the islands they passed, while the debris and floating rubbish that speckled the surface of the ocean confirmed the storm’s passage, and that their excuse for being in these waters would be strengthened when they reached Zanzibar. ‘If we do not run into Jangiri first,’ Ned Tyler pointed out drily. ‘We have already made such a ripple in these waters that news of our arrival must be speeding ahead of us.’

  Hal was aware of the danger of Jangiri springing the trap prematurely, for they were now in his home waters. He redoubled his vigilance. The lookouts were warned of the danger, and the crew kept in a state of alert. Because of the work on the gunports Hal could not exercise the gun-crews, but he kept them busy with sword practice and musketry. These precautions proved superfluous, though, for they saw no large ships, and within ten days they had raised the African mainland.

  Since leaving Good Hope this was Tom and Dorian’s first sight of Africa, and whenever they could escape from their labours in Master Walsh’s classroom, from the Arabic lessons with Alf Wilson or their other duties, the boys climbed to a masthead and sat for hours discussing the mysterious land out there, the wonders and adventures it promised them. The Seraph bore northwards along the coast, sometimes close in to the capes and coral reefs of the mainland, and the boys longed for glimpses of weird beasts and savage black tribes, but Africa seemed vast, enigmatic and deserted.

  Finally Unguja appeared ahead. There were two other smaller islands in the group: Pemba and Latham. But when sailors spoke of Zanzibar, this was the island to which they usually referred. It was crowned by the massive fort, built of sparkling white coral blocks that glistened like an iceberg in the sunlight. Its ramparts bristled with heavy cannon. Hal tacked into the entrance of the ancient harbour.

  A mass of fore-and-aft-rigged craft was anchored in wild disorder, congesting the harbour. Some of the oceangoing dhows were almost as large as the Seraph. These were the traders from India, Muscat and the Red Sea. However, there was no way of telling if any were corsairs. Probably all of them are, given a chance. Hal smiled to himself, then gave his full attention to bringing the Seraph safely to rest. He dipped his colours to the fort in courtesy to the Sultan’s representative, and dropped anchor at the limit of random shot from the batteries. He had learned long ago to mistrust even the most warm, open welcome of any African potentate.

  A swarm of small boats came out to greet them as soon as they were at anchor, offering wares to cater for every need or vice, from green coconuts to bundles of narcotic bhang leaves and flowers, from the carnal services of small brown slave boys and girls to porcupine quills filled with gold dust.

  ‘Make certain that none of this rabble are allowed on board,’ Hal warned Big Daniel. ‘And keep a weather eye on our own lovely lads that they do not try to sneak ashore for a bottle and a bit of fun. I’m going to visit the British consul, although I do not expect him to be the same man I saw twenty years ago, when last we visited this place. What was the fellow’s name?’

  ‘Grey, as I recall, Captain.’

  ‘That’s right, Daniel. William Grey, and as likely a rogue as remains unhanged.’

  Hal took a small party ashore with him, including Aboli and five armed seamen. The longboat deposited them on the stone quay below the thick white walls of the fort. Aboli c
leared a way through the throng of merchants and idlers and they entered the warren of small alleys and lanes that were barely wide enough for three men to walk abreast.

  The stench from the open sewers that ran down to the harbour was strong enough to catch in their throats, and made Hal’s gorge rise. The heat where no breeze entered was stifling and their sweat had soaked through the back of their shirts before they had gone a hundred paces. Some of the buildings were three storeys high, and none of the walls was true – they leaned and bulged out, almost meeting overhead. The upper balconies were screened with intricate latticework, and faceless female creatures in black veils peered at them through the zenana screens.

  This was the season of the monsoon, which brought the slavers from all the far reaches of the eastern shores. Aboli led them through the main slave market. It was a large souk, open to the sky but shaded by a grove of banyan trees, with weird serpentine trunks and thick, dark green foliage.

  The ranks of slaves for sale squatted in the shade of the spreading boughs. Hal knew they had worn their chains from the day of their capture deep in the African interior, during the long heartbreaking journey down to the coast and in the slave decks of the dhows that had brought them across the channel. Some of the men were branded on the forehead, the scars still pink and freshly healed. These markings denoted that they had been castrated in the barracoons on the beaches of the mainland. They were destined for the China trade: the emperor had decreed that no black slaves could be imported who were capable of bastardizing the pure bloodline of his people. The price of these gelded creatures was almost doubled as losses, due to the crude surgery and cauterization, were high.

  The buyers from the ships in the harbour were inspecting the offerings, and haggling with the slave-masters in their ankle-length robes and headcloths. Hal shouldered his way past them and entered the maze of lanes on the far side of the souk.

  Although two decades had elapsed since his last visit, Aboli led them unerringly to the heavy door of African mahogany that opened on to the noisome street. It was studded with iron nails and intricately carved with Islamic designs and texts from the Koran, in which no figure of man or animal, which might be construed as idolatry, was depicted. A slave, in long black robes and turban, answered the jangling bell.

  ‘Salaam aliekum.’ He touched breast and lips and bowed in welcome. ‘My master knows of your coming, and waits eagerly to welcome you.’ He looked at the small party that followed Hal. ‘There is refreshment for your men.’ He clapped his hand for another slave to lead them away, and Hal followed him into the courtyard where a fountain played and banks of flowering hibiscus sweetened the stench from the street.

  For a moment he did not recognize the monstrous figure that lay on a pile of cushions in the shade beside the fountain. He hesitated, and stared at him until behind the bloated features he could make out the vestiges of the man he had once known.

  ‘Salaam aliekum.’ William Grey, His Majesty’s consul to the Sultanate of Zanzibar, greeted him.

  Hal almost replied in the same language, but stopped himself. He did not want to let Grey know that he was fluent in Arabic. Instead he said, ‘I’m afraid I have not a word of that heathen tongue, sir. I was led to understand that you were English. Do you not speak a Christian language?’

  ‘Pardon me, sir. It is a matter of habit.’ Grey smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I am William Grey, His Majesty’s consular representative to the Omani sultanate. Forgive me not rising to greet you.’ Grey made a deprecatory gesture that took in his ruined body and swollen elephantine legs, which were covered in running ulcers. Hal recognized the ravages of dropsy. ‘Please be seated, sir. I have been expecting your visit since I received reports of your arrival in the harbour.’

  ‘Good day to you, sir. Captain John Black, at your service.’ Hal remembered that Grey was a Christian apostate, who had embraced Islam. He suspected that the man’s change of faith had been more for financial and economic considerations than from religious conviction.

  Obviously Grey neither recognized nor remembered Hal, and it had been a safe bet that he would not. Hal had banked on this when he had given Grey a false name: it was essential that the pirates did not become aware of his true identity. Twenty years before, Hal had earned the Arabic name of El Tazar, the Barracuda, for his fighting exploits when he had spread terror throughout the fleets of Islam during the Ethiopian war in the Horn of Africa. If he were to lure Jangiri to attack him, his enemies must not be given any inkling of the true identity of the man against whom they were pitted.

  Hal seated himself on the cushions that had been placed for him. A female slave carried in a tray, on which were set out two silver coffee thimbles, and a second woman carried a tall silver pot, on its own charcoal brazier. The slave girls were both young, slim and supple-waisted. Grey would have paid at least two hundred rupees for each. Hal remembered that Grey had made a vast fortune from trafficking in the slave trade, and the sale of licences and commissions from the Sultan. At their last meeting, he had tried to interest Hal in both these propositions. Hal guessed that this was not the limit of his nefarious activities, and he had no illusions as to the man’s integrity or morals. That he was in league with Jangiri and his ilk was not beyond the bounds of probability.

  One of the girls knelt before Grey and filled the thimbles with the bitter black beverage, viscous as honey. Idly Grey caressed her arm, as he would a pet cat, with a hand on which the gold rings and jewels had sunk into the putty-soft flesh of his swollen white fingers. ‘You have had a good voyage, Captain?’

  ‘A voyage not without incident, sir,’ Hal answered. Grey must already know every detail of the condition of the Seraph, and was merely seeking confirmation. ‘After leaving Bombay, in convoy with two other ships of the Honourable East India Company, we were beset by a fearful gale off the coast of Madagascar. One of the other vessels went down with all hands lost, and we escaped only with great damage to our hull and rigging. This is the main reason why we have called at this port, which was not my original intention.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortune,’ Grey shook his head in sympathy, ‘but grateful that you have graced us with your presence, and that of your fine ship. I pray only that I may be of service to you, and provide you with whatever stores you need.’

  Hal gave him a seated bow, and thought, No doubt at inflated prices, and for a goodly commission. He marvelled at the changes that age and the disease had wrought in Grey. He had been young and vigorous when last they had met but now his pate was bald and his beard silver white. His eyes were weak and rheumy and the smell of death was upon him.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I am grateful for your good offices, particularly since I am conveying a cargo of peculiar value and political importance to His Majesty King William.’

  Grey stirred his vast body, and a sparkle of interest shone in his watery eyes. ‘As I am His Majesty’s direct representative in these parts,’ he murmured, ‘might I be permitted to know the nature of this cargo?’

  Hal drew in his breath sharply at the suggestion, then lowered his gaze to study the ornamental fish that drifted in the waters of the fountain. He rubbed his temples thoughtfully and made a show of pondering the wisdom of acceding to this request. At last he sighed. ‘As His Majesty’s representative,’ he said, ‘you of all persons should be informed.’ He hesitated again, then seemed to make up his mind. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. ‘I am entrusted with the conveyance of the gift that Aurangzeb, the Mogul Emperor of India, is sending to His Majesty to celebrate his coronation.’

  Grey raised his bulk on one elbow and gaped at Hal. Then, slowly, avarice bloomed in his eyes. He tried to mask his greed, but the idea of a royal tribute, the gift of one sovereign to another, filled him with almost religious awe.

  The Mogul dynasty had been founded by Babur, and he in turn was the direct descendant of Timur and Genghis Khan. His father, Shah Jehan, had built the fabulous Taj Mahal as a mausoleum for a favourite wife
. The Mogul empire was the most powerful and the richest ever to emerge from the Orient. What might be the value of the gift of such a mighty emperor?

  Hal lowered his voice further to a whisper. ‘I have been informed by the Governor of Bombay, to whom the gift was delivered, that it comprises a suite of emeralds, twenty stones perfect in fire, and each the size of a green pomegranate.’

  Grey gasped softly, then struggled for breath.

  Hal went on, ‘Governor Aungier confided in me that the value of these stones is five lakhs of rupees.’

  Grey tried to sit up, but the effort was too much for him. He fell back on the cushions and stared wordlessly at Hal. One lakh was a hundred thousand rupees. Half a million rupees was worth almost a hundred thousand pounds. This was a fortune almost too large for the mind to encompass.

  ‘Indeed, Captain Black, such a vital cargo must be given all priority,’ Grey managed. ‘You may be certain that I will do all in my power to assist with the repairs to your ship, and to expedite your departure.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘How long do you estimate that these repairs will occupy you?’ Grey asked anxiously. ‘When do you expect to be able to resume your voyage, Captain?’

  ‘With your help I should be ready to sail again within the month.’

  Grey was silent for a moment, evidently making rapid calculations. Then he looked relieved. With each of these tiny indications Hal was becoming more strongly convinced that Grey was in league with the corsairs.

  Grey gave him a pasty, oleaginous smile. ‘The damage must be greater than it appears from a casual examination,’ he said, which confirmed what Hal had suspected: that he had been on the rooftop overlooking the harbour to scrutinize the Seraph through his telescope.

  ‘Of course, I will try to leave sooner than that, but we are taking water heavily and I believe there may be underwater damage to the hull. We will be here for two or three weeks at least.’