The Holy Sail (21 page)

During that time, Hussein personally oversaw the training of his soldiers, to prepare them for every eventuality. He would rouse them unexpectedly, telling them Portuguese ships were attacking, only for them to discover it was a drill to test their readiness. They hated the surprise exercises and the harsh training. But they also knew that this was the price they had to pay if they wanted to achieve victory against the fierce enemy scouring the surrounding seas.

Days later, beautiful green mountains appeared on the horizon. The sea became extraordinarily quiet, though they spotted other ships around them now.

The humidity in the air was stifling. As the fleet approached the port, a small boat carrying a few men came out from the shore and reached the command ship. The men spoke with the guide for a few minutes, then left.

Hussein asked the guide who they were. ‘They are from the king's guard, Pasha. It is a normal procedure for them to enquire about the ships that arrive, especially those that
do not appear to be merchant vessels. I told them you are the admiral and the ruler of Jeddah, and that you were sent by the sultan of Egypt to meet the king. They asked us to drop anchor and wait until they return.'

Hussein had never met an Indian king before. To him, India was a mysterious place surrounded by myths, where fact often mixed with fiction. He did not know how to conduct himself in the king's presence, but he carried a letter and lavish gifts from Sultan al-Ghawri. He meant to ask him for help against the Portuguese.

Several hours later, a boat bedecked in gilded and colourful banners came, carrying someone who was clearly an important member of the royal court. As the boat stopped near the Egyptian flagship, one of its crew cried out in clear Arabic, ‘Where is the messenger of the Great Sultan of Egypt?'

Hussein was surprised. He stuck his head out from the top deck and saw the boat. The man sitting in the middle caught his attention immediately. He wore gilded robes and a turban the likes of which Hussein had never seen before; it was flat in the front and rounded in the back.

Hussein replied, ‘I am the messenger.'

The man responded in the same tone. ‘The Zamorin is waiting for you. I have with me on the boat Qasimul Haq, the Zamorin's most senior adviser. We ask that you honour us and return with us. We shall escort you safely to the palace.'

A rope ladder dropped from the ship, and the sailors on the boat grabbed it and pulled it. Hussein climbed down the ladder to the boat. Qasimul Haq bowed down to him and invited him to sit on a silk cushion next to him. Hussein
was dressed in his best Mamluk uniform and was accompanied by three of his lieutenants.

The boat began to move away from the flagship. Hussein turned to Qasimul Haq and asked, ‘Do you speak Arabic then?'

‘Yes, Pasha. I learned Arabic when I was young. I also lived in Mecca for a few years. I performed the Hajj then decided to stay to learn more about the faith and the Arabic language. Beautiful times.'

Hussein noticed that Qasimul Haq's accent was not the same accent he had heard from on board his ship. ‘Who was it that spoke to us before?'

Qasimul Haq turned to one of the men sitting in the back, and then returned his gaze to Hussein. ‘That was
Si
^*
al-Tayeb here. He came from Tunisia several years ago to trade, but he liked the country and decided to stay. He's an interpreter at the palace. He is fluent in Arabic and other languages, including Castilian and Persian.'

Hussein smiled at
Si
al-Tayeb, who wore Indian garments similar to those worn by Qasimul Haq, though his skin was fairer than the others. ‘Have you come all the way from Tunisia to work here?'

‘That is correct, Pasha. I went to Egypt for several months, enquiring about the spice trade, before I decided to have a go at it myself. My goal was to buy spices from Alexandria and then resell them, but the greedy Venetians had signed an agreement with the sultan to monopolise the purchase of all spices from Egyptian ports and sell them in Europe. I had no choice but to come here, to buy them from the source.'

Si
al-Tayeb took his eyes off Hussein and adjusted his turban before he continued. ‘My father is an Andalusian from Cordoba, and my mother is Spanish. My family was exiled to Tunisia, which is where I was born. My parents spoke Arabic and Castilian at home so I became fluent in both languages. When I came to this country as a young man, I decided to live in it, and married the daughter of Qasimul Haq and settled here.'

Hussein turned to Qasimul Haq, and found him wearing a weak smile he could not quite decipher.

The boat arrived at the port, where a large welcoming party escorted by a contingent of guards greeted it. As soon as they stepped foot on the shore, two young men came and placed a garland around Hussein's neck and did the same with the rest of the delegation. Then they offered them gilded pots containing fragrant water, which they drank. A woman painted a red vertical line on their foreheads as a sign of hospitality and respect.

Two groups of servants made their way between the crowd, carrying palanquins, each holding a small chair surrounded by silk curtains, and a roof above it protecting it from the sun.

Hussein sat on one and Qasimul Haq on the other. The procession then moved slowly towards the palace.

 

–
 
18
 
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Hormuz

When Halima saw fear on her father's face, she said in a firm voice, ‘I will come with you.'

Attar shook his head in opposition. ‘No, you must not come with me. We don't know who these people are and what is happening in the palace!'

The Hormuzi vizier frowned and looked to the floor. He spoke loudly and almost mechanically. ‘What if Vays learns of my collaboration with Salghur? Are those Arabs Jabrid soldiers or are they mercenaries? Hormuz has been overrun with the mercenaries that the rival princes hire. Last night was chaos. All we know is that people saw a large number of Arab soldiers on the island and corpses outside the palace gate.'

Halima interrupted him sharply. ‘I will go with you, Father. You can't stop me. I want to be with you no matter what happens.'

She raised a scarf that was draped on her shoulder and covered her head with it, wrapping its edge around the bottom of her face like she always did when she went out. She was telling her father she was not going to take no for an answer.

Her father looked at Halima with affection. He saw that her tearful eyes still carried a look of defiance, and found himself compelled to lower his head as though surrendering to her resolve.

Attar walked slowly out of the house. Halima followed him, gesturing to her maid Farah to stay at home. Farah would not have allowed her mistress to leave without her, but Halima's stare was enough to convince her the decision was not subject to debate.

In front of the main gate of the house, she saw a group of armed soldiers escorted by Arab soldiers. One glance at their tough-looking faces convinced her that they were not going to answer any of her questions, so she decided to stay quiet. The servants brought a coach. She climbed in with her father and they set off quietly in the direction of the king's palace.

She watched her father out of the corner of her eye, and noticed a few teardrops that he struggled to conceal from his escorts; he looked as though he thought he was being taken to his death. Halima wondered whether this was the last time she would see her father. She had seen him saddened and crushed before, but she had never seen him cry. Men's tears were as precious as the things they lost.

Halima glanced once again at the soldiers escorting her and her father. Three of them were Hormuzi soldiers that she did not know, but whom she identified as members of the king's guard thanks to their distinctive uniforms. The rest were masked men armed with swords, daggers and spears. Some of their weapons had congealed blood at their tips, and Halima understood these men had just
emerged from a fierce battle and had not yet had time to clean their blades.

The coach arrived at the palace. There were charred bodies outside the main entrance and traces of fire on the outside gate. Halima closed the curtain over the wagon window to avoid seeing any more carnage. But the vizier's daughter could not resist her curiosity and pulled back the curtain minutes later. The wagon travelled past the gardens and reached the palace entrance. They all alighted, and a guard led them to the royal court where Bin Rahhal was sitting.

Halima had not visited the king's palace before. The court was not as big as she had expected. A large and exquisite Persian rug extended from corner to corner. Cushions lined the walls for guests to sit on. In the centre stood the king's throne, the only chair in the room; guests were not supposed to sit on chairs in the presence of the king.

The windows were wide open. The sun had not yet risen all the way but its rays were falling directly through the windows, bathing the hall in light. The dust particles danced in the light, happy with the restored grandeur of the room.

Bin Rahhal sat away from the direct sunlight. When Halima entered the room, it seemed empty at first sight, but then she saw Salghur sitting on his throne in the centre of the court, and Bin Rahhal on the floor in a darker corner with one of his soldiers.

Bin Rahhal stood and shook hands warmly with Attar. He glanced at Halima, who was still putting on her veil, and was instantly mesmerised by her eyes, delicateness and beauty.

Halima was looking at the king. She wanted to greet him before she greeted anyone else. She saw her father approach him and sit on the ground in front of him. Attar kneeled and extended his right hand to touch the carpet on which the throne rested. He then kissed his own hand. Salghur stood up and embraced the Hormuzi vizier tightly.

Halima felt her father's spirit instantly lifted, his erstwhile paralysing fear dispelled, and knew that her father's plan had worked after all.

Bin Rahhal ordered the soldiers to leave. Only Attar, his daughter and Salghur – in addition to him – were left in the hall. Halima decided to remove her veil after she saw how Bin Rahhal greeted her father, and felt that all those present were friendly. As soon as she uncovered her face, Bin Rahhal's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He was motionless for a few seconds before he returned to his senses and pulled himself together. Halima's beauty was breathtaking, and Bin Rahhal had never met anyone like her in his life. He felt his soul rejuvenated and his heart throbbing in a way that was new to him.

They all sat on the ground except the king, who remained on his throne; he did not want to leave it even for a second. Bin Rahhal started speaking, explaining the next steps and the decision he had made about Vays. Serious expressions appeared on the faces of those present, though Bin Rahhal peeked from time to time at Halima to catch a glimpse of her dazzling beauty. She sat behind her father, shielded by his shoulder.

Halima sensed Bin Rahhal's eyes seeking her out. She covered her face with the veil again and stuck closer to her
father. She peeped at him when she saw he was looking away from her; she did not like the long braids that draped over his shoulders or the kohl he wore on his eyes. This was not customary in Hormuz, where people cared for their hair, dyed it and wore it loose. ‘And kohl is for women,' Halima thought; she had never seen a man wear it. But none of this mattered: her father had succeeded in restoring Salghur to the throne, and everything would return to the way was before.

Bin Rahhal mentioned the punishment he had decided for the former king. Salghur took the opportunity to express his objections, now that Attar was here and could side with him. ‘I do not approve of your verdict to exile my brother to India without gouging out his eyes. He betrayed my trust. It is the norm in Hormuz to take out a traitor's eyes. I insist on this, Bin Rahhal!'

Bin Rahhal was not the kind of man who backtracked on his decisions. But this was not the time for disputes. The Arab vizier tried to address the restored king with great tact. ‘But I have already made the decision and pronounced the sentence, Your Majesty. Gouging out his eyes will not benefit you in any way!'

Salghur turned to Attar, seeking his support. ‘Isn't this our custom with traitors,
Khawaja
? Would you explain this to Bin Rahhal? A king must be hard on his enemies so that they may serve as an example to others.' Salghur leaned back on the throne and continued. ‘Gouging out his eyes would be a small price for his crimes. If it were up to me alone, I would have made an example out of him. I would have made losing his eyes the least of his worries.'

Halima felt her father had been placed in an awkward position and decided to intervene. She brought her mouth to her father's ears and whispered something to him.

Everyone fell silent for a few moments, waiting to find out what the young woman wanted from her father. After she finished, Attar smiled and said, ‘You tell them. I can't remember all of that.'

They all looked at Halima in surprise. They did not expect her to be involved in something like this, but Bin Rahhal found this to be an opportunity to steer the conversation away from Salghur's dogged line of thought.

Halima spoke. ‘Eyes are a window to the mind, and its most faithful interpreter. They are the most precious parts of the face. Shah Vays's eyes will remain a window to his mind, and losing them would not stop him from conspiring against the king if he sets his mind to it. However, if they are left intact in his face, they could shield him from shame and disgrace.'

She articulated her words as if she were singing. ‘Bin Rahhal's sentence, cruel as it may be, will dignify King Salghur. People will see him as a compassionate, merciful king who accommodates people despite their mistakes and betrayals, as the king who did not sentence his brother to die alive but rather the king who sentenced him to live dead. His exile to India is a moral death that will also spare Hormuz from his wickedness.'