The Holy Sail (19 page)

By sunrise, everything was clear. The palace gate had been burned down and there was now a big gap in its place. Corpses sprawled in the front yard. The port was deserted, as merchants kept their distance from the shore fearing their ships would be burned or seized. As people started taking stock of what had happened in the latter hours of the night, life began to gradually return to the city. If the king was gone a new one would soon replace him; the Hormuzis did not care much for such events, which they were used to by now.

Inside the palace, Bin Rahhal sat in the grand
majlis
. He had a superficial knife wound on one of his arms and a physician was treating him with herbs and ointments; the two men were surrounded by a group of Bin Rahhal's soldiers and aides.

An exuberant Salghur was sitting on the throne which had been his father's throne before him, in the middle of the
majlis
. At the top of its headrest a beautifully inscribed Quranic verse read:
Authority belongs to none but God
. Each armrest of the throne was decorated with the face of a lion, with large agate stones placed in its open jaws. All of the late king's sons had sat on this throne, and now it was Salghur's turn to sit on it again.

While the king sat on the throne, Bin Rahhal began running the kingdom from where he was sitting, on the floor. Bin Rahhal did not stop issuing orders. The physician finished bandaging him, and lowered his arm slowly. He looked at the dressing and then asked Salghur, ‘Where is Vays now?'

‘I think he's hiding somewhere in the palace,' Salghur replied with feigned nonchalance. ‘He has nowhere else to go. If he is not here then he could be with the Persian brigade he hired to protect him. Have you heard anything? He could cause us some trouble if we don't take care of him.'

Bin Rahhal was still examining his bandages. ‘Our soldiers had the Persians surrounded. They surrendered and asked to be returned to the Persian mainland. They have been taken care of, but your brother was definitely not with them.' Bin Rahhal cried out to the guards, ‘Look for Vays now, quickly. I think he is in the palace. I don't want him to escape.'

The vizier took his sword and joined the search.

The soldiers fanned out across the palace, moving furniture and looking for secret hiding places. They would put a few men to guard the entrance of a room or a hall,
and proceed to search it, before they moved to the next place, each time tapping the floors and the walls with their swords, looking for a secret door.

They reached a staircase leading to an upper room that the king used as his
majlis
in the summer. They found Vays hiding there, behind a pile of discarded chairs, trembling in fear.

A few minutes later, Vays was brought before Bin Rahhal. Salghur watched from his throne, a vengeful smile crossing his face. Bin Rahhal did not want the charade to last too long, and, addressing Vays, said, ‘We will not carry out the sentence usually given to treasonous Hormuzi kings. We will not gouge out your eyes and throw you in a dungeon until you rot and die. We shall exile you to India where you may take some of your servants. King Salghur will send you a monthly salary so you can live in dignity, providing that you pledge never to return here.'

The guards pulled Shah Vays by his arm to carry out the sentence. Bin Rahhal turned to Salghur, and in an attempt to pre-empt any protest by the restored king, said, ‘I think you should have a grand ceremony for your coronation. Let people near and far know you have returned. You must take pledges of allegiance from those around you.' Bin Rahhal gave Salghur a smile that the new king understood very well. ‘Though I think oaths of allegiance are now meaningless formalities.'

Salghur was not pleased with the quick sentence Bin Rahhal had handed to his brother. In his view, it was too lenient and not commensurate with his brother's betrayal. But he felt that Bin Rahhal was not going to let him dispute his decision.

Bin Rahhal removed his turban and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He then ordered his commanders to quickly fetch
Khawaja
Attar. Attar was going to be the actual ruler of the island, and he had to know what had happened and to whom the credit should go for restoring Salghur to his throne.

The servants in Attar's house heard knocking on the door. When they opened it they saw a group of palace guards accompanied by masked Arab soldiers. The servant who opened the door was uncertain of what had happened in the king's palace, but the news that came from the streets was that there had been a coup against Vays staged by one of his brothers, and that there was fierce fighting in the palace with the outcome not yet known.

The shaken servant went to Attar. His daughter, Halima, was sitting next to him. ‘My lord, there are soldiers outside, from the king's guard I think. They have with them a group of foreign Arab soldiers that I have never seen before.'

The servant paused and gulped, reluctant to continue. ‘They are asking for you, my lord.'

 

–
 
16
 
–

Lisbon, Portugal

The weather in Lisbon was misty and overcast. Rain droplets were suspended in the air, seemingly unsure of whether to fall or remain afloat, though sooner or later they made their way onto people's faces and bodies. Everything was damp: clothes, shoes and hats, and even the decorative flags were wet and heavy and flapped with great effort. Making matters worse, a north wind blew from time to time, carrying more drizzle and dankness. There were no dry spots; the wind carried the droplets everywhere, under the tents and between the clothes, as though deliberately chasing those trying to shelter themselves from the wetness.

A crowd gathered to bid farewell to Albuquerque's fleet, which was scheduled to set sail that day. Clammy malodorous bodies rubbed against one another as they tried to see the king, who was expected to come to the port for the send-off of his large armada bound for India.

It was the largest armada the king had ever sent to the East. The wealthiest people in Europe had helped build it, convinced the return on investment would be many times more than the capital they had pledged, when Portugal finally seized the source of spices and secured a monopoly over this precious commodity. The fleet's mission was to raise the king's banner on all territories made his possession under the Treaty of Tordesillas. The financing and the costly
construction of the armada were done in secrecy, but that phase was now completed, and everyone was eager to get their share of the coveted treasures of the orient.

There were sixteen caravels
^*
moored in the port. Their sides were bumping against the wharf, making a jarring noise. The caravels were like beasts in captivity waiting to be unleashed on their prey, but the thick mooring ropes kept them restrained for now. The seagulls hovering above could not tell the ships apart from the fishing boats. They screeched from the top of the masts and flew in circles around them, expecting food that would never come. Unlike the waves moving nervously underneath the ships, rocking them in a brisk and ungraceful fashion, the wind was mostly idle at that moment, blowing only in random gusts.

The caravels had proven their reliability and strength in the open sea. They had deeper hulls and structures that could accommodate a larger crew and more cargo and guns. Numerous modifications had been made to the new models, based on feedback from previous expeditions. The new caravels were nearly perfect, needing no additions or modifications. They were the pride of the Portuguese nation that made them, as Portuguese sailors boasted. The caravels were built from only the best timber. Their guns were mounted over wheeled frames to absorb recoil when firing. The new ships also had more room for water, gunpowder and cannonballs, making their size, strength and firepower second to none.

On the wharf, a special throne was brought for the king, and alongside it chairs for the princes, noblemen and commanders. Torches were lit around them, and
the guards lined up in a ceremonial formation. Conjurers entertained the crowd before the king and his entourage arrived, but the heavy stench of dampness made worse by the wet climate continued to weigh on everybody's mood, and the incense burners failed to mask it.

After a long wait, the coaches carrying dignitaries began to enter the wharf area. People craned their necks to see them, the clothes they were wearing and how many servants had come with them; most folk in Lisbon lived in extreme poverty and anything that showed wealth and affluence attracted them like moths to a flame.

The guards started beating back the crowds with small whips to keep them away from the royal tent, as though they were disease-carrying pests. From time to time, people's heads turned in the direction of a commotion or a scream, but their curiosity soon died away. The sound of whips cracking and people screaming had become a familiar part of public events such as this one. People hardly expected any occasion to proceed without this, as they had become accustomed to humiliation, which they rarely questioned.

The king's wagon arrived, pulled by four white horses. When people spotted it coming from afar, they started cheering and chanting for the king. Whip strikes increased in frequency, as the crowds pushed against the soldiers. When the whips could no longer do the job, the soldiers carried their spears horizontally with both hands and used them to push the crowds back again.

Sweat mixed with the damp air, and the curses and insults on both sides with their shouts and screams, until trumpets blared announcing the arrival of the royal cavalcade.

The pandemonium stopped and both the soldiers and the crowds automatically turned to the king's coach. The king alighted and raised his right hand announcing his presence. A strange silence descended and everyone was suddenly calm as if by magic, save for a few murmurs; the stench still lingered. In the minds of the people, the king represented absolute authority, beginning with his sacred religious function and not ending with his ability to take people's lives without convincing or comprehensible reasons. He represented God's will on Earth, and he had to be accepted, despite the flaws, cruelty and bloodlust.

A military band started playing funerary music. A group of sailors emerged from the edge of the wharf. They wore a coarse, woollen habit-like garment that was nothing more than a rectangular cloth with a hole cut for the head and tied at the waist with a thick rope. Their legs and arms were bare. They were made to look deliberately pitiful to emphasise their dedication to their cause and mission. Each sailor carried a large candle with both hands. Albuquerque led them at the front. He wore a long beard that he had sworn never to trim until he killed all Mohammedans and controlled the spice trade.

The procession stopped before the king. They all kneeled like worshippers at an altar, and swore an oath of loyalty to him in a loud voice. After taking permission from the king, Albuquerque stood and made a speech.

‘Your Majesty, these are your loyal soldiers. They have volunteered to go to the ends of the Earth to rid the world of the Mohammedan heretics. Our goal is to spread Christianity on the shores that we shall conquer. We will raise our crosses there and rule in your name. Before this
expedition, ships were sent to explore, but we will go there to defend the Holy Cross. I ask you, Your Majesty, to allow your humble servants to set sail so that we may carry out the duties you have entrusted us with.'

Having finished his speech amid enthusiastic applause from the crowd, a tearful Albuquerque kneeled before the king and hugged, then kissed, his feet. A saintly atmosphere descended on the place, and people cried with Albuquerque, chanting religious slogans praising the king and the sacred mission he had personally organised. From that moment onwards, Portugal would enter an era of great conquests.

Albuquerque was keen to look like a figure from the Bible. He too wore austere robes that were filthy and covered in mud and his speech asking for permission to spread Christianity among the heretics emulated the way Christ's disciples asked Jesus to travel to the corners of the Earth to spread the faith. Albuquerque had designed this entire spectacle for only one purpose: to show that he had a sacred mission that the king and his subjects needed to support to the fullest extent.

The king looked pleased with Albuquerque and ordered him to stand. Albuquerque stood up and joined his hands to his chest; his tears, which now merged with the falling rain, wetting his beard.

The king tried to publicly show his gratitude for Albuquerque's efforts and for the campaign he was going to lead. He said in a loud, authoritative voice, ‘I have given orders to the treasury to pay your wage and the wages of your officers and crewmen a year in advance. It will be ensured that you do not have any shortage of food on your
journey. Each man shall have at sea the same meals he would have on shore. You have a difficult mission ahead: to spread Christianity across God's Earth and join forces with Prester John to decimate every other religion!'

As the king finished his speech, Albuquerque collapsed dramatically on the floor, and hugged the king's feet again. He swore not to return until victory was achieved in the king's name in the East, vowing to gladly submit his neck to the king's sword should he fail.

Some of the noblemen there were disgusted by Albuquerque's theatrics before the king. They had never seen anyone behave this way before, and hoped this would not set a precedent for how they should show their loyalty to the king. They saw how pleased the king was with the contrived grovelling.

Horns blared from the ships announcing the official start of the military expedition. Albuquerque stood back up and gave a special signal to the ship's sailors. The mainsail of the flagship, the
São Gabriel
, dropped, revealing a large red cross. Just then, a sudden gust of wind hit the sail and thrust the ship forward, but the thick mooring rope prevented it from moving, which caused a violent jolt to push one of the sailors from the top of the mast onto the deck below. It was like a divine sign that the mission had been accepted and that this was its first victim.