The Holy Sail (29 page)

Farah saw Emir Nasser approach them. She shook her mistress's shoulder. Halima looked at the place Farah pointed at with her eyes.

Halima dried her tears with the tip of her scarf, which she then lifted to cover her whole face. Only a simple contour of it was now visible. Emir Nasser and Jawhar came up to the two women. Halima tried to stand up but could not, and Farah pressed on her shoulder suggesting she should remain seated; this was no time for meaningless courtesy, Farah thought.

Farah kept her sight fixed on the two men. Halima's breathing quickened to the point that it was almost audible to her maid.

The emir greeted them. ‘Peace, mercy and blessings of God be upon you.'

Farah forced herself to return his greeting. Halima's lips moved to do the same, but only a murmur came out.

Emir Nasser could easily and quickly switch between two contradicting personas. He was the kind of man who could change his personality at will to deceive others. Nasser spoke in a tone different from his usual one, with the demeanour to match it. ‘Don't be sad, Halima. Bin Rahhal left us to defend Islam and fight the Portuguese. He will return to us safe and victorious, God willing.'

Halima remembered what her husband had told her about Nasser. She squirmed in discomfort. It occurred to her that he might have had something to do with sending her husband to India, but there was little she could do about it now. Halima wanted him to leave her to weep for her husband alone, but this man's arrival in her life was not unlike the sudden onset of disease. She had to deal with him because he was in charge in the absence of Sultan Muqrin, and she had no idea what he was capable of while her husband was away.

Nasser's eyes scanned Halima's body frantically, looking for a gap in her clothing through which they could sneak in. Halima took on an uninviting posture, hiding what she could of her figure, feeling the sting of his lustful ogling.

The emir stood for some time in front of the two women without speaking. He was afraid to say anything that could spoil Jawhar's plan. ‘I pray God return your husband safely. He is the only one capable of leading a great fleet like this.' He paused for a moment, wanting to remind her of his position, stature and power. ‘I must return to the palace to tend to some important matters there. No one can lift a finger without me.'

Halima did not hear what he said, however. She was looking at the distant horizon beyond which her husband had vanished. She felt rage against the horizon now – the place past which eyesight breaks down and loved ones disappear – and wished she could fling the emir beyond it, into oblivion.

Nasser left and Jawhar followed him. Halima felt the overbearing weight of his presence lift from her shoulders. She drew a deep breath and then let it back out gently, as
though she had been holding her breath for all the time he was near her.

Farah offered Halima her hand to help her stand up. Halima had not been sitting for too long, but she felt her knees were stiff and her thighs ached. Her mouth was also dry. She held on to Farah's arm for some time before she said, ‘Let us go back home. I'm very tired. We must leave for Hormuz tomorrow, and it will be a long and arduous journey.'

Halima entered her bedroom. She took a look at the chest housing Sultan Muqrin's dagger and some of her and her husband's valuables and clothes. She decided to pack it for her trip. She was not going to let the chest leave her sight. After a few seconds of hesitation, she reopened the chest and took a robe belonging to her husband and smelled it. She took it with her to bed, trying to catch Bin Rahhal's scent while tears sprang into her eyes.

Suddenly, Halima remembered that she had not seen the dagger in the chest. ‘Where could it have disappeared?' she asked herself. It must be under the piles of clothes, she thought, dismissively.

She wrapped herself with the bedcovers and drifted off to sleep. Halima had a strange dream: she was walking aimlessly on a path, apparently lost. On her arm was perched a beautiful colourful bird that sang continuously. As she contemplated its features, the bird started morphing into a raptor, with frightening eyes and a long, sharp beak. The bird grew in size so much that her arm could no longer support its weight. When the raptor spread its wings, Halima, oddly, spat on it, and suddenly the bird returned
to its original size and shape, beautiful and colourful, and resumed its singing. As she tried to shift it with her other hand, it flew away and vanished into the sky.

Halima woke up and found herself drenched in sweat. She called out for Farah who ran back to her. Halima told her maid about the dream. ‘Can you explain it to me, Farah?'

‘It sounds strange, my lady. Probably jumbled dreams with no meaning.'

‘No, Farah. I remember every detail vividly as though I could still see it. Even the bird's eyes spoke to me in a way that I almost comprehended. Everything about it seemed familiar. There is something about this dream, Farah.'

Farah gave her a strong embrace. ‘You're going through a difficult time. You have not taken Bin Rahhal's absence well. But everything will be fine, my lady.' Farah pushed Halima's shoulders away from her to be able to see her face. ‘Listen to me, my lady. You have to be strong. You are not a young girl any more. Don't let sorrow get the better of you. I can't bear seeing you miserable. We must help ourselves to be able to cope with the remainder of our days alone. Neither one of us will make it on her own. I implore you, my lady!'

Farah took the tip of the blanket and brought it to Halima's face to wipe her tears. ‘Come now, let's move. We have a long trip to Hormuz.'

Halima got out of bed. Farah followed her, holding her arm. Before she left the room, Halima pointed at the chest where Bin Rahhal had placed his most valuable possessions and clothes. ‘I have opened the chest but I didn't see the dagger that Bin Rahhal gave me for safekeeping. I need to make sure it's there under the clothes to be reassured.'

Blood rushed to Farah's face. She gulped several times quickly. ‘Why are you thinking about the dagger? Don't worry yourself about it now!'

‘It's very important. It belongs to Sultan Muqrin.'

Farah replied with a stutter, ‘Where would it go? It must be in the chest, but you didn't look for it well. Forget about it now. We'll look for it later.'

Farah felt like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. The magnitude of what she had done both to her mistress and herself was beginning to dawn on her.

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed from outside. ‘Keep your luggage in its place. Sailors have spotted Portuguese ships scouring the Gulf. They refuse to sail with them around. We won't be able to make the journey to Hormuz for now!'

 

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25
 
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Hormuz

The air blowing across Hormuz's beach was cool and refreshing. In September the weather usually turned mild, and the humidity subsided. Hormuzis went for strolls at the beach or at the market.

That morning, a mist hung in the air, though it added a tinge of charm to the brittle glass-like sea. As the sun inched higher in the sky, temperatures rose. The fog lifted and the sky cleared. Hormuzis at the market opened their umbrellas to shield themselves from the blazing sun as they shopped for food and groceries to stockpile.

Conversations exchanged during the buying and selling were subdued. Merchants hiked their prices and people bought whatever they could with whatever money they had. Their faces looked crushed and dejected. No one at the market spoke of new merchandise, wind patterns, ships' movements or trade activity any more. Instead, the only topic was the Portuguese raids on the coast of Oman.

Ships carrying dismembered and mutilated bodies had come to shore, and people could not forget the small boat that came from Oman, whose passengers gave horrific accounts of Portuguese massacres there. The survivors had been terribly maimed: their ears and noses cut off, so starved and emaciated that their bones almost perforated their skin. Many of them had bled to death. The Hormuzis were not going to forget that ugly sight for as long as
they lived. Hormuz was facing a harsh reality and a ruthless butcher who had sent them an unequivocal message about what he intended to do to those who dared resist him.

The port looked deserted. Visiting ships did not stay long any more. They would offload their goods, re-supply and leave as fast as possible. All the talk about the looming Portuguese threat made the merchants edgy and fearful, and the deserted port in turn signalled to other merchants that things were not right, prompting them to take their money out of the island. The flight of business and trade meant the island too would bleed to death if things did not change.

Without warning, a horn blared from the direction of the king's palace walls. People turned to the source of the noise, and heard a man nearby pointing at the horizon and crying, ‘They have arrived! They are here!'

The Portuguese armada towered over the horizon like primeval monsters. No one had seen anything like this before: huge masts rising over the sea so high they were almost flying, propelled by grandiose square-shaped sails displaying an intimidatingly large red cross.

Hormuz was ill-prepared to deal with these death-bearers. The islanders were not even sure what they were seeing: were these floating fortresses? Or was it their terror that made them see the invaders as more awesome than they really were? Either way, they had no choice but to defend their city in every way possible.

The cry was a wake-up call to those who could bear arms. All capable men brought all the weapons they could to the coast. In the previous days, Hormuzis had seen many
boats carrying women and children from the island to the Persian mainland, to escape impending death. The exodus took place furtively, because the wealthy people of the kingdom did not want Hormuzis to say they were smuggling their families and treasures off the island. The rich were often the first to benefit from good fortune, and the first to flee from adversity.

After the war horn sounded, the flight from the island was no longer a concealed affair. Many families were seen dashing to the shore where smugglers waited to carry them in their boats to any destination, charging them large sums of money. The north coast of the island was crowded with fleeing people carrying their portable valuables. It was a tragic scene that the island had never experienced before: the screaming of women and children intermingled with the voices of the boatmen who now demanded impossible fees for their services.

The men came out with their shields and weapons, and lined up randomly in front of the port. Behind stood cavalrymen in gorgeous uniforms, and camel cavalries carrying long spears. Sailors rushed into their small ships, and within hours everyone was ready to fight; or so they thought.

The palace gate opened and the king emerged riding on a horse shorn of its usual caparison. He advanced towards the harbour. Attar and the commander of the army accompanied him.

The king and his men joined the troops at the harbour. Attar saw the Portuguese ships and was awestruck by their sheer size and the number of cannons sticking out of their gun ports. He took one look at his army and realised he would be fighting a losing battle.

The Hormuzi army looked weak and undisciplined. Ever since the conflict began between the brothers several years ago, it had been neglected and little training or equipment had been supplied. It was too late to do anything about it now.

People were transfixed by the beasts and their holy sails charging in their direction. Everyone looked alert and angry about what they had heard and seen with the mutilated victims arriving on their shore. They did not want to be another entry in the long list of the people tormented by the Portuguese.

The ships drew very close to the harbour and dropped their anchors. Albuquerque had gathered extensive intelligence from the prisoners and sailors about Hormuz's military capabilities and wealth. He was eager to capture and control it at any cost.

What Covilhã had written about the island's wealth and charm was the real motive for Albuquerque's arrival on its shores. Throughout their journey, Miguel had never tired of reminding his boss of what Covilhã had written in his report about Hormuz. The descriptions stoked his thirst for blood and love of money, and Albuquerque decided to conquer it before going to India as he had initially planned.

A Portuguese ship lowered a small boat carrying Albuquerque's personal delegate, Miguel Ferreira. It made its way between the military ships scattered in the port, and reached the wharf. When he debarked, a Hormuzi officer took him to the king and his vizier, Attar. Miguel proceeded to read a letter from Albuquerque demanding the king of Hormuz surrender and pay tribute, or face the destruction of the city and the obliteration of its people.

The king asked him, ‘What do you want from us? Why do you not leave us alone?'

Miguel replied in a tone that suited his cruel, sunburnt face. ‘We are the messengers of the king of Portugal. All these lands, cities and people belong to our great king pursuant to the papal bull and the Treaty of Tordesillas. We are here to raise our flag and cross, spread Christianity and save humanity from heresy. You must therefore submit.'

When Miguel finished, the king said, ‘We ask Albuquerque to give us time to consult with the leaders of the city. We shall give you our answer tomorrow morning.'

Albuquerque interpreted the king's response as a challenge to him, and decided to raid the island the next day, before the answer was supposed to come. At night, he ordered his ships to get as close to shore as possible without being noticed.

In the morning, people were roused by the sounds of explosions, which caused noises they had never heard in their lives. They went up to the roofs to find out what was happening and were stricken by terror when they saw the Portuguese caravels raining down hell on them. Fires were raging throughout the city and blood-curdling screams were coming from all directions.