The Holy Sail (5 page)

The Hormuzis were skilled traders and had a powerful fleet. Though Arabic was the official language of the palace, they also had their own dialect, which was a mixture of Arabic, Persian and Hindi. The Hormuzis were mostly Shafi'i
Muslims, though there were minorities of Christians, Hindus and pagans in their kingdom.

The servants brought snacks and refreshments to the sultan and his guest. They did this instinctively, knowing the exact moment they should do what pleased the sultan, before he even said anything.

The messenger finished drinking a glass of date juice and reclined into a pillow nearby, feeling a little better for having quenched his thirst. By now it was midday. Temperatures usually rose around this time, and unsurprisingly, the sultan noticed beads of sweat running down both sides of the man's face. He looked tense.

The sultan grabbed a hand fan made from palm fronds, and started waving it back and forth to cool his face. He handed one to the messenger, who immediately put it to use.

The sultan said to his guest, ‘When the wind dies out, messenger, we must move it ourselves, like anything else.'

The sultan wanted to know the reason for this sudden visit, but he did not want to broach the subject too crudely. As was customary among Arabs, he started by making general conversation. ‘What is the weather like in Hormuz?' he asked.

‘Hot and very humid, Your Grace. It's not much different from here, but water there is scarce and our land is arid. If trade were not so prosperous, we would be unable to live on the island. We build our homes from cob, and dig under their foundations to create underground rooms that remain cooler in the heat. We use these in the summer and the rest of our homes when temperatures start cooling down.'

‘What do you do about the scarcity of water then?'

‘We have set aside ships whose only purpose is to fetch water from the island of Jesm, which the Persians call Qeshm. We store it in underground tanks that our soldiers guard day and night. The water is apportioned to households according to their needs. Water is a precious commodity for us, unlike here. I've seen fresh water everywhere since I arrived in Al-Ahsa.'

‘And how is trade in the kingdom?'

‘As prosperous as ever, Your Grace. Merchants like to stop in Hormuz for a number of reasons. We have a robust system for the protection of trade; we have many warehouses built close to the port; we deal in all currencies used by traders in all known ports; and our merchants have agents in Zanj, India, China, Persia and Yemen. Hardly anything goes unsold in Hormuz, and our currency never loses its value, because there are always people buying everything on offer there.'

‘What about Hormuz's possessions in Oman?'

‘Oman pays its taxes and sends us dates and dried fruits. The wealthy of Hormuz go there to buy orchards. Oman is everything for us, but the conflicts between its emirs
^*
have almost consumed us. They are constantly fighting one another, and only quieten down in the summer when it is too hot and too humid to march and fight.'

The messenger paused, hesitant about what he would say next. ‘The rulers of Oman use your men sometimes in their attacks against each other, as Your Grace must know.'

The expression on the sultan's face changed and he lowered his gaze. ‘I have heard of this and I have checked. They are indeed our men, but they are far from us and we do not know what happens there until long after it has happened. I replaced the commander of the Jabrid army there nearly a year ago, and it is my understanding that he is not taking part in the conflicts there, correct?'

The messenger responded quickly, ‘He is, Your Grace. Temptations there are too hard to resist. The orchards and bounty in Oman trump anyone's loyalty, no matter how strong. It's all about money.'

The sultan felt that he should spend no further time in these side discussions. ‘And now you will tell me the purpose of your visit, messenger. I hope you bring good news.'

The messenger had been waiting for this moment. He bowed his head slightly and said, ‘I am on a special mission, Your Grace, which cannot wait. This is why I am in your glorious
majlis
!'

 

–
 
4
 
–

Aden, Yemen

At dawn, a commercial ship arriving from Suez docked at the port of Aden. A number of merchants, including two who looked like they were from Morocco, debarked. The pair brought down a number of pots containing honey and other goods. None of their fellow passengers bade them farewell; they had not made many friends among the other merchants, and had spent their journey in self-imposed isolation.

As the sun rose, Covilhã and Paiva, still in their Moroccan garb, were able to see the port in all its glory. Located at the mouth of the Red Sea, it stood in a naturally fortified bay that could accommodate hundreds of ships from all corners of the earth. The city walls and its main gate were visible from where the two men stood, rocky barren hills standing guard closely behind.

The port's topography naturally protected it from the monsoon winds, with small ships and large ships allocated separate berthing areas. The port of Aden was well organised and well managed; taxes on incoming goods were calculated on the spot, as soon as cargoes were offloaded, without delay.

A horde of porters gathered around Covilhã and Paiva, offering their services. After tough negotiations, the men were able to rent three donkeys to carry their goods to an
inn located just beyond the main gate, alongside the city wall.

They were surrounded by a mass of people of all races and nationalities – Europeans, Persians, Arabs, Zanj and Chinese – matched in their variety by the breathtaking mosaic of their garments. The pair were fascinated by the sheer amount of spices on sale, which had been brought to the port on board ships from the East.

Covilhã and Paiva made detailed queries about storage facilities, prices, ports of origin, the taxes levied on goods and the currencies used in the trade, before they decided to retire to the inn to rest. The information they had gathered in a few hours was already priceless, and they were keen to write it all down.

Aden was scorching hot. From sunrise to sunset, people in the city did their best to avoid the sun's cruel reach. Yet to Covilhã and Paiva's surprise, the city was open and diverse, its markets rich and tantalising. And, unlike in Portugal, they did not notice any military presence around them. Even the officials in charge of the port and of helping merchants with their problems looked no different from other people, save for a special pin they wore on their turbans. People gladly obeyed the decisions of these men, who were appointed by the emir.

They learned that the spices made their way from the west coast of India to the ports in the region, including Aden. Once there, the spices were resold to other merchants, who had bigger ships. The ships were then used to carry the precious haul to Jeddah, Suez and the lands of the Zanj.

These spice merchants were known as the Karimis or Makarims, depending on the dialect used. In the beginning, their speciality was cardamom, but they eventually started trading in all types of spices. The Karimi Guild grew into a formidable trading empire, which had close ties to the sultans and emirs ruling over many ports – some even said the Karimis were the business partners of the Mamluk sultan. From those ports, caravans transported the spices through deserts or jungles in the hinterlands, doubling their prices along the way.

Covilhã and Paiva also learned about a wealthy kingdom to the east of Aden called Hormuz. The kingdom of Hormuz – they heard – had many warehouses storing goods, including large quantities of imported spices. This brought back to their minds what Moses had told them about Vizier
Khawaja
Attar, and they prayed in their hearts that Hormuz was the same kingdom Moses had pointed out to them on the map. The information they got from Moses was not quite accurate, and the map was not very clear, so they hoped against hope that the information they had gathered would pan out.

Yet what they learned was not easy to process. Many factors controlled trade networks in the region. First, there were the sultans, who ruled the ports. Second, there were the trade links and bonds of kinship they had with one another. Then there were the services the ports offered to entice merchants and attract more business and, by extension, more tax revenues.

Almost every religion was represented in the ports Covilhã and Paiva had travelled to: Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism and paganism. Mosques, churches
and synagogues stood side by side, and respect among the adherents of different religions was almost a tradition that no one dared break. From what they observed, trade partnerships were rarely based on religion; nay, merchants often sought out partners from a different land and religion to access new markets.

The Portuguese pair did not come from a religiously tolerant society. It was somewhat of a culture shock for them to see this much tolerance and absence of reservation in the way people dealt with each other. They could not quite comprehend what they saw or find a logical reason for why no particular religion lorded over the others. How could people of different religions coexist and work together? Why did the Muslims not coerce others to join their faith as the Inquisition had done in Spain and Portugal?

Their room at the inn overlooked a deserted, filthy alley. They made sure the door was tightly closed, and that no prying eyes were in the vicinity of the window. Confident they were alone, Covilhã opened a sealed container and took out the parchment Moses had given him at their meeting in Lisbon, and marked the location of Aden on the southern tip of the Arabian Peninsula along the eastern approach to the Red Sea. In the right-hand margin of the map the names of other ports – including Sofala, Mombasa, Hormuz and Calicut – were written. Covilhã would locate each and mark them on the map as well. He had already crossed out Aden from the list, and wrote down all the bits of information he and Paiva had gathered at the port.

They slept for the rest of the day. In the evening, they decided to have dinner at a nearby restaurant, which served
Indian, Chinese and Swahili dishes, cuisines catering to all tastes.

As they entered, the first thing they noticed was the fragrant aroma of spices that filled the air. Dressed in a variety of robes and speaking in different tongues, the patrons sitting at the tables were as diverse as the crowd of people Covilhã and Paiva had seen at the port. Their first meal out in Aden was a unique experience. The entire port seemed to be eating there. Miraculously, the waiter was even louder than the chattering clientele. When people finished their food, he brought them a mysterious bitter black beverage, which they drank eagerly, without interrupting their conversations. Covilhã and Paiva could not find out what the drink was, but it had a soothing, appetising smell.

After they left the restaurant, they walked past a mosque not far from the port. Curious, they decided to explore it and see what was inside. In Portugal, Moorish mosques had been converted into churches and their original features obliterated, but here the mosques were teeming with life. Covilhã tried to convince a hesitant Paiva to go in with him. In the end, Covilhã pulled him by his robes and they went inside.

They took their shoes off near the door and held them in their hands as others were doing. Several religious lessons were taking place at the same time, each led by a sheikh surrounded by a circle of worshippers; everyone sat on mats made from colourful palm fronds, moving their bodies harmoniously forward and backward, just as the Jews did when they recited the Torah.

The voices in the mosque merged into a drone, which sounded to Covilhã like a great swarming of bees. A
melodious tune suddenly overpowered the hum, and made Paiva stand and listen carefully. The call to prayer followed, and the two men decided to leave the mosque quickly.

On their way out, Covilhã and Paiva noticed that the worshippers, who were also a very diverse crowd, were flocking to the mosque of their own accord. No one was coercing them to go to the mosque, unlike in Portugal, where a priest would usually stand outside the church on Sunday morning, haranguing passers-by to enter. As people crammed themselves into the church against their will, they rarely listened to the sermons, instead preoccupying themselves in side conversations, or in keeping their hungry children quiet, or in scratching at their skin, which probably had not been touched by water for months. For the entire mass, their eyes would be set on the door, waiting for it to open so they could leave.

Here, people performed their ablutions and washed with water before they went to the mosque, all of their own free will.

In the evening, they finally decided to do what they had agreed to do before they set off on their journey. Aden was where the pair would split up, Paiva sailing across to the coast of Africa, in search of Prester John's court, and Covilhã continuing on to Muscat and further east.

Covilhã studied his map for a moment; he was hesitant to broach the subject of the difficulties they were likely to face in the days and weeks to come. He knew how nervous his younger companion was about what lay ahead. ‘When you get to the port of Zeila, you will have reached the outskirts of Prester John's kingdom. When you're there, make your
queries carefully. You might have to travel a long distance to get to him, but when you do, give him this message.'

Paiva grabbed the scroll wrapped in a silk ribbon and sealed with red wax, and examined it anxiously. ‘What if I can't find the kingdom? What should I do then? As you know, Portuguese ships brought many scouts to search for this kingdom along the coast of Africa, none of whom have returned! That land is clearly very dangerous, or there are beasts there that prey on humans. Otherwise, why did all those scouts disappear without a trace?'

Paiva's face and demeanour were like a child's as he voiced his objections. Covilhã, accustomed to accommodating Paiva's concerns, spoke to him in an avuncular manner. ‘I'm aware of your misgivings, Paiva, but we must learn something, anything, about the kingdom that everyone in Portugal believes exists, at least for the sake of the nobleman Manuel, who is obsessed with Prester John. I – like you – am not sure Prester John or his kingdom even exists, but we have to find some answers nevertheless.'