by Wilbur Smith
From that moment their love of the longbow was passionate and within days they had developed into archers of the first water. When Hal towed an empty water keg at a full cable’s length behind the ship, the Amadoda shot at it, first individually then in massed divisions like English archers. When the keg was heaved back on deck it was bristling like a porcupine’s back, and they retrieved seven out of every ten arrows that had been shot.
In one area alone the Amadoda showed no aptitude: at serving the great bronze culverins. Despite all the threats and mockery that Aboli heaped upon them, he could not get them to approach one with anything less than superstitious awe. Each time a broadside boomed they howled, ‘It is witchcraft. It is the thunder of the heavens.’
Hal drew up a new watch-bill, in which the battle stations of the crew were rearranged to have the white seamen serving the batteries and the Amadoda handling the sails and making up the boarding-party.
A standing bank of high clouds twenty leagues ahead of their bows marked the island of Zanzibar. A fringe of coconut palms ringed the white beach of the bay, but the massive walls of the fortress were even whiter, dazzling as the ice slopes of a glacier in the sunlight. The citadel had been built a century before by the Portuguese and until only a decade previously it had assured that nation’s domination of the trade routes of the entire eastern shores of the African continent.
Later the Omani Arabs, under their warrior king Ahmed El Grang the Left-handed, had sailed in with their war dhows, attacked the Portuguese and had driven out their garrison with great slaughter. This loss had signalled the beginning of the decline of Portuguese influence on the coast, and the Omanis had usurped their place as the foremost trading nation.
Hal examined the fort through the lens of his telescope and noted the banner of Islam flying above the tower, and the serried ranks of cannon along the tops of the walls. Those weapons could hurl heated shot onto any hostile vessel that attempted to enter the bay.
He felt a thrill of foreboding along his spine as he contemplated the fact that if he enlisted with the forces of the Prester, he would become the enemy of Ahmed El Grang. One day those huge cannon might be firing upon the Golden Bough. In the meantime he must make the most of this last opportunity to enter the Omani camp as a neutral and to gather all the intelligence that came his way.
The harbour was crowded with small craft, mostly the dhows of the Mussulmen from India, Arabia and Muscat. There were two tall ships among this multitude: one flew a Spanish flag and the other was French, but Hal recognized neither.
All these traders were drawn to Zanzibar by the riches of Africa, the gold of Sofala, the gum arabic, ivory, and the endless flood of humanity into its slave market. This was where seven thousand men, women and children were offered for sale each season when the trade winds brought the barques in from around the Cape of Good Hope and from all the vast basin of the Indian Ocean.
Hal dipped his ensign in courtesy to the fortress, then conned the Golden Bough towards the anchorage under top sails. At his order the anchor splashed into the clear water and the tiny sliver of canvas was whipped off her and furled by Aboli’s exuberant Amadoda. Almost immediately the ship was besieged by a fleet of little boats, selling every conceivable commodity from fresh fruit and water to small boys. These last were ordered by their masters to bend over the thwarts, lift their robes and display their small brown buttocks for the delectation of the seamen at the Golden Bough’s rail.
‘Pretty jig-jig boys,’ the whoremasters crooned in pidgin English. ‘Sweet bums like ripe mangoes.’
‘Mr Tyler, have a boat lowered,’ Hal ordered. ‘I’m going ashore. I will take Althuda and Master Daniel with me and ten of your best men.’
They rowed across to the stone landing steps below the fortress walls, and Big Daniel went ashore first to plough open a passage through the throng of merchants, who swarmed down to the water’s edge to offer their wares. On their last visit he had escorted Sir Francis ashore so he led the way. His seamen formed in a phalanx around Hal and they marched through the narrow streets.
They passed through bazaars and crowded souks where the merchants displayed their stocks. Traders and seamen from the other vessels in the harbour picked over the piles of elephant tusks, and cakes of fragrant golden gum arabic, bunches of ostrich feathers and rhinoceros horns. They haggled over the price of the carpets from Muscat and the stoppered porcupine quills filled with grains of alluvial gold from Sofala and the rivers of the African interior. The slavemasters paraded files of human beings for potential buyers to examine their teeth, and palpate the muscles of the males or lift the aprons of the young females to consider their sweets.
From this area of commerce, Big Daniel led them into a sector of the town where the buildings on each side of the lanes almost touched each other overhead and blocked out the light of day. The stench of human faeces from the open sewers, which ran down to the harbour, almost suffocated them.
Big Daniel stopped abruptly in front of an arched mahogany door, carved with intricate Islamic motifs and studded with iron spikes, and heaved on the dangling bell-rope. Within minutes they heard the bolts on the far side being pulled back and the huge door creaked open. Half a dozen small brown faces peered out at them, boys and girls of mixed blood and of all ages between five and ten years.
‘Welcome! Welcome!’ they chirruped in quaintly accented English. ‘The blessing of Allah the All Merciful be upon you, English milord. May all your days be golden and scented with wild jasmine.’
A little girl seized Hal by the hand and led him through into the interior courtyard. A fountain tinkled in the centre and the air was filled with the scent of frangipani and yellow tamarind flowers. A tall figure, clad in flowing white robes and gold-corded Arabian head-dress, rose from the pile of silk carpets where he had been reclining.
‘Indeed, I add a thousand welcomes to those of my children, my good Captain, and may Allah shower you with riches and blessing,’ he said, in a familiar and comforting Yorkshire accent. ‘I watched your fine ship anchor in the bay, and I knew you would soon call upon me.’ He clapped his hands, and from the back of the house emerged a line of slaves each bearing trays that contained coloured glasses of sherbet and coconut milk and little bowls of sweetmeats and roasted nuts.
The consul sent Big Daniel and his seamen through to the servants’ quarters at the rear of the house. ‘They will be given refreshment,’ he said.
Hal cast Big Daniel a significant look, which the boatswain interpreted accurately. There would be no liquor in this Islamic household, but there would be women and the seamen had to be protected from themselves. Hal kept Althuda beside him. There might be call for him to draw up documents or to take down notes.
The consul led them to a secluded corner of the courtyard. ‘Now, let me introduce myself, I am William Grey, His Majesty’s consul to the Sultanate of Zanzibar.’
‘Henry Courtney, at your service, sir.’
‘I knew a Sir Francis Courtney. Are you by chance related?’
‘My father, sir.’
‘Ah! An honourable man. Please give him my respects when next you meet.’
‘Tragically he was killed in the Dutch war.’
‘My condolences, Sir Henry. Please be seated.’ A pile of beautifully patterned silk carpets had been set close at hand for Hal. The consul sat opposite him. Once he was comfortable, a slave brought Grey a water-pipe. ‘A pipeful of bhang is a sovereign remedy for distempers of the liver and for the malaria which is a plague in these climes. Will you join me, sir?’
Hal refused this offer, for he knew of the tricks the Indian hemp flowers played upon the mind, and the dreams and trances with which it could ensnare the smoker.
While he puffed at his pipe, Grey questioned him cunningly as to his recent movements and his future plans, and Hal was polite but evasive. Like a pair of duellists, they sparred and waited for an opening. As the water bubbled in the tall glass bowl of the pipe and the fragrant smoke drifted acros
s the courtyard Grey became more affable and expansive.
‘You live in the style of a great sheikh.’ Hal tried a little flattery and Grey responded with gratification.
‘Would you find it difficult to believe that fifteen years ago I was merely a lowly clerk in the employment of the English East India Company? When my ship was wrecked on the corals of Sofala, I came ashore here as a castaway.’ He shrugged and made a gesture that was more Oriental than English. ‘As you say, Allah has smiled on me.’
‘You have embraced Islam?’ Hal did not allow his expression to show the repugnance he felt for the apostate.
‘I am a true believer in the one God, and in Muhammad his Prophet.’ Grey nodded. Hal wondered how much his decision to convert had rested on political and practical considerations. Grey, the Christian, would not have prospered in Zanzibar as Grey, the Mussulman, so obviously had.
‘Most Englishmen who call at Zanzibar have one thing in mind,’ Grey went on. ‘They have come here for trade, and usually to acquire a cargo of slaves. I regret that this is not the best season for slaving. The trade winds have brought in the dhows from Further India and beyond. They have already carried away the best specimens, and what is now left in the market is the dregs. However, in my own barracoon I have two hundred prime creatures, the best you will find in a thousand miles of sailing.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I am not interested in slaving,’ Hal declined.
‘That, sir, is a regrettable decision. I assure you there are great fortunes still to be made in the trade. The Brazilians and the Caribbean sugar planters are crying out for labour to work their fields.’
‘Thank you again. I am not in the market.’ Now it was clear to Hal how Grey had made his own fortune. The post of consul was secondary to that of agent and middleman to European traders calling in at Zanzibar.
‘Then there is another highly profitable area in which I could be of assistance to you.’ Grey paused delicately. ‘I observed your ship from my rooftop when you anchored and could not but notice that she is well armed. One might be forgiven for believing her to be a man-of-war.’ Hal nodded noncommittally, and Grey continued, ‘You may not know that the Sultan of Oman, Beloved of Allah, Ahmed El Grang, is at war with the Emperor of Ethiopia.’
‘I had heard so.’
‘A war is raging on land and sea. The Sultan has issued Letters of Marque to ships who wish to join his forces. These commissions have been, in the main, restricted to Mussulman captains. However, I have great influence at the Sultan’s court. I may be able to obtain a commission for you. Of course, such a boon does not come cheaply. It would cost two hundred pounds for me to obtain an Omani Letter of Marque for you, sir.’
Hal was about to refuse with indignation this offer to join the pagan in the war against Christ and his followers, but instinct warned him not to repudiate it out of hand. ‘There might be profits to be made, then, sir?’ he asked thoughtfully.
‘Indeed. There are vast riches to be snapped up. The empire of the Prester is one of the most ancient citadels of the Christian faith. For well over a thousand years the gold and offerings of the pilgrims and worshippers have been piling up in the treasure houses of the churches and monasteries. The Prester himself is as rich as any European sovereign. They say there is over twenty tons of gold in his treasury at Aksum.’ Grey was breathing heavily with avarice at the picture he had conjured up in his own mind.
‘You would be able to obtain a commission for me from the Sultan?’ Hal leaned forward with assumed eagerness.
‘Indeed, sir. Not a month past I was able to obtain a commission for a Scotsman.’ A sudden thought occurred to Grey, and his face lit up. ‘If I did the same for you, perhaps you could join forces with him. With two fighting ships such as yours you would be a squadron powerful enough to take on anything the navy of the Prester could send against you.’
‘The thought excites me.’ Hal smiled encouragingly, trying not to show too much interest. He had guessed who the Scotsman must be. ‘But tell me, who is this man of whom you speak?’
‘A fine gentleman and a great mariner,’ Grey replied enthusiastically. ‘He sailed from Zanzibar not five weeks back, bound for the Horn.’
‘Then I maybe able to come up with him and join my ship to his,’ Hal mused aloud. ‘Give me his name and station, sir.’
Grey glanced around the courtyard in a conspiratorial fashion, then lowered his voice. ‘He is a nobleman of high rank, the Earl of Cumbrae.’ Grey leaned back and slapped his knees to emphasize the enormity of his disclosure. ‘There, sir! And what do you think of that?’
‘I am greatly amazed!’ Hal did not have to cover his excitement. ‘But do you truly believe that you can obtain a commission for me also? And, if so, how long will the business take?’
‘Things are never swiftly done in Arabia.’ Grey became evasive again. ‘But they can always be speeded up with a little baksheesh. Say an extra two hundred pounds, that is four hundred in all, and I should be able to place the commission in your hands by tomorrow evening. Naturally, I would need to have your payment in advance.’
‘It is a great deal of money.’ Hal frowned. Now that he knew where the Buzzard was headed, he wanted to rush back to the Golden Bough immediately and set off in pursuit. But he restrained the impulse. He must gather every scrap of information from Grey.
‘Yes, it is,’ Grey agreed. ‘But think on the return it will bring. Twenty tons of pure gold for the man bold enough to seize it from the Prester’s treasury. And that’s not all. There are also the jewels and other treasures sent in tribute to the empire over a thousand years, the treasures of the Coptic churches – the relics of Jesus Christ and the Virgin, of the apostles and the saints. The ransom they could command is without limit.’ Grey’s eyes shone with greed. ‘They say—’ He broke off and lowered his voice again. ‘They do say, that the Prester John is the guardian of the Holy Grail itself.’
‘The Holy Grail.’ Hal went pale with awe, and Grey was delighted to see the reaction he had evoked.
‘Yes! Yes! The Holy Grail! The precious cup for which Christians have searched since the Crucifixion.’ Hal shook his head and stared at Grey in unfeigned amazement. He was moved by a strange sense of déjà vu that rendered him speechless. The prophecies of both his father and Sukeena flashed across his mind. He knew, deep in his heart, that this was part of the destiny they had foretold for him.
Grey took his silence and the shake of his head for scepticism. ‘I assure you, sir, that the Holy Grail is the most poignant reason that the Great Mogul and Ahmed El Grang have attacked the empire of Ethiopia. I have had this from the Sultan’s own lips. He also is convinced that the relic is in the care of the Prester. One of the mightiest ayatollahs of Islam has prophesied this and has given him the word of Allah that if he can wrest the Grail from the Prester his dynasty will be invested with power untold, and will herald the triumph of Islam over all the false religions of the world.’
Hal stared at him aghast. His thoughts were in wild confusion and he was no longer certain of himself or of anything around him. It took a vast effort to put aside such a terrible prospect as the subjugation of Christianity and to reassemble his thoughts.
‘Where is this relic kept hidden?’ he asked huskily.
‘Nobody but the Prester and his monks know for certain. Some say at Aksum or at Gonder, and others say that it is secreted in a monastery in the high mountains.’
‘Perhaps it has already fallen into the hands of El Grang or the Mogul? Perhaps the war is already lost and won?’ Hal suggested.
‘No! No!’ Grey was vehement. ‘A dhow arrived from the Gulf of Aden this very morning. The news it brings is less than eight days old. It seems that the victorious armies of Islam have been checked at Mitsiwa. There has arisen within the Christian ranks a mighty general. They call this warrior Nazet, and though he is but a stripling the armies of Tigre and Galla flock to his standard.’ It seemed to Hal, from the relish with which Grey recounted these setbacks
to the cause of Islam, that the consul was backing both horses. ‘Nazet has driven back the armies of El Grang and the Mogul. They confront each other before Mitsiwa, gathering themselves for the final battle, which will decide the war. It is far from over yet. I earnestly counsel you, my young friend, that once you have in your hand the Letter of Marque that I shall procure for you, you should make all haste to sail to Mitsiwa in time to share the spoils.’
‘I must think on all you have told me.’ Hal rose from the pile of carpets. ‘If I decide to avail myself of your generous offer, I will return tomorrow with the four hundred pounds to purchase my commission from the Sultan.’
‘You will always be welcome in my home,’ Grey assured him.
‘Get me back to the ship as fast as you like,’ Hal snapped at Big Daniel, the moment the tall carved doors closed behind them. ‘I want to sail on this evening’s tide.’
They had not reached the first bazaar when Althuda caught at Hal’s arm. ‘I must go back. I have left my journal in the courtyard.’
‘I am in desperate haste, Althuda. The Buzzard is already more than a month ahead of us, but I know now for certain where I must search for him.’
‘I must retrieve my journal. Go on ahead to the ship. I will not be long behind you. Send the boat back for me, and have them wait at the harbour steps. I will be there before you sail.’
‘Do not fail me, Althuda. I cannot delay.’
Reluctantly Hal let him go, and hurried on after Big Daniel. As soon as he reached the Golden Bough, he sent the longboat to wait for Althuda at the landing, and gave the orders to ready the ship for sea. Then he went down to his cabin and spread on his desk under the stern windows those charts and sailing directions for the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea that he had inherited from Llewellyn.
He had studied these almost daily ever since he had been aboard the Golden Bough, so he had no difficulty in placing all the names Grey had mentioned in his discourse. He plotted his course to round the tip of the Great Horn and sail down the Gulf of Aden, through the narrows of the Bab El Mandeb and into the southern reaches of the Red Sea. There were hundreds of tiny islands scattered off the Ethiopian coast, perfect lairs for the privateer and the corsair.
