by Tim Severin
He turned to ask Luis if he could find someone to provide them with bedding. But the young man had vanished.
✻
Next morning Hector and Jezreel were out in the courtyard, seated on the ground with their backs against the storeroom wall and eating their breakfast of flat bread and fruit, when Luis reappeared. Hector presumed that he had gone off to find his family, but the stiff look on Luis’ face made him wait for the young man to broach the subject first.
‘Hector, I’m sorry that I disappeared like that yesterday evening,’ Luis began.
‘Don’t worry about it. You’re free to come and go. Annesley and Bendall are only concerned that Jezreel and I don’t try to escape,’ Hector reassured him and shifted aside to provide space. ‘Sit down and have a bite to eat.’
‘I set out intending to go to my family’s house,’ Luis admitted, accepting the peeled orange and piece of bread that Hector held out to him. ‘But on the way I thought about what you told me had happened to my father on Ganj-i-Sawa’i. I decided that if he was still alive and perhaps badly scarred it would not be fair to burst in on him unexpectedly. I should give him time to prepare. It’s been such a long time since I last saw him that another day would not matter.’
‘So what did you do instead?’
‘I returned to the maidan and sought out one of my childhood friends. He works as a sub-agent for an important shroff.’
Seeing Hector’s puzzled expression, he explained. ‘A shroff is a middleman. He acts between the trader and the producer. He locates products, negotiates prices and even lends out the money so a deal can be done. Every business transaction in Surat requires the services of a shroff.’
‘You were talking about your boyhood friend,’ Hector reminded him and began peeling another orange for himself.
‘First he told me the good news that my father is indeed alive, though he shows marks of his wounds. I’ve asked my friend to get word to my father that I had returned to Surat and would call at the house later today.’ He paused. ‘But that is not all. While we were talking, a group of his colleagues joined us. All of them work at the maidan. Everyone has been waiting for Annesley and Bendall to get back from Delhi. They’re anxious to learn what Annesley intends to do about Aurangzeb’s demand for compensation for the loss of Ganj-i-Sawa’i’s cargo.’
‘Why should that be important to the traders on the maidan?’
‘Annesley and his Company colleagues borrowed heavily to buy this year’s production of cotton cloth. They owe their shroffs a great deal of money. If they pay huge damages to Aurangzeb, they won’t be able to meet their debts to the shroffs.’
Hector thought for a while. ‘That explains why Annesley and Bendall were so agitated on the journey.’
Luis nodded. ‘According to my friend, Annesley will be wriggling like a worm on a hook. He must find a way of either reducing the size of the compensation or delaying payment. If he doesn’t, he won’t be able to meet his debts in Surat and then no one in the maidan will do business with him or his associates.’
‘And, in turn, that means this Factory will have to close down and it’s the end of the English East India Company in the most profitable port in the Mogul empire,’ Hector finished for him. ‘Last night the lights burned very late over there in the company offices. Annesley and his colleagues must have stayed up trying to find a way out of the crisis.’
He looked up as he heard the sound of footsteps. Bendall, dressed in his formal costume, was approaching across the courtyard.
‘Lynch, I’ve come to fetch you and Hall to the Council Chamber,’ Bendall said in his flat voice.
Hector and Jezreel got to their feet, and Luis stood up to join them. ‘Not you,’ Bendall told the young man bluntly. ‘This is to be a meeting behind closed doors.’
✻
The council chamber was a spacious room on the upper floor of the main building, its tall windows looking out on the central courtyard. As Hector stepped over the threshold, he had the impression that he had left Hindustan. Every item of furniture was imported. The long table in the centre of the room was made of dark oak and had heavy carved legs. Matching chairs were ranged down one side. Two sideboards, again of dark oak, stood against the whitewashed walls, and a pair of large canvases in gilt frames above them depicted scenes that were certainly not local. One was of a city under a grey sky and could have been London; the other was a sunny pastoral view where a herd of cows grazed a lush meadow beside a river lined with willow bushes. Prominent between the two paintings was a silk wall hanging embroidered with a coat of arms. From where he stood, Hector could make out a shield with three blue ships with silver sails, each with a red cross. The supporters on each side of the shield were snarling lions with fish’s tails. It had to be the insignia of the English East India Company.
Five men sat on the far side of the table. Annesley as Chief Factor was clearly in charge, for he occupied the great chair in the middle. The men to left and right of him were strangers to Hector and all wore the Company uniform. They were regarding him and Jezreel with expressions that ranged between wary and disapproving.
Bendall closed the door, then walked across and took his place beside the others.
‘Please be seated,’ said Annesley. Hector had expected that Jezreel and he would be made to stand, but two empty chairs had been placed a couple of paces back from the table, facing towards the council.
Annesley waited until they had taken their seats before he continued in a tight voice. ‘Mr Lynch and Mr Hall, as you know, the diwan of the Great Mogul has directed that both of you are to be hung in public as a warning to all those who would think of engaging in piracy.’
He paused to run a finger round the inside of his high collar, then cleared his throat before continuing, ‘At the same time the Great Mogul is demanding that the English merchants in Surat pay compensation for the piratical attack carried out by you and your gang.’
Out of the corner of his eye Hector saw that the trader seated at the end of the line, a fat balding man with red-blotched skin, was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, trying to scratch himself.
The Chief Factor picked up a sheet of paper lying on the desk in front of him and glanced at it. ‘This is the inventory of the main items stolen by the pirates. It was compiled by the office of the wazir in charge of the imperial treasury. His officials place a value on each item. The total comes to over half a million gold mohurs, or approximately six tons of gold.’
That wazir of the treasury, Hector recalled, was Abdul Ghafar, uncle to Salima who had died in the attempt to rescue her from Mayes’ ship. It was little wonder that he had issued such a punishing demand.
Annesley put down the paper and met Hector’s eye. ‘The Council admits no liability in this matter but has accepted with great reluctance that we have no choice but to make a payment.’ His voice hardened. ‘Nevertheless the Council considers the amount excessive.’
‘Monstrously excessive,’ added the fat merchant at the end of the table who had succeeded in satisfying his itch and was nodding sagely.
Annesley put his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers and stared at Hector. ‘You have already admitted that you and Mr Hall were present when Henry Avery and his pirate gang looted the Great Mogul’s vessel, Ganj-i-Sawa’i.’
‘That is correct,’ Hector replied. He was thinking furiously, wondering where the interrogation was heading. From the close attention being paid by the other members of the Council, there was something of great significance to be decided.
‘It is the normal practice, is it not, that pirates make a public division of their stolen goods?’ Annesley asked.
‘That is correct, though as I told you earlier, neither Mr Hall nor I had any share.’
The Chief Factor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘That is of no consequence. You witnessed the division.’
‘Both of us watched the sharing out of the loot, if that’s what you mean. It is the custom among freebooters,’
Hector admitted.
‘Thieves at sea, you mean,’ someone muttered farther down the table.
Annesley leaned back, apparently satisfied with the answers to his questions. ‘This Council will contest the valuation that has been placed on the stolen goods.’
All of a sudden, Hector saw where Annesley’s questions were leading. He decided it was time to take the initiative. ‘You want Jezreel and me to revalue the goods that were lost? Is that the case?’
Annesley gave him a sharp look. ‘You put it bluntly. It would mean that your execution would be postponed.’
‘And what if our valuation agrees with that provided by the office of the wazir?’
‘It would be in your interests to see that it doesn’t,’ Bendall interjected. There was an underlying note of menace in his voice.
Hector turned toward him. ‘Surely you are not asking Jezreel and me to provide false accounting.’
‘Call it an alternative appraisal of value,’ said Annesley smoothly. ‘That’s entirely normal in any commercial transaction.’
Hector was not about to let his advantage slip. ‘And if we do provide this alternative appraisal, then surely we merit more than a brief delay in our execution.’
When Annesley allowed himself a slight smile, Hector knew that the Chief Factor was pleased that the interview was turning out as he intended.
‘The Council has given this matter some thought,’ Annesley was suave. ‘The diwan intends your execution to be a warning to others of our countrymen. This is best achieved by having you hanged in public in London, not here. In London a far greater number of our countrymen would be on hand to heed the lesson that piracy leads only to death.’
Hector had to admire Annesley’s ingenuity. He and Jezreel were being offered a long-term postponement of their execution if they cooperated in lowering the value of the loot taken from ‘Exceeding Treasure’.
The Chief Factor gestured towards the sheet of paper on the table in front of him. ‘You and your friend can go through the list, and prepare a more realistic inventory based on what you saw. All in strict confidence, of course.’
‘How long have we got to make any changes?’
‘A company ship, the Maynard, is now loading at Swally Hole with mixed cargo for London. Captain Phillips intends taking advantage of the north-east monsoon for a swift passage to the Cape. He sails the moment his lading is complete. If your work is done by then, you will be able to leave with her.’
Hector remembered Luis’s description of Annesley and his associates wriggling like worms on a hook. He made up his mind to press home his advantage. ‘If Jezreel and I are to agree to this arrangement, we have one condition.’
‘Don’t be so impudent!’ burst out the fat man. He was so agitated that he began scratching himself again. ‘You are in no position to make conditions.’
Annesley pointedly ignored him. ‘What is it that you would want, Mr Lynch?’
Hector turned to Jezreel to consult him, but the faint grin on the big man’s face told him that there was no need to seek his approval. ‘If Mr Hall and I are to be sent to England on Maynard for execution, Captain Phillips must be instructed to call in at Tenerife in the Canaries to collect my wife and child.’
‘You’ll not long enjoy their company,’ observed Bendall nastily.
Annesley shot Bendall a warning glance. ‘That should be possible,’ he said in a tone of calm finality.
As no one was making a move to see them out of the chamber, Hector got to his feet, and made for the door with Jezreel.
Once they were outside, Jezreel guffawed with pleasure and threw a brawny arm around Hector’s shoulder. Giving him a congratulatory squeeze, Jezreel said, ‘I went in there thinking we would be told the day on which we would be hanged, and we come out with a passage home and a free ticket for Maria.’
‘We’re not out of trouble yet,’ Hector reminded him when he had recovered his breath. ‘We set foot in England as self-confessed pirates and due to go to the gallows.’
✻
Hector had expected that Luis would have left to go to visit his father so he was touched to see the young man waiting in the courtyard. Luis’s anxiety was evident in the way he came hurrying across to intercept them the moment they emerged from the Company office.
‘How did the meeting go?’ he asked.
‘Hector bamboozled them,’ Jezreel assured him cheerfully.
‘Annesley offered us a deal,’ Hector explained. ‘We’re to help him scale down the compensation due to Aurangzeb for the looting of Ganj-i-Sawa’i.’
Luis frowned. ‘How can you do that?’
Hector explained what had been agreed.
Luis pulled a face. ‘Do you trust Annesley to keep his word?’
Hector shrugged. ‘We’ve little choice.’
Luis brightened. ‘Well at least that should mean you’re no longer confined to this place.’
‘Nothing was said about that, but I can’t see anyone stopping us.’
‘Then please come with me to meet my father. It would mean a lot to him if he could thank you personally for the help you gave him on Ganj-i-Sawa’i.’
‘If you think that would be right . . .’ Hector started to say but Luis was already heading towards the street.
TWENTY
They took the route of the previous day through the maze of alleyways until they came out again on the maidan. It was now mid-morning and with the sun beating down from a clear sky, the heat was oppressive. Yet the market was as busy as ever with suppliers, traders, middlemen, brokers and porters.
‘My father’s house is only a few minutes from here,’ Luis said.
Hector caught him by the arm to slow his headlong rush. ‘Why don’t you go on ahead while Jezreel and I wait here? You should see your father alone, at least for the first few minutes; make sure he’s ready to receive us. Then come back to fetch us.’
The young man hesitated for a moment, then agreed. ‘I’ll not be long,’ he said and vanished into the crowd.
Hector and Jezreel strolled around the market to pass the time. A seller of indigo stood beside a chest packed with small square bricks of the powdered dye. His customer, a serious-looking banyan dressed in the usual humble shirt and dhoti, had picked out a sample brick and was crumbling it between his fingers. When he finished, he dusted off his hands, and made a comment to the merchant.
‘What’s he saying?’ Jezreel asked.
‘He’s complaining that grains of sand have been mixed in with the indigo powder to increase the weight, and also that the quality is poor,’ Hector explained.
Jezreel laughed. ‘A trick of the trade. You need to have your wits about you to do business here.’
Hector listened as the merchant, after pretending to be surprised, made an excuse. ‘He is claiming that it’s an oversight. The indigo blocks were set out to dry in the sun on a sandy surface, and the sand must have got in by mistake.’
Jezreel grunted in disbelief. ‘A bare-faced lie. The rogue is trying to palm off shoddy goods.’
The attempt to cheat the customer made little difference. Unperturbed, the banyan started haggling with the seller. He was asking for a discount of forty per cent if he bought the entire chest.
They watched for a few moments before moving on, and Jezreel pointed out a trader overseeing his assistants as they checked a bale of calico that was on offer. They had slit open the bale and were pulling out the material yard by yard and carefully examining it for flaws.
Jezreel chuckled. ‘Everyone here expects to have a swindle practised on them, Hector. We’ll follow local custom when we tell our lies about the loot from Ganj-i-Sawa’i.’
✻
Luis had been gone for a little over half an hour when he returned to fetch them to a row of houses overlooking the waterfront. The buildings had an air of fading elegance. Each had a first-floor balcony with its ornately carved wooden balustrade, and a front door decorated with wrought-iron work. But the timber was weathered g
rey with age, and the paint had flaked away from the rusting metal. The street, Luis explained, was where the older families of foreign traders had established themselves in the days before the French, Dutch and English merchants. Most were the homes of the Portuguese, who had lived in Surat for generations. He stopped in front of a house a little more rundown than its neighbours, and pushed open the door. A dimly lit corridor led to the rear of the building from where came the sound of voices and the smell of cooking, spicy and rich. After the bright daylight outside, Hector’s eyes had to adjust to the gloom as Luis led him and Jezreel up a flight of stairs, the worn treads creaking under their weight. At the head of the stairs Luis doubled back along the landing so that they entered a room facing out across the river. Blinds made of thin bamboo strips were lowered to block out the sun’s glare from the windows, leaving the room in half-darkness.
Feeling a slight draught on his face, Hector glanced up. Suspended from the high ceiling was a length of carpet. It was swaying back and forth pulled by a cord, and acting as a fan, stirring the warm air. Directly beneath it someone lay full length in a reclining chair. Only when a husky voice with a Portuguese accent wheezed, ‘Hector and Jezreel, welcome to my home,’ did he recognize Jeronimo Tavares.
