by John Masters
He walked steadily with long slow strides, placing his shoes firmly on the stone paving and, as he went, gradually gaining obstinacy. They could do no worse than kill him, and they would not do that unless they were mad for blood, like weasels; which they were not. They could not have brought him here with such politeness meaning to strangle him. And now he had Parvati to think of and care for. Her salvation, as well as their chance of happiness together, depended on him.
He looked up. A silver curtain blocked the passage, and two guards stood there with spears in their hands, and the chamberlain had got far ahead of him and was waiting impatiently by the curtain, and beckoning him to hurry. He came to the curtain, passed it, saw another in front, with more soldiers. The chamberlain held the curtain aside for him, and he strode through. The curtain fell into place with a dull rustle. The chamberlain dropped heavily to his knees, then to his face, on the floor.
It was a bare, square room with yellow-washed walls and two windows. A low dais covered by a single huge stuffed pink cushion rose from the centre of the floor. Jason peered at the man sitting cross-legged on the cushion. He had seen him before. This was the man who had been watching from an upper balcony when the chamberlain was leading them to the Don’s house, the day the Phoebe anchored in the river.
The chamberlain said, ‘It is the king! Kneel down, kiss the ground between his feet--there!’ He made frantic gestures.
Jason stared at the king. It wasn’t right to lie flat on your belly like a caterpillar, even for a king. King Charles didn’t expect people to do that. Jason said, ‘I won’t.’ This king didn’t even have a crown, only a small round cap of yellow velvet, embroidered with pink and gold brocade.
The king said, ‘Please!’ and then Jason didn’t mind. He knelt and kissed the stone. Under his lips it was smooth, and sunk in a little hollow two inches deep.
He stood up, and the king was smiling with delight and twirling the little cap round and round on the end of his fore-finger. He was a man in his early fifties. He was plump, pale brown, and very simply dressed, since he wore nothing but the hat and a white skirt round his waist. His eyes were very small, dark, and twinkling bright, and he had a soft, black, droopy moustache, salted with grey. Jason liked him at once.
The king said, ‘You are the one who waved to me. I knew you would be. I have done my part, haven’t I? We are not fools in Manairuppu, though the Portuguese think so. What is the message from your master--Drayton, was not that his name?’ He put his hat back on his head and leaned forward expectantly.
‘Drayton?’ Jason said. ‘I have no message from Master Drayton. I jumped overboard.’
‘We know that. It was most skilfully done. Don d’Alvarez does not know where you went, or where you are now, though his men have been searching for you ever since that day. But let us get to business. I want nothing more than to lessen the power of the Portuguese in my kingdom. I welcome your English help. When we have driven out the Portuguese you will find me a generous friend. But of course we must take the first thing first, and get rid of the Portuguese, eh?’ He twirled his cap on his finger and twinkled cunningly. ‘What is your Don Drayton’s proposal?’
Jason’s brain raced uncomfortably. He thought he was catching at least one word in three, and the general sense seemed clear---except that it was nonsense. He said, ‘I jumped overboard because I did not want to forget Parvati.’
The king said, ‘Parvati? The devadassi? What is this? Come, my friend, have I not said that it was well and skilfully done? I assure you that no one can overhear us.’ He swept his hand round in a large gesture to show the emptiness of the room and the solidness of its walls. ‘Now we must bare to each other our secret thoughts, mustn’t we?’
Jason said warily, ‘Yes, lord. But I have no message from Master Drayton.’
The king put on his hat and turned to the chamberlain. He said. ‘Is it possible?’ He peered at Jason. ‘Did you not see me on the balcony? Do you think I invite the stares of passing strangers without cause? Very well, you knew by that sign that I wished to make secret touch with your captain. You waved back. Good--so we understood each other. Did not the Don’s jackals keep guard on the jetty so that I could not send any message to you while your ship lay in the river? Were you yourself not robbed by those same jackals one night near the temple while carrying a message to me? And then did not Drayton launch you into the river so that he would be safely at sea when the big Portuguese ship came, while you waited in hiding until it had gone?’
Jason said, ‘No.’
A hushed silence descended on the room. A long time later Jason added, ‘I didn’t know it was you on the upper balcony.’
The king said impatiently, ‘Was I not wearing my yellow hat? It is impossible for anyone to wear a yellow hat here who is not me.’
Jason said, ‘We did not know.’
‘That is impossible!’ the king said sternly.
‘I am not a liar!’ Jason said, suddenly shouting. ‘I tell you I don’t know what you are talking about. Drayton ran away because he was afraid to fight the Isabella. I jumped over--board because of Parvati.’
The king’s hands flew up in alarm. When Jason stopped, the king slowly lowered his hands and examined Jason’s face and clothes as though he were some new kind of fish just brought up from the black of the sea. Finally--as though Jason had no ears, was indeed a fish--he said to the chamberlain, ‘Do you think he can be speaking the truth?’
The chamberlain said, ‘It is possible, Your Majesty. He does not look intelligent. And he is very young.’
The king said, ‘Ah, looks are deceptive. He might be wise and cunning beyond his years. He must be. See, he has almost made me believe him, against all reason.’
Jason glowered at the two of them and hitched up his belt. The king leaned forward and said wheedlingly, ‘Please tell me the truth.’
‘I have,’ Jason answered shortly.
The king leaned back and gave him a long wink. He twirled the cap violently, suddenly jammed it on his head, and said, ‘Very well. We must follow your lead. But you wish to be treated well, of course? Your position hinted at, rather than published abroad?’
Jason thought: It doesn’t matter what I say--yes? no? He said, ‘Yes.’
The king said, ‘I see! When do you intend to reveal your presence to the Don?’
Jason said, ‘I don’t know.’
‘You do not fear that he will try to kill you?’
Jason said, ‘Why should he? I know his daughter. She told me where the pearlers’ village was.’
‘I see. Do you see, Chamberlain? It is most skilful, is it not?’
The chamberlain said, ‘Most. The daughter must have known he was with the pearlers, but she didn’t tell her father. A woman in the enemy’s camp is worth an army outside the ramparts. That was most cleverly thought out, and most quickly arranged. Of course, the daughter is nearly blind and perhaps on that account very willing to think she is loved. But the young man was quick, all the same.’
The king nodded. ‘Quite right. You do see.’
Jason thought as quickly as his muddied mind would let him. This was much harder than talking to Softy Turpin, but they had said one true thing. The half-blind girl, Catherine d’Alvarez, must have guessed where he had gone. At the least, it would have been reasonable for her to tell her father about her conversation with Jason when she learned that her father was looking for him. But she couldn’t have. That was strange.
The king said, ‘Very well. I agree. The chamberlain will provide you with the necessary robes and arms to keep up your state. Otherwise it would look strange, wouldn’t it?’ Jason nodded. But in the name of God, to what did the king agree?
The king said, ‘And you will work by yourself against them? You will not need my help?’
Jason nodded again. It was easier than shaking his head or scratching his ear.
The king said, ‘I see. In some ways your plan is better, from my point of view. If it fails, the Portuguese
will be no stronger than they are now. But, of course, if it succeeds?’ He
looked expectantly at Jason.
Jason said, ‘Yes.’
The king said, ‘I thought so.’ He twirled his hat thoughtfully. ‘Oh, well, we know the Portuguese. Let us try the English. They can’t be worse. I had hoped to play you one against the other’--he smiled ingenuously--’but I see you are too clever for me. You must be wise indeed to be selected for such a task at your age.’
Jason grunted.
The king rose with a glance of open admiration and said, ‘Proof against flattery too! Is there anything else you wish me to do for you?’
Jason woke up. That was a plain question which he could understand. He said, ‘Yes. I want to marry Parvati.’
The king put his hat on. His thin eyebrows disappeared under it. He said, ‘Impossible! But you are joking? Ha, ha!’
Jason said stubbornly, ‘It is not impossible. I am a man, and she is a woman. Neither of us is married--‘
But the king interrupted him, his hands fluttering like doves. ‘Don’t act hastily. You shall have Parvati’s company the whole time you are here. I can arrange that with the priests, can’t I?’ The chamberlain nodded. ‘Yes, I can arrange that. She is a wonderful cook too. I can’t do more. It is impossible. You will agree to that?’
Jason hesitated. He didn’t know whether he could bear living with her while she was still a devadassi. But he had no choice. He said sullenly, ‘Very well. But I’m going to marry her before I leave here.’
He turned and stalked out of the room. The chamberlain came running after him. ‘This way, Lord Jason, this way. The king’s tailor will attend on you immediately. When you wish, visit the stables and choose any horse--except the king’s white stallion, of course. Will five hundred gold mohurs serve you for the moment? We pray for your success. When will you begin?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Jason said wildly, and ran into his apartment and drew the curtain with a gasp of relief.
Parvati was there waiting for him. He ran to her, hugged her, and said, ‘I thought you might have gone--back to the temple.’ She said, ‘Tell me what happened.’
Jason sat down heavily on the cushions. He said, ‘What happened? I don’t know. I didn’t understand everything, but what I did understand didn’t make sense. The king kept nodding and saying, “I see.” ‘ He imitated the king and twirled an imaginary cap around on the end of his finger.
Parvati laughed and clapped her hands. Then she grew serious and knelt beside him and said, ‘Tell me all you said, and all they said, every word.’
Slowly Jason recounted all that had happened. When he had finished Parvati said, ‘It is quite clear.’
‘Not to me,’ he said.
She said, ‘The king was expecting the English to make an agreement with him, by which the Portuguese would be got rid of--or, at any rate, their position here weakened. But by pretending not to be an English ambassador, you can say that you have no power to make any agreement. But the king must help you all the same, because he dislikes the Portuguese so much. As he said, he can’t be worse off. He had hoped to be better off, by playing the English and Portuguese against each other. But you were too clever for him.’
Jason said, ‘Then he does really think that I am an envoy of Master Drayton’s--an ambassador from King Charles, even?’
She said, ‘Of course. You are, aren’t you?’
He turned on her and shouted, ‘No, I am not! I’m only here because of you. God’s blood, don’t tell me you don’t believe me either!’
She said, ‘I believe you, lord.’ But, looking deep and directly into her slightly tilted eyes, he was sure that she did not believe him. There was something else about her expression that he could not read. Was she hurt that he still felt it necessary to lie to her? Or was she admiring his strength of will in keeping this ‘secret’ from everybody against every temptation?
He gave up. One day he’d convince her. Meanwhile--He said, ‘What am I to do?’
She said, ‘Nothing. That is why your plan is so wise. I mean, why it is so lucky that the king and Don d’Alvarez believe you are an English envoy. You should be seen about in the city. Visit the nobles and the important priests. Soon the Don will arrange to talk privately with you. He must. He knows that you will soon learn that the big Portuguese ship with many guns will not come back.’
‘What?’ Jason cried, sitting up with a start. ‘The Isabella’s not coming back? How do you know?’
‘The king sent me to lie with the Portuguese inspector-general who came on the ship,’ she said simply. Jason groaned, but she went on, ‘He was a big, drunken man with a black beard and a loud voice. He and the master of the ship were talking late, while I and three other devadassis were there. I suppose they thought none of us could speak Portuguese, but one of the other women can. The Isabella is going back to Portugal, and Don d’Alvarez has been told he can expect no further help here. If he can keep his position against the English and Dutch, good. If not, his people can’t help him anymore, because they don’t have the warships any more. Only a small trading ship will come here from Goa, once or twice a year, to collect money and bring goods.’
Jason got up slowly. He was an ambassador, was he? A powerful man with a warship--more than one, who knew?--waiting over the horizon to enforce whatever arrangements he made.
Everyone was trying to court his favour. Nothing was simple and straightforward here; nothing was what it seemed. But he was no fool, especially now that he was learning to put aside dreams and concentrate on things that mattered, like money and power.
He’d keep his ears open and his mouth shut, except to nod and say ‘Yes’ sometimes. The people, from the king to Parvati, would read secret meanings in that, and in his silence; and then they’d answer with remarks which once would have seemed meaningless to him, but now would give him a clue as to what they had thought he meant the first time.
He said, ‘I’m hungry, Parvati. Cook me a rice and lentil stew, but not with fish. I’m tired of fish.’
She made a brief obeisance, and he watched her swing easily out on to the verandah.
Now he was eating in a different place, and many days later. He rolled the wine round on his tongue and sleepily examined his host, Don Manoel d’Alvarez. It was worth being rich, in spite of the trouble and occasional embarrassment it caused--as when he tripped over his scimitar, or used the wrong knife. The Don set out more knives and forks on a table than were necessary. Even the lords didn’t do that in England. And today he had dropped a goblet of veined yellow glass, which Father Felipe told him was worth ten pieces of gold.
But, against these annoyances, he knew how to keep cool in the soggy heat; he had a slave to fan him and another to wash him down with a wet cloth. He knew what to drink when he had eaten too much--cold sour milk in a silver bowl. When he was tired Parvati massaged him most skilfully. It was good to be rich, all right, especially after tasting the miserable life of the pearlers. To think that he might still be living with them! He ought to do something soon about trying to help them. The king would have to listen to him.
He stirred uncomfortably and eyed Father Felipe on his left. It was four o’clock of a hot afternoon. The Don was on his right; all three were in high chairs on the shaded verandah facing the orange garden. An hour ago Jason had finished eating a ten-course dinner as the Don’s guest. He felt heavy and dull and, because of that, important--also wise; also powerful.
The Don stirred and said, ‘Milord, I would welcome your honest opinion of this wine. One of my predecessors brought it from Oporto forty years ago.’
Father Felipe said, ‘The wines of Oporto are famous in our country.’ He had no English, and when he spoke, which was seldom, he used Tamil.
Jason said, ‘It is a good wine. It has recovered well from its journey.’ He was glad he had remembered hearing Drayton say something like that, back in London, before they sailed. He had remembered, too, Silvester’s respectful murmur.
/> Don Manoel said, ‘Ah--h’m--I see you are an expert, milord.’
Jason grunted sleepily. The Don was a nervous little man, really. If Jason hadn’t been so full--full and sleepy--he would have laughed at being called ‘milord’ all the time. Another shower of rain was drumming on the stone steps and hissing in the leaves of the orange trees.
The rain fell, wet and warm, two or three times a day now. Then the rain curtains hid the view from his apartment, and water streamed down the gold ornaments and stone carvings of the temple, and the backs of the sacred bulls steamed, and the streets ran black with liquid mud. Every day the smells and the flies got worse, and the burning gnats were busy far into the night. But whether the rain fell or the sun shone, the sea did not change. God stirred it up far out, where the winds began, and all day and all night great waves rolled slowly in to pound on the bar, so that the city boomed and the bass roar of the breakers and the cymbal drag of the sand lay under every other sound. Whole tree trunks rolled ashore on those waves, and lay awash like ruined ships at low tide, and jellyfish with sails and poisoned darts drifted in on the seething tides, and the fishermen went to sea only if they were starving.
The Don cleared his throat, and Jason awoke rather impatiently from his reverie. He liked thinking about the sea.
The Don said, ‘Milord, there is a matter about which I wish to speak frankly, as man to man--as fellow Christians in a heathen land, I might say.’
Jason said, ‘M’m.’ Here it came. Parvati had been right. The Don said, ‘I will take the liberty of asking you, milord, if you are fully aware of the great dangers to the whole European position in the East which are inherent in your present course.’
Jason said nothing.
The Don said, ‘And dangers to you personally.’
Jason said, ‘You mean you will have me killed next time, instead of only robbed?’
