Golden Lion Page 6

  The Buzzard had once seen a mask like this hanging from the wall in a Portuguese slaver’s house. He had got it from the witch doctor of some tribe deep in the hinterland of Musa bin Ba’ik. Now this was his face … The Buzzard could not bear it.

  Crying out in pain and frustration he clawed at the padlocks on the side of his head and neck, as if his few remaining fingers could break through the iron that bound him, and as he did so he encountered one last humiliation: a metal ring, attached to his collar, underneath his chin. He at once knew what it meant. If he displeased Jahan, or tried to escape, he could be chained to a wall, or dragged through the streets like nothing more than the lowliest pack animal or whipped dog.

  The Buzzard fell to his knees, a broken man. He had survived burning and near-drowning. He had clung to life when the ocean and the sun had done their best to destroy him. He had endured pain beyond any mortal man’s comprehension and the looks of disgust from all who laid eyes on him. But this was the final straw.

  Now Jahan came across and crouched down on his haunches beside the Buzzard and held out a metal cup, decorated with exquisite patterns of dark blue, turquoise and white enamel. Speaking as softly as he might to a frightened, angry young horse who had just felt a saddle on his back for the first time, he said, ‘Here, this is sweet, fresh sherbet. Drink.’

  The Buzzard took the cup and drew it up to his mouth. He tilted it to drink and the cup banged against his leather beak, so that none of the liquid could escape it. He turned his head to one side and tried to pour the sherbet into his mouth but it just spilled across his mask and not a drop fell into his mouth. He nodded and bobbed his beaky mask into every position he could think of, but he could not find a way to drink.

  As they watched this performance the other men in the room were first intrigued and then amused. Grey could not help himself. He gave an effeminate titter that set off the guards, and even Jahan, so that the room soon echoed to the sounds of their laughter that quite drowned out the Buzzard’s screams of impotent rage. Finally he threw the cup away and the clatter it made as it skimmed across the marble floor silenced the other men. Jahan spoke again, ‘Know this, you who used to be a lord and a ship’s captain. You have ceased to be a man. Stand, and I will show you how you will be given water to drink.’

  Jahan clapped and a black African servant came into the room bearing a copper jug with a long spout of the sort used to water plants. The servant approached the Buzzard with wide-eyed horror on his face and, holding the jug as far away from himself as he possibly could, lifted it and poked the spout into the mask’s mouth hole. The Buzzard’s lips took the spout between them and he drank the cool water with pathetic eagerness and gratitude until Jahan clapped again and the spout was withdrawn.

  ‘You will be fed and watered by slaves, for whom the duty will be a form of punishment. When you walk through the streets women will turn their heads away from you for fear of what they see. Children who misbehave will be told stories of how you will come in the night to seize them unless they change their ways. Young men who wish to prove their courage will dare one another to throw rotten vegetables at you, until one of them is foolish enough to do so and is executed by my men for his impertinence. And then the people will truly fear and hate you.

  ‘But next to yours their hatred will be as a grain of sand is to a mighty desert. For your whole being will be consumed by hate. And because you hate, and because I alone can offer you the chance to satisfy that hate, you will serve me.

  ‘As for you, Mr Grey …’ and now Jahan’s voice became cold and hard as he looked at the consul, ‘you will leave my house and you will not come back, ever again, unless it is with Henry Courtney’s head upon a platter, or the means to destroy him in your possession. Bring me either of those things and your previous standing here will be restored and enhanced, so that you will enjoy honour amongst my people once again. Until then, however, you will be counted a pariah. Now begone!’

  The Buzzard almost managed a smile to match the one on his mask as he watched the downcast Grey make his exit. Then Jahan turned back to him and said, ‘It occurred to me just now that you are a eunuch, and so I will grant you a special favour that I would never bestow on any man who was complete. You may accompany me as I have dinner with my favourite concubines. They are creatures of flawless beauty, plucked from India, from Persia, from the Russian steppes and even one seized from a fishing village on the coast of your own island. They will all be fascinated to meet you. I dare say the braver ones will even wish to handle you, just to see if you are real. Of course, you may not touch them, nor eat my food, nor sup my drink. But you can be present and feast your one true eye on the treats laid out before you. And on the day that Henry Courtney dies, I will give you the choice of any woman in my harem and you may do whatever you wish with her, anything at all. So think on that, why don’t you, when they are petting you this evening. Imagine how you will find a way to satisfy your desires. And ask yourself whether any of these women, as lovely as they are, could ever bring you quite as much pleasure as watching Captain Courtney die.’

  Three days later, the Buzzard was commanded to make his first expedition into the outside world. Dressed in a hooded black djellaba he was walked down to the docks and back, escorted by six of Jahan’s men, whose job was both to protect their charge and to ensure that he did not escape. They were specifically instructed to march sufficiently far apart so that all whom the Buzzard passed were afforded a good look at him.

  Exactly as Jahan had predicted, the masked man’s appearance caused something close to panic among the people thronging the narrow streets of Zanzibar. Women turned away and covered their children’s eyes. Men spat on the ground as he passed, or held up blue nazar amulets to ward off the evil eye that gazed so balefully from the leather face. Finally, as they were walking through a square ringed by shops and eating houses, one hot-blooded young daredevil reached down into the open sewer that ran down one side of the square and with his left hand – the one he used for wiping his backside – picked up and threw a mass of foul-smelling excrement at the Buzzard. Whether by good aim or good luck the noxious projectile flew between the guards, and hit the Buzzard on the left side of his body, just where his arm should have been. At once two of the guards darted into the crowd and seized the young man before he had a chance to make good his escape. He was dragged, screaming insults and curses to the middle of the street, where the commander of the detachment was standing, his scimitar drawn, waiting to carry out Jahan’s orders that anyone who assaulted the Buzzard in any way should be subject to instant, public execution.

  When the culprit drew near it became clear that he was no more than fourteen or fifteen years old, a hot-headed lad who’d acted in youthful high spirits without giving the slightest thought to the consequences. The commander hesitated. He was a decent man with a son of his own and he did not want to deprive another man’s family of their boy, simply for expressing the disgust that everyone – the commander included – felt in the presence of the masked man.

  The Buzzard noted the commander’s hesitancy. He could hear the first, nervous cries for mercy coming up from the crowd. Every instinct told him that this was a crucial moment: one that might determine whether he was seen as a monster to be feared or a freak to be pitied, and of the two he knew exactly which he preferred.

  ‘Give me your sword,’ he growled at the commander, then reached out with his right hand and ripped it from the man’s grasp before he had a chance to argue.

  The beak and the glaring eyes turned their predatory gaze on the two soldiers who were holding the boy. ‘You two, tie his hands behind his back!’ the Buzzard commanded. ‘And look sharp or I swear the maharajah will hear of it.’

  The men, who looked almost as frightened as their captive, immediately did as they were told. The Buzzard heard one of them apologizing to the boy and begging for his forgiveness. ‘Silence!’ he rasped.

  A heavy weight of bitter resentment settled over the watching th
rong, but no one said a word as the boy was bound and then forced to his knees. All his adolescent bravado had vanished and he was just a fearful, weeping child as one of the soldiers forced his head down so that the back of his neck was exposed.

  The Buzzard looked down at the boy’s bare, brown skin, raised the scimitar and swung it down as hard as he could.

  He missed the neck.

  Instead the blade sliced into the top of the boy’s back between his shoulder blades. A terrible, high-pitched wail of pain echoed around the square. The Buzzard tugged on the blade that was stuck between two vertebrae, forced it free and swung again, hitting the neck this time, but failing to sever it.

  Three more blows were required and the boy was already dead – a corpse held in place by the two soldiers – before his head finally dropped from his shoulders onto the dusty ground. The Buzzard stepped back, his chest heaving, and looked right around the square, turning through three hundred and sixty degrees as he surveyed the scene and all the people in it, basking in the fear and hostility he saw on every face. Then he ordered the commander of the guards, ‘Take me back tae the palace,’ and as the soldiers reformed the escort around him he thought to himself, Aye, that’ll do it. I believe I’ve made my point.

  ship’s captain had to be on duty, or ready to be summoned by those who were, at any hour of day or night. Once Hal had set to sea, he did not allow Judith’s presence to distract him from his responsibility to his ship and all who sailed in her. To do so would have been to take undue liberties with the admiration and affection his crew felt for him. Nor would Judith have allowed it. She knew what it was to be a leader and would not have wanted to come between Hal and his duties, nor would she have respected him if he had allowed that to happen.

  But if there was one hour of the twenty-four in each day that they could dedicate to one another, rather than anything or anyone else, it was the one that preceded the dawn. This was the time when the ship seemed at its quietest, when the sea and wind were most often at their calmest and when they could take advantage of the peace and the silence to express, whether in words, or actions, or both, their love for one another.

  Hal could never sate his desire for Judith. He loved the moment when he thrust into her, plunging so deep that he could hardly tell where his body ended and hers began, fusing as one being and experiencing the same ecstatic moment of release with such intensity that for that one blissful moment there was nothing and no one in the whole universe but them. And yet for all that shared passion, there was no moment more soothing to Hal’s heart than waking to see Judith still asleep, her lovely face just visible in the darkness of the cabin, her breathing soft and gentle. There was something so peaceful about her, so trusting. She felt completely safe with him, and the depth of her trust and love for him filled Hal with a desire to keep her and protect her for as long as he lived.

  One morning, however, when they were eight days and around a thousand miles out of Mitsiwa, heading almost due south along the east coast of Africa, rarely more than thirty miles or so from land, Hal was awoken by a groaning sound. When he opened his eyes, Judith was not lying peacefully beside him but was curled up, with her back towards him and her knees pulled tight to her chest. From the noises she was making, she was in a great deal of physical distress.

  ‘My darling, are you all right?’ Hal asked, unable to keep the alarm from his voice.

  ‘It will pass,’ she replied, but then her body shook and she retched convulsively, though nothing but sound came out of her mouth.

  ‘You’re sick,’ he said, stating the obvious. He put a hand to her forehead. ‘You feel hot. Do you have a fever?’

  Judith swallowed hard then rolled over so that she was facing him. She propped herself up on one elbow and laid her other hand on Hal. ‘Don’t be worried, my love. I’m not sick. Far from it. Indeed, I have never in my life been more healthy.’

  Hal took the hand she had placed on him and held it tight. ‘Please, my darling, do not feel that you have to reassure me. You’re so brave, but …’

  ‘Shh …’ she hushed him. ‘I promise you, there is no need to be alarmed.’ She managed a faint smile. ‘Not unless you are troubled by the thought of impending fatherhood.’

  ‘Impending … what?’ he gasped. ‘Do you … I mean are you …?’

  ‘Yes, my darling, I am with child. I am going to have a baby, your baby … our baby.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news!’ Hal exulted, and then he seemed stricken by doubt. ‘But are you sure? How do you know?’

  ‘Because we were together more than two months ago for the council of war, if you remember …’

  ‘Oh, I remember perfectly, believe me!’

  ‘Well, since that time I have not bled and now I feel sick in the mornings. If I were at home, my mother and my aunts and all the women of the family would be telling me what I am telling you.’ She gave a contented little laugh. ‘Perhaps I will have a son who is as strong, and handsome and kind as you.’

  ‘Or a daughter as beautiful, and loving and as brave as you.’

  For a moment they basked in the glow that lovers know when they are young and in love and have just accomplished the miracle that is the most ancient and universal of all human accomplishments and yet for two people is also the newest and most unique. And then Hal started, almost as if he had been shocked or stung, and turned his head away from Judith. He stared out into the darkness beyond the cabin windows, his ears pricked, his nose sniffing the air like a hunting dog that has caught the scent of his prey.

  ‘What’s the matter, my love?’ Judith asked. ‘Is something troubling you? Have no fear, I will keep our baby safe inside me. All will be well.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ Hal replied. ‘Something else.’

  He rose from the bed and dressed hurriedly, pulling on shoes and breeches and leaving his shirt unfastened as he bent down to kiss Judith’s forehead. ‘I just want to check something. Don’t worry, it’s probably nothing.’ Seeing her anxious face Hal grinned reassuringly. ‘It’s wonderful news about the baby. I love you with all my heart. And I’ll be back here with you in a trice.’

  As he headed up to the quarterdeck, Hal’s mind snapped free of the bedchamber and concentrated instead on his captain’s duty.

  Two days earlier, a lookout had spotted a Dutch caravel, several miles off to starboard. For the rest of the day, the Dutchman had come in and out of sight as the wind and visibility changed, so that it had seemed as though the Golden Bough were being tracked. At a time of war, this would be an alarming turn of events. The caravel in itself was smaller than the Bough and no threat to her safety, but Hal would be bound to wonder what other, more powerful vessels might be lurking out of sight, over the horizon. But England and Holland had been at peace for over a year, so there was no cause to be worried. Furthermore, when dawn had broken the following day, the caravel had disappeared. Yet still a nagging suspicion had played at the back of his mind, a seaman’s instinct that told him to be on his guard.

  Now that same instinct had tugged at Hal again. Something told him, and for all the world he could not be certain what it might be, that the Dutchman was still out there. He would not be able to rest easy until he was sure of what the captain of that mysterious caravel was up to.

  Hal emerged on deck to be greeted by something close to serenity. The wind was little more than the most gentle of breezes, and the silvery light of the moon was reflected in the still, glassy waters. Across the deck lay the scattered, sleeping forms of the Amadoda warriors, who always passed the night in the open air rather than endure the filth and stench below decks. Ned Tyler was at the helm and he nodded a greeting to his captain. ‘What brings you up here so early, Cap’n?’ he asked. ‘Can’t believe you’re tiring of the company in your cabin.’

  Hal chuckled. ‘No chance of that. I just had a fancy that the Dutchman was still out there.’

  ‘There’s not been a sound out of young Tom, sir. And he’s a good lad. Not like him to sl
eep on duty.’

  Tom Marley was a spotty, jug-eared lad, the youngest member of the crew and the subject of much good-natured teasing. But Hal agreed he had the makings of a decent seaman. ‘Get him down here, if you will, Mr Tyler.’

  ‘Aye-aye, sir.’

  Ned looked up towards the top of the mainmast and gave a short, piercing whistle. Tom Marley immediately waved back, whereupon Ned gestured to him to get down on deck. Marley began descending the rigging with a fearless speed and agility that reminded Hal of the time, not so very long ago, when he was up and down to the crow’s nest at his father’s behest, several times a day.

  The lad reached the deck, ran across to where Hal and Ned were standing and stood straight up, his hands behind his back, looking nervous.

  ‘It’s all right, Tom, you’ve not done anything wrong,’ said Hal and the boy’s shoulders relaxed as the tension left his body. ‘I just want to know if you’ve spotted anything recently, like that Dutchman that was following us two days ago, for example.’

  Tom shook his head decisively. ‘No sir, I ain’t seen nothing like that Dutchman, nor any other ship neither. And I’ve kept my eyes open, Captain. I’ve not been dozing off or nothing.’

  ‘I’m sure you haven’t. Now, Cook should be up by now, you run along and get something to eat.’

  ‘But my watch ain’t finished yet, sir.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Hal said, suddenly feeling an urge to see for himself for once, rather than rely on others as a captain so often had to do.