Coromandel! (22 page)

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?’

The Don exchanged glances with Father Felipe and said, ‘I had hoped you would not find out who did that. I apologize for it. We did not know who you were at that time, milord. And I do hope you will understand that it was done to protect our position here. It was my duty. The king has undertaken to sell the pearls only to us. The inspector-general from Goa came here on the
Isabella
, you know, and would make secret inquiries into my conduct. There was also a possibility that you might be carrying a--ah--message.’

Jason said, ‘The
Isabella
will never come back here.’ The Don and the priest exchanged another quick glance. Jason waited lazily. This was a good game.

The Don said, ‘Your information is incorrect, milord--though it is possible that a smaller ship may replace the
Isabella
on this duty. Nevertheless, let us assume for a moment that what you suggest is true. What then? If your English ships openly attempt to break into the trade here, His Most Catholic Majesty will certainly order resistance to be made. That resistance might not be made in these seas, you understand. You will remember that His Majesty holds large fleets in Spain and Portugal.’

Jason grunted. The Don went on slowly, ‘But if the intrusion was not open--if I could be assured that any arrangement made was purely between myself on the one side, and yourself and Master Drayton on the other, and did not commit either of our countries--then I have authority to make such an arrangement.’

‘You mean your Catholic Majesty will wink at it. Half a loaf is better than no bread.’

Don Manoel started explaining, talking carefully, mentioning figures and percentages, and then qualifying everything he had said. Jason thought: They’re on their last legs, all right. The real fool here was the king. This kingdom of Manairuppu, according to Parvati, had made the original agreement with the Portuguese, which gave the latter a foothold in the country, only as the price for Portuguese assistance in a petty war against its neighbours. Parvati thought that original agreement had been a good idea. She said, ‘Of course it was good. It made Manairuppu more important than the other three kings of Coromandel--Tiruvadi, Ponpalamai, and Krishnapatti.’ But Jason thought it had been a bad and foolish idea. Even now, if the four kings of Coromandel patched up their quarrels, they could, by acting together, easily throw out the Portuguese, and each of them would be better off than before.

Don Manoel was saying, ‘. . . and ten per cent of the pearl? I think that is just.’

‘Not enough,’ Jason said automatically.

Don Manoel sighed and stroked his beard. He was not a--ferocious or even a stately man. He was quite frightened now--weak and frightened and sad; the
Phoebe
somewhere over the horizon, his country visibly losing her power, his wife recently dead, and his daughter Catherine half blind and a little queer.

Don Manoel said, ‘ . . we should continue to insist that the seaward trade of the other three kingdoms must pass through Manairuppu. You agree?’

‘I haven’t seen any such trade,’ Jason said.

The Don shrugged. ‘There is none, because the three kings object to paying dues to the king here. But it makes him happy.’

Jason thought: I have come a long way from Shrewford Pennel. I am a farm boy, but I am being asked to rule the affairs of kings. I am already rich. Every day gifts, which Parvati carefully locked away in a heavy box, came from the king. Courtiers gave presents too--never openly, though Jason could see no reason why they were so secretive.

He had decided that deviousness was here a form of disease, and that it afflicted everyone. He had nearly broken a tooth on a cake which turned out to contain a large jewel. And then this morning a tray of sweetmeats had come from the chamberlain, and when he and Parvati had eaten off the top layer there was gold money underneath.

Don Manoel said, ‘The king’s annual tribute to us is very considerable, only we call it a gift. Perhaps you noticed my daughter’s necklace?’

That daughter, Catherine, had asked him a hundred questions about his travels. Answering her truthfully, he had noticed increasing respect in the glances that Father Felipe occasionally shot across the table at him. He had thought with some pride that the priest was showing admiration for his bravery or wonder at the extent of his travels. The tone of a later remark of the Don’s showed him he was wrong. They didn’t believe a word of what he said. They were marvelling at his skill in duplicity. The girl believed him, he was sure, though it was difficult to tell by her eyes. They were good eyes, which lit with interest at the right moments, but they were focused so far away that she might have been smiling not at him but at a golden bird strutting on a rafter in the high, far corner of the great hall. He was glad she had not mentioned the map.