“Methinks, sir,” says I, “you are unjust to the lady that has just dealt so kindly by me, to suspect her of such designs.”
“Sir,” says Mr Marigny, quickly, “I spake but in jest. I pray you to believe that I an’t altogether a fool. I honour and esteem Mademoiselle de Tourvel as if she were my own sister, and so do all here, but we know better than to expect her to look kindly on any of us.”
He seemed as if he might have said more, but stayed himself suddenly, and asked me whether I would choose to see the town. This set me a-laughing.
“ ’Tis prodigious strange,” says I, “but here have I been for a night and a day in this place without so much as knowing the name on’t.”
“This is the city of St Thomas, in the country of Gulconda,”[87] says he, “and hath its name from the blessed martyr St Thomas the apostle, who was murdered in this place by the pagans. There are here divers memorials of his life and death, and notably his sepulchre, that standeth on that great hill behind the town, where you may discern a fair chapel builded in his honour. And if we have good luck to-day, I will show you likewise a sign of the divine judgment upon the murderers of the blessed saint. For the Indians here, being descended from those that with their feet did stamp St Thomas to death, are all born with the right leg prodigiously swollen, and this deformity continues, and even increases, throughout their lives. Finding ’emselves thus marked with the token of heaven’s displeasure, these persons resolved long since to amend their lives, and becoming converted to the faith, are called by the name of him they slew—viz., the Christians of St Thomas—but do still bear about with ’em the mark of their fathers’ crime.”
“I thank you, sir, for this curious tale,” said I. “And what (if I may ask) do you and your fellows in this place?”
“Why,” says he, “my lord marquis holds it for his majesty against all the forces of the King of Gulconda by land and the fleet of the insolent Hollanders by sea.”
“Pray,” says I, “tell me how you come hither, sir. Three years ago I had looked for a viceroy from Muscovy in these seas as soon as for one from France.”
“That will I tell you when I carry you to see the walls,” says he. “But first, if you will give me leave, I will seek some clothes for you, and what is still lacking we will get when we go abroad. Your own clothes have been looked to by my servant, but I fear they will scarce be fit for you to wear to-day.”
And this I found to be true, for the plain suit of dark blue that Captain Freeman had lent me (and which was always something small, I being taller than he) was all shrunk up with the sea-water and so spoiled as I could never wear it again, wherefore Mr Marigny did lend me a coat of light cloth, laced with gold at all the seams very neat, and a beaver with a great plume. Thus bravely attired, I walked abroad with him, and he showed to me this great city, which was built first by the Portugals, but taken from them by the Moors, and has seven churches and seven great gates, and all its walls built of marble. We saw many shops, like unto those of Surat for the meanness of their appearance, and there laid out a part of Madam Heliodora’s gift on such things as I stood most in need of. Divers other matters in the way of clothes we ordered to be made (for these Indians are extreme skilful in copying any pattern you may give ’em), and desired the tailors to make all speed in sending them home. And after this we went and sat upon the walls, looking out to sea, and there, Mr Marigny’s servant holding a great umbrello over us the while, we discoursed touching this adventure of the Frenchmen that had brought them to St Thomas and kept them defending it.