But he said nothing. He turned automatically and bellowed orders aloft.
Hawksworth felt out the morning breeze, tasting its cut, while he watched the seamen begin swinging themselves up the shrouds, warming the morning air with oaths as the Discovery pitched and heeled in the chop. And then he turned and strode down the quarterdeck companionway toward the Great Cabin to prepare orders for the Resolve. As he passed along the main deck, half a dozen crewmen were already unlashing the longboat from its berth amidships.
And when he emerged again on deck with the oilskin- wrapped dispatch, after what seemed only moments, the longboat was already launched, oarsmen at station. He passed the packet to Mackintosh without a word, then mounted the companionway ladder back to the quarterdeck.
The Indian pilot stood against the banister, shaded by the lateen sail, calmly studying the galleons.
"Three of these I know very well." His accented Turki was almost lost in a roll of spray off the stern. "They are the St. Sebastian, the Bon Jesus, and the Bon Ventura. They arrived new from Lisbon last year, after the monsoon, to patrol our shipping lanes, to enforce the regulation that all Indian vessels purchase a trading license from authorities in Goa."
"And what of the fourth?"
"It is said she berthed in Goa only this spring. I do not know her name. There were rumors she brought the new Viceroy, but early, before his four-year term began. I have never before seen her north, in these waters."
My God. Hawksworth looked at the warships in dismay. Is this the course of the Company's fortune? A voyage depending on secrecy blunders across a fleet bearing the incoming Viceroy of Goa. The most powerful Portuguese in the Indies.
"They are invincible," the pilot continued, his voice still matter-of-fact. "The galleons own our waters. They have two decks of guns. No Indian vessel, even the reckless corsairs along our southern coast of Malabar, dare meet them in the open sea. Owners who refuse to submit and buy a Portuguese trading license must sail hundreds of leagues off course to avoid their patrol."
"And what do you propose? That we heave to and strike our colors? Without even a fight?" Hawksworth was astonished by the pilot's casual unconcern. Is he owned by the Portugals too?