"We have received guidance in our judgment from those we have trusted for many years." The Shahbandar waved aside the hookah and fixed Hawksworth with a hard gaze.
Hawksworth returned the unblinking stare for a moment while an idea formed in his mind. "I believe it once was written, 'There are those who purchase error at the price of guidance, so their commerce does not prosper. Neither are they guided.'"
A sudden hush enveloped the room as the Shahbandar examined Hawksworth with uncharacteristic surprise. For a moment his eyes seemed lost in concentration, then they quickly regained their focus. "The Holy Quran—Surah II, if I have not lost the lessons of my youth." He stopped and smiled in disbelief. "It's impossible a topiwallah should know the words of the Merciful Prophet, on whom be peace. You are a man of curious parts, English captain." Again he paused. "And you dissemble with all the guile of a mullah."
"I merely speak the truth."
"Then speak the truth to me now, Captain Hawksworth. Is it not true the English are a notorious nation of pirates? That your merchants live off the commerce of others, pillaging where they see fit. Should I not inquire, therefore, whether you intrude into our waters for the same purpose?"
"England has warred in years past on her rightful enemies. But our wars are over. The East India Company was founded for peaceful trade. And the Company is here for no purpose but to trade peacefully with merchants in Surat." Hawksworth dutifully pressed forward. "Our two merchantmen bring a rich store of English goods—woolens, ironwork, lead . . ."
"While you war with the Portuguese, in sight of our very shores. Will you next make war on our own merchants? I'm told it is your historic livelihood."
As he studied Hawksworth, the Shahbandar found himself reflecting on the previous evening. The sun had set and the Ramadan meal was already underway when Father Manoel Pinheiro, the second-ranked Portuguese Jesuit in India, had appeared at his gates demanding an audience.
For two tiresome hours he had endured the Jesuit's pained excuses for Portugal's latest humiliation at sea. And his boasts that the English would never survive a trip upriver. And for the first time Mirza Nuruddin could remember, he had smelled fear.
Mirza Nuruddin had sensed no fear in the Portuguese eight years before, when an English captain named Lancaster had attacked and pillaged a Portuguese galleon in the seas off Java. Then the Viceroy of Goa brayed he would know retribution, although nothing was ever done. And a mere five years ago the Viceroy himself led a fleet of twelve warships to Malacca boasting to burn the eleven Dutch merchantmen lading there. And the Dutch sank almost his entire fleet. Now the pirates of Malabar daily harassed Indian shipping the length of the western coast and the Portuguese patrols seemed powerless to control them. In one short decade, he told himself, the Portuguese have shown themselves unable to stop the growing Dutch spice trade in the islands, unable to rid India's coasts of pirates, and now . . . now unable to keep other Europeans from India's own doorstep.