Thomas Hoover - The Moghul

Spencer had scrutinized Hawksworth for a moment, puzzling at his flash of anger when Elkington's name was mentioned, then pressed forward.

"Overall not a bad idea, considerin' it came from Elkington." Then Spencer dropped his voice to just above a whisper. "But what he doesn't understand is if we're goin' to start tradin' in India, we'll need a real treaty, like the Hollanders have down in some of the islands. Because once you've got a treaty, you can settle a permanent trading station, what we call a 'factory,' and bargain year round. Buy when prices are best."

Hawksworth sensed the interview would not be short, and he settled uneasily into the chair. Maggie still stood erect and formal, affecting a dignity more studied than natural. As Spencer warmed to his subject he seemed to have forgotten her.

"Now, sir, once we have a factory we can start sending in a few cannon-to 'protect our merchants,' like the Hollanders do in the islands-and soon enough we've got the locals edgy. Handle it right and pretty soon they'll sign over exclusive trade. No more competition." Spencer smiled again in private satisfaction. "Are you startin' to follow my thinkin'?"

"What you've described is the very arrangement the Portugals have in India now." Hawksworth tried to appear attentive, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Maggie, who stood behind Spencer wearing a triumphant smile. "And they've got plenty of cannon and sail to make sure their trade's exclusive."

"We know all about the Portugals' fleet of warships, and their shipyards in Goa, and all the rest. But these things always take time. Took the Portugals many a year to get their hooks into India's ports. But their days are numbered there, Hawksworth. The whole Eastern empire of the Portugals is rotten. I can almost smell it. But if we dally about, the damned Hollanders are sure to move in." Spencer had become increasingly excited, and Hawksworth watched as he began pacing about the room.

"Well, if you're saying you want a treaty, why not just send an ambassador to the Great Moghul's court?"

"Damn me, Hawksworth, it's not that easy. We send some dandified gentry who doesn't know the language, and he'll end up havin' to do all his talkin' through court interpreters. And who might they be? Well let me just show you, sirrah." Spencer began to shuffle impatiently through the papers on his desk. "They're Jesuits. Damned Jesuits. Papists straight out o' Lisbon. We know for a fact they do all the translatin' for the court in Agra." He paused as he rummaged the stacks in front of him. "We've just got hold of some Jesuit letters. Sent out from the Moghul capital at Agra, through Goa, intended for Lison. They'll tell you plain enough what the Company's up against." His search became increasingly frenetic. "Damn me, they were here." He rose and shuffled toward the door, waving his cane in nervous agitation. "Hold a minute."

Hawksworth had watched him disappear through the doorway, then looked back to see Maggie laughing. She retrieved a leather-bound packet from the mantel and tossed it carelessly onto the desk. He found himself watching her in admiration, realizing some things never change.

"What the hell's this about?"

She smiled and her voice was like always. "Methinks 'tis plain enough."

"You want me gone from London this badly?"

"He takes care o' me. At least he loves me. Something you were ne'er capable of."

"And what were you capable of? All you wanted was…"

"I…" She looked away. "I know he'll give me what you ne'er would. At least he has feelin' for me. More than you e'er did. Or could." Then she turned back and looked at him for a long moment. "Say you'll go. Knowin' you're still…"

"Damn it all!" Spencer burst back through the doorway. Then he spied the leather packet. "That's it." He seized the bundle and thrust it toward Hawksworth. "Read these through, sirrah, and you'll see clear enough what we're up against. There's absolutely no point whatever in postin' a real ambassador now." He hesitated for a moment, as though unsure how to phrase his next point. "The most amazing thing is what they say about the Great Moghul himself, the one they call Arangbar. The Jesuits claim the man's scarcely ever sober. Seems he lives on some kind of poppy sap they call opium, and on wine. He's a Moor sure enough, but he drinks like a Christian, downs a full gallon of wine a day. E'en holds audiences with a flagon in his hand. From the letters I can sense the Jesuits all marvel how the damned heathen does it, but they swear 'tis true. No, sirrah, we can't send some fancy-titled ambassador now. That's later. We want a man of quality, it goes without sayin', but he's got to be able to drink with that damned Moor and parlay with him in his cups. No Jesuit interpreters."

Hawksworth steadied his hand on the carved arm of the chair, still amazed by Maggie. "What will your subscribers think about sending the captain of a merchantman to the court of Moghul India?"

"Never you mind the subscribers. Just tell me if you'd consider it. T'will be a hard voyage, and a perilous trip inland once you make landfall. But you sail'd the Mediterranean half a decade, and you know enough about the Turks." Spencer tapped his fingers impatiently on his ink-stained blotter. "And lest you're worried, have no doubt the Company knows how to reward success."

Hawksworth looked again at Maggie. Her blue eyes were mute as stone.

"To tell the truth, I'm not sure I'm interested in a voyage to India. George Elkington might be able to tell you the reason why. Have you told me all of it?"

"Damn Elkington. What's he to do with this?" Spencer stopped in front of the desk and fixed Hawksworth's gaze. "Aye, there's more. But what I'm about to tell you now absolutely has to remain between us. So have I your word?"

Hawksworth found himself nodding.

"Very well, sir. Then I'll give you the rest. His Majesty, King James, is sending a personal letter to be delivered to this Great Moghul. And gifts. All the usual diplomatic falderal these potentates expect. You'd deliver the whole affair. Now the letter'll offer full and free trade between England and India, nothing more. Won't mention the Portugals. That'll come later. This is just the beginning. For now all we want is a treaty to trade alongside the damned Papists. Break their monopoly."

"But why all the secrecy?"

"'Tis plain as a pikestaff, sirrah. The fewer know what we're plannin', the less chance of word gettin' out to the Portugals, or the Hollanders. Let the Papists and the Butterboxes look to their affairs after we have a treaty. Remember the Portugals are swarmin' about the Moghul's court, audiences every day. Not to mention a fleet of warships holdin' the entire coast. And if they spy your colors, they're not apt to welcome you aland for roast capon and grog."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Nobody. Least of all that windbag Elkington, who'd have it talk'd the length of Cheapside in a fortnight. He'll be on the voyage, I regret to say, but just as Chief Merchant. Which is all he's fit for, though I'd warrant he presumes otherwise."

"I'd like a few days to think about it." Hawksworth looked again at Maggie, still disbelieving. "First I'd like to see the Discovery. And I'd also like to see your navigation charts for the Indian Ocean. I've seen plenty of logs down to the Cape, and east, but nothing north from there."

"And with good reason. We've got no rutters north of the Cape. No English sea dog's ever sail'd it. But I've made some inquiries, and I think I've located a salt here who shipp'd it once, a long time past. A Dutchman named Huyghen. The truth is he was born and rais'd right here in London. He started out a Papist and when things got a bit hot in England back around time of the Armada he left for Holland. E'en took a Dutch name. Next he mov'd on down to Portugal thinkin' to be a Jesuit, then shipp'd out to Goa and round the Indies. But he got a bellyfull of popery soon enough, and came back to Amsterdam. Some years later he help'd out their merchants by tellin' them exactly how the Portugals navigate the passage round the Cape and out. The Hollanders say hadn't been for the maps he drew up, they'd never have been able to double the Cape in the first place. But he's back in London now, and we've track'd him down. I understand he may've gone a bit daft, but perhaps 'twould do no harm if you spoke to him."