In Search of Spice, page 47
“Oh, no, it is just a building where they keep their wives and daughters, with the servants all castrated.”
“Did you say wives? You mean they take more than one wife?”
“Oh yes, I think they take four, and as many concubines as they can afford. It is the same with all the mussulmen.”
“But that is just ridiculous,” exclaimed Suzanne, annoyed. “One man cannot possibly satisfy four women, let alone more. It would be much more sensible the other way around.”
Piloo’s laughter pealed around the room. “Oh, I like you! But you must be careful what you say, as many men would be very upset to hear that. Let us keep that conversation amongst us girls. I have to say, that I would be very happy if you decided to trade with us rather than the Mappila, but there are very many of them.”
“And who are you, Piloo?” Sara came back into the conversation. “What can you offer us?”
“Ah, Asmara, so direct. I will answer your questions frankly and clearly, with a warning. Nobody else will, and they will not appreciate your directness. In Hind you must go round the subject several times, hint and suggest, never state.”
”Just like diplomacy,” mused Sara.
“Exactly. I am Parsi, and only recently have I arrived in Kalikut, maybe five years ago. My people are from far to the North West, on the shore of a inland sea. We are Zoroastrians, we believe that God is present wherever there is fire. Many of my people have come to Hind and other countries, driven from our homes by the Umayyads. We are traders and merchants and thrive here far from home. In Kalikut my family has many operations. We are money lenders, of course, which is the branch that I manage. We also own a weaving factory, where we make cotton cloth, and we have a small trade in spices.”
“I would like to see your cloth,” said Suzanne, looking hard at Piloo’s dress. “Is this your own cloth? The weave is very tight.”
“Yes, we are proud of this. The count is 500 for this grade.” She saw the blank expressions and explained. “There are 500 threads in each angula of cloth, an angula is a measurement like this,” she indicated a small square with her fingers.” It is hard to get 500 threads into an angula, this is very fine cloth. Also the dye is special, see how the colour is right into the thread.”
“I am afraid we would need to show this to our captain - he is the trader rather than us.”
“Well, you girls should learn. I won’t have you being cheated, not if I am going to be your agent in Kalikut.”
“Our agent?” Sara raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, you will need an agent to negotiate the best prices for you and to make sure the quality is high. A good agent will make you very wealthy, and a good client, representing a far country like yourselves, can make agents very wealthy as well. Together we can make much more money. And I am the only lady merchant with the power and ability to help you. I think I can be more beneficial than somebody who considers women to be inferior to his donkey.”
Suzanne nodded emphatically at this, happy to be convinced, but still asked, “What’s a donkey?”
“Oh,” said Piloo in surprise. “You don’t know them? They are like small horses, very slow but very strong, can carry lots of things. A Mussulman walks first, followed by his donkey with his goods on its back, followed by his wives.”
“Would an agent be able to help us with information?” Sara asked with care, “even if we were not here, but by sending messages?”
“Of course. Information is the lifeblood of trade. How can we trade without knowledge?”
“Piloo, we learnt Belada because we were told it was the language of trade here in Hind. But I have heard nobody speak it, except to us. Have we learnt the wrong language?” All three girls concentrated on the answer to this question. Communication and misunderstandings were a pain.
Piloo looked sadly at them. “The world is not meant for travellers. Belada is a poor language, and it serves for sailors and traders. It is useful as it is spoken from Havant to Sung. But nobody uses it as their everyday language. My own language is Parsi, which is a beautiful tongue much spoken in the courts of Hind. It is used by scholars and poets. The language of much of the coast is Konkani, but here the people speak Malayalam. Inland, the next kingdom speaks Kannada, while to the south they speak Tamil. To the north they speak Marathi, Gujarati and Hindi. We Parsis are required to speak the language of the city where we live, so I speak Malayalam, Parsi and Belada. I can get by in Konkani, Kannada and Tamil, but I am not very good with languages. Most of our traders speak about ten languages.”
The girls digested this is silence. Bai Ju spoke emphatically, but it was in Sung, and judging by the way the words spat out, not polite. It was clear nobody was required to answer as she lapsed into a morose silence. Sara knew how she felt. Even with sawblade, learning languages hurt the head and it was easy to mix them up.
Piloo regarded the girls keenly, and recognised their despondency. “I have a sister. I love her very much, but it is very sad. Her husband was killed by bandits last year as he travelled to Kochin. She had no children, and now cannot find a husband that she will accept. She will not be a second wife. She is very good at languages, which is her skill. Employ her as your secretary. She will travel with you, learn your language and be your translator while you are in Hind.”
Suzanne thought this a good idea, but left it to Sara to reply. Sara considered for a while. Yes, it was a good idea, but it would also give Piloo’s people a big insight and advantage in trading with them. Surely it was too obvious a place for a spy?
Bai Ju broke the contemplative silence as Piloo waited for a reaction. “I not understand. So sorry, not good in Belada. What means employ?”
“She gets paid to travel with us and translate,” explained Sara, thinking that she wasn’t paying Bai Ju.
“Paid? Ah, you mean with money. I not understand how you trust person who work for money.” Bai Ju’s eyes were wide and innocent, which instantly made Suzanne think that she was fishing.
Piloo was completely flummoxed, and for the first time was at a loss as to what to say. “Everybody works for money,” she said finally, rather lamely. “Don’t they?” Her words petered out beneath the stare of all three girls.
“Is that so?” Bai Ju said, who promptly turned to Sara. “How much you pay me? When you pay me?”
“Pay you?” Sara grinned. “I thought you just wanted some food and the chance to kill a few people.”
Bai Ju dimpled prettily. “Is true.” She started to say more, but stopped herself, thinking that Sara wouldn’t find it funny if she said Pat was a pretty good payment. She didn’t think Sara knew that she knew about their previous relationship.
“However,” Sara continued, coming to a decision. “I think that is an excellent idea Piloo and I would be happy to talk to your sister. When can I meet her?”
Sara went to the court with Mimi Mulca, Captain Larroche and Suzanne, plus her usual guard who stayed outside. They entered with Sung Bai Ju and Sara presented her credentials, laboriously created that morning and translated into Sanskrit, the written court language, by Mimi. An over-dressed court flunky took the papers without a word, but an astonished stare at Suzanne, and indicated for them to wait in a lobby.
They waited a long time.
Finally, another flunky appeared, wearing even more ornate clothing, bowed deeply and invited them to a banquet for that evening. Trade discussions could take place tomorrow, in the cool of the afternoon.
Sara accepted the invitation through Mimi, whose liquid black eyes sparkled as she explained the dress they must wear on the way back to the ship. Suzanne digested this slowly, and disagreed. The girls examined the silk uniforms created for them by the Sung and Mimi declared them perfect.
A procession of palanquins wound its way slowly up the hill to the palace, each one carried by four surprisingly small men. Sara fretted inside hers, while Suzanne luxuriated in her separate palanquin, appreciating the muscles of carriers. Captain Larroche had refused one, as Sara wished. Mimi was surprisingly firm on the subject, insisting she had to be carried to generate respect.
An honour guard of Spakka led the way, commanded by Janis resplendent in armour. Half naked Kai Viti brought up the rear under Maciu’s command, while Pat’s Scouts flanked each palanquin and the walkers, Captain Larroche, Brian, Taufik and Mimi.
At the gates, the guards were required to wait by the palanquins, but each attendee was permitted a female attendant, so Bai Ju and the Pahippians attended. A flunky led them to a small room where they were asked to wait. After a few minutes, a protocol officer entered and explained to Mimi the correct procedure for greeting the Saamoothiri. Listening to Mimi’s translation, Sara shook her head, pointing out that she was a Crown Princess with her own protocol requirements. She instructed Suzanne to handle the negotiation, looked down her nose disdainfully at the protocol officer and went to discuss trade with Captain Larroche.
Suzanne relished the barter, and before long Mimi too entered the spirit of negotiation which took a good half an hour before agreement. The protocol officer left with a smile on his face, shaking his head at the idea of animals in palaces, while Suzanne regretted his firmness on the matter of elephants. She was determined to get Sara on one. She walked over to Bai Ju and whispered in her ear. She nodded and spoke quietly to Hinatea. Sara glared, her frown deepening as Suzanne gave her instructions.
The protocol official returned to smile at Suzanne, who stood, nodding at the others. Bai Ju and Hinatea strode to the door, following the protocol official. With a shrug, Sara followed them, Captain Larroche and Brian just behind her followed by Suzanne and the remaining Pahippian girls. They strode down a marble corridor lined with strange statues of local gods, to empty into an antechamber where Sara was surprised to see Graves standing in full Royal Pathfinder uniform, bugle in hand. He saluted her smartly while Suzanne glowed at her own cleverness. The protocol official met Suzanne’s eyes, before opening the door a crack and checking something on the other side. He hesitated a moment, before hissing a guttural instruction.
Immediately there came the loud reverberation of a gong and Graves raised his bugle to blow the Royal Salute. Bai Ju and Hinatea strode through the door in concert, moving to either side, a strange conflicting pair, one in her little girl silks with the tiny jacket and white face. The other barbaric and splendid in her polished leathers and bare skin, standing tall and proud. As Suzanne’s restraining hand released her, Sara strode through the door between the pair to find herself in an imposing chamber full of people, with herself the centre of attention.
Head high, looking regal in her immaculate silk uniform, Sara strode forward to stand in front of the throne, her confident demeanour belying her inner turmoil as she wished for her crown, any crown, and some of her jewels. Every person in the palace seemed to be bedecked in jewels and gold. Sara did not realise the powerful contrast she made in her simple yet exquisite uniform, with its martial flavour and Lady Strike nestling on her hip. She came to a halt as the last note of the salute pealed forth, looking at the Saamoothiri with interest, her concerns fading to nothing as the real business began. He was a small man, dwarfed by an enormous turban sprouting massive feathers held in place by a diamond the size of an egg. Lively interested eyes peered at her over a jutting nose and bristling moustache, indicating failing sight. He nodded with fascination as the protocol official proclaimed Sara’s titles in a stentorian voice, filling the chamber. Sara was unsure whether he embellished her credentials or Suzanne was to blame, but he went on for an extraordinary length of time.
On completion, Sara saluted crisply, while on either side of her Captain Larroche and Brian also saluted followed by deep bows, while Suzanne performed a deep curtsy. Sara started to turn to walk off to one side when the Saamoothiri raised his hand to stop her. He beckoned her forward, she came hesitantly and he turfed an indignant man from the seat beside him, indicating to Sara that she was to sit. She did so, gesturing to Mimi to sit at her feet. She inclined her head to the others, who melted into the throng of guests, all waiting eagerly to talk with them.
Sara looked around for the first time, while the Saamoothiri watched her avidly. Her eyes were caught by the women, none of whom seemed to be wearing clothes, but instead wrappings of gauze, twisted round their bodies in intricate manner. She had seen this in Kochin and indeed the streets here, but for the first time she saw women of quality wearing them. The gauze was far more revealing here, hardly anything beneath it but jewels which were legion, somehow stuck into belly buttons, which were all exposed, and gleaming from underneath the gauze as frequently as above. The gauze came in multitudes of colours, while the ladies swept their hair up into fantasy sculptures fastened with gold, which dripped down their faces, piercing every single nose in sight. Sara felt the Saamoothiri grasp her hand and turned her attention to the old man, who stroked her hand as he spoke.
“You are magnificent, Princess,” Mimi translated, “I can see your breeding at a glance. I admit I was sceptical when I heard about you, but one look at you convinces me. Tell me about your land and your father.”
Sara smiled, his words could have come from the mouth of any of the old courtiers at home. She felt a little homesick for the first time as she dived into the diplomatic dance.
Meanwhile, Captain Larroche, Brian and Suzanne were encountering difficulties in communication. Nobody present spoke Belada, but all wished to speak with them and they were individually surrounded, slowly eased away from each other. Their admirers endeavoured to communicate with sign language, rapidly causing Suzanne’s eyes to narrow as she suspected she was being repeatedly propositioned.
Sung Bai Ju was uncertain. She recognised Sara as the most important of her charges, but felt the others, especially Suzanne, were in more danger. Vacillation not being in her make up, she whispered to Hinatea, who nodded and manoeuvred herself to a position near Sara without the Saamoothiri’s guards noticing and merged into a statue beside her, invisible to most eyes. Sung Bai Ju eased through the crowd, slipping through minute cracks between people with the judicious use of prods from her fan. She arrived beside Suzanne at the same time as an overweight, sweaty man who barged through the men surrounding her. As soon as they saw him, angry expressions wiped from their faces and they backed away, leaving him to the fore where he inspected Suzanne’s frontage with indecent concentration. Suzanne bristled, but before she could express herself, Bai Ju broke the man’s line of sight with her fan and fluttered between them. He didn’t seem to notice as Suzanne stepped back, but grasped her arm and whispered something in his own language. Suzanne growled an earthy reply in Galician. The man frowned and released his grip as Bai Ju’s fan struck the tip of his thumb. She turned Suzanne adroitly and manoeuvred her between the men around Captain Larroche while the fat man stared after her, his wet tongue running over his lower lip.
Sung Bai Ju was concerned with her scouts. The feast had proceeded nicely, after a slight commotion in which the Saamoothiri placed Sara on his left. In the ensuring confusion Bai Ju countered the fat man’s expected ploy and managed to seat Suzanne away from him. She noted from his seat that he was an important personage. Now there was dancing and her charges were enthralled. Not just her charges, but her team of Pahippian girls.
The dancers wore dramatic make-up, proclaiming whether they were good or evil, and elaborate gold headdresses which shook to every movement. The dances were slow and languid, with lots of hand gestures and eye movement, while the background music beat rhythmically. A variety of drums and stringed instruments with long necks. The first few dances finished, a fanfare announced the arrival of more dancers, much smaller. Children, no more than eight years old, beautifully made up with wide smiles as they revelled in the dance. This made the girls coo with pleasure, particularly one young boy who pirouetted in front of them.
With blatant disregard for duty and total misuse of their new abilities, the Pahippian girls moved from guarding the backs of their charges to sitting in front of them, closer to the children, eyes only on them. Sung Bai Ju’s eyes whirled as she covered as many potential threats as possible. She collected some small pebbles from the bowls of a game left lying unattended, intending to throw them at the guards to recover their attention.
The fat man, whom Bai Ju now decided was oily rather than sweaty, leaned forward and spoke to Suzanne. Mimi, seated close enough, translated.
“He says he sees you like the children, like to watch them dance.”
“I love him. I want to take him home,” answered Hinatea, speaking for every woman present, even Sara nodding and smiling, every girl’s eye on the little boy, who smiled with care not to crack his extensive make-up. His chest puffed with pride as he moved into a complicated sequence, his brow furrowed in concentration. The girls sighed as one.
Not waiting for a translation, the fat man spoke again.
“He says he can make the dance much funnier,” said Mimi, who was distracted from the boy and looked with worry at the fat man who leered at Suzanne. The dance ended and the fat man called to the boy, who approached with care, concern written large across his face. The man spoke to him shortly and gave him a bowl to drink. The boy took the bowl, smelt it and tried to return it, but the man spoke harshly. The boy closed his eyes and gulped the drink down, returning the bowl and wiping a tear from his eye. The girls bristled as he returned to his place, unsure what had happened. It seemed an innocuous gift, a treat, but the joy had gone out of the boy who slunk back to his place.
The music started again and the children resumed their dance. The boy seemed to be going through the motions, his earlier exuberance evaporated. The girls tensed as he swayed with the music and the fat man bit back a laugh. The boy miss-stepped, weaved and fell over. Hinatea and Silmatea were beside him in an instant, lifting him up as the fat man roared with laughter, joined by his cronies. The boy giggled stupidly and vomited over Hinatea’s leg.
“He’s drunk,” snapped Hinatea, venom in her voice. Her glare transfixed the fat man, who began to realise his joke was not appreciated by the girls. The Pahippian warrior girls stood as one, turning on the fat man who sat up on his cushion, snapping his eyes away from Suzanne as he sensed mortal danger, for the girls radiated a dark energy of fury and menace. A number of warriors stepped forward, in front of the fat man, spears still upright and uncertain as to what to do with women, even ones who menaced by their very expressions. Hinatea raised her hand to the collar of her leathers, only to flinch away and shake her numb hand as a stone racked into the back of it.
