He worded his answer carefully, hoping to discourage the idea of the new expedition, without contradicting what he thought were Maria’s claims about Jezreel’s prowess.
‘Your Majesty, I am sure my friend Jezreel is eager to serve you. I have been told that the Sugala are fearful of the Omoro and hide behind their walls.’
The Sultan reached out and laid a wizened hand fondly on his son’s shoulder.
‘His Majesty says his son is clever. He has already asked to take with him our lantaka to destroy their defences. Never before have our lantaka left Omoro, but His Majesty has given him permission to use them on this campaign.’
Hector hadn’t the slightest idea what the Sultan was talking about.
‘His Majesty says you and your companions will prepare the lantaka for the hongi-tochten,’ Mansur continued. ‘You will also be responsible for their safe return, so that they stand before the palace as proof of the high regard in which His Majesty is held by distant peoples.’
For a moment Hector could think only of the bizarre four-wheeled vehicle parked outside the palace. He failed to see how it could be used against the Sugala. Then he recalled the two bronze cannon on their wooden gun carriages. His heart sank. In his boyish enthusiasm, Prince Jainalabidin had come up with the notion of using these guns to batter down the Sugala defences. His idea was utterly impractical. The two guns were showpieces, presented a generation ago by foreigners seeking to gain favour with the Sultan. The weapons looked impressive, but they were little better than popguns. They might be good for firing a salute, or a shower of small shot that would tear into human flesh. But they had never been meant for serious warfare and certainly not as siege weapons.
He caught the gleam of triumph in the prince’s eye. The lad was feeling very pleased with himself, and Hector realized that he’d insult the youngster if he dismissed the ill-judged scheme out of hand. ‘An inspired suggestion,’ he said, then added what he hoped would be a practical objection. ‘We would need gunpowder of very good quality.’
The Sultan positively beamed at this new opportunity to boast of his son’s intelligence. ‘Prince Jainalabidin has told His Majesty that the jong from Malacca brought a dozen kegs of the best powder to exchange for our bird skins. His Majesty has given him permission to take as much of the gunpowder as he wants to make his attack on Sugala a success.’
Out of the corner of his eye Hector could see Dan looking across at him in astonishment. The Miskito had been following what was being said and knew how unrealistic the new scheme was. Yet Hector could see no tactful way to dampen the prince’s enthusiasm or deflect his father’s decision. So he bowed. ‘With your permission, my colleagues and I will begin to prepare the lantaka without further delay.’
The moment they were outside the portico, Dan hurried over to take a closer look at the lantaka. He stuck a finger into the muzzle of one of the guns. ‘Not even a one-inch bore,’ he commented wryly. He gave his friend a serious look. ‘The ball would bounce off the flimsiest palisade.’
Hector agreed. The lantaka were just three feet long. Their bronze castings had acquired a rich dark-green patina and were embellished with swirling floral patterns and whorls. Each rested on its heavy wooden sledge, made of some dark tropical wood. These gun carriages were exquisitely carved with patterns to mimic the guns’ decoration. It was as he’d feared: they were elegant, showy and of little practical use beyond firing salutes or scatter-shot.
Jezreel stooped over one of the lantaka and put his massive arms under the barrel and the knob of the cascabel. He gave a grunt and lifted the weapon clean out of its carriage. ‘Well, no difficulty in taking it with us,’ he said with a grin.
Dan ignored him. He was looking thoughtful. ‘I suggest we clean up these pea-shooters and test-fire them to make sure the Malaccan gunpowder is of good quality.’
Jezreel lowered the gun back into its carriage. ‘Even if it turns out that the Malaccan is trading in shoddy goods, I get the impression the Sultan will still indulge his son and send out another expedition under his command.’
The Miskito did not appear to have heard him. He was looking out to sea, over the township and the harbour. ‘We could try using one of Captain Vlucht’s cannon to knock down the defences of the Sugala, provided they’re not stone-built. Let us hope that the Westflinge is still hung up on the reef.’
EIGHTEEN
CLEANED AND POLISHED, the lantaka made a brave show lashed securely to the foredeck of the kora kora. The little cannon gleamed in the early morning sunshine as the expedition headed out from Pehko. The Sultan’s purple banner was once again hoisted from the vessel’s stubby flagstaff, and the crew seated on their outrigger benches had caught the optimistic mood of the departure. They roared their work chant as they chopped at the water with their paddle blades. Through the soles of his feet Hector could feel each sudden surge as the kora kora was thrust forward, and he couldn’t help glancing back towards the Kedatun sultan high on the hillside. Mansur had told him that the royal women were required to stay out of sight whenever there were strangers in the palace, but at other times they were free to go about the building as they pleased. He was wondering if Maria was standing on the portico and watching the kora kora head out to sea.
‘Good morning. How are you?’ The question startled him. Prince Jainalabidin had emerged from the little hut-like cabin behind him and was addressing him in halting Spanish.
Hector overcame his surprise. He guessed the boy had received lessons from Maria. Clearly the youngster had a good ear and a quick intelligence. Here, at last, was a chance to find out how she was.
‘Your Highness speaks Spanish well. His teacher will be pleased.’
The lad flashed him a smile. ‘You are her man, yes?’
Hector had not expected Maria to have talked about him with her pupil. He felt a thrill of pleasure that she had done so.
‘Is Maria well?’ he asked.
‘My sisters her friends.’
The boy reached into a fold of his robe. ‘She say me to give you this,’ he said and pressed a scrap of paper into Hector’s hand.
Hector felt the blood rush to his head as he scanned the few lines of writing:
Dearest Hector,
I hear that you are well and that Captain Vlucht and the Hollanders have gone, but Dan and our other friends remain. I long to see you. News comes to me at second hand, and I am told that you will soon be leaving on an expedition of war. The prince speaks much about all of you and has agreed to give you this note. He is a good boy. Make sure that you come back safe, and that he does also. Do not worry about me for I am in good health, my days are comfortable and I will be waiting for your return. You have my love.
Maria.
The prince was watching for his reaction. Hector gave him a grateful look. ‘Thank you for bringing me this note. It has made me very happy.’
‘We come back, we have a . . .’ The lad’s voice trailed away as he searched for the right word. He beckoned to Mansur and spoke to him in his own language.
‘His Highness says that his father the Sultan has promised him a great victory celebration on his return to Pehko,’ Mansur translated for him.
‘My companions and I will do everything we can to make sure of that victory,’ Hector replied. He was not at all sure the expedition would be a success, and it felt very strange to be under the command of a child. He wondered again what the penalty would be if the expedition turned out to be a disaster.