Just as you have not spoken of your reasons for wishing to hurry. Do you think me blind? That I did not see the viceroy’s messenger this morning?
Swallowing the angry questions as detrimental to his cause, Methwold explained, “Shuja will see such a move as feckless—as us fleeing the service of a prince who has already pledged his, and therefore our, service to the throne. We would be asked why we seek to leave, what assurances we offer that we will not abandon Shuja in similar fashion. While we proffered our answers and waited for his response we would certainly be at risk as Aurangzeb sought to murder us for our betrayal. In addition, if Shuja wanted us as his clients, I believe he would have made an overture while the two of them were negotiating with one another, to better assess our reliability and value to his opponent.”
He leaned back, added one more point as his slave entered and lit the lantern: “If we decided to just cut and run, or are ordered to withdraw our support by the viceroy and archbishop, then Shuja—or Aurangzeb when he comes to power—may decide taking Goa and its productive land is worth the fight, then strike at Dara with secure lines of supply that he controls utterly.”
“Could he do that?”
“We are still closer to Portuguese territory than Agra, and the interior is far less well defended than the port…” Methwold shrugged, leaving unsaid that it was a poor option for any would-be emperor, and Aurangzeb in particular. There were many reasons the Mughals had not already ejected the Portuguese from India, not least of which was the fact the place was simply not that desirable given the amount of fighting that would have to be done to secure it.
“I hadn’t thought they would do such a thing, having made peace with earlier viceroys.”
“That was previous emperors. Few things bind a new emperor to the agreements entered into by past emperors, as evidenced by your own people’s experience at Hugli. It is yet another reason not to break faith with any of the royal family.”
“As I understand it, Shah Jahan’s actions at Hugli were a result of our having angered him by refusing to assist his bid for his father’s throne, not supporting one of his siblings… So the circumstances are not entirely equal. I mean, the princes take on the followers of their defeated siblings upon emerging victorious, do they not?”
“They do, but those not of royal blood who break faith with a losing prince without first being asked to do so by the winner are often punished most severely.”
De Jesus sighed. “Such a corrupt, venal system. It is a wonder they yet rule here.”
Wishing he could give vent to his feeling on the hypocrisy of a papist calling the Mughal system of rule corrupt, William Methwold wisely kept his own counsel.
Deciding a change of subject was in order, he considered asking after the messenger. While De Jesus had kept him ignorant of the exact content, his outburst on approaching Aurangzeb had been a powerful signal the news from Goa was not good.
Deciding the priest had calmed sufficiently to take the question without exploding into anger again, he said, “Does your impatience with Aurangzeb have aught to do with the messenger this morning, Father?”
De Jesus looked away, color draining from his cheeks this time. “My passing along of Carvalho’s…requirement for assisting us has been responded to. Neither the viceroy nor archbishop received the request positively…”
“No?” Methwold prompted.
“They haven’t denied the request outright, but I…” The priest’s thoughts trailed off again, probably remembering too late that Methwold wasn’t Catholic, Portuguese, or a priest. The internal politics of the Estado and the Catholic Church were hardly suitable topics for any member of the Church of England, ally or no.
“But they are hardly likely to try and stop the Inquisition in the Estado,” Methwold supplied, saving the young priest from having to say more. “Too many hot irons in the fire to grasp that particular one just now.”
De Jesus nodded, expression clearing as he realized he would not have to explain further or, worse yet, lie outright to his only ally in this camp.
And he would not have to explain because, perversely, Methwold was a better student of men than the priest. De Jesus’ character had seemed a muddle of contradictions until the day Carvalho had asked that the Inquisition be prevented from its work in the Estado. Judging from the way he’d agonized over the wording of the letter containing Carvalho’s request, De Jesus was familiar with the dark and pitiless nature of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, and struggled to reconcile its activities with the espoused tenets of his faith.
Methwold, for his part, knew the more rabid members of the Anglican Church held views that were scarcely more tolerant of Jews and Gentiles, they just held less official power in the state.
“Even so,” De Jesus said, “we must consider what Carvalho will do when he learns the viceroy and archbishop will not accede to his wishes.”
Methwold nodded again. “I’m not sure what he can do at this point. The same web of obligation that binds us to Aurangzeb binds Carvalho’s reputation to us. If he withdraws his support from the arrangement reached with the prince, Aurangzeb may ask uncomfortable questions of him.”
A wry smile pulled at the priest’s mouth. “Uncomfortable…That is a good way to put it. I can see how our situation is a double-edged sword poised at all our throats.” The smile faded. “Though his request of us regarding the Inquisition has merits I wish my superiors would recognize and support.”
“The people you have converted are that threatened?” Methwold asked, despite his earlier resolve not to.
De Jesus’ brows snapped together as his shoulders slumped.
Methwold waited, carefully reining in the fit of temper that moved him to ask in the first place. On reflection, he knew why he’d asked the question: He
