“Exactly my p—!”
As their conversation seemed destined to provide no fresh intelligence, Linhares interrupted the merchant. “As to the increase in piracy: I have already sent out orders for each captaincy to set a schedule of patrols.” Not that such orders would do much good, given that resources were perpetually thin on the ground—and even more so at sea—in the Estado da India.
“Father Cristovao De Jesus,” Ambrosio whispered from the viceroy’s elbow.
“Begging your pardon,” De Carvalho asked, not to be put off by the whisperings of a servant in the viceroy’s ear, “but does the crown have an official position on who among the Mughal princelings we will back?”
“For that, I have begun certain arrangements. As yet, nothing is set in stone, however,” Linhares said, eyes on the Franciscan father as the latter was introduced to the proud parents of the fresh-baptized child.
De Jesus was a slight man with the sloped shoulders and perpetual squint of the scholar, but Linhares knew him for an active fellow, having been hard at work in the church’s efforts to convert the Muslims and Hindus of Goa almost as soon as he arrived. The delay had only been occasioned by one of the inevitable illnesses everyone suffered on arriving here. The churchman had also shown a gift for languages, evidently having picked up enough Konkani in his years in the back country to write the first Portuguese and Latin grammars.
De Carvalho turned slightly, following the viceroy’s gaze.
Linhares did not miss the souring of his expression.
“You do not like our Franciscan friend?” he asked, quietly.
“I do not know enough of him to like or dislike him, but I think the Estado has enough churchmen. What we need are soldiers and sailors ready to defend the king’s property and loyal subjects. I would even go so far as to think we could use more settlers, even with the problems they inevitably cause.”
At least he’s not a Jesuit.
“One can only make do with what tools God places at one’s disposal,” Linhares said, casting a significant look at the Franciscan.
“True, Your Excellency,” De Carvalho said, looking from the priest to Linhares. “We will leave you to it, then.” Taking his oblivious friend by the arm, De Carvalho moved off to circulate among the other guests.
The moment they had some privacy Ambrosio said, “The Englishman is installed in your study, Your Excellency. He and His Excellency the archbishop were engaged in conversation when I left.”
“Good. Inform His Excellency I will be up presently.” Seeing De Jesus free, he started toward the priest.
“A toast to our host!” one of the celebrants called. His companions all raised glasses, turning to the viceroy.
Linhares nodded and added the appropriate returns to God and King before the toast was drunk, hoping they would leave it at that. Of course, some of the more reckless or drunk in the group moved in his direction, eager to be seen with the most powerful man in Goa.
The viceroy needn’t have worried, for De Carvalho intercepted them before they could occupy any more of his time. He was able to give his full attention to the priest as he approached, assessing him in light of the plans he’d laid.
“Your Excellency,” De Jesus said, bowing from the waist.
“Father De Jesus,” Linhares returned. “Might you have a moment to attend me?”
If the fact the viceroy knew his name without an introduction surprised him, the priest covered with better skill than most, bowing again. “I am at your service, Your Excellency.”
“Good. Follow.”
As being a good host was not without its requirements, Linhares spent a few moments informing the younger De Carvalho that he would be returning momentarily. The process allowed him to see how the presence of De Jesus was received by his supporters and those of his opponents who were present. Some of the laymen eyed the priest with calculation, only a few with concern. Most of those were from the Nuovo Cristao families under Linhares’ protection.
Those few Jesuits welcome at the palace bristled, of course.
Father Vittorio di Roma, the Dominican who had performed the baptism, was more genial, even greeting him personally. But then, Father Vittorio was always at great pains to appear a friendly sort, especially as the current archbishop of Goa was a Franciscan. Never mind that he was a principal judge of the Office of Inquisition in Goa and, in that capacity, frequently ordered the burnings of Konkans for returning to their gentile ways, not to mention his repeated—and secret, or so he thought—petitions to Archbishop dos Martires for the right to examine the De Carvalhos and the other Nuovo Cristao families for heresy.
Making the last of his excuses, Linhares filed away his observations for future review and took his leave of the crowd. He took the stair to his study two at a time, De Jesus scrambling to keep up.
A slave opened the door ahead of him, revealing the large, airy chamber the viceroy conducted much of his business from. Two men were already present, one sitting, the other standing at the sideboard, ridiculously tall lace ruff at his neck identifying him as English even if Linhares hadn’t already known the fellow’s nationality. His Majesty Philip IV had wisely outlawed such wasteful ostentation even before Linhares had left home more than a decade ago, but the English were a backward people in many ways.
On seeing the other man, Father De Jesus stopped at the entrance and was nearly clipped at the heel by the closing of the door behind him.
“Good evening, Your Excellency,” Linhares said, thin smile creasing his lips at the younger priest’s reaction. Everyone knew the archbishop was on a tour of the churches of the Estado, so it must be a shock for the father to find
