The Fourth Armada

Comes was ordered into the city at night to find a dog. Fishermen’s shacks lined the beach, black against the lighter dark of the sky. In the distance, atop a rise, the long low walls of the Zamorin’s palace formed the horizon, punctuated by the leering heads of heathen gods. Comes rowed slowly, fear and dread in his heart. He concentrated on silencing the blades of the oars as they dipped into the water. He’d heard, from the men who survived the first Armada, of the four great halls inside the palace, one each for Hindus, Muslims, Christians and Jews, and the tall spikes where the Muslim traders were impaled for selling a cow.

- Maxim Loskutoff

He did not wish to think about this, nor the dog, nor the high priest being held prisoner on Admiral da Gama’s ship. He longed for the shore to transform into the beach of his home outside Porto, and he to the boy he’d been there not so long ago, swimming in that familiar sea.

But it did not, and nor did he. A single wavering lantern burned faintly to the north. Some wayward fisherman sneaking home through the night with his catch. Comes wished him to hurry; if they met in the street he’d have to kill him. The knife at his belt was heavy; its long curved blade rested against his hip and the center thwart. He’d never killed a man, but he’d watched them die — many now, in these past eight months of voyage — in many ways. They did not go easily. Each had clung to life far past the suffering Comes thought he could bear.

The half-moon was shrouded by clouds, seeming to lie in the sky like a jewel in a lover’s sheets. Its paleness trembled. Before departing, full of the arrogance — and hope — of youth, Comes had thought he’d find a woman on this journey, more exotic and beautiful than any in Portugal. Instead the men buggered each other on the gun deck and raped frightened whores in port. The light shone more brightly off the water than it did above. In this country, where everything was upside down, the men dressed as women and cows were worshipped as gods. Comes tried to pray to his god, but He felt too distant, as if His eyes were hidden by the curve of the earth, His dominion halved. The peril of this blasphemy wrapped itself around Comes’s heart. Da Gama had warned they would be travelling into hell, but Comes had begun to wonder if it was hell they brought with them.