The Holy Sail by Abdulaziz Al-Mahmoud Read Free Book Online

who were also a very diverse crowd, were flocking to the mosque of their own accord. No one was coercing them to go to the mosque, unlike in Portugal, where a priest would usually stand outside the church on Sunday morning, haranguing passers-by to enter. As people crammed themselves into the church against their will, they rarely listened to the sermons, instead preoccupying themselves in side conversations, or in keeping their hungry children quiet, or in scratching at their skin, which probably had not been touched by water for months. For the entire mass, their eyes would be set on the door, waiting for it to open so they could leave.
    Here, people performed their ablutions and washed with water before they went to the mosque, all of their own free will.
    In the evening, they finally decided to do what they had agreed to do before they set off on their journey. Aden was where the pair would split up, Paiva sailing across to the coast of Africa, in search of Prester John’s court, and Covilhã continuing on to Muscat and further east.
    Covilhã studied his map for a moment; he was hesitant to broach the subject of the difficulties they were likely to face in the days and weeks to come. He knew how nervous his younger companion was about what lay ahead. ‘When you get to the port of Zeila, you will have reached the outskirts of Prester John’s kingdom. When you’re there, make yourqueries carefully. You might have to travel a long distance to get to him, but when you do, give him this message.’
    Paiva grabbed the scroll wrapped in a silk ribbon and sealed with red wax, and examined it anxiously. ‘What if I can’t find the kingdom? What should I do then? As you know, Portuguese ships brought many scouts to search for this kingdom along the coast of Africa, none of whom have returned! That land is clearly very dangerous, or there are beasts there that prey on humans. Otherwise, why did all those scouts disappear without a trace?’
    Paiva’s face and demeanour were like a child’s as he voiced his objections. Covilhã, accustomed to accommodating Paiva’s concerns, spoke to him in an avuncular manner. ‘I’m aware of your misgivings, Paiva, but we must learn something, anything, about the kingdom that everyone in Portugal believes exists, at least for the sake of the nobleman Manuel, who is obsessed with Prester John. I – like you – am not sure Prester John or his kingdom even exists, but we have to find some answers nevertheless.’
    The two men discussed the rumours circulating in Europe that a wealthy Christian king by the name of Prester John ruled vast lands and commanded a strong army that he used to fight the Muslims. Many legends had been woven about him and the vast amounts of gold in his possession, but no one had ever seen him, and no one knew the exact location of his wealthy kingdom.
    Covilhã brought his face closer to Paiva and continued, ‘Remember our families. They’re waiting for us to return and save them from the Inquisition and those who look down on us because of our faith. If the king honours andrewards us as we have been promised then we shall be safe from the treachery of fate. Remember that, my friend.’
    Covilhã took his eyes off his companion for a few moments. There was nothing else to look at in the room save for the small window overlooking the alleyway. He carried on, ‘We will meet a year from now in Alexandria, in this same month – August.’
    Paiva lifted his gaze from the letter to Covilhã’s face, and with an air of sorrow said, ‘What will you do?’
    â€˜I will travel to the port of Muscat,’ Covilhã replied. ‘From there, I shall go to Hormuz and then to Calicut, the city the Venetian merchant Niccolò de’ Conti mentioned to the Pope. I think I might also look for Sofala.’
    As Covilhã spoke, his eyes seemed unfocused. Then, remembering