qaba skirt, fur-lined gold robe and a silk cream turban studded with rubies and diamonds. Kate instantly recognised the figure as one of the most famous early foreign diamond merchants.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Marcus, narrowing his eyes to read the caption.
Kate smiled. She’d seen this face in many of her history books. ‘Jean-Baptiste Tavernier. He wrote volumes about his travels in Golconda. He came six times from Europe in the seventeenth century. But there were other European diamond buyers from Britain, France, Holland and Belgium. The East India Company had their own British gem traders on the ground.’
She thought of the Golconda diamond that had caught her eye at the museum. There was every chance the diamond rough would have been sold in a market just like the one she now stood in. But where did it go next? How did that Golconda rough end up in a champlevé ring abandoned in a London cellar?
Marcus asked the shopkeeper the price and paid for the painting without haggling.
Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘You could probably have bought the original oil painting for that!’
Marcus shrugged and held it out. ‘We flew here business class, caught an air-conditioned taxi and checked into a hotel that used to be a palace. Men like these guys would have come by ship, risking shipwreck, pirates or scurvy. Or come overland, risking disease, robbery and murder. Also, can you just imagine the heat?’
‘Not in those robes, I can’t.’ Kate tapped the picture. ‘But I agree, that’s the lure of gemstones.’ She thought of George saying he wouldn’t necessarily sell to the highest bidder. ‘It sets something afire in our soul when we touch a beautiful gem,’ she whispered, almost to herself.
THE BAZAAR
HYDERABAD, INDIA, 1630
Ekmel stood at the edge of the bazaar setting up his stall. Just steps away the creamy minuets of the Charminar stood like sentinels, ghostly in the morning mist, as the hum and bustle of the markets started to rise.
The gem merchant unfurled a roll of hide across his table, but left the gemstones and jewels tucked under his turban. He preferred to stick to the edges of the market, staying well clear of the carpet peddlers, beggars and loud-mouthed diamond dealers who screeched and bickered across the middle aisles until the market closed ahead of evening prayers.
Women draped in black dresses and veils weaved among the vendors, prodding at fish and chickens in cages, buying bagfuls of dried fruit and nuts, loading beans and rice into baskets on their backs. The smell of roasting kebabs, cardamom and stewing apricots filled the crisp air, mingling with the sweat of horses and oxen, and the pungent hair of goats corralled in a pen at the southern end.
Ekmel had just finished arranging some gems in a wooden box when he noticed a young man standing still and silent among the chaos. The youth met his gaze with a raised chin, a pride out of kilter with his gaunt face and filthy bare feet. Ekmel closed the box and locked it as the youth pressed through the crowds and made his way towards him.
As the youth approached, Ekmel rested a hand on the dagger at his belt. He wanted this beggar—or slave—gone before his customers arrived.
‘I have something I wish you to sell for me.’
The man sighed. Every day skinny boys and youths just like this one streamed over the mountains from Golconda Fort and beyond, walking barefoot for days just to sell stolen slips of silk, dusty surcoats or stolen gemstones at the market. He shooed them all away, just as he should shoo this youth away—however, there was a dignity about this youth that he couldn’t explain.
‘What is your name, boy?’ he asked.
‘Sachin.’
‘Show me what you have,’ Ekmel said with a sigh.
The boy reached under his turban and removed a filthy cloth. He untied the string, and tipped a rough into his palm.
Without hesitation, Ekmel lifted the diamond rough up between thumb and forefinger and reached for his eyepiece. The stone was of the clearest water. He stood with the boy and whispered in a low voice, ‘Golconda.’
The youth nodded.
Ekmel glanced around the market to see if any of the king’s men were nearby. They’d been known in recent months to raid the market stalls and throw any traders who bought stolen diamonds from slaves into the dungeons—or worse. Still, he felt sorry for this weary youth.
Ekmel said. ‘I have a foreigner meeting me here this morning to look at diamonds.’
‘Can you sell him this one?’
‘Perhaps.’ Ekmel