6 November 1598

Dear Joseph,
Tell Uncle I am tending to my health with extra attention, since Win told me today that if I die in Pegu, all I possess would go to the king. I have paid for these jewels in absence and longing, and I do not intend to finance the king’s foreign adventures that many complain have put the kingdom in peril. Maybe if news of the kingdom’s troubles had traveled as fast as talk of profit to be made, I would not have undertaken this journey at all. Or perhaps Uncle felt that in times of unrest, jewels could be gotten at a bargain price. We may feast on others’ troubles–I only hope we can get up from the table in time.

Win owes his position to Nandabayin, the king, and will speak only in his house or mine, and even then in hushed tones, of the king’s folly, his hard-heartedness, and the fear and suspicion he harbors for his closest lords. The king’s line is not from this place. He is a Burman from Toungoo and not much admired by the Mon people of Pegu. He sees enmity in their eyes when, under sword and gun, they are conscripted to subdue the rebellious vassal regions that no longer pay tribute in money and soldiers. Imagine if we Venetians ruled Florence, the Florentines would find that a heavy yoke to bear. They would not step forward willingly to bear arms to preserve our power. They might even seek refuge in other cities not under our sway. Win, who seems to have eyes and ears throughout the kingdom, hears that more and more paddy fields lie fallow and villages grow quiet–the only sound the shuffle of those too old and infirm to survive in the forest or on the exodus to neighboring lands.

Win reads omens not in the stars but in the bellow and tromp of the kingdom’s fighting elephants. These wondrous beasts are the heart of the kingdom’s power, like galleys are to the Republic. I have seen but a few on parade in the city streets, and they are frightening creatures when bedecked for battle, with wooden castles, large enough for four men, atop their backs. With streamers flying, bejeweled collars and harnesses, and swords swinging from their trunks, they would strike fear in the stoutest heart. A Portuguese filibuster turned merchant told me that before going into battle they drink specially prepared spirits to fortify their martial spirit. He swears that after the surrender of one city, he saw with his own eyes the king’s soldiers gather up the slain children lying in the streets and feed them to the elephants. The soldiers, swords dripping blood, dismembered and cut these innocents into small pieces, rolled them in rice chaff and grass, and fed them to the elephants in front of the rebellious ruler, whose doom soon followed. I have seen thieves begging in the market who, undeterred by searing brands on chest and cheeks for their first offense, have lost both hands for their second. But I find hard to believe this act of barbarity, even for these infidels in time of war. Under the last king, who all say was a great warrior and a devout man–much the opposite of his pitiless successor–the kingdom had an army of four thousand fighting elephants. Now Win says the number is less than a thousand, and this bodes ill for the kingdom’s future. My time here is governed more by seasonal winds than even our desire for profit. I can only do our business and pray for the best. Tell Uncle to pray for his faithful nephew and this benighted king.

This evening I rearranged things in the chest where I keep the heavy dark pants and jacket not fit for this climate. I found my yellow hat had turned moldy and rotten in the thick, humid air. I looked at it with a stranger’s eyes: it wasn’t my hat anymore. It looked much too small to ever have fit. It seemed a costume kept by a troupe of traveling players–something an actor wears to play a role. I had Khaing throw it out with the fish bones and coconut husks.

Your cousin,
Abraham