CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEFrom theTuzuk-i-Arangbari, the court chronicles of His Imperial Majesty:“On the day of Mubarak-shamba, the twenty-eighth of the month of Dai, there came first reports of the pestilence in the city of Agra. On this day over five hundred people were stricken.The first signs are headache and fever and much bleeding at the nose. After this thedanaof the plague, buboes, form under the armpits, or in the groin, or below the throat. The infected ones turn in color from yellow inclining to black. They vomit and endure much high fever and pain. And then they die.If one in a household contracts the pestilence and dies, others in the same house inevitably follow after, traveling the same road of annihilation. Those in whom the buboes appeared, if they call another person for water to drink or wash, will also infect the latter with the sirayat, the infection. It has come to pass that, through excessive apprehension, none will minister unto those infected.It has become known from men of great age and from old histories that this disease has never before shown itself in this land of Hindustan. Many physicians and learned men have been questioned as to its cause. Some say it has come because there has been drought for two years in succession; others say it is owing to the corruption of the air. Some attribute it to other causes.The infection is now spreading to all towns and villages in the region of Agra save one, the noble city of the Great Akman, Fatehpur.Wisdom is of Allah, and all men must submit.Written this last day of the Muharram in the Hijri year after the Prophet of 1028 A.H., by Mu'tamad Khan, Second Wazir to His Imperial Majesty, Arangbar.”Brian Hawksworth walked slowly up worn stone steps leading from the riverside funeral ghats. The pathway was narrow, crowded, and lined with carved statues of Hindu gods: a roly-poly god with human form and the head of an elephant, a god with a lion's body and a grotesquely grinning human face, an austere deity with a pointed head and a trident in his hand. All were ancient, weathered, ill-kept. Tame monkeys, small, brown, malicious, chased among them screeching.The smoke from theghatsbehind him still seared in his lungs. Only when he reached the top of the steps could he force himself to look back. Scavenger birds wheeled in the sky above and small barks with single oarsmen plied the muddy face of the Jamuna. Along the banks were toiling washermen, Untouchables, who wore nothing save a brown loincloth and a kerchief over their heads. They stood in a long row, knee-deep at the water's edge, mechanically slapping folded lengths of cloth against stacks of flat stones. They seemed unconcerned by the nearness of the funeral ghats, stone platforms at the river's edge that were built out above the steps leading down into the water. As he silently surveyed the crowd around him, from somewhere on the street above a voice chanted a funeral litany: Ram Nam Sach Hai, the Name of Ram Is Truth Itself.It had taken four days for Kamala to die. The morning after she had danced, she had begun to show unmistakable symptoms of the plague. She had called for Brahmin priests and, seating herself on a wooden plank in their presence, had removed hertodus, the ear pendants that were the mark of herdevadasicaste, and placed them together with twelve gold coins on the plank before her. It was her deconsecration. Then with a look of infinite peace, she had announced she was ready to die.Next she informed the priests that since she had no sons in Agra, no family at all, she wanted Brian Hawksworth to officiate at her funeral. He had not understood what she wanted until the servants whispered it to him. The Brahmins had been scandalized and at first had refused to agree, insisting he had no caste and consequently was a despicable Untouchable. Finally, after more payments, they had reluctantly consented. Then she had turned to him and explained what she had done.When he tried to argue, she had appealed to him in the name of Shiva."I only ask you do this one last thing for me," she had said, going on to insist his responsibilities would not be difficult. "There are Hindu servants in the palace. Though they are low caste, they know enough Turki to guide you."After the Brahmins had departed, she called the servants and, as Hawksworth watched, ordered them to remove all her jewels from the rosewood box where she kept them. Then she asked him to accompany them as they took the jewels through the Hindu section of Agra, to a temple of the goddess Mari, who presides over epidemics. They were to donate all her jewels to the goddess. Smiling at Hawksworth's astonishment, she had explained that Hindus believe a person's reincarnation is directly influenced by the amount of alms given in his or her previous life. This last act of charity might even bring her back as a Brahmin.Two days later she lapsed into a delirium of fever. As death drew near, the Hindu servants again summoned the priests to visit the palace. The plague was spreading now, and with it fear, and at first none had been willing to comply. Only after it was agreed that they would be paid three times the usual price for the ceremonies did the Brahmins come. They had laid Kamala's body on a bed ofkusagrass in the open air, sprinkled her head with water brought from the sacred Ganges River, and smeared her brow with Ganges clay. She had seemed only vaguely conscious of what they were doing.When at last she died, her body was immediately washed, perfumed, and bedecked with flowers. Then she was wrapped in linen, lifted onto a bamboo bier, and carried toward the river ghats by the Hindu servants, winding through the streets with her body held above their heads, intoning a funeral dirge. Hawksworth had led the procession, carrying a firepot with sacred fire provided by Nadir Sharifs Hindu servants.The riverside was already crowded with mourners, for there had been many deaths, and the air was acrid from the smoke of cremation pyres. On the steps above the ghats was a row of thatch umbrellas, and sitting on a reed mat beneath each was a Brahmin priest. All were shirtless, potbellied, and wore three stripes of white clay down their forehead in honor of Vishnu's trident. The servants approached one of the priests and began to bargain with him. After a time the man rose and signified agreement. The servants whispered to Hawksworth that he was there to provide funeral rites for hire, adding with some satisfaction that Brahmins who served at the ghats were despised as mercenaries by the rest of their caste.After the bargain had been struck, the priest retired beneath his umbrella to watch while they purchased logs from vendors and began construction of a pyre. When finished, it was small, no more than three feet high, and irregular; but no one seemed to care. Satisfied, they proceeded to douse it with oil.Then the Brahmin priest was summoned from his umbrella and he rose and came down the steps, bowing to a stone Shiva lingam as he passed. After he had performed a short ceremony, chanting from the Vedas, the winding sheet was cut away and Kamala's body was lifted atop the stack of wood.A mortal sadness had swept through Hawksworth as he stood holding the torch, listening to the Brahmin chant and studying the flow of the river. He thought again of Kamala, of the times he had secretly admired her erotic bearing, the times she had sat patiently explaining how best to draw the long sensuous notes from his new sitar, the times he had held her in his arms. And he thought again of their last evening, when she had danced with the power of a god.When at last he moved toward the bier, the servants had touched his arm and pointed him toward her feet, explaining that only if the deceased were a man could the pyre be lighted at the head.The oil-soaked logs had kindled quickly, sending out the sweet smoke ofneem. Soon the pyre was nothing but yellow tongues of fire, and for a moment he thought he glimpsed her once more, in among the flames, dancing as the goddess Parvati, the beloved consort of Shiva.When he turned to walk away, the servants had caught his sleeve and indicated he must remain. As her "son" it was his duty to ensure that the heat burst her skull, releasing her soul. Otherwise he would have to do it himself.He waited, the smoke drifting over him, astonished that a religion capable of the beauty of her dance could treat death with such barbarity. At last, to his infinite relief, the servants indicated they could leave. They gathered up the pot of sacred fire and took his arm to lead him away. It was then he had pulled away, wanting to be alone with her one last time. Finally, no longer able to check his tears, he had turned and started blindly up the steps, alone.Now he stared numbly back, as though awakened from a nightmare. Almost without thinking, he searched the pocket of his jerkin until his fingers closed around a flask of brandy. He drew deeply on it twice before turning to make his way on through the streets of Agra.*"You took an astonishing risk merely to honor the whims of your Hindu dancer, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif had summoned Hawksworth to his reception room at sunset. "Few men here would have done it.""I've lived through plagues twice before. In 1592 over ten thousand in London died of the plague, and in 1603, in the summer after King James's coronation, over thirty thousand died, one person out of every five. If I were going to die, I would have by now." Hawksworth listened to his own bravado and wondered if it sounded as hollow as it was. He remembered his own haunting fear during the height of the last plague, when rowdy, swearing Bearers, rogues some declared more ill-bred than hangmen, plied the city with rented barrows, their cries of "Cast out your dead" ringing through the deserted streets. They charged sixpence a corpse, and for their fee they carted the bodies to open pits at the city's edge for unconsecrated, anonymous burial, the cutpurse and the alderman piled side by side. As he remembered London again, suddenly the Hindu rites seemed considerably less barbaric."You're a brave man, nonetheless, or a foolish one." Nadir Sharif gestured him toward a bolster. "Tell me, have your English physicians determined the cause of the infection?""There are many theories. The Puritans say it's God's vengeance; and astrologers point out that there was a conjunction of the planets Jupiter and Saturn when the last plague struck. But our physicians seem to have two main theories. Some hold it's caused by an excess of corrupt humors in the body, whereas others claim it's spread by poisonous air, which has taken up vapors contrary to nature."Nadir Sharif sat pensive and silent for a moment, as though pondering the explanations. Then he turned to Hawksworth."What you seem to have told me is that your physicians have absolutely no idea what causes the plague. So they have very ingeniously invented names for the main points of their ignorance." He smiled. "Indian physicians have been known to do the same. Tell me then, what do you think causes it?""I don't know either. It seems to worsen in the years after crops have been bad, when there are hungry dogs and rats scavenging in the streets. During the last plague all the dogs in London were killed or sent out of the city, but it didn't seem to help.""And what about the rats?""There've always been men in England who make a living as rat-catchers, but with the dogs gone during the plague, the rats naturally started to multiply."Nadir smiled thoughtfully. "You know, the Hindus have a book, the Bhagavata Parana, that warns men to quit their house if they see a sickly rat near it. Indians have long assumed vermin bring disease. Have you considered the possibility that the source of the plague might be the rats, rather than the dogs? Perhaps by removing the dogs, you eliminated the best deterrent to the bearer of the plague, the rats?""No one has thought of that.""Well, the European plague has finally reached India, whatever its cause." Nadir Sharif looked away gloomily. "Almost a hundred people died in Agra this past week. Our physicians are still searching for a cure. What remedies do you use in England? I think His Majesty would be most interested to know.""I suppose the measures are more general than specific. Englishmen try to ward it off by purging the pestilent air around them. They burn rosemary and juniper and bay leaves in their homes. During the last plague the price of rosemary went up from twelve pence an armful to six shillings a handful. But the only people helped seemed to be herb wives and gardeners. One physician claimed the plague could be avoided by wearing a bag of arsenic next to the skin. There's also a belief that if you bury half a dozen peeled onions near your home, they'll gather all the infection in the neighborhood. And some people fumigate the contagious vapors from their rooms by dropping a red-hot brick into a basin of vinegar.""Do these curious nostrums work?" Nadir Sharif tried to mask his skepticism."I suppose it's possible. Who can say for sure? But the plague always diminishes after a time, usually with the onset of winter.""Doesn't your king do anything?""He usually leaves London if an infection starts to spread. In 1603, the year of his coronation, he first went to Richmond, then to Southampton, then to Wilton. He traveled all summer and only returned in the autumn.""Is that all he did? Travel?""There were Plague Orders in all the infected towns. And any house where someone was infected had to have a red cross painted on the door and a Plague Bill attached. No one inside could leave. Anyone caught outside was whipped and set in the stocks.""And did these measures help?""Englishmen resent being told they can't leave home. So people would tear the Plague Bills off their doors and go about their business. Some towns hired warders at sixpence a day to watch the houses and make sure no one left. But when so many are infected, it's impossible to watch everyone. So there were also orders forbidding assemblies. King James banned the holding of fairs within fifty miles of London. And all gatherings in London were prohibited by a city order—playhouses, gaming houses, cockpits, bear-baiting, bowling, football. Even ballad singers were told to stay off the streets.""His Majesty may find that interesting." Nadir Sharif turned and signaled forsharbatfrom the servants. "Perhaps he should issue laws forbidding assembly before he leaves Agra.""Is he leaving?" Hawksworth felt his heart stop."Day after tomorrow." Nadir Sharif watched as the tray ofsharbatcups arrived and immediately directed it toward Hawksworth."I have to see him one last time before he leaves. Before I leave.""I really think that's impossible now. He's canceled the dailydurbar. No one can see him. Even I have difficulty meeting with him." Nadir Sharif accepted a cup from the tray and examined Hawksworth sorrowfully as he sipped it. "In any case, I fear a meeting would do you little good, Ambassador. He's busy arranging the departure for all the court, including thezenana. There are thousands of people to move, and on very short notice. In fact, I've been trying to see Her Majesty for several days, but she has received no one." He smiled evenly. "Not even her own brother.""Where's His Majesty planning to go?""Not so very far, actually. Ordinarily he probably wouldtravel north, toward Kashmir. But since winter is approaching, he's decided to go west, to Fatehpur Sekri. The area around the old palace has remained free of the infection.""But I have to see him." Hawksworth hesitated. "Do you know what's happened to Shirin?""Nothing, so far as I hear. I believe she's still being held in the fort." Nadir Sharif studied Hawksworth. "But I would advise you in the strongest possible terms to avoid meddling in the business of that Persian adventuress and her departed Sufi heretic.""What I do is my affair." Hawksworth set down his cup harder than necessary. "I insist on seeing His Majesty. I want you to arrange it.""But a formal meeting is really quite impossible, Ambassador. Haven't I made that clear?" Nadir Sharif paused to collect his poise. "But perhaps if you appeared when his entourage is departing Agra, you might be able to speak with him. I have to insist, however, that a meeting now would be pointless and possibly even dangerous, considering His Majesty's disposition at the moment.""I'll see him before he leaves, somehow. I'll find a way.""Then I wish you Godspeed, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif put down hissharbatglass. "Incidentally, there's a large caravan leaving for Surat day after tomorrow. Should I make arrangements for you to join it?""I'm not going anywhere until I see the Moghul.""You're a headstrong man, Ambassador. Please believe I wish you well. Notwithstanding His Majesty's current views, I've always regarded you highly." He signaled for a tray of betel leaves and rose, flashing one of his official smiles. "Who knows? Perhaps your luck is due for a change."Queen Janahara read the dispatch twice, the lines of her mouth growing tighter each time, before passing it back to Arangbar. He studied it again, holding it with a trembling hand, seeming not to fully comprehend its meaning, then extended it to Nadir Sharif. The courtyard off Arangbar's private library was deadly silent, all servants and eunuchs banished. The tapestries shading the inner compartment had been drawn back, permitting the hard light of morning to illuminate the flowered murals on the library's red sandstone walls. Arangbar sipped wine from a gilded cup and studied Nadir Sharifs face while the prime minister read, as though hoping somehow to decipher the document's significance from his expression."He has plainly refused. Majesty." Nadir Sharifs voice was strangely calm. "When did this arrive?""This morning. It's his reply to the pigeon I sent to Burhanpur the day after the wedding, ordering him to return the command in the south to Ghulam Adl and march to the northwest, to relieve the fortress at Qandahar." Arangbar's eyes were bloodshot and grim. "At least we know now where he is.""We know nothing." Janahara reached for the document and scrutinized it. "This dispatch was sent four days ago. He could be as far north as Mandu by now, or well on his way to Agra.""I doubt very much he will march anywhere." Nadir Sharif cut her off without seeming to do so. "Until he receives a response to the terms he has demanded.""Repeat them to me." Arangbar was having difficulty focusing on the wine cup and he shifted his gaze into the courtyard."They are very explicit. Majesty." Nadir Sharif rolled the document and replaced it in the bamboo sleeve. "Jadar has refused to march to defend Qandahar unless his horse rank is raised to thirty thousand, and unless thejagirsin Dholpur, those that were granted to Prince Allaudin, are returned. What will you do?""There can be no bargaining with an Imperial order," Queen Janahara interjected. "How many times will you be intimidated? Remember he refused to undertake this campaign—which, I should add, he has apparently bungled—until hissuwarrank was elevated, and his elder brother Khusrav was sent out of Agra. When will his demands end?" Her voice rose. "Even now we do not know what has happened. All we know for sure is that two months ago he marched south from Burhanpur. And four days ago he was there again. Was he driven back when he tried to recapture Ahmadnagar from Malik Ambar? Does the Deccan still belong to the Abyssinian? Prince Jadar has much to answer.""But the dispatch was sent from Burhanpur. At least he hasn't abandoned the city entirely, as some of the rumors said," Nadir Sharif continued evenly. "And I don't believe he has abandoned the south, either. He would not permit it to remain in rebel hands. Whatever else he is, he's a soldier first.""For all we know he is now isolated at the fortress in Burhanpur." Janahara studied the empty courtyard. "If he has not already lost the city.""So what do you propose be done?" Arangbar's voice was slurred as he sipped from his cup."There's only one choice remaining, if you ever hope to control Jadar." She spoke directly to Arangbar. "Order Inayat Latif to mobilize the Imperial army and march south, now. We have to know what's happening there. Inayat Latif is a far abler general than Jadar. He, at least, can ensure the Deccan is secure. Then we can handle the matter of Jadar's demands.""But that could also give the appearance the Imperial army is marching against Jadar." Nadir Sharif shifted uncomfortably. "He will see it as an ultimatum. Do you really think he will respond to threats? You must know him better than that.""I know him all too well." Janahara's voice was hard."Your Majesty"—Nadir Sharif turned directly to the queen—"perhaps if he is given more time, he will come to better . . . appreciate his position. I suggest the first thing we do is request a clarification of the military situation throughout the Deccan. Then we can send the Imperial army, as reinforcements, if it still seems advisable.""I'm growing weary of constantly trying to outguess Jadar." Arangbar examined his cup and noted gloomily that it was dry. "First the plague, and now the preparations for the move. I'm exhausted. When do we depart?""I'm told the last of the elephants will be ready within onepahar, Majesty." Nadir Sharif studied the queen casually, wondering how far she would push her influence with Arangbar. "I agree with you it would be wisest to wait.""If you insist on doing nothing, at least the Imperial army should be mobilized and made ready." Janahara's dulcet voice was betrayed by the quick flash in her eyes. "Then Jadar will understand we are prepared to act quickly if he remains defiant.""How many men and horse does Inayat Latif have under his command now?" Arangbar searched the darkened recesses behind them for a servant to summon with more wine."There are over a hundred thousand men here. Majesty, and probably fifty thousand cavalry. Over three times the force Jadar took with him to the south." Nadir Sharif paused. "They could always move out within, say, two to three weeks.""I insist the forces here at least be mobilized, and moved to Fatehpur with the court . . . lest the army itself become contaminated by the plague." Janahara hesitated for a moment and then continued evenly. "I'm prepared to order it in your name today. It would protect the army from infection; you would have them with you if you needed them; and it would also put Jadar on notice.""Then prepare the orders for my seal, if it pleases you." Arangbar sighed and reached for his turban. "You're usually right.""You know I'm right." She smiled warmly. "And, regardless, no harm will be done.""Then it's settled." Arangbar tried unsuccessfully to rise, and Nadir Sharif stepped forward, assisting him to his feet. "I have to holddurbarone last time today, quickly before we leave. The Persian Safavid ambassador notified thewazirhe has gifts and a petition that must be brought to me before the court leaves Agra." He grinned. "The Safavis are so worried I will form an alliance with the northwestern Uzbeks that their Emperor Shah Abbas sends gifts every month.""You've decided to holddurbartoday, after all?" Nadir Sharifs eyes quickened. "If so, there's a Portuguese official from Surat who also wishes to present some gifts from the Viceroy and speak with you on a matter he said was delicate.""What 'delicate' matter does His Excellency have?" Janahara stopped sharply on her way toward the corridor and turned back. "I've heard nothing about it.""I suppose we'll all discover that indurbar, Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed and was gone.Brian Hawksworth waited in the crowded square of theDiwan-i-Am, holding a large package and hoping the rumored appearance of Arangbar was true. For the past four days the Moghul had not helddurbar, had remained in complete isolation. But only an hour before, talk had circulated in the square that Arangbar would hold a brief reception before departing, probably in a tent pavilion that had been erected in the center of the square. As though to verify the speculation, slaves had unrolled several thick carpets beneath the tent, installed a dais, and were now positioning his throne onto the platform.Hawksworth stared about the square and felt his palms sweat.Is this the last time I ever see the Moghul of India? And Shirin never again? Is this how it ends?He had spent the last several days in a private hell, thinking of Shirin and waiting for the first fever, the first nodules that would signal the plague. So far there had been no signs of the disease. And he had heard that the consensus in the bazaar was the infection would subside within the month. Clearly it would be nothing like London in 1603.Palace rumors said that Shirin was still alive. All executions had ceased after the appearance of the plague. And stories were that the Moghul was rarely seen sober. Perhaps, Hawksworth told himself, Arangbar has stayed so drunk he has forgotten her.He had finally conceived one last plan to try to save her. Then he had packed his chest, settled his accounts, and dismissed his servants. If nothing came of the meeting today . . . if there was a meeting . . . he would have to leave in any case.He moved closer to the royal pavilion, pushing his way through the melee of shirtless servants. The elephants for thezenanahad been moved into the square and were now being readied. There were, by Hawksworth's rough count, approximately a hundred elephants to carry Arangbar's women. Thehowdahsfor the main wives were fashioned from gold, with gratings of gold wire around the sides to provide a view and an umbrella canopy of silver cloth for shade. A special elephant was waiting for Queen Janahara and Princess Layla, decorated with a canvas of gold brocade and bearing a jewel-studdedhowdah.As Hawksworth watched, another elephant, shining with black paint and the largest he had ever seen, lumbered regally into the square, ridden by a mahout with a gold-braided turban. Its covering was even more lavish than that of the queen's mount, and itshowdahwas emblazoned with the Imperial standard of Arangbar, a long-tailed lion crouching menacingly in front of a golden sun face. Beneath the verandas rows of saddled horses waited for the lesser members of the court, each with a slave stationed alongside bearing an umbrella of gold cloth, and in front of the horses were rows of crimson-colored palanquins, their pearl-embroidered velvet gleaming in the light, ready for high officials.The roadway leading from the square of theDiwan-i-Amhad been lined with a guard of three hundred male war elephants, each with a cannon turret on its back. Behind those, three hundred female elephants stood idling in the sunshine, their backs covered with gold cloth marked with the Moghurs insignia, waiting to be loaded with household goods from thezenana. Just beyond the gate a host of watermen were poised with waterskins slung from their backs, ready to run before the Moghul’s procession sprinkling the roadway to banish dust. Near them a small party of men stood holding the harness of a camel bearing a roll of white cloth, used to cover and banish from sight any dead animals that might lie along the route of the Moghuls party.The courtyard erupted with a sudden blare of trumpets and kettledrums, and Hawksworth turned to see Arangbar being carried in on an open palanquin, supported by uniformed eunuchs. A slave walked along one side, holding a satin umbrella over his head for shade, while on the other, two chubby eunuchs walked fanning him with sprays of peacock feathers attached to long poles.As the palanquin neared the tent, Hawksworth pushed through the crowd to gain a better view. Arangbar was dressed for a ceremonial occasion, wearing a velvet turban with a plume of whitehemefeathers almost two feet in length. A walnut-sized ruby dangled from one side of the turban, and on the other side was a massive diamond, paired with a heart-shaped emerald. Around his turban was a sash wreathed with a chain of pearls. Rings bearing flashing jewels decorated every finger, and his cloak was gold brocade, decorated with jeweled armlets.As he descended from the palanquin, at the entry of the pavilion, the nobles near him yelled "Padshah Salamat," Long Live the Emperor, and performed theteslim. As he moved toward his throne two more eunuchs were waiting. One stepped forward and presented an enormous pink carp on a silver tray, while the other held out a dish of starchy white liquid. Arangbar dipped his finger in the liquid, touched it to the fish, then rubbed his own forehead—a Moghul ceremony presaging good omens for a march.Next, another eunuch stepped forward, bowed, and presented him with a sword. He stared at it for a moment as though confused, then shakily ran his finger along the diamonds set in the scabbard and the braided gold belt. As the eunuch urged it toward him, he nodded and allowed it to be buckled at his waist. Another eunuch then presented him with a golden quiver containing thin bamboo arrows and a gleaming lacquer bow.As he mounted the dais, two eunuchs moved to his side, each waving a gold-handled tail of white yak hair intended to drive away flies. Another fanfare of trumpets and drums cut the air as the eunuchs helped him onto the throne.Only when Arangbar was seated did Hawksworth noticethat Nadir Sharif and Zainul Beg were already waiting at the foot of the dais. He also noted Queen Janahara was not present. And then he realized why. The servants had neglected to erect her screen, the one she normally sat behind to dictate his decisions. Since the appearance of Arangbar's solitary rule still had to be maintained, she could not be seen publicly issuing orders, at least not yet.Hawksworth smiled to himself, wondering whose head would roll for the oversight. Then, as he watched Nadir Sharif begin explaining petitions to Arangbar, he thought he sensed a gleam of triumph in the prime minister's eye. Could it be the failure to install a screen was deliberate?The Persian Safavid ambassador approached with the obligatory gift, this time an ornamental case containing a ruby on a gold chain, and then handed up a paper. Arangbar listened to Nadir Sharif explain the document, then appeared to ponder it a moment. Finally he waved his arms lightly and agreed to something Hawksworth did not catch. The ambassador bowed his appreciation, revolved with enormous dignity, and retreated into the sunshine.Arangbar was already beginning to grow restless, clearly anxious to dismiss everyone and begin loading thezenanawomen onto their elephants. He turned and spoke to Nadir Sharif, who replied quickly and motioned toward a Portuguese emissary in a starched doublet who stood waiting, together with Father Sarmento. It was the first time Hawksworth had noticed them, and he felt his gut knot in hatred as he shoved his own way forward toward the pavilion.Arangbar listened with a glazed expression, nodding occasionally, as the Portuguese emissary delivered an elaborate speech, translated by Sarmento, and began laying out the contents of a chest he carried. With theatrical flair he drew out several large silver candlesticks, a brace of gold- handled knives with jewel-embossed sheaths, a dozen wine cups of Venetian crystal. Then he produced a leather packet with a red wax seal. He spoke a few more words and passed it to Nadir Sharif.The prime minister examined it, broke the seal to extract the parchment, then gestured for Sarmento to come forward to translate. The Jesuit suddenly looked very old and very uneasy as he adjusted his peaked black hat and took the paper.Hawksworth shoved closer, and for the first time Arangbar seemed to notice him. The Moghul’s eyes darkened and he started to say something in Hawksworth's direction, but Sarmento had already begun the translation into Turki."His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, sends this message of his high regard and everlasting friendship for His Most High Majesty, the Great Moghul of India. He bows before you and hopes you will honor him by accepting these few small tokens of his admiration."Sarmento shifted and cleared his throat. Arangbar's eyes had fluttered partially closed and his head seemed to nod sleepily at the conventional flattery."His Excellency asks Your Majesty's indulgence of a grievous misdeed last week by a captain of one of our patrol vessels. He assures Your Majesty that the captain will be stripped of all rank and returned in chains to Goa within the month."Arangbar's eyes had again opened and he shifted slightly on the throne. "What 'misdeed' is referred to?"Sarmento looked at the emissary, who quickly replied in Portuguese. The Jesuit turned again to Arangbar."Your Majesty will doubtless receive a dispatch from Surat within a short time describing an unfortunate incident. His Excellency wants you to understand in advance that it was a mistaken order, undertaken entirely without his knowledge or approval."Arangbar was fully awake now and staring down at the two Portuguese."What order? Did the Viceroy order something he now wishes to disown? What was it?""It's the unfortunate matter of theFatima, Your Majesty." Sarmento turned helplessly toward the Portuguese emissary, as though he too were searching for an explanation."What about theFatima? She's my largest cargo vessel. She's due in Surat in two days, with goods from Persia." Arangbar's face was sober now. "Her Highness, Maryam Zamani, had eightylakhsof rupees . . .""TheFatimais safe, Your Majesty. She has only been detained at sea, on a mistaken interpretation of His Excellency's orders." Sarmento seemed to be blurting out the words. "But he wishes to assure you . . .""Impossible!" Arangbar's voice was suddenly a roar. "He would not dare! He knows the cargo was under my seal. I have a copy of the cartaz sent to Goa.""It was a grievous mistake, Majesty. His Excellency sends his deepest apologies and offers to . . .""It was done onsomeone'sorder! It had to be his. How can it be a 'mistake'!" Arangbar's face had gone purple. "Why was it ordered in the first place?"Sarmento stood speechless while the envoy spoke rapidly into his ear. Then he looked back at Arangbar. "Mistakes are always possible, Majesty. His Excellency wishes to assure you the vessel and all cargo will be released within two weeks.""I demand it be released immediately! And damages equal the value of the cargo brought to me personally." Arangbar's face was livid. "Or he will never again have apiceof trade in an Indian port."Sarmento turned and translated quickly to the emissary. The Portuguese's face dropped over his moustache and he hesitantly spoke something to Sarmento."We regret we have no power at this time to authorize a payment for damages, Majesty. But we assure you His Excellency will . . .""Then 'His Excellency' will have no more trade in India." Arangbar turned, his face overflowing with rage, and shouted to the guards standing behind him. As they ran to his side he drew his sword and waved it drunkenly at the emissary, whose face had gone white. "Take him away."As the guards seized the terrified Portuguese by the arms, sending his hat tumbling onto the carpet, he looked imploringly at Nadir Sharif. But the prime minister's face was a mask. Then Arangbar turned on Father Sarmento. "If His Excellency has anything else to say to me, he will say it himself, or he will send someone with the authority to answer me. I do not receive hispeons."Sarmento flinched at the insulting Goan slang for dockhand. "Your Majesty, again I assure you . . ."" You will never again assure me of anything. I've listened to your assurances for years, largely on matters about which you have only belief, never proof. You assured me of the power of the Christian God, but never once would you accept the challenge of the Islamic mullahs to cast a Bible and the Quran into a fire together, to show once and for all which held sacred truth. But their test is no longer needed. Your Christian lies are over." Arangbar rose unsteadily from his throne, his brow harrowed by his fury. "I order your stipend terminated and your church in Agra closed. And your mission in Lahore. There will never again be a Christian church in India. Never.""Your Majesty, there are many Christians in India." Sarmento's voice was pleading. "They must have a priest, to minister the Holy Sacrament.""Then do it in your lodgings. You no longer have a church." Arangbar settled back on the throne, his anger seeming to overwhelm him. "Never see me again unless you bring news the ship is released, and my demands met. Never."Sarmento watched in horror as Arangbar dismissed him with a gesture of his arm. The old Jesuit turned and moved trembling into the crowd that had pushed around the sides of the pavilion. As he passed by Hawksworth, he suddenly stopped."This was all because of you." His voice quivered. "I learned of this only today from my foolish prodigal, Pinheiro. May God have mercy on you, heretic. You and your accomplices have destroyed all His work in India."As Hawksworth tried to find an answer he heard a drunken shout."Inglish! What are you doing here? Come forward and explain yourself."He looked up to see Arangbar motioning at him."Are you deaf? Come forward." Arangbar glared mischievously. "Why are you still in Agra? We were told we sent you away, almost a week ago. I think I may decide to have you and every other Christian in India hanged.""May it please Your Majesty, I came to request an audience." Hawksworth moved quickly forward, past the confused guards, carrying the package he had brought."And what have you stolen of ours, Inglish? Have you come now to tell us it was all a mistake, before I order your hand cut off?""Englishmen are not Portugals, Your Majesty. We do not take what is not our own. What have I ever taken that Your Majesty did not freely give?""It's true what you say, Inglish. You are not a Portuguese." Arangbar suddenly beamed as a thought flashed through his eyes. "Tell me, Inglish, will your king destroy their fleets for me now?""Why would he do so, Your Majesty? You have denied him the right to trade; you have refused to grant thefirmanhe requested.""Not if he will rout the Portuguese infidels from our seas, Inglish. They are a pestilence, a plague, that sickens all it touches." Arangbar waved in the direction of a eunuch, ordering wine for himself. "You deceived me once, Inglish, but you did not rob me. Perhaps we will have you stay here a few days longer.""I have already made preparations to depart, Your Majesty, on your orders.""You cannot travel without our permission, Inglish. We still rule India, despite what the Portuguese Viceroy may think." Arangbar paused and drank thirstily from the glass of wine. "So why did you want an audience, Inglish, if you were planning to leave?"Hawksworth paused, thinking of the decision he had made, wondering again if there was a chance."I've come to make a trifling request of Your Majesty." He moved forward and bowed, presenting his parcel, the obligatory gift."What's this have you brought us, Inglish?""May it please Your Majesty, after settling my accounts in Agra, I have no money remaining to purchase gifts worthy of Your Majesty. I have only this remaining. I offer it to Your Majesty, in hopes you will understand its unworthiness in your eyes is matched only by its unequaled value to me. It is my treasure. I have had it by my side for over twenty years, at sea and on land."Arangbar accepted the parcel with curiosity and flipped aside the velvet wrap. An English lute sparkled against the sunshine."What is this, Inglish?" Arangbar turned it in his hand, examining the polished cedar staves that curved to form its melon-shaped back."An instrument of England, Your Majesty, which we hold in the same esteem you grant your Indian sitar.""This is a curious toy, Inglish. It has so few strings." He examined it a moment longer, then turned to Hawksworth. "Do you yourself play this instrument?""I do, Your Majesty.""Then we will hear it." Arangbar passed the lute back to Hawksworth, while the nobles around them buzzed in astonishment.Hawksworth cradled it against him. The feel of its body flooded him with sadness as he realized he would never play it again. Memories of London, Tunis, Gibraltar, a dozen cabins and lodgings, flooded over him. He inhaled deeply and began a short suite by Dowland. It was the one he had played for Shirin that afternoon so long ago in the observatory in Surat.The clear notes flooded the canopied pavilion with their rich full voice, then drifted outward into the square, settling silence in their path. The suite was melancholy, a lament of lost love and beauty, and Hawksworth found his own eyes misting as he played. When he reached the end, the last crisp note died into a void that seemed to be his own heart. He held the lute a moment longer, then turned to pass it back to Arangbar.The Moghul’s eyes seemed to be misting as well."I have never heard anything quite like it, Inglish. It has a sadness we never hear in a raga. Why have you never played for us before?""Your Majesty has musicians of your own.""But no instrument like this, Inglish. Will you have your king send us one?""But I have given you mine, Majesty."Arangbar examined the lute once more, then looked at Hawksworth and smiled. "But if I keep this instrument now, Inglish, I will most probably forget by tomorrow where I have put it." He winked at Hawksworth and handed back the lute. "Have your king send us one, Inglish, and a teacher to instruct our musicians."Hawksworth could not believe what he was hearing. "I humbly thank Your Majesty. I . . .""Now what was it you came to ask of us, Inglish?" Arangbar continued to study the lute as he sipped from his wine. "Ask it quickly.""Merely a trifling indulgence of Your Majesty.""Then tell us what it is, Inglish." Arangbar turned and searched the square with his eyes, as though monitoring the state of preparations.Hawksworth cleared his throat and tried to still his pulse. "Your Majesty's release of the Persian woman Shirin, who is guilty of no crime against Your Majesty."Arangbar's smile faded as he turned back to Hawksworth."We have not yet decided her fate, Inglish. She does not concern you.""May it please Your Majesty, she concerns me very much. I come to ask Your Majesty's permission to make her my wife, and to take her back to England with me, if Your Majesty will release her. She will be gone from India soon, and will trouble Your Majesty no further.""But we just told you you are not returning, Inglish. Not until we permit it." He grinned. "You must stay and play this instrument for us more.""Then I beg that her life be spared until the time I am allowed to leave."Arangbar studied Hawksworth and a grudging smile played on his lips. "You are an excellent judge of women, Inglish. Perhaps too much so. I suspected it the first time I saw you.""She wishes no ill toward Your Majesty. There is no purpose in taking her life.""How do you know what she wishes for us, Inglish? I think we know better than you." Arangbar paused to sip again from his wine cup. "But we will spare her for now, if your king will agree to send warships to drive the infidel Portuguese from our shores. And if you will agree to play more for me.""Will Your Majesty order her release?""I will move her to myzenanafor now, Inglish. Until matters are settled, I will order her brought with us to Fatehpur. That is my part of the bargain. What will you do about yours?""I will inform my king of Your Majesty's wishes.""And he will comply, if he wants to trade in India." Arangbar turned to Nadir Sharif. "Order a horse for the Inglish. He will ride with us today. And have the woman Shirin sent to thezenana."Nadir Sharif bowed and edged next to Arangbar, adopting a confidential tone."If I may be allowed, Your Majesty, you are aware the woman Shirin would not be entirely welcome in thezenanaby Her Majesty, Queen Janahara.""Her Majesty is not the Moghul of India." Arangbar seemed suddenly exhilarated by the absence of the queen. "I have ordered it.""To hear is to obey." Nadir Sharif bowed low, casting a worried glance toward Hawksworth. "But perhaps it would be equally pleasing to Your Majesty . . . and to Her Majesty as well . . . to allow the woman to travel to Fatehpur under the cognizance of the English ambassador."Arangbar glanced toward the palace, and his exhilaration seemed to dissolve as suddenly as it had come. "Until Fatehpur, then. After that we will decide where she will be kept until the Inglish satisfies his part of the bargain." Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Agreed, Inglish?""I bow to Your Majesty's will.""Durbaris concluded." Arangbar rose by himself and moved to the edge of the tent pavilion. As the trumpets and drums again sounded, the fanning eunuchs scurried to stay beside him. He stepped into the sunshine, stared about the square for a moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif."Order everyone cleared and the women brought. I am suddenly growing weary of Agra."Nadir Sharif bowed again and spoke quickly to the captain of the guard. As the order was circulated, he quietly moved next to Hawksworth."So it seems your luck changed after all, Ambassador. For now. But I fear it may not last. As a friend I suggest you make the most of it."
From theTuzuk-i-Arangbari, the court chronicles of His Imperial Majesty:
“On the day of Mubarak-shamba, the twenty-eighth of the month of Dai, there came first reports of the pestilence in the city of Agra. On this day over five hundred people were stricken.
The first signs are headache and fever and much bleeding at the nose. After this thedanaof the plague, buboes, form under the armpits, or in the groin, or below the throat. The infected ones turn in color from yellow inclining to black. They vomit and endure much high fever and pain. And then they die.
If one in a household contracts the pestilence and dies, others in the same house inevitably follow after, traveling the same road of annihilation. Those in whom the buboes appeared, if they call another person for water to drink or wash, will also infect the latter with the sirayat, the infection. It has come to pass that, through excessive apprehension, none will minister unto those infected.
It has become known from men of great age and from old histories that this disease has never before shown itself in this land of Hindustan. Many physicians and learned men have been questioned as to its cause. Some say it has come because there has been drought for two years in succession; others say it is owing to the corruption of the air. Some attribute it to other causes.
The infection is now spreading to all towns and villages in the region of Agra save one, the noble city of the Great Akman, Fatehpur.
Wisdom is of Allah, and all men must submit.
Written this last day of the Muharram in the Hijri year after the Prophet of 1028 A.H., by Mu'tamad Khan, Second Wazir to His Imperial Majesty, Arangbar.”
Brian Hawksworth walked slowly up worn stone steps leading from the riverside funeral ghats. The pathway was narrow, crowded, and lined with carved statues of Hindu gods: a roly-poly god with human form and the head of an elephant, a god with a lion's body and a grotesquely grinning human face, an austere deity with a pointed head and a trident in his hand. All were ancient, weathered, ill-kept. Tame monkeys, small, brown, malicious, chased among them screeching.
The smoke from theghatsbehind him still seared in his lungs. Only when he reached the top of the steps could he force himself to look back. Scavenger birds wheeled in the sky above and small barks with single oarsmen plied the muddy face of the Jamuna. Along the banks were toiling washermen, Untouchables, who wore nothing save a brown loincloth and a kerchief over their heads. They stood in a long row, knee-deep at the water's edge, mechanically slapping folded lengths of cloth against stacks of flat stones. They seemed unconcerned by the nearness of the funeral ghats, stone platforms at the river's edge that were built out above the steps leading down into the water. As he silently surveyed the crowd around him, from somewhere on the street above a voice chanted a funeral litany: Ram Nam Sach Hai, the Name of Ram Is Truth Itself.
It had taken four days for Kamala to die. The morning after she had danced, she had begun to show unmistakable symptoms of the plague. She had called for Brahmin priests and, seating herself on a wooden plank in their presence, had removed hertodus, the ear pendants that were the mark of herdevadasicaste, and placed them together with twelve gold coins on the plank before her. It was her deconsecration. Then with a look of infinite peace, she had announced she was ready to die.
Next she informed the priests that since she had no sons in Agra, no family at all, she wanted Brian Hawksworth to officiate at her funeral. He had not understood what she wanted until the servants whispered it to him. The Brahmins had been scandalized and at first had refused to agree, insisting he had no caste and consequently was a despicable Untouchable. Finally, after more payments, they had reluctantly consented. Then she had turned to him and explained what she had done.
When he tried to argue, she had appealed to him in the name of Shiva.
"I only ask you do this one last thing for me," she had said, going on to insist his responsibilities would not be difficult. "There are Hindu servants in the palace. Though they are low caste, they know enough Turki to guide you."
After the Brahmins had departed, she called the servants and, as Hawksworth watched, ordered them to remove all her jewels from the rosewood box where she kept them. Then she asked him to accompany them as they took the jewels through the Hindu section of Agra, to a temple of the goddess Mari, who presides over epidemics. They were to donate all her jewels to the goddess. Smiling at Hawksworth's astonishment, she had explained that Hindus believe a person's reincarnation is directly influenced by the amount of alms given in his or her previous life. This last act of charity might even bring her back as a Brahmin.
Two days later she lapsed into a delirium of fever. As death drew near, the Hindu servants again summoned the priests to visit the palace. The plague was spreading now, and with it fear, and at first none had been willing to comply. Only after it was agreed that they would be paid three times the usual price for the ceremonies did the Brahmins come. They had laid Kamala's body on a bed ofkusagrass in the open air, sprinkled her head with water brought from the sacred Ganges River, and smeared her brow with Ganges clay. She had seemed only vaguely conscious of what they were doing.
When at last she died, her body was immediately washed, perfumed, and bedecked with flowers. Then she was wrapped in linen, lifted onto a bamboo bier, and carried toward the river ghats by the Hindu servants, winding through the streets with her body held above their heads, intoning a funeral dirge. Hawksworth had led the procession, carrying a firepot with sacred fire provided by Nadir Sharifs Hindu servants.
The riverside was already crowded with mourners, for there had been many deaths, and the air was acrid from the smoke of cremation pyres. On the steps above the ghats was a row of thatch umbrellas, and sitting on a reed mat beneath each was a Brahmin priest. All were shirtless, potbellied, and wore three stripes of white clay down their forehead in honor of Vishnu's trident. The servants approached one of the priests and began to bargain with him. After a time the man rose and signified agreement. The servants whispered to Hawksworth that he was there to provide funeral rites for hire, adding with some satisfaction that Brahmins who served at the ghats were despised as mercenaries by the rest of their caste.
After the bargain had been struck, the priest retired beneath his umbrella to watch while they purchased logs from vendors and began construction of a pyre. When finished, it was small, no more than three feet high, and irregular; but no one seemed to care. Satisfied, they proceeded to douse it with oil.
Then the Brahmin priest was summoned from his umbrella and he rose and came down the steps, bowing to a stone Shiva lingam as he passed. After he had performed a short ceremony, chanting from the Vedas, the winding sheet was cut away and Kamala's body was lifted atop the stack of wood.
A mortal sadness had swept through Hawksworth as he stood holding the torch, listening to the Brahmin chant and studying the flow of the river. He thought again of Kamala, of the times he had secretly admired her erotic bearing, the times she had sat patiently explaining how best to draw the long sensuous notes from his new sitar, the times he had held her in his arms. And he thought again of their last evening, when she had danced with the power of a god.
When at last he moved toward the bier, the servants had touched his arm and pointed him toward her feet, explaining that only if the deceased were a man could the pyre be lighted at the head.
The oil-soaked logs had kindled quickly, sending out the sweet smoke ofneem. Soon the pyre was nothing but yellow tongues of fire, and for a moment he thought he glimpsed her once more, in among the flames, dancing as the goddess Parvati, the beloved consort of Shiva.
When he turned to walk away, the servants had caught his sleeve and indicated he must remain. As her "son" it was his duty to ensure that the heat burst her skull, releasing her soul. Otherwise he would have to do it himself.
He waited, the smoke drifting over him, astonished that a religion capable of the beauty of her dance could treat death with such barbarity. At last, to his infinite relief, the servants indicated they could leave. They gathered up the pot of sacred fire and took his arm to lead him away. It was then he had pulled away, wanting to be alone with her one last time. Finally, no longer able to check his tears, he had turned and started blindly up the steps, alone.
Now he stared numbly back, as though awakened from a nightmare. Almost without thinking, he searched the pocket of his jerkin until his fingers closed around a flask of brandy. He drew deeply on it twice before turning to make his way on through the streets of Agra.
*
"You took an astonishing risk merely to honor the whims of your Hindu dancer, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif had summoned Hawksworth to his reception room at sunset. "Few men here would have done it."
"I've lived through plagues twice before. In 1592 over ten thousand in London died of the plague, and in 1603, in the summer after King James's coronation, over thirty thousand died, one person out of every five. If I were going to die, I would have by now." Hawksworth listened to his own bravado and wondered if it sounded as hollow as it was. He remembered his own haunting fear during the height of the last plague, when rowdy, swearing Bearers, rogues some declared more ill-bred than hangmen, plied the city with rented barrows, their cries of "Cast out your dead" ringing through the deserted streets. They charged sixpence a corpse, and for their fee they carted the bodies to open pits at the city's edge for unconsecrated, anonymous burial, the cutpurse and the alderman piled side by side. As he remembered London again, suddenly the Hindu rites seemed considerably less barbaric.
"You're a brave man, nonetheless, or a foolish one." Nadir Sharif gestured him toward a bolster. "Tell me, have your English physicians determined the cause of the infection?"
"There are many theories. The Puritans say it's God's vengeance; and astrologers point out that there was a conjunction of the planets Jupiter and Saturn when the last plague struck. But our physicians seem to have two main theories. Some hold it's caused by an excess of corrupt humors in the body, whereas others claim it's spread by poisonous air, which has taken up vapors contrary to nature."
Nadir Sharif sat pensive and silent for a moment, as though pondering the explanations. Then he turned to Hawksworth.
"What you seem to have told me is that your physicians have absolutely no idea what causes the plague. So they have very ingeniously invented names for the main points of their ignorance." He smiled. "Indian physicians have been known to do the same. Tell me then, what do you think causes it?"
"I don't know either. It seems to worsen in the years after crops have been bad, when there are hungry dogs and rats scavenging in the streets. During the last plague all the dogs in London were killed or sent out of the city, but it didn't seem to help."
"And what about the rats?"
"There've always been men in England who make a living as rat-catchers, but with the dogs gone during the plague, the rats naturally started to multiply."
Nadir smiled thoughtfully. "You know, the Hindus have a book, the Bhagavata Parana, that warns men to quit their house if they see a sickly rat near it. Indians have long assumed vermin bring disease. Have you considered the possibility that the source of the plague might be the rats, rather than the dogs? Perhaps by removing the dogs, you eliminated the best deterrent to the bearer of the plague, the rats?"
"No one has thought of that."
"Well, the European plague has finally reached India, whatever its cause." Nadir Sharif looked away gloomily. "Almost a hundred people died in Agra this past week. Our physicians are still searching for a cure. What remedies do you use in England? I think His Majesty would be most interested to know."
"I suppose the measures are more general than specific. Englishmen try to ward it off by purging the pestilent air around them. They burn rosemary and juniper and bay leaves in their homes. During the last plague the price of rosemary went up from twelve pence an armful to six shillings a handful. But the only people helped seemed to be herb wives and gardeners. One physician claimed the plague could be avoided by wearing a bag of arsenic next to the skin. There's also a belief that if you bury half a dozen peeled onions near your home, they'll gather all the infection in the neighborhood. And some people fumigate the contagious vapors from their rooms by dropping a red-hot brick into a basin of vinegar."
"Do these curious nostrums work?" Nadir Sharif tried to mask his skepticism.
"I suppose it's possible. Who can say for sure? But the plague always diminishes after a time, usually with the onset of winter."
"Doesn't your king do anything?"
"He usually leaves London if an infection starts to spread. In 1603, the year of his coronation, he first went to Richmond, then to Southampton, then to Wilton. He traveled all summer and only returned in the autumn."
"Is that all he did? Travel?"
"There were Plague Orders in all the infected towns. And any house where someone was infected had to have a red cross painted on the door and a Plague Bill attached. No one inside could leave. Anyone caught outside was whipped and set in the stocks."
"And did these measures help?"
"Englishmen resent being told they can't leave home. So people would tear the Plague Bills off their doors and go about their business. Some towns hired warders at sixpence a day to watch the houses and make sure no one left. But when so many are infected, it's impossible to watch everyone. So there were also orders forbidding assemblies. King James banned the holding of fairs within fifty miles of London. And all gatherings in London were prohibited by a city order—playhouses, gaming houses, cockpits, bear-baiting, bowling, football. Even ballad singers were told to stay off the streets."
"His Majesty may find that interesting." Nadir Sharif turned and signaled forsharbatfrom the servants. "Perhaps he should issue laws forbidding assembly before he leaves Agra."
"Is he leaving?" Hawksworth felt his heart stop.
"Day after tomorrow." Nadir Sharif watched as the tray ofsharbatcups arrived and immediately directed it toward Hawksworth.
"I have to see him one last time before he leaves. Before I leave."
"I really think that's impossible now. He's canceled the dailydurbar. No one can see him. Even I have difficulty meeting with him." Nadir Sharif accepted a cup from the tray and examined Hawksworth sorrowfully as he sipped it. "In any case, I fear a meeting would do you little good, Ambassador. He's busy arranging the departure for all the court, including thezenana. There are thousands of people to move, and on very short notice. In fact, I've been trying to see Her Majesty for several days, but she has received no one." He smiled evenly. "Not even her own brother."
"Where's His Majesty planning to go?"
"Not so very far, actually. Ordinarily he probably would
travel north, toward Kashmir. But since winter is approaching, he's decided to go west, to Fatehpur Sekri. The area around the old palace has remained free of the infection."
"But I have to see him." Hawksworth hesitated. "Do you know what's happened to Shirin?"
"Nothing, so far as I hear. I believe she's still being held in the fort." Nadir Sharif studied Hawksworth. "But I would advise you in the strongest possible terms to avoid meddling in the business of that Persian adventuress and her departed Sufi heretic."
"What I do is my affair." Hawksworth set down his cup harder than necessary. "I insist on seeing His Majesty. I want you to arrange it."
"But a formal meeting is really quite impossible, Ambassador. Haven't I made that clear?" Nadir Sharif paused to collect his poise. "But perhaps if you appeared when his entourage is departing Agra, you might be able to speak with him. I have to insist, however, that a meeting now would be pointless and possibly even dangerous, considering His Majesty's disposition at the moment."
"I'll see him before he leaves, somehow. I'll find a way."
"Then I wish you Godspeed, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif put down hissharbatglass. "Incidentally, there's a large caravan leaving for Surat day after tomorrow. Should I make arrangements for you to join it?"
"I'm not going anywhere until I see the Moghul."
"You're a headstrong man, Ambassador. Please believe I wish you well. Notwithstanding His Majesty's current views, I've always regarded you highly." He signaled for a tray of betel leaves and rose, flashing one of his official smiles. "Who knows? Perhaps your luck is due for a change."
Queen Janahara read the dispatch twice, the lines of her mouth growing tighter each time, before passing it back to Arangbar. He studied it again, holding it with a trembling hand, seeming not to fully comprehend its meaning, then extended it to Nadir Sharif. The courtyard off Arangbar's private library was deadly silent, all servants and eunuchs banished. The tapestries shading the inner compartment had been drawn back, permitting the hard light of morning to illuminate the flowered murals on the library's red sandstone walls. Arangbar sipped wine from a gilded cup and studied Nadir Sharifs face while the prime minister read, as though hoping somehow to decipher the document's significance from his expression.
"He has plainly refused. Majesty." Nadir Sharifs voice was strangely calm. "When did this arrive?"
"This morning. It's his reply to the pigeon I sent to Burhanpur the day after the wedding, ordering him to return the command in the south to Ghulam Adl and march to the northwest, to relieve the fortress at Qandahar." Arangbar's eyes were bloodshot and grim. "At least we know now where he is."
"We know nothing." Janahara reached for the document and scrutinized it. "This dispatch was sent four days ago. He could be as far north as Mandu by now, or well on his way to Agra."
"I doubt very much he will march anywhere." Nadir Sharif cut her off without seeming to do so. "Until he receives a response to the terms he has demanded."
"Repeat them to me." Arangbar was having difficulty focusing on the wine cup and he shifted his gaze into the courtyard.
"They are very explicit. Majesty." Nadir Sharif rolled the document and replaced it in the bamboo sleeve. "Jadar has refused to march to defend Qandahar unless his horse rank is raised to thirty thousand, and unless thejagirsin Dholpur, those that were granted to Prince Allaudin, are returned. What will you do?"
"There can be no bargaining with an Imperial order," Queen Janahara interjected. "How many times will you be intimidated? Remember he refused to undertake this campaign—which, I should add, he has apparently bungled—until hissuwarrank was elevated, and his elder brother Khusrav was sent out of Agra. When will his demands end?" Her voice rose. "Even now we do not know what has happened. All we know for sure is that two months ago he marched south from Burhanpur. And four days ago he was there again. Was he driven back when he tried to recapture Ahmadnagar from Malik Ambar? Does the Deccan still belong to the Abyssinian? Prince Jadar has much to answer."
"But the dispatch was sent from Burhanpur. At least he hasn't abandoned the city entirely, as some of the rumors said," Nadir Sharif continued evenly. "And I don't believe he has abandoned the south, either. He would not permit it to remain in rebel hands. Whatever else he is, he's a soldier first."
"For all we know he is now isolated at the fortress in Burhanpur." Janahara studied the empty courtyard. "If he has not already lost the city."
"So what do you propose be done?" Arangbar's voice was slurred as he sipped from his cup.
"There's only one choice remaining, if you ever hope to control Jadar." She spoke directly to Arangbar. "Order Inayat Latif to mobilize the Imperial army and march south, now. We have to know what's happening there. Inayat Latif is a far abler general than Jadar. He, at least, can ensure the Deccan is secure. Then we can handle the matter of Jadar's demands."
"But that could also give the appearance the Imperial army is marching against Jadar." Nadir Sharif shifted uncomfortably. "He will see it as an ultimatum. Do you really think he will respond to threats? You must know him better than that."
"I know him all too well." Janahara's voice was hard.
"Your Majesty"—Nadir Sharif turned directly to the queen—"perhaps if he is given more time, he will come to better . . . appreciate his position. I suggest the first thing we do is request a clarification of the military situation throughout the Deccan. Then we can send the Imperial army, as reinforcements, if it still seems advisable."
"I'm growing weary of constantly trying to outguess Jadar." Arangbar examined his cup and noted gloomily that it was dry. "First the plague, and now the preparations for the move. I'm exhausted. When do we depart?"
"I'm told the last of the elephants will be ready within one
pahar, Majesty." Nadir Sharif studied the queen casually, wondering how far she would push her influence with Arangbar. "I agree with you it would be wisest to wait."
"If you insist on doing nothing, at least the Imperial army should be mobilized and made ready." Janahara's dulcet voice was betrayed by the quick flash in her eyes. "Then Jadar will understand we are prepared to act quickly if he remains defiant."
"How many men and horse does Inayat Latif have under his command now?" Arangbar searched the darkened recesses behind them for a servant to summon with more wine.
"There are over a hundred thousand men here. Majesty, and probably fifty thousand cavalry. Over three times the force Jadar took with him to the south." Nadir Sharif paused. "They could always move out within, say, two to three weeks."
"I insist the forces here at least be mobilized, and moved to Fatehpur with the court . . . lest the army itself become contaminated by the plague." Janahara hesitated for a moment and then continued evenly. "I'm prepared to order it in your name today. It would protect the army from infection; you would have them with you if you needed them; and it would also put Jadar on notice."
"Then prepare the orders for my seal, if it pleases you." Arangbar sighed and reached for his turban. "You're usually right."
"You know I'm right." She smiled warmly. "And, regardless, no harm will be done."
"Then it's settled." Arangbar tried unsuccessfully to rise, and Nadir Sharif stepped forward, assisting him to his feet. "I have to holddurbarone last time today, quickly before we leave. The Persian Safavid ambassador notified thewazirhe has gifts and a petition that must be brought to me before the court leaves Agra." He grinned. "The Safavis are so worried I will form an alliance with the northwestern Uzbeks that their Emperor Shah Abbas sends gifts every month."
"You've decided to holddurbartoday, after all?" Nadir Sharifs eyes quickened. "If so, there's a Portuguese official from Surat who also wishes to present some gifts from the Viceroy and speak with you on a matter he said was delicate."
"What 'delicate' matter does His Excellency have?" Janahara stopped sharply on her way toward the corridor and turned back. "I've heard nothing about it."
"I suppose we'll all discover that indurbar, Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed and was gone.
Brian Hawksworth waited in the crowded square of theDiwan-i-Am, holding a large package and hoping the rumored appearance of Arangbar was true. For the past four days the Moghul had not helddurbar, had remained in complete isolation. But only an hour before, talk had circulated in the square that Arangbar would hold a brief reception before departing, probably in a tent pavilion that had been erected in the center of the square. As though to verify the speculation, slaves had unrolled several thick carpets beneath the tent, installed a dais, and were now positioning his throne onto the platform.
Hawksworth stared about the square and felt his palms sweat.
Is this the last time I ever see the Moghul of India? And Shirin never again? Is this how it ends?
He had spent the last several days in a private hell, thinking of Shirin and waiting for the first fever, the first nodules that would signal the plague. So far there had been no signs of the disease. And he had heard that the consensus in the bazaar was the infection would subside within the month. Clearly it would be nothing like London in 1603.
Palace rumors said that Shirin was still alive. All executions had ceased after the appearance of the plague. And stories were that the Moghul was rarely seen sober. Perhaps, Hawksworth told himself, Arangbar has stayed so drunk he has forgotten her.
He had finally conceived one last plan to try to save her. Then he had packed his chest, settled his accounts, and dismissed his servants. If nothing came of the meeting today . . . if there was a meeting . . . he would have to leave in any case.
He moved closer to the royal pavilion, pushing his way through the melee of shirtless servants. The elephants for thezenanahad been moved into the square and were now being readied. There were, by Hawksworth's rough count, approximately a hundred elephants to carry Arangbar's women. Thehowdahsfor the main wives were fashioned from gold, with gratings of gold wire around the sides to provide a view and an umbrella canopy of silver cloth for shade. A special elephant was waiting for Queen Janahara and Princess Layla, decorated with a canvas of gold brocade and bearing a jewel-studdedhowdah.
As Hawksworth watched, another elephant, shining with black paint and the largest he had ever seen, lumbered regally into the square, ridden by a mahout with a gold-braided turban. Its covering was even more lavish than that of the queen's mount, and itshowdahwas emblazoned with the Imperial standard of Arangbar, a long-tailed lion crouching menacingly in front of a golden sun face. Beneath the verandas rows of saddled horses waited for the lesser members of the court, each with a slave stationed alongside bearing an umbrella of gold cloth, and in front of the horses were rows of crimson-colored palanquins, their pearl-embroidered velvet gleaming in the light, ready for high officials.
The roadway leading from the square of theDiwan-i-Amhad been lined with a guard of three hundred male war elephants, each with a cannon turret on its back. Behind those, three hundred female elephants stood idling in the sunshine, their backs covered with gold cloth marked with the Moghurs insignia, waiting to be loaded with household goods from thezenana. Just beyond the gate a host of watermen were poised with waterskins slung from their backs, ready to run before the Moghul’s procession sprinkling the roadway to banish dust. Near them a small party of men stood holding the harness of a camel bearing a roll of white cloth, used to cover and banish from sight any dead animals that might lie along the route of the Moghuls party.
The courtyard erupted with a sudden blare of trumpets and kettledrums, and Hawksworth turned to see Arangbar being carried in on an open palanquin, supported by uniformed eunuchs. A slave walked along one side, holding a satin umbrella over his head for shade, while on the other, two chubby eunuchs walked fanning him with sprays of peacock feathers attached to long poles.
As the palanquin neared the tent, Hawksworth pushed through the crowd to gain a better view. Arangbar was dressed for a ceremonial occasion, wearing a velvet turban with a plume of whitehemefeathers almost two feet in length. A walnut-sized ruby dangled from one side of the turban, and on the other side was a massive diamond, paired with a heart-shaped emerald. Around his turban was a sash wreathed with a chain of pearls. Rings bearing flashing jewels decorated every finger, and his cloak was gold brocade, decorated with jeweled armlets.
As he descended from the palanquin, at the entry of the pavilion, the nobles near him yelled "Padshah Salamat," Long Live the Emperor, and performed theteslim. As he moved toward his throne two more eunuchs were waiting. One stepped forward and presented an enormous pink carp on a silver tray, while the other held out a dish of starchy white liquid. Arangbar dipped his finger in the liquid, touched it to the fish, then rubbed his own forehead—a Moghul ceremony presaging good omens for a march.
Next, another eunuch stepped forward, bowed, and presented him with a sword. He stared at it for a moment as though confused, then shakily ran his finger along the diamonds set in the scabbard and the braided gold belt. As the eunuch urged it toward him, he nodded and allowed it to be buckled at his waist. Another eunuch then presented him with a golden quiver containing thin bamboo arrows and a gleaming lacquer bow.
As he mounted the dais, two eunuchs moved to his side, each waving a gold-handled tail of white yak hair intended to drive away flies. Another fanfare of trumpets and drums cut the air as the eunuchs helped him onto the throne.
Only when Arangbar was seated did Hawksworth notice
that Nadir Sharif and Zainul Beg were already waiting at the foot of the dais. He also noted Queen Janahara was not present. And then he realized why. The servants had neglected to erect her screen, the one she normally sat behind to dictate his decisions. Since the appearance of Arangbar's solitary rule still had to be maintained, she could not be seen publicly issuing orders, at least not yet.
Hawksworth smiled to himself, wondering whose head would roll for the oversight. Then, as he watched Nadir Sharif begin explaining petitions to Arangbar, he thought he sensed a gleam of triumph in the prime minister's eye. Could it be the failure to install a screen was deliberate?
The Persian Safavid ambassador approached with the obligatory gift, this time an ornamental case containing a ruby on a gold chain, and then handed up a paper. Arangbar listened to Nadir Sharif explain the document, then appeared to ponder it a moment. Finally he waved his arms lightly and agreed to something Hawksworth did not catch. The ambassador bowed his appreciation, revolved with enormous dignity, and retreated into the sunshine.
Arangbar was already beginning to grow restless, clearly anxious to dismiss everyone and begin loading thezenanawomen onto their elephants. He turned and spoke to Nadir Sharif, who replied quickly and motioned toward a Portuguese emissary in a starched doublet who stood waiting, together with Father Sarmento. It was the first time Hawksworth had noticed them, and he felt his gut knot in hatred as he shoved his own way forward toward the pavilion.
Arangbar listened with a glazed expression, nodding occasionally, as the Portuguese emissary delivered an elaborate speech, translated by Sarmento, and began laying out the contents of a chest he carried. With theatrical flair he drew out several large silver candlesticks, a brace of gold- handled knives with jewel-embossed sheaths, a dozen wine cups of Venetian crystal. Then he produced a leather packet with a red wax seal. He spoke a few more words and passed it to Nadir Sharif.
The prime minister examined it, broke the seal to extract the parchment, then gestured for Sarmento to come forward to translate. The Jesuit suddenly looked very old and very uneasy as he adjusted his peaked black hat and took the paper.
Hawksworth shoved closer, and for the first time Arangbar seemed to notice him. The Moghul’s eyes darkened and he started to say something in Hawksworth's direction, but Sarmento had already begun the translation into Turki.
"His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, sends this message of his high regard and everlasting friendship for His Most High Majesty, the Great Moghul of India. He bows before you and hopes you will honor him by accepting these few small tokens of his admiration."
Sarmento shifted and cleared his throat. Arangbar's eyes had fluttered partially closed and his head seemed to nod sleepily at the conventional flattery.
"His Excellency asks Your Majesty's indulgence of a grievous misdeed last week by a captain of one of our patrol vessels. He assures Your Majesty that the captain will be stripped of all rank and returned in chains to Goa within the month."
Arangbar's eyes had again opened and he shifted slightly on the throne. "What 'misdeed' is referred to?"
Sarmento looked at the emissary, who quickly replied in Portuguese. The Jesuit turned again to Arangbar.
"Your Majesty will doubtless receive a dispatch from Surat within a short time describing an unfortunate incident. His Excellency wants you to understand in advance that it was a mistaken order, undertaken entirely without his knowledge or approval."
Arangbar was fully awake now and staring down at the two Portuguese.
"What order? Did the Viceroy order something he now wishes to disown? What was it?"
"It's the unfortunate matter of theFatima, Your Majesty." Sarmento turned helplessly toward the Portuguese emissary, as though he too were searching for an explanation.
"What about theFatima? She's my largest cargo vessel. She's due in Surat in two days, with goods from Persia." Arangbar's face was sober now. "Her Highness, Maryam Zamani, had eightylakhsof rupees . . ."
"TheFatimais safe, Your Majesty. She has only been detained at sea, on a mistaken interpretation of His Excellency's orders." Sarmento seemed to be blurting out the words. "But he wishes to assure you . . ."
"Impossible!" Arangbar's voice was suddenly a roar. "He would not dare! He knows the cargo was under my seal. I have a copy of the cartaz sent to Goa."
"It was a grievous mistake, Majesty. His Excellency sends his deepest apologies and offers to . . ."
"It was done onsomeone'sorder! It had to be his. How can it be a 'mistake'!" Arangbar's face had gone purple. "Why was it ordered in the first place?"
Sarmento stood speechless while the envoy spoke rapidly into his ear. Then he looked back at Arangbar. "Mistakes are always possible, Majesty. His Excellency wishes to assure you the vessel and all cargo will be released within two weeks."
"I demand it be released immediately! And damages equal the value of the cargo brought to me personally." Arangbar's face was livid. "Or he will never again have apiceof trade in an Indian port."
Sarmento turned and translated quickly to the emissary. The Portuguese's face dropped over his moustache and he hesitantly spoke something to Sarmento.
"We regret we have no power at this time to authorize a payment for damages, Majesty. But we assure you His Excellency will . . ."
"Then 'His Excellency' will have no more trade in India." Arangbar turned, his face overflowing with rage, and shouted to the guards standing behind him. As they ran to his side he drew his sword and waved it drunkenly at the emissary, whose face had gone white. "Take him away."
As the guards seized the terrified Portuguese by the arms, sending his hat tumbling onto the carpet, he looked imploringly at Nadir Sharif. But the prime minister's face was a mask. Then Arangbar turned on Father Sarmento. "If His Excellency has anything else to say to me, he will say it himself, or he will send someone with the authority to answer me. I do not receive hispeons."
Sarmento flinched at the insulting Goan slang for dockhand. "Your Majesty, again I assure you . . ."
" You will never again assure me of anything. I've listened to your assurances for years, largely on matters about which you have only belief, never proof. You assured me of the power of the Christian God, but never once would you accept the challenge of the Islamic mullahs to cast a Bible and the Quran into a fire together, to show once and for all which held sacred truth. But their test is no longer needed. Your Christian lies are over." Arangbar rose unsteadily from his throne, his brow harrowed by his fury. "I order your stipend terminated and your church in Agra closed. And your mission in Lahore. There will never again be a Christian church in India. Never."
"Your Majesty, there are many Christians in India." Sarmento's voice was pleading. "They must have a priest, to minister the Holy Sacrament."
"Then do it in your lodgings. You no longer have a church." Arangbar settled back on the throne, his anger seeming to overwhelm him. "Never see me again unless you bring news the ship is released, and my demands met. Never."
Sarmento watched in horror as Arangbar dismissed him with a gesture of his arm. The old Jesuit turned and moved trembling into the crowd that had pushed around the sides of the pavilion. As he passed by Hawksworth, he suddenly stopped.
"This was all because of you." His voice quivered. "I learned of this only today from my foolish prodigal, Pinheiro. May God have mercy on you, heretic. You and your accomplices have destroyed all His work in India."
As Hawksworth tried to find an answer he heard a drunken shout.
"Inglish! What are you doing here? Come forward and explain yourself."
He looked up to see Arangbar motioning at him.
"Are you deaf? Come forward." Arangbar glared mischievously. "Why are you still in Agra? We were told we sent you away, almost a week ago. I think I may decide to have you and every other Christian in India hanged."
"May it please Your Majesty, I came to request an audience." Hawksworth moved quickly forward, past the confused guards, carrying the package he had brought.
"And what have you stolen of ours, Inglish? Have you come now to tell us it was all a mistake, before I order your hand cut off?"
"Englishmen are not Portugals, Your Majesty. We do not take what is not our own. What have I ever taken that Your Majesty did not freely give?"
"It's true what you say, Inglish. You are not a Portuguese." Arangbar suddenly beamed as a thought flashed through his eyes. "Tell me, Inglish, will your king destroy their fleets for me now?"
"Why would he do so, Your Majesty? You have denied him the right to trade; you have refused to grant thefirmanhe requested."
"Not if he will rout the Portuguese infidels from our seas, Inglish. They are a pestilence, a plague, that sickens all it touches." Arangbar waved in the direction of a eunuch, ordering wine for himself. "You deceived me once, Inglish, but you did not rob me. Perhaps we will have you stay here a few days longer."
"I have already made preparations to depart, Your Majesty, on your orders."
"You cannot travel without our permission, Inglish. We still rule India, despite what the Portuguese Viceroy may think." Arangbar paused and drank thirstily from the glass of wine. "So why did you want an audience, Inglish, if you were planning to leave?"
Hawksworth paused, thinking of the decision he had made, wondering again if there was a chance.
"I've come to make a trifling request of Your Majesty." He moved forward and bowed, presenting his parcel, the obligatory gift.
"What's this have you brought us, Inglish?"
"May it please Your Majesty, after settling my accounts in Agra, I have no money remaining to purchase gifts worthy of Your Majesty. I have only this remaining. I offer it to Your Majesty, in hopes you will understand its unworthiness in your eyes is matched only by its unequaled value to me. It is my treasure. I have had it by my side for over twenty years, at sea and on land."
Arangbar accepted the parcel with curiosity and flipped aside the velvet wrap. An English lute sparkled against the sunshine.
"What is this, Inglish?" Arangbar turned it in his hand, examining the polished cedar staves that curved to form its melon-shaped back.
"An instrument of England, Your Majesty, which we hold in the same esteem you grant your Indian sitar."
"This is a curious toy, Inglish. It has so few strings." He examined it a moment longer, then turned to Hawksworth. "Do you yourself play this instrument?"
"I do, Your Majesty."
"Then we will hear it." Arangbar passed the lute back to Hawksworth, while the nobles around them buzzed in astonishment.
Hawksworth cradled it against him. The feel of its body flooded him with sadness as he realized he would never play it again. Memories of London, Tunis, Gibraltar, a dozen cabins and lodgings, flooded over him. He inhaled deeply and began a short suite by Dowland. It was the one he had played for Shirin that afternoon so long ago in the observatory in Surat.
The clear notes flooded the canopied pavilion with their rich full voice, then drifted outward into the square, settling silence in their path. The suite was melancholy, a lament of lost love and beauty, and Hawksworth found his own eyes misting as he played. When he reached the end, the last crisp note died into a void that seemed to be his own heart. He held the lute a moment longer, then turned to pass it back to Arangbar.
The Moghul’s eyes seemed to be misting as well.
"I have never heard anything quite like it, Inglish. It has a sadness we never hear in a raga. Why have you never played for us before?"
"Your Majesty has musicians of your own."
"But no instrument like this, Inglish. Will you have your king send us one?"
"But I have given you mine, Majesty."
Arangbar examined the lute once more, then looked at Hawksworth and smiled. "But if I keep this instrument now, Inglish, I will most probably forget by tomorrow where I have put it." He winked at Hawksworth and handed back the lute. "Have your king send us one, Inglish, and a teacher to instruct our musicians."
Hawksworth could not believe what he was hearing. "I humbly thank Your Majesty. I . . ."
"Now what was it you came to ask of us, Inglish?" Arangbar continued to study the lute as he sipped from his wine. "Ask it quickly."
"Merely a trifling indulgence of Your Majesty."
"Then tell us what it is, Inglish." Arangbar turned and searched the square with his eyes, as though monitoring the state of preparations.
Hawksworth cleared his throat and tried to still his pulse. "Your Majesty's release of the Persian woman Shirin, who is guilty of no crime against Your Majesty."
Arangbar's smile faded as he turned back to Hawksworth.
"We have not yet decided her fate, Inglish. She does not concern you."
"May it please Your Majesty, she concerns me very much. I come to ask Your Majesty's permission to make her my wife, and to take her back to England with me, if Your Majesty will release her. She will be gone from India soon, and will trouble Your Majesty no further."
"But we just told you you are not returning, Inglish. Not until we permit it." He grinned. "You must stay and play this instrument for us more."
"Then I beg that her life be spared until the time I am allowed to leave."
Arangbar studied Hawksworth and a grudging smile played on his lips. "You are an excellent judge of women, Inglish. Perhaps too much so. I suspected it the first time I saw you."
"She wishes no ill toward Your Majesty. There is no purpose in taking her life."
"How do you know what she wishes for us, Inglish? I think we know better than you." Arangbar paused to sip again from his wine cup. "But we will spare her for now, if your king will agree to send warships to drive the infidel Portuguese from our shores. And if you will agree to play more for me."
"Will Your Majesty order her release?"
"I will move her to myzenanafor now, Inglish. Until matters are settled, I will order her brought with us to Fatehpur. That is my part of the bargain. What will you do about yours?"
"I will inform my king of Your Majesty's wishes."
"And he will comply, if he wants to trade in India." Arangbar turned to Nadir Sharif. "Order a horse for the Inglish. He will ride with us today. And have the woman Shirin sent to thezenana."
Nadir Sharif bowed and edged next to Arangbar, adopting a confidential tone.
"If I may be allowed, Your Majesty, you are aware the woman Shirin would not be entirely welcome in thezenanaby Her Majesty, Queen Janahara."
"Her Majesty is not the Moghul of India." Arangbar seemed suddenly exhilarated by the absence of the queen. "I have ordered it."
"To hear is to obey." Nadir Sharif bowed low, casting a worried glance toward Hawksworth. "But perhaps it would be equally pleasing to Your Majesty . . . and to Her Majesty as well . . . to allow the woman to travel to Fatehpur under the cognizance of the English ambassador."
Arangbar glanced toward the palace, and his exhilaration seemed to dissolve as suddenly as it had come. "Until Fatehpur, then. After that we will decide where she will be kept until the Inglish satisfies his part of the bargain." Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Agreed, Inglish?"
"I bow to Your Majesty's will."
"Durbaris concluded." Arangbar rose by himself and moved to the edge of the tent pavilion. As the trumpets and drums again sounded, the fanning eunuchs scurried to stay beside him. He stepped into the sunshine, stared about the square for a moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif.
"Order everyone cleared and the women brought. I am suddenly growing weary of Agra."
Nadir Sharif bowed again and spoke quickly to the captain of the guard. As the order was circulated, he quietly moved next to Hawksworth.
"So it seems your luck changed after all, Ambassador. For now. But I fear it may not last. As a friend I suggest you make the most of it."