CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINEThe advance of Prince Jadar's army west toward the Rajput stronghold of Udaipur was like nothing Brian Hawksworth had ever seen. Jadar was marching into the heart of ancient Rajput country, and the movement of his army suddenly came to resemble a triumphant victory procession.The heavy artillery formed the first contingent, drawn by teams of elephants and bullocks. Two thousand infantry moved in front, smoothing the ground with spades. The army's baggage animals followed the artillery, and after this came Jadar's personal treasury—camels loaded with gold and silver coin—together with his records and archives. Next in the line of march were elephants carrying thezenanawomen's jewels and a collection of ornate swords and daggers that Jadar periodically gave to his officers as presents. Then came the water camels, and finally Jadar's kitchen and provisions. The baggage was followed by the ordinary cavalry, and after them rode Jadar and his retinue of nobles. Behind him came hiszenana. The rear of the procession was brought up by women and servants, then elephants, camels, and mules carrying the remainder of the baggage and tents.Some of Jadar'szenanawomen traveled in gildedchaudolscarried on the shoulders of four bearers and shaded with netting of colored embroidered silk. Others were transported in enclosed palanquins, also covered with silk nets decorated with gold fringe and tassels. Still others chose to ride in swaying litters suspended between two elephants or two strong camels. A female slave walked near each litter carrying a peacock tail to brush off dust and keep away flies.Jadar's first and favorite wife, Mumtaz, seemed to scorn all these comforts, displaying herself regally all day long from atop her own personal elephant, riding in a goldhowdahshaded by a vast tapestry umbrella. Her elephant was festooned with embroideries, yak tails, and large silver bells; and directly behind her, on six smaller elephants, rode the women of her immediate household. Her eunuchs rode clustered around her on horses, each carrying a wand signifying his office and sweating profusely beneath his jeweled turban. A vanguard of footmen with bamboo canes walked ahead of Mumtaz's elephant clearing a path through the crowds.Jadar himself traveled mainly on his favorite Arabian horse—except when passing through cities, when he would switch to a conspicuously bedecked elephant—surrounded by the high-ranking nobles. Trailing out behind this first circle were the ranks of the lessermansabdars, who rode in full military dress, displaying swords, bows, shields. While this procession inched along at its regal pace, Jadar and his nobles frequently paused ostentatiously to bag tiger or chase stripe-eared antelope with the prince's brace of huntingchitahs.A complete set of tents for Jadar and hiszenanatraveled a day ahead, to ensure that a fully prepared camp always awaited him and his women when, at approximately three in the afternoon, the procession would stop and begin to settle for the night. Each of his larger tents could be disassembled into three separate sections, and all of these together required a full fifty baggage elephants for transport. Moving the smaller tents required almost a hundred camels. Wardrobes and kitchen utensils were carried by some fifty mules, and special porters carried by hand Jadar's personal porcelains, his gilt beds, and a few of his silk tents.The procession was a lavish display of all the wealth and arms Jadar had remaining. And nothing about it hinted that his was an army on the run . . . which in fact it was.Hawksworth puzzled over Jadar's extravagant pomp for several days, finding it uncharacteristic, and finally concluded it was a deliberate Indian strategy.Jadar has to raise another army and quickly. He'll not do it if he has the look of a fugitive and loser about him. He's managed to hold the Imperial army at bay for a while, wound them enough to escape entrapment. But he's wounded too, and badly. The Imperial army may be shattered for the moment, but Jadar's lost half his own men. The winner will be the one who can rebuild first and attack. If Jadar doesn't make some alliances and get some men soon, Inayat Latif and the queen will chase him from one end of India to the other.Along the way a few independent Rajput chieftains had come to his banner, but not enough. When Hawksworth asked Shirin what she thought Jadar's chances were of raising a Rajput army large enough to face Inayat Latif, she had made no effort to conceal her concern."The greatest Rajput nobles are waiting to see whether Maharana Karan Singh of Udaipur will decide to openly support him. He's the leader of the ranas of Mewar, which is the name for the lands of Rajputana around Udaipur, and they're the highest in rank of all the Rajput chieftains of India. If Maharana Karan Singh agrees to support him with his own army, the other ranas of Mewar may follow, and after them perhaps all of Rajputana.""What do you mean? He's providing Jadar a place to stay, or at least to hide while he licks his wounds. That looks like support to me."Shirin had tried to smile. "Permitting Prince Jadar to camp in Udaipur doesn't necessarily imply support. It could also be interpreted merely as traditional Rajput hospitality. It's one thing to open your guesthouse to a son of the Moghul. It's something quite different to commit your army to aid his rebellion." She drew her horse closer to Hawksworth's. "You see, Maharana Karan Singh and his father Amar Singh before him have had a treaty of peace with Arangbar for almost ten years, after many decades of bloody war between Mewar and the Moghuls. There are many Rajput chieftains in Mewar who do not want him to renounce that treaty. They're weary of Moghul armies invading Rajputana and burning their fields and cities. Prince Jadar will have to negotiate with Maharana Karan Singh if he's to be persuaded to help. The prince will have to offer him something in return for his aid. For the risk he'll be taking should the prince lose. That's why the other Rajputs are waiting. Everyone here knows the prince has no chance if the maharana withholds his support."A noticeable feeling of relief swept through the long columns of Jadar's cavalry the afternoon that Maharana Karan Singh was sighted riding out on his elephant, surrounded by a retinue of his personal guard, to welcome Prince Jadar at the high stone gate leading through the walls of the mountain city of Udaipur. Throughout the ranks of Jadar's bedraggled army it was seen as a positive omen.The army and the lessermansabdarscamped outside the city walls; the highest-ranking nobles were invited to stay in the maharana's city palace, set on a high cliff overlooking Pichola Lake; and Jadar, hiszenana, and his personal guards were ferried with much pomp across to the new guest palace on Jagmandir Island, in the center of the lake. As one of Arangbar's khans and a foreign ambassador, Brian Hawksworth was installed by the maharana in a special suite in his city palace reserved for dignitaries.In an even more auspicious gesture, the maharana invited Prince Jadar to dine with him in the palace that evening. The ancient Rajputana tradition of hospitality did not normally require dining with your guests, and the Rajput chieftains traveling with Jadar were again heartened. Late in the afternoon, an invitation also arrived requesting that Ambassador Hawksworth and Shirin, characterized as Jadar's personal aide, join the dinner."Why do you think he wants us?" When the maharana's servants had left, Hawksworth showed the gilded invitation to Shirin. She was on their balcony watching white-necked cranes glide across the surface of Pichola Lake, spreading out hundreds of feet below them."Perhaps the maharana is curious to meet aferinghi. I'm sure he's never seen one before." She hesitated. "Or perhaps Prince Jadar arranged for you to be there. To imply he has the support of the English king's warships.""You know I don't speak for King James on matters of war.""Tonight you must appear to do so. I'm sure your king would help Prince Jadar if he knew him.""He'll support him if he becomes Moghul.""Then you must help Prince Jadar tonight. So that he will."Shirin had overseen the servants who had been sent to clean and repair Hawksworth's doublet and hose. Then a bath was brought, accompanied by barbers and manicurists. The maharana sent a vial of musk perfume to Shirin, buried in a basket of flowers. By the time they were escorted through the high scalloped archway leading into the palace banquet hall, they both were bathed, perfumed, and refreshed; and Hawksworth again looked almost like an ambassador.Accustomed to the red sandstone of Agra, he was momentarily astounded to see a room fashioned entirely from purest white marble. The hall was long and wide, with two rows of bracketed columns its entire length. Maharana Karan Singh sat at the far end in front of a marble screen, his gold wand of office at his side, reclining against an enormous bolster of gold brocade. He appeared to be Jadar's age, with eyes that sparkled mischievously, a long Rajput moustache, glistening with wax, which curled upward at the ends, and a turban of gold brocade. He wore a long red and white striped satin skirt beneath a translucent cloak. His necklace and earrings were matching green emeralds. Seated around him, on red carpets woven with designs of fighting elephants, were his Rajput nobles, each in white with an orange turban and a gold-trimmed brocade sash at his waist. Every Rajput in the room had a gold-handled katar.Jadar saw Hawksworth and Shirin enter and rose to greet them. The prince was dressed in his finest, with a cloak of gold cloth, pale green trousers, red velvet slippers, a long double string of pearls around his neck, and a pink silk turban crisscrossed with flowered brocade and secured with a large ruby. He led Hawksworth before the maharana and introduced him, in Rajasthani. Jadar then translated the introduction into Turki for Hawksworth, who was startled to learn that he was a high-ranking member of Angrezi—English—royalty. He looked around and realized he was easily the most shabbily attired man in the room, including the servants.After the introduction Hawksworth took his place among Jadar's own retinue of nobles. Shirin was seated on the carpet directly behind him.All the guests sat in a line facing a long gold-threaded cloth spread along the floor. Food was brought in on silver trays, which were placed on silver stools directly in front of each diner. Hawksworth had scarcely taken his seat before a full wine cup was placed in his hands. It was never allowed to approach dryness.The banquet was lavish, equaling anything he had seen in Agra. It was immediately apparent that roast game was the speciality of Udaipur, as tray after tray of antelope, venison, hare, and wild duck were placed before him. In its emphasis on roasted meats, the food could almost have been English, save it was all seasoned with spices he had never tasted in London. The centerpiece was an elaborately glazed wild boar the maharana had bagged personally from horseback with a spear. Nominal Muslim though he was, Prince Jadar downed a generous portion of the boar and praised the flavor.The trays of meat were accompanied by spiced curds, local yogurts, and baked vegetables swimming in ghee. The meal concluded with dried fruits which had been sugared and perfumed, followed by mouth-fresheningpan, the betel leaves wrapped around spiced bhang, currants, sweet imported coconut.The final offering, eagerly awaited by all the Rajputs, was opium. As they popped down handfuls of the brown balls, Hawksworth discreetly signaled for more wine. After the dishes were cleared, several jeweled women in red trousers and thin billowing blouses entered, drank glasses of wine in honor of the maharana, then danced among the guests to the accompaniment of a large sarangi.After the dancers had been dismissed, Prince Jadar roseand proposed a toast to the maharana. The toast was ceremonial, elaborate, and—it seemed—entirely expected by everyone."To His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur: whose line flows directly from the great Kusa, son of Rama, King of Ajodhya and the noble hero of the Ramayana. Descendant of the Royal House of the Sun, whose subjects will refuse their food if neither he nor his brother the Sun are present to show their face upon it and bless it."The maharana's reply was equally effusive, describing Jadar as the greatest Moghul warrior in all of history, the equal of his Mongol forebears Genghis Khan and Tamerlane, a worthy descendant of the early Moghul conquerors Babur and Humayun, and finally, the one Moghul whose martial skills might actually approach those of the fighting Rajputs of Mewar—an oblique reference to the fact that Jadar had led the Moghul army that subdued Mewar a decade earlier and induced its Rajputs to finally acknowledge Moghul dominance over northwest India.Immoderate praise of one another's armies followed next. Then the maharana said something else, and Jadar turned suddenly toward Hawksworth."Ambassador Hawksworth. His Highness has asked to speak with you."Hawksworth rose from the carpet and moved forward. Around him the Udaipur Rajputs studied him with open curiosity. They had listened to lavish toasts for years, but none had ever before seen aferinghiin a doublet. The very concept of such a phenomenon exceeded their imagination."His Highness has asked permission to allow his court painters to make your portrait, so that he may remember your likeness. Dressed as you are tonight. Do you have any objection?""Please tell His Highness I would be honored." Hawksworth found himself startled, and unsure what reply was appropriate. "Please tell him that my own father was once a painter in England."Jadar smiled through his teeth. "You mean I should tell him there are of course many skilled artists in your noble land of England. Your own father, as we both know, was a great khan in England, not a lowly craftsman."As Hawksworth nodded dully, Jadar turned and translated this to the maharana. Karan Singh's eyes brightened as he replied to Jadar."He asks if your king's painters are expert in Ragamala?""I'm not entirely sure what His Highness refers to." Hawksworth examined Jadar with a puzzled expression.Jadar translated and the Rajput looked surprised. He turned and quickly said something to one of the servants, who vanished and reappeared moments later with a leatherbound folio. The maharana spoke briefly to Jadar, then passed the book."The maharana politely suggests that possibly your English king's painters have not yet achieved the sophistication required for Ragamala. He asks me to show you one of his personal albums." Jadar opened the book and handed it to Hawksworth.It was filled with vibrant miniature paintings, executed on heavy sheets of paper that had been treated with a white pigment of rice water and lavishly embellished with gold leaf. They showed round-eyed young women with firm breasts and slender wrists lounging in beautifully stylized gardens and courtyards, playing gilded instruments or sensuously embracing their lovers, many surrounded by doves, peacocks, tame deer, and tapestry-covered elephants. In some the blue-faced god Krishna played an instrument that looked something like a sitar, to the wistful gaze of longing doe-eyed women whose breasts swelled through their gauze wraps. The paintings imparted to Hawksworth a curious world of emotional intensity: a celebration of life, love, and devotion."Each Ragamala painting depicts the mood of a specific raga." Jadar pointed to one of a jeweled woman feeding a peacock which leaned down from a white marble rooftop, while her lover reached his arms to encircle her. "This is a raga named Hindol, a morning raga of love. The Ragamala paintings of Mewar are a perfect blend of music, poetry, and pure art." Jadar winked. "After the maharana has painted you in your native costume, perhaps he will have his artists paint you as the young god Krishna, enticing some milkmaids to your leafy bed."The maharana spoke again to Jadar."He asks whether these are anything like the paintings your king's artists create for English ragas?""Tell him we don't have ragas in England. Our music is different."Jadar tried to mask his discomfort. "Perhaps I should merely say your English ragas are in a different style from those we have in India. He will not be impressed to learn that English music is not yet advanced enough to have developed the raga."Jadar's reply seemed to satisfy the maharana. He turned and said something to one of the men sitting near him."His Highness has ordered that you be given an album of Ragamala paintings to take back to your king, so the painters at his court may try to copy them and begin to learn greatness.""His Majesty, King James, will be deeply honored by the rana's gift." Hawksworth bowed diplomatically, deciding not to inform the maharana that King James had no painters and little taste.The maharana beamed in satisfaction and dismissed Hawksworth with a nod.Then the exchange of gifts began. Jadar produced a gold cloak for the maharana, a jewel-encrusted sword, a jeweled saddle, and promised to deliver an elephant with a silver howdah. The maharana in turn gave Jadar an emerald the size of a large walnut, a gilded shield studded with jewels, and a brace of jeweled katars. Each thanked the other extravagantly and set the presents aside.Then Jadar suddenly stood up and began removing his turban. The room fell silent at this unprecedented act."Tonight, in gratitude for his friendship, for his offer of an abode to one who no longer has any roof save a tent, I offer to His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur, my own turban, that he may have a lasting token of my gratitude. That in the years ahead when, Allah willing, these dark days are past, we will neither of us forget my indebtedness on this night."As Jadar stepped forward to present the turban, the maharana's eyes flooded with emotion. Before Jadar had moved more than a pace, Karan Singh was on his feet, ripping off his own turban. They met in the center of the room, each reverently placing his own turban on the other's head, then embracing.Hawksworth looked around the room and saw Rajputs who would gut an enemy without a blink now near to tears. He leaned back toward Shirin."What's the significance of the turbans?""It's the rarest gift any man could present to another. I've never before heard of a Moghul or a Rajput giving his turban. The story of this will be told throughout Mewar. We have just seen the creation of a legend."Then the maharana's voice rose. "Mewar, the abode of all that is beautiful in the world, is made even more beautiful by your presence. In years past we have stood shield to shield with you; tonight we embrace you in friendship. We wish you victory over those who would deny you your birthright, which you have earned both by blood and by deed. No other in India is more fit to reign, more just to govern, more honorable to his friends, more feared by his foes. Tonight we offer you our hand and our prayers that Lord Krishna will always stand with you."Hawksworth turned to Shirin and whispered. "What's he saying?"Her eyes were dark. "He's delaying his answer to the prince. Offering him prayers to Lord Krishna. Prince Jadar doesn't need prayers to Krishna. He needs Rajputs. Thousands of Rajputs. But perhaps in time the maharana can be convinced. Banquets are not the place for negotiation. They're the place for perfumed talk."Jadar was smiling as though he had just been offered the whole of Rajputana. He managed to thank the maharana lavishly.The maharana beamed and signaled forpanleaves again, signifying the evening was ended. The room emptied in moments."I think Jadar could be in serious trouble." Hawksworth turned to Shirin as they entered the hallway. "If he fails to get support here, what will he do?""I don't know. I think he may still manage an alliance before he's through. But it will be costly. Otherwise he'll probably have to move south and try to convince Malik Ambar to commit him his Maratha army. But Rajputs are better." She moved closer. "I'm suddenly so very, very tired of armies and tents and strategies. I don't know where it will end. Time is running out. For him and for us." She brushed him lightly with her body. "Will you make love to me tonight as though we'd never heard of Rajputs and Marathas? We'll look at the lake in the moonlight and forget everything, just for tonight." She opened her hand. Inside were several small brown balls. "I took some of the maharana'saffion. Tonight we have no battles to fight."*Hawksworth sat beside Shirin watching the oarsmen strain against the locks, their orange oars flashing against the ornately gilded boat like the immense gills of some ceremonial fish. A turbaned drummer sat at one end, sounding the beat, and the tillerman stood behind him.They were headed for Jagmandir Island, on the invitation of Prince Jadar, in a boat provided by Maharana Karan Singh. Three weeks of banquets, hunting, and oaths of lasting friendship seemed to have done little toResolvethe question of the maharana's support for Jadar's rebellion. Time, Hawksworth told himself, is starting to work heavily against the prince. The Imperial army let us escape because they were too shattered to attack again. But we all know they're rebuilding. Jadar has to decide soon how much longer he can afford to stay here and listen to vague promises.Behind them the high walls and turrets of the maharana's palace towered above the cliff, reflecting gold in the late afternoon sun. As they neared the island, Hawksworth turned back to see the thick stone walls of the city following the curve of the surrounding hilltops and finally angling down to a tall watchtower at the very edge of the lake. He realized the lake itself was actually the city's fourth defense barrier.Ahead, the white sandstone palace on Jagmandir glistened against the water. At the front a large pavilion surrounded by delicate white pillars jutted out into the lake. Its entrance was guarded by a row of life-sized stone elephants rising out of the water, their trunks raised above their heads in silent salute. As their boat neared the arched entryway of the pavilion, Hawksworth saw a veiled woman surrounded by eunuchs standing on the marble-paved dock to greet them."It's Her Highness, Princess Mumtaz." Shirin's voice was suddenly flooded with surprised delight. Then she turned to Hawksworth with a laugh. "Welcome to thezenana, Ambassador.""What's she doing here?" Hawksworth examined the figure, whose jewels glistened in the afternoon sun, then warily studied the eunuchs."She's come to meet us." Shirin's voice was lilting in anticipation. "I think she's bored to frustration trapped on this island prison."As their boat touched the dock, Mumtaz moved forward and immediately embraced Shirin. Her eyes swept Hawksworth as he bowed."Your Highness."Mumtaz giggled behind her veil and turned to Shirin, speaking in Persian. "Do we have to speak barbarous Turki because of him?""Just for this afternoon.""I welcome you in the name of His Highness." Mumtaz's Turki was accented but otherwise flawless. "He asked me to meet you and show you the garden and the palace."She began chattering to Shirin in a mixture of Persian and Turki as they walked into the garden. It soon revealed itself to be a matrix of bubbling fountains and geometrical stone walkways, beside which rows of brightly colored flowers bloomed. Ahead of them the small three-story palace rose skyward like a long-stemmed lotus, its top a high dome with a sensuous curve. The ground floor was an open arcade, with light interior columns and a row of connecting quarters off each side for women and servants, screened behind marble grillwork.Mumtaz directed them on through the garden and into the cool arcade of the palace. At one side, near the back, a stone stairway spiraled upward to the second floor. Mumtaz led the way, motioning them to follow.At the second floor they emerged into a small chamber strewn with bolsters and carpets that seemed to be Jadar's reception room. Mumtaz ignored it as she started up the next circular staircase.The topmost room was tiny, dazzling white, completely unfurnished. The ornate marble cupola of the dome towered some thirty feet above their heads, and around the sides were carved niches decorated with colored stone. Light beamed through the room from a wide doorway leading to a balcony, which was also bare save for an ornately carved sitar leaned against its railing."His Highness has taken a particular fondness for this room and refuses to allow anything to be placed in it. He sits here for hours, and on the balcony there, doing I don't know what." Mumtaz gestured toward the doorway. "He wanted me to bring you here to wait for him." She sighed. "I agree with him that this room brings a great feeling of peace. But what good is peace that cannot last? I don't know how much longer we can stay here." Mumtaz turned and hugged Shirin again. "I so miss Agra. And the Jamuna. Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever see it again."Shirin stroked Mumtaz's dark hair, then said something to her in Persian. Mumtaz smiled and turned to Hawksworth."Do you really love her?""More than anything." Hawksworth was momentarily startled by her directness."Then take her with you. Away from here. Away from all the killing and death. How much longer can any of us endure it?" Her hard eyes blinked away a hint of a tear. "I've lived most of my life with His Highness in tents, bearing children. I'm so weary of it all. And now I wonder if we'll ever have a place just for ourselves."She would have continued, but footsteps sounded on the stone stairs, and Jadar emerged beaming from the stairwell, his turban set rakishly on the side of his head. He seemed in buoyant spirits. "You're here! Let me welcome you and offer you something to banish the afternoon heat." He gave Mumtaz a quick hug. Hawksworth sensed this was not the official Jadar. This was a prince very much at his ease. "I hope Shirin will join me in having somesharbat. But for you, Captain, I've had a surprise prepared. I think you might even like it better than your foul brandy." He spoke quickly to a eunuch waiting at the top of the stairs, then turned back to Hawksworth and Shirin. "Have you found the maharana's palace to your liking?""His view of the lake and the mountains is the finest in India." Shirin performed ateslim. "We so thank Your Highness."Mumtaz embraced Shirin once more, said something to her in Persian, then bowed to Jadar and disappeared down the stairwell. He watched her tenderly until she was gone before he turned back to Hawksworth and Shirin."Come outside with me." He walked past them through the marble doorway. "Have you seen the lake yet from the balcony? This one afternoon we will drink together and watch the sunset. Before we all leave Udaipur I wanted you to see this place. It's become very special for me. When I sit here in the cool afternoon, I seem to forget all the wounds I've ever felt in battle. For a moment nothing else exists.""I think this palace is almost finer than the one Rana Karan Singh has." Hawksworth stroked Shirin's thigh as they followed Jadar onto the cool balcony, impulsively wanting her in his arms. Then he cleared his throat. "I don't remember ever seeing anything quite like it in India.""At times you can be a perceptive man, Captain. Allah may have showed his wisdom when he sent you here." Jadar smiled. "You know, I still remember my first word of your arrival, and your now-famous encounter with the Portuguese. I think that morning will someday change the history of both our lands—the morning India and England met." He looked pensively down into the garden below. "It all depends on what happens next.""What do you think will happen, Highness?" Shirin moved next to Jadar at the edge of the balcony.He squinted into the waning sun for a moment, then turned his eyes away. "It's difficult to know. Probably the Imperial army will be sent against me again, any day now.""Will the maharana support you with his cavalry?"Jadar fell silent, as though choosing his words carefully. Then he shrugged away discretion. "I think he might, but I still don't know. I hear that many of the other ranas of Rajputana have warned him not to side with me openly. They still remember the devastation Inayat Latif wrought here fifteen years ago, when he was sent by Arangbar to put down their rebellion. Rajputs love to battle, but not amid their own cities and fields. And that's easy to understand. Rana Karan Singh is in a difficult position. He knows if I stand here and fight, the battle could well destroy Udaipur.""What will you do?""I'll probably have to move out soon, and move quickly, farther north into the mountains or back south to Burhanpur. I can't stand and fight again, not yet. That's one of the reasons I sent for you." He turned to face Hawksworth. "I think it's time you left India. No one in Agra except Nadir Sharif knows you're alive. But it's obvious you can't return there, not under the present circumstances. It's probably best that you return to England, at least until my fortunes areResolved. You must not join me in any more battles. It's not your war."Hawksworth felt a sudden chill against his skin. "There's no reason for me to leave. And besides, I have no way to return to England now. The Company is supposed to send a voyage this autumn, but . . .""There's always a way to do anything, Captain." Jadar stopped and laughed. "Well, almost anything. Here at Udaipur you're only a few days' ride south to our port of Cambay. Like Surat, it's still free of Portuguese control. I may have very few friends left in Agra, but I do have friends in Cambay. I can arrange for your passage on an Indian trader as far as the Moluccas, where you can doubtless hail a Dutch fleet. You can leave India secretly and safely. No one in Agra need ever know you helped me.""I am not sure I want to leave now." Hawksworth slipped his arm around Shirin's waist.Jadar looked at him and smiled. "But Shirin has to leave with you. Her life is no safer here now than yours." He fixed them both squarely. "I hereby command her to accompany you. You can both return to India someday . . . if Allah is kind and I succeed. And you'll be first among all my ambassadors, Captain, I promise you. You'll receive my firstfirmanfor trade. But if I die in the days to come, your English king will not be accused someday of aiding a renegade. I hereby order you both to leave, tomorrow.""I don't run from a fight. There's some sea dog left in me.""I know you don't, Captain, and that's one of the things I like most about you. But I'm sending you away, ordering you to go. I'll always remember it was against your will." Jadar looked up to see a eunuch entering with a tray of cups. "Now for your drink. I ordered my kitchen to makepanchfor you—I understand thetopiwallahsin Surat think it's called 'punch.'""Punch? What is it?""An Indian delicacy. A special blend of wine, water, sugar, lemons, and spices. Five ingredients. Actually,panchis just the Hindi word for five.' Try it."Hawksworth tasted the perfumed red mixture, slices of lemon rind floating on its surface. It was so delicious he almost drank it off at one gulp. Jadar watched him, smiling, then lifted a cup ofsharbatfrom the tray and gestured the eunuch toward Shirin. "I gather you find it acceptable.""It's perfect to watch a sunset with.""I thought you'd like it. You know, Captain, I've rather enjoyed seeing you grow to understand and love India. That's rare amongferinghi. That's why I absolutely insist your king send you back as his next ambassador.""Nothing would please me more.""I think you mean it. And I want you to believe me when I tell you that nothing would please me more. Together we'll rid India of the Portuguese scourge forever." Jadar lifted his cap in a toast and Hawksworth joined him."And here's to ridding India of one Portuguese in particular."Jadar paused. "Who do you mean?""The Viceroy, Miguel Vaijantes. I don't think I ever told you he murdered my father in Goa, many years ago."Jadar listened in silence. "I had no idea." Then his eyes grew grim. "I know him all too well. You may or may not be aware he was once planning to arm Malik Ambar against me. Unfortunately there's very little I can do about him just now. But I have a long memory too, and someday, Allah willing, I'll put an end to his trade. Will that be justice enough for us both?""I'll drink to it.""And I'll drink with you." Jadar took a deep swallow ofsharbat. "To England and India. And now, for the other reason I asked you both here today. To see what you think about something. It's curious, but living here in this little palace, I've found myself growing obsessed by an idea. I'd like to know if you think it's mad." He drank again, then signaled the waiting eunuch to refill their cups. "If I become Moghul one day, I've decided to build something very special for Mumtaz, a work of beauty unlike anything India has ever seen. Staying here on Jagmandir Island has given me the idea. But first come inside and let me show you something."Jadar rose and strolled back through the columned doorway into the domed room. "Did you happen to notice this when you came in?" He pointed to one of the two-foot- high niches in the curved walls. Hawksworth realized that each niche was decorated around its top and sides with inlays of semi-precious stones set into the marble. Each inlay was a painting of a different flower."Do you see what he's done here?" Jadar motioned Hawksworth and Shirin closer. "This is far more than merely a design. It's actually a painting in rare, colored stone—onyx, carnelian, jasper, agate." Jadar paused. "Think carefully. Have either of you ever seen anything like this in Agra?""I've never seen anything like it before, anywhere.""Of course you haven't. This is unique. It's truly astonishing. Here on Jagmandir Island, with the design of this room, Rana Karan Singh has actually invented a new style of art. It's phenomenal. Now look up." Jadar pointed to the cupola ceiling. "Notice the sensuous curve of the dome. Like a bud just before it bursts into flower. And at the top you see more inlays of precious stone. I think it's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen. Its shape and color and purity move me almost to tears." He paused and looked at Hawksworth mischievously. "So can you guess what I've decided to do someday?""Build a room like this in Agra?"Jadar exploded with laughter. "But this room is so small! What sort of gift would that be for Mumtaz? No, Captain, if I should eventually find myself ruling India, I've decided to build Mumtaz an entire palace like this, a Mahal, all of white marble and inlay. I'll surround it with a garden larger and more beautiful than anything India has ever seen. It will be a place of love and of mystery, with the strength of a Rajput warrior in the harsh sunshine, the warmth of a Persian woman in the moonlight. The outside will be covered with verses from the Quran carved in marble, and inside the walls will be a garden of jeweled flowers. Minarets will rise at each corner, calling all India to prayer, and its dome will be a cupola with the subtle, sensuous curve of a ripening bud. It will be immense, the most magnificent Mahal in the world. And it will be my gift to her." He paused, his eyes glowing. "Is the idea completely insane?""It's beautiful." Shirin was beaming."I think it's magnificent." Jadar seemed not to need encouragement, as he drank again from hissharbat. "So now you know the other reason I invited you here this afternoon. To tell you what you may see when you return to Agra. I haven't decided on the exact location yet, but it will be on the bank of the Jamuna, placed so Mumtaz can watch the sun set over the water, just as we do here. I wanted to tell you both, for I sense you two are among the few who could really appreciate what a bold idea this is." Jadar looked sharply at Shirin. "Now, you must never, never tell Mumtaz, whatever else you two Persians may chatter on about. For now let's keep it a secret among us. But someday, someday it will tell all the world how much I love her." He sighed. "You know, at times I worry I'm nothing more than a romantic Persian myself, deep inside."He looked about the glistening walls once more, then reluctantly turned and walked out onto the balcony again."The peace I feel here overwhelms me sometimes. It quiets all the unrest in my soul. Perhaps I'm a fool to ever think of Agra. But Agra is my destiny. The Hindus would say it's mydharma."He stopped to watch as Mumtaz and her women emerged from their quarters and gathered around the fountain in the garden below. The evening air was flooded with the women's rose attar and musk perfume. He inhaled deeply, then turned to Hawksworth."By the way, I've had a small farewell gift made for you, Captain. It's there beside you." He pointed to the sitar by the railing. "I understand you've started learning to play it."Hawksworth turned, startled, and picked up the instrument. Its workmanship was fine art, with ivory inlays along both sides of the body and a neck carved as the head of a swan. He found himself stunned. "I've only just begun to learn, Highness. This is much finer than I deserve. It's worthy of an Ustad.""Then perhaps it will inspire you to become a Master yourself someday." He laughed. "And now I want to hear how you play it. The Hindus believe the sitar is a window to the soul. That the sound of the first note tells everything there is to know about a man. I want to see if you've actually understood anything since you've been here. What raga have you been studying?""Malkauns.""An ambitious choice. I seem to remember that's a devotional raga. For late evening. But the sun's almost down. We'll pretend it's the moon, just rising. Let's go inside, where you can sit."Hawksworth carried the sitar and followed numbly as Jadar led the way back into the tiny marble room. The apprehension he had momentarily felt on the balcony seemed to dissolve among the bouquets of precious stones in the inlaid walls. He slipped off his shoes and seated himself in the middle of the room. Then he quickly tested the tuning on the strings, both the upper and the lower. He could already tell the sound it produced was magnificent, with the resonance of an organ. Jadar and Shirin seated themselves opposite, speaking Persian in low voices as they watched him cradle the round body of the sitar in the curved instep of his left foot. Then they both fell expectantly silent.He knew what they were waiting to hear. For the raga Malkauns, a master would sound the first note powerfully, yet with a sense of great subtlety—slipping his finger quickly down the string and into the note just as it was struck, then instantly pulling the string across the fret, almost in the same motion, again raising the pitch and giving the feeling the note had merely been tasted, dipped down into and out again as it quavered into existence. But it was much more than mere technique. That was the easiest part. It was a sense. A feeling. It came not from the hand, but from the heart. The note must be felt, not merely sounded. When done with lightness, life seemed to be created, aprahnain the music that the player and listener shared as one. But if the player's heart was false, regardless of how skilled he might be, then his music was hollow and dead.He breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind, then slipped the wire plectrum over his finger and gently stroked the lower sympathetic strings once, twice, to establish the mood. The cool air was crisp and flower-scented, and the sound rose gently upward toward the marble cupola above them. As he listened he found himself looking at Shirin and Jadar, their dark eyes, delicate faces. Then his eyes moved beyond them, to the garden of inlaid stones in the marble walls. And for a moment he felt something he had never felt before. This was the India he had, until that moment, only been in. But here, now, he was finally part of it. He took another deep breath and struck.The first note was perfect, encompassing. He felt it. He knew it. He sensed his hand merge with the music, the music with his own life. Shirin's eyes seemed to melt, and Jadar immediately swung his head from side to side in approval. Then he began to alap, the virtuoso first section of the raga, meant to be played solo and without drum accompaniment. He felt the music slowly growing around him as he found and explored note after note of the raga's structure. He found himself wanting to taste and feel each note to its essence, reluctant to move on to the next. But each time he was beckoned forward, until at last nothing but the music mattered. He played on and on, the intensity of the alap growing organically, almost of its own self, until it burst to completion, like a flower that had gloriously escaped the entrapment of its bud.When the final note died into silence, Shirin slowly rose and slipped her arms around his neck. Jadar sat motionless for a moment longer, then reached out and put his hand on the strings of the sitar."You have earned it, Captain. I've heard what I'd hoped to hear. Your music tells me all I want to know about you." He rose and led them back out onto the balcony. "I know now you can understand why I also want to create something of beauty someday. A Mahal that will last as long as this music. If we cannot taste love and beauty, our hearts are dead." He smiled at Hawksworth. "There is love in your music, Captain. Your heart is as it should be. And in the end, nothing else really matters. Nothing else."He turned and stared pensively into the twilight. "My Mahal will have it too. Because it is in my own heart."Jadar stopped abruptly and gazed toward the darkening shore. Through the dimming light a boat could be seen approaching, rowed furiously by lines of red-cloaked oarsmen. Sitting in the center on a gilded platform was Maharana Karan Singh, wearing full battle dress. His powerful bow hung loosely from his leather quiver and his rhino-hide shield rested at his side. Jadar studied the boat for a moment and concern gathered in his eyes."He would never come here unannounced. MercifulAllah, has the Imperial army moved against us already? How can it be so soon? My preparations have scarcely begun."Jadar watched as the maharana leaped from the boat almost before it touched the marble dock. The women around Mumtaz fled the courtyard, and now the eunuchs pressed forward to bow and welcome him. He brushed them aside as he moved quickly through the garden and into the lower arcade of the palace. Jadar stood listening expectantly to the quick pad of his footsteps on the stone stairs, then walked inside to greet him."Nimaste, my friend. You've already missed the best part of the sunset, but I'll have moresharbatsent."The maharana glanced in surprise at Hawksworth and Shirin for a second, then turned and bowed quickly to Jadar."The news is very bad, Highness.""Then we'll sweeten it withsharbat.""There is no time, Highness.""There's always time forsharbat. This has been a special afternoon for me.""Highness, I came to tell you Arangbar is dead. The Moghul of India joined the immortals two days ago."Jadar examined him a moment almost as though not comprehending. Then he turned and stared out through the balcony doorway, past Hawksworth and Shirin. "I would not have wished it. I sincerely would not have wished it." He turned back to Karan Singh. "How did he die? Did Janahara murder my father, as she's killed so many others?""No, Highness. It almost seems as though he deemed it his time to die. Two weeks ago he was hunting and saw a beater stumble and fall over a ledge, killing himself. His Majesty grew despondent, saying he had caused the man's death. Next he began to declare it an omen of his own death. He refused food and drink. Finally even the physicians despaired. He died in his bed. Word was given out that he was still hunting, so the news was carefully kept from all of Agra until the very end.""How did you learn?""Nadir Sharif sent runners. He dared not send a pigeon."Jadar walked out onto the balcony and peered down into the darkened garden. After a long moment he spoke. "Allah. Then it's finished." He turned back to the Rajput. "Has Janahara declared Allaudin Moghul yet?""She has announced she will do so, Highness." Karan Singh moved out onto the balcony next to Jadar, hesitant to interrupt his thoughts. The cries of water birds flooded the evening air around them. Jadar studied the garden again, as though lost in some distant reverie. When he spoke his voice seemed to emanate from a bottomless void."Allaudin will be in the Red Fort. It can never be taken, not even with a hundred thousand Rajputs. He will never come to face me. He will never need to." He turned slowly to Karan Singh. "I've lost it all, my friend. And I've brought ignominy to your lands by my presence as your guest. For that I am truly sorry."Karan Singh stared at Jadar. "But Highness, Allaudin may not yet be in Agra. You know he wanted Queen Janahara to appoint him to command the army sent against you. Naturally she refused and instead convinced Arangbar to appoint him commander of the forces to be sent against the Persian Safavis threatening the northwest fortress of Qandahar. It was obvious to everyone except Allaudin that she meant it to be merely a ceremonial appointment, an excuse to elevate hismansabrank to equal yours. She had carefully arranged to have him detained in Agra. But he decided on his own that he would actually go north, to prove himself a commander. Just before the hunting accident, he persuaded Arangbar to allow him to march. Arangbar was apparently drunk on wine and approved the order before Janahara discovered it. Allaudin departed Agra a week ago with twenty thousand men and a huge train of courtiers. Because of their numbers, it's thought he has traveled very slowly. But Nadir Sharif said as of the day before yesterday he still had not returned to Agra. No one knows for sure how near he may actually be.""And where are Inayat Latif and the Imperial army?" Jadar's voice quickened."Of that we're not yet certain, Highness. They may be inAgra by now, holding the Red Fort for Allaudin, but we have no way to know."Jadar turned and seized his arm. "Then I will ride. Tonight. Have you told my men?""Two thousand of my men are now in their saddles waiting, Highness. By sunup another twenty thousand will be ready to ride."Jadar stared at him for a moment, then reached out and touched the turban the Rajput was wearing. Hawksworth realized it was Jadar's gift."Then give me three of your best horses. Tonight. I will rotate as I ride." Jadar turned and ordered a waiting eunuch to bring his riding cloak, his sword, and his katar."I will be riding with you too, Highness." Karan Singh stepped forward.This time Jadar embraced Karan Singh for a long moment. Then he pulled back. "No. I will not allow it. If I am too late—and the odds are strong against me—no one who rides with me will leave Agra alive. No, my friend, this I forbid." Jadar silenced Karan Singh's gesture of protest. "Your offer is enough. I want my good friends alive."Jadar started for the stairs, then paused and turned back to look one last time at Hawksworth and Shirin."So our farewell was more timely than we knew. I regret we did not have longer." He paused to take his riding cloak from the eunuch. Then he reached for Hawksworth's hand. "Remember me, my friend. And remember the Mahal. I've told no one else. If I'm still alive when you come again to Agra, I'll take you there. If I'm dead, remember what I dreamed."He turned and disappeared down the stairwell.A tear stained Shirin's cheek as she watched him move across the courtyard below. When he reached Mumtaz, anxiously waiting by the dock, he paused and said something to her, then embraced her closely. As he pulled away, she reached out to stop him. But he was already joining the maharana in the boat. In moments they were swallowed in the dusk."None of us will ever see him again. You know it's true." Shirin's voice was strangely quiet. "What does it matter where Allaudin is? Prince Jadar can never challenge the troops Janahara will have holding the Red Fort. Not with two thousand Rajputs, not with two hundred thousand Rajputs. It's impregnable. He'll never see the inside of the Red Fort again." She moved next to him and rested her head against his chest. "Will you help me remember him from tonight. And the Mahal he will never live to build?""I'll remember it all." He encircled her in his arms, wanting her warmth, and together they watched the last shafts of sun die in the dark waters below.*           *            *

The advance of Prince Jadar's army west toward the Rajput stronghold of Udaipur was like nothing Brian Hawksworth had ever seen. Jadar was marching into the heart of ancient Rajput country, and the movement of his army suddenly came to resemble a triumphant victory procession.

The heavy artillery formed the first contingent, drawn by teams of elephants and bullocks. Two thousand infantry moved in front, smoothing the ground with spades. The army's baggage animals followed the artillery, and after this came Jadar's personal treasury—camels loaded with gold and silver coin—together with his records and archives. Next in the line of march were elephants carrying thezenanawomen's jewels and a collection of ornate swords and daggers that Jadar periodically gave to his officers as presents. Then came the water camels, and finally Jadar's kitchen and provisions. The baggage was followed by the ordinary cavalry, and after them rode Jadar and his retinue of nobles. Behind him came hiszenana. The rear of the procession was brought up by women and servants, then elephants, camels, and mules carrying the remainder of the baggage and tents.

Some of Jadar'szenanawomen traveled in gildedchaudolscarried on the shoulders of four bearers and shaded with netting of colored embroidered silk. Others were transported in enclosed palanquins, also covered with silk nets decorated with gold fringe and tassels. Still others chose to ride in swaying litters suspended between two elephants or two strong camels. A female slave walked near each litter carrying a peacock tail to brush off dust and keep away flies.

Jadar's first and favorite wife, Mumtaz, seemed to scorn all these comforts, displaying herself regally all day long from atop her own personal elephant, riding in a goldhowdahshaded by a vast tapestry umbrella. Her elephant was festooned with embroideries, yak tails, and large silver bells; and directly behind her, on six smaller elephants, rode the women of her immediate household. Her eunuchs rode clustered around her on horses, each carrying a wand signifying his office and sweating profusely beneath his jeweled turban. A vanguard of footmen with bamboo canes walked ahead of Mumtaz's elephant clearing a path through the crowds.

Jadar himself traveled mainly on his favorite Arabian horse—except when passing through cities, when he would switch to a conspicuously bedecked elephant—surrounded by the high-ranking nobles. Trailing out behind this first circle were the ranks of the lessermansabdars, who rode in full military dress, displaying swords, bows, shields. While this procession inched along at its regal pace, Jadar and his nobles frequently paused ostentatiously to bag tiger or chase stripe-eared antelope with the prince's brace of huntingchitahs.

A complete set of tents for Jadar and hiszenanatraveled a day ahead, to ensure that a fully prepared camp always awaited him and his women when, at approximately three in the afternoon, the procession would stop and begin to settle for the night. Each of his larger tents could be disassembled into three separate sections, and all of these together required a full fifty baggage elephants for transport. Moving the smaller tents required almost a hundred camels. Wardrobes and kitchen utensils were carried by some fifty mules, and special porters carried by hand Jadar's personal porcelains, his gilt beds, and a few of his silk tents.

The procession was a lavish display of all the wealth and arms Jadar had remaining. And nothing about it hinted that his was an army on the run . . . which in fact it was.

Hawksworth puzzled over Jadar's extravagant pomp for several days, finding it uncharacteristic, and finally concluded it was a deliberate Indian strategy.

Jadar has to raise another army and quickly. He'll not do it if he has the look of a fugitive and loser about him. He's managed to hold the Imperial army at bay for a while, wound them enough to escape entrapment. But he's wounded too, and badly. The Imperial army may be shattered for the moment, but Jadar's lost half his own men. The winner will be the one who can rebuild first and attack. If Jadar doesn't make some alliances and get some men soon, Inayat Latif and the queen will chase him from one end of India to the other.

Along the way a few independent Rajput chieftains had come to his banner, but not enough. When Hawksworth asked Shirin what she thought Jadar's chances were of raising a Rajput army large enough to face Inayat Latif, she had made no effort to conceal her concern.

"The greatest Rajput nobles are waiting to see whether Maharana Karan Singh of Udaipur will decide to openly support him. He's the leader of the ranas of Mewar, which is the name for the lands of Rajputana around Udaipur, and they're the highest in rank of all the Rajput chieftains of India. If Maharana Karan Singh agrees to support him with his own army, the other ranas of Mewar may follow, and after them perhaps all of Rajputana."

"What do you mean? He's providing Jadar a place to stay, or at least to hide while he licks his wounds. That looks like support to me."

Shirin had tried to smile. "Permitting Prince Jadar to camp in Udaipur doesn't necessarily imply support. It could also be interpreted merely as traditional Rajput hospitality. It's one thing to open your guesthouse to a son of the Moghul. It's something quite different to commit your army to aid his rebellion." She drew her horse closer to Hawksworth's. "You see, Maharana Karan Singh and his father Amar Singh before him have had a treaty of peace with Arangbar for almost ten years, after many decades of bloody war between Mewar and the Moghuls. There are many Rajput chieftains in Mewar who do not want him to renounce that treaty. They're weary of Moghul armies invading Rajputana and burning their fields and cities. Prince Jadar will have to negotiate with Maharana Karan Singh if he's to be persuaded to help. The prince will have to offer him something in return for his aid. For the risk he'll be taking should the prince lose. That's why the other Rajputs are waiting. Everyone here knows the prince has no chance if the maharana withholds his support."

A noticeable feeling of relief swept through the long columns of Jadar's cavalry the afternoon that Maharana Karan Singh was sighted riding out on his elephant, surrounded by a retinue of his personal guard, to welcome Prince Jadar at the high stone gate leading through the walls of the mountain city of Udaipur. Throughout the ranks of Jadar's bedraggled army it was seen as a positive omen.

The army and the lessermansabdarscamped outside the city walls; the highest-ranking nobles were invited to stay in the maharana's city palace, set on a high cliff overlooking Pichola Lake; and Jadar, hiszenana, and his personal guards were ferried with much pomp across to the new guest palace on Jagmandir Island, in the center of the lake. As one of Arangbar's khans and a foreign ambassador, Brian Hawksworth was installed by the maharana in a special suite in his city palace reserved for dignitaries.

In an even more auspicious gesture, the maharana invited Prince Jadar to dine with him in the palace that evening. The ancient Rajputana tradition of hospitality did not normally require dining with your guests, and the Rajput chieftains traveling with Jadar were again heartened. Late in the afternoon, an invitation also arrived requesting that Ambassador Hawksworth and Shirin, characterized as Jadar's personal aide, join the dinner.

"Why do you think he wants us?" When the maharana's servants had left, Hawksworth showed the gilded invitation to Shirin. She was on their balcony watching white-necked cranes glide across the surface of Pichola Lake, spreading out hundreds of feet below them.

"Perhaps the maharana is curious to meet aferinghi. I'm sure he's never seen one before." She hesitated. "Or perhaps Prince Jadar arranged for you to be there. To imply he has the support of the English king's warships."

"You know I don't speak for King James on matters of war."

"Tonight you must appear to do so. I'm sure your king would help Prince Jadar if he knew him."

"He'll support him if he becomes Moghul."

"Then you must help Prince Jadar tonight. So that he will."

Shirin had overseen the servants who had been sent to clean and repair Hawksworth's doublet and hose. Then a bath was brought, accompanied by barbers and manicurists. The maharana sent a vial of musk perfume to Shirin, buried in a basket of flowers. By the time they were escorted through the high scalloped archway leading into the palace banquet hall, they both were bathed, perfumed, and refreshed; and Hawksworth again looked almost like an ambassador.

Accustomed to the red sandstone of Agra, he was momentarily astounded to see a room fashioned entirely from purest white marble. The hall was long and wide, with two rows of bracketed columns its entire length. Maharana Karan Singh sat at the far end in front of a marble screen, his gold wand of office at his side, reclining against an enormous bolster of gold brocade. He appeared to be Jadar's age, with eyes that sparkled mischievously, a long Rajput moustache, glistening with wax, which curled upward at the ends, and a turban of gold brocade. He wore a long red and white striped satin skirt beneath a translucent cloak. His necklace and earrings were matching green emeralds. Seated around him, on red carpets woven with designs of fighting elephants, were his Rajput nobles, each in white with an orange turban and a gold-trimmed brocade sash at his waist. Every Rajput in the room had a gold-handled katar.

Jadar saw Hawksworth and Shirin enter and rose to greet them. The prince was dressed in his finest, with a cloak of gold cloth, pale green trousers, red velvet slippers, a long double string of pearls around his neck, and a pink silk turban crisscrossed with flowered brocade and secured with a large ruby. He led Hawksworth before the maharana and introduced him, in Rajasthani. Jadar then translated the introduction into Turki for Hawksworth, who was startled to learn that he was a high-ranking member of Angrezi—English—royalty. He looked around and realized he was easily the most shabbily attired man in the room, including the servants.

After the introduction Hawksworth took his place among Jadar's own retinue of nobles. Shirin was seated on the carpet directly behind him.

All the guests sat in a line facing a long gold-threaded cloth spread along the floor. Food was brought in on silver trays, which were placed on silver stools directly in front of each diner. Hawksworth had scarcely taken his seat before a full wine cup was placed in his hands. It was never allowed to approach dryness.

The banquet was lavish, equaling anything he had seen in Agra. It was immediately apparent that roast game was the speciality of Udaipur, as tray after tray of antelope, venison, hare, and wild duck were placed before him. In its emphasis on roasted meats, the food could almost have been English, save it was all seasoned with spices he had never tasted in London. The centerpiece was an elaborately glazed wild boar the maharana had bagged personally from horseback with a spear. Nominal Muslim though he was, Prince Jadar downed a generous portion of the boar and praised the flavor.

The trays of meat were accompanied by spiced curds, local yogurts, and baked vegetables swimming in ghee. The meal concluded with dried fruits which had been sugared and perfumed, followed by mouth-fresheningpan, the betel leaves wrapped around spiced bhang, currants, sweet imported coconut.

The final offering, eagerly awaited by all the Rajputs, was opium. As they popped down handfuls of the brown balls, Hawksworth discreetly signaled for more wine. After the dishes were cleared, several jeweled women in red trousers and thin billowing blouses entered, drank glasses of wine in honor of the maharana, then danced among the guests to the accompaniment of a large sarangi.

After the dancers had been dismissed, Prince Jadar rose

and proposed a toast to the maharana. The toast was ceremonial, elaborate, and—it seemed—entirely expected by everyone.

"To His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur: whose line flows directly from the great Kusa, son of Rama, King of Ajodhya and the noble hero of the Ramayana. Descendant of the Royal House of the Sun, whose subjects will refuse their food if neither he nor his brother the Sun are present to show their face upon it and bless it."

The maharana's reply was equally effusive, describing Jadar as the greatest Moghul warrior in all of history, the equal of his Mongol forebears Genghis Khan and Tamerlane, a worthy descendant of the early Moghul conquerors Babur and Humayun, and finally, the one Moghul whose martial skills might actually approach those of the fighting Rajputs of Mewar—an oblique reference to the fact that Jadar had led the Moghul army that subdued Mewar a decade earlier and induced its Rajputs to finally acknowledge Moghul dominance over northwest India.

Immoderate praise of one another's armies followed next. Then the maharana said something else, and Jadar turned suddenly toward Hawksworth.

"Ambassador Hawksworth. His Highness has asked to speak with you."

Hawksworth rose from the carpet and moved forward. Around him the Udaipur Rajputs studied him with open curiosity. They had listened to lavish toasts for years, but none had ever before seen aferinghiin a doublet. The very concept of such a phenomenon exceeded their imagination.

"His Highness has asked permission to allow his court painters to make your portrait, so that he may remember your likeness. Dressed as you are tonight. Do you have any objection?"

"Please tell His Highness I would be honored." Hawksworth found himself startled, and unsure what reply was appropriate. "Please tell him that my own father was once a painter in England."

Jadar smiled through his teeth. "You mean I should tell him there are of course many skilled artists in your noble land of England. Your own father, as we both know, was a great khan in England, not a lowly craftsman."

As Hawksworth nodded dully, Jadar turned and translated this to the maharana. Karan Singh's eyes brightened as he replied to Jadar.

"He asks if your king's painters are expert in Ragamala?"

"I'm not entirely sure what His Highness refers to." Hawksworth examined Jadar with a puzzled expression.

Jadar translated and the Rajput looked surprised. He turned and quickly said something to one of the servants, who vanished and reappeared moments later with a leatherbound folio. The maharana spoke briefly to Jadar, then passed the book.

"The maharana politely suggests that possibly your English king's painters have not yet achieved the sophistication required for Ragamala. He asks me to show you one of his personal albums." Jadar opened the book and handed it to Hawksworth.

It was filled with vibrant miniature paintings, executed on heavy sheets of paper that had been treated with a white pigment of rice water and lavishly embellished with gold leaf. They showed round-eyed young women with firm breasts and slender wrists lounging in beautifully stylized gardens and courtyards, playing gilded instruments or sensuously embracing their lovers, many surrounded by doves, peacocks, tame deer, and tapestry-covered elephants. In some the blue-faced god Krishna played an instrument that looked something like a sitar, to the wistful gaze of longing doe-eyed women whose breasts swelled through their gauze wraps. The paintings imparted to Hawksworth a curious world of emotional intensity: a celebration of life, love, and devotion.

"Each Ragamala painting depicts the mood of a specific raga." Jadar pointed to one of a jeweled woman feeding a peacock which leaned down from a white marble rooftop, while her lover reached his arms to encircle her. "This is a raga named Hindol, a morning raga of love. The Ragamala paintings of Mewar are a perfect blend of music, poetry, and pure art." Jadar winked. "After the maharana has painted you in your native costume, perhaps he will have his artists paint you as the young god Krishna, enticing some milkmaids to your leafy bed."

The maharana spoke again to Jadar.

"He asks whether these are anything like the paintings your king's artists create for English ragas?"

"Tell him we don't have ragas in England. Our music is different."

Jadar tried to mask his discomfort. "Perhaps I should merely say your English ragas are in a different style from those we have in India. He will not be impressed to learn that English music is not yet advanced enough to have developed the raga."

Jadar's reply seemed to satisfy the maharana. He turned and said something to one of the men sitting near him.

"His Highness has ordered that you be given an album of Ragamala paintings to take back to your king, so the painters at his court may try to copy them and begin to learn greatness."

"His Majesty, King James, will be deeply honored by the rana's gift." Hawksworth bowed diplomatically, deciding not to inform the maharana that King James had no painters and little taste.

The maharana beamed in satisfaction and dismissed Hawksworth with a nod.

Then the exchange of gifts began. Jadar produced a gold cloak for the maharana, a jewel-encrusted sword, a jeweled saddle, and promised to deliver an elephant with a silver howdah. The maharana in turn gave Jadar an emerald the size of a large walnut, a gilded shield studded with jewels, and a brace of jeweled katars. Each thanked the other extravagantly and set the presents aside.

Then Jadar suddenly stood up and began removing his turban. The room fell silent at this unprecedented act.

"Tonight, in gratitude for his friendship, for his offer of an abode to one who no longer has any roof save a tent, I offer to His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur, my own turban, that he may have a lasting token of my gratitude. That in the years ahead when, Allah willing, these dark days are past, we will neither of us forget my indebtedness on this night."

As Jadar stepped forward to present the turban, the maharana's eyes flooded with emotion. Before Jadar had moved more than a pace, Karan Singh was on his feet, ripping off his own turban. They met in the center of the room, each reverently placing his own turban on the other's head, then embracing.

Hawksworth looked around the room and saw Rajputs who would gut an enemy without a blink now near to tears. He leaned back toward Shirin.

"What's the significance of the turbans?"

"It's the rarest gift any man could present to another. I've never before heard of a Moghul or a Rajput giving his turban. The story of this will be told throughout Mewar. We have just seen the creation of a legend."

Then the maharana's voice rose. "Mewar, the abode of all that is beautiful in the world, is made even more beautiful by your presence. In years past we have stood shield to shield with you; tonight we embrace you in friendship. We wish you victory over those who would deny you your birthright, which you have earned both by blood and by deed. No other in India is more fit to reign, more just to govern, more honorable to his friends, more feared by his foes. Tonight we offer you our hand and our prayers that Lord Krishna will always stand with you."

Hawksworth turned to Shirin and whispered. "What's he saying?"

Her eyes were dark. "He's delaying his answer to the prince. Offering him prayers to Lord Krishna. Prince Jadar doesn't need prayers to Krishna. He needs Rajputs. Thousands of Rajputs. But perhaps in time the maharana can be convinced. Banquets are not the place for negotiation. They're the place for perfumed talk."

Jadar was smiling as though he had just been offered the whole of Rajputana. He managed to thank the maharana lavishly.

The maharana beamed and signaled forpanleaves again, signifying the evening was ended. The room emptied in moments.

"I think Jadar could be in serious trouble." Hawksworth turned to Shirin as they entered the hallway. "If he fails to get support here, what will he do?"

"I don't know. I think he may still manage an alliance before he's through. But it will be costly. Otherwise he'll probably have to move south and try to convince Malik Ambar to commit him his Maratha army. But Rajputs are better." She moved closer. "I'm suddenly so very, very tired of armies and tents and strategies. I don't know where it will end. Time is running out. For him and for us." She brushed him lightly with her body. "Will you make love to me tonight as though we'd never heard of Rajputs and Marathas? We'll look at the lake in the moonlight and forget everything, just for tonight." She opened her hand. Inside were several small brown balls. "I took some of the maharana'saffion. Tonight we have no battles to fight."

*

Hawksworth sat beside Shirin watching the oarsmen strain against the locks, their orange oars flashing against the ornately gilded boat like the immense gills of some ceremonial fish. A turbaned drummer sat at one end, sounding the beat, and the tillerman stood behind him.

They were headed for Jagmandir Island, on the invitation of Prince Jadar, in a boat provided by Maharana Karan Singh. Three weeks of banquets, hunting, and oaths of lasting friendship seemed to have done little toResolvethe question of the maharana's support for Jadar's rebellion. Time, Hawksworth told himself, is starting to work heavily against the prince. The Imperial army let us escape because they were too shattered to attack again. But we all know they're rebuilding. Jadar has to decide soon how much longer he can afford to stay here and listen to vague promises.

Behind them the high walls and turrets of the maharana's palace towered above the cliff, reflecting gold in the late afternoon sun. As they neared the island, Hawksworth turned back to see the thick stone walls of the city following the curve of the surrounding hilltops and finally angling down to a tall watchtower at the very edge of the lake. He realized the lake itself was actually the city's fourth defense barrier.

Ahead, the white sandstone palace on Jagmandir glistened against the water. At the front a large pavilion surrounded by delicate white pillars jutted out into the lake. Its entrance was guarded by a row of life-sized stone elephants rising out of the water, their trunks raised above their heads in silent salute. As their boat neared the arched entryway of the pavilion, Hawksworth saw a veiled woman surrounded by eunuchs standing on the marble-paved dock to greet them.

"It's Her Highness, Princess Mumtaz." Shirin's voice was suddenly flooded with surprised delight. Then she turned to Hawksworth with a laugh. "Welcome to thezenana, Ambassador."

"What's she doing here?" Hawksworth examined the figure, whose jewels glistened in the afternoon sun, then warily studied the eunuchs.

"She's come to meet us." Shirin's voice was lilting in anticipation. "I think she's bored to frustration trapped on this island prison."

As their boat touched the dock, Mumtaz moved forward and immediately embraced Shirin. Her eyes swept Hawksworth as he bowed.

"Your Highness."

Mumtaz giggled behind her veil and turned to Shirin, speaking in Persian. "Do we have to speak barbarous Turki because of him?"

"Just for this afternoon."

"I welcome you in the name of His Highness." Mumtaz's Turki was accented but otherwise flawless. "He asked me to meet you and show you the garden and the palace."

She began chattering to Shirin in a mixture of Persian and Turki as they walked into the garden. It soon revealed itself to be a matrix of bubbling fountains and geometrical stone walkways, beside which rows of brightly colored flowers bloomed. Ahead of them the small three-story palace rose skyward like a long-stemmed lotus, its top a high dome with a sensuous curve. The ground floor was an open arcade, with light interior columns and a row of connecting quarters off each side for women and servants, screened behind marble grillwork.

Mumtaz directed them on through the garden and into the cool arcade of the palace. At one side, near the back, a stone stairway spiraled upward to the second floor. Mumtaz led the way, motioning them to follow.

At the second floor they emerged into a small chamber strewn with bolsters and carpets that seemed to be Jadar's reception room. Mumtaz ignored it as she started up the next circular staircase.

The topmost room was tiny, dazzling white, completely unfurnished. The ornate marble cupola of the dome towered some thirty feet above their heads, and around the sides were carved niches decorated with colored stone. Light beamed through the room from a wide doorway leading to a balcony, which was also bare save for an ornately carved sitar leaned against its railing.

"His Highness has taken a particular fondness for this room and refuses to allow anything to be placed in it. He sits here for hours, and on the balcony there, doing I don't know what." Mumtaz gestured toward the doorway. "He wanted me to bring you here to wait for him." She sighed. "I agree with him that this room brings a great feeling of peace. But what good is peace that cannot last? I don't know how much longer we can stay here." Mumtaz turned and hugged Shirin again. "I so miss Agra. And the Jamuna. Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever see it again."

Shirin stroked Mumtaz's dark hair, then said something to her in Persian. Mumtaz smiled and turned to Hawksworth.

"Do you really love her?"

"More than anything." Hawksworth was momentarily startled by her directness.

"Then take her with you. Away from here. Away from all the killing and death. How much longer can any of us endure it?" Her hard eyes blinked away a hint of a tear. "I've lived most of my life with His Highness in tents, bearing children. I'm so weary of it all. And now I wonder if we'll ever have a place just for ourselves."

She would have continued, but footsteps sounded on the stone stairs, and Jadar emerged beaming from the stairwell, his turban set rakishly on the side of his head. He seemed in buoyant spirits. "You're here! Let me welcome you and offer you something to banish the afternoon heat." He gave Mumtaz a quick hug. Hawksworth sensed this was not the official Jadar. This was a prince very much at his ease. "I hope Shirin will join me in having somesharbat. But for you, Captain, I've had a surprise prepared. I think you might even like it better than your foul brandy." He spoke quickly to a eunuch waiting at the top of the stairs, then turned back to Hawksworth and Shirin. "Have you found the maharana's palace to your liking?"

"His view of the lake and the mountains is the finest in India." Shirin performed ateslim. "We so thank Your Highness."

Mumtaz embraced Shirin once more, said something to her in Persian, then bowed to Jadar and disappeared down the stairwell. He watched her tenderly until she was gone before he turned back to Hawksworth and Shirin.

"Come outside with me." He walked past them through the marble doorway. "Have you seen the lake yet from the balcony? This one afternoon we will drink together and watch the sunset. Before we all leave Udaipur I wanted you to see this place. It's become very special for me. When I sit here in the cool afternoon, I seem to forget all the wounds I've ever felt in battle. For a moment nothing else exists."

"I think this palace is almost finer than the one Rana Karan Singh has." Hawksworth stroked Shirin's thigh as they followed Jadar onto the cool balcony, impulsively wanting her in his arms. Then he cleared his throat. "I don't remember ever seeing anything quite like it in India."

"At times you can be a perceptive man, Captain. Allah may have showed his wisdom when he sent you here." Jadar smiled. "You know, I still remember my first word of your arrival, and your now-famous encounter with the Portuguese. I think that morning will someday change the history of both our lands—the morning India and England met." He looked pensively down into the garden below. "It all depends on what happens next."

"What do you think will happen, Highness?" Shirin moved next to Jadar at the edge of the balcony.

He squinted into the waning sun for a moment, then turned his eyes away. "It's difficult to know. Probably the Imperial army will be sent against me again, any day now."

"Will the maharana support you with his cavalry?"

Jadar fell silent, as though choosing his words carefully. Then he shrugged away discretion. "I think he might, but I still don't know. I hear that many of the other ranas of Rajputana have warned him not to side with me openly. They still remember the devastation Inayat Latif wrought here fifteen years ago, when he was sent by Arangbar to put down their rebellion. Rajputs love to battle, but not amid their own cities and fields. And that's easy to understand. Rana Karan Singh is in a difficult position. He knows if I stand here and fight, the battle could well destroy Udaipur."

"What will you do?"

"I'll probably have to move out soon, and move quickly, farther north into the mountains or back south to Burhanpur. I can't stand and fight again, not yet. That's one of the reasons I sent for you." He turned to face Hawksworth. "I think it's time you left India. No one in Agra except Nadir Sharif knows you're alive. But it's obvious you can't return there, not under the present circumstances. It's probably best that you return to England, at least until my fortunes areResolved. You must not join me in any more battles. It's not your war."

Hawksworth felt a sudden chill against his skin. "There's no reason for me to leave. And besides, I have no way to return to England now. The Company is supposed to send a voyage this autumn, but . . ."

"There's always a way to do anything, Captain." Jadar stopped and laughed. "Well, almost anything. Here at Udaipur you're only a few days' ride south to our port of Cambay. Like Surat, it's still free of Portuguese control. I may have very few friends left in Agra, but I do have friends in Cambay. I can arrange for your passage on an Indian trader as far as the Moluccas, where you can doubtless hail a Dutch fleet. You can leave India secretly and safely. No one in Agra need ever know you helped me."

"I am not sure I want to leave now." Hawksworth slipped his arm around Shirin's waist.

Jadar looked at him and smiled. "But Shirin has to leave with you. Her life is no safer here now than yours." He fixed them both squarely. "I hereby command her to accompany you. You can both return to India someday . . . if Allah is kind and I succeed. And you'll be first among all my ambassadors, Captain, I promise you. You'll receive my firstfirmanfor trade. But if I die in the days to come, your English king will not be accused someday of aiding a renegade. I hereby order you both to leave, tomorrow."

"I don't run from a fight. There's some sea dog left in me."

"I know you don't, Captain, and that's one of the things I like most about you. But I'm sending you away, ordering you to go. I'll always remember it was against your will." Jadar looked up to see a eunuch entering with a tray of cups. "Now for your drink. I ordered my kitchen to makepanchfor you—I understand thetopiwallahsin Surat think it's called 'punch.'"

"Punch? What is it?"

"An Indian delicacy. A special blend of wine, water, sugar, lemons, and spices. Five ingredients. Actually,panchis just the Hindi word for five.' Try it."

Hawksworth tasted the perfumed red mixture, slices of lemon rind floating on its surface. It was so delicious he almost drank it off at one gulp. Jadar watched him, smiling, then lifted a cup ofsharbatfrom the tray and gestured the eunuch toward Shirin. "I gather you find it acceptable."

"It's perfect to watch a sunset with."

"I thought you'd like it. You know, Captain, I've rather enjoyed seeing you grow to understand and love India. That's rare amongferinghi. That's why I absolutely insist your king send you back as his next ambassador."

"Nothing would please me more."

"I think you mean it. And I want you to believe me when I tell you that nothing would please me more. Together we'll rid India of the Portuguese scourge forever." Jadar lifted his cap in a toast and Hawksworth joined him.

"And here's to ridding India of one Portuguese in particular."

Jadar paused. "Who do you mean?"

"The Viceroy, Miguel Vaijantes. I don't think I ever told you he murdered my father in Goa, many years ago."

Jadar listened in silence. "I had no idea." Then his eyes grew grim. "I know him all too well. You may or may not be aware he was once planning to arm Malik Ambar against me. Unfortunately there's very little I can do about him just now. But I have a long memory too, and someday, Allah willing, I'll put an end to his trade. Will that be justice enough for us both?"

"I'll drink to it."

"And I'll drink with you." Jadar took a deep swallow ofsharbat. "To England and India. And now, for the other reason I asked you both here today. To see what you think about something. It's curious, but living here in this little palace, I've found myself growing obsessed by an idea. I'd like to know if you think it's mad." He drank again, then signaled the waiting eunuch to refill their cups. "If I become Moghul one day, I've decided to build something very special for Mumtaz, a work of beauty unlike anything India has ever seen. Staying here on Jagmandir Island has given me the idea. But first come inside and let me show you something."

Jadar rose and strolled back through the columned doorway into the domed room. "Did you happen to notice this when you came in?" He pointed to one of the two-foot- high niches in the curved walls. Hawksworth realized that each niche was decorated around its top and sides with inlays of semi-precious stones set into the marble. Each inlay was a painting of a different flower.

"Do you see what he's done here?" Jadar motioned Hawksworth and Shirin closer. "This is far more than merely a design. It's actually a painting in rare, colored stone—onyx, carnelian, jasper, agate." Jadar paused. "Think carefully. Have either of you ever seen anything like this in Agra?"

"I've never seen anything like it before, anywhere."

"Of course you haven't. This is unique. It's truly astonishing. Here on Jagmandir Island, with the design of this room, Rana Karan Singh has actually invented a new style of art. It's phenomenal. Now look up." Jadar pointed to the cupola ceiling. "Notice the sensuous curve of the dome. Like a bud just before it bursts into flower. And at the top you see more inlays of precious stone. I think it's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen. Its shape and color and purity move me almost to tears." He paused and looked at Hawksworth mischievously. "So can you guess what I've decided to do someday?"

"Build a room like this in Agra?"

Jadar exploded with laughter. "But this room is so small! What sort of gift would that be for Mumtaz? No, Captain, if I should eventually find myself ruling India, I've decided to build Mumtaz an entire palace like this, a Mahal, all of white marble and inlay. I'll surround it with a garden larger and more beautiful than anything India has ever seen. It will be a place of love and of mystery, with the strength of a Rajput warrior in the harsh sunshine, the warmth of a Persian woman in the moonlight. The outside will be covered with verses from the Quran carved in marble, and inside the walls will be a garden of jeweled flowers. Minarets will rise at each corner, calling all India to prayer, and its dome will be a cupola with the subtle, sensuous curve of a ripening bud. It will be immense, the most magnificent Mahal in the world. And it will be my gift to her." He paused, his eyes glowing. "Is the idea completely insane?"

"It's beautiful." Shirin was beaming.

"I think it's magnificent." Jadar seemed not to need encouragement, as he drank again from hissharbat. "So now you know the other reason I invited you here this afternoon. To tell you what you may see when you return to Agra. I haven't decided on the exact location yet, but it will be on the bank of the Jamuna, placed so Mumtaz can watch the sun set over the water, just as we do here. I wanted to tell you both, for I sense you two are among the few who could really appreciate what a bold idea this is." Jadar looked sharply at Shirin. "Now, you must never, never tell Mumtaz, whatever else you two Persians may chatter on about. For now let's keep it a secret among us. But someday, someday it will tell all the world how much I love her." He sighed. "You know, at times I worry I'm nothing more than a romantic Persian myself, deep inside."

He looked about the glistening walls once more, then reluctantly turned and walked out onto the balcony again.

"The peace I feel here overwhelms me sometimes. It quiets all the unrest in my soul. Perhaps I'm a fool to ever think of Agra. But Agra is my destiny. The Hindus would say it's mydharma."

He stopped to watch as Mumtaz and her women emerged from their quarters and gathered around the fountain in the garden below. The evening air was flooded with the women's rose attar and musk perfume. He inhaled deeply, then turned to Hawksworth.

"By the way, I've had a small farewell gift made for you, Captain. It's there beside you." He pointed to the sitar by the railing. "I understand you've started learning to play it."

Hawksworth turned, startled, and picked up the instrument. Its workmanship was fine art, with ivory inlays along both sides of the body and a neck carved as the head of a swan. He found himself stunned. "I've only just begun to learn, Highness. This is much finer than I deserve. It's worthy of an Ustad."

"Then perhaps it will inspire you to become a Master yourself someday." He laughed. "And now I want to hear how you play it. The Hindus believe the sitar is a window to the soul. That the sound of the first note tells everything there is to know about a man. I want to see if you've actually understood anything since you've been here. What raga have you been studying?"

"Malkauns."

"An ambitious choice. I seem to remember that's a devotional raga. For late evening. But the sun's almost down. We'll pretend it's the moon, just rising. Let's go inside, where you can sit."

Hawksworth carried the sitar and followed numbly as Jadar led the way back into the tiny marble room. The apprehension he had momentarily felt on the balcony seemed to dissolve among the bouquets of precious stones in the inlaid walls. He slipped off his shoes and seated himself in the middle of the room. Then he quickly tested the tuning on the strings, both the upper and the lower. He could already tell the sound it produced was magnificent, with the resonance of an organ. Jadar and Shirin seated themselves opposite, speaking Persian in low voices as they watched him cradle the round body of the sitar in the curved instep of his left foot. Then they both fell expectantly silent.

He knew what they were waiting to hear. For the raga Malkauns, a master would sound the first note powerfully, yet with a sense of great subtlety—slipping his finger quickly down the string and into the note just as it was struck, then instantly pulling the string across the fret, almost in the same motion, again raising the pitch and giving the feeling the note had merely been tasted, dipped down into and out again as it quavered into existence. But it was much more than mere technique. That was the easiest part. It was a sense. A feeling. It came not from the hand, but from the heart. The note must be felt, not merely sounded. When done with lightness, life seemed to be created, aprahnain the music that the player and listener shared as one. But if the player's heart was false, regardless of how skilled he might be, then his music was hollow and dead.

He breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind, then slipped the wire plectrum over his finger and gently stroked the lower sympathetic strings once, twice, to establish the mood. The cool air was crisp and flower-scented, and the sound rose gently upward toward the marble cupola above them. As he listened he found himself looking at Shirin and Jadar, their dark eyes, delicate faces. Then his eyes moved beyond them, to the garden of inlaid stones in the marble walls. And for a moment he felt something he had never felt before. This was the India he had, until that moment, only been in. But here, now, he was finally part of it. He took another deep breath and struck.

The first note was perfect, encompassing. He felt it. He knew it. He sensed his hand merge with the music, the music with his own life. Shirin's eyes seemed to melt, and Jadar immediately swung his head from side to side in approval. Then he began to alap, the virtuoso first section of the raga, meant to be played solo and without drum accompaniment. He felt the music slowly growing around him as he found and explored note after note of the raga's structure. He found himself wanting to taste and feel each note to its essence, reluctant to move on to the next. But each time he was beckoned forward, until at last nothing but the music mattered. He played on and on, the intensity of the alap growing organically, almost of its own self, until it burst to completion, like a flower that had gloriously escaped the entrapment of its bud.

When the final note died into silence, Shirin slowly rose and slipped her arms around his neck. Jadar sat motionless for a moment longer, then reached out and put his hand on the strings of the sitar.

"You have earned it, Captain. I've heard what I'd hoped to hear. Your music tells me all I want to know about you." He rose and led them back out onto the balcony. "I know now you can understand why I also want to create something of beauty someday. A Mahal that will last as long as this music. If we cannot taste love and beauty, our hearts are dead." He smiled at Hawksworth. "There is love in your music, Captain. Your heart is as it should be. And in the end, nothing else really matters. Nothing else."

He turned and stared pensively into the twilight. "My Mahal will have it too. Because it is in my own heart."

Jadar stopped abruptly and gazed toward the darkening shore. Through the dimming light a boat could be seen approaching, rowed furiously by lines of red-cloaked oarsmen. Sitting in the center on a gilded platform was Maharana Karan Singh, wearing full battle dress. His powerful bow hung loosely from his leather quiver and his rhino-hide shield rested at his side. Jadar studied the boat for a moment and concern gathered in his eyes.

"He would never come here unannounced. Merciful

Allah, has the Imperial army moved against us already? How can it be so soon? My preparations have scarcely begun."

Jadar watched as the maharana leaped from the boat almost before it touched the marble dock. The women around Mumtaz fled the courtyard, and now the eunuchs pressed forward to bow and welcome him. He brushed them aside as he moved quickly through the garden and into the lower arcade of the palace. Jadar stood listening expectantly to the quick pad of his footsteps on the stone stairs, then walked inside to greet him.

"Nimaste, my friend. You've already missed the best part of the sunset, but I'll have moresharbatsent."

The maharana glanced in surprise at Hawksworth and Shirin for a second, then turned and bowed quickly to Jadar.

"The news is very bad, Highness."

"Then we'll sweeten it withsharbat."

"There is no time, Highness."

"There's always time forsharbat. This has been a special afternoon for me."

"Highness, I came to tell you Arangbar is dead. The Moghul of India joined the immortals two days ago."

Jadar examined him a moment almost as though not comprehending. Then he turned and stared out through the balcony doorway, past Hawksworth and Shirin. "I would not have wished it. I sincerely would not have wished it." He turned back to Karan Singh. "How did he die? Did Janahara murder my father, as she's killed so many others?"

"No, Highness. It almost seems as though he deemed it his time to die. Two weeks ago he was hunting and saw a beater stumble and fall over a ledge, killing himself. His Majesty grew despondent, saying he had caused the man's death. Next he began to declare it an omen of his own death. He refused food and drink. Finally even the physicians despaired. He died in his bed. Word was given out that he was still hunting, so the news was carefully kept from all of Agra until the very end."

"How did you learn?"

"Nadir Sharif sent runners. He dared not send a pigeon."

Jadar walked out onto the balcony and peered down into the darkened garden. After a long moment he spoke. "Allah. Then it's finished." He turned back to the Rajput. "Has Janahara declared Allaudin Moghul yet?"

"She has announced she will do so, Highness." Karan Singh moved out onto the balcony next to Jadar, hesitant to interrupt his thoughts. The cries of water birds flooded the evening air around them. Jadar studied the garden again, as though lost in some distant reverie. When he spoke his voice seemed to emanate from a bottomless void.

"Allaudin will be in the Red Fort. It can never be taken, not even with a hundred thousand Rajputs. He will never come to face me. He will never need to." He turned slowly to Karan Singh. "I've lost it all, my friend. And I've brought ignominy to your lands by my presence as your guest. For that I am truly sorry."

Karan Singh stared at Jadar. "But Highness, Allaudin may not yet be in Agra. You know he wanted Queen Janahara to appoint him to command the army sent against you. Naturally she refused and instead convinced Arangbar to appoint him commander of the forces to be sent against the Persian Safavis threatening the northwest fortress of Qandahar. It was obvious to everyone except Allaudin that she meant it to be merely a ceremonial appointment, an excuse to elevate hismansabrank to equal yours. She had carefully arranged to have him detained in Agra. But he decided on his own that he would actually go north, to prove himself a commander. Just before the hunting accident, he persuaded Arangbar to allow him to march. Arangbar was apparently drunk on wine and approved the order before Janahara discovered it. Allaudin departed Agra a week ago with twenty thousand men and a huge train of courtiers. Because of their numbers, it's thought he has traveled very slowly. But Nadir Sharif said as of the day before yesterday he still had not returned to Agra. No one knows for sure how near he may actually be."

"And where are Inayat Latif and the Imperial army?" Jadar's voice quickened.

"Of that we're not yet certain, Highness. They may be in

Agra by now, holding the Red Fort for Allaudin, but we have no way to know."

Jadar turned and seized his arm. "Then I will ride. Tonight. Have you told my men?"

"Two thousand of my men are now in their saddles waiting, Highness. By sunup another twenty thousand will be ready to ride."

Jadar stared at him for a moment, then reached out and touched the turban the Rajput was wearing. Hawksworth realized it was Jadar's gift.

"Then give me three of your best horses. Tonight. I will rotate as I ride." Jadar turned and ordered a waiting eunuch to bring his riding cloak, his sword, and his katar.

"I will be riding with you too, Highness." Karan Singh stepped forward.

This time Jadar embraced Karan Singh for a long moment. Then he pulled back. "No. I will not allow it. If I am too late—and the odds are strong against me—no one who rides with me will leave Agra alive. No, my friend, this I forbid." Jadar silenced Karan Singh's gesture of protest. "Your offer is enough. I want my good friends alive."

Jadar started for the stairs, then paused and turned back to look one last time at Hawksworth and Shirin.

"So our farewell was more timely than we knew. I regret we did not have longer." He paused to take his riding cloak from the eunuch. Then he reached for Hawksworth's hand. "Remember me, my friend. And remember the Mahal. I've told no one else. If I'm still alive when you come again to Agra, I'll take you there. If I'm dead, remember what I dreamed."

He turned and disappeared down the stairwell.

A tear stained Shirin's cheek as she watched him move across the courtyard below. When he reached Mumtaz, anxiously waiting by the dock, he paused and said something to her, then embraced her closely. As he pulled away, she reached out to stop him. But he was already joining the maharana in the boat. In moments they were swallowed in the dusk.

"None of us will ever see him again. You know it's true." Shirin's voice was strangely quiet. "What does it matter where Allaudin is? Prince Jadar can never challenge the troops Janahara will have holding the Red Fort. Not with two thousand Rajputs, not with two hundred thousand Rajputs. It's impregnable. He'll never see the inside of the Red Fort again." She moved next to him and rested her head against his chest. "Will you help me remember him from tonight. And the Mahal he will never live to build?"

"I'll remember it all." He encircled her in his arms, wanting her warmth, and together they watched the last shafts of sun die in the dark waters below.

*           *            *

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