Hawksworth held firmly to the side of thehowdahas his elephant rocked along, with only occasional instructions from her mahout. Now they followed a winding road, which was surrounded on either side by tall, brown grass. He warily studied every sway of the grass, imagining tigers waiting to spring."Why don't we have guns?" He turned to Nadir Sharif, who rode alongside, rocking placidly in his swaying howdah."There's no need, Ambassador. I told you the tiger will not be killed with guns today. Of course, His Majesty and Prince Allaudin have guns, but they're merely for protection, in case there's some minor difficulty.""Minor difficulty? What arewesupposed to do if there's a 'minor difficulty'?""The army will be there, men with half-pikes." He smiled easily. "You're in no danger."Ahead the woods seemed to open up, and the grass was shorter, perhaps only as high as a man's waist. Deer darted wildly from side to side, contained by high nets that had been erected around the sides of the clearing. As they approached, Hawksworth saw a long line of several hundred water buffalo waiting, heavy bovine animals with thick curved horns dipping back against their heads, each fitted with a leather saddle and reined by a rider on its back. The reins, which passed through the buffalo's nostrils, were held in one hand by a mounted soldier, whose other hand grasped a naked broadsword."Those men may well be the bravest soldiers in the army." Nadir Sharif pointed to the riders, who were all saluting Arangbar's arrival. "Theirs is a task I do not envy.""What do they do?""You will see for yourself, Ambassador, in just a few moments."From beyond the other side of the clearing, as though on an agreed signal, came the sound of beaters. As the Imperial elephants drew near the gray line of buffalo, their riders began to urge them ahead. The buffalo snorted, knowing what waited in the grass, and then they lumbered forward, tossing their heads in disquiet. The line of buffalo was curved in the shape of a half-moon, and Arangbar urged his elephant directly behind them. The grass ahead swarmed with frightened game, as deer and antelope dashed against the nets and were thrown back, and from the woods beyond, the clatter and shouts of the beaters increased.Suddenly from out of the grass a tawny head appeared, with gold and black stripes and heavy whiskers. The animal dashed for the side of the enclosure, sprang for freedom, and was thrown back by the heavy net. Hawksworth watched it speechless, unprepared for the size and ferocity of an Indian tiger. It was enormous, with powerful haunches and a long striped tail. The tiger flipped to its feet and turned to face the line of buffalo with an angry growl.Arangbar clapped his hands with delight and shouted in Urdu to the line of riders, all—Hawksworth now realized— Rajputs. The buffalo snorted and tried to turn back, but their riders whipped them forward. The tiger assumed a crouching stalk along the gray, horned wall, eyeing a large dark buffalo with a bearded rider. Then it sprang.The buffalo's head went down, and when it came up a heavy curved horn had pierced the tiger's neck. There was a snort and a savage toss of the head that flung the wounded tiger upward. As it whirled in the air, Hawksworth saw a deep gash across its throat. The Rajput riders nearby slipped to the ground and formed a wall of swords between Arangbar and the tiger as the line of buffalo closed in, bellowing for the kill. In what seemed only moments the tiger was horned and pawed to a lifeless pulp."Superb!" Arangbar shouted something to the enclosedhowdahthat Hawksworth did not understand. "A hundred goldmohursto every man on the line."The Rajputs remounted their buffalo, retrieving the reins from the bloody grass, and the line again moved forward."This is a variation on His Majesty's usual tiger hunt," Nadir Sharif shouted through the dust, above the din of bellowing buffalo and trumpeting elephants. "Often he shoots, but today His Majesty elected merely to watch. Actually, animal fights have long been a favorite pastime in India."At that moment a pair of tigers emerged from the grass and stared at the approaching line of buffalo. They did not seem frightened, as had the first, and they watched the line coolly, as though selecting a strategy. Then they dropped into a crouching stalk, moving directly toward the center of the line.Hawksworth noticed Arangbar suddenly order his mahout to hold back his elephant. The other Imperial elephants had also paused to wait. Then Arangbar turned and ordered the servant who rode behind him to pass forward a long-barreled, large-caliber sporting piece. Allaudin, whose fright was transparent, also signaled for a gun.Hawksworth's mahout pulled his elephant directly behind Arangbar's, as though for protection.The tigers seemed in no hurry to engage the buffalo. They scrutinized the approaching line and waited for their moment. Then, when the buffalo were no more than ten feet away, both sprang simultaneously.The female was speared on the horn of a buffalo, but she flipped in midair and sank her teeth into the leather shielding on its neck. As its Rajput rider slipped to the ground, the male of the pair dashed past his mate and sprang for him. The Rajput swung his broadsword, catching the tiger in the flank, but it swatted him aside with a powerful sweep of its paw and he crumpled, his neck shattered. Other Rajputs rushed the male tiger with their swords, as their buffalo closed in to kill the female, but it eluded their thrusts as it circled Arangbar's elephant. Soldiers with half-pikes had already rushed to form a barricade between Arangbar's elephant and the tiger, but the Moghul seemed unperturbed. While the panting male tiger stalked Arangbar, the female tiger was forgotten.As Hawksworth watched spellbound, his pulse pounding, he caught a yellow flicker out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the female tiger slip past the ring of buffalo and dash toward the rear of Arangbar's elephant. It was on the opposite side from the armed soldiers, where the Moghul’s elephant was undefended.Hawksworth opened his mouth to shout just as the female tiger sprang for Arangbar, but at that moment a shot rang out from the enclosed howdah of Queen Janahara and the female tiger crumpled in midair, curving into a lifeless ball as it smashed against the side of the Moghul’s mount.The jolt caused Arangbar's shot at the male tiger to go wide, merely grazing its foreleg. A dozen half-pikes pierced its side as it stumbled forward, and it whirled to slap at the Rajputs. Allaudin also fired his tiger gun, but his shot missed entirely, almost hitting one of the men trying to hold the tiger back. It whirled in a bloody circle for a moment, and then stopped.It was staring at Hawksworth.He heard his mahout shout in terror as the tiger sprang for the head of their elephant. A wrap of yellow fur seemed to twist itself around the elephant's forehead as the tiger dug its claws into the protective leather padding. As Kumada tossed her head in panic, the mahout screamed again and plunged for safety, rolling through a clump of brown grass and scrambling toward the soldiers.The tiger caught Hawksworth's eyes with a hypnotic gaze as it began pulling itself over the forehead of the terrified elephant, directly toward his howdah. Kumada had begun to whirl in a circle and shake her head, futilely trying to dislodge the wounded fury slashing at her leather armor. The tiger slipped momentarily, then caught its claws more firmly and began to climb again.Almost without thinking, Hawksworth reached forward and grabbed theankus, the short pike and claw used for guiding an elephant, that the mahout had left lodged in a leather fold behind the elephant's head. He wrenched it free and began to tease the tiger back.Kumada was running now, wildly it seemed, toward a largepipaltree at the edge of the clearing. But the tiger had pulled itself atop her head and, as Hawksworth jabbed its whiskered face with theankus, he heard a deep growl and saw a flash of yellow and claw as a sharp pain cut through his shoulder.He knew he was falling, dizzily, hands grasping against smooth leather as he slipped past the neck of the elephant, past its flapping ear, against a thundering foot that slammed the dust next to his face.Kumada had suddenly stopped dead still, throwing him sprawling against the base of thepipaltree. He looked up to see the tiger suspended above him, glaring down, clawing at the face of the elephant and bellowing with pain.Then he heard the snap of the tiger's spine, as Kumada slammed it again and again against the massive trunk of thetree, Only when the tiger was motionless did she let it drop, carefully tossing its body away from Hawksworth as it tumbled lifeless onto the grass.Hawksworth looked up through the dust to see Arangbar pulling his elephant alongside."That was most auspicious, Inglish. It's an ominous and evil protent for the state if a tiger I have shot escapes the hunt. If that beast had succeeded in going free, we would have had to send the entire army into the countryside to find and kill it. Your Kumada saved me the trouble. The gods of the southwest have been auspicious for our reign today. I think you brought us luck.""I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth found himself gasping for breath."No, it is you we must thank. You were quick-witted enough to keep the tiger where Kumada could crush it." Arangbar called for his own elephant to kneel, and he walked briskly to Kumada, who was still quivering from fright. He stroked her face beneath the eye and she gentled perceptibly. It was obvious she loved Arangbar. "She's magnificent. Only once before have I ever seen an elephant do that. I hereby promote her immediately to First Rank, even though a female." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "Have it recorded."As Hawksworth tried to rise, he felt a bolt of pain through the shoulder where the tiger had slapped him. He looked to see his leather jerkin shredded. Arangbar seemed to notice it too and he turned and motioned to Nadir Sharif, who signaled to another man, who called yet another. Moments later a physician was bending over Hawksworth. He probed the skin for a painful moment and then slammed a knee against Hawksworth's side, giving the pained arm a quick twist.Hawksworth heard himself cry out from the pain and for a moment he thought he might lose consciousness. But then his mind began to clear and he realized he could move the arm again. The pain was already starting to abate."I suggest the shoulder be treated with compresses for a few days, Majesty." Nadir Sharif had dismounted from his elephant and was there, attentive as always."Then he must be sent back to Agra.""Of course, Majesty." Nadir Sharif stepped closer to Arangbar. "But perhaps it would be equally wise to let theferinghirest somewhere near here. Perhaps at the old city." He turned and pointed toward the west. "There at Fatehpur. I think there may still be a few Sufi hermits there who could attend the shoulder untilshikaris over. Then he could return with us."Arangbar turned and shaded his eyes as he stared at the horizon. Above the tree line could be seen the gate of the fortress at Fatehpur Sekri."But my shoulder is fine now." Hawksworth tried to move into the circle of conversation. "There's no need . . .""Very reasonable." Arangbar seemed to ignore Hawksworth as he turned back to Nadir Sharif. "You can escort the Inglish to the fortress. Call up a palanquin for him. Leave your elephant here and take a horse."As the physician bound Hawksworth's arm in readiness, a palanquin was brought from among the women's elephants. "A contingent of Rajputs can go with him." Arangbar shouted instructions to the captain of his guard and watched the men fall into formation. Then he remounted his elephant and signaled for the buffalo to resume their sweep of the tall grass.As the party started forward, Hawksworth saw Nadir Sharif shout orders to one of the servants attending him. And as four Rajputs lifted Hawksworth's palanquin off the ground, a servant rushed forward to shove a flask inside.It was brandy. Hawksworth turned to see Nadir Sharif grinning, a gleam in his eye.She watched the palanquin ease up the weathered, winding path leading to the fortress gate. The procession had moved slowly through the gate at the northeast corner of the city's walls and now the Rajputs were clustered around the palanquin and the lone rider. The night was still, awash in a wild desert fragrance, and the moon was curing slowly from white to a rarified gold. Her vantage, in a corner turret of the wall, was shadow-less and perfect. She examined the rider and smiled when she recognized the face.Nadir Sharif. You have kept your part of the bargain. All of it.As she studied him through the half light, she wondered why they were coming a day earlier than planned. Then the palanquin stopped and the other figure emerged. She hesitated before looking, at last forcing herself, willing her eyes to see.After a long moment she turned to the tall man standing next to her. His beard was white, as were his robes. His eyes saw what she saw, but he did not smile. He turned to her and nodded wordlessly. Then he tightened his white robe and moved easily down the stone staircase toward the courtyard below.Hawksworth had sensed the autumn light begin to fall rapidly as they approached the gates of the fortress-city. Already there was a pale moon, promising fullness. In size and grandeur the portals of the gate reminded Hawksworth of the Red Fort in Agra, only the walls themselves were considerably less formidable. The palace itself sat atop a wooded hill, and already the stones of the abandoned roadway leading up the hill were becoming overgrown. There was a small village at the bottom of the hill, where smoke from evening cooking fires had begun to rise, but from the fortress itself there was no smoke, no hint of life or habitation.He alighted from the palanquin at the bottom of a steep stairway leading to the palace gate and together with Nadir Sharif passed slowly up the abandoned steps. The Rajputs trailed behind them as they reached the top and passed under the shadow of a tulip-curved arch that framed the gateway. The dark surrounded them like an envelope, and the Rajput guards pushed forward, toward the black outline of two massive wooden doors at the back of the recess. They pushed open the doors, and before them lay a vast open courtyard, empty in the moonlight."Is this place completely abandoned? I still don't understand why I'm here."Nadir Sharif smiled. "On the contrary, Ambassador. It's far from abandoned. But it appears so, does it not?"Then Hawksworth saw a figure approaching them, gliding noiselessly across the red sandstone pavement of the court. The figure carried an oil lamp, which illuminated a bearded face framed in a white shawl."You are welcome in the name of Allah." The figure bowed a greeting. "What brings armed men to our door? It is too late now to pray. We long ago sounded the lastazan.""His Majesty has sent aferinghihere, to be cared for by you for two days." Nadir Sharif stepped forward. "He was injured today duringshikar.""Our hands are always open." The figure turned and moved across the plaza toward a building that looked, in the new moonlight, to be a mosque. When they reached the entrance, the man turned and spoke to the Rajputs in a language Hawksworth did not understand."He says this is the house of God," Nadir Sharif translated. "He has commanded the Rajputs to leave their shoes and their weapons here if they wish to follow. I think they will refuse. Perhaps it would be best if we all left you now. You'll be well cared for. Day after tomorrow I'll send a horse for you.""What's going on? You mean I'm going to be here alone?" Hawksworth suddenly realized he was being abandoned, at an abandoned city. He whirled on Nadir Sharif. "You suggested this. You brought me here. What the hell is this for? I could have returned to Agra, or even stayed with the hunt.""You're a perceptive man, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif smiled and looked up at the moon. "But as far as I know, you're here entirely by coincidence. I cannot be responsible for anything that happens to you, or anyone you see. This is merely the hand of chance. Please try to understand.""What do you mean?""I will see you in two days, Ambassador. Enjoy your rest."Nadir Sharif bowed, and in moments he and the Rajputs had melted into the moonlight.Hawksworth watched them leave with a mounting sense of disquiet. Then he turned and peered past the hooded figure, who stood waiting. The mosque looked empty, a cavern of flickering shadows against intricate plaster calligraphy. He unbuckled the sheath of his sword and passed it to the man as he kicked away his loose slippers. The man took the sword without a word, examined it for a moment as though evaluating its workmanship, then turned to lead the way.They moved silently across the polished stone floor, past enormous columns that disappeared into the darkness of the vaulted space above them. Hawksworth relished the coolness of the stones against his bare feet, then ducked barely in time to avoid a hanging lamp, extinguished now, its polished metalwork almost invisible against the gloom.Ahead a lamp flickered through the dark. They passed beneath it, then stopped at a closed door at the rear of the mosque. The man spoke a word Hawksworth did not understand and the door was swung open from the inside, revealing an illuminated passageway.Four men were waiting. As Hawksworth and his guide passed through, the door closed behind them and the men silently drew around.The passageway was long, freshly plastered, and floored in marble mosaic. It was cool, as though immune from the heat of the day, and scented faintly with rose incense that had been blended with the oil in the hanging lamps.At the end of the corridor was another stairway, again of white marble, and as they moved up its steps the man who had greeted Hawksworth extinguished his lamp with a brass cup he carried.Beyond the stair was another corridor, then another door that opened as they approached. Hawksworth realized they were in an upper story of a large building directly behind the mosque. They passed through the door and emerged into a room facing a balcony that overlooked the abandoned square below.In the center of the room was a raised dais, covered with a thick Persian carpet. The man who had been Hawksworth's guide moved to the dais, mounted it, and seated himself. With a flourish he dropped his white hood and the wrap that had been around him. Hawksworth realized with a shock that his long white hair streamed to his waist. He was naked save for a loincloth. He gestured for Hawksworth to sit, indicating a bolster."Welcome, English." He waited until the surprise had registered in Hawksworth's face. "We've been expecting you, but not quite so soon.""Who are you?""I was once a Persian." He smiled. "But I've almost forgotten my country's manners. First I should offer you some refreshment, and only then turn to affairs. Normally I would offersharbat, but I understand you prefer wine?"Hawksworth stared at him speechless. No pious Muslim would drink wine. That much he knew."Don't look so surprised. We Persian poets often drink wine . . . for divine inspiration." He laughed broadly. "At least that's our excuse. Perhaps Allah will forgive us. ‘A garden of flowers, a cup of wine, Mark the repose of a joyous mind.’"He signaled one of the men, and a chalice of wine appeared, seemingly from nowhere. "I once learned a Latin expression,'in vino Veritas." As a Christian you must know it. 'In wine there is truth.' Have some wine and we will search for truth together.""Let's start with some truth from you. How do you know so much about me? And you still haven't told me who you are.""Who am I? You know, that's the most important question you can ask any man. Let us say I am one who has forsworn everything the world would have . . . and thereby found the one thing most others have lost." He smiled easily. "Can you guess what that is?""Tell me.""My own freedom. To make verse, to drink wine, to love. I have nothing now that can be taken away, so I live without fear. I am a Muslim reviled by the mullahs, a poet denounced by the Moghul’s court versifiers, a teacher rejected by those who no longer care to learn. I live here because there is no other placeI can be. Perhaps I soon will be gone, but right here, right now, I am free. Because I bear nothing but love for those who would harm me." He stared out over the balcony for a moment in silence. "Show me the man who lives in fear of death, and I will show you one already dead in his soul. Show me the man who knows hate, and I will show you one who can never truly know love." He paused again and once more the room grew heavy with silence. "Love, English, love is the sweetness of desert honey. It is life itself. But you, I think, have yet to know its taste. Because you are a slave to your own striving. But until you give all else over, as I have done, you can never truly know love.""How do you think you know so much about me? I know nothing about you. Or about why I'm here.""But I think you've heard of me."Hawksworth stared at him for a moment, and suddenly everything came together. He could have shouted his realization."You're Samad. The Sufi. . . ." He stopped, his heart racing. "Where is . . .?""Yes, I'm a poet, and I'm called a Sufi because there is nothing else to call me.""You're not really a Sufi?""Who knows what a Sufi is, my English friend? Not even a Sufi knows. Sufis do not teach beliefs. They merely ask that you know who you are.""I thought they're supposed to be mystics, like some of the Spanish Catholics.""Mystics yearn to merge with God. To find that part within us all that is God. Sufis teach methods for clearing away the clutter that obscures our knowledge of who we are So perhaps we're mystics. But we're not beloved by the mullahs.""Why not? Sufis are Muslims.""Because Sufis ignore them. The mullahs say we must guide our lives by the Laws of the Prophet, but Sufis know God can only be reached through love. A pure life counts for nothing if the heart is impure. Prayers five times a day are empty words if there is no love." Samad paused again, and then spoke slowly and quietly. "I am trying to decide if then is love about you, English.""You seem to think you know a lot about me. There's only one person who wanted me to meet you. And she was in Surat. Where is she now? Is she here?""She's no longer in Surat. Be sure of that. But at this moment you are here with me. Why always seek after what you do not have? You see, I do know much about you. You're a pilgrim." He waved his hand absently. "But then we all are pilgrims. All searching for something. We call it different names—fulfillment, knowledge, beauty, God. But you still have not found what you seek, is that not true?' Samad watched Hawksworth in silence as he drank from his own wineglass. "Yes, it is given many names, but it is in fact only one thing. We are all searching, my English, for our own self. But the self is not easy to find, so we travel afar, hoping it lies elsewhere. Searching inward in a much more difficult journey."Hawksworth started to speak, but Samad silenced him with a wave of the hand. "Know that you will find the thing you most want only when you cease to search. Only then can you listen to the quiet of the heart, only then can you find true content." Samad drank again from his wine. "This last week you have found, so you think, your fortune. You have received worldly honors from the Moghul, you have news of imminent success for your English king. But these things will only bring you despair in the end.""I don't understand what you mean."Samad laughed and finished off his glass. "Then let me tellyou a story about myself, English. I was born a Persian Jew, a merchant at my birth by historic family vocation. But my people have ignored the greatest Prophet of all, the Prophet Mohammed. His voice invites all, and I heard that voice. I became Muslim, but still I was a merchant. A Persian merchant. And, perhaps not unlike you, I traveled to India search of . . . not the greater Prophet, but the baser profit. And here, my English, I found the other thing I searched for. I found love. Pure love, consuming love. The kind of love few men are privileged to know. The love of a boy whose beauty and purity could only have come from God. But this love was mistaken by the world, was called impure, and he was hidden from me. So the only one left for me to love was God. Thus I cast away my garments, my worldliness, and gave myself to Him. And once more I was misunderstood."Samad paused and called for another glass of wine. Then he turned back to Hawksworth. "So I have told the world my story in verse. And now there are many who understand. Not the mullahs, but the people. I have given them words that could only come from a pure heart, words of joy that all men can share." Samad stopped and smiled. "You know we Persians are born poets. It's said we changed Sufism from mystic speculation to mystic art. All I know is the great poets of Persia found in Sufism a vehicle for their art that gave back to Islam almost more than it took. But then a poet's vocation must always be to give. I have given the people of India my heart, and they have loved me in return. Yet such love engenders envy in the minds of men who know it not. The Shi'ite mullahs would have condemned me for heresy long ago were it not for one man, a man who has understood and protected me. The only man in India who is not afraid of he Persian Shi'ites at court. And now he too is gone. With him went my life.""And who was that?""Can you not guess? You have already met him." Samad smiled. "Prince Jadar."Hawksworth suddenly felt as though the world had closed about him."Why did you contrive to get me here tonight?""Because I wished to see you. And I can no longer walk abroad. It has been forbidden on pain of death. But death is something I am almost ready to welcome. One day soon I will walk the streets of Agra once more, for the last time.Hawksworth wondered if the claim was bravado, or truth."But why did you want to see me?" Hawksworth studied Samad closely. Suddenly he decided to ask the question directly. "To ask me to help Jadar? You can tell him for me that I want no part of his politics. I'm here to get a trade agreement, afirman. That's my mission, why I was sent.Samad settled his wineglass on the carpet with a sigh of resignation. "You've heard nothing I have said. I am telling you it would be best for you to forget about your 'mission.’ Your destiny is no longer in your hands. But if you will open your heart, you will find it has riches to compensate you manyfold. Still, they can be yours only if you can know love. But now, I fear, the only love you know is self-love, ambition. You have not yet understood it is empty as mirror."The world is but a waking dream,The eye of heart sees clear.The garden of this tempting world,Is wrought of sand and tear."Hawksworth shifted and stared about the room. It was darker now but several men had entered. Few of them seemed to understand Samad's Turki."So what do I do now?""Stay with us for a while. Learn to know yourself." Samad rose and stepped off the dais. "Perhaps then you will at last find what you want."He motioned for Hawksworth to walk with him to the balcony. Across the courtyard a single lamp burned in the turret of one of the buildings. "Tonight must be remembered as a dream, my English. And like a dream, it is to be recalled on waking as mere light and shadow." He turned and led Hawksworth to the door. The men stood aside for them. “And now I bid you farewell. Others will attend you."Hawksworth walked into the marble corridor. Standing in the half-light, her face warm in the glow of a lamp, was . . .Shirin.CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEThe night sky above the courtyard was afire, an overturned jewel box strewn about an ivory moon. They passed through a gateway of carved columns and ornate brackets, into a smaller plaza. The mosque was left behind: around them low were empty pavilions, several stories high, decorated with whimsical carvings, railings, cornices. Now they were alone in the abandoned palace, surrounded by silence and moonlight. Only then did she speak, her voice opening through the stillness."I promised to think of you, and I have, more than you can know. Tonight I want to share this with you. The private palace of the Great Akman. The most beautiful place in all India." She paused and pointed to a wide marble pond in the middle of the plaza. In its center was a platform, surrounded by a railing and joined to the banks by delicate bridges. “They say when Akman's court musician, the revered Tansen, sat there and sang a raga for the rainy season, the clouds themselves would come to listen, and bless the earth with their tears. Once all this was covered by one magnificent canopy. Tonight we have only the stars.""How did you arrange this?" He still was lost in astonishment."Don't ask me to tell you now. Can we just share this moment?"She took his arm and motioned ahead. There, glistening in the moonlight, were the open arcades of a palace pavilion. I've prepared something especially for us." She guided him through a wide-open archway and into a large arcade, illuminated by a single oil lamp atop a stone table. In front of them, on the walls, were brilliantly colored renderings of elephants, horses, birds. She picked up the lamp and led him past the paintings and into the next room, a vast red chamber whose floor was a fragrant standing pool of water. In the flickering light he could see a marble stairway leading to a red sandstone platform projecting out over the water, supported by square stone columns topped by ornate brackets."This is where Akman spent the hot summer nights. Up there, on the platform, above a cooling pool of rosewater. From there he would summon his women to come to him from thezenana."Hawksworth dipped his fingers into the water and brought it to his lips. It was like perfume. He turned to he and she smiled."Yes, the Sufis still keep rosewater here, in memory of Akman." She urged him forward, up the stairs. "Come and together we'll try to imagine how it must have felt to be the Great Moghul of India."As they emerged onto the platform, the vaulted ceiling above them glowed a ruby red from the lamp. Under their feet was a thick carpet, strewn with small velvet bolsters. At the farthest edge was a large sleeping couch, fashioned from red marble, its dark velvet canopy held aloft by four finely worked stone columns. The covering of the couch was a patterned blue velvet, bordered in gold lace."Just for tonight I've made this room like it was when Akman slept here, with his chosen from thezenana." She slipped the gauze wrap from her shoulders. He looked at her dark hair, secured with a transparent scarf and a strand of pearls, and realized it contrasted perfectly with the green emerald brooch that swung gently against her forehead. She wore a necklace of pearl strands and about each upper arm was a band ringed with pearl drops. Her eyes and eyebrows were painted dark with kohl and her lips were a brilliant redWithout a word she took a garland of yellow flowers from the bed and gently slipped it over his head. Next to the couch was a round rosewood table holding several small brass vials of perfume and incense. "Tonight this room is like a bridal chamber. For us."A second garland of flowers lay on the bed next to the one she had taken. Without thinking, he reached and took it and slipped it around her neck. Then he drew his fingertips slowly down her arm, sending a small shiver through them both. Seeing her in the lamplight, he realized again how he had ached for her."A wedding? For us?""Not a wedding. Can we just call it a new beginning? The end of one journey and the beginning of another."Hawksworth heard a sudden rustling behind him and then a sound. He turned and searched the gloom, where two eyes peered out of the darkness, reflecting the lamplight. He was reaching for his pistol when she stopped his arm."That's one of the little green parrots who live here. They've never been harmed, and they've never been caged. So they're unafraid." She turned and called to it. "If they're caught and imprisoned, their spirit dies and their beauty starts to fade."The bird ruffled its wings again and flew to the top of the bolster beside Shirin. Hawksworth watched her for a moment, still incredulous, then settled himself on the carpet next to a chalice of wine that sat waiting. She reached and touched his arm. "I never asked you what your lovers call you. You're so important, nobody in India knows your first name, just your titles.""My only other name is Brian." He found her touch had already begun to stir him."Brian. Will you tell me everything about you, what you like and what you don't?" She began to pour the wine for them. "Did I ever tell you what I like most about you?""In Surat you said you liked the fact I was a European. Who always had to be master of worldly things.""Well, I've thought about you a lot since then." Her expression grew pensive. "I've decided it's not so simple. There's a directness about you, and an openness, an honesty, that's very appealing.""That's European. We're not very good at intrigue. What we're thinking always shows on our face."She laughed. "And I think I know what you're thinking right now. But let me finish. I feel I must tell you this. There's something else about you that may also be European, but think it's just your special quality. You're always ready to watch and learn from what you see. Looking for new things and new ideas. Is that also European?""I think it probably is.""It's rare here. Most Indians think everything they have and everything they do is absolutely perfect, exactly the way it is. They might take something foreign and use it, or copy it but they always have to appear disdainful of anything not Indian.""You're right. I'm always being told everything here is better." He reached for her. "Sometimes it's even true.""Won't you let me tell you the rest?" She took his hand and held it. "I also think you have more concern for those around you than most Indians do. You respect the dignity of others, regardless of their station, something you'll seldom see here, particularly among the high castes. And there's a kindness about you too. I feel it when you're with me." She laughed again. "You know, it's a tragic thing about Muslim men. They claim to honor women; they write poems to their beauty; but I don't think they could ever truly love a woman. They believe she's a willful thing whom it's their duty to contain."She paused, then continued. "But you're so very different. It's hard to comprehend you sometimes. You love your European music, but now I think you're starting to understand and love the music of India. I even heard you're learning the sitar. You're sensitive to all beauty, almost the way Samad is. It makes me feel very comfortable with you. But you're also a lot like Prince Jadar. You're not afraid of risks. You guide your own destiny. Instead of just accepting whatever happens, the way most Indians do." She smiled and traced her fingers down his chest. "That part makes you very exciting."She hesitated again. "And do you know what I like least about you? It's theferinghiclothes you wear."He burst into laughter. "Tell me why.""They're so . . . undignified. When I first saw you, that night you came to Mukarrab Khan's palace, I couldn't believe you could be anyone of importance. Then the next morning, at the observatory, you looked like a nobleman. Tonight, you're dressed like aferinghiagain.""I like boots and a leather jerkin. When I'm wearing a fancy doublet and hose, then I feel I have to be false, false as the clothes. And when I dress like a Moghul, I always wonder if people think I'm trying to be something I'm not.""All right." She smiled resignedly. "But perhaps sometime tonight you'll at least take off your leather jerkin. I would enjoy seeing you."He looked at her in wonderment. "I still don't understand you at all. You once said you thought I was powerful. But you seem to be pretty powerful yourself. Nobody I know could force Mukarrab Khan or Nadir Sharif to do anything. Yet you made the governor divorce you, and then you made the prime minister deceive half of Agra to arrange this. You're so many different things.""Don't forget. Sometimes I'm also a woman."She rose and began to slowly draw out the long cinch holding the waist of her wrap. Her halter seemed to trouble her as she tried to loosen it. She laughed at her own awkwardness, and then it too came away. She was left with only her jewels and the long scarf over her hair, which she did not remove. Then she turned to him."Do you still remember our last night in Surat?""Do you?" He looked at her in the dim lamplight. The line of her body was flawless, with gently rounded breasts, perfect thighs, legs lithe yet strong."I remember what I felt when I kissed you."He laughed and moved to take her in his arms. "But I thought I was the one who kissed you.""Maybe we should try it once more and decide." With a mischievous look she caught his arms and wrapped herself around him. As he touched her lips, she turned abruptly and the world suddenly seemed to twist crazily around them, sending his head spinning. In shock he opened his mouth to speak and it was flooded with the essence of rose.The pool beneath the platform had broken their fall. He came up gasping and found her lips.She tasted of another world. Sweet, fragrant. He enclosed her slowly in his arms, clasping her lean body gently at first; then feeling more and more of her warmth he pressed her to him, both of them still gasping. They seemed to float, weightless, serene in the darkness. Awkwardly he began pulling away his wet jerkin."You're just as I imagined." Her hands traveled across his chest, lightly caressing his skin, while the lamp flickered against the paintings on the walls above them. "There's a strength about you, a roughness." She nuzzled his chest with her face. "Tonight will you let me be your poet?""Tonight you can be anything you want.""I want to sing of you—a man I adore—of the desire I feel for you. After we know each other fully, the great longing will be gone. The most intense moment we can ever share will be past. The ache of wanting.""What you just said reminds me of something John Donne once wrote.""Who is he?""One of our English poets and songwriters. But he had a slightly different idea." He hesitated, then smiled. "To tell the truth, I think I may like his better."She lifted herself up in the water, rose petals patterned across her body. "Then tell me what he said.""It's the only poem of his I can still remember, but only the first verse. For some reason I'll never forget it. I sometimes think of it when I think of you. Let me say it in English first and then try to translate."I wonder, by my troth, what thou and IDid, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then?But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;If ever any beauty I did see,Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee."She listened to the hard English rhythm and then to his translation, awkward and halting. Then she was silent for a moment, floating her hand across the surface of the pond."You know, I also wonder now what I did before I met you. Before I held you."She slipped her hands about his neck, and as she did he drew her up out of the water and cradled her against him. Then he lifted her, her body still strewn with rose petals, and carried her slowly up the marble stairs to the couch of Akman. He felt her cling to him like no woman ever had, and as he placed her on the bed, she took his face in her hands and kissed him for a long moment. Then he heard her whisper."Tonight we will know just each other. And there will be nothing else."And they gave each to each until there was nothing more to give because each was the other. Together, complete.He was on the quarterdeck, the whipstaff aching against his hand, the mainsail furled as storm winds lashed the waist of the ship with wave after powerful wave. The ship was theQueen's Hope, his vessel when he sailed for the Levant Company, and the rocks that towered off his starboard bow were Gibraltar. He shouted into the dark for the quartermaster to reef the tops'ls, and he leaned on the whipstaff to bring her about, but neither responded. He had no crew. He was being swept, helpless, toward the empty darkness that lay ahead. Another wave caught him across the face, and somewhere in the dark came a screech, as though the sea had given up some dying Leviathan beast. His seaboots were losing their hold on the quarterdeck, and now the whipstaff had grown sharp talons that cut into his hand. Then a woman's voice, a distant siren calling him. Again the screech and then yet another wave cut across his face.The water tasted of roses. . . .He jerked violently awake. On his hand a green parrot was perched, preening itself and ruffling its feathers. And from the pool below Shirin was flinging handfuls of water up over the side of the platform, laughing as she tried to splash his face.She was floating, naked, below him, her hair streaming out across the surface of the water, tangled among the drifting rose petals. He looked about and saw his own wet clothes, mingled among her silks and jewels. For a moment he felt again the terror of the dream, the rudderless ship impelled by something beyond control, and then he caught the edge of the platform and slipped over the side.The water was cool against his skin and involuntarily he caught his breath. Then he reached out and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her against him. She turned her face to his, twined her hair around his head, and crushed his lips with her own. Just as suddenly, she threw back her head and laughed with joy. He found himself laughing with her."Why don't we both just stay? I don't have to be back in Agra until the wedding. We could have a week." He studied the perfect lines of her face, the dark eyes at once defiant and anxious, and wished he could hold her forever. The Worshipful East India Company be damned."But we both have things we must do." She revolved in the flowered water and drew her face above his. She kissed him again, languorously. Then she drew herself out of the water and twisted a wrap around her, covering her breasts. "Both you and I.""And what's this thing you have to do?"Her eyes shadowed. "One thing I must try to do is convince Samad he cannot stay here any longer. He has to go south, where Prince Jadar can protect him. But he refuses to listen. And time is growing short now. I truly fear for what may happen to him after the wedding. The Persian Shi'ite mullahs will certainly be powerful enough then to demand he be tried and executed on charges of heresy. For violating some obscure precept of Islamic law. It will be the end for him." She paused. "And for anyone who has helped him.""Then if he won't leave, at least you should." He lifted himself out of the water and settled beside her on the marble paving. "Why don't you come back to England with me? When the fleet from Bantam makes landfall at Surat, Arangbar will surely have the courage to sign thefirman, and then my mission will be finished. It should only be a matter of weeks, regardless of what the Portugals try to do."She studied the water of the pool with sadness in her eyes and said nothing for a moment as she kicked the surface lightly."Neither of us is master of what will happen. Things are going to soon be out of control. For both of us. Things are going to happen that you will not understand."Hawksworth squinted through the half-light. "What's going to happen?""Who can know? But I would not be surprised to see the prince betrayed totally, in one final act that will eventually destroy him. He is too isolated. Too weak. And when that happens we're all doomed. Even you, though I don't think you'll believe that now.""Why should I? I'm not betting on Prince Jadar. I agree with you. I don't think he has a chance. I'm betting on afirmanfrom Arangbar, and soon.""You'll never get afirmanfrom the Moghul. And Arangbar will be gone in half a year. The queen has already started appearing at morningdarshanand directing his decisions at afternoondurbar. As soon as she has Allaudin under her control, Arangbar will be finished. Mark it. He'll die from too much opium, or from some mysterious poison or accident. He will cease to exist, to matter.""I don't believe it. He seems pretty well in control.""If that's what you think, then you are very deceived. He can't live much longer. Everyone knows it. Perhaps even he knows it in his heart. Soon he will give up even the appearance of rule. Then the queen will take full command of the Imperial army, and Prince Jadar will be hunted down like a wild boar."He studied her, not sure he could reasonable contradict her, and felt his stomach knot. "What will happen to you, if the queen takes over?""I don't know. But I do know I love you. I truly do. Howsad it makes me that I can't tell you everything." Her eyes darkened and she took his hand. "Please understand I did not know the prince would use you the way he has. But it is for good. Try to believe that.""What do you mean?"She hesitated and looked away. "Let me ask you this. What do you think the prince will do after the wedding?""I don't know, but I think he'd be very wise to keep clear of Agra. Nobody at court will even talk about him now, at least not openly. Still, I think he might be able to stay alive if he's careful. If he survives the campaign in the Deccan, maybe he can bargain something out of the queen. But I agree with you about one thing. She can finish him any time she wants. I understand she already has de facto control of the Imperial army, in Arangbar's name of course. What can Jadar do? He's outnumbered beyond any reasonable odds. Maybe she'll make him a governor in the south if he doesn't challenge her.""Do you really believe he'd accept that? Can't you see that's impossible? You've met Prince Jadar. Do you think he'll just give up? That's the one thing he'll never do. He has a son now. The people will support him." She pulled herself next to him. "I feel so isolated and hopeless just thinking about it all. I'm so glad Nadir Sharif brought you here."He slipped his arm around her. "So am I. Will you tell me now how you managed to make him do it?""I still have friends left in Agra." She smiled. "And Nadir Sharif still has a few indiscretions he'd like kept buried. Sometimes he can be persuaded . . .""Did he know Samad was here?""If he didn't before, he does now. But he won't say anything. Anyway, it hardly matters any more. The queen probably already knows Samad's here." She sighed. "The worst is still waiting. For him. And for both of us."He caught a handful of water and splashed it against her thigh. "Then let's not talk about it. Until tomorrow."The worry in her eyes seemed to dissolve and she laughed. "Do you realize how much you've changed since I first met you? You were as stiff as a Portuguese Jesuit then, before Kali and Kamala got their painted fingernails into you. Kali, the lover of the flesh, and Kamala, the lover of the spirit." She glared momentarily. "Now I must take care, lest you start comparing me with them. Never forget. I'm different. I believe love should be both."He pulled her away and looked at her face. "I'm amazed by how different you are. I still have no idea what you're really like. What you really think.""About what?"
Hawksworth held firmly to the side of thehowdahas his elephant rocked along, with only occasional instructions from her mahout. Now they followed a winding road, which was surrounded on either side by tall, brown grass. He warily studied every sway of the grass, imagining tigers waiting to spring.
"Why don't we have guns?" He turned to Nadir Sharif, who rode alongside, rocking placidly in his swaying howdah.
"There's no need, Ambassador. I told you the tiger will not be killed with guns today. Of course, His Majesty and Prince Allaudin have guns, but they're merely for protection, in case there's some minor difficulty."
"Minor difficulty? What arewesupposed to do if there's a 'minor difficulty'?"
"The army will be there, men with half-pikes." He smiled easily. "You're in no danger."
Ahead the woods seemed to open up, and the grass was shorter, perhaps only as high as a man's waist. Deer darted wildly from side to side, contained by high nets that had been erected around the sides of the clearing. As they approached, Hawksworth saw a long line of several hundred water buffalo waiting, heavy bovine animals with thick curved horns dipping back against their heads, each fitted with a leather saddle and reined by a rider on its back. The reins, which passed through the buffalo's nostrils, were held in one hand by a mounted soldier, whose other hand grasped a naked broadsword.
"Those men may well be the bravest soldiers in the army." Nadir Sharif pointed to the riders, who were all saluting Arangbar's arrival. "Theirs is a task I do not envy."
"What do they do?"
"You will see for yourself, Ambassador, in just a few moments."
From beyond the other side of the clearing, as though on an agreed signal, came the sound of beaters. As the Imperial elephants drew near the gray line of buffalo, their riders began to urge them ahead. The buffalo snorted, knowing what waited in the grass, and then they lumbered forward, tossing their heads in disquiet. The line of buffalo was curved in the shape of a half-moon, and Arangbar urged his elephant directly behind them. The grass ahead swarmed with frightened game, as deer and antelope dashed against the nets and were thrown back, and from the woods beyond, the clatter and shouts of the beaters increased.
Suddenly from out of the grass a tawny head appeared, with gold and black stripes and heavy whiskers. The animal dashed for the side of the enclosure, sprang for freedom, and was thrown back by the heavy net. Hawksworth watched it speechless, unprepared for the size and ferocity of an Indian tiger. It was enormous, with powerful haunches and a long striped tail. The tiger flipped to its feet and turned to face the line of buffalo with an angry growl.
Arangbar clapped his hands with delight and shouted in Urdu to the line of riders, all—Hawksworth now realized— Rajputs. The buffalo snorted and tried to turn back, but their riders whipped them forward. The tiger assumed a crouching stalk along the gray, horned wall, eyeing a large dark buffalo with a bearded rider. Then it sprang.
The buffalo's head went down, and when it came up a heavy curved horn had pierced the tiger's neck. There was a snort and a savage toss of the head that flung the wounded tiger upward. As it whirled in the air, Hawksworth saw a deep gash across its throat. The Rajput riders nearby slipped to the ground and formed a wall of swords between Arangbar and the tiger as the line of buffalo closed in, bellowing for the kill. In what seemed only moments the tiger was horned and pawed to a lifeless pulp.
"Superb!" Arangbar shouted something to the enclosedhowdahthat Hawksworth did not understand. "A hundred goldmohursto every man on the line."
The Rajputs remounted their buffalo, retrieving the reins from the bloody grass, and the line again moved forward.
"This is a variation on His Majesty's usual tiger hunt," Nadir Sharif shouted through the dust, above the din of bellowing buffalo and trumpeting elephants. "Often he shoots, but today His Majesty elected merely to watch. Actually, animal fights have long been a favorite pastime in India."
At that moment a pair of tigers emerged from the grass and stared at the approaching line of buffalo. They did not seem frightened, as had the first, and they watched the line coolly, as though selecting a strategy. Then they dropped into a crouching stalk, moving directly toward the center of the line.
Hawksworth noticed Arangbar suddenly order his mahout to hold back his elephant. The other Imperial elephants had also paused to wait. Then Arangbar turned and ordered the servant who rode behind him to pass forward a long-barreled, large-caliber sporting piece. Allaudin, whose fright was transparent, also signaled for a gun.
Hawksworth's mahout pulled his elephant directly behind Arangbar's, as though for protection.
The tigers seemed in no hurry to engage the buffalo. They scrutinized the approaching line and waited for their moment. Then, when the buffalo were no more than ten feet away, both sprang simultaneously.
The female was speared on the horn of a buffalo, but she flipped in midair and sank her teeth into the leather shielding on its neck. As its Rajput rider slipped to the ground, the male of the pair dashed past his mate and sprang for him. The Rajput swung his broadsword, catching the tiger in the flank, but it swatted him aside with a powerful sweep of its paw and he crumpled, his neck shattered. Other Rajputs rushed the male tiger with their swords, as their buffalo closed in to kill the female, but it eluded their thrusts as it circled Arangbar's elephant. Soldiers with half-pikes had already rushed to form a barricade between Arangbar's elephant and the tiger, but the Moghul seemed unperturbed. While the panting male tiger stalked Arangbar, the female tiger was forgotten.
As Hawksworth watched spellbound, his pulse pounding, he caught a yellow flicker out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the female tiger slip past the ring of buffalo and dash toward the rear of Arangbar's elephant. It was on the opposite side from the armed soldiers, where the Moghul’s elephant was undefended.
Hawksworth opened his mouth to shout just as the female tiger sprang for Arangbar, but at that moment a shot rang out from the enclosed howdah of Queen Janahara and the female tiger crumpled in midair, curving into a lifeless ball as it smashed against the side of the Moghul’s mount.
The jolt caused Arangbar's shot at the male tiger to go wide, merely grazing its foreleg. A dozen half-pikes pierced its side as it stumbled forward, and it whirled to slap at the Rajputs. Allaudin also fired his tiger gun, but his shot missed entirely, almost hitting one of the men trying to hold the tiger back. It whirled in a bloody circle for a moment, and then stopped.
It was staring at Hawksworth.
He heard his mahout shout in terror as the tiger sprang for the head of their elephant. A wrap of yellow fur seemed to twist itself around the elephant's forehead as the tiger dug its claws into the protective leather padding. As Kumada tossed her head in panic, the mahout screamed again and plunged for safety, rolling through a clump of brown grass and scrambling toward the soldiers.
The tiger caught Hawksworth's eyes with a hypnotic gaze as it began pulling itself over the forehead of the terrified elephant, directly toward his howdah. Kumada had begun to whirl in a circle and shake her head, futilely trying to dislodge the wounded fury slashing at her leather armor. The tiger slipped momentarily, then caught its claws more firmly and began to climb again.
Almost without thinking, Hawksworth reached forward and grabbed theankus, the short pike and claw used for guiding an elephant, that the mahout had left lodged in a leather fold behind the elephant's head. He wrenched it free and began to tease the tiger back.
Kumada was running now, wildly it seemed, toward a largepipaltree at the edge of the clearing. But the tiger had pulled itself atop her head and, as Hawksworth jabbed its whiskered face with theankus, he heard a deep growl and saw a flash of yellow and claw as a sharp pain cut through his shoulder.
He knew he was falling, dizzily, hands grasping against smooth leather as he slipped past the neck of the elephant, past its flapping ear, against a thundering foot that slammed the dust next to his face.
Kumada had suddenly stopped dead still, throwing him sprawling against the base of thepipaltree. He looked up to see the tiger suspended above him, glaring down, clawing at the face of the elephant and bellowing with pain.
Then he heard the snap of the tiger's spine, as Kumada slammed it again and again against the massive trunk of the
tree, Only when the tiger was motionless did she let it drop, carefully tossing its body away from Hawksworth as it tumbled lifeless onto the grass.
Hawksworth looked up through the dust to see Arangbar pulling his elephant alongside.
"That was most auspicious, Inglish. It's an ominous and evil protent for the state if a tiger I have shot escapes the hunt. If that beast had succeeded in going free, we would have had to send the entire army into the countryside to find and kill it. Your Kumada saved me the trouble. The gods of the southwest have been auspicious for our reign today. I think you brought us luck."
"I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth found himself gasping for breath.
"No, it is you we must thank. You were quick-witted enough to keep the tiger where Kumada could crush it." Arangbar called for his own elephant to kneel, and he walked briskly to Kumada, who was still quivering from fright. He stroked her face beneath the eye and she gentled perceptibly. It was obvious she loved Arangbar. "She's magnificent. Only once before have I ever seen an elephant do that. I hereby promote her immediately to First Rank, even though a female." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "Have it recorded."
As Hawksworth tried to rise, he felt a bolt of pain through the shoulder where the tiger had slapped him. He looked to see his leather jerkin shredded. Arangbar seemed to notice it too and he turned and motioned to Nadir Sharif, who signaled to another man, who called yet another. Moments later a physician was bending over Hawksworth. He probed the skin for a painful moment and then slammed a knee against Hawksworth's side, giving the pained arm a quick twist.
Hawksworth heard himself cry out from the pain and for a moment he thought he might lose consciousness. But then his mind began to clear and he realized he could move the arm again. The pain was already starting to abate.
"I suggest the shoulder be treated with compresses for a few days, Majesty." Nadir Sharif had dismounted from his elephant and was there, attentive as always.
"Then he must be sent back to Agra."
"Of course, Majesty." Nadir Sharif stepped closer to Arangbar. "But perhaps it would be equally wise to let theferinghirest somewhere near here. Perhaps at the old city." He turned and pointed toward the west. "There at Fatehpur. I think there may still be a few Sufi hermits there who could attend the shoulder untilshikaris over. Then he could return with us."
Arangbar turned and shaded his eyes as he stared at the horizon. Above the tree line could be seen the gate of the fortress at Fatehpur Sekri.
"But my shoulder is fine now." Hawksworth tried to move into the circle of conversation. "There's no need . . ."
"Very reasonable." Arangbar seemed to ignore Hawksworth as he turned back to Nadir Sharif. "You can escort the Inglish to the fortress. Call up a palanquin for him. Leave your elephant here and take a horse."
As the physician bound Hawksworth's arm in readiness, a palanquin was brought from among the women's elephants. "A contingent of Rajputs can go with him." Arangbar shouted instructions to the captain of his guard and watched the men fall into formation. Then he remounted his elephant and signaled for the buffalo to resume their sweep of the tall grass.
As the party started forward, Hawksworth saw Nadir Sharif shout orders to one of the servants attending him. And as four Rajputs lifted Hawksworth's palanquin off the ground, a servant rushed forward to shove a flask inside.
It was brandy. Hawksworth turned to see Nadir Sharif grinning, a gleam in his eye.
She watched the palanquin ease up the weathered, winding path leading to the fortress gate. The procession had moved slowly through the gate at the northeast corner of the city's walls and now the Rajputs were clustered around the palanquin and the lone rider. The night was still, awash in a wild desert fragrance, and the moon was curing slowly from white to a rarified gold. Her vantage, in a corner turret of the wall, was shadow-less and perfect. She examined the rider and smiled when she recognized the face.
Nadir Sharif. You have kept your part of the bargain. All of it.
As she studied him through the half light, she wondered why they were coming a day earlier than planned. Then the palanquin stopped and the other figure emerged. She hesitated before looking, at last forcing herself, willing her eyes to see.
After a long moment she turned to the tall man standing next to her. His beard was white, as were his robes. His eyes saw what she saw, but he did not smile. He turned to her and nodded wordlessly. Then he tightened his white robe and moved easily down the stone staircase toward the courtyard below.
Hawksworth had sensed the autumn light begin to fall rapidly as they approached the gates of the fortress-city. Already there was a pale moon, promising fullness. In size and grandeur the portals of the gate reminded Hawksworth of the Red Fort in Agra, only the walls themselves were considerably less formidable. The palace itself sat atop a wooded hill, and already the stones of the abandoned roadway leading up the hill were becoming overgrown. There was a small village at the bottom of the hill, where smoke from evening cooking fires had begun to rise, but from the fortress itself there was no smoke, no hint of life or habitation.
He alighted from the palanquin at the bottom of a steep stairway leading to the palace gate and together with Nadir Sharif passed slowly up the abandoned steps. The Rajputs trailed behind them as they reached the top and passed under the shadow of a tulip-curved arch that framed the gateway. The dark surrounded them like an envelope, and the Rajput guards pushed forward, toward the black outline of two massive wooden doors at the back of the recess. They pushed open the doors, and before them lay a vast open courtyard, empty in the moonlight.
"Is this place completely abandoned? I still don't understand why I'm here."
Nadir Sharif smiled. "On the contrary, Ambassador. It's far from abandoned. But it appears so, does it not?"
Then Hawksworth saw a figure approaching them, gliding noiselessly across the red sandstone pavement of the court. The figure carried an oil lamp, which illuminated a bearded face framed in a white shawl.
"You are welcome in the name of Allah." The figure bowed a greeting. "What brings armed men to our door? It is too late now to pray. We long ago sounded the lastazan."
"His Majesty has sent aferinghihere, to be cared for by you for two days." Nadir Sharif stepped forward. "He was injured today duringshikar."
"Our hands are always open." The figure turned and moved across the plaza toward a building that looked, in the new moonlight, to be a mosque. When they reached the entrance, the man turned and spoke to the Rajputs in a language Hawksworth did not understand.
"He says this is the house of God," Nadir Sharif translated. "He has commanded the Rajputs to leave their shoes and their weapons here if they wish to follow. I think they will refuse. Perhaps it would be best if we all left you now. You'll be well cared for. Day after tomorrow I'll send a horse for you."
"What's going on? You mean I'm going to be here alone?" Hawksworth suddenly realized he was being abandoned, at an abandoned city. He whirled on Nadir Sharif. "You suggested this. You brought me here. What the hell is this for? I could have returned to Agra, or even stayed with the hunt."
"You're a perceptive man, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif smiled and looked up at the moon. "But as far as I know, you're here entirely by coincidence. I cannot be responsible for anything that happens to you, or anyone you see. This is merely the hand of chance. Please try to understand."
"What do you mean?"
"I will see you in two days, Ambassador. Enjoy your rest."
Nadir Sharif bowed, and in moments he and the Rajputs had melted into the moonlight.
Hawksworth watched them leave with a mounting sense of disquiet. Then he turned and peered past the hooded figure, who stood waiting. The mosque looked empty, a cavern of flickering shadows against intricate plaster calligraphy. He unbuckled the sheath of his sword and passed it to the man as he kicked away his loose slippers. The man took the sword without a word, examined it for a moment as though evaluating its workmanship, then turned to lead the way.
They moved silently across the polished stone floor, past enormous columns that disappeared into the darkness of the vaulted space above them. Hawksworth relished the coolness of the stones against his bare feet, then ducked barely in time to avoid a hanging lamp, extinguished now, its polished metalwork almost invisible against the gloom.
Ahead a lamp flickered through the dark. They passed beneath it, then stopped at a closed door at the rear of the mosque. The man spoke a word Hawksworth did not understand and the door was swung open from the inside, revealing an illuminated passageway.
Four men were waiting. As Hawksworth and his guide passed through, the door closed behind them and the men silently drew around.
The passageway was long, freshly plastered, and floored in marble mosaic. It was cool, as though immune from the heat of the day, and scented faintly with rose incense that had been blended with the oil in the hanging lamps.
At the end of the corridor was another stairway, again of white marble, and as they moved up its steps the man who had greeted Hawksworth extinguished his lamp with a brass cup he carried.
Beyond the stair was another corridor, then another door that opened as they approached. Hawksworth realized they were in an upper story of a large building directly behind the mosque. They passed through the door and emerged into a room facing a balcony that overlooked the abandoned square below.
In the center of the room was a raised dais, covered with a thick Persian carpet. The man who had been Hawksworth's guide moved to the dais, mounted it, and seated himself. With a flourish he dropped his white hood and the wrap that had been around him. Hawksworth realized with a shock that his long white hair streamed to his waist. He was naked save for a loincloth. He gestured for Hawksworth to sit, indicating a bolster.
"Welcome, English." He waited until the surprise had registered in Hawksworth's face. "We've been expecting you, but not quite so soon."
"Who are you?"
"I was once a Persian." He smiled. "But I've almost forgotten my country's manners. First I should offer you some refreshment, and only then turn to affairs. Normally I would offersharbat, but I understand you prefer wine?"
Hawksworth stared at him speechless. No pious Muslim would drink wine. That much he knew.
"Don't look so surprised. We Persian poets often drink wine . . . for divine inspiration." He laughed broadly. "At least that's our excuse. Perhaps Allah will forgive us. ‘A garden of flowers, a cup of wine, Mark the repose of a joyous mind.’"
He signaled one of the men, and a chalice of wine appeared, seemingly from nowhere. "I once learned a Latin expression,'in vino Veritas." As a Christian you must know it. 'In wine there is truth.' Have some wine and we will search for truth together."
"Let's start with some truth from you. How do you know so much about me? And you still haven't told me who you are."
"Who am I? You know, that's the most important question you can ask any man. Let us say I am one who has forsworn everything the world would have . . . and thereby found the one thing most others have lost." He smiled easily. "Can you guess what that is?"
"Tell me."
"My own freedom. To make verse, to drink wine, to love. I have nothing now that can be taken away, so I live without fear. I am a Muslim reviled by the mullahs, a poet denounced by the Moghul’s court versifiers, a teacher rejected by those who no longer care to learn. I live here because there is no other placeI can be. Perhaps I soon will be gone, but right here, right now, I am free. Because I bear nothing but love for those who would harm me." He stared out over the balcony for a moment in silence. "Show me the man who lives in fear of death, and I will show you one already dead in his soul. Show me the man who knows hate, and I will show you one who can never truly know love." He paused again and once more the room grew heavy with silence. "Love, English, love is the sweetness of desert honey. It is life itself. But you, I think, have yet to know its taste. Because you are a slave to your own striving. But until you give all else over, as I have done, you can never truly know love."
"How do you think you know so much about me? I know nothing about you. Or about why I'm here."
"But I think you've heard of me."
Hawksworth stared at him for a moment, and suddenly everything came together. He could have shouted his realization.
"You're Samad. The Sufi. . . ." He stopped, his heart racing. "Where is . . .?"
"Yes, I'm a poet, and I'm called a Sufi because there is nothing else to call me."
"You're not really a Sufi?"
"Who knows what a Sufi is, my English friend? Not even a Sufi knows. Sufis do not teach beliefs. They merely ask that you know who you are."
"I thought they're supposed to be mystics, like some of the Spanish Catholics."
"Mystics yearn to merge with God. To find that part within us all that is God. Sufis teach methods for clearing away the clutter that obscures our knowledge of who we are So perhaps we're mystics. But we're not beloved by the mullahs."
"Why not? Sufis are Muslims."
"Because Sufis ignore them. The mullahs say we must guide our lives by the Laws of the Prophet, but Sufis know God can only be reached through love. A pure life counts for nothing if the heart is impure. Prayers five times a day are empty words if there is no love." Samad paused again, and then spoke slowly and quietly. "I am trying to decide if then is love about you, English."
"You seem to think you know a lot about me. There's only one person who wanted me to meet you. And she was in Surat. Where is she now? Is she here?"
"She's no longer in Surat. Be sure of that. But at this moment you are here with me. Why always seek after what you do not have? You see, I do know much about you. You're a pilgrim." He waved his hand absently. "But then we all are pilgrims. All searching for something. We call it different names—fulfillment, knowledge, beauty, God. But you still have not found what you seek, is that not true?' Samad watched Hawksworth in silence as he drank from his own wineglass. "Yes, it is given many names, but it is in fact only one thing. We are all searching, my English, for our own self. But the self is not easy to find, so we travel afar, hoping it lies elsewhere. Searching inward in a much more difficult journey."
Hawksworth started to speak, but Samad silenced him with a wave of the hand. "Know that you will find the thing you most want only when you cease to search. Only then can you listen to the quiet of the heart, only then can you find true content." Samad drank again from his wine. "This last week you have found, so you think, your fortune. You have received worldly honors from the Moghul, you have news of imminent success for your English king. But these things will only bring you despair in the end."
"I don't understand what you mean."
Samad laughed and finished off his glass. "Then let me tell
you a story about myself, English. I was born a Persian Jew, a merchant at my birth by historic family vocation. But my people have ignored the greatest Prophet of all, the Prophet Mohammed. His voice invites all, and I heard that voice. I became Muslim, but still I was a merchant. A Persian merchant. And, perhaps not unlike you, I traveled to India search of . . . not the greater Prophet, but the baser profit. And here, my English, I found the other thing I searched for. I found love. Pure love, consuming love. The kind of love few men are privileged to know. The love of a boy whose beauty and purity could only have come from God. But this love was mistaken by the world, was called impure, and he was hidden from me. So the only one left for me to love was God. Thus I cast away my garments, my worldliness, and gave myself to Him. And once more I was misunderstood."
Samad paused and called for another glass of wine. Then he turned back to Hawksworth. "So I have told the world my story in verse. And now there are many who understand. Not the mullahs, but the people. I have given them words that could only come from a pure heart, words of joy that all men can share." Samad stopped and smiled. "You know we Persians are born poets. It's said we changed Sufism from mystic speculation to mystic art. All I know is the great poets of Persia found in Sufism a vehicle for their art that gave back to Islam almost more than it took. But then a poet's vocation must always be to give. I have given the people of India my heart, and they have loved me in return. Yet such love engenders envy in the minds of men who know it not. The Shi'ite mullahs would have condemned me for heresy long ago were it not for one man, a man who has understood and protected me. The only man in India who is not afraid of he Persian Shi'ites at court. And now he too is gone. With him went my life."
"And who was that?"
"Can you not guess? You have already met him." Samad smiled. "Prince Jadar."
Hawksworth suddenly felt as though the world had closed about him.
"Why did you contrive to get me here tonight?"
"Because I wished to see you. And I can no longer walk abroad. It has been forbidden on pain of death. But death is something I am almost ready to welcome. One day soon I will walk the streets of Agra once more, for the last time.
Hawksworth wondered if the claim was bravado, or truth.
"But why did you want to see me?" Hawksworth studied Samad closely. Suddenly he decided to ask the question directly. "To ask me to help Jadar? You can tell him for me that I want no part of his politics. I'm here to get a trade agreement, afirman. That's my mission, why I was sent.
Samad settled his wineglass on the carpet with a sigh of resignation. "You've heard nothing I have said. I am telling you it would be best for you to forget about your 'mission.’ Your destiny is no longer in your hands. But if you will open your heart, you will find it has riches to compensate you manyfold. Still, they can be yours only if you can know love. But now, I fear, the only love you know is self-love, ambition. You have not yet understood it is empty as mirror.
"The world is but a waking dream,
The eye of heart sees clear.
The garden of this tempting world,
Is wrought of sand and tear."
Hawksworth shifted and stared about the room. It was darker now but several men had entered. Few of them seemed to understand Samad's Turki.
"So what do I do now?"
"Stay with us for a while. Learn to know yourself." Samad rose and stepped off the dais. "Perhaps then you will at last find what you want."
He motioned for Hawksworth to walk with him to the balcony. Across the courtyard a single lamp burned in the turret of one of the buildings. "Tonight must be remembered as a dream, my English. And like a dream, it is to be recalled on waking as mere light and shadow." He turned and led Hawksworth to the door. The men stood aside for them. “And now I bid you farewell. Others will attend you."
Hawksworth walked into the marble corridor. Standing in the half-light, her face warm in the glow of a lamp, was . . .
Shirin.
The night sky above the courtyard was afire, an overturned jewel box strewn about an ivory moon. They passed through a gateway of carved columns and ornate brackets, into a smaller plaza. The mosque was left behind: around them low were empty pavilions, several stories high, decorated with whimsical carvings, railings, cornices. Now they were alone in the abandoned palace, surrounded by silence and moonlight. Only then did she speak, her voice opening through the stillness.
"I promised to think of you, and I have, more than you can know. Tonight I want to share this with you. The private palace of the Great Akman. The most beautiful place in all India." She paused and pointed to a wide marble pond in the middle of the plaza. In its center was a platform, surrounded by a railing and joined to the banks by delicate bridges. “They say when Akman's court musician, the revered Tansen, sat there and sang a raga for the rainy season, the clouds themselves would come to listen, and bless the earth with their tears. Once all this was covered by one magnificent canopy. Tonight we have only the stars."
"How did you arrange this?" He still was lost in astonishment.
"Don't ask me to tell you now. Can we just share this moment?"
She took his arm and motioned ahead. There, glistening in the moonlight, were the open arcades of a palace pavilion. I've prepared something especially for us." She guided him through a wide-open archway and into a large arcade, illuminated by a single oil lamp atop a stone table. In front of them, on the walls, were brilliantly colored renderings of elephants, horses, birds. She picked up the lamp and led him past the paintings and into the next room, a vast red chamber whose floor was a fragrant standing pool of water. In the flickering light he could see a marble stairway leading to a red sandstone platform projecting out over the water, supported by square stone columns topped by ornate brackets.
"This is where Akman spent the hot summer nights. Up there, on the platform, above a cooling pool of rosewater. From there he would summon his women to come to him from thezenana."
Hawksworth dipped his fingers into the water and brought it to his lips. It was like perfume. He turned to he and she smiled.
"Yes, the Sufis still keep rosewater here, in memory of Akman." She urged him forward, up the stairs. "Come and together we'll try to imagine how it must have felt to be the Great Moghul of India."
As they emerged onto the platform, the vaulted ceiling above them glowed a ruby red from the lamp. Under their feet was a thick carpet, strewn with small velvet bolsters. At the farthest edge was a large sleeping couch, fashioned from red marble, its dark velvet canopy held aloft by four finely worked stone columns. The covering of the couch was a patterned blue velvet, bordered in gold lace.
"Just for tonight I've made this room like it was when Akman slept here, with his chosen from thezenana." She slipped the gauze wrap from her shoulders. He looked at her dark hair, secured with a transparent scarf and a strand of pearls, and realized it contrasted perfectly with the green emerald brooch that swung gently against her forehead. She wore a necklace of pearl strands and about each upper arm was a band ringed with pearl drops. Her eyes and eyebrows were painted dark with kohl and her lips were a brilliant red
Without a word she took a garland of yellow flowers from the bed and gently slipped it over his head. Next to the couch was a round rosewood table holding several small brass vials of perfume and incense. "Tonight this room is like a bridal chamber. For us."
A second garland of flowers lay on the bed next to the one she had taken. Without thinking, he reached and took it and slipped it around her neck. Then he drew his fingertips slowly down her arm, sending a small shiver through them both. Seeing her in the lamplight, he realized again how he had ached for her.
"A wedding? For us?"
"Not a wedding. Can we just call it a new beginning? The end of one journey and the beginning of another."
Hawksworth heard a sudden rustling behind him and then a sound. He turned and searched the gloom, where two eyes peered out of the darkness, reflecting the lamplight. He was reaching for his pistol when she stopped his arm.
"That's one of the little green parrots who live here. They've never been harmed, and they've never been caged. So they're unafraid." She turned and called to it. "If they're caught and imprisoned, their spirit dies and their beauty starts to fade."
The bird ruffled its wings again and flew to the top of the bolster beside Shirin. Hawksworth watched her for a moment, still incredulous, then settled himself on the carpet next to a chalice of wine that sat waiting. She reached and touched his arm. "I never asked you what your lovers call you. You're so important, nobody in India knows your first name, just your titles."
"My only other name is Brian." He found her touch had already begun to stir him.
"Brian. Will you tell me everything about you, what you like and what you don't?" She began to pour the wine for them. "Did I ever tell you what I like most about you?"
"In Surat you said you liked the fact I was a European. Who always had to be master of worldly things."
"Well, I've thought about you a lot since then." Her expression grew pensive. "I've decided it's not so simple. There's a directness about you, and an openness, an honesty, that's very appealing."
"That's European. We're not very good at intrigue. What we're thinking always shows on our face."
She laughed. "And I think I know what you're thinking right now. But let me finish. I feel I must tell you this. There's something else about you that may also be European, but think it's just your special quality. You're always ready to watch and learn from what you see. Looking for new things and new ideas. Is that also European?"
"I think it probably is."
"It's rare here. Most Indians think everything they have and everything they do is absolutely perfect, exactly the way it is. They might take something foreign and use it, or copy it but they always have to appear disdainful of anything not Indian."
"You're right. I'm always being told everything here is better." He reached for her. "Sometimes it's even true."
"Won't you let me tell you the rest?" She took his hand and held it. "I also think you have more concern for those around you than most Indians do. You respect the dignity of others, regardless of their station, something you'll seldom see here, particularly among the high castes. And there's a kindness about you too. I feel it when you're with me." She laughed again. "You know, it's a tragic thing about Muslim men. They claim to honor women; they write poems to their beauty; but I don't think they could ever truly love a woman. They believe she's a willful thing whom it's their duty to contain."
She paused, then continued. "But you're so very different. It's hard to comprehend you sometimes. You love your European music, but now I think you're starting to understand and love the music of India. I even heard you're learning the sitar. You're sensitive to all beauty, almost the way Samad is. It makes me feel very comfortable with you. But you're also a lot like Prince Jadar. You're not afraid of risks. You guide your own destiny. Instead of just accepting whatever happens, the way most Indians do." She smiled and traced her fingers down his chest. "That part makes you very exciting."
She hesitated again. "And do you know what I like least about you? It's theferinghiclothes you wear."
He burst into laughter. "Tell me why."
"They're so . . . undignified. When I first saw you, that night you came to Mukarrab Khan's palace, I couldn't believe you could be anyone of importance. Then the next morning, at the observatory, you looked like a nobleman. Tonight, you're dressed like aferinghiagain."
"I like boots and a leather jerkin. When I'm wearing a fancy doublet and hose, then I feel I have to be false, false as the clothes. And when I dress like a Moghul, I always wonder if people think I'm trying to be something I'm not."
"All right." She smiled resignedly. "But perhaps sometime tonight you'll at least take off your leather jerkin. I would enjoy seeing you."
He looked at her in wonderment. "I still don't understand you at all. You once said you thought I was powerful. But you seem to be pretty powerful yourself. Nobody I know could force Mukarrab Khan or Nadir Sharif to do anything. Yet you made the governor divorce you, and then you made the prime minister deceive half of Agra to arrange this. You're so many different things."
"Don't forget. Sometimes I'm also a woman."
She rose and began to slowly draw out the long cinch holding the waist of her wrap. Her halter seemed to trouble her as she tried to loosen it. She laughed at her own awkwardness, and then it too came away. She was left with only her jewels and the long scarf over her hair, which she did not remove. Then she turned to him.
"Do you still remember our last night in Surat?"
"Do you?" He looked at her in the dim lamplight. The line of her body was flawless, with gently rounded breasts, perfect thighs, legs lithe yet strong.
"I remember what I felt when I kissed you."
He laughed and moved to take her in his arms. "But I thought I was the one who kissed you."
"Maybe we should try it once more and decide." With a mischievous look she caught his arms and wrapped herself around him. As he touched her lips, she turned abruptly and the world suddenly seemed to twist crazily around them, sending his head spinning. In shock he opened his mouth to speak and it was flooded with the essence of rose.
The pool beneath the platform had broken their fall. He came up gasping and found her lips.
She tasted of another world. Sweet, fragrant. He enclosed her slowly in his arms, clasping her lean body gently at first; then feeling more and more of her warmth he pressed her to him, both of them still gasping. They seemed to float, weightless, serene in the darkness. Awkwardly he began pulling away his wet jerkin.
"You're just as I imagined." Her hands traveled across his chest, lightly caressing his skin, while the lamp flickered against the paintings on the walls above them. "There's a strength about you, a roughness." She nuzzled his chest with her face. "Tonight will you let me be your poet?"
"Tonight you can be anything you want."
"I want to sing of you—a man I adore—of the desire I feel for you. After we know each other fully, the great longing will be gone. The most intense moment we can ever share will be past. The ache of wanting."
"What you just said reminds me of something John Donne once wrote."
"Who is he?"
"One of our English poets and songwriters. But he had a slightly different idea." He hesitated, then smiled. "To tell the truth, I think I may like his better."
She lifted herself up in the water, rose petals patterned across her body. "Then tell me what he said."
"It's the only poem of his I can still remember, but only the first verse. For some reason I'll never forget it. I sometimes think of it when I think of you. Let me say it in English first and then try to translate.
"I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee."
She listened to the hard English rhythm and then to his translation, awkward and halting. Then she was silent for a moment, floating her hand across the surface of the pond.
"You know, I also wonder now what I did before I met you. Before I held you."
She slipped her hands about his neck, and as she did he drew her up out of the water and cradled her against him. Then he lifted her, her body still strewn with rose petals, and carried her slowly up the marble stairs to the couch of Akman. He felt her cling to him like no woman ever had, and as he placed her on the bed, she took his face in her hands and kissed him for a long moment. Then he heard her whisper.
"Tonight we will know just each other. And there will be nothing else."
And they gave each to each until there was nothing more to give because each was the other. Together, complete.
He was on the quarterdeck, the whipstaff aching against his hand, the mainsail furled as storm winds lashed the waist of the ship with wave after powerful wave. The ship was theQueen's Hope, his vessel when he sailed for the Levant Company, and the rocks that towered off his starboard bow were Gibraltar. He shouted into the dark for the quartermaster to reef the tops'ls, and he leaned on the whipstaff to bring her about, but neither responded. He had no crew. He was being swept, helpless, toward the empty darkness that lay ahead. Another wave caught him across the face, and somewhere in the dark came a screech, as though the sea had given up some dying Leviathan beast. His seaboots were losing their hold on the quarterdeck, and now the whipstaff had grown sharp talons that cut into his hand. Then a woman's voice, a distant siren calling him. Again the screech and then yet another wave cut across his face.
The water tasted of roses. . . .
He jerked violently awake. On his hand a green parrot was perched, preening itself and ruffling its feathers. And from the pool below Shirin was flinging handfuls of water up over the side of the platform, laughing as she tried to splash his face.
She was floating, naked, below him, her hair streaming out across the surface of the water, tangled among the drifting rose petals. He looked about and saw his own wet clothes, mingled among her silks and jewels. For a moment he felt again the terror of the dream, the rudderless ship impelled by something beyond control, and then he caught the edge of the platform and slipped over the side.
The water was cool against his skin and involuntarily he caught his breath. Then he reached out and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her against him. She turned her face to his, twined her hair around his head, and crushed his lips with her own. Just as suddenly, she threw back her head and laughed with joy. He found himself laughing with her.
"Why don't we both just stay? I don't have to be back in Agra until the wedding. We could have a week." He studied the perfect lines of her face, the dark eyes at once defiant and anxious, and wished he could hold her forever. The Worshipful East India Company be damned.
"But we both have things we must do." She revolved in the flowered water and drew her face above his. She kissed him again, languorously. Then she drew herself out of the water and twisted a wrap around her, covering her breasts. "Both you and I."
"And what's this thing you have to do?"
Her eyes shadowed. "One thing I must try to do is convince Samad he cannot stay here any longer. He has to go south, where Prince Jadar can protect him. But he refuses to listen. And time is growing short now. I truly fear for what may happen to him after the wedding. The Persian Shi'ite mullahs will certainly be powerful enough then to demand he be tried and executed on charges of heresy. For violating some obscure precept of Islamic law. It will be the end for him." She paused. "And for anyone who has helped him."
"Then if he won't leave, at least you should." He lifted himself out of the water and settled beside her on the marble paving. "Why don't you come back to England with me? When the fleet from Bantam makes landfall at Surat, Arangbar will surely have the courage to sign thefirman, and then my mission will be finished. It should only be a matter of weeks, regardless of what the Portugals try to do."
She studied the water of the pool with sadness in her eyes and said nothing for a moment as she kicked the surface lightly.
"Neither of us is master of what will happen. Things are going to soon be out of control. For both of us. Things are going to happen that you will not understand."
Hawksworth squinted through the half-light. "What's going to happen?"
"Who can know? But I would not be surprised to see the prince betrayed totally, in one final act that will eventually destroy him. He is too isolated. Too weak. And when that happens we're all doomed. Even you, though I don't think you'll believe that now."
"Why should I? I'm not betting on Prince Jadar. I agree with you. I don't think he has a chance. I'm betting on afirmanfrom Arangbar, and soon."
"You'll never get afirmanfrom the Moghul. And Arangbar will be gone in half a year. The queen has already started appearing at morningdarshanand directing his decisions at afternoondurbar. As soon as she has Allaudin under her control, Arangbar will be finished. Mark it. He'll die from too much opium, or from some mysterious poison or accident. He will cease to exist, to matter."
"I don't believe it. He seems pretty well in control."
"If that's what you think, then you are very deceived. He can't live much longer. Everyone knows it. Perhaps even he knows it in his heart. Soon he will give up even the appearance of rule. Then the queen will take full command of the Imperial army, and Prince Jadar will be hunted down like a wild boar."
He studied her, not sure he could reasonable contradict her, and felt his stomach knot. "What will happen to you, if the queen takes over?"
"I don't know. But I do know I love you. I truly do. How
sad it makes me that I can't tell you everything." Her eyes darkened and she took his hand. "Please understand I did not know the prince would use you the way he has. But it is for good. Try to believe that."
"What do you mean?"
She hesitated and looked away. "Let me ask you this. What do you think the prince will do after the wedding?"
"I don't know, but I think he'd be very wise to keep clear of Agra. Nobody at court will even talk about him now, at least not openly. Still, I think he might be able to stay alive if he's careful. If he survives the campaign in the Deccan, maybe he can bargain something out of the queen. But I agree with you about one thing. She can finish him any time she wants. I understand she already has de facto control of the Imperial army, in Arangbar's name of course. What can Jadar do? He's outnumbered beyond any reasonable odds. Maybe she'll make him a governor in the south if he doesn't challenge her."
"Do you really believe he'd accept that? Can't you see that's impossible? You've met Prince Jadar. Do you think he'll just give up? That's the one thing he'll never do. He has a son now. The people will support him." She pulled herself next to him. "I feel so isolated and hopeless just thinking about it all. I'm so glad Nadir Sharif brought you here."
He slipped his arm around her. "So am I. Will you tell me now how you managed to make him do it?"
"I still have friends left in Agra." She smiled. "And Nadir Sharif still has a few indiscretions he'd like kept buried. Sometimes he can be persuaded . . ."
"Did he know Samad was here?"
"If he didn't before, he does now. But he won't say anything. Anyway, it hardly matters any more. The queen probably already knows Samad's here." She sighed. "The worst is still waiting. For him. And for both of us."
He caught a handful of water and splashed it against her thigh. "Then let's not talk about it. Until tomorrow."
The worry in her eyes seemed to dissolve and she laughed. "Do you realize how much you've changed since I first met you? You were as stiff as a Portuguese Jesuit then, before Kali and Kamala got their painted fingernails into you. Kali, the lover of the flesh, and Kamala, the lover of the spirit." She glared momentarily. "Now I must take care, lest you start comparing me with them. Never forget. I'm different. I believe love should be both."
He pulled her away and looked at her face. "I'm amazed by how different you are. I still have no idea what you're really like. What you really think."
"About what?"