"Anything. Everything." He shrugged. "About this even.""You mean being here with you? Making love with you?""That's a perfect place to start."She smiled and eased back in the water, silently toying for a moment with the rose petals drifting around her. "I think making love with someone is how we share our deepest feelings. Things we can't express any other way. It's how I tell you my love for you." She paused. "The way music or poetry reveal the soul of the one who creates them.""Are you saying you think lovemaking is like creating music?" He examined her, puzzling."They both express what we feel inside."He lifted up a handful of water and watched it trickle back into the pool. "I've never thought of it quite like that before.""Why not? It's true. Before you can create music, you have to teach both your body and your heart. It's the same with making love.""What do you mean?"She reached and touched his thigh. "When we're very young, lovemaking is mostly just desire. We may think it's more, but it isn't really. Then gradually we learn more of its ways, how to give and receive. But even then we still don't fully understand its deeper significance. We're like a novice who has learned the techniques of the sitar, the way to strike and pull a string to make one note blend into another, but who still doesn't comprehend the spiritual depth of a raga. Its power to move our heart. We still don't understand that its meaning and feeling can only come from within. And love, like a raga, is an expression of reverence and of wonder. Wonder at what we are and can be. So even after all the techniques are mastered, we still must learn to experience this wonder, this sense of our spirit becoming one with the other. Otherwise it's somehow still empty. Like perfect music that has no feeling, no life."He was silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "If you look at it like that, I suppose you could be right.""With music, we first have to learn its language, then learn to open our spirit. Lovemaking is just the same."She nestled her head against his chest, sending her warmth through him. As he held her, he noticed lying alongside the pool the garland of flowers she had worn the night before. He reached and took it and slipped it over her head. Then he kissed her gently, finding he was indeed filled with wonder at the feeling he had for her.He held her silently for a time, looking at the paintings on the walls of the palace around them. Then he noticed a large straw basket at the entryway."What is that?" He pointed.She rose and looked. "I think it's something Samad had left for us."She lifted herself out of the water and, holding her wrap against her, brought the basket. It was filled with fruits and melons."They're not from Samarkand or Kabul, like you've probably grown accustomed to at the palace in Agra. But I think you'll like them anyway." She squinted across the square, in the direction of the mosque. "I love Samad dearly. He did all of this for me. But he refuses to listen to anything I say." She handed him an apple, then reached and took some grapes. "You know, I think he secretly wants to die a martyr. Like a lover eager to die for his or her beloved. He wants to die for his wild freedom, for what he thinks is beautiful. Perhaps to be remembered as one who never bowed to anyone. I wish I had his strength.""Where's he now?""You won't see him any more. But he's still here. He'll have food sent to us. He loves me like a daughter, and he's happy when I am. And he knows now you make me happy. But you mustn't see him here again, even know that he's here. It would be too dangerous for you. Perhaps someday, if we're all still alive."He took her face in his hands and held it up to him. "You have as much strength as anyone, including Samad. And I want to get you away from here before your strength makes you do something foolish. I love you more than my own life.""And I love you. Like I've never loved anyone.""Not even the Great Moghul? When you were in hiszenana?"She laughed. "You know that was very different. I was scarcely more than a girl then. I didn't know anything.""You learned a few things somewhere." He remembered the night past, still astonished. The way she had . . ."In thezenanayou learn everything about lovemaking. But nothing about love." She rose and took his hand. Together they walked to the open portico of the palace. Around them the red pavilions were empty in the early sunshine. The morning was still, save for the cries of the green parrots who scurried across eaves and peered down impassively from weathered red railings and banisters. His gaze followed the wide arches, then turned to her dark shining hair. He reached out and stroked it."Tell me more about it. How did you learn Turki?""In thezenana. We had to learn it, even though Arangbar speaks perfect Persian." She turned to him. "And how did you learn to understand it?""In a Turkish prison." He laughed. "It seems about the same to me. I had to learn it too.""Will you tell me about it? Why were you in prison?""Like you, I had no choice. The Turks took a ship I was commanding, in the Mediterranean.""Tell me what happened."He stopped and looked at her. "All right. We'll trade. You tell me all about you and I'll tell you everything about me. We'll leave out nothing. Agreed?" She reached and kissed him. "Will you begin first?"CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOThe imminent wedding of Prince Allaudin and Princess Layla was a momentous event in the history of the Moghul empire. It represented the final merging of two dynasties. One, that of the Moghul Akman and his first son Arangbar, was in direct assent from the Mongols of the steppes who had conquered India by the sword less than a century before, melding under one rule a disorganized array of Muslim and Hindu states. The other dynasty, that of Queen Janahara, her Persian father Zainul Beg, her brother Nadir Sharif, and now her daughter Layla, represented a very different kind of conqueror. At court they were called, always in whispers, the "Persian junta."Whereas no combination of forces indigenous to India—even the recalcitrant Rajput warrior chieftains of the northwest—had ever succeeded in wresting power from the invading Moghuls, this extraordinary Persian family had, in one generation, come to rule India virtually as equals with the dynasty of Akman, assuming the power that the decadent Arangbar had let slowly slip away. With the marriage of Queen Janahara's daughter to the weakling son of Arangbar, a son she was carefully promoting to the role of heir-apparent, the last element in the Persian strategy would be in place. When Arangbar died, or was dethroned, the powerful line of Akman, who had unified India by a blend of force and diplomatic marriages, would be supplanted by what was, in effect, a palace coup. The "Persian junta" would have positioned itself to assume effective control of India: Prince Allaudin, for so long as he was allowed to maintain even the appearance of rule, would be nothing more than a titular sovereign. Queen Janahara, together with her father and her brother, would be the real ruler of India.The queen could, of course, have contented herself for a time longer merely to direct Arangbar from beside the throne, but that could never be entirely satisfactory. Arangbar still wielded power when he so chose, and that power could be enormous.India had no independent judiciary, no parliament, no constitution. There was, instead and only, the word of the Moghul. Criminals were brought before him to be tried and sentenced. Offices of state were filled, or vacated, on his personal whim. The army marched at his word. And he owned, in effect, a large part of Indian soil, since large estates went not to heirs but returned to the Moghul when their current "owner" died. He granted lands and salaries as reward for loyalty and service. And he alone granted titles. Seldom in history had a land so vast, and a people so diverse, been held so absolutely under the unquestioned rule of a single hand. Queen Janahara now looked confidently forward to the day that hand would be hers.The power Arangbar now possessed was thought by many to have brought his own undoing. Originally an introspective if sometimes whimsical sovereign—whose early memoirs were filled with scientific observations on India's fauna and flora, and statesman-like ruminations on the philosophy of governing—he had become slowly dissolute to the point of incapacity. A man who had forsworn both alcohol and drugs until well into his third decade of life, he was now hopelessly addicted to both. In consequence his judgment and instincts had grown ever more unreliable. And since all appointments of salary and place depended on his word alone, no career or fortune was truly secure. It was into this vacuum of sound leadership that the "Persian junta" of Janahara's family had moved.The Persian junta was supported by all those at court who feared Arangbar's growing caprice, by other influential Persians, by the powerful mullahs of the Shi'ite sect of Islam, by Hindus who still habored historic grievances against Moghul rule . . . and by the Portuguese. The "Persian junta" was not loved. But it did not need to be loved; it enjoyed an even more compelling ingredient for success: it was feared. Even those who might have preferred the succession of Prince Jadar wisely held silent. The tides of history were there for all to see.Even Brian Hawksworth saw them.The private palace of Zainul Beg, father of Janahara and Nadir Sharif and grandfather of Princess Layla, was more modest than that of Nadir Sharif, and its architecture more Persian, almost consciously reminiscent of the land of his birth. It lay on the banks of the Jamuna River, farther down from the palace of Nadir Sharif, and this evening it was brilliantly illuminated by bonfires along the riverside. Even the river itself was lighted. A dozen barks filled with lamps had been towed upriver from the Red Fort, and now their camphor-oil flames cast a dazzling white sheen over the pink turrets of the palace. On the opposite bank of the Jamuna, men were lighting candles and floating them in hollow clay pots across the surface of the water, where they drifted gently downstream toward the Red Fort, creating a line of illumination that would eventually stretch for miles.Although Hawksworth's money was starting to grow short, he had used a large portion of what was left to purchase a new pair of striped Indian trousers, an expensive brocade turban, and ornate velvet slippers. He alighted from his palanquin at the palace gate looking like a Moghul grandee, to be greeted almost immediately by Zainul Beg's eunuchs and ushered into the main hall. As he entered, the eunuchs directed him toward a large silver fish stationed by the door. It was ornamented with green lapis lazuli scales and fitted with seven spouts shooting thin streams of rosewater outward into a large basin. Hawksworth was by now accustomed to this Moghul ritual, and he quickly removed his new slippers and splashed his feet in the basin to the minimal extent acceptable. Then he turned and made his way through the line of nobles reverently awaiting the arrival of Arangbar. He had become such a familiar sight at royal gatherings that his presence excited no unusual notice.The marble walls of the hall were hung with new Persian tapestries and the floors covered with silk carpets embroidered with silver and gold. At the corners were immense vases of solid gold studded with precious stones that sparkled in the lamp light. Incense burners wrought from silver hung from the walls. Servants circulated among the crowd bearing trays of rolled betel leaves, glasses of lemonysharbat, and cups of green milkybhang. In deference to the ceremonial significance of this holy Muslim occasion, there would be no wine until after the Shi'ite mullahs had left. Hawksworth decided to take a glass ofsharbatand wait for the wine.He strolled through the buzzing crowd of bejeweled men and anonymous, veiled women and reflected on the bizarre ceremonies of a Moghul marriage.His first taste had come only the previous evening, when he had been invited to the Red Fort to witness and take part in the hennabandiceremony. The square just below theDiwan-i-Khas, where Arangbar's birthday weighing was held only two weeks before, had been cleared and made ready for the henna ceremony. Hawksworth had arrived and been granted a place near Nadir Sharif and Arangbar. The crowd was already being entertained by music and dancing women. Allaudin was there, slightly nervous in anticipation of his upcoming ordeal.Then the procession arrived: women of thezenanarode into the courtyard on palanquins, in a flower-bedecked line bearing henna—a red paste extracted from the plant of the same name—and gifts sent from Layla to Allaudin. The bride was not present; she had not yet been seen by Allaudin or any of his family, including Arangbar. The women of thezenana, all veiled, spread before the Moghul the gifts that, on this night, the bride was expected to present to the bridegroom. The eunuchs bore trays which had been covered with basketwork raised in domes, over which were thrown draperies of gold cloth and brocade in a rainbow of colors. They were brought before Allaudin and Arangbar and uncovered one by one. The first tray was of beaten silver and it held a new suit for the bridegroom, a tailored cloak and trousers woven with strands of gold. Others bore gold and silver vessels containing cosmetics and toiletries—collyrium, kohl, musky perfumes—and plates of sweets, betel leaves tied with strings of gold, and a confectionary of dried fruits and preserves. The eunuchs also brought in sprays of flowers containing disguised fireworks wheels, which were ignited as they entered to create a startling, fiery garden of color.Next the women led Allaudin to rooms behind theDiwan-i-Khas, where he was dressed in the new clothes provided for him by the bride. Bamboo slats were placed across the doorway to enable thezenanawomen to watch the ceremony. While he was gone, an opening was prepared in the screen separating thezenanafrom the courtyard and a low stool was placed just outside. The screen was specially constructed to allow the hands and feet of the one sitting on the stool to be reached from behind it.When Allaudin returned, he assumed his place again beside Arangbar, shifting occasionally in mild discomfort from the stiff new clothes. It was obvious to Hawksworth that he wished to appear bored by the ceremonies, but his eyes betrayed his apprehension.Then a eunuch approached and announced to the male assembly—Arangbar, Allaudin, Nadir Sharif, Zainul Beg, and a retinue of other men with vague ties to royal blood who were waiting at the center of the courtyard—that "the bridegroom is wanted.""Go quickly." Arangbar pushed Allaudin toward the stool waiting in front of the screen covering the entrance to the zenana. "It's always a man's fate to be made the fool by his women."Allaudin marched across the courtyard with as much dignity as his stiff new clothes allowed, and seated himself with a flourish on the stool. The air was rich with incense and music from the upper balconies. As Hawksworth and the other male guests watched, women from behind the screen ordered Allaudin to insert his hands and feet through the new holes. He was then teased and fed small lumps of sugar candy while the women behind the screen began to tie dark red cloths, soaked in a paste of moist leaves of henna, onto his hands and feet."This ceremony is very important, Inglish." Arangbar had beamed with satisfaction as he watched. "Henna is a charm to promote their union. The women anoint the bride with it also, in private. It will make him virile and her fertile."As the women continued to dye Allaudin's hands and feet with the paste, musicians and singers began to entertain him. Some of the songs, all extemporary, lauded him as a prince among men, while others rhapsodized over the beauty of the bride. Listening to their songs, Hawksworth had to remind himself that none of the singers had actually seen the bride, whose beauty they now extolled as that of one woman in thousands. Then the singers sang of the impending happiness of the pair, as inevitable, they declared, as that Paradise awaiting Believers after life on earth is past.After the women had finished their task, Allaudin turned to face the assembled men wearing a vaguely sheepish expression. Hawksworth had caught himself laughing out loud at the preposterous figure Allaudin struck, standing before them with hands and feet dripping red with henna.Then he noticed a group of veiled women filing out from behind the screen and approaching. They carried a silver chalice filled with red henna paste. The women stopped in front of Arangbar, bowed with theteslim, and began to anoint his fingers with henna. Then they tied each reddened finger with a small, goId-embroidered handkerchief. He smiled widely and signaled a eunuch to bring him a ball of opium. Next the women proceeded to Zainul Beg and reddened his fingers also, then Nadir Sharif, then all the other family members. Finally they stopped in front of Hawksworth.A robust woman from thezenanaseized his fingers and began to daub them with henna paste. It was thick and smelled of saffron. He watched helplessly as his fingers disappeared into the red, after which they too were swathed in the small kerchiefs of silk and gold."It will make you virile too, Inglish. This is a great omen for your good fortune," Arangbar observed wryly, delighted by the confused look on Hawksworth's face.The women disappeared back into thezenanaand the music began again, now with more dancers. Hawksworth recognized among them the young women Sangeeta, who had danced Kathak for Arangbar that first night in theDiwan-i-Khas. She was resplendent, and her face announced her pride in being selected for the first night of the wedding celebrations.After she had finished her dance, the veiled women again emerged from thezenana, carrying a large silver vessel, and saluted Allaudin. He was brought to the center of the square, where they began to remove the red bindings on his hands and feet. His hands, then his feet, were bathed in rosewater. After they were dried, he was taken back to theDiwan-i-Khasand attired in yet another of the new suits of clothes given to him by the bride. He returned to the general cheers of the assembled guests, whose hands had also been washed while he was gone.As the formal ceremonies drew to a close, Arangbar produced heavy brocade waist sashes for all the male guests. Hawksworth was last, and when he received his from Arangbar's hand, he bowed in thanks and examined it quizzically."It is akamar-band, Inglish, for you to wear tomorrow night at the wedding." Arangbar took Hawksworth's red-stained fingers and examined them for a moment. "If you can get the rest of the henna off your fingers by then."He roared with delight and signaled the musicians to start again. Allaudin was escorted from the square by a number of young men in foppish cloaks—Hawksworth assumed they were his friends—and then, as midnight approached, servants appeared with the evening's meal.While the men drank and dined, Sangeeta entertained them with more Kathak dance. When she was near exhaustion, other dancers were brought out, and the music and dance continued undiminished through the short hours remaining before dawn. Only when the eastern sky began to lighten did Arangbar rise and bid the guests farewell. The courtyard cleared in moments.As the crowd dispersed, Hawksworth watched the Moghul down another ball of opium and call for Sangeeta to accompany him into the palace. She was escorted by the eunuchs, her smile brighter than the rising sun.Hawksworth was momentarily startled as a fanfare of trumpets announced to the guests in Zainul Beg's hall that Arangbar was approaching. The center of the hall cleared, leaving a pathway from the entrance to a low platform at the opposite end, on which were two large cushions fashioned from gold cloth. On some unseen command musicians in an adjacent room began to play, and then the doors of the hall opened wide.Women from Arangbar'szenanaentered first, sweeping past the guests in a glitter of silks and jewels unlike anything Hawksworth had ever seen. The women displayed heavy gold necklaces and multiple strands of pearls. Their arms were scarcely visible beneath their wide gold bracelets. For this evening, all wore a headdress of silver cloth and a veil.More trumpets sounded as Arangbar himself entered, Queen Janahara striding imperiously behind him. Hawksworth examined her hard features with curiosity for a moment before the significance of the scene registered. She was not wearing a veil.He looked about him and realized that the other guests had noticed as well.Nadir Sharif trailed behind the royal couple, and after him came a few select officials of the court, including theqaziwho would perform the ceremony and officially record the marriage.As Arangbar and Janahara seated themselves on the cushioned platform, the guests all performed theteslim. Arangbar motioned for the crowd to be seated, and Hawksworth was already halfway to the carpet before he noticed that no one else had moved. Only after Arangbar had demanded three times that the guests seat themselves did those around Hawksworth accede to his request.More trays of rolled betel leaves andsharbatwere circulated, and the guests settled to listen to a lively raga performed on sitar and tabla drums by musicians who were seated on a small dais at the opposite end of the hall. The time was approaching eight o'clock when the musicians brought the music to a rousing finish.Hawksworth found himself beginning to wonder where the bride and groom were. They were nowhere to be seen.No sooner had the last notes of the raga melted into the tapestried walls than there came a knocking at the closed doors of the hall. There were sounds of a raucous, but not rancorous, argument. Everyone around Hawksworth fell silent to listen. There were more words, and he managed to grasp that the family of the bride was demanding a payment for entry, apparently a mock ritual. Finally there was the jingle of coins dropping into a cup. The money seemed to settle the dispute, for the doors of the hall suddenly burst open, to the sounds of a trumpet fanfare.Hawksworth looked through the doorway to see a horse and rider, surrounded by a milling crowd.In the lamplight he could see the horse was covered with a fine brocade tapestry, into which fresh flowers had been woven. Its legs, tail, and mane had been dyed red with henna, and all its body outside the tapestry was covered with glistening spangles. The rider's cloak and turban were heavy with gold thread, and his face was hidden behind a thick veil of silver cloth attached to the top of this turban and hanging to his waist. On either side of the horse two young men stood, each carrying a large paper umbrella, which they held over the rider's head. Behind them clustered singers, dancers, musicians, and a mob of tipsy young men in extravagant finery.The crowd cheered the veiled rider and he saluted them. From the chatter of the guests, Hawksworth gathered that the horse had led a procession through the streets of Agra for the past two hours in preparation for this grand entrance.The rider, whom Hawksworth assumed to be Prince Allaudin, was helped onto the back of one of the young men. He was then carried to the dais where Arangbar and Janahara sat and gently lowered to the ground. The silver veil was removed and he performed theteslim, the fatigue in his face beginning to show.Arangbar beckoned him to rise, and two eunuchs who had been part of the Moghul’s train stepped forward and placed two large silver boxes beside him on the dais. Arangbar opened the first and drew out a string of large pearls. He admired them for a moment, showed them to Janahara, then looped them around Allaudin's neck. Next he opened the other box and drew out a crown of silver trimmed in gold. He rose to his feet and held it aloft."Two months past I presented asachaq, a marriage present, of twolakhsof silver rupees to honor the bride. And tonight I bestow on my son the samesehra, the same bridegroom's crown, that was placed on my head the night I wed Her Majesty, Queen Janahara."Allaudin slipped off his turban and knelt before Arangbar. After the crown was fitted, he stood erect to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd.Without further ceremony, Arangbar turned and spoke to Zainul Beg. The oldwazirbeckoned two eunuchs forward and passed an order. There were shouts, and torches were lighted in the upper balcony of the hall. Then, as Hawksworth watched in amazement, the tapestries at the far end of the hall were drawn away, opening the pavilion to the riverfront.Arangbar and Janahara revolved on their cushions to face the water, which was now a sea of floating candles and lamps. The guests surged forward toward the opening, and as Hawksworth passed near the royal dais, Arangbar's voice cut through the din."Inglish, come and join us. There will be no henna on your fingers tonight." He gestured toward the carpet near his feet. "Sit here. I would have your opinion of this.""Thank you, Your Majesty." Hawksworth sensed that Arangbar was already partly drunk. "What will happen now?""Just more tradition, Inglish, but the part I always enjoy most." He pointed toward the river, where servants were carrying torches in the direction of three decorated wheels, each several feet across, mounted atop what appeared to be small-gauge cannon. "Tell me if your king has anything to equal this."As he spoke the servants touched the torches to the center of each wheel. Lines of burning sulfur traced their spokes, then ignited the squibs attached around their perimeter. At that instant, other servants stepped forward and thrust a burning taper to the touchhole of each cannon. The cannon spewed flame, lofting the wheels upward over the river. They suddenly began to rotate, creating a whirling circle of colored flame tips in the night sky. Just as they reached the top of their trajectory, they began to explode one by one, showering sparks and fire across the face of the Jamuna.The turbaned crowd scarcely had time to exclaim its delight before a blue flame suddenly appeared from behind where the wheels had been, illuminating the palace walls in a shimmering, ghostly light. As it grew, Hawksworth realized it was an artificial tree whose branches were saturated with black powder and brimstone. Next more flames spewed from the tops of five towers that had been erected near the riverfront. There were sharp reports, as though a musket had been fired, and dense streaks of red billowed into the sky. All around powder pots began to explode, hurtling lightning, dazzling white with camphor, and writhing serpents of flame into the smoky night air."Well, Inglish, what do you think?' Arangbar turned to Hawksworth with a delighted smile. "Have you ever seen anything to compare?""We have fireworks in England too, Your Majesty, particularly on the eve of St. John's Day, when we have barges of fireworks on the Thames. And sometimes they're used in plays and pageants. And at the wedding of His Majesty's daughter, four of King James's gunners gave a show with a fiery castle, a dragon, a damsel, and St. George. But English fireworks generally make more noise than these." Hawksworth paused, wondering how much to tell. "And some countries in Europe use fireworks in battle, Majesty. Helmets that throw fire, swords and lances with fiery points, and bucklers that give out flames when struck."Arangbar gave him a puzzled glance. "But what good are those, Inglish? In battle the most important use of flame is the fire lance. What use are sparking swords? Watch and you will see what I mean."Arangbar pointed to a line of Rajput marksmen, carrying horn bows and heavy spears, who had assembled at one side of the clearing. While they fell into a formation perpendicular to the river, servants were placing clay pots on small stands at the opposite side, perhaps seventy yards away. The Rajputs watched impassively as the arrows in their bows were lighted, and then on the shout of their commander they lifted their bows and fired in unison.Ten streaks of flame shot across the riverfront, and the crowd fell expectantly silent. All the arrows seemed to reach their target at precisely the same instant. Each had been aimed at a separate pot, and as they impacted, the silence was rent by what sounded like a single explosion. The pots, Hawksworth realized, had been primed with powder, ready to detonate.The smoke was still drifting across the grounds when torch carriers with large flambeaux moved to the center, illuminating scaffolding that had been hastily erected. More clay pots, painted white, hung suspended from the scaffolds on long ropes. The servants set the pots swinging and then fell back, while the Rajputs ignited the tips of their spears.Again flame streaked across the clearing and again there was a simultaneous explosion as the spears caught the swinging pots.Arangbar joined the cheers, then turned and slapped Hawksworth on the shoulder. "That, Inglish, is how you use fire in battle. You must put it where you want it. No soldier of India would be daunted by trick swords and bucklers.""My king agrees with you, Majesty. He leaves such toys to the Germans."The display continued for almost an hour, as one exotic device after another was carried next to the riverfront. The water became littered with burning paper and the air so dense with smoke that Queen Janahara finally started to cough. Arangbar immediately ordered an end to the fireworks, and as the crowd filed back into the hall, the tapestries were lowered to again conceal the smoky view of the river.Now the music began, and the dancing, as musicians and women moved to the center of the hall. Servants circulated with more betel leaves andsharbat, and Arangbar took his first ball of opium.Hawksworth glanced guardedly at the queen. Her manner was imperious, regal, everything a sovereign should be. Everything Allaudin was not. And, he thought, probably a lot Arangbar himself is not.She'll soon have India by thecojones, not a doubt on it. And then it's farewell Jadar. And probably farewell Arangbar too. Will I get a signedfirmanfor trade before it's too late?As midnight neared, the music and dance were suddenly interrupted by trumpets and a drum roll and shouts of "the bride comes." The curtains covering a large doorway leading into the palace were drawn open, and a closed palanquin was brought in by four eunuchs. It was accompanied by veiled women singing something Hawksworth did not understand. The palanquin was carried to the center of the room, where a low platform covered with gold brocade had been positioned, and then the eunuchs lowered it to the marble floor. The curtains were drawn aside and a veiled woman emerged, her small body almost smothered in a dress that seemed made of multiple layers of beaten gold. She was helped to the middle of the platform, still wearing a veil that covered her entire face. Chants of "Hail to the bride" arose on all sides.Then Allaudin was escorted forward, taking his place on the platform beside her. He stole a quick, distasteful glance at the veiled figure beside him, then an official smile illuminated his face and he sat patiently as theqaziwas summoned in front of them. The official was bearded, stern- faced, and transparently arrogant. He stood before the veiled bride and motioned around him for silence."Is it by your own consent that this marriage take place with Prince Allaudin, son of His Royal Majesty?"From beneath the layers of the veil came a muffled, almost hesitant, "It is by my consent."Theqaziseemed satisfied and began reading a passage from the Quran, informing her that marriage depends on three circumstances: the assent of the bride and groom, the evidence of two witnesses, and the marriage settlement. He then turned to Allaudin and asked him to name the sum he brought.Allaudin mumbled a figure that Hawksworth did not catch, but then theqazirepeated it for the guests. Hawksworth caught his breath when he realized the amount named was fiftylakhsof rupees. Then Allaudin said something else, which theqazidid not repeat.Later Hawksworth learned that Allaudin had added he was giving only ten lakhs of rupees then, and the balance at some indefinite future time.Theqaziblessed the royal pair, praying that they would be blissful in this world and in eternity, and then wrote something quickly in a book he carried. Finally the eunuchs appeared again and assisted the bride into the palanquin. The marriage ceremony seemed to be over.A glass of wine was placed in Hawksworth's hand, and he looked up to see Arangbar beaming with satisfaction."Now we drink, Inglish. Come, sit closer and help me toast the bridegroom.""It was truly a royal wedding, Your Majesty.""But it's not over, Inglish." Arangbar roared with laughter. "The hardest part is yet to come. Does my son have the strength to complete the work he's offered to undertake? No one can leave until we're sure."Hawksworth had begun his third glass of wine when Princess Layla reappeared, wearing a lighter dress, though still resplendent. Behind her eunuchs carried several palanquins piled high with vessels and trays of silver. Following them were servants bearing bundles on their heads."Those are the wares she brings to the marriage, Inglish, and her servants. I think she will make him a good wife."The royal pair moved together, Layla still veiled, and then Queen Janahara stepped down from the dais and took a large mirror handed her by a turbaned eunuch. She walked to the couple and stopped directly in front of them. As they stood facing her, she held the mirror before Allaudin and reached to lift Layla's veil, giving him his first glimpse of his bride.Hawksworth studied her with curiosity. She was plain. And she looked very frightened."It's auspicious, Inglish, if his first sight of his bride is in a mirror. I have not seen her before either." Arangbar examined her for a moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif. "What do you think? Should I buy him another one for his bed?""She's a goddess of beauty, Majesty. Inspiration for a poet.""Is that what you think?" Arangbar sipped pensively from his cup. "Well, perhaps it's true. We'll discover soon enough if she inspires her groom."The guests watched as Allaudin and Layla were helped into a large palanquin. In moments their procession was winding out of the palace, followed by Layla's household silver, to a great fanfare of drums and trumpets and the shouts of servants."Peace on the Prophet!""There is no nobility but the nobility of Mohammed!""Allah be with Him, the noblest, the purest, the highest!"Hawksworth settled back against his bolster and realized groggily that it was already past two o'clock in the morning.When the wedding procession had disappeared from view, the jubilant servants immediately turned to preparations for the banquet."Sometimes life can be sweet, Inglish." Arangbar leaned back against a bolster and pinched Janahara's hand. "I think he should have more wives. You know there's a saying in India: 'A man should have four wives: A Persian to have someone to talk to; a Khurasani to keep his house; a big-breasted Hindu from the South to nurse his children; and a Bengali to whip, as a warning to the other three.' So far he has only the Persian."Hawksworth noticed that Janahara did not join in the general laughter. Then Arangbar took another drink and turned to Hawksworth."But you know I don't entirely agree with that wisdom, Inglish. The Holy Prophet, on whom be peace, wisely realized a man needs more than one wife. He also demanded of us that we give each of them equal attention, never to turn away from any one of them. What man can do that, even with Allah's help? It is never possible. So we all do the best we can. It is the will of Allah." Arangbar paused to swallow a ball of affion as he watched the trays of lamb being placed before them. "Tell me, Inglish, have you found a wife for yourself yet?""Not as yet, Your Majesty." He paused. "There are so many to choose.""Then take more than one, Inglish." Arangbar washed down the opium."It's not allowed for a Christian, Majesty.""Then become a Muslim." Arangbar smiled and took another sip from his glass. "Are you circumcised, Inglish?""Majesty?""Never mind." Arangbar laughed out loud. "Neither am I. How are the mullahs to know? My father, Akman, actually wanted to start his own religion, combining the wisdom of India, Persia, and the West. He thought circumcision was an absurd practice. You know, there was once aferinghihere, I believe he was Portuguese, who decided to become a Muslim, a True Believer. Apparently he had found a Muslim woman he wanted to marry, and her father declared she could never marry a Christian. So he had himself circumcised." Arangbar paused dramatically. "And immediately bled to death. But doubtless he was healed by the time he reached Paradise. Perhaps he made up there for what he missed here." Arangbar chuckled and took a sip of wine. Hawksworth noticed that Queen Janahara was trying with great difficulty to retain her pleased expression. "Do you believe there is a Paradise after death, Inglish?""What man can say. Majesty? No one has returned from death to tell what he found. I think life is best lived in the present.""I've always believed the same, Inglish. And I've lived as few men on Allah's earth have lived." Arangbar settled himself against his bolster and reached for another glass. He was starting to grow visibly tipsy. "I now enjoy all Allah could possibly grant to a living man. There is nothing on earth I cannot have. And yet, do you know, I still have many griefs. Show me the man whose heart is free of grief." He took a piece of lamb from a dish and washed it down. "So I find my greatest happiness with wine. Like a low-caste camel driver. Why must I still endure sorrow, Inglish?""We all are mortal. Majesty.""That we are. Inglish. But I will soon see this Paradise, if it exists. I will find out the truth soon enough. And when I'm finally wise, who will then come after me? Now my sons practically war among themselves. Someday, Inglish, I fear they may decide to war against me as well. And what of those I see around me? Do they think I am blind to their deceit?" Arangbar leaned farther back on the bolster. Nadir Sharif sat listening, rolling a ball of lamb between his fingers. "Sometimes I think you may be the only honest man left in India, Inglish. You are the only one who has ever dared refuse toteslim. It is only with the greatest forbearance that I do not order you hanged.""I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth took a decanter and poured more wine into Arangbar's glass before replenishing his own."No, Inglish, instead you should thank your Christian God. If He listens to you. But sometimes I wonder. I've heard you called a heretic more than once.""And I have names for the Jesuits, Your Majesty. Would you care to hear them?""No, Inglish. Frankly, I have names for them too. But tell me, what am I to do to find peace?" Arangbar lowered his voice, but only slightly. "I see around me an army of sycophants,nautchwomen dressed as men. Whom dare I trust? You know, my own people were once warriors, Mongols of the steppes. They knew that the only ties that last are blood. And that's why this wedding cheers me. It is blood to blood." Arangbar turned and again touched Janahara's hand. Her face was expressionless as she accepted the gesture. "The only person in India I dare trust completely is my own queen. She is the only one who cannot, will not deceive me. Never. I feel it is true, as I feel nothing else in life. Nothing else."Janahara's face remained a mask as Arangbar drank again. Nadir Sharif was watching wordlessly, his face beginning to turn noticeably grim. Hawksworth realized he had not been mentioned."I have loved her since I was a youth, Inglish," Arangbar continued, his voice growing maudlin. "And she has never betrayed my trust. That's the reason I would do anything she asked me. Anything, anytime. I always know it is right."Hawksworth found himself marveling as he glanced at Janahara's calculating eyes.I'd not trust her with two pence. He must be God's own fool.Arangbar sat silent for a moment, savoring his own pronouncement, then he turned to Janahara and spoke to her in a dull slur."Ask something of me. Let me prove to the Inglish that I can never deny you."Janahara turned as though she had not been listening. Hawksworth knew she had been straining for every word."What could I ask, Majesty? You have given me all I could ever want. Tonight you even gave me a husband for my daughter. Now I can die with the peace of Allah.""But I must give you something." He settled his wine cup shakily on the carpet, jostling red splashes across the Persian design. "You must name it.""But there is nothing I could ask that I do not already have.""Sometimes you vex me with your good nature. The Inglish will now suspect the Moghul of India is a vain braggart." He fumbled with his turban, trying to detach the large blue sapphire attached to the front. "I will give you a jewel, even though you have not asked it.""I beg Your Majesty." She reached to stay his hand. "There is nothing more I could ever want.""But I must give you something."She smiled in defeat. "If you must bestow a present, why not give something to the bride and groom? This is their wedding, not mine.""Then at least you must name it. It will be my gift to you through them." He turned to Hawksworth. "Whatever else you do. Inglish, never marry a Persian. They forever study to try your patience."Hawksworth noticed Nadir Sharifs eyes harden as he listened. He slowly gripped the side of his bolster and absently pulled away a piece of gold fringe."Then give them a small token, to show your confidence in Allaudin.""I asked you to name it.""Very well. Perhaps you could grant him the royaljagirsin Dholpur, those closest to Agra."Arangbar's sleepy eyes widened slightly."Thosejagirsalways go to the prince nearest the throne. I granted them only last year to Prince Jadar, as part of his price to undertake the campaign in the Deccan.""But Prince Allaudin can administer them more easily. He's here. And you can compensate Jadar with others. Perhaps some in the north, near the fortress of Qandahar? You'll have to send him there after the campaign in the Deccan." Janahara's voice was silken now.Hawksworth turned to see Nadir Sharifs face growing ashen.She's trying to drive Jadar into oblivion. Rob him of his best estates, then send him to defend a piece of mountain rock. Surely Arangbar will refuse. Jadar will never agree. She must know that. Nadir Sharif certainly knows it."What would Prince Jadar say to such a trade?" Arangbar sipped from his wineglass and shifted slightly, his eyes again barely in focus."Why should he object? He's never here. And surely he'll be ready to obey Your Majesty and return to defend Qandahar after he completes his campaign in the south. The threat from the Persian Safavis in the north is already growing.""I doubt very much he will agree so easily to march north again. Not yet. Though I pray to Allah that he would.""Then this will give him all the more reason.""He may not see it as a reason. He may see it as a betrayal. You know he's temperamental."Hawksworth suddenly found himself wondering if the trade had been planned with Allaudin. It was obvious Nadir Sharif had been taken completely by surprise."Then I suppose it's best dropped." Janahara turned her face away. "You can just forget I ever asked."Arangbar looked crushed. He sipped thoughtfully on his wine for a moment."Perhaps if I consulted Prince Jadar first." He paused to study his empty wine cup. "Thejagirswere granted . . .""Perhaps Your Majesty thinks Prince Allaudin should have no estates at all? Perhaps you think he is not yet fit?""He's fit, by Allah. He's my son." Arangbar impulsively seized another ball of opium and began to chew on it thoughtfully. "I’ll find a way to compensate Jadar. Surely he'll be reasonable. After all, there must be a wedding gift.""Then you'll agree to grant it?" Janahara's tone was quiet and inquiring.""Majesty." Nadir Sharifs voice seemed strangely unguarded. "Prince Jadar . . ."Arangbar seemed not to hear him. "I grant it. In the morning I'll summon theqazi, and let this be recorded as my gift to my youngest son and his new bride." Arangbar's tenseness seemed to dissolve as he leaned back on the bolster and took another ball of opium. "But only on the condition that he perform his duty tonight. Let him plow the field he has before he's granted more."Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Do you know what else will happen, Inglish, if he fails in his duty the first night?""No, Majesty.""Some of her women will send him a distaff, which they use with their spinning wheels. With a message that since he cannot do a man's work, it is fitting he should do a woman's. But I think he'll succeed." Arangbar turned to Janahara with a wink. "He's been practicing for months with thenautchgirls in the palace."The queen did not smile as she took a rolled betel leaf from a tray.A messenger appeared at the foot of the dais and performed theteslim. His voice was quivering. "The sheet has not yet come out, may it please Your Majesty."Arangbar laughed. "Then perhaps the furrow is too narrow to receive his plow. Have a mullah bless some water and send it in to him. And tell him I'm waiting to see if he's yet a man.""A Shi'ite mullah, Your Majesty, or a Sunni?""From this night forward, he will have Shi'ite mullahs perform all the duties for his household," Janahara interrupted.The messenger performed theteslimto the queen and backed from the room. Arangbar sat silent, drinking."What does it matter?" He finally turned to her. "Let him have whatever he pleases.""That is easy for you to say. But it does not please Allah. Tonight should be taken as an omen.""Tonight is an omen of nothing. Tonight my son is charged to make a woman out of a Persian girl of fifteen, who knows nothing of her duties in bed. But he'll succeed. Give him time.""I think tonight is an omen. Allah is not pleased when you allow open heresies to flourish."Arangbar was watching a dancer who had approached the dais to begin a suggestivenautchdance for him. It seemed to Hawksworth that they were already well acquainted, for she smiled at him knowingly, avoiding the queen's glance."I care nothing for heresies." Arangbar turned back to Janahara. "I only care for the honor of my reign.""But a faith divided does you no honor.""Then unite it if you care so much. I have other duties." Arangbar turned again to watch the dancer. She had a large ring in one side of her nose, and her eyes seemed to snap as she slapped her bare feet against the carpeted floor. "I never knew she was so good." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "Send her a small ruby and find out for me tomorrow what her salary is. Whatever it is, I think she should have more.""As you wish. Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly and turned again to watch the dancer.Hawksworth studied the prime minister's face. It was grim, leaden.It's everything Shirin said would happen. Prince Jadar has been stripped of his lands, and the queen has been granted license to start an inquisition.You'd better get thefirmansigned, before the country starts coming apart.The doors of the hall burst open, and a crowd of women entered. They carried a silver plate, on which was a folded silken sheet. They moved quickly before the queen and performed theteslim. Then one held out the plate.The queen took the sheet and inspected it. Hawksworth watched her, puzzling, then remembered that in Muslim society a bloodstained wedding sheet is considered evidence, vital to the honor of both the families, of the bride's virginity and the groom's virility. With a triumphant smile, Janahara nodded and turned to exhibit the sheet to Arangbar.
"Anything. Everything." He shrugged. "About this even."
"You mean being here with you? Making love with you?"
"That's a perfect place to start."
She smiled and eased back in the water, silently toying for a moment with the rose petals drifting around her. "I think making love with someone is how we share our deepest feelings. Things we can't express any other way. It's how I tell you my love for you." She paused. "The way music or poetry reveal the soul of the one who creates them."
"Are you saying you think lovemaking is like creating music?" He examined her, puzzling.
"They both express what we feel inside."
He lifted up a handful of water and watched it trickle back into the pool. "I've never thought of it quite like that before."
"Why not? It's true. Before you can create music, you have to teach both your body and your heart. It's the same with making love."
"What do you mean?"
She reached and touched his thigh. "When we're very young, lovemaking is mostly just desire. We may think it's more, but it isn't really. Then gradually we learn more of its ways, how to give and receive. But even then we still don't fully understand its deeper significance. We're like a novice who has learned the techniques of the sitar, the way to strike and pull a string to make one note blend into another, but who still doesn't comprehend the spiritual depth of a raga. Its power to move our heart. We still don't understand that its meaning and feeling can only come from within. And love, like a raga, is an expression of reverence and of wonder. Wonder at what we are and can be. So even after all the techniques are mastered, we still must learn to experience this wonder, this sense of our spirit becoming one with the other. Otherwise it's somehow still empty. Like perfect music that has no feeling, no life."
He was silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "If you look at it like that, I suppose you could be right."
"With music, we first have to learn its language, then learn to open our spirit. Lovemaking is just the same."
She nestled her head against his chest, sending her warmth through him. As he held her, he noticed lying alongside the pool the garland of flowers she had worn the night before. He reached and took it and slipped it over her head. Then he kissed her gently, finding he was indeed filled with wonder at the feeling he had for her.
He held her silently for a time, looking at the paintings on the walls of the palace around them. Then he noticed a large straw basket at the entryway.
"What is that?" He pointed.
She rose and looked. "I think it's something Samad had left for us."
She lifted herself out of the water and, holding her wrap against her, brought the basket. It was filled with fruits and melons.
"They're not from Samarkand or Kabul, like you've probably grown accustomed to at the palace in Agra. But I think you'll like them anyway." She squinted across the square, in the direction of the mosque. "I love Samad dearly. He did all of this for me. But he refuses to listen to anything I say." She handed him an apple, then reached and took some grapes. "You know, I think he secretly wants to die a martyr. Like a lover eager to die for his or her beloved. He wants to die for his wild freedom, for what he thinks is beautiful. Perhaps to be remembered as one who never bowed to anyone. I wish I had his strength."
"Where's he now?"
"You won't see him any more. But he's still here. He'll have food sent to us. He loves me like a daughter, and he's happy when I am. And he knows now you make me happy. But you mustn't see him here again, even know that he's here. It would be too dangerous for you. Perhaps someday, if we're all still alive."
He took her face in his hands and held it up to him. "You have as much strength as anyone, including Samad. And I want to get you away from here before your strength makes you do something foolish. I love you more than my own life."
"And I love you. Like I've never loved anyone."
"Not even the Great Moghul? When you were in hiszenana?"
She laughed. "You know that was very different. I was scarcely more than a girl then. I didn't know anything."
"You learned a few things somewhere." He remembered the night past, still astonished. The way she had . . .
"In thezenanayou learn everything about lovemaking. But nothing about love." She rose and took his hand. Together they walked to the open portico of the palace. Around them the red pavilions were empty in the early sunshine. The morning was still, save for the cries of the green parrots who scurried across eaves and peered down impassively from weathered red railings and banisters. His gaze followed the wide arches, then turned to her dark shining hair. He reached out and stroked it.
"Tell me more about it. How did you learn Turki?"
"In thezenana. We had to learn it, even though Arangbar speaks perfect Persian." She turned to him. "And how did you learn to understand it?"
"In a Turkish prison." He laughed. "It seems about the same to me. I had to learn it too."
"Will you tell me about it? Why were you in prison?"
"Like you, I had no choice. The Turks took a ship I was commanding, in the Mediterranean."
"Tell me what happened."
He stopped and looked at her. "All right. We'll trade. You tell me all about you and I'll tell you everything about me. We'll leave out nothing. Agreed?" She reached and kissed him. "Will you begin first?"
The imminent wedding of Prince Allaudin and Princess Layla was a momentous event in the history of the Moghul empire. It represented the final merging of two dynasties. One, that of the Moghul Akman and his first son Arangbar, was in direct assent from the Mongols of the steppes who had conquered India by the sword less than a century before, melding under one rule a disorganized array of Muslim and Hindu states. The other dynasty, that of Queen Janahara, her Persian father Zainul Beg, her brother Nadir Sharif, and now her daughter Layla, represented a very different kind of conqueror. At court they were called, always in whispers, the "Persian junta."
Whereas no combination of forces indigenous to India—even the recalcitrant Rajput warrior chieftains of the northwest—had ever succeeded in wresting power from the invading Moghuls, this extraordinary Persian family had, in one generation, come to rule India virtually as equals with the dynasty of Akman, assuming the power that the decadent Arangbar had let slowly slip away. With the marriage of Queen Janahara's daughter to the weakling son of Arangbar, a son she was carefully promoting to the role of heir-apparent, the last element in the Persian strategy would be in place. When Arangbar died, or was dethroned, the powerful line of Akman, who had unified India by a blend of force and diplomatic marriages, would be supplanted by what was, in effect, a palace coup. The "Persian junta" would have positioned itself to assume effective control of India: Prince Allaudin, for so long as he was allowed to maintain even the appearance of rule, would be nothing more than a titular sovereign. Queen Janahara, together with her father and her brother, would be the real ruler of India.
The queen could, of course, have contented herself for a time longer merely to direct Arangbar from beside the throne, but that could never be entirely satisfactory. Arangbar still wielded power when he so chose, and that power could be enormous.
India had no independent judiciary, no parliament, no constitution. There was, instead and only, the word of the Moghul. Criminals were brought before him to be tried and sentenced. Offices of state were filled, or vacated, on his personal whim. The army marched at his word. And he owned, in effect, a large part of Indian soil, since large estates went not to heirs but returned to the Moghul when their current "owner" died. He granted lands and salaries as reward for loyalty and service. And he alone granted titles. Seldom in history had a land so vast, and a people so diverse, been held so absolutely under the unquestioned rule of a single hand. Queen Janahara now looked confidently forward to the day that hand would be hers.
The power Arangbar now possessed was thought by many to have brought his own undoing. Originally an introspective if sometimes whimsical sovereign—whose early memoirs were filled with scientific observations on India's fauna and flora, and statesman-like ruminations on the philosophy of governing—he had become slowly dissolute to the point of incapacity. A man who had forsworn both alcohol and drugs until well into his third decade of life, he was now hopelessly addicted to both. In consequence his judgment and instincts had grown ever more unreliable. And since all appointments of salary and place depended on his word alone, no career or fortune was truly secure. It was into this vacuum of sound leadership that the "Persian junta" of Janahara's family had moved.
The Persian junta was supported by all those at court who feared Arangbar's growing caprice, by other influential Persians, by the powerful mullahs of the Shi'ite sect of Islam, by Hindus who still habored historic grievances against Moghul rule . . . and by the Portuguese. The "Persian junta" was not loved. But it did not need to be loved; it enjoyed an even more compelling ingredient for success: it was feared. Even those who might have preferred the succession of Prince Jadar wisely held silent. The tides of history were there for all to see.
Even Brian Hawksworth saw them.
The private palace of Zainul Beg, father of Janahara and Nadir Sharif and grandfather of Princess Layla, was more modest than that of Nadir Sharif, and its architecture more Persian, almost consciously reminiscent of the land of his birth. It lay on the banks of the Jamuna River, farther down from the palace of Nadir Sharif, and this evening it was brilliantly illuminated by bonfires along the riverside. Even the river itself was lighted. A dozen barks filled with lamps had been towed upriver from the Red Fort, and now their camphor-oil flames cast a dazzling white sheen over the pink turrets of the palace. On the opposite bank of the Jamuna, men were lighting candles and floating them in hollow clay pots across the surface of the water, where they drifted gently downstream toward the Red Fort, creating a line of illumination that would eventually stretch for miles.
Although Hawksworth's money was starting to grow short, he had used a large portion of what was left to purchase a new pair of striped Indian trousers, an expensive brocade turban, and ornate velvet slippers. He alighted from his palanquin at the palace gate looking like a Moghul grandee, to be greeted almost immediately by Zainul Beg's eunuchs and ushered into the main hall. As he entered, the eunuchs directed him toward a large silver fish stationed by the door. It was ornamented with green lapis lazuli scales and fitted with seven spouts shooting thin streams of rosewater outward into a large basin. Hawksworth was by now accustomed to this Moghul ritual, and he quickly removed his new slippers and splashed his feet in the basin to the minimal extent acceptable. Then he turned and made his way through the line of nobles reverently awaiting the arrival of Arangbar. He had become such a familiar sight at royal gatherings that his presence excited no unusual notice.
The marble walls of the hall were hung with new Persian tapestries and the floors covered with silk carpets embroidered with silver and gold. At the corners were immense vases of solid gold studded with precious stones that sparkled in the lamp light. Incense burners wrought from silver hung from the walls. Servants circulated among the crowd bearing trays of rolled betel leaves, glasses of lemonysharbat, and cups of green milkybhang. In deference to the ceremonial significance of this holy Muslim occasion, there would be no wine until after the Shi'ite mullahs had left. Hawksworth decided to take a glass ofsharbatand wait for the wine.
He strolled through the buzzing crowd of bejeweled men and anonymous, veiled women and reflected on the bizarre ceremonies of a Moghul marriage.
His first taste had come only the previous evening, when he had been invited to the Red Fort to witness and take part in the hennabandiceremony. The square just below theDiwan-i-Khas, where Arangbar's birthday weighing was held only two weeks before, had been cleared and made ready for the henna ceremony. Hawksworth had arrived and been granted a place near Nadir Sharif and Arangbar. The crowd was already being entertained by music and dancing women. Allaudin was there, slightly nervous in anticipation of his upcoming ordeal.
Then the procession arrived: women of thezenanarode into the courtyard on palanquins, in a flower-bedecked line bearing henna—a red paste extracted from the plant of the same name—and gifts sent from Layla to Allaudin. The bride was not present; she had not yet been seen by Allaudin or any of his family, including Arangbar. The women of thezenana, all veiled, spread before the Moghul the gifts that, on this night, the bride was expected to present to the bridegroom. The eunuchs bore trays which had been covered with basketwork raised in domes, over which were thrown draperies of gold cloth and brocade in a rainbow of colors. They were brought before Allaudin and Arangbar and uncovered one by one. The first tray was of beaten silver and it held a new suit for the bridegroom, a tailored cloak and trousers woven with strands of gold. Others bore gold and silver vessels containing cosmetics and toiletries—collyrium, kohl, musky perfumes—and plates of sweets, betel leaves tied with strings of gold, and a confectionary of dried fruits and preserves. The eunuchs also brought in sprays of flowers containing disguised fireworks wheels, which were ignited as they entered to create a startling, fiery garden of color.
Next the women led Allaudin to rooms behind theDiwan-i-Khas, where he was dressed in the new clothes provided for him by the bride. Bamboo slats were placed across the doorway to enable thezenanawomen to watch the ceremony. While he was gone, an opening was prepared in the screen separating thezenanafrom the courtyard and a low stool was placed just outside. The screen was specially constructed to allow the hands and feet of the one sitting on the stool to be reached from behind it.
When Allaudin returned, he assumed his place again beside Arangbar, shifting occasionally in mild discomfort from the stiff new clothes. It was obvious to Hawksworth that he wished to appear bored by the ceremonies, but his eyes betrayed his apprehension.
Then a eunuch approached and announced to the male assembly—Arangbar, Allaudin, Nadir Sharif, Zainul Beg, and a retinue of other men with vague ties to royal blood who were waiting at the center of the courtyard—that "the bridegroom is wanted."
"Go quickly." Arangbar pushed Allaudin toward the stool waiting in front of the screen covering the entrance to the zenana. "It's always a man's fate to be made the fool by his women."
Allaudin marched across the courtyard with as much dignity as his stiff new clothes allowed, and seated himself with a flourish on the stool. The air was rich with incense and music from the upper balconies. As Hawksworth and the other male guests watched, women from behind the screen ordered Allaudin to insert his hands and feet through the new holes. He was then teased and fed small lumps of sugar candy while the women behind the screen began to tie dark red cloths, soaked in a paste of moist leaves of henna, onto his hands and feet.
"This ceremony is very important, Inglish." Arangbar had beamed with satisfaction as he watched. "Henna is a charm to promote their union. The women anoint the bride with it also, in private. It will make him virile and her fertile."
As the women continued to dye Allaudin's hands and feet with the paste, musicians and singers began to entertain him. Some of the songs, all extemporary, lauded him as a prince among men, while others rhapsodized over the beauty of the bride. Listening to their songs, Hawksworth had to remind himself that none of the singers had actually seen the bride, whose beauty they now extolled as that of one woman in thousands. Then the singers sang of the impending happiness of the pair, as inevitable, they declared, as that Paradise awaiting Believers after life on earth is past.
After the women had finished their task, Allaudin turned to face the assembled men wearing a vaguely sheepish expression. Hawksworth had caught himself laughing out loud at the preposterous figure Allaudin struck, standing before them with hands and feet dripping red with henna.
Then he noticed a group of veiled women filing out from behind the screen and approaching. They carried a silver chalice filled with red henna paste. The women stopped in front of Arangbar, bowed with theteslim, and began to anoint his fingers with henna. Then they tied each reddened finger with a small, goId-embroidered handkerchief. He smiled widely and signaled a eunuch to bring him a ball of opium. Next the women proceeded to Zainul Beg and reddened his fingers also, then Nadir Sharif, then all the other family members. Finally they stopped in front of Hawksworth.
A robust woman from thezenanaseized his fingers and began to daub them with henna paste. It was thick and smelled of saffron. He watched helplessly as his fingers disappeared into the red, after which they too were swathed in the small kerchiefs of silk and gold.
"It will make you virile too, Inglish. This is a great omen for your good fortune," Arangbar observed wryly, delighted by the confused look on Hawksworth's face.
The women disappeared back into thezenanaand the music began again, now with more dancers. Hawksworth recognized among them the young women Sangeeta, who had danced Kathak for Arangbar that first night in theDiwan-i-Khas. She was resplendent, and her face announced her pride in being selected for the first night of the wedding celebrations.
After she had finished her dance, the veiled women again emerged from thezenana, carrying a large silver vessel, and saluted Allaudin. He was brought to the center of the square, where they began to remove the red bindings on his hands and feet. His hands, then his feet, were bathed in rosewater. After they were dried, he was taken back to theDiwan-i-Khasand attired in yet another of the new suits of clothes given to him by the bride. He returned to the general cheers of the assembled guests, whose hands had also been washed while he was gone.
As the formal ceremonies drew to a close, Arangbar produced heavy brocade waist sashes for all the male guests. Hawksworth was last, and when he received his from Arangbar's hand, he bowed in thanks and examined it quizzically.
"It is akamar-band, Inglish, for you to wear tomorrow night at the wedding." Arangbar took Hawksworth's red-stained fingers and examined them for a moment. "If you can get the rest of the henna off your fingers by then."
He roared with delight and signaled the musicians to start again. Allaudin was escorted from the square by a number of young men in foppish cloaks—Hawksworth assumed they were his friends—and then, as midnight approached, servants appeared with the evening's meal.
While the men drank and dined, Sangeeta entertained them with more Kathak dance. When she was near exhaustion, other dancers were brought out, and the music and dance continued undiminished through the short hours remaining before dawn. Only when the eastern sky began to lighten did Arangbar rise and bid the guests farewell. The courtyard cleared in moments.
As the crowd dispersed, Hawksworth watched the Moghul down another ball of opium and call for Sangeeta to accompany him into the palace. She was escorted by the eunuchs, her smile brighter than the rising sun.
Hawksworth was momentarily startled as a fanfare of trumpets announced to the guests in Zainul Beg's hall that Arangbar was approaching. The center of the hall cleared, leaving a pathway from the entrance to a low platform at the opposite end, on which were two large cushions fashioned from gold cloth. On some unseen command musicians in an adjacent room began to play, and then the doors of the hall opened wide.
Women from Arangbar'szenanaentered first, sweeping past the guests in a glitter of silks and jewels unlike anything Hawksworth had ever seen. The women displayed heavy gold necklaces and multiple strands of pearls. Their arms were scarcely visible beneath their wide gold bracelets. For this evening, all wore a headdress of silver cloth and a veil.
More trumpets sounded as Arangbar himself entered, Queen Janahara striding imperiously behind him. Hawksworth examined her hard features with curiosity for a moment before the significance of the scene registered. She was not wearing a veil.
He looked about him and realized that the other guests had noticed as well.
Nadir Sharif trailed behind the royal couple, and after him came a few select officials of the court, including theqaziwho would perform the ceremony and officially record the marriage.
As Arangbar and Janahara seated themselves on the cushioned platform, the guests all performed theteslim. Arangbar motioned for the crowd to be seated, and Hawksworth was already halfway to the carpet before he noticed that no one else had moved. Only after Arangbar had demanded three times that the guests seat themselves did those around Hawksworth accede to his request.
More trays of rolled betel leaves andsharbatwere circulated, and the guests settled to listen to a lively raga performed on sitar and tabla drums by musicians who were seated on a small dais at the opposite end of the hall. The time was approaching eight o'clock when the musicians brought the music to a rousing finish.
Hawksworth found himself beginning to wonder where the bride and groom were. They were nowhere to be seen.
No sooner had the last notes of the raga melted into the tapestried walls than there came a knocking at the closed doors of the hall. There were sounds of a raucous, but not rancorous, argument. Everyone around Hawksworth fell silent to listen. There were more words, and he managed to grasp that the family of the bride was demanding a payment for entry, apparently a mock ritual. Finally there was the jingle of coins dropping into a cup. The money seemed to settle the dispute, for the doors of the hall suddenly burst open, to the sounds of a trumpet fanfare.
Hawksworth looked through the doorway to see a horse and rider, surrounded by a milling crowd.
In the lamplight he could see the horse was covered with a fine brocade tapestry, into which fresh flowers had been woven. Its legs, tail, and mane had been dyed red with henna, and all its body outside the tapestry was covered with glistening spangles. The rider's cloak and turban were heavy with gold thread, and his face was hidden behind a thick veil of silver cloth attached to the top of this turban and hanging to his waist. On either side of the horse two young men stood, each carrying a large paper umbrella, which they held over the rider's head. Behind them clustered singers, dancers, musicians, and a mob of tipsy young men in extravagant finery.
The crowd cheered the veiled rider and he saluted them. From the chatter of the guests, Hawksworth gathered that the horse had led a procession through the streets of Agra for the past two hours in preparation for this grand entrance.
The rider, whom Hawksworth assumed to be Prince Allaudin, was helped onto the back of one of the young men. He was then carried to the dais where Arangbar and Janahara sat and gently lowered to the ground. The silver veil was removed and he performed theteslim, the fatigue in his face beginning to show.
Arangbar beckoned him to rise, and two eunuchs who had been part of the Moghul’s train stepped forward and placed two large silver boxes beside him on the dais. Arangbar opened the first and drew out a string of large pearls. He admired them for a moment, showed them to Janahara, then looped them around Allaudin's neck. Next he opened the other box and drew out a crown of silver trimmed in gold. He rose to his feet and held it aloft.
"Two months past I presented asachaq, a marriage present, of twolakhsof silver rupees to honor the bride. And tonight I bestow on my son the samesehra, the same bridegroom's crown, that was placed on my head the night I wed Her Majesty, Queen Janahara."
Allaudin slipped off his turban and knelt before Arangbar. After the crown was fitted, he stood erect to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd.
Without further ceremony, Arangbar turned and spoke to Zainul Beg. The oldwazirbeckoned two eunuchs forward and passed an order. There were shouts, and torches were lighted in the upper balcony of the hall. Then, as Hawksworth watched in amazement, the tapestries at the far end of the hall were drawn away, opening the pavilion to the riverfront.
Arangbar and Janahara revolved on their cushions to face the water, which was now a sea of floating candles and lamps. The guests surged forward toward the opening, and as Hawksworth passed near the royal dais, Arangbar's voice cut through the din.
"Inglish, come and join us. There will be no henna on your fingers tonight." He gestured toward the carpet near his feet. "Sit here. I would have your opinion of this."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Hawksworth sensed that Arangbar was already partly drunk. "What will happen now?"
"Just more tradition, Inglish, but the part I always enjoy most." He pointed toward the river, where servants were carrying torches in the direction of three decorated wheels, each several feet across, mounted atop what appeared to be small-gauge cannon. "Tell me if your king has anything to equal this."
As he spoke the servants touched the torches to the center of each wheel. Lines of burning sulfur traced their spokes, then ignited the squibs attached around their perimeter. At that instant, other servants stepped forward and thrust a burning taper to the touchhole of each cannon. The cannon spewed flame, lofting the wheels upward over the river. They suddenly began to rotate, creating a whirling circle of colored flame tips in the night sky. Just as they reached the top of their trajectory, they began to explode one by one, showering sparks and fire across the face of the Jamuna.
The turbaned crowd scarcely had time to exclaim its delight before a blue flame suddenly appeared from behind where the wheels had been, illuminating the palace walls in a shimmering, ghostly light. As it grew, Hawksworth realized it was an artificial tree whose branches were saturated with black powder and brimstone. Next more flames spewed from the tops of five towers that had been erected near the riverfront. There were sharp reports, as though a musket had been fired, and dense streaks of red billowed into the sky. All around powder pots began to explode, hurtling lightning, dazzling white with camphor, and writhing serpents of flame into the smoky night air.
"Well, Inglish, what do you think?' Arangbar turned to Hawksworth with a delighted smile. "Have you ever seen anything to compare?"
"We have fireworks in England too, Your Majesty, particularly on the eve of St. John's Day, when we have barges of fireworks on the Thames. And sometimes they're used in plays and pageants. And at the wedding of His Majesty's daughter, four of King James's gunners gave a show with a fiery castle, a dragon, a damsel, and St. George. But English fireworks generally make more noise than these." Hawksworth paused, wondering how much to tell. "And some countries in Europe use fireworks in battle, Majesty. Helmets that throw fire, swords and lances with fiery points, and bucklers that give out flames when struck."
Arangbar gave him a puzzled glance. "But what good are those, Inglish? In battle the most important use of flame is the fire lance. What use are sparking swords? Watch and you will see what I mean."
Arangbar pointed to a line of Rajput marksmen, carrying horn bows and heavy spears, who had assembled at one side of the clearing. While they fell into a formation perpendicular to the river, servants were placing clay pots on small stands at the opposite side, perhaps seventy yards away. The Rajputs watched impassively as the arrows in their bows were lighted, and then on the shout of their commander they lifted their bows and fired in unison.
Ten streaks of flame shot across the riverfront, and the crowd fell expectantly silent. All the arrows seemed to reach their target at precisely the same instant. Each had been aimed at a separate pot, and as they impacted, the silence was rent by what sounded like a single explosion. The pots, Hawksworth realized, had been primed with powder, ready to detonate.
The smoke was still drifting across the grounds when torch carriers with large flambeaux moved to the center, illuminating scaffolding that had been hastily erected. More clay pots, painted white, hung suspended from the scaffolds on long ropes. The servants set the pots swinging and then fell back, while the Rajputs ignited the tips of their spears.
Again flame streaked across the clearing and again there was a simultaneous explosion as the spears caught the swinging pots.
Arangbar joined the cheers, then turned and slapped Hawksworth on the shoulder. "That, Inglish, is how you use fire in battle. You must put it where you want it. No soldier of India would be daunted by trick swords and bucklers."
"My king agrees with you, Majesty. He leaves such toys to the Germans."
The display continued for almost an hour, as one exotic device after another was carried next to the riverfront. The water became littered with burning paper and the air so dense with smoke that Queen Janahara finally started to cough. Arangbar immediately ordered an end to the fireworks, and as the crowd filed back into the hall, the tapestries were lowered to again conceal the smoky view of the river.
Now the music began, and the dancing, as musicians and women moved to the center of the hall. Servants circulated with more betel leaves andsharbat, and Arangbar took his first ball of opium.
Hawksworth glanced guardedly at the queen. Her manner was imperious, regal, everything a sovereign should be. Everything Allaudin was not. And, he thought, probably a lot Arangbar himself is not.
She'll soon have India by thecojones, not a doubt on it. And then it's farewell Jadar. And probably farewell Arangbar too. Will I get a signedfirmanfor trade before it's too late?
As midnight neared, the music and dance were suddenly interrupted by trumpets and a drum roll and shouts of "the bride comes." The curtains covering a large doorway leading into the palace were drawn open, and a closed palanquin was brought in by four eunuchs. It was accompanied by veiled women singing something Hawksworth did not understand. The palanquin was carried to the center of the room, where a low platform covered with gold brocade had been positioned, and then the eunuchs lowered it to the marble floor. The curtains were drawn aside and a veiled woman emerged, her small body almost smothered in a dress that seemed made of multiple layers of beaten gold. She was helped to the middle of the platform, still wearing a veil that covered her entire face. Chants of "Hail to the bride" arose on all sides.
Then Allaudin was escorted forward, taking his place on the platform beside her. He stole a quick, distasteful glance at the veiled figure beside him, then an official smile illuminated his face and he sat patiently as theqaziwas summoned in front of them. The official was bearded, stern- faced, and transparently arrogant. He stood before the veiled bride and motioned around him for silence.
"Is it by your own consent that this marriage take place with Prince Allaudin, son of His Royal Majesty?"
From beneath the layers of the veil came a muffled, almost hesitant, "It is by my consent."
Theqaziseemed satisfied and began reading a passage from the Quran, informing her that marriage depends on three circumstances: the assent of the bride and groom, the evidence of two witnesses, and the marriage settlement. He then turned to Allaudin and asked him to name the sum he brought.
Allaudin mumbled a figure that Hawksworth did not catch, but then theqazirepeated it for the guests. Hawksworth caught his breath when he realized the amount named was fiftylakhsof rupees. Then Allaudin said something else, which theqazidid not repeat.
Later Hawksworth learned that Allaudin had added he was giving only ten lakhs of rupees then, and the balance at some indefinite future time.
Theqaziblessed the royal pair, praying that they would be blissful in this world and in eternity, and then wrote something quickly in a book he carried. Finally the eunuchs appeared again and assisted the bride into the palanquin. The marriage ceremony seemed to be over.
A glass of wine was placed in Hawksworth's hand, and he looked up to see Arangbar beaming with satisfaction.
"Now we drink, Inglish. Come, sit closer and help me toast the bridegroom."
"It was truly a royal wedding, Your Majesty."
"But it's not over, Inglish." Arangbar roared with laughter. "The hardest part is yet to come. Does my son have the strength to complete the work he's offered to undertake? No one can leave until we're sure."
Hawksworth had begun his third glass of wine when Princess Layla reappeared, wearing a lighter dress, though still resplendent. Behind her eunuchs carried several palanquins piled high with vessels and trays of silver. Following them were servants bearing bundles on their heads.
"Those are the wares she brings to the marriage, Inglish, and her servants. I think she will make him a good wife."
The royal pair moved together, Layla still veiled, and then Queen Janahara stepped down from the dais and took a large mirror handed her by a turbaned eunuch. She walked to the couple and stopped directly in front of them. As they stood facing her, she held the mirror before Allaudin and reached to lift Layla's veil, giving him his first glimpse of his bride.
Hawksworth studied her with curiosity. She was plain. And she looked very frightened.
"It's auspicious, Inglish, if his first sight of his bride is in a mirror. I have not seen her before either." Arangbar examined her for a moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif. "What do you think? Should I buy him another one for his bed?"
"She's a goddess of beauty, Majesty. Inspiration for a poet."
"Is that what you think?" Arangbar sipped pensively from his cup. "Well, perhaps it's true. We'll discover soon enough if she inspires her groom."
The guests watched as Allaudin and Layla were helped into a large palanquin. In moments their procession was winding out of the palace, followed by Layla's household silver, to a great fanfare of drums and trumpets and the shouts of servants.
"Peace on the Prophet!"
"There is no nobility but the nobility of Mohammed!"
"Allah be with Him, the noblest, the purest, the highest!"
Hawksworth settled back against his bolster and realized groggily that it was already past two o'clock in the morning.
When the wedding procession had disappeared from view, the jubilant servants immediately turned to preparations for the banquet.
"Sometimes life can be sweet, Inglish." Arangbar leaned back against a bolster and pinched Janahara's hand. "I think he should have more wives. You know there's a saying in India: 'A man should have four wives: A Persian to have someone to talk to; a Khurasani to keep his house; a big-breasted Hindu from the South to nurse his children; and a Bengali to whip, as a warning to the other three.' So far he has only the Persian."
Hawksworth noticed that Janahara did not join in the general laughter. Then Arangbar took another drink and turned to Hawksworth.
"But you know I don't entirely agree with that wisdom, Inglish. The Holy Prophet, on whom be peace, wisely realized a man needs more than one wife. He also demanded of us that we give each of them equal attention, never to turn away from any one of them. What man can do that, even with Allah's help? It is never possible. So we all do the best we can. It is the will of Allah." Arangbar paused to swallow a ball of affion as he watched the trays of lamb being placed before them. "Tell me, Inglish, have you found a wife for yourself yet?"
"Not as yet, Your Majesty." He paused. "There are so many to choose."
"Then take more than one, Inglish." Arangbar washed down the opium.
"It's not allowed for a Christian, Majesty."
"Then become a Muslim." Arangbar smiled and took another sip from his glass. "Are you circumcised, Inglish?"
"Majesty?"
"Never mind." Arangbar laughed out loud. "Neither am I. How are the mullahs to know? My father, Akman, actually wanted to start his own religion, combining the wisdom of India, Persia, and the West. He thought circumcision was an absurd practice. You know, there was once aferinghihere, I believe he was Portuguese, who decided to become a Muslim, a True Believer. Apparently he had found a Muslim woman he wanted to marry, and her father declared she could never marry a Christian. So he had himself circumcised." Arangbar paused dramatically. "And immediately bled to death. But doubtless he was healed by the time he reached Paradise. Perhaps he made up there for what he missed here." Arangbar chuckled and took a sip of wine. Hawksworth noticed that Queen Janahara was trying with great difficulty to retain her pleased expression. "Do you believe there is a Paradise after death, Inglish?"
"What man can say. Majesty? No one has returned from death to tell what he found. I think life is best lived in the present."
"I've always believed the same, Inglish. And I've lived as few men on Allah's earth have lived." Arangbar settled himself against his bolster and reached for another glass. He was starting to grow visibly tipsy. "I now enjoy all Allah could possibly grant to a living man. There is nothing on earth I cannot have. And yet, do you know, I still have many griefs. Show me the man whose heart is free of grief." He took a piece of lamb from a dish and washed it down. "So I find my greatest happiness with wine. Like a low-caste camel driver. Why must I still endure sorrow, Inglish?"
"We all are mortal. Majesty."
"That we are. Inglish. But I will soon see this Paradise, if it exists. I will find out the truth soon enough. And when I'm finally wise, who will then come after me? Now my sons practically war among themselves. Someday, Inglish, I fear they may decide to war against me as well. And what of those I see around me? Do they think I am blind to their deceit?" Arangbar leaned farther back on the bolster. Nadir Sharif sat listening, rolling a ball of lamb between his fingers. "Sometimes I think you may be the only honest man left in India, Inglish. You are the only one who has ever dared refuse toteslim. It is only with the greatest forbearance that I do not order you hanged."
"I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth took a decanter and poured more wine into Arangbar's glass before replenishing his own.
"No, Inglish, instead you should thank your Christian God. If He listens to you. But sometimes I wonder. I've heard you called a heretic more than once."
"And I have names for the Jesuits, Your Majesty. Would you care to hear them?"
"No, Inglish. Frankly, I have names for them too. But tell me, what am I to do to find peace?" Arangbar lowered his voice, but only slightly. "I see around me an army of sycophants,nautchwomen dressed as men. Whom dare I trust? You know, my own people were once warriors, Mongols of the steppes. They knew that the only ties that last are blood. And that's why this wedding cheers me. It is blood to blood." Arangbar turned and again touched Janahara's hand. Her face was expressionless as she accepted the gesture. "The only person in India I dare trust completely is my own queen. She is the only one who cannot, will not deceive me. Never. I feel it is true, as I feel nothing else in life. Nothing else."
Janahara's face remained a mask as Arangbar drank again. Nadir Sharif was watching wordlessly, his face beginning to turn noticeably grim. Hawksworth realized he had not been mentioned.
"I have loved her since I was a youth, Inglish," Arangbar continued, his voice growing maudlin. "And she has never betrayed my trust. That's the reason I would do anything she asked me. Anything, anytime. I always know it is right."
Hawksworth found himself marveling as he glanced at Janahara's calculating eyes.
I'd not trust her with two pence. He must be God's own fool.
Arangbar sat silent for a moment, savoring his own pronouncement, then he turned to Janahara and spoke to her in a dull slur.
"Ask something of me. Let me prove to the Inglish that I can never deny you."
Janahara turned as though she had not been listening. Hawksworth knew she had been straining for every word.
"What could I ask, Majesty? You have given me all I could ever want. Tonight you even gave me a husband for my daughter. Now I can die with the peace of Allah."
"But I must give you something." He settled his wine cup shakily on the carpet, jostling red splashes across the Persian design. "You must name it."
"But there is nothing I could ask that I do not already have."
"Sometimes you vex me with your good nature. The Inglish will now suspect the Moghul of India is a vain braggart." He fumbled with his turban, trying to detach the large blue sapphire attached to the front. "I will give you a jewel, even though you have not asked it."
"I beg Your Majesty." She reached to stay his hand. "There is nothing more I could ever want."
"But I must give you something."
She smiled in defeat. "If you must bestow a present, why not give something to the bride and groom? This is their wedding, not mine."
"Then at least you must name it. It will be my gift to you through them." He turned to Hawksworth. "Whatever else you do. Inglish, never marry a Persian. They forever study to try your patience."
Hawksworth noticed Nadir Sharifs eyes harden as he listened. He slowly gripped the side of his bolster and absently pulled away a piece of gold fringe.
"Then give them a small token, to show your confidence in Allaudin."
"I asked you to name it."
"Very well. Perhaps you could grant him the royaljagirsin Dholpur, those closest to Agra."
Arangbar's sleepy eyes widened slightly.
"Thosejagirsalways go to the prince nearest the throne. I granted them only last year to Prince Jadar, as part of his price to undertake the campaign in the Deccan."
"But Prince Allaudin can administer them more easily. He's here. And you can compensate Jadar with others. Perhaps some in the north, near the fortress of Qandahar? You'll have to send him there after the campaign in the Deccan." Janahara's voice was silken now.
Hawksworth turned to see Nadir Sharifs face growing ashen.
She's trying to drive Jadar into oblivion. Rob him of his best estates, then send him to defend a piece of mountain rock. Surely Arangbar will refuse. Jadar will never agree. She must know that. Nadir Sharif certainly knows it.
"What would Prince Jadar say to such a trade?" Arangbar sipped from his wineglass and shifted slightly, his eyes again barely in focus.
"Why should he object? He's never here. And surely he'll be ready to obey Your Majesty and return to defend Qandahar after he completes his campaign in the south. The threat from the Persian Safavis in the north is already growing."
"I doubt very much he will agree so easily to march north again. Not yet. Though I pray to Allah that he would."
"Then this will give him all the more reason."
"He may not see it as a reason. He may see it as a betrayal. You know he's temperamental."
Hawksworth suddenly found himself wondering if the trade had been planned with Allaudin. It was obvious Nadir Sharif had been taken completely by surprise.
"Then I suppose it's best dropped." Janahara turned her face away. "You can just forget I ever asked."
Arangbar looked crushed. He sipped thoughtfully on his wine for a moment.
"Perhaps if I consulted Prince Jadar first." He paused to study his empty wine cup. "Thejagirswere granted . . ."
"Perhaps Your Majesty thinks Prince Allaudin should have no estates at all? Perhaps you think he is not yet fit?"
"He's fit, by Allah. He's my son." Arangbar impulsively seized another ball of opium and began to chew on it thoughtfully. "I’ll find a way to compensate Jadar. Surely he'll be reasonable. After all, there must be a wedding gift."
"Then you'll agree to grant it?" Janahara's tone was quiet and inquiring."
"Majesty." Nadir Sharifs voice seemed strangely unguarded. "Prince Jadar . . ."
Arangbar seemed not to hear him. "I grant it. In the morning I'll summon theqazi, and let this be recorded as my gift to my youngest son and his new bride." Arangbar's tenseness seemed to dissolve as he leaned back on the bolster and took another ball of opium. "But only on the condition that he perform his duty tonight. Let him plow the field he has before he's granted more."
Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Do you know what else will happen, Inglish, if he fails in his duty the first night?"
"No, Majesty."
"Some of her women will send him a distaff, which they use with their spinning wheels. With a message that since he cannot do a man's work, it is fitting he should do a woman's. But I think he'll succeed." Arangbar turned to Janahara with a wink. "He's been practicing for months with thenautchgirls in the palace."
The queen did not smile as she took a rolled betel leaf from a tray.
A messenger appeared at the foot of the dais and performed theteslim. His voice was quivering. "The sheet has not yet come out, may it please Your Majesty."
Arangbar laughed. "Then perhaps the furrow is too narrow to receive his plow. Have a mullah bless some water and send it in to him. And tell him I'm waiting to see if he's yet a man."
"A Shi'ite mullah, Your Majesty, or a Sunni?"
"From this night forward, he will have Shi'ite mullahs perform all the duties for his household," Janahara interrupted.
The messenger performed theteslimto the queen and backed from the room. Arangbar sat silent, drinking.
"What does it matter?" He finally turned to her. "Let him have whatever he pleases."
"That is easy for you to say. But it does not please Allah. Tonight should be taken as an omen."
"Tonight is an omen of nothing. Tonight my son is charged to make a woman out of a Persian girl of fifteen, who knows nothing of her duties in bed. But he'll succeed. Give him time."
"I think tonight is an omen. Allah is not pleased when you allow open heresies to flourish."
Arangbar was watching a dancer who had approached the dais to begin a suggestivenautchdance for him. It seemed to Hawksworth that they were already well acquainted, for she smiled at him knowingly, avoiding the queen's glance.
"I care nothing for heresies." Arangbar turned back to Janahara. "I only care for the honor of my reign."
"But a faith divided does you no honor."
"Then unite it if you care so much. I have other duties." Arangbar turned again to watch the dancer. She had a large ring in one side of her nose, and her eyes seemed to snap as she slapped her bare feet against the carpeted floor. "I never knew she was so good." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "Send her a small ruby and find out for me tomorrow what her salary is. Whatever it is, I think she should have more."
"As you wish. Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly and turned again to watch the dancer.
Hawksworth studied the prime minister's face. It was grim, leaden.
It's everything Shirin said would happen. Prince Jadar has been stripped of his lands, and the queen has been granted license to start an inquisition.
You'd better get thefirmansigned, before the country starts coming apart.
The doors of the hall burst open, and a crowd of women entered. They carried a silver plate, on which was a folded silken sheet. They moved quickly before the queen and performed theteslim. Then one held out the plate.
The queen took the sheet and inspected it. Hawksworth watched her, puzzling, then remembered that in Muslim society a bloodstained wedding sheet is considered evidence, vital to the honor of both the families, of the bride's virginity and the groom's virility. With a triumphant smile, Janahara nodded and turned to exhibit the sheet to Arangbar.