In disgust Arangbar had taken the command from Ghulam Adl and given it to his own son, the second oldest, Parwaz. This dissolute prince marched south with great pomp. Once there he set up an extravagant military headquarters, a royal court in miniature, and spent several years drinking and bragging of his inevitable victory. Ghulam Adl had watched this with growing resentment, and finally he succumbed to bribes by Malik Ambar and retreated with his own army.In anger Arangbar then appointed two other generals to march on the Deccan, one from the north and one from the West, hoping to trap Malik Ambar in a pincer. But the Abyssinian deftly kept them apart, and badly defeated each in turn. Eventually both were driven back to the north, with heavy losses.This time, on the advice of Queen Janahara, Arangbar transferred his son Parwaz out of the Deccan, to Allahbad, and in his place sent Prince Jadar. The younger prince had marched on the Deccan with forty thousand additional troops to supplement the existing forces.When Jadar and his massive army reached Burhanpur, Malik Ambar wisely proposed a truce and negotiations. He returned the fort at Ahmadnagar to the Moghul and withdrew his troops. Arangbar was jubilant and rewarded Jadar with sixteenlakhsof rupees and a prize diamond. Triumphant, Jadar had returned to Agra and begun to think of becoming the next Moghul. That had been three long years ago.But Malik Ambar had the cunning of a jackal, and his "surrender" had been merely a ruse to remove the Moghul troops again to the north. This year he had waited for the monsoon, when conventional armies could not move rapidly, and again risen in rebellion, easily driving Ghulam Adl's army north from Ahmadnagar, reclaiming the city, and laying siege to its Moghul garrison. The despairing Arangbar again appealed to Jadar to lead troops south to relieve the permanent forces of Ghulam Adl. After demanding and receiving a substantial increase inmansabrank and personal cavalry, Jadar had agreed.The wide wooden door of the reception hall opened and Ghulam Adl strode regally into the room, wearing a gold- braided turban with a feather and a great sword at his belt. His beard was longer than Jadar had remembered, and now it had been reddened with henna—perhaps, Jadar thought, to hide the gray. But his deep-set eyes were still haughty and self-assured, and his swagger seemed to belie reports he had barely escaped with his life from the besieged fortress at Ahmadnagar only five weeks before.Ghulam Adl's gaze quickly swept the room, but his eyes betrayed no notice of the exceptional size of Jadar's guard. With an immense show of dignity he nodded a perfunctory bow, hands clasped at the sparkling jewel of his turban."Salaam, Highness. May Allah lay His hand on both our swords and temper them once more with fire." He seated himself easily, as he might with an equal, and when no servant came forward, he poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter that waited on the carpet beside his bolster. Is there anything, he wondered, I despise more than these presumptuous young princes from Agra? "I rejoice your journey was swift. You've arrived in time to witness my army savage the Abyssinian unbeliever and his rabble.""How many troops are left?" Jadar seemed not to hear the boast."Waiting are fifty thousand men, Highness, and twenty thousand horse, ready to tender their lives at my command." Ghulam Adl delicately shielded his beard as he drank off the glass of wine and—when again no servant appeared— poured himself another.Jadar remained expressionless."My reports give you only five thousand men left, mostchelas. Chelas, from the Hindu slang for "slave," was a reference to the mercenary troops, taken in childhood and raised in the camp, that commanders maintained as a kernel of their forces. Unlike soldiers from the villages, they were loyal even in misfortune, because they literally had no place to return to. "What troops do you have from themansabdars, who've been granted stipends from theirjagirestate revenue to maintain men and horse?""Those were the ones I mean, Highness." Ghulam Adl's hand trembled slightly as he again lifted the wineglass. "Themansabdarshave assured me we have only to sound the call, and their men will muster. In due time.""Then pay is not in arrears for their men and cavalry.""Highness, it's well known pay must always be in arrears. How else are men's loyalties to be guaranteed? A commander foolish enough to pay his troops on time will lose them at the slightest setback, since they have no reason to remain with him in adversity." Ghulam Adl eased his wineglass on the carpet and bent forward. "I concede some of themansabdarsmay have allowed matters of pay to slip longer than is wise. But they assure me that when the time is right their men will muster nonetheless.""Then why not call the muster? In another twenty days Ambar's troops will be encamped at our doorstep. He could well control all lands south of the Narbada River."And that, Ghulam Adl smiled to himself, is precisely the plan.He thought of the arrangement that had been worked out. Jadar was to be kept in Burhanpur for another three weeks, delayed by any means possible. By then Malik Ambar would have the city surrounded, all access cut off. The Imperial troops would be isolated and demoralized. No troops would be forthcoming from themansabdars. Only promises of troops. Cut off from Agra and provisions, Jadar would have no choice but to sign a treaty. The paper had already been prepared. Malik Ambar would rule the Deccan from his new capital at Ahmadnagar, and Ghulam Adl would be appointed governor of all provinces north from Ahmadnagar to the Narbada River. With their combined troops holding the borders, no Moghul army could ever again challenge the Deccan. Ghulam Adl knew themansabdarswould support him, because he had offered to cut their taxes in half. He had neglected to specify for how long."I respectfully submit the time for muster is premature, Highness. Crops are not yet in. The revenues of themansabdars'jagirestates will suffer if men are called now." Ghulam Adl shifted uncomfortably."They'll have no revenues at all if they don't muster immediately. I'll confiscate thejagirof anymansabdarwho has not mustered his men and cavalry within seven days." Jadar watched Ghulam Adl's throat muscles tense, and he asked himself if ajagirgranted by the Moghul could be legally confiscated. Probably not. But the threat would serve to reveal loyalties, and reveal them quickly."But there's no possible way to pay the men now, Highness." Ghulam Adl easily retained his poise. Hold firm and this aspiring young upstart will waver and then agree. Give him numbers. First make it sound hopeless, then show him a way he can still win. "There's not enough silver in all the Deccan. Let me give you some idea of the problem. Assume it would require a year's back pay to muster the troops, not unreasonable since most of themansabdarsare at least two years behind now. The usual yearly allowance for cavalry here is three hundred rupees for a Muslim and two hundred and forty for a Hindu. You will certainly need to raise a minimum of thirty thousand men from themansabdars. Assuming some loyal troops might possibly muster on notes of promise, you'd still need almost fiftylakhsof rupees. An impossible sum. It's clear themansabdarswon't have the revenues to pay their men until the fall crops are harvested.""Then I'll confiscate theirjagirsnow and pay the troops myself. And deduct the sum from their next revenues.""That's impossible. The money is nowhere to be found." Ghulam Adl realized with relief that Jadar was bluffing; the prince could not possibly raise the money needed. He shifted closer and smiled warmly. "But listen carefully. If we wait but two months, everything will be changed. Then it'll be simple to squeeze the revenue from themansabdars, and we can pay the men ourselves if we need. Until then we can easily contain the Abyssinian and his rabble. Perhaps we could raise a few men and horse from themansabdarsnow, but frankly I advise against it. Why trouble them yet? With the troops we have we can keep Malik Ambar diverted for weeks, months even. Then when the time is right we sound the call, march south with our combined forces, and drive him into the southern jungles forever."But that call will raise no men, Ghulam Adl told himself, not a single wagon driver. It has been agreed. "We'll wait a few weeks until Ambar has his supply lines extended. Then we'll begin to harass him. In no time he'll begin to fall back to Ahmadnagar to wait for winter. And by that time we'll have our full strength. We'll march in force and crush him. I'll lead the men personally. You need never leave Burhanpur, Highness." He took another sip of wine. "Though I daresay its pleasures must seem rustic for one accustomed to the more luxurious diversions of Agra."Jadar examined the commander and a slight, knowing smile played across his lips. "Let me propose a slight alternative." He began evenly. "I will lead the army this time, and you will remain here at the fortress. I called you here today to notify you that as of this moment you are relieved of your command and confined to the fort." Jadar watched Ghulam Adl stiffen and his sly grin freeze on his face. "I will assemble the army myself and march south in ten days.""This is a weak jest, Highness." Ghulam Adl tried to laugh. "No one knows the Deccan the way I and my commanders know it. The terrain is treacherous.""Your knowledge of the terrain admittedly is excellent. You and your commanders have retreated the length of the Deccan year after year. This time I will use my own generals. Abdullah Khan will command the advance guard, with three thousand horse from our own troops. Abul Hasan will take the left flank, and Raja Vikramajit the right. I will personally command the center." Jadar fixed Ghulam Adl squarely. "You will be confined to the fort, where you'll send no ciphers to Ambar. Your remaining troops will be divided and put under our command. You will order it in writing today and I will send the dispatches.""For your sake I trust this is a jest, Highness. You dare not carry it out." Ghulam Adl slammed his glass onto the carpet, spilling his wine. The Rajputs around Jadar stiffened but made no move. "I have the full support of the Moghul himself. Your current position in Agra is already talked about here in the south. Do you think we're so far away we hear nothing? Your return this time, if you are allowed to return, will be nothing like the grand celebrations three years ago. If I were you, I'd be marching back now. Leave the Deccan to those who know it.""You're right about Agra on one point. It is far away. And this campaign is mine, not the Moghul’s.""You'll never raise the troops, young prince: Only I can induce themansabdarsto muster.""I'll muster the men. With full pay.""You'll muster nothing, Highness. You'll be Ambar's prisoner inside a month. I can swear it. If you are still alive." Ghulam Adl bowed low and his hand shot for his sword. By the time it touched the handle the Rajputs were there. He was circled by drawn blades. Jadar watched impassively for a moment, and then signaled the guards to escort Ghulam Adl from the audience room."I'll see you dead." He shouted over his shoulder as the men dragged him toward the door. "Within the month."Jadar watched Ghulam Adl's turban disappear through the torchlit opening and down the corridor. His sword remained on the carpet, where it had been removed by the Rajput guards. Jadar stared at it for a moment, admiring the silver trim along the handle, and it reminded him of the silver shipment. And the Englishman.Vasant Rao blundered badly with the English captain. He should have found a way to disarm him in advance. Always disarm aferinghi. Their instincts are too erratic. The whole scenario fell apart after he killed the headman of the dynasty. My Rajput games almost became a war.But what happened in the village? Did theferinghiwork sorcery? Why was the caravan released so suddenly? The horsemen I had massed in the valley, in case of an emergency, panicked after the eclipse began. They became just so many terrified Hindus. Then suddenly the caravan assembled and left, with Rajputs from the village riding guard, escorting them all the way back to the river.And even now Vasant Rao refuses to talk about what really happened. It seems his honor is too besmirched. He refuses even to eat with the other men.Allah the Merciful. Rajputs and their cursed honor.But I've learned what I need to know about the Englishferinghi. His nerve is astonishing. How could he dare refuse to attend my morning durbar audience in the reception room? Should I accept his claim that he's an ambassador and therefore I should come to him. Should I simply have him brought before me?No. I have a better idea. But tomorrow. After the child is born and I've sent runners to themansabdars. . .A member of Mumtaz's guard burst through the doorway, then remembered himself and salaamed deeply to the prince. Guards around Jadar already had their swords half drawn."Forgive a fool, Highness." He fell to his knees, just in case. "I'm ordered to report that your son is born. Thedaisays he's perfectly formed and has the lungs of a cavalry commander."Cheers swept the room, and the air blossomed with flying turbans. Jadar motioned the terrified man closer and he nervously knelt again, this time directly before Jadar."Thedairespectfully asks if it would please Your Highness to witness the cord-cutting ceremony. She suggests a gold knife, instead of the usual silver."Jadar barely heard the words, but he did recall that tradition allowed the midwife to keep the knife."She can have her knife of gold, and you are granted a thousand goldmohurs. But the cord will be cut with a string." This ceremony must be a signal to all India, Jadar told himself, and he tried to recall exactly the tradition started by Akman for newborn Moghul princes. The birth cord of all Akman's three sons was cut with a silken string, then placed in a velvet bag with writings from the Quran, and kept under the new child's pillow for forty days.The guard salaamed once more, his face in the carpet, and then scurried toward the door, praising Allah. As Jadar rose and made his way toward the corridor, a chant of "Jadar-o-Akbar," "Jadar is Great," rose from the cheering Rajputs. Every man knew that with an heir, the prince was at last ready to claim his birthright. And they would fight beside him for it.Mumtaz lay against a bolster, a fresh scarf tied around her head and a roller bound about her abdomen, taking a draft of strong, garlic-scented asafetida gum as Jadar came into the room. He immediately knew she was well, for this anti-cold precaution was taken only after the placenta was expelled and the mother's well-being assured. Next to her side was a box of betel leaves, rolled especially with myrrh to purge the taste of the asafetida."My congratulations, Highness." Thedaisalaamed awkwardly from the bedside. "May it please you to know the child is blind of an eye."Jadar stared at her dumbfounded, then remembered she was a local Hindu midwife, from Gujarat province, where the birth of a boy is never spoken of, lest the gods grow jealous of the parents' good fortune and loose the Evil Eye. Instead, boys were announced by declaring the child blind in one eye. No precautions against divine jealousy were thought necessary for a girl child, a financial liability no plausible god would covet.Thedaireturned to washing Mumtaz's breasts, stroking them carefully with wet blades of grass. Jadar knew this local ritual was believed to ensure fortune for the child and he did not interrupt. He merely returned Mumtaz's weak smile and strode to the silver basin resting by the bedside, where another midwife was washing his new son in a murky mixture of gram flour and water.The frightened woman dried off the child, brushed his head with perfumed oil, and placed him on a thin pillow of quilted calico for Jadar to see. He was red and wrinkled and his dark eyes were startled. But he was a prince.Jadar touched the infant's warm hand as he examined him for imperfections. There were none.Someday, my first son, you may rule India as Moghul. If we both live that long."Is he well?" Mumtaz spoke at last, her normally shrill voice now scarcely above a whisper. "Are you pleased?""He'll do for now." Jadar smiled as he examined her tired face. She had never seemed as beautiful as she did at this moment. He knew there was no way he could ever show his great love for her, but he knew she understood. And returned it. "Do these unbelievers know enough to follow Muslim tradition?""Yes. A mullah has been summoned to sound theazan, the call to prayer, in his ear.""But a male child must first be announced with artillery. So he'll never be afraid to fight." Jadar wasn't sure how much belief he put in all these Muslim traditions, but the troops expected it and every ceremony for this prince had to be observed. Lest superstitions begin that he was somehow ill-fated. Superstitions are impossible to bury. "This one is a prince. He will be greeted with cannon. Then I'll immediately have his horoscope cast—for the Hindu troops—and schedule his naming ceremony—for the Believers.""What will you name him?""His first name will be Nushirvan. You can pick the others.""Nushirvan was a haughty Persian king. And it's an ugly name.""It's the name I've chosen." Jadar smiled wickedly, still mulling over what name he would eventually pick.Mumtaz did not argue. She had already selected the name Salaman, the handsome young man Persian legends said was once created by a wise magician. Salaman was an ideal lover. Whatever name Jadar chose, Salaman would be his second name. And the one she would call him all the coming years in thezenana, when he would creep into her bed after Jadar had departed for his own quarters.And we'll see what name he answers to seven years hence, on his circumcision day.Thedaiwas busy spooning a mixture of honey, ghee, and opium into the child's mouth. Then a drop of milk was pressed from Mumtaz's breast and rubbed on the breast of the wet nurse. Jadar watched the ritual with approval. Now for the most important tradition, the one begun by Akman."Is the wrap ready?"Akman had believed that the first clothes a Moghul prince wore should be fashioned from an old garment of a Muslim holy man, and he had requested a garment from the revered Sayyid Ali Shjirazi for his first son. The custom had become fixed for the royal family."It's here. The woman in Surat heard a child was due and had this sent to me in Agra before we left." She pointed to a folded loincloth, which had been washed to a perfect white. "It was once worn by that Sufi you adore, Samad.""Good. I'm glad it's from Samad. But what woman in Surat do you mean?""You know who she is." Mumtaz looked around the crowded room, and switched from Turki to Persian. "She sent the weekly reports of Mukarrab Khan's affairs, and handled all the payments to those who collected information in Surat."Jadar nodded almost imperceptibly. "That one. Of course I remember her. Her reports were always more reliable than the Shahbandar's. I find I can never trust any number that thief gives me. I always have to ask myself what he would wish it to be, and then adjust. But what happened to her? I learned a month ago that Mukarrab Khan was being sent to Goa. I think a certain woman of power in Agra finally realized I was learning everything that went on at the port before she was, and thought Mukarrab Khan had betrayed her.""The Surat woman didn't go to Goa with Mukarrab Khan. She made him divorce her. It was a scandal." Mumtaz smiled mysteriously. "You should come to the women's quarters more often, and learn the news.""But what happened to her?""There's a rumor in Surat that the Shahbandar, Mirza Nuruddin, is hiding her in the women's quarters of his estate house. But actually she left for Agra the next day, by the northern road. I'm very worried what may happen to her there.""How do you know all this? It sounds like bazaar gossip.""It's all true enough. She sent a pigeon, to the fortress here. The message was waiting when we arrived.""It's good she's out of Surat. With Mukarrab Khan gone, she's no longer any help there. But I've always wanted to thank her somehow. She's one of the best. And our only woman. I don't think anyone ever guessed what she really did.""I will thank her for you. Her message was a request. Something only I could arrange. A favor for a favor.""And what was that?""Just something between women, my love. Nothing to do with armies and wars." Mumtaz shifted on the bolster and took a perfumed pan. "Allah, I'm tired."Jadar studied her face again, marveling as always how it seemed to attest to her spirit."Then rest. I hope the cannon won't disturb you.""It should have been another girl. Then there'd be no cannon.""And no heir." Jadar turned to leave and Mumtaz eased herself back on the bolster. Then she lifted herself again and called Jadar."Who is escorting the Englishferinghito Agra?""Unfortunately it's Vasant Rao. And just when I need him. But he demanded to do it personally.""I'm glad." Mumtaz smiled weakly. "Have him see one of my servants before they leave.""Why should I bother him with that?""To humor me." She paused. "Is thisferinghihandsome?""Why do you ask?""A woman's curiosity.""I haven't seen him yet. I do suspect he's quick. Perhaps too quick. But I'll find out more tomorrow. And then I'll decide what I have to do." Jadar paused at the doorway, while the dai pulled aside the curtains that had been newly hung. "Sleep. And watch over my new prince. He's our first victory in the Deccan. I pray to Allah he's not our last."He turned and was gone. Minutes later the cannon salutes began.Hawksworth began to count the stone stairs after the third twisting turn of the descending corridor, and his eyes searched through the smoke and flickering torchlight for some order in the arched doorways that opened out on each level as they went farther and farther down. Ail object struck him across the face and his hand plunged for his sword, before he remembered he had left it in his quarters, on Jadar's command. Then he heard the high-pitched shriek of a bat and saw it flutter into the shadows. The torchbearers were ten Rajputs of Jadar's personal guard, armed with the usual swords and half-pikes. None spoke as their footsteps clattered through the musty subterranean air.Hawksworth felt the dankness against the beads of sweat forming on his skin. As the old memory of a dark prison welled up, he suddenly realized he was terrified.Why did I agree to meet him here? This is not "the lower level of the fortress." This is a dungeon. But he can't detain me, not with a safe conduct pass from the Moghul.Still, he might try. If he wants to keep me out of Agra while he's away on campaign. And he may. I already smell this campaign is doomed.It was the evening of Hawksworth's third day in the Burhanpur fortress. When the convoy arrived at the village of Bahadurpur, threekoswest of Burhanpur, they had been met by Jadar's personal guards and escorted through the city and into the walled compound of the fortress. He had been given spacious, carpeted quarters, always guarded, and had seen no one, not even Vasant Rao. Communications with Jadar had been by courier, and finally they had agreed on a neutral meeting place. Jadar had suggested a location in the palace where they would have privacy, yet be outside his official quarters. Since they would meet as officials of state, Jadar had insisted on no weapons.No visible weapons, Hawksworth told himself, glad he wore boots.The corridor narrowed slightly, then ended abruptly at a heavy wooden door. Iron braces were patterned over the face of the door and in its center was a small window, secured with heavy bars. Armed Rajputs stood on either side and as Hawksworth's party approached they snapped about, hands at their swords. Then the leader of Hawksworth's guards spoke through the smoke-filled air, his voice echoing off the stone walls."Krishna plays his flute."A voice came from the sentries at the door."And longinggopisburn."Again Hawksworth's guard."With a maid's desire."Immediately the sentries slid back the ancient iron bolt that spanned the face of the door. Then came the raspingscrape of another bolt on the inside being released. When he heard the sound, Hawksworth felt a surge of fear and stared around wildly at the faces of the guards. They all stood menacingly, with a regal bearing and expressionless faces. Each man had his hand loosely on his sword.The door creaked slowly inward, and Hawksworth realized it was almost a foot thick and probably weighed tons. The guards motioned him forward and stood stiffly waiting for him to move. He calculated his chances one more time, and with a shrug, walked through.The room was enormous, with a high vaulted stone ceiling and a back wall lost in its smoky recesses. Rows of oil lamps trailed down the walls on either side of the door. The walls themselves were heavy gray blocks of cut stone, carefully smoothed until they fit seamlessly together without mortar. He asked himself how air reached the room, then he traced the lamp smoke upward and noticed it disappeared through ornate carvings that decorated the high roof of the chamber.A heavy slam echoed off the walls and he turned to see the door had been sealed. As his eyes adjusted to the lamplight he searched the chamber. All he could see were long, neat rows of bundles, lining the length of the stone floor. With a shock he realized they were the bundles from the caravan. Otherwise the room seemed empty.At that moment he caught a flicker of movement, a tall figure at the far end of the chamber, passing shadowlike among the bundles, an apparition. Then a voice sounded through the dense air."At last we meet." The stone walls threw back an eerie echo. "Is the place to your liking?""I prefer sunlight." Hawksworth felt the cool of the room envelop his skin. "Where I can see who I'm talking to.""You are speaking to Prince Shapur Firdawsi Jadar, third son of the Moghul. It's customary to salaam, Captain- General Hawksworth.""I speak for His Majesty, King James the First of England. The sons of kings normally bow before him.""When I meet him, perhaps I will bow." Jadar emerged from among the bundles. He had an elegant short beard and seemed much younger, somehow, than Hawksworth had expected. "I'm surprised to see you alive, Captain. How is it you still live while so many of my Rajputs died?""I live by my wits, not by my caste."Jadar roared with genuine delight."Spoken like a Moghul." Then he sobered. "You'd be wise never to say that to a Rajput, however. I often wonder how an army of Moghul troops would fare against a division of Hindu unbelievers. I pray to Allah I never find out." Jadar suddenly slipped a dagger from his waist and held it loosely, fingering the blade. "FeringhiChristians would be another matter entirely, however. Did you come unarmed, Captain, as we agreed?""I did." Hawksworth stared at the knife in dismay."Come, Captain, please don't ask me to believe you'd be such a fool." Jadar slipped the dagger into his other hand with a quick twist and tossed it atop one of the bundles. "But this meeting must be held in trust. I ask that you leave your weapon beside mine."Hawksworth hesitated, then slowly reached into his boot and withdrew a small stiletto, the Portuguese knife left at the observatory. As he dropped it beside Jadar's weapon, he noticed the prince's knife was missing half its handle.Jadar smiled. "You know, Captain, if I killed you here, now, there would be no witness to the deed, save your Christian God.""Do you plan to try?""I do not 'try' to do anything, Captain." Jadar opened his hand to reveal that a dagger remained. It was the other side of his original knife, which had been two blades fitted to appear as one. "What I do, Captain, is merely a matter of what I decide to do. Right now I have serious misgivings about your intentions in India."Jadar's blade glinted in the lamplight as he moved toward Hawksworth."Is this your greeting for any who refuse to salaam?"Hawksworth took a step backward toward the door, feinted toward his boot, and rose with a cocked pistol leveled directly at Jadar. "What game is this?"The prince exploded with laughter, and before Hawksworth caught the quick motion of his arm, the knife thudded deeply into the wooden door behind him."Well done, Captain. Very well done." Jadar beamed in appreciation. "You are, as I suspected, truly without the smallest shred of Rajput honor. Put away your pistol. I think we can talk. And by the way, there are twenty matchlocks trained on you right now." He waved toward the vaulted ceiling of the crypt, where dark musket barrels were visible through slits in the carved decoration. He barked a command in Urdu and the barrels slowly withdrew."Why don't we talk about releasing me and my chest to travel on to Agra." Hawksworth lowered the pistol, but kept it still cocked, in his hand."Agra, you say? Captain, there are already Europeans in Agra." Jadar leaned against one of the bundles. "Portuguese. They've been there many years. How many more Christians can India endure? You infidel Europeans are beginning to annoy me more than I can tell you.""What do you mean?" Hawksworth tried to read Jadar's eyes, remembering Shirin's story of the Persians and Portuguese both hating the prince."Tell me about your English ships, Captain." Jadar seemed not to hear Hawksworth's question. "Tell me how you defeated the Portuguese so easily.""English frigates are better designed than the Portugals' galleons. And English seamen are better gunners and sailors.""Words, Captain. Easy words. Perhaps the Portuguese allowed themselves to be defeated. This one time. Waiting for a bigger prize. How can you know?""Is that what the Portugals say happened?""I asked you.""A well-manned English frigate is the match of any two galleons.""Then how many of your 'frigates' would it take to blockade the port at Goa?"Hawksworth saw a small flicker in Jadar's eyes as the prince waited for the answer. "I think a dozen could do it. If we caught their fleet in the harbor, before they could put out to sea.""Christians typically exaggerate their strength. How many would it really take? Five times what you've said? Ten times?""I said it depends on seamanship. And surprise.""Christians always seem to have answers. Particularly when there is no answer." Jadar turned and pointed to the stacks of bundles. "By the way, do you know what the caravan carried, Captain?""I doubt very much it was lead. So it's probably silver." Hawksworth marveled at the way Jadar seemed to lead the conversation, always getting what he wanted before what he wanted had become obvious. And then quickly moving on."Your 'probably' is exactly right. And do you know why it carried silver?""You have a long supply line. You needed to buy supplies and arms.""I see you don't think like a Moghul after all." Jadar moved closer, studying Hawksworth's eyes. "Why bother to buy what I could easily take? No, my Christian captain, or ambassador, or spy, I needed men. What is it about human character that allows men to be bought like so manynautchgirls?""Not every man is born to wealth." Hawksworth glared directly at Jadar, beginning to find the conversation growing sinister."And few men are without a price, Captain. I think I could even find yours if I looked enough for it." Jadar paused reflectively for a moment, then continued. "Tell me, should I be pleased with your presence here?""You have no reason not to be. My only mission here is to open trade between our kings.""You know your 'mission' has brought about many deaths since you landed in India. The most recent were the deaths of forty of my best men.""I didn't order the attack on the caravan. Those men's lives are on the head of whoever did." Hawksworth stopped, and as he looked at Jadar something clicked in his mind. Something about the attack that had bothered him ever since."Your caravan was attacked by bandits, Captain. Who could order them to do anything? But the men I provided as escort gave their lives protecting you.""Those men were murdered. They never had a chance."Hawksworth's mind was racing. Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. Everything fit. Vasant Rao had been too nervous. He must have known the attack was coming, but not when. It was all a game. Some deadly serious war game. And none of the other men knew."But I think I have an idea who did order the attack." Hawksworth continued, glaring at Jadar. "And you do too.""Your Rajputs guards were growing careless, Captain. They made a foolish mistake. What commander can afford men who make mistakes? Even if they are Rajputs. All men grow complacent if they are never tested.""It was vicious.""It was discipline. Security has improved considerably here since that incident." Jadar continued evenly, ignoring the look on Hawksworth's face. "The only real difficulties that night were caused by you. It was very imprudent of you to kill one of the bandits with a pistol. They were instructed merely to disarm you. You were completely safe. But after your rash killing it became much more difficult for me to try to rescue you. And after the eclipse, it actually become impossible." Jadar wanted to ask Hawksworth what had really happened, but he suppressed the impulse. "Still, after your first mistake, you appear to have handled yourself reasonably well. That's why we're having this talk.""In a dungeon? Surrounded by muskets?""In a room surrounded by silver. More, I suspect, than you have ever known. How many sailing ships, your 'frigates,' could be bought with this much silver?""I don't know exactly. I do know English frigates are not for sale.""Come, Captain. Would you have me believe your king never has allies who share a common cause? That he never aids those who war against his enemies?""Allies have been known to become enemies. If they grow too ambitious. Just who would your frigates, assuming you had them and the trained seamen to man them, be used against? The Portugals? Or against the English eventually?""Sometimes, unfortunately, an ally becomes a tyrant, forcing you to act in your own interest. I know it all too well." Jadar was silent for a moment, then he smiled smoothly. "But tell me about your plans when you reach Agra. You'll have no frigates there. What do you hope to gain?""Open trade. That and nothing more. England wants no war with the Portugals.""Truly? I believe they may think otherwise. Time will tell. There may be changes in Agra soon. The Christian Portuguese may find their time has run out. If that happens, what will you do?""I'll wait and see.""There may be no time to 'wait,' English Captain Hawksworth. The times may require you to choose. If the Portuguese decide to act in the interest of one party here, will England act in the interest of the other? I want to know.""The king of England acts in his own interest.""But your king will not be here. You will be here.""Then I will act in his interest." Hawksworth fixed Jadar squarely. "And the king of England is not interested in who rules India. Only in free trade between us.""But the one who rules India will have the power to permit or deny that trade. You know, there's an Indian folk tale of a Brahmin who once discovered a tiger in a well. He gave aid to the tiger, helped him escape from the well, and years later when the Brahmin was starving the tiger brought him a necklace of gold and jewels won from a rich man in a battle to the death. Do you understand?""I understand. But I still serve my king first."Jadar listened silently, but his eyes were intent."And that king is English. For now." Jadar filled the last words with a tone of presumption that left Hawksworth uncomfortable. "But enough. Let's talk of other matters. I assume you are aware the Portuguese will probably try to have you assassinated when you reach Agra. Already there are many rumors about you there. Perhaps you should remember your own personal interests too. As well as your king's. One day, I think, we will meet again. If you are still alive.""And if you are still alive."Jadar smiled lightly. "We're both difficult to kill. So we both must think of the future. Now I have a last question for you."Jadar retrieved his knife from atop the bundles and deftly ripped open the side of one. Rolls of new silver coin glistened in the light. "What do you see in this package, Ambassador Hawksworth?""A king's ransom in silver.""I'm surprised at you, Captain. For a seaman you have remarkably bad eyesight. What you see here, what came with you from Surat, is lead, Captain. Ingots of lead.""That forty men died to protect.""Those men died protecting you, Captain. Don't you remember? Your safety is very important to me. So important that it may be necessary to keep you under guard here in the fortress until this campaign is over. Look again at the bundle and tell me once more what you see.""You can't hold me here. I have a safe conduct pass from the Moghul himself.""Do you? Good. In that case there shouldn't be any difficulty. I'll only need to examine it to make sure it's not a forgery. There should be an opportunity sometime after I return from this campaign."Hawksworth examined Jadar and realized the threat was not empty."There's no reason for me to stay. You have your lead."Jadar smiled an empty grin, but with a trace of bizarre warmth. "At last we're beginning to understand each other. Neither of us has a Rajput's honor." He tossed Hawksworth the Portuguese stiletto. "An interesting knife. Did you know it took me almost two weeks to find out for sure who really hired the assassin? And for all that trouble it was exactly who you'd expect."Hawksworth examined him in amazement, and decided to gamble another guess."I suppose I haven't thanked you yet for saving us from the Portugals' ambush on the river, the day we made landfall."Jadar waved his hand in dismissal. "Mere curiosity, nothing more. If I had allowed them to kill you, we could never have had this interesting talk. But you still have many troubles ahead.""We both do.""But I know who my enemies are, Captain. That's the difference."The door had begun to swing slowly inward."Yes, these are interesting times, Captain. You may find it difficult to stay alive, but somehow I think you'll manage for a while longer."Hawksworth watched nervously as the Rajput guards filed into the room and stationed themselves by the door."I plan to march south in ten days. You would be wise to leave tomorrow for the north, while the roads are still secure. Vasant Rao has asked to accompany you, and I'm afraid I have no choice but to humor him. I need him here, but he is a man of temperament. I will provide guards for you as far north as the Narbada River. After that he will hire his own horsemen. I'll give him a letter for a raja in Mandu, who can supply whatever he needs." Jadar studied Hawksworth one last time, his eyes calculating. "We both have difficult times ahead, but I think we'll meet again. Time may change a few things for both of us."As Hawksworth passed through the open doorway, he looked back to see the prince leaning easily aginst a stack of bundles, flipping a large silver coin. And suddenly he wanted to leave the fortress of Burhanpur more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.The next morning Vasant Rao and forty horsemen were waiting with Hawksworth's cart. By midday they had left Burhanpur far behind, and were well on the way north. The journey north through Mandu, Ujjain, and Gwalior to Agra normally took six weeks, but when roads were dry it was an easy trip.Two days later five prominentmansabdarsin the northern Deccan died painfully in separate ambushes by bandits. Theirjagirswere confiscated immediately by Prince Jadar. Ten days from that time he moved south with eighty thousand men and thirty thousand horse.BOOK FOURAGRACHAPTER SIXTEENNadir Sharif leaned uneasily against the rooftop railing of his sprawling riverside palace, above the second-floorzenana, and absently watched his Kabuli pigeons wing past the curve of the Jamuna River, headed toward the Red Fort. They swept over the heavy battlements at the river gate and then veered precisely upward, along the sheer eastern wall of the fort, until they reached the gold minaret atop the Jasmine Tower, the private quarters of Queen Janahara. They circled her tower once, then coalesced into a plumed spear driving directly upward toward the dawn-tinged cloud bank that hovered over Agra from the east.Imported Kabuli pigeons, with their flawless white eyes and blue-tipped wings, were Nadir Sharifs secret joy. Unlike the inferior local breeds of the other devoted pigeon-fliers along the west bank of the Jamuna, Agra's palace-lined showplace, his Kabulis did not flit aimlessly from rooftop to rooftop on their daily morning flight. After he opened the shutters on their rooftop grillwork cage, they would trace a single circle of his palace, next wing past the Red Fort in a salute to the queen, then simply disappear into the infinite for fully half a day, returning as regally as they had first taken wing.Nadir Sharif was the prime minister of the Moghul empire, the brother of Queen Janahara, and the father of Prince Jadar's favorite wife, Mumtaz. Even in the first light of dawn there was no mistaking he was Persian and proud. The early sun glanced off his finely woven gauze cape and quickened a warm glow in the gold thread laced through his yellow cloak and his pastel morning turban. His quick eyes, plump face, and graying moustache testified to his almost sixty years of life, thirty spent at the Moghul court as close adviser to Arangbar and, before that, to Arangbar's father, the great empire-builder Akman. In power and authority he was exceeded only by the Moghul himself.Nadir Sharifs palace was deliberately situated next to the Red Fort, just around the broad curve of the Jamuna. The Red Fort, home of the Moghul, was a vast, rambling fortress whose river side towered over a hundred feet above the western curve of the Jamuna. From Nadir Sharifs rooftop the view of the river side of the fort and Arangbar'sdarshanwindow was unobstructed.Darshan was the dawn appearance Arangbar made daily at a special balcony in the east wall of the Red Fort, next to the river gate. It was strict custom that the chief officials of Arangbar's court also appear daily, on a high platform just beneath thedarshanbalcony, where along with the Moghul they greeted the well-wishers who streamed in through the river gate and provided visual confirmation that India's rule was intact.The square below the balcony—a grassy expanse between the side of the fort and the river wall, where Arangbar held noontime elephant fights and, on Tuesdays, executions by specially trained elephants—had already filled almost to capacity. Agra's most prominent noblemen were there, as prudence required, and today there also were clusters of important visitors. Several Rajput chieftains from the northwest, astride prancing Arabian horses, passed regally through the river gate and assumed prominent positions. Then a path was cleared for a large embassy of Safavid Persian diplomats, each of whose palanquins was borne by four slaves in gleaming velvet liveries; next several desert Uzbek khans in leather headdress rode into the square; and finally three Portuguese Jesuits in black cassocks trooped through the river gate and moved imperiously to the front of the crowd.Nadir Sharif watched as his pigeons were swallowed by the morning haze and then settled himself onto a canopied couch to observedarshan. The eunuchs of thezenanahad whispered that this morning would be different, that there would be a precedent-shattering occurrence. For once azenanarumor seemed all too plausible, and late the previous evening he had sent a dispatch through aqazi, a high judge, pleading illness and excusing himself fromdarshan. And now he had stationed himself to watch. How would the court officials react? Had they too heard the rumors? And what of those who had gathered below to salute Arangbar with the traditionalteslim.Most importantly, what of Nadir Sharif? This day could well be a turning point in the course of India's history . . . and in the three decades of his preeminence at court. If the rumors were true.Nadir Sharif was easily the most accomplished courtier in India, a skill that had earned him the most splendid palace in Agra after the Moghul himself. His position brought with it not merely a palace, but also themansabrank andjagirwealth required to maintain it. Only enormous wealth could sustain the hungry host of slaves, eunuchs, concubines, musicians, dancers, and wives who thronged his Agra palace.Success for Nadir Sharif had always seemed so effortless, so inevitable, he often marveled that so few others had ever grasped the elementary secret. His simple formula for longevity, in a court where favorites daily rose and fell, was first to establish with certainty which side of a difference would inevitably triumph, and then to unveil his own supporting views.He had made a lifelong habit of seeing everything. And saying almost nothing. He understood well that thoughts unsaid often served better than those voiced too hastly. Whereas the way of others might be flawed by a penchant for thezenana, or jewels, or those intoxicants the Prophet ha so futilely prohibited, Nadir Sharifs sole worldly obsession was power—from which nothing, absolutely nothing, had ever turned his head. For a decade he had ruled the Moghul empire in all but name, forwarding to Arangbar only those petitions he favored, holding in advisement any he opposed, counseling the Moghul at every turn—but always through other, unsuspecting voices if the advice was anything save disguised flattery.
In disgust Arangbar had taken the command from Ghulam Adl and given it to his own son, the second oldest, Parwaz. This dissolute prince marched south with great pomp. Once there he set up an extravagant military headquarters, a royal court in miniature, and spent several years drinking and bragging of his inevitable victory. Ghulam Adl had watched this with growing resentment, and finally he succumbed to bribes by Malik Ambar and retreated with his own army.
In anger Arangbar then appointed two other generals to march on the Deccan, one from the north and one from the West, hoping to trap Malik Ambar in a pincer. But the Abyssinian deftly kept them apart, and badly defeated each in turn. Eventually both were driven back to the north, with heavy losses.
This time, on the advice of Queen Janahara, Arangbar transferred his son Parwaz out of the Deccan, to Allahbad, and in his place sent Prince Jadar. The younger prince had marched on the Deccan with forty thousand additional troops to supplement the existing forces.
When Jadar and his massive army reached Burhanpur, Malik Ambar wisely proposed a truce and negotiations. He returned the fort at Ahmadnagar to the Moghul and withdrew his troops. Arangbar was jubilant and rewarded Jadar with sixteenlakhsof rupees and a prize diamond. Triumphant, Jadar had returned to Agra and begun to think of becoming the next Moghul. That had been three long years ago.
But Malik Ambar had the cunning of a jackal, and his "surrender" had been merely a ruse to remove the Moghul troops again to the north. This year he had waited for the monsoon, when conventional armies could not move rapidly, and again risen in rebellion, easily driving Ghulam Adl's army north from Ahmadnagar, reclaiming the city, and laying siege to its Moghul garrison. The despairing Arangbar again appealed to Jadar to lead troops south to relieve the permanent forces of Ghulam Adl. After demanding and receiving a substantial increase inmansabrank and personal cavalry, Jadar had agreed.
The wide wooden door of the reception hall opened and Ghulam Adl strode regally into the room, wearing a gold- braided turban with a feather and a great sword at his belt. His beard was longer than Jadar had remembered, and now it had been reddened with henna—perhaps, Jadar thought, to hide the gray. But his deep-set eyes were still haughty and self-assured, and his swagger seemed to belie reports he had barely escaped with his life from the besieged fortress at Ahmadnagar only five weeks before.
Ghulam Adl's gaze quickly swept the room, but his eyes betrayed no notice of the exceptional size of Jadar's guard. With an immense show of dignity he nodded a perfunctory bow, hands clasped at the sparkling jewel of his turban.
"Salaam, Highness. May Allah lay His hand on both our swords and temper them once more with fire." He seated himself easily, as he might with an equal, and when no servant came forward, he poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter that waited on the carpet beside his bolster. Is there anything, he wondered, I despise more than these presumptuous young princes from Agra? "I rejoice your journey was swift. You've arrived in time to witness my army savage the Abyssinian unbeliever and his rabble."
"How many troops are left?" Jadar seemed not to hear the boast.
"Waiting are fifty thousand men, Highness, and twenty thousand horse, ready to tender their lives at my command." Ghulam Adl delicately shielded his beard as he drank off the glass of wine and—when again no servant appeared— poured himself another.
Jadar remained expressionless.
"My reports give you only five thousand men left, mostchelas. Chelas, from the Hindu slang for "slave," was a reference to the mercenary troops, taken in childhood and raised in the camp, that commanders maintained as a kernel of their forces. Unlike soldiers from the villages, they were loyal even in misfortune, because they literally had no place to return to. "What troops do you have from themansabdars, who've been granted stipends from theirjagirestate revenue to maintain men and horse?"
"Those were the ones I mean, Highness." Ghulam Adl's hand trembled slightly as he again lifted the wineglass. "Themansabdarshave assured me we have only to sound the call, and their men will muster. In due time."
"Then pay is not in arrears for their men and cavalry."
"Highness, it's well known pay must always be in arrears. How else are men's loyalties to be guaranteed? A commander foolish enough to pay his troops on time will lose them at the slightest setback, since they have no reason to remain with him in adversity." Ghulam Adl eased his wineglass on the carpet and bent forward. "I concede some of themansabdarsmay have allowed matters of pay to slip longer than is wise. But they assure me that when the time is right their men will muster nonetheless."
"Then why not call the muster? In another twenty days Ambar's troops will be encamped at our doorstep. He could well control all lands south of the Narbada River."
And that, Ghulam Adl smiled to himself, is precisely the plan.
He thought of the arrangement that had been worked out. Jadar was to be kept in Burhanpur for another three weeks, delayed by any means possible. By then Malik Ambar would have the city surrounded, all access cut off. The Imperial troops would be isolated and demoralized. No troops would be forthcoming from themansabdars. Only promises of troops. Cut off from Agra and provisions, Jadar would have no choice but to sign a treaty. The paper had already been prepared. Malik Ambar would rule the Deccan from his new capital at Ahmadnagar, and Ghulam Adl would be appointed governor of all provinces north from Ahmadnagar to the Narbada River. With their combined troops holding the borders, no Moghul army could ever again challenge the Deccan. Ghulam Adl knew themansabdarswould support him, because he had offered to cut their taxes in half. He had neglected to specify for how long.
"I respectfully submit the time for muster is premature, Highness. Crops are not yet in. The revenues of themansabdars'jagirestates will suffer if men are called now." Ghulam Adl shifted uncomfortably.
"They'll have no revenues at all if they don't muster immediately. I'll confiscate thejagirof anymansabdarwho has not mustered his men and cavalry within seven days." Jadar watched Ghulam Adl's throat muscles tense, and he asked himself if ajagirgranted by the Moghul could be legally confiscated. Probably not. But the threat would serve to reveal loyalties, and reveal them quickly.
"But there's no possible way to pay the men now, Highness." Ghulam Adl easily retained his poise. Hold firm and this aspiring young upstart will waver and then agree. Give him numbers. First make it sound hopeless, then show him a way he can still win. "There's not enough silver in all the Deccan. Let me give you some idea of the problem. Assume it would require a year's back pay to muster the troops, not unreasonable since most of themansabdarsare at least two years behind now. The usual yearly allowance for cavalry here is three hundred rupees for a Muslim and two hundred and forty for a Hindu. You will certainly need to raise a minimum of thirty thousand men from themansabdars. Assuming some loyal troops might possibly muster on notes of promise, you'd still need almost fiftylakhsof rupees. An impossible sum. It's clear themansabdarswon't have the revenues to pay their men until the fall crops are harvested."
"Then I'll confiscate theirjagirsnow and pay the troops myself. And deduct the sum from their next revenues."
"That's impossible. The money is nowhere to be found." Ghulam Adl realized with relief that Jadar was bluffing; the prince could not possibly raise the money needed. He shifted closer and smiled warmly. "But listen carefully. If we wait but two months, everything will be changed. Then it'll be simple to squeeze the revenue from themansabdars, and we can pay the men ourselves if we need. Until then we can easily contain the Abyssinian and his rabble. Perhaps we could raise a few men and horse from themansabdarsnow, but frankly I advise against it. Why trouble them yet? With the troops we have we can keep Malik Ambar diverted for weeks, months even. Then when the time is right we sound the call, march south with our combined forces, and drive him into the southern jungles forever."
But that call will raise no men, Ghulam Adl told himself, not a single wagon driver. It has been agreed. "We'll wait a few weeks until Ambar has his supply lines extended. Then we'll begin to harass him. In no time he'll begin to fall back to Ahmadnagar to wait for winter. And by that time we'll have our full strength. We'll march in force and crush him. I'll lead the men personally. You need never leave Burhanpur, Highness." He took another sip of wine. "Though I daresay its pleasures must seem rustic for one accustomed to the more luxurious diversions of Agra."
Jadar examined the commander and a slight, knowing smile played across his lips. "Let me propose a slight alternative." He began evenly. "I will lead the army this time, and you will remain here at the fortress. I called you here today to notify you that as of this moment you are relieved of your command and confined to the fort." Jadar watched Ghulam Adl stiffen and his sly grin freeze on his face. "I will assemble the army myself and march south in ten days."
"This is a weak jest, Highness." Ghulam Adl tried to laugh. "No one knows the Deccan the way I and my commanders know it. The terrain is treacherous."
"Your knowledge of the terrain admittedly is excellent. You and your commanders have retreated the length of the Deccan year after year. This time I will use my own generals. Abdullah Khan will command the advance guard, with three thousand horse from our own troops. Abul Hasan will take the left flank, and Raja Vikramajit the right. I will personally command the center." Jadar fixed Ghulam Adl squarely. "You will be confined to the fort, where you'll send no ciphers to Ambar. Your remaining troops will be divided and put under our command. You will order it in writing today and I will send the dispatches."
"For your sake I trust this is a jest, Highness. You dare not carry it out." Ghulam Adl slammed his glass onto the carpet, spilling his wine. The Rajputs around Jadar stiffened but made no move. "I have the full support of the Moghul himself. Your current position in Agra is already talked about here in the south. Do you think we're so far away we hear nothing? Your return this time, if you are allowed to return, will be nothing like the grand celebrations three years ago. If I were you, I'd be marching back now. Leave the Deccan to those who know it."
"You're right about Agra on one point. It is far away. And this campaign is mine, not the Moghul’s."
"You'll never raise the troops, young prince: Only I can induce themansabdarsto muster."
"I'll muster the men. With full pay."
"You'll muster nothing, Highness. You'll be Ambar's prisoner inside a month. I can swear it. If you are still alive." Ghulam Adl bowed low and his hand shot for his sword. By the time it touched the handle the Rajputs were there. He was circled by drawn blades. Jadar watched impassively for a moment, and then signaled the guards to escort Ghulam Adl from the audience room.
"I'll see you dead." He shouted over his shoulder as the men dragged him toward the door. "Within the month."
Jadar watched Ghulam Adl's turban disappear through the torchlit opening and down the corridor. His sword remained on the carpet, where it had been removed by the Rajput guards. Jadar stared at it for a moment, admiring the silver trim along the handle, and it reminded him of the silver shipment. And the Englishman.
Vasant Rao blundered badly with the English captain. He should have found a way to disarm him in advance. Always disarm aferinghi. Their instincts are too erratic. The whole scenario fell apart after he killed the headman of the dynasty. My Rajput games almost became a war.
But what happened in the village? Did theferinghiwork sorcery? Why was the caravan released so suddenly? The horsemen I had massed in the valley, in case of an emergency, panicked after the eclipse began. They became just so many terrified Hindus. Then suddenly the caravan assembled and left, with Rajputs from the village riding guard, escorting them all the way back to the river.
And even now Vasant Rao refuses to talk about what really happened. It seems his honor is too besmirched. He refuses even to eat with the other men.
Allah the Merciful. Rajputs and their cursed honor.
But I've learned what I need to know about the Englishferinghi. His nerve is astonishing. How could he dare refuse to attend my morning durbar audience in the reception room? Should I accept his claim that he's an ambassador and therefore I should come to him. Should I simply have him brought before me?
No. I have a better idea. But tomorrow. After the child is born and I've sent runners to themansabdars. . .
A member of Mumtaz's guard burst through the doorway, then remembered himself and salaamed deeply to the prince. Guards around Jadar already had their swords half drawn.
"Forgive a fool, Highness." He fell to his knees, just in case. "I'm ordered to report that your son is born. Thedaisays he's perfectly formed and has the lungs of a cavalry commander."
Cheers swept the room, and the air blossomed with flying turbans. Jadar motioned the terrified man closer and he nervously knelt again, this time directly before Jadar.
"Thedairespectfully asks if it would please Your Highness to witness the cord-cutting ceremony. She suggests a gold knife, instead of the usual silver."
Jadar barely heard the words, but he did recall that tradition allowed the midwife to keep the knife.
"She can have her knife of gold, and you are granted a thousand goldmohurs. But the cord will be cut with a string." This ceremony must be a signal to all India, Jadar told himself, and he tried to recall exactly the tradition started by Akman for newborn Moghul princes. The birth cord of all Akman's three sons was cut with a silken string, then placed in a velvet bag with writings from the Quran, and kept under the new child's pillow for forty days.
The guard salaamed once more, his face in the carpet, and then scurried toward the door, praising Allah. As Jadar rose and made his way toward the corridor, a chant of "Jadar-o-Akbar," "Jadar is Great," rose from the cheering Rajputs. Every man knew that with an heir, the prince was at last ready to claim his birthright. And they would fight beside him for it.
Mumtaz lay against a bolster, a fresh scarf tied around her head and a roller bound about her abdomen, taking a draft of strong, garlic-scented asafetida gum as Jadar came into the room. He immediately knew she was well, for this anti-cold precaution was taken only after the placenta was expelled and the mother's well-being assured. Next to her side was a box of betel leaves, rolled especially with myrrh to purge the taste of the asafetida.
"My congratulations, Highness." Thedaisalaamed awkwardly from the bedside. "May it please you to know the child is blind of an eye."
Jadar stared at her dumbfounded, then remembered she was a local Hindu midwife, from Gujarat province, where the birth of a boy is never spoken of, lest the gods grow jealous of the parents' good fortune and loose the Evil Eye. Instead, boys were announced by declaring the child blind in one eye. No precautions against divine jealousy were thought necessary for a girl child, a financial liability no plausible god would covet.
Thedaireturned to washing Mumtaz's breasts, stroking them carefully with wet blades of grass. Jadar knew this local ritual was believed to ensure fortune for the child and he did not interrupt. He merely returned Mumtaz's weak smile and strode to the silver basin resting by the bedside, where another midwife was washing his new son in a murky mixture of gram flour and water.
The frightened woman dried off the child, brushed his head with perfumed oil, and placed him on a thin pillow of quilted calico for Jadar to see. He was red and wrinkled and his dark eyes were startled. But he was a prince.
Jadar touched the infant's warm hand as he examined him for imperfections. There were none.
Someday, my first son, you may rule India as Moghul. If we both live that long.
"Is he well?" Mumtaz spoke at last, her normally shrill voice now scarcely above a whisper. "Are you pleased?"
"He'll do for now." Jadar smiled as he examined her tired face. She had never seemed as beautiful as she did at this moment. He knew there was no way he could ever show his great love for her, but he knew she understood. And returned it. "Do these unbelievers know enough to follow Muslim tradition?"
"Yes. A mullah has been summoned to sound theazan, the call to prayer, in his ear."
"But a male child must first be announced with artillery. So he'll never be afraid to fight." Jadar wasn't sure how much belief he put in all these Muslim traditions, but the troops expected it and every ceremony for this prince had to be observed. Lest superstitions begin that he was somehow ill-fated. Superstitions are impossible to bury. "This one is a prince. He will be greeted with cannon. Then I'll immediately have his horoscope cast—for the Hindu troops—and schedule his naming ceremony—for the Believers."
"What will you name him?"
"His first name will be Nushirvan. You can pick the others."
"Nushirvan was a haughty Persian king. And it's an ugly name."
"It's the name I've chosen." Jadar smiled wickedly, still mulling over what name he would eventually pick.
Mumtaz did not argue. She had already selected the name Salaman, the handsome young man Persian legends said was once created by a wise magician. Salaman was an ideal lover. Whatever name Jadar chose, Salaman would be his second name. And the one she would call him all the coming years in thezenana, when he would creep into her bed after Jadar had departed for his own quarters.
And we'll see what name he answers to seven years hence, on his circumcision day.
Thedaiwas busy spooning a mixture of honey, ghee, and opium into the child's mouth. Then a drop of milk was pressed from Mumtaz's breast and rubbed on the breast of the wet nurse. Jadar watched the ritual with approval. Now for the most important tradition, the one begun by Akman.
"Is the wrap ready?"
Akman had believed that the first clothes a Moghul prince wore should be fashioned from an old garment of a Muslim holy man, and he had requested a garment from the revered Sayyid Ali Shjirazi for his first son. The custom had become fixed for the royal family.
"It's here. The woman in Surat heard a child was due and had this sent to me in Agra before we left." She pointed to a folded loincloth, which had been washed to a perfect white. "It was once worn by that Sufi you adore, Samad."
"Good. I'm glad it's from Samad. But what woman in Surat do you mean?"
"You know who she is." Mumtaz looked around the crowded room, and switched from Turki to Persian. "She sent the weekly reports of Mukarrab Khan's affairs, and handled all the payments to those who collected information in Surat."
Jadar nodded almost imperceptibly. "That one. Of course I remember her. Her reports were always more reliable than the Shahbandar's. I find I can never trust any number that thief gives me. I always have to ask myself what he would wish it to be, and then adjust. But what happened to her? I learned a month ago that Mukarrab Khan was being sent to Goa. I think a certain woman of power in Agra finally realized I was learning everything that went on at the port before she was, and thought Mukarrab Khan had betrayed her."
"The Surat woman didn't go to Goa with Mukarrab Khan. She made him divorce her. It was a scandal." Mumtaz smiled mysteriously. "You should come to the women's quarters more often, and learn the news."
"But what happened to her?"
"There's a rumor in Surat that the Shahbandar, Mirza Nuruddin, is hiding her in the women's quarters of his estate house. But actually she left for Agra the next day, by the northern road. I'm very worried what may happen to her there."
"How do you know all this? It sounds like bazaar gossip."
"It's all true enough. She sent a pigeon, to the fortress here. The message was waiting when we arrived."
"It's good she's out of Surat. With Mukarrab Khan gone, she's no longer any help there. But I've always wanted to thank her somehow. She's one of the best. And our only woman. I don't think anyone ever guessed what she really did."
"I will thank her for you. Her message was a request. Something only I could arrange. A favor for a favor."
"And what was that?"
"Just something between women, my love. Nothing to do with armies and wars." Mumtaz shifted on the bolster and took a perfumed pan. "Allah, I'm tired."
Jadar studied her face again, marveling as always how it seemed to attest to her spirit.
"Then rest. I hope the cannon won't disturb you."
"It should have been another girl. Then there'd be no cannon."
"And no heir." Jadar turned to leave and Mumtaz eased herself back on the bolster. Then she lifted herself again and called Jadar.
"Who is escorting the Englishferinghito Agra?"
"Unfortunately it's Vasant Rao. And just when I need him. But he demanded to do it personally."
"I'm glad." Mumtaz smiled weakly. "Have him see one of my servants before they leave."
"Why should I bother him with that?"
"To humor me." She paused. "Is thisferinghihandsome?"
"Why do you ask?"
"A woman's curiosity."
"I haven't seen him yet. I do suspect he's quick. Perhaps too quick. But I'll find out more tomorrow. And then I'll decide what I have to do." Jadar paused at the doorway, while the dai pulled aside the curtains that had been newly hung. "Sleep. And watch over my new prince. He's our first victory in the Deccan. I pray to Allah he's not our last."
He turned and was gone. Minutes later the cannon salutes began.
Hawksworth began to count the stone stairs after the third twisting turn of the descending corridor, and his eyes searched through the smoke and flickering torchlight for some order in the arched doorways that opened out on each level as they went farther and farther down. Ail object struck him across the face and his hand plunged for his sword, before he remembered he had left it in his quarters, on Jadar's command. Then he heard the high-pitched shriek of a bat and saw it flutter into the shadows. The torchbearers were ten Rajputs of Jadar's personal guard, armed with the usual swords and half-pikes. None spoke as their footsteps clattered through the musty subterranean air.
Hawksworth felt the dankness against the beads of sweat forming on his skin. As the old memory of a dark prison welled up, he suddenly realized he was terrified.
Why did I agree to meet him here? This is not "the lower level of the fortress." This is a dungeon. But he can't detain me, not with a safe conduct pass from the Moghul.
Still, he might try. If he wants to keep me out of Agra while he's away on campaign. And he may. I already smell this campaign is doomed.
It was the evening of Hawksworth's third day in the Burhanpur fortress. When the convoy arrived at the village of Bahadurpur, threekoswest of Burhanpur, they had been met by Jadar's personal guards and escorted through the city and into the walled compound of the fortress. He had been given spacious, carpeted quarters, always guarded, and had seen no one, not even Vasant Rao. Communications with Jadar had been by courier, and finally they had agreed on a neutral meeting place. Jadar had suggested a location in the palace where they would have privacy, yet be outside his official quarters. Since they would meet as officials of state, Jadar had insisted on no weapons.
No visible weapons, Hawksworth told himself, glad he wore boots.
The corridor narrowed slightly, then ended abruptly at a heavy wooden door. Iron braces were patterned over the face of the door and in its center was a small window, secured with heavy bars. Armed Rajputs stood on either side and as Hawksworth's party approached they snapped about, hands at their swords. Then the leader of Hawksworth's guards spoke through the smoke-filled air, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
"Krishna plays his flute."
A voice came from the sentries at the door.
"And longinggopisburn."
Again Hawksworth's guard.
"With a maid's desire."
Immediately the sentries slid back the ancient iron bolt that spanned the face of the door. Then came the rasping
scrape of another bolt on the inside being released. When he heard the sound, Hawksworth felt a surge of fear and stared around wildly at the faces of the guards. They all stood menacingly, with a regal bearing and expressionless faces. Each man had his hand loosely on his sword.
The door creaked slowly inward, and Hawksworth realized it was almost a foot thick and probably weighed tons. The guards motioned him forward and stood stiffly waiting for him to move. He calculated his chances one more time, and with a shrug, walked through.
The room was enormous, with a high vaulted stone ceiling and a back wall lost in its smoky recesses. Rows of oil lamps trailed down the walls on either side of the door. The walls themselves were heavy gray blocks of cut stone, carefully smoothed until they fit seamlessly together without mortar. He asked himself how air reached the room, then he traced the lamp smoke upward and noticed it disappeared through ornate carvings that decorated the high roof of the chamber.
A heavy slam echoed off the walls and he turned to see the door had been sealed. As his eyes adjusted to the lamplight he searched the chamber. All he could see were long, neat rows of bundles, lining the length of the stone floor. With a shock he realized they were the bundles from the caravan. Otherwise the room seemed empty.
At that moment he caught a flicker of movement, a tall figure at the far end of the chamber, passing shadowlike among the bundles, an apparition. Then a voice sounded through the dense air.
"At last we meet." The stone walls threw back an eerie echo. "Is the place to your liking?"
"I prefer sunlight." Hawksworth felt the cool of the room envelop his skin. "Where I can see who I'm talking to."
"You are speaking to Prince Shapur Firdawsi Jadar, third son of the Moghul. It's customary to salaam, Captain- General Hawksworth."
"I speak for His Majesty, King James the First of England. The sons of kings normally bow before him."
"When I meet him, perhaps I will bow." Jadar emerged from among the bundles. He had an elegant short beard and seemed much younger, somehow, than Hawksworth had expected. "I'm surprised to see you alive, Captain. How is it you still live while so many of my Rajputs died?"
"I live by my wits, not by my caste."
Jadar roared with genuine delight.
"Spoken like a Moghul." Then he sobered. "You'd be wise never to say that to a Rajput, however. I often wonder how an army of Moghul troops would fare against a division of Hindu unbelievers. I pray to Allah I never find out." Jadar suddenly slipped a dagger from his waist and held it loosely, fingering the blade. "FeringhiChristians would be another matter entirely, however. Did you come unarmed, Captain, as we agreed?"
"I did." Hawksworth stared at the knife in dismay.
"Come, Captain, please don't ask me to believe you'd be such a fool." Jadar slipped the dagger into his other hand with a quick twist and tossed it atop one of the bundles. "But this meeting must be held in trust. I ask that you leave your weapon beside mine."
Hawksworth hesitated, then slowly reached into his boot and withdrew a small stiletto, the Portuguese knife left at the observatory. As he dropped it beside Jadar's weapon, he noticed the prince's knife was missing half its handle.
Jadar smiled. "You know, Captain, if I killed you here, now, there would be no witness to the deed, save your Christian God."
"Do you plan to try?"
"I do not 'try' to do anything, Captain." Jadar opened his hand to reveal that a dagger remained. It was the other side of his original knife, which had been two blades fitted to appear as one. "What I do, Captain, is merely a matter of what I decide to do. Right now I have serious misgivings about your intentions in India."
Jadar's blade glinted in the lamplight as he moved toward Hawksworth.
"Is this your greeting for any who refuse to salaam?"
Hawksworth took a step backward toward the door, feinted toward his boot, and rose with a cocked pistol leveled directly at Jadar. "What game is this?"
The prince exploded with laughter, and before Hawksworth caught the quick motion of his arm, the knife thudded deeply into the wooden door behind him.
"Well done, Captain. Very well done." Jadar beamed in appreciation. "You are, as I suspected, truly without the smallest shred of Rajput honor. Put away your pistol. I think we can talk. And by the way, there are twenty matchlocks trained on you right now." He waved toward the vaulted ceiling of the crypt, where dark musket barrels were visible through slits in the carved decoration. He barked a command in Urdu and the barrels slowly withdrew.
"Why don't we talk about releasing me and my chest to travel on to Agra." Hawksworth lowered the pistol, but kept it still cocked, in his hand.
"Agra, you say? Captain, there are already Europeans in Agra." Jadar leaned against one of the bundles. "Portuguese. They've been there many years. How many more Christians can India endure? You infidel Europeans are beginning to annoy me more than I can tell you."
"What do you mean?" Hawksworth tried to read Jadar's eyes, remembering Shirin's story of the Persians and Portuguese both hating the prince.
"Tell me about your English ships, Captain." Jadar seemed not to hear Hawksworth's question. "Tell me how you defeated the Portuguese so easily."
"English frigates are better designed than the Portugals' galleons. And English seamen are better gunners and sailors."
"Words, Captain. Easy words. Perhaps the Portuguese allowed themselves to be defeated. This one time. Waiting for a bigger prize. How can you know?"
"Is that what the Portugals say happened?"
"I asked you."
"A well-manned English frigate is the match of any two galleons."
"Then how many of your 'frigates' would it take to blockade the port at Goa?"
Hawksworth saw a small flicker in Jadar's eyes as the prince waited for the answer. "I think a dozen could do it. If we caught their fleet in the harbor, before they could put out to sea."
"Christians typically exaggerate their strength. How many would it really take? Five times what you've said? Ten times?"
"I said it depends on seamanship. And surprise."
"Christians always seem to have answers. Particularly when there is no answer." Jadar turned and pointed to the stacks of bundles. "By the way, do you know what the caravan carried, Captain?"
"I doubt very much it was lead. So it's probably silver." Hawksworth marveled at the way Jadar seemed to lead the conversation, always getting what he wanted before what he wanted had become obvious. And then quickly moving on.
"Your 'probably' is exactly right. And do you know why it carried silver?"
"You have a long supply line. You needed to buy supplies and arms."
"I see you don't think like a Moghul after all." Jadar moved closer, studying Hawksworth's eyes. "Why bother to buy what I could easily take? No, my Christian captain, or ambassador, or spy, I needed men. What is it about human character that allows men to be bought like so manynautchgirls?"
"Not every man is born to wealth." Hawksworth glared directly at Jadar, beginning to find the conversation growing sinister.
"And few men are without a price, Captain. I think I could even find yours if I looked enough for it." Jadar paused reflectively for a moment, then continued. "Tell me, should I be pleased with your presence here?"
"You have no reason not to be. My only mission here is to open trade between our kings."
"You know your 'mission' has brought about many deaths since you landed in India. The most recent were the deaths of forty of my best men."
"I didn't order the attack on the caravan. Those men's lives are on the head of whoever did." Hawksworth stopped, and as he looked at Jadar something clicked in his mind. Something about the attack that had bothered him ever since.
"Your caravan was attacked by bandits, Captain. Who could order them to do anything? But the men I provided as escort gave their lives protecting you."
"Those men were murdered. They never had a chance."
Hawksworth's mind was racing. Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. Everything fit. Vasant Rao had been too nervous. He must have known the attack was coming, but not when. It was all a game. Some deadly serious war game. And none of the other men knew.
"But I think I have an idea who did order the attack." Hawksworth continued, glaring at Jadar. "And you do too."
"Your Rajputs guards were growing careless, Captain. They made a foolish mistake. What commander can afford men who make mistakes? Even if they are Rajputs. All men grow complacent if they are never tested."
"It was vicious."
"It was discipline. Security has improved considerably here since that incident." Jadar continued evenly, ignoring the look on Hawksworth's face. "The only real difficulties that night were caused by you. It was very imprudent of you to kill one of the bandits with a pistol. They were instructed merely to disarm you. You were completely safe. But after your rash killing it became much more difficult for me to try to rescue you. And after the eclipse, it actually become impossible." Jadar wanted to ask Hawksworth what had really happened, but he suppressed the impulse. "Still, after your first mistake, you appear to have handled yourself reasonably well. That's why we're having this talk."
"In a dungeon? Surrounded by muskets?"
"In a room surrounded by silver. More, I suspect, than you have ever known. How many sailing ships, your 'frigates,' could be bought with this much silver?"
"I don't know exactly. I do know English frigates are not for sale."
"Come, Captain. Would you have me believe your king never has allies who share a common cause? That he never aids those who war against his enemies?"
"Allies have been known to become enemies. If they grow too ambitious. Just who would your frigates, assuming you had them and the trained seamen to man them, be used against? The Portugals? Or against the English eventually?"
"Sometimes, unfortunately, an ally becomes a tyrant, forcing you to act in your own interest. I know it all too well." Jadar was silent for a moment, then he smiled smoothly. "But tell me about your plans when you reach Agra. You'll have no frigates there. What do you hope to gain?"
"Open trade. That and nothing more. England wants no war with the Portugals."
"Truly? I believe they may think otherwise. Time will tell. There may be changes in Agra soon. The Christian Portuguese may find their time has run out. If that happens, what will you do?"
"I'll wait and see."
"There may be no time to 'wait,' English Captain Hawksworth. The times may require you to choose. If the Portuguese decide to act in the interest of one party here, will England act in the interest of the other? I want to know."
"The king of England acts in his own interest."
"But your king will not be here. You will be here."
"Then I will act in his interest." Hawksworth fixed Jadar squarely. "And the king of England is not interested in who rules India. Only in free trade between us."
"But the one who rules India will have the power to permit or deny that trade. You know, there's an Indian folk tale of a Brahmin who once discovered a tiger in a well. He gave aid to the tiger, helped him escape from the well, and years later when the Brahmin was starving the tiger brought him a necklace of gold and jewels won from a rich man in a battle to the death. Do you understand?"
"I understand. But I still serve my king first."
Jadar listened silently, but his eyes were intent.
"And that king is English. For now." Jadar filled the last words with a tone of presumption that left Hawksworth uncomfortable. "But enough. Let's talk of other matters. I assume you are aware the Portuguese will probably try to have you assassinated when you reach Agra. Already there are many rumors about you there. Perhaps you should remember your own personal interests too. As well as your king's. One day, I think, we will meet again. If you are still alive."
"And if you are still alive."
Jadar smiled lightly. "We're both difficult to kill. So we both must think of the future. Now I have a last question for you."
Jadar retrieved his knife from atop the bundles and deftly ripped open the side of one. Rolls of new silver coin glistened in the light. "What do you see in this package, Ambassador Hawksworth?"
"A king's ransom in silver."
"I'm surprised at you, Captain. For a seaman you have remarkably bad eyesight. What you see here, what came with you from Surat, is lead, Captain. Ingots of lead."
"That forty men died to protect."
"Those men died protecting you, Captain. Don't you remember? Your safety is very important to me. So important that it may be necessary to keep you under guard here in the fortress until this campaign is over. Look again at the bundle and tell me once more what you see."
"You can't hold me here. I have a safe conduct pass from the Moghul himself."
"Do you? Good. In that case there shouldn't be any difficulty. I'll only need to examine it to make sure it's not a forgery. There should be an opportunity sometime after I return from this campaign."
Hawksworth examined Jadar and realized the threat was not empty.
"There's no reason for me to stay. You have your lead."
Jadar smiled an empty grin, but with a trace of bizarre warmth. "At last we're beginning to understand each other. Neither of us has a Rajput's honor." He tossed Hawksworth the Portuguese stiletto. "An interesting knife. Did you know it took me almost two weeks to find out for sure who really hired the assassin? And for all that trouble it was exactly who you'd expect."
Hawksworth examined him in amazement, and decided to gamble another guess.
"I suppose I haven't thanked you yet for saving us from the Portugals' ambush on the river, the day we made landfall."
Jadar waved his hand in dismissal. "Mere curiosity, nothing more. If I had allowed them to kill you, we could never have had this interesting talk. But you still have many troubles ahead."
"We both do."
"But I know who my enemies are, Captain. That's the difference."
The door had begun to swing slowly inward.
"Yes, these are interesting times, Captain. You may find it difficult to stay alive, but somehow I think you'll manage for a while longer."
Hawksworth watched nervously as the Rajput guards filed into the room and stationed themselves by the door.
"I plan to march south in ten days. You would be wise to leave tomorrow for the north, while the roads are still secure. Vasant Rao has asked to accompany you, and I'm afraid I have no choice but to humor him. I need him here, but he is a man of temperament. I will provide guards for you as far north as the Narbada River. After that he will hire his own horsemen. I'll give him a letter for a raja in Mandu, who can supply whatever he needs." Jadar studied Hawksworth one last time, his eyes calculating. "We both have difficult times ahead, but I think we'll meet again. Time may change a few things for both of us."
As Hawksworth passed through the open doorway, he looked back to see the prince leaning easily aginst a stack of bundles, flipping a large silver coin. And suddenly he wanted to leave the fortress of Burhanpur more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
The next morning Vasant Rao and forty horsemen were waiting with Hawksworth's cart. By midday they had left Burhanpur far behind, and were well on the way north. The journey north through Mandu, Ujjain, and Gwalior to Agra normally took six weeks, but when roads were dry it was an easy trip.
Two days later five prominentmansabdarsin the northern Deccan died painfully in separate ambushes by bandits. Theirjagirswere confiscated immediately by Prince Jadar. Ten days from that time he moved south with eighty thousand men and thirty thousand horse.
BOOK FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nadir Sharif leaned uneasily against the rooftop railing of his sprawling riverside palace, above the second-floorzenana, and absently watched his Kabuli pigeons wing past the curve of the Jamuna River, headed toward the Red Fort. They swept over the heavy battlements at the river gate and then veered precisely upward, along the sheer eastern wall of the fort, until they reached the gold minaret atop the Jasmine Tower, the private quarters of Queen Janahara. They circled her tower once, then coalesced into a plumed spear driving directly upward toward the dawn-tinged cloud bank that hovered over Agra from the east.
Imported Kabuli pigeons, with their flawless white eyes and blue-tipped wings, were Nadir Sharifs secret joy. Unlike the inferior local breeds of the other devoted pigeon-fliers along the west bank of the Jamuna, Agra's palace-lined showplace, his Kabulis did not flit aimlessly from rooftop to rooftop on their daily morning flight. After he opened the shutters on their rooftop grillwork cage, they would trace a single circle of his palace, next wing past the Red Fort in a salute to the queen, then simply disappear into the infinite for fully half a day, returning as regally as they had first taken wing.
Nadir Sharif was the prime minister of the Moghul empire, the brother of Queen Janahara, and the father of Prince Jadar's favorite wife, Mumtaz. Even in the first light of dawn there was no mistaking he was Persian and proud. The early sun glanced off his finely woven gauze cape and quickened a warm glow in the gold thread laced through his yellow cloak and his pastel morning turban. His quick eyes, plump face, and graying moustache testified to his almost sixty years of life, thirty spent at the Moghul court as close adviser to Arangbar and, before that, to Arangbar's father, the great empire-builder Akman. In power and authority he was exceeded only by the Moghul himself.
Nadir Sharifs palace was deliberately situated next to the Red Fort, just around the broad curve of the Jamuna. The Red Fort, home of the Moghul, was a vast, rambling fortress whose river side towered over a hundred feet above the western curve of the Jamuna. From Nadir Sharifs rooftop the view of the river side of the fort and Arangbar'sdarshanwindow was unobstructed.
Darshan was the dawn appearance Arangbar made daily at a special balcony in the east wall of the Red Fort, next to the river gate. It was strict custom that the chief officials of Arangbar's court also appear daily, on a high platform just beneath thedarshanbalcony, where along with the Moghul they greeted the well-wishers who streamed in through the river gate and provided visual confirmation that India's rule was intact.
The square below the balcony—a grassy expanse between the side of the fort and the river wall, where Arangbar held noontime elephant fights and, on Tuesdays, executions by specially trained elephants—had already filled almost to capacity. Agra's most prominent noblemen were there, as prudence required, and today there also were clusters of important visitors. Several Rajput chieftains from the northwest, astride prancing Arabian horses, passed regally through the river gate and assumed prominent positions. Then a path was cleared for a large embassy of Safavid Persian diplomats, each of whose palanquins was borne by four slaves in gleaming velvet liveries; next several desert Uzbek khans in leather headdress rode into the square; and finally three Portuguese Jesuits in black cassocks trooped through the river gate and moved imperiously to the front of the crowd.
Nadir Sharif watched as his pigeons were swallowed by the morning haze and then settled himself onto a canopied couch to observedarshan. The eunuchs of thezenanahad whispered that this morning would be different, that there would be a precedent-shattering occurrence. For once azenanarumor seemed all too plausible, and late the previous evening he had sent a dispatch through aqazi, a high judge, pleading illness and excusing himself fromdarshan. And now he had stationed himself to watch. How would the court officials react? Had they too heard the rumors? And what of those who had gathered below to salute Arangbar with the traditionalteslim.
Most importantly, what of Nadir Sharif? This day could well be a turning point in the course of India's history . . . and in the three decades of his preeminence at court. If the rumors were true.
Nadir Sharif was easily the most accomplished courtier in India, a skill that had earned him the most splendid palace in Agra after the Moghul himself. His position brought with it not merely a palace, but also themansabrank andjagirwealth required to maintain it. Only enormous wealth could sustain the hungry host of slaves, eunuchs, concubines, musicians, dancers, and wives who thronged his Agra palace.
Success for Nadir Sharif had always seemed so effortless, so inevitable, he often marveled that so few others had ever grasped the elementary secret. His simple formula for longevity, in a court where favorites daily rose and fell, was first to establish with certainty which side of a difference would inevitably triumph, and then to unveil his own supporting views.
He had made a lifelong habit of seeing everything. And saying almost nothing. He understood well that thoughts unsaid often served better than those voiced too hastly. Whereas the way of others might be flawed by a penchant for thezenana, or jewels, or those intoxicants the Prophet ha so futilely prohibited, Nadir Sharifs sole worldly obsession was power—from which nothing, absolutely nothing, had ever turned his head. For a decade he had ruled the Moghul empire in all but name, forwarding to Arangbar only those petitions he favored, holding in advisement any he opposed, counseling the Moghul at every turn—but always through other, unsuspecting voices if the advice was anything save disguised flattery.