The man was scrubbing away at Hawksworth's mouth— tongue, gums, teeth—using a dentifrice that tasted like burnt almond shells. Next he offered a mint-flavored mouth rinse to remove the debris.The turbaned man then inspected Hawksworth critically from several sides, finally venturing to speak."If I may suggest, a bit ofcollyrium, castor oil darkened with lampblack, would render your eyes much more striking." Without waiting for confirmation, he applied a few quick strokes to Hawksworth's eyelids, much as an artist might touch up a canvas.Then one of the eunuchs stepped forward and supplied a silver tray to the turbaned servants. On it were folded garments: a tight-fitting pair of blue trousers, a patterned shirt, and a knee-length coat of thin, peach-colored muslin. They dressed Hawksworth quickly, and then secured a patterned sash about his waist. Waiting on the floor were leather slippers, low-quartered with a curved toe and a bent-down back."What have you done with my doublet and breeches? And my boots?""They are being cleaned today, Sahib. You may have them again when you wish. But you may prefer to wear our garments while our guest." The turbaned man bowed again, then he moved away and held a long mirror for Hawksworth to examine himself."Have we pleased you, Sahib?"Hawksworth scarcely recognized himself. He had been transformed from a rank but honest seaman into a Moghul noble—youthful, smooth-skinned, smelling of spice. The soreness was banished from his limbs, and even his wound had all but disappeared. His hair was clean and completely dark, and his skin glowed. And his new clothes were more elaborate than anything he had ever worn."Now if you will please follow us to the garden. Khan Sahib has suggested you begin your day with sometariwine."Hawksworth followed the men through the shuttered doorway into the open courtyard. The morning sun now illuminated the tops of a large grove of palm trees that circled an open cistern. He quickly surveyed the buildings, hoping to gain his bearings.So I've been quartered in one of the side buildings, off the main palace. But there are many, many rooms. Who's living here?A group of servants stood waiting at the base of one of the palms. When they saw Hawksworth, they mobilized to action. One young man among them, wearing a white wrap around his lower torso, immediately secured his belt and began to shimmy up the leaning palm. When he reached the top he locked his legs around the trunk and carefully detached an earthen pot that hung beneath an incision in the bark of the tree. Balancing the pot in one hand, he stretched and nimbly pulled off a number of leaves from the tree and then lowered himself carrying his load. The moment his feet touched ground he raced toward the veranda and delivered the pot and leaves to a waiting eunuch.Hawksworth watched as the eunuchs first inspected the items and then ordered them prepared. The leaves were washed thoroughly with water from the cistern and then folded into natural cups. The liquor from the pot was strained through muslin into a crystal decanter and the earthen receptacle discarded. Then one of the turbaned servants poured a large portion of the liquor from the decanter into a palm-leaf cup and offered it to Hawksworth."It'stariwine, Sahib. One of the pleasures of early morning in India." His matter-of-fact manner could not entirely hide his pride. "Palm wine makes itself overnight. It does not last out the day. When the sun shines the trees only give off vinegar."Hawksworth gingerly sipped the newly fermented palm sap and was pleasantly surprised by its light flavor, totally unlike ale, or even Canary wine. After the third cup, the world around began to acquire a light sparkle of its own, and he realized the sap was more potent than it seemed."Not a bad way to start the day. What do you call it?""It comes from thetaripalm, and sometopiwallahscall it Toddy.'""Toddy, it's called? It's more than passable grog.""Thank you, Sahib. Drink too much and you will spend the day with your head in a buzz." The servant giggled. "So now perhaps you should eat."He consulted briefly with the eunuchs, who nodded and signaled toward the veranda. Moments later a tray appeared, piled high with honey-covered breads and glass dishes of sweet curds. Some hard cheese also had found its way onto the tray, and Hawksworth wondered if this was to placate his European taste. He sipped more of the Toddy and munched the bread and curds.Then he saw the women.There were five. They seemed clustered in a group as they entered the courtyard, but then he realized it was an aristocratic lady surrounded by four maids. They did not know he was there, for none covered her face. As he watched them they seemed preoccupied in an increasingly animated exchange. Then the aristocratic woman stepped determinedly ahead, turned, and curtly gave instructions whose seriousness was clear, even if her words were foreign. Her voice was not strident, but its authority was unmistakable.The other women paused, then slowly, one by one, they seemed to acknowledge her orders and they bowed. The lady whirled and continued on her way, while the other four women turned toward the direction they had come. Then, as though the resolution of the argument had suddenly made them aware of their surroundings, they all seemed to see Hawksworth at once. All five women froze.Hawksworth smiled and tried to remember the bow he had seen performed to him so often. But he could not remove his eyes from the first woman, who was more striking than any he had ever before seen. Her skin was fair, with a warm hint of olive, and her high cheekbones stood in stunning relief as they glanced away the golden light of dawn. Her nose was thin and sculptured, while her lips would have been full, had they not been drawn tight in response to some unspecified inner determination. Yet her eyes seemed untouched by what had just transpired. They were clear and receptive, even warm, and Hawksworth asked himself at that moment if this bespoke innocence, or guile.In dress and adornment she scarcely differed from her maids. All had long black hair, brushed to gleaming and protected from the morning air with a transparent gossamer scarf edged in gold embroidery. At first glance there seemed little to distinguish among the tight strands of pearls each wore at the neck, or the jeweled bands on their wrists and upper arms. Each wore a tight silk halter for a blouse, and to Hawksworth's assessing eyes the maids all seemed to have abundant breasts swelling their halters to overflowing, some—perhaps all—with breasts more generous than the lady herself. Then he noted in amazement that the women actually wore a form of tapered silk trouser, a tight-legged pajama similar to that worn by aristocratic men.Unlike the male style, however, each woman's body was enveloped by a long transparent skirt, suspended from aband that circled her torso just beneath her breasts. And whereas men all wore a long scarf tied about the waist of their cloaks and hanging down the front, the women all had a long pleated panel tucked directly into the front waistband of their trousers and reaching almost to the ground. He could not help noticing that it clung sensually to their thighs as they walked, while its gold-embroidered hem tinkled against the gold bracelets each woman wore at her ankles. Their shoes were red Turkish leather, with gold decorations sewn across the top and a pointed toe that curved upward.The only difference between the lady and her maids seemed to be in the rich fabric of her lightly clinging trousers. Then, too, there was slightly more gold thread in her long transparent skirt, and among the pearls at her neck nestled an unmistakable blue sapphire as large as a walnut.But her primary distinction was not merely the classic lines of her face or the perfect curve of her waist and thighs, but rather something in her bearing, in her assured but unmannered carriage. Her real beauty lay in her breeding.All five women stared at Hawksworth in momentary surprise and shock. Then each maid automatically seized her transparent scarf and pulled it across her lower face. The woman also moved instinctively to do the same, but then she seemed to consciously stop herself and with an obvious attempt at restraint she walked on, barefaced, past the courtyard and into the garden beyond. Alone.Hawksworth watched her form disappear among the clipped hedges and elaborate marble pavilions of the garden. He noticed a curious sensation in his chest as she passed from view, and he suddenly found himself wanting very much to follow her. When he finally turned and looked back, the other women had already vanished.Only then did he realize that all the servants had been watching him. The one nearest nodded in the direction of the garden and smiled knowingly."Perhaps it will not surprise you, Sahib, to learn that she was once the favorite of the Moghul himself. And now she is in Surat. Amazing.""But why's she here?" Hawksworth glanced back at thegarden once more to assure himself she was indeed lost to its recesses."She is Shirin, the first wife of Khan Sahib." He moved closer to Hawksworth, so that his lowered voice would not reach the eunuchs. "She was removed from the Moghul’szenanaand married to Khan Sahib last year by Queen Janahara, just before Her Majesty had him appointed the governor of Surat. Some believe she appointed him here to remove Shirin from Agra, because she feared her." The servant's voice became a whisper. "We all know she has refused His Excellency the legal rights of a husband."The silence of the court was cut by the unmistakable voice of Mukarrab Khan, sounding in anger as he gave some command from within the palace. There followed a chorus of women's wails.Hawksworth turned to the servant, but the man read his inquiring glance."He has ordered the women whipped for disobeying his order to accompany Shirin at all times, even when she walks in the garden."Then the door opened again, and Mukarrab Khan strode into the morning sunshine."Captain Hawksworth,salaam. I trust Allah gave you rest.""I slept so well I find difficulty remembering all we said last night." Hawksworth watched him carefully. Will he honor his threat to deliver us to the Viceroy, for a trial at Goa?"It was an amusing evening. Hardly a time for weighty diplomatic exchange. And did you enjoy my little present?"Hawksworth pondered his question for a moment, and the drugged dream of the night before suddenly became real."You mean the woman? She was very . . . unusual, very different from the women of England.""Yes, I daresay. She was one of my final gifts from . . . Agra. I often have her entertain my guests. If you like, you may keep her while you stay with me. I already hear she fancies you. The serving women call her Kali, after a goddess from their infidel pantheon. I think that one's their deity of destruction.""Why did they give her that name?""Perhaps she'll tell you herself sometime." Mukarrab Khan gestured for a servant to bring his cloak. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I regret I must abandon you for a time. Among my least pleasant duties is a monthly journey to Cambay, our northern port in this province. It always requires almost a week, but I have no choice. Their Shahbandar would rob the Moghul’s treasury itself if he were not watched. But I think you'll enjoy yourself in my absence.""I would enjoy it more if I could be with my men.""And forgo the endless intrigues my Kali undoubtedly plans for you?" He monitored Hawksworth's unsettled expression. "Or perhaps it's a boy you'd prefer. Very well, if you wish you may even have . . .""I'm more interested in the safety of our merchants and seamen. And our cargo. I haven't seen the men since yesterday, at the customs house.""They're all quite well. I've lodged them with a port official who speaks Portuguese, which your Chief Merchant also seems to understand. I'm told, by the way, he's a thoroughly unpleasant specimen.""When can I see them?""Why any time you choose. You have only to speak to one of the eunuchs. But why trouble yourself today? Spend it here and rest. Perhaps enjoy the grounds and the garden. Tomorrow is time enough to re-enter the wearisome halls of commerce."Hawksworth decided that the time had come to raise the critical question. "And what about the Portugals? And their false charges?""I think that tiresome matter can beResolved with time. I've sent notice to the court in Agra, officially, that you wish to travel there. When the reply is received, matters can be settled. In the meantime, I must insist you stay here in the palace. It's a matter of your position. And frankly, your safety. The Portuguese do not always employ upright means to achieve their ends." He tightened his traveling cloak. "Don't worry yourself unduly. Just try to make the most of my humble hospitality. The palace grounds are at your disposal. Perhaps you'll find something in all this to engage your curiosity." Mukarrab Khan brushed away a fly from his cloak. "There's the garden. And if you're bored by that, then you might wish to examine the Persian observatory constructed by my predecessor. You're a seaman and, I presume, a navigator. Perhaps you can fathom how it all works. I've never been able to make anything out of it. Ask the servants to show you. Or just have sometariwine on the veranda and enjoy the view."He bowed with official decorum and was gone, his entourage of guards in tow.Hawksworth turned to see the servants waiting politely. The turbaned man, whose high forehead and noble visage were even more striking now in the direct sunshine, was dictating in a low voice to the others, discreetly translating Mukarrab Khan's orders into Hindi, the language that seemed common to all the servants."The palace and its grounds are at your disposal, Sahib." The servant with the large white turban stood waiting. "Our pleasure is to serve you.""I'd like to be alone for a while. To think about . . . to enjoy the beauty of the garden.""Of course. Sahib. Perhaps I could have the honor of being your guide.""I think I'd prefer to see it alone."The servant's dismay was transparent, but he merely bowed and immediately seemed to dissolve into the marble porticoes of the veranda, as did all the others.Hawksworth watched in amazement. They really do follow orders. Now if I can start to figure out this place. I don't need guides. All I need are my eyes. And luck.The garden spread out before him. Unlike the closely clipped geometry of the courtyard he had seen the night before, this was less formal and more natural, with a long waterway receding into the horizon. The pond was flanked by parallel arbors along each side, shading wide, paved walkways. He noticed there were no flowers, the main focus in an English garden, only gravel walks and the marble-tiled watercourse. The sense was one of sublime control.Several dark-skinned gardeners in loincloths were wading knee-deep in the shallow reservoir, adjusting the flow from bubbling fountains that spewed from its surface at geometrically regular spacings, while others were intently pruning—in what seemed a superfluous, almost compulsive act—the already immaculate hedges.As Hawksworth walked past, self-consciously trying to absorb a sense of place, the gardeners appraised him mutely with quick, flicking sweeps of their eyes. But none made any move to acknowledge his presence.The sun burned through the almost limitless sky, whose blue was polished to a ceramic glaze, and the air was clean and perfumed with nectar. The garden lay about him like a mosaic of naturalism perfected. Through the conspicuous hand of man, nature had been coerced, or charmed, to exquisite refinement.The gravel pathway ended abruptly as he reached the pond's far shore, terminated by a row of marble flagstones. Beyond lay geometrical arbors of fruit-laden trees— mangoes, apples, pears, lemons, and even oranges. Hawksworth tightened his new robe about his waist and entered one of the orchard's many pathways, marveling.I've found the Garden of Eden.The rows of trees spread out in perfect regularity, squared as carefully as the columns of the palace verandas and organized by species of fruit. As he explored the man-made forest, he began to find its regularity satisfying and curiously calming. Then in the distance, over the treetops, a high stone wall came into view, and from beyond could be heard the splashes of men laboring in the moat. He realized he had reached the farthest extent of the palace grounds.As he neared the wall, the orchard gave way to an abandoned clearing in whose center stood a moss-covered marble stairway projecting upward into space, leading nowhere. The original polish on its steps was now buried in layers of dust and overgrowth.Was there once a villa here? But where's the . . . ?Then he saw the rest. Curving upward on either side of the stairway was a moss-covered band of marble over two feet wide and almost twenty feet in length, concave, etched, and numbered.It's some sort of sundial. But it's enormous.He turned and realized he was standing next to yet another stone instrument, a round plaque in red and white marble, like the dial of a water clock, on which Persian symbols for the zodiac had been inscribed. And beyond that was the remains of a circular building, perforated with dozens of doorways, with a tall pillar in the middle. Next to it was a shallow marble well, half a hemisphere sunk into the ground, with precise gradations etched all across the bottom.Hawksworth walked in among the marble instruments, his astonishment growing. They were all etched to a precision he had never before seen in stone.This observatory is incredible. The sundial is obvious, even if the purpose of the stairway over its center isn't. But what's the round vertical plaque? Or that round building there, and the curious marble well? Could those be some sort of Persian astrolabe, like navigators use to estimate latitude by fixing the elevation of the sun or stars?What are they all for? Some to fix stars? Others to predict eclipses? But there has to be more. These are for observation. Which means there have to be charts. Or computations? Or something.It's said the Persians once mastered a level of mathematics and astronomy far beyond anything known in Europe. Is this some forgotten outpost of that time? Just waiting to be rediscovered?He turned and examined the instruments again, finding himself wondering for an instant if they could somehow be hoisted aboard theDiscoveryand returned to England.And if the observatory's still here, perhaps the charts are here somewhere too.His excitement mounted as he searched the rest of the clearing. Then he saw what he wanted.It has to be there.Abutting the stone wall was a small hut of rough-hewn stone, with slatted windows and a weathered wooden door that was wedged ajar, its base permanently encrusted in the dried mud of the rainy season. The wall behind was so weathered that the metal spikes along its top had actually rusted away.This whole place must have been deserted for years. What a waste.As he approached the weathered stone hut, he tried to dampen his own hopes.How can there be anything left? Who knows how long it's been abandoned? And even if there are calculations—or maybe even books!—they're most likely written in Persian. Or Arabic.He took hold of the rotting door, which left a layer of decaying wood on his hand, and wrenched it open wider, kicking a path for its base through the crusted mud. Then he slipped sideways through the opening.A stifled, startled cry cut the dense air of the hut, and an oil lamp glowing in the black was smothered in a single movement. Then came a woman's voice."You're not allowed here. Servants are forbidden beyond the orchard." She had begun in Persian, then repeated herself in Hindi."Who are you?" Hawksworth, startled by the unknown languages, began in English and then switched to Turkish. "I thought . . .""The Englishferinghi." The voice suddenly found control, and its Turki was flawless. "You were in the courtyard this morning." She advanced slowly toward the shaft of light from the doorway. "What are you doing here? Khan Sahib could have you killed if the eunuchs discover you."He watched as her face emerged from the shadows. Then his heart skipped.It was Shirin."The govern . . . Khan Sahib told me about this observatory. He said I . . .""Stars do not shine in the day, nor the sun in this room. What are you doing in here?""I thought there might be charts, or a library." Hawksworth heard his own voice echo against the raw stone walls of the room. He studied her face in the half light, realizing with a shock that she was even more striking now than in the sunshine of the garden."Did he also tell you to plunder all you find in the palace grounds?""He said I might find the observatory curious, as a navigator. He was right. But there must be some charts. I thought this room might . . .""There are some old papers here. Perhaps he thought this place would keep you occupied. Or test you one more time.""What do you mean?"She answered with a hard laugh, then circled Hawksworth and examined him in the glancing morning light. Her dark hair was backlighted now from the sun streaming through the doorway, her gauze head scarf glistening like spun gold."Yes, you're aferinghi. Just like all the rest." Her eyes flashed. "How many more like you are there in Europe? Enough, I would guess, to amuse our debauched governor forever.""I didn't double the Cape for his amusement. Or yours." What's the matter? Everybody talks in riddles. "Does this room have a library?""Yes, but the writings are in Persian. Which you don't understand.""How do you know what I understand?"She looked at him with open astonishment. "Do you suppose there's anyone in the palace who doesn't already know all about you?""And what do you know about me?"Silence held the room for a moment. Then she spoke."I know you're aferinghi. Like the Portuguese. Here for gold. And . . . the rest." She turned and walked back into the darkness. There was a spark of light and the lamp glowed again. "As for this room, there's nothing here you would understand. And when you return to the palace, and to His Excellency'saffionand hisnautchgirls, remember what happens to a man who is discovered with another's wife. I will forget I saw you here. You should forget also, if you wish to see the sun tomorrow."Hawksworth found himself watching her spellbound, almost not hearing her words. He stood motionless for a moment, then walked directly toward her, trying not to feel self-conscious in his new Moghul clothes. "I want to talk with you. To find out what's going on. I'll begin with this place. It's an observatory, or was. What harm can there be in looking around this room?"She stared at him without moving. "You certainly have aferinghi’s manner. If you won't leave, then I'll ask you some questions. What do you say is your reason for coming to India? It's rumored you're here for the English king.""What else have you heard?""Other things as well." She moved closer and her perfume enveloped him. Her eyes were intense, almost overwhelming the jewel at her throat. "But I'd like to hear them from you. There's much dismay about you, about the battle, about the letter."Hawksworth studied her wistfully. "You know about the letter?""Of course. Everyone knows." She sighed at his naivete. "The contents of your chest were examined very carefully last night . . . but no one dared touch the seal on the letter, for fear of the Moghul. Is it true the English king may send an armada to attack Goa?""And if it were?""It could make a great deal of difference. To many people here.""Who?""People who matter.""The only one who should matter is the Moghul."She laughed again. "He's the very last one who matters. I see you comprehend very little." She paused and examined him closely. "But you're an interesting man. We all listened to you play the English sitar last night. And today the first place you chose to come was here. You're the firstferinghiever to seek out this place, which was once famous throughout India. Did you truly come here this morning just to learn?""I haven't learned very much so far. At least in this room." He looked about them, noticing for the first time a small table on which there was a book and fresh writings. "You've not told what you're doing here. Or why you can come here when the servants are forbidden.""Servants once tried to steal some of the marble steps for a house. But the reason I come here is not really your concern, Captain Hawksworth. . . ." She caught his startled look and laughed. "Of course I know your name. I also know you should learn not to drinkbhangwith Kali. She's more than your equal."Hawksworth stifled his embarrassment and tried to ignore the barb. "There surely must be charts here. What harm if I merely look around?"Shirin stiffened. "Not now. Not today. You have to leave.""But are there calculations, or charts?""More than likely. But I told you they're in Persian.""Then maybe you could translate.""I could. But not today. I've told you, you have to leave. Really you must." She pushed the door open wider and stood waiting."I'll be back." He paused in the doorway and turned. "Will you be here tomorrow?""Possibly.""Then I'll be back for sure."She looked at him and shook her head resignedly. "You truly don't realize how dangerous it is for you to come here.""Are you afraid?""I'm always afraid. You should be too." She studied him in the sunshine, examining his eyes, and for a moment her face softened slightly. "But if you do come, will you bring your English sitar? I'd like very much to hear it once more.""And what will you do for me in return?"She laughed. "I'll try to excavate some musty Persian books here that might tell you something about the observatory. But remember. No one must ever know. Now, please." She urged him out, then reached and pulled the door tightly closed.Hawksworth suddenly realized the heat had grown intense, and now the sun cut a sharp line down the face of the red marble dial, telling that midmorning approached. He examined the dial quickly and then turned to look again at the stone hut.With the door closed, the ramshackle hut again looked completely deserted.What in Christ's name can she be doing? No matter, she's astonishing. And there's something in the way she handles herself. Little wonder she was the favorite concubine, or whatever they call it, of the Moghul. And it's easy to see why his queen married her off to Mukarrab Khan and sent them both here to get her out of the way. A clever way to banish . . .Hawksworth froze.That's the word the pilot Karim used! From the Quran. "As for women from whom you fear rebellion, banish them to . . . beds apart."Could this be the woman he meant? But what rebellion? Whatever's going on, nobody's talking. All I see are armed guards. And fear. This palace is like a jewel-set dagger-exquisite, and deadly.He stared again at the moss-covered marble instruments.But I'll be back. If she'll be here, absolutely nothing could stop me.CHAPTER NINEThe twochitahstensed at the same instant and pulled taut the chains on their jewel-studded collars. They were tawny, dark-spotted Indian hunting leopards, and they rode in carpeted litters, one on each side of the elephant's back. Each wore a brocade saddlecloth signifying its rank, and now both began to flick the black-and-white striped tips of their tails in anticipation.Prince Jadar caught their motion and reined in his dun stallion; the bright morning sunshine glanced off his freshly oiled olive skin and highlighted the crevices of his lean angular face and his tightly trimmed short beard. He wore a forest-green hunting turban, secured with a heavy strand of pearls, and a dark green jacket emblazoned with his own royal crest. His fifty-man Rajput guard had drawn alongside, and their horses tossed their heads and pawed impatiently, rattling the arrows in the brocade quivers by each man's saddle.Then Jadar spotted thenilgai, large bovine Indian deer, grazing in a herd upwind near the base of a low-lying hill. With a flick of his hand he signaled the keepers who rode alongside the  to begin removing the leopards' saddlecloths. He watched as first the male and then the female shook themselves and stretched their paws in readiness."Fifty rupees the male will make the first kill." Jadar spoke quietly to Vasant Rao, the moustachioed young Rajput captain who rode alongside. The commander of the prince's personal guards, he was the only man in India Jadar trusted fully."Then give me two hundred on the female, Highness.""A hundred. And half the hides for your regiment's shield maker." Jadar turned toward the waiting keepers. "Release the female. Then count to a hundred and release the male."In moments thechitahswere bulleting toward the unsuspecting deer, darting from bush to bush, occasionally kicking up dust with their forefeet and hind legs to create camouflage. Then, as they approached the final clearing, they suddenly parted—the female to the north, the male to the south. Seconds later, as though on some private signal, the female sprang. She seemed to cover the remaining twenty yards in less than a second, and before thenilgairealized she was there, she had already pawed down a bleating straggler.The striped ears of the othernilgaishot erect at the sound, and the herd panicked, sweeping blindly away from her—and directly toward the cover where the male crouched. He waited coolly, and then, as the deer darted by, pounced.What followed was a fearsome devastation, as he brought down one after another of the confused prey with his powerful claws."The female killed first, Highness. I assume our bet was in gold coins, not silver." Vasant Rao laughed lightly and turned to study the brooding man at his side. Can it be true what many suspect about the prince? he again found himself wondering. That he choses his strategy for a campaign from the final hunt of hischitahs!But what strategy is left for us? The Deccanis have already reclaimed the city of Ahmadnagar, deep in their territory, and once again made it their rebel capital. They drove the Moghul garrison north to the fort at Burhanpur, and now they threaten that city as well, the most important station in the vital route between Agra and Surat. We haven't the men and horse to turn them back. Not this time.This was Prince Jadar's second campaign in the Deccan, India's revolt-torn central plains, which lay far south of Agra and east of the port of Surat, and the second time he had led his army to regain cities lost to Malik Ambar, the Abyssinian adventurer and military genius who periodically rose to lead the Deccan against Moghul rule. The Deccan had never been secure, even under the Moghurs father, Akman, but under Arangbar it had become a burial ground of reputation. One of the Moghurs finest generals, whose dispatches from Ahmadnagar, only the previous year, had boasted that the Deccan was finally subdued, now cowered in the fortress at Burhanpur. Arangbar had no choice but to send Jadar again."Did you see how they planned their attack?" Jadar fingered the edges of his short beard, then pointed. "She drove them toward his trap. By attacking the weak, she frightened the strong, who flew to their doom.""We're not facingnilgai, Highness." Vasant Rao shifted in his saddle to face the prince and shielded his eyes against the sun. "And our position is much worse than on the last campaign. This time we have only eighteen thousand men, all encamped here at Ujjain, all weary to their bones from our siege at the Kangra, north in the Punjab, and then the long march down country. While Malik Ambar waits rested and secure in Ahmadnagar, his own capital, a two months' march south.""We'll bring Ambar to terms just as before, three years ago. By fear."Jadar watched as the keepers began measuring the rations of meat to reward thechitahs. And he reflected over the secret envoy received early that morning from the commander of the fortress at Mandu, the northern outpost of the Deccan. . . ."Your Highness is respectfully advised the situation is worse, much worse, than told in the reports sent by Ghulam Adl." They were alone in Jadar's tent and the envoy was on his knees, prostrate, terrified at his obligation to bring ill tidings to the son of the Moghul. Ghulam Adl was the general in charge of the Deccan, who had abandoned Ahmadnagar to Malik Ambar and retreated north to Burhanpur. His official reports still maintained an air of bravado, claiming a few reinforcements were all that was required to drive the rebels to final extinction."We have asked Ghulam Adl for troops to help defend Mandu, but he cannot leave Burhanpur," the envoy continued. "The Deccanis have surrounded the city, but they do not trouble themselves with a siege. They know he cannot move. So they have sent eight thousand light cavalry, Maratha irregulars, north across the Narbada River to plunder outlying districts. They are approaching Mandu, and will be at the fortress within the week.""Why doesn't Ghulam Adl call up troops from among themansabdars. They've all been granted their annual allowance for maintenance of cavalry."Mansabdarswere nobles of the Moghul empire who had been given rank by the Moghul and were allowed to collect revenue from a specified number of estates and villages, allotted lands calledjagirs, as a reward for service and loyalty. They collected taxes for the Imperial treasury in Agra, which allowed them a portion to maintain cavalry and equipage at the ready. Assignment of ajagiralways carried the responsibility of maintaining a specified number of troops and cavalry, which they were obliged to muster when requested by the Moghul."Themansabdarshave no men to muster, may it please Your Highness." The envoy's face was buried in the carpet, showing to Jadar only the dust-covered back of his turban. "Conditions have been severe over the past year. Crops have been bad, and manymansabdarscould not collect taxes because of the Deccani raids. Many have not paid their cavalry for over a year. Themansabdarsstill feed the horses that have been branded and placed in their care. But they have not fed the men who must ride. Most of those have returned to their villages. There can be no army without coin to lure them back. Themansabdarsare fearful of Malik Ambar now, and many have secretly agreed with him not to muster even the troops they still have.""How many Deccani troops are encamped around Burhanpur?""Our spies report as many as eighty thousand, Highness. Ghulam Adl dares not leave the fort in the center of the city. He has no more than five thousand men still remaining loyal, and his supplies are short."Jadar had ordered immediate solitary confinement for the envoy, lest the news reach the camp. Now, watching hischitahsfeed, he calculated his next move.I have to requisition silver coin from the treasury at Agra, and hope a supply caravan can still get through. In the meantime I'll muster the remaining cavalry from themansabdars, on the threat theirjagirswill be confiscated if they fail to deliver. It won't raise many men, but it will slow defections.But if we're to recall the men still loyal, we must have silver. To raise the thirty thousand men we need, men who've not been paid for a year, will require at least five million rupees, fiftylakhs. I must have it by the time we reach Burhanpur. If we can hold that city, we can raise the army from there."Malik Ambar sued for peace three years ago because his alliance came apart." Vasant Rao spoke again, watching Jadar carefully, knowing that the prince was deeply troubled, had imprisoned a courier that very morning for which there could only be one reason—then released pigeons that flew north."And his alliance will come apart again. If we sow enough fear." Jadar seemed annoyed at the delay as the waitingchitahswere re-harnessed and the last carcasses of bluenilgaiwere loaded onto the ox-drawn wagons for return to the camp. "You still haven't learned to think like achitah."Jadar signaled the hunt was finished and wheeled his horse back toward the camp. Vasant Rao rode a few paces behind, asking himself how long that regal head would remain on those royal shoulders.You're threatened now on every side. You cannot be as oblivious as you seem.He thought back over Prince Jadar's career. Of the Moghul’s four sons, Prince Jadar was the obvious one to succeed. Jadar's elder brother Khusrav had been blinded by the Moghul years before for attempting a palace revolt. Jadar's brother Parwaz, also older than the prince, was a notorious drunkard and unacceptably dissolute, even by the lax standards of the Moghul’s court. And Jadar's younger brother, Allaudin, was the handsome but witless son of a concubine, who well deserved his secret nickname, Nashu-dani, "the good-for-nothing." Since there was no law in India that the oldest must automatically succeed, power devolved to the fittest. Only Jadar, son of a royal Rajput mother, could lead an army, or rule India. Among the Moghul’s four sons, he was the obvious, deserving heir.But ability alone was never enough to ensure success in the mire of palace intrigue. One must also have a powerful friend.For years Prince Jadar had the most powerful friend of all.The grooming of Jadar for office had begun over five years earlier, when he was taken under the protection of Queen Janahara. She had made herself the guardian of Jadar's interests at court; and two years ago she had induced the Moghul to elevate Jadar'smansab, his honorary rank, to twelve thousandzat. In income and prestige he had soared far beyond his brothers.As is always the case, Jadar was expected to repay his obligation. On the day he ascended to the throne and assumed power from the ailing, opium-sotted Arangbar, he was expected to share that power with Queen Janahara.But their unofficial alliance had begun to go wrong. Very wrong. And what had gone wrong was the most obvious problem of all. Jadar had lived half his life in army camps, fighting the Moghul’s wars because he was the only son who could fight them, and he no longer saw any reason to relinquish his battle-earned inheritance to the queen.What will the queen do? Vasant Rao asked himself again. I know she has turned on the prince. I know she tried to marry her Persian daughter to Jadar's blinded brother Khusrav, but Jadar discovered this and demanded Khusrav be sent out of Agra, to be kept in confinement by a raja loyal to the prince. But the queen is still in Agra, and sooner or later she will produce another successor, a creature she can dominate. Her task will be easy if Jadar fails in this campaign."I have reports Maratha irregulars may be at the fort at Mandu within a week." Jadar broke the silence between them as they rode. The noisy Rajput horsemen rode discreetly well behind, cursing, laughing, wagering. The flawless blue sky seemed to cloud as Jadar spoke. "Tell me what you would do?""Strike camp and march south. We have no choice.""Sometimes you Rajputs show less wit than your monkey god, Hanumanji." Jadar laughed good-naturedly. "You learned nothing from the hunt today. Don't you see that would merely scatter them? They'll never dare meet us if we march in force. They'll only stage small raids. Harass our baggage train. No, we must do just the opposite." Jadar reined in his horse, turned to Vasant Rao, and lowered his voice. "Think like achitahfor once, not like an impulsive Rajput. We'll send a small cavalry force only—five hundred horse, you will help me pick them—who will disperse, ride separately, never show their numbers. Like achitahstalks. No supply contingent. No elephants. No wagons. And, after the Marathas have set their siege at Mandu, our cavalry will quietly group and attack their flank. As they fall back, which they always do when facing a disciplined unit, the cavalry in the fort will ride out in force, forming the second arm of a pincer. And that will be the last we see of Malik Ambar's famous Maratha irregulars. They'll return to pillaging baggage trains and helpless villages.""And after that?""We'll march directly on Burhanpur. We should reach it in less than a month.""The Marathas will begin to harass our supply trains as soon as we cross the Narbada River. If they don't attack us while we cross.""After Mandu, that's the one thing they will not do. Remember thechitahs. The Marathas will never know where our Mandu cavalry may be waiting in ambush.""And when we reach Burhanpur?""We'll make our camp there, and muster cavalry from all themansabdars." Jadar passed over how he intended to do this. "That will be the end of Ambar's many alliances. We'll have the men we need to march in force on the south, on to Ahmadnagar, within the week. And Malik Ambar will sue for peace and return the territory he's seized, just like before."Vasant Rao nodded in silent acknowledgment, asking himself what the prince was withholding. The strategy was far too straightforward for Jadar.The camp was coming into view now. A vast movable city, it was easily several miles in circuit. Even from afar, however, Jadar's massive central tent dominated. It was bright red and stationed in the center of thegulal bar, a restricted central zone almost two hundred yards on the side that formed the focal point of the camp. Behind Jadar's tent, separated by a figured satin partition, were the red chintz tents of the women, where his first wife, Mumtaz, and her attendants stayed. Directly in front of Jadar's tent was a canopied platform with four massive corner pillars, called thesarachah, where Jadar held private briefings.The entiregulalbarwas sealed from common view by ahigh cloth wall. Near the entrance to Jadar's enclosure was the camp artillery, including the cannon, and the tents of the lead horses and war elephants. Its entry was guarded by mounted horsemen, and next to these were the tents for Jadar's leopards. Around the perimeter were the striped tents of the nobles and officers, whose respective colors flew above for easy identification. And spreading out from each officer's tent were the tents of his men, their wives, and their bazaar. The camp itself was laid out with such consistent precision that a soldier might easily find his tent in total darkness, regardless of where the army might be.As Jadar dismounted at the entry to the gulal bar and strode toward his tent, his mind sorted through the moves that lay ahead. He had notified the Moghul of the envoy's secret report and asked for five million rupees in silver coin. It was the price for the Deccan. Surely he could not refuse. Arangbar's own administrators, who were supposed to monitor the mansabdars, were to blame.There were also other, new and disquieting, complexities. Word had come through Surat only the day before that the Portuguese were secretly planning to arm Malik Ambar. Why? It was common knowledge they feared and hated Jadar, because he distrusted all Christians and said so. And they certainly were aware that if he should someday unite the rebel-infested province of Gujarat, where their ports of Daimon and Diu were situated, he would undoubtedly try to regain these ports for India. But they would not dare to openly, or even secretly, support rebels within the Moghul empire unless they were sure there would be no reprisals from Agra. Which meant they had powerful accomplices in court. Accomplices who would venture to endanger the empire itself to ruin Jadar.Whose interests in Agra were served if the Deccan remained in turmoil? If Jadar were kept occupied and harried in the south?The question virtually answered itself.If this were not perplexing enough, news had arrived two days before telling of an incredible incident. Two merchant frigates of another European nation, calling themselves English, had appeared off the bar of Surat. And humiliated four Portuguese warships. Jadar had released pigeons for Surat immediately, ordering that the English be protected until he could determine their intentions.The dispatch received the following morning, yesterday, reported that his orders had been timely. A Portuguese ambush of the English as they came up the Tapti River had been averted, by Rajputs using arrows stolen from the governor's own guard. And this morning there had been another message from Surat, with news that the governor had sent the Moghul a dispatch claiming credit for the action—this only after he discovered the English captain had gifts for Arangbar!But who knew the intentions of the captain of this English fleet? Or the content of a letter he had brought for the Moghul. Reports said only that he was "quartered" in the governor's palace. Where he could no longer be protected. . . .His eunuchs bowed and relayed an urgent message from Mumtaz. His wife begged to receive His Highness the moment he returned.Without entering his own tent, Jadar proceeded through the circle of guards protecting the women's quarters. Mumtaz was waiting, surrounded by two of her women and the now-constant midwife. She was almost to term with Jadar's third child. The first two had been daughters. His first thought when he saw her was that this birth must be male. Merciful Allah, make this a son.Mumtaz's gleaming black hair had been tightly braided, and she wore a shawl and trousers of gold-threaded silk. She had a pronounced fondness for gold and silk: few other luxuries were to be found in the army camps that had been her home for most of their marriage. Mumtaz's features were delicate, with high Persian cheeks, and she was well over thirty—the age at which most Muslim women ceased to interest their mates. But she had found ways to remain the center of Jadar's life, if not dominate it.The flash of her eyes told Jadar she was in an extreme temper."Pigeons arrived just after you left. The report from Agrais astonishing.""What 'report' do you mean? Do you and your women receive my dispatches now?""Which are rarely worth the bother. No, I receive my own. From Father." Mumtaz was the daughter of Nadir Sharif, prime minister of the Moghul empire and brother of Queen Janahara. "I had the sense to leave him pigeons for here at Ujjain. And also for Burhanpur . . . which may prove to be vital for you, assuming that city is not overrun by Deccanis by the time you reach it.""What message did Nadir Sharif ever send that wasn't dictated by our noble queen?""You're a fool not to trust him. But you'd do well to begin. And soon." Mumtaz's eyes snapped momentary fire, matching the hard red jewel on her forehead, and she eased herself slowly onto a well-traveled velvet bolster to lighten the weight of the child. "I think you'll discover your many friends may be difficult to find if we ever return to the capital."

The man was scrubbing away at Hawksworth's mouth— tongue, gums, teeth—using a dentifrice that tasted like burnt almond shells. Next he offered a mint-flavored mouth rinse to remove the debris.

The turbaned man then inspected Hawksworth critically from several sides, finally venturing to speak.

"If I may suggest, a bit ofcollyrium, castor oil darkened with lampblack, would render your eyes much more striking." Without waiting for confirmation, he applied a few quick strokes to Hawksworth's eyelids, much as an artist might touch up a canvas.

Then one of the eunuchs stepped forward and supplied a silver tray to the turbaned servants. On it were folded garments: a tight-fitting pair of blue trousers, a patterned shirt, and a knee-length coat of thin, peach-colored muslin. They dressed Hawksworth quickly, and then secured a patterned sash about his waist. Waiting on the floor were leather slippers, low-quartered with a curved toe and a bent-down back.

"What have you done with my doublet and breeches? And my boots?"

"They are being cleaned today, Sahib. You may have them again when you wish. But you may prefer to wear our garments while our guest." The turbaned man bowed again, then he moved away and held a long mirror for Hawksworth to examine himself.

"Have we pleased you, Sahib?"

Hawksworth scarcely recognized himself. He had been transformed from a rank but honest seaman into a Moghul noble—youthful, smooth-skinned, smelling of spice. The soreness was banished from his limbs, and even his wound had all but disappeared. His hair was clean and completely dark, and his skin glowed. And his new clothes were more elaborate than anything he had ever worn.

"Now if you will please follow us to the garden. Khan Sahib has suggested you begin your day with sometariwine."

Hawksworth followed the men through the shuttered doorway into the open courtyard. The morning sun now illuminated the tops of a large grove of palm trees that circled an open cistern. He quickly surveyed the buildings, hoping to gain his bearings.

So I've been quartered in one of the side buildings, off the main palace. But there are many, many rooms. Who's living here?

A group of servants stood waiting at the base of one of the palms. When they saw Hawksworth, they mobilized to action. One young man among them, wearing a white wrap around his lower torso, immediately secured his belt and began to shimmy up the leaning palm. When he reached the top he locked his legs around the trunk and carefully detached an earthen pot that hung beneath an incision in the bark of the tree. Balancing the pot in one hand, he stretched and nimbly pulled off a number of leaves from the tree and then lowered himself carrying his load. The moment his feet touched ground he raced toward the veranda and delivered the pot and leaves to a waiting eunuch.

Hawksworth watched as the eunuchs first inspected the items and then ordered them prepared. The leaves were washed thoroughly with water from the cistern and then folded into natural cups. The liquor from the pot was strained through muslin into a crystal decanter and the earthen receptacle discarded. Then one of the turbaned servants poured a large portion of the liquor from the decanter into a palm-leaf cup and offered it to Hawksworth.

"It'stariwine, Sahib. One of the pleasures of early morning in India." His matter-of-fact manner could not entirely hide his pride. "Palm wine makes itself overnight. It does not last out the day. When the sun shines the trees only give off vinegar."

Hawksworth gingerly sipped the newly fermented palm sap and was pleasantly surprised by its light flavor, totally unlike ale, or even Canary wine. After the third cup, the world around began to acquire a light sparkle of its own, and he realized the sap was more potent than it seemed.

"Not a bad way to start the day. What do you call it?"

"It comes from thetaripalm, and sometopiwallahscall it Toddy.'"

"Toddy, it's called? It's more than passable grog."

"Thank you, Sahib. Drink too much and you will spend the day with your head in a buzz." The servant giggled. "So now perhaps you should eat."

He consulted briefly with the eunuchs, who nodded and signaled toward the veranda. Moments later a tray appeared, piled high with honey-covered breads and glass dishes of sweet curds. Some hard cheese also had found its way onto the tray, and Hawksworth wondered if this was to placate his European taste. He sipped more of the Toddy and munched the bread and curds.

Then he saw the women.

There were five. They seemed clustered in a group as they entered the courtyard, but then he realized it was an aristocratic lady surrounded by four maids. They did not know he was there, for none covered her face. As he watched them they seemed preoccupied in an increasingly animated exchange. Then the aristocratic woman stepped determinedly ahead, turned, and curtly gave instructions whose seriousness was clear, even if her words were foreign. Her voice was not strident, but its authority was unmistakable.

The other women paused, then slowly, one by one, they seemed to acknowledge her orders and they bowed. The lady whirled and continued on her way, while the other four women turned toward the direction they had come. Then, as though the resolution of the argument had suddenly made them aware of their surroundings, they all seemed to see Hawksworth at once. All five women froze.

Hawksworth smiled and tried to remember the bow he had seen performed to him so often. But he could not remove his eyes from the first woman, who was more striking than any he had ever before seen. Her skin was fair, with a warm hint of olive, and her high cheekbones stood in stunning relief as they glanced away the golden light of dawn. Her nose was thin and sculptured, while her lips would have been full, had they not been drawn tight in response to some unspecified inner determination. Yet her eyes seemed untouched by what had just transpired. They were clear and receptive, even warm, and Hawksworth asked himself at that moment if this bespoke innocence, or guile.

In dress and adornment she scarcely differed from her maids. All had long black hair, brushed to gleaming and protected from the morning air with a transparent gossamer scarf edged in gold embroidery. At first glance there seemed little to distinguish among the tight strands of pearls each wore at the neck, or the jeweled bands on their wrists and upper arms. Each wore a tight silk halter for a blouse, and to Hawksworth's assessing eyes the maids all seemed to have abundant breasts swelling their halters to overflowing, some—perhaps all—with breasts more generous than the lady herself. Then he noted in amazement that the women actually wore a form of tapered silk trouser, a tight-legged pajama similar to that worn by aristocratic men.

Unlike the male style, however, each woman's body was enveloped by a long transparent skirt, suspended from a

band that circled her torso just beneath her breasts. And whereas men all wore a long scarf tied about the waist of their cloaks and hanging down the front, the women all had a long pleated panel tucked directly into the front waistband of their trousers and reaching almost to the ground. He could not help noticing that it clung sensually to their thighs as they walked, while its gold-embroidered hem tinkled against the gold bracelets each woman wore at her ankles. Their shoes were red Turkish leather, with gold decorations sewn across the top and a pointed toe that curved upward.

The only difference between the lady and her maids seemed to be in the rich fabric of her lightly clinging trousers. Then, too, there was slightly more gold thread in her long transparent skirt, and among the pearls at her neck nestled an unmistakable blue sapphire as large as a walnut.

But her primary distinction was not merely the classic lines of her face or the perfect curve of her waist and thighs, but rather something in her bearing, in her assured but unmannered carriage. Her real beauty lay in her breeding.

All five women stared at Hawksworth in momentary surprise and shock. Then each maid automatically seized her transparent scarf and pulled it across her lower face. The woman also moved instinctively to do the same, but then she seemed to consciously stop herself and with an obvious attempt at restraint she walked on, barefaced, past the courtyard and into the garden beyond. Alone.

Hawksworth watched her form disappear among the clipped hedges and elaborate marble pavilions of the garden. He noticed a curious sensation in his chest as she passed from view, and he suddenly found himself wanting very much to follow her. When he finally turned and looked back, the other women had already vanished.

Only then did he realize that all the servants had been watching him. The one nearest nodded in the direction of the garden and smiled knowingly.

"Perhaps it will not surprise you, Sahib, to learn that she was once the favorite of the Moghul himself. And now she is in Surat. Amazing."

"But why's she here?" Hawksworth glanced back at the

garden once more to assure himself she was indeed lost to its recesses.

"She is Shirin, the first wife of Khan Sahib." He moved closer to Hawksworth, so that his lowered voice would not reach the eunuchs. "She was removed from the Moghul’szenanaand married to Khan Sahib last year by Queen Janahara, just before Her Majesty had him appointed the governor of Surat. Some believe she appointed him here to remove Shirin from Agra, because she feared her." The servant's voice became a whisper. "We all know she has refused His Excellency the legal rights of a husband."

The silence of the court was cut by the unmistakable voice of Mukarrab Khan, sounding in anger as he gave some command from within the palace. There followed a chorus of women's wails.

Hawksworth turned to the servant, but the man read his inquiring glance.

"He has ordered the women whipped for disobeying his order to accompany Shirin at all times, even when she walks in the garden."

Then the door opened again, and Mukarrab Khan strode into the morning sunshine.

"Captain Hawksworth,salaam. I trust Allah gave you rest."

"I slept so well I find difficulty remembering all we said last night." Hawksworth watched him carefully. Will he honor his threat to deliver us to the Viceroy, for a trial at Goa?

"It was an amusing evening. Hardly a time for weighty diplomatic exchange. And did you enjoy my little present?"

Hawksworth pondered his question for a moment, and the drugged dream of the night before suddenly became real.

"You mean the woman? She was very . . . unusual, very different from the women of England."

"Yes, I daresay. She was one of my final gifts from . . . Agra. I often have her entertain my guests. If you like, you may keep her while you stay with me. I already hear she fancies you. The serving women call her Kali, after a goddess from their infidel pantheon. I think that one's their deity of destruction."

"Why did they give her that name?"

"Perhaps she'll tell you herself sometime." Mukarrab Khan gestured for a servant to bring his cloak. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I regret I must abandon you for a time. Among my least pleasant duties is a monthly journey to Cambay, our northern port in this province. It always requires almost a week, but I have no choice. Their Shahbandar would rob the Moghul’s treasury itself if he were not watched. But I think you'll enjoy yourself in my absence."

"I would enjoy it more if I could be with my men."

"And forgo the endless intrigues my Kali undoubtedly plans for you?" He monitored Hawksworth's unsettled expression. "Or perhaps it's a boy you'd prefer. Very well, if you wish you may even have . . ."

"I'm more interested in the safety of our merchants and seamen. And our cargo. I haven't seen the men since yesterday, at the customs house."

"They're all quite well. I've lodged them with a port official who speaks Portuguese, which your Chief Merchant also seems to understand. I'm told, by the way, he's a thoroughly unpleasant specimen."

"When can I see them?"

"Why any time you choose. You have only to speak to one of the eunuchs. But why trouble yourself today? Spend it here and rest. Perhaps enjoy the grounds and the garden. Tomorrow is time enough to re-enter the wearisome halls of commerce."

Hawksworth decided that the time had come to raise the critical question. "And what about the Portugals? And their false charges?"

"I think that tiresome matter can beResolved with time. I've sent notice to the court in Agra, officially, that you wish to travel there. When the reply is received, matters can be settled. In the meantime, I must insist you stay here in the palace. It's a matter of your position. And frankly, your safety. The Portuguese do not always employ upright means to achieve their ends." He tightened his traveling cloak. "Don't worry yourself unduly. Just try to make the most of my humble hospitality. The palace grounds are at your disposal. Perhaps you'll find something in all this to engage your curiosity." Mukarrab Khan brushed away a fly from his cloak. "There's the garden. And if you're bored by that, then you might wish to examine the Persian observatory constructed by my predecessor. You're a seaman and, I presume, a navigator. Perhaps you can fathom how it all works. I've never been able to make anything out of it. Ask the servants to show you. Or just have sometariwine on the veranda and enjoy the view."

He bowed with official decorum and was gone, his entourage of guards in tow.

Hawksworth turned to see the servants waiting politely. The turbaned man, whose high forehead and noble visage were even more striking now in the direct sunshine, was dictating in a low voice to the others, discreetly translating Mukarrab Khan's orders into Hindi, the language that seemed common to all the servants.

"The palace and its grounds are at your disposal, Sahib." The servant with the large white turban stood waiting. "Our pleasure is to serve you."

"I'd like to be alone for a while. To think about . . . to enjoy the beauty of the garden."

"Of course. Sahib. Perhaps I could have the honor of being your guide."

"I think I'd prefer to see it alone."

The servant's dismay was transparent, but he merely bowed and immediately seemed to dissolve into the marble porticoes of the veranda, as did all the others.

Hawksworth watched in amazement. They really do follow orders. Now if I can start to figure out this place. I don't need guides. All I need are my eyes. And luck.

The garden spread out before him. Unlike the closely clipped geometry of the courtyard he had seen the night before, this was less formal and more natural, with a long waterway receding into the horizon. The pond was flanked by parallel arbors along each side, shading wide, paved walkways. He noticed there were no flowers, the main focus in an English garden, only gravel walks and the marble-tiled watercourse. The sense was one of sublime control.

Several dark-skinned gardeners in loincloths were wading knee-deep in the shallow reservoir, adjusting the flow from bubbling fountains that spewed from its surface at geometrically regular spacings, while others were intently pruning—in what seemed a superfluous, almost compulsive act—the already immaculate hedges.

As Hawksworth walked past, self-consciously trying to absorb a sense of place, the gardeners appraised him mutely with quick, flicking sweeps of their eyes. But none made any move to acknowledge his presence.

The sun burned through the almost limitless sky, whose blue was polished to a ceramic glaze, and the air was clean and perfumed with nectar. The garden lay about him like a mosaic of naturalism perfected. Through the conspicuous hand of man, nature had been coerced, or charmed, to exquisite refinement.

The gravel pathway ended abruptly as he reached the pond's far shore, terminated by a row of marble flagstones. Beyond lay geometrical arbors of fruit-laden trees— mangoes, apples, pears, lemons, and even oranges. Hawksworth tightened his new robe about his waist and entered one of the orchard's many pathways, marveling.

I've found the Garden of Eden.

The rows of trees spread out in perfect regularity, squared as carefully as the columns of the palace verandas and organized by species of fruit. As he explored the man-made forest, he began to find its regularity satisfying and curiously calming. Then in the distance, over the treetops, a high stone wall came into view, and from beyond could be heard the splashes of men laboring in the moat. He realized he had reached the farthest extent of the palace grounds.

As he neared the wall, the orchard gave way to an abandoned clearing in whose center stood a moss-covered marble stairway projecting upward into space, leading nowhere. The original polish on its steps was now buried in layers of dust and overgrowth.

Was there once a villa here? But where's the . . . ?

Then he saw the rest. Curving upward on either side of the stairway was a moss-covered band of marble over two feet wide and almost twenty feet in length, concave, etched, and numbered.

It's some sort of sundial. But it's enormous.

He turned and realized he was standing next to yet another stone instrument, a round plaque in red and white marble, like the dial of a water clock, on which Persian symbols for the zodiac had been inscribed. And beyond that was the remains of a circular building, perforated with dozens of doorways, with a tall pillar in the middle. Next to it was a shallow marble well, half a hemisphere sunk into the ground, with precise gradations etched all across the bottom.

Hawksworth walked in among the marble instruments, his astonishment growing. They were all etched to a precision he had never before seen in stone.

This observatory is incredible. The sundial is obvious, even if the purpose of the stairway over its center isn't. But what's the round vertical plaque? Or that round building there, and the curious marble well? Could those be some sort of Persian astrolabe, like navigators use to estimate latitude by fixing the elevation of the sun or stars?

What are they all for? Some to fix stars? Others to predict eclipses? But there has to be more. These are for observation. Which means there have to be charts. Or computations? Or something.

It's said the Persians once mastered a level of mathematics and astronomy far beyond anything known in Europe. Is this some forgotten outpost of that time? Just waiting to be rediscovered?

He turned and examined the instruments again, finding himself wondering for an instant if they could somehow be hoisted aboard theDiscoveryand returned to England.

And if the observatory's still here, perhaps the charts are here somewhere too.

His excitement mounted as he searched the rest of the clearing. Then he saw what he wanted.

It has to be there.

Abutting the stone wall was a small hut of rough-hewn stone, with slatted windows and a weathered wooden door that was wedged ajar, its base permanently encrusted in the dried mud of the rainy season. The wall behind was so weathered that the metal spikes along its top had actually rusted away.

This whole place must have been deserted for years. What a waste.

As he approached the weathered stone hut, he tried to dampen his own hopes.

How can there be anything left? Who knows how long it's been abandoned? And even if there are calculations—or maybe even books!—they're most likely written in Persian. Or Arabic.

He took hold of the rotting door, which left a layer of decaying wood on his hand, and wrenched it open wider, kicking a path for its base through the crusted mud. Then he slipped sideways through the opening.

A stifled, startled cry cut the dense air of the hut, and an oil lamp glowing in the black was smothered in a single movement. Then came a woman's voice.

"You're not allowed here. Servants are forbidden beyond the orchard." She had begun in Persian, then repeated herself in Hindi.

"Who are you?" Hawksworth, startled by the unknown languages, began in English and then switched to Turkish. "I thought . . ."

"The Englishferinghi." The voice suddenly found control, and its Turki was flawless. "You were in the courtyard this morning." She advanced slowly toward the shaft of light from the doorway. "What are you doing here? Khan Sahib could have you killed if the eunuchs discover you."

He watched as her face emerged from the shadows. Then his heart skipped.

It was Shirin.

"The govern . . . Khan Sahib told me about this observatory. He said I . . ."

"Stars do not shine in the day, nor the sun in this room. What are you doing in here?"

"I thought there might be charts, or a library." Hawksworth heard his own voice echo against the raw stone walls of the room. He studied her face in the half light, realizing with a shock that she was even more striking now than in the sunshine of the garden.

"Did he also tell you to plunder all you find in the palace grounds?"

"He said I might find the observatory curious, as a navigator. He was right. But there must be some charts. I thought this room might . . ."

"There are some old papers here. Perhaps he thought this place would keep you occupied. Or test you one more time."

"What do you mean?"

She answered with a hard laugh, then circled Hawksworth and examined him in the glancing morning light. Her dark hair was backlighted now from the sun streaming through the doorway, her gauze head scarf glistening like spun gold.

"Yes, you're aferinghi. Just like all the rest." Her eyes flashed. "How many more like you are there in Europe? Enough, I would guess, to amuse our debauched governor forever."

"I didn't double the Cape for his amusement. Or yours." What's the matter? Everybody talks in riddles. "Does this room have a library?"

"Yes, but the writings are in Persian. Which you don't understand."

"How do you know what I understand?"

She looked at him with open astonishment. "Do you suppose there's anyone in the palace who doesn't already know all about you?"

"And what do you know about me?"

Silence held the room for a moment. Then she spoke.

"I know you're aferinghi. Like the Portuguese. Here for gold. And . . . the rest." She turned and walked back into the darkness. There was a spark of light and the lamp glowed again. "As for this room, there's nothing here you would understand. And when you return to the palace, and to His Excellency'saffionand hisnautchgirls, remember what happens to a man who is discovered with another's wife. I will forget I saw you here. You should forget also, if you wish to see the sun tomorrow."

Hawksworth found himself watching her spellbound, almost not hearing her words. He stood motionless for a moment, then walked directly toward her, trying not to feel self-conscious in his new Moghul clothes. "I want to talk with you. To find out what's going on. I'll begin with this place. It's an observatory, or was. What harm can there be in looking around this room?"

She stared at him without moving. "You certainly have aferinghi’s manner. If you won't leave, then I'll ask you some questions. What do you say is your reason for coming to India? It's rumored you're here for the English king."

"What else have you heard?"

"Other things as well." She moved closer and her perfume enveloped him. Her eyes were intense, almost overwhelming the jewel at her throat. "But I'd like to hear them from you. There's much dismay about you, about the battle, about the letter."

Hawksworth studied her wistfully. "You know about the letter?"

"Of course. Everyone knows." She sighed at his naivete. "The contents of your chest were examined very carefully last night . . . but no one dared touch the seal on the letter, for fear of the Moghul. Is it true the English king may send an armada to attack Goa?"

"And if it were?"

"It could make a great deal of difference. To many people here."

"Who?"

"People who matter."

"The only one who should matter is the Moghul."

She laughed again. "He's the very last one who matters. I see you comprehend very little." She paused and examined him closely. "But you're an interesting man. We all listened to you play the English sitar last night. And today the first place you chose to come was here. You're the firstferinghiever to seek out this place, which was once famous throughout India. Did you truly come here this morning just to learn?"

"I haven't learned very much so far. At least in this room." He looked about them, noticing for the first time a small table on which there was a book and fresh writings. "You've not told what you're doing here. Or why you can come here when the servants are forbidden."

"Servants once tried to steal some of the marble steps for a house. But the reason I come here is not really your concern, Captain Hawksworth. . . ." She caught his startled look and laughed. "Of course I know your name. I also know you should learn not to drinkbhangwith Kali. She's more than your equal."

Hawksworth stifled his embarrassment and tried to ignore the barb. "There surely must be charts here. What harm if I merely look around?"

Shirin stiffened. "Not now. Not today. You have to leave."

"But are there calculations, or charts?"

"More than likely. But I told you they're in Persian."

"Then maybe you could translate."

"I could. But not today. I've told you, you have to leave. Really you must." She pushed the door open wider and stood waiting.

"I'll be back." He paused in the doorway and turned. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Possibly."

"Then I'll be back for sure."

She looked at him and shook her head resignedly. "You truly don't realize how dangerous it is for you to come here."

"Are you afraid?"

"I'm always afraid. You should be too." She studied him in the sunshine, examining his eyes, and for a moment her face softened slightly. "But if you do come, will you bring your English sitar? I'd like very much to hear it once more."

"And what will you do for me in return?"

She laughed. "I'll try to excavate some musty Persian books here that might tell you something about the observatory. But remember. No one must ever know. Now, please." She urged him out, then reached and pulled the door tightly closed.

Hawksworth suddenly realized the heat had grown intense, and now the sun cut a sharp line down the face of the red marble dial, telling that midmorning approached. He examined the dial quickly and then turned to look again at the stone hut.

With the door closed, the ramshackle hut again looked completely deserted.

What in Christ's name can she be doing? No matter, she's astonishing. And there's something in the way she handles herself. Little wonder she was the favorite concubine, or whatever they call it, of the Moghul. And it's easy to see why his queen married her off to Mukarrab Khan and sent them both here to get her out of the way. A clever way to banish . . .

Hawksworth froze.

That's the word the pilot Karim used! From the Quran. "As for women from whom you fear rebellion, banish them to . . . beds apart."

Could this be the woman he meant? But what rebellion? Whatever's going on, nobody's talking. All I see are armed guards. And fear. This palace is like a jewel-set dagger-exquisite, and deadly.

He stared again at the moss-covered marble instruments.

But I'll be back. If she'll be here, absolutely nothing could stop me.

The twochitahstensed at the same instant and pulled taut the chains on their jewel-studded collars. They were tawny, dark-spotted Indian hunting leopards, and they rode in carpeted litters, one on each side of the elephant's back. Each wore a brocade saddlecloth signifying its rank, and now both began to flick the black-and-white striped tips of their tails in anticipation.

Prince Jadar caught their motion and reined in his dun stallion; the bright morning sunshine glanced off his freshly oiled olive skin and highlighted the crevices of his lean angular face and his tightly trimmed short beard. He wore a forest-green hunting turban, secured with a heavy strand of pearls, and a dark green jacket emblazoned with his own royal crest. His fifty-man Rajput guard had drawn alongside, and their horses tossed their heads and pawed impatiently, rattling the arrows in the brocade quivers by each man's saddle.

Then Jadar spotted thenilgai, large bovine Indian deer, grazing in a herd upwind near the base of a low-lying hill. With a flick of his hand he signaled the keepers who rode alongside the  to begin removing the leopards' saddlecloths. He watched as first the male and then the female shook themselves and stretched their paws in readiness.

"Fifty rupees the male will make the first kill." Jadar spoke quietly to Vasant Rao, the moustachioed young Rajput captain who rode alongside. The commander of the prince's personal guards, he was the only man in India Jadar trusted fully.

"Then give me two hundred on the female, Highness."

"A hundred. And half the hides for your regiment's shield maker." Jadar turned toward the waiting keepers. "Release the female. Then count to a hundred and release the male."

In moments thechitahswere bulleting toward the unsuspecting deer, darting from bush to bush, occasionally kicking up dust with their forefeet and hind legs to create camouflage. Then, as they approached the final clearing, they suddenly parted—the female to the north, the male to the south. Seconds later, as though on some private signal, the female sprang. She seemed to cover the remaining twenty yards in less than a second, and before thenilgairealized she was there, she had already pawed down a bleating straggler.

The striped ears of the othernilgaishot erect at the sound, and the herd panicked, sweeping blindly away from her—and directly toward the cover where the male crouched. He waited coolly, and then, as the deer darted by, pounced.

What followed was a fearsome devastation, as he brought down one after another of the confused prey with his powerful claws.

"The female killed first, Highness. I assume our bet was in gold coins, not silver." Vasant Rao laughed lightly and turned to study the brooding man at his side. Can it be true what many suspect about the prince? he again found himself wondering. That he choses his strategy for a campaign from the final hunt of hischitahs!

But what strategy is left for us? The Deccanis have already reclaimed the city of Ahmadnagar, deep in their territory, and once again made it their rebel capital. They drove the Moghul garrison north to the fort at Burhanpur, and now they threaten that city as well, the most important station in the vital route between Agra and Surat. We haven't the men and horse to turn them back. Not this time.

This was Prince Jadar's second campaign in the Deccan, India's revolt-torn central plains, which lay far south of Agra and east of the port of Surat, and the second time he had led his army to regain cities lost to Malik Ambar, the Abyssinian adventurer and military genius who periodically rose to lead the Deccan against Moghul rule. The Deccan had never been secure, even under the Moghurs father, Akman, but under Arangbar it had become a burial ground of reputation. One of the Moghurs finest generals, whose dispatches from Ahmadnagar, only the previous year, had boasted that the Deccan was finally subdued, now cowered in the fortress at Burhanpur. Arangbar had no choice but to send Jadar again.

"Did you see how they planned their attack?" Jadar fingered the edges of his short beard, then pointed. "She drove them toward his trap. By attacking the weak, she frightened the strong, who flew to their doom."

"We're not facingnilgai, Highness." Vasant Rao shifted in his saddle to face the prince and shielded his eyes against the sun. "And our position is much worse than on the last campaign. This time we have only eighteen thousand men, all encamped here at Ujjain, all weary to their bones from our siege at the Kangra, north in the Punjab, and then the long march down country. While Malik Ambar waits rested and secure in Ahmadnagar, his own capital, a two months' march south."

"We'll bring Ambar to terms just as before, three years ago. By fear."

Jadar watched as the keepers began measuring the rations of meat to reward thechitahs. And he reflected over the secret envoy received early that morning from the commander of the fortress at Mandu, the northern outpost of the Deccan. . . .

"Your Highness is respectfully advised the situation is worse, much worse, than told in the reports sent by Ghulam Adl." They were alone in Jadar's tent and the envoy was on his knees, prostrate, terrified at his obligation to bring ill tidings to the son of the Moghul. Ghulam Adl was the general in charge of the Deccan, who had abandoned Ahmadnagar to Malik Ambar and retreated north to Burhanpur. His official reports still maintained an air of bravado, claiming a few reinforcements were all that was required to drive the rebels to final extinction.

"We have asked Ghulam Adl for troops to help defend Mandu, but he cannot leave Burhanpur," the envoy continued. "The Deccanis have surrounded the city, but they do not trouble themselves with a siege. They know he cannot move. So they have sent eight thousand light cavalry, Maratha irregulars, north across the Narbada River to plunder outlying districts. They are approaching Mandu, and will be at the fortress within the week."

"Why doesn't Ghulam Adl call up troops from among themansabdars. They've all been granted their annual allowance for maintenance of cavalry."

Mansabdarswere nobles of the Moghul empire who had been given rank by the Moghul and were allowed to collect revenue from a specified number of estates and villages, allotted lands calledjagirs, as a reward for service and loyalty. They collected taxes for the Imperial treasury in Agra, which allowed them a portion to maintain cavalry and equipage at the ready. Assignment of ajagiralways carried the responsibility of maintaining a specified number of troops and cavalry, which they were obliged to muster when requested by the Moghul.

"Themansabdarshave no men to muster, may it please Your Highness." The envoy's face was buried in the carpet, showing to Jadar only the dust-covered back of his turban. "Conditions have been severe over the past year. Crops have been bad, and manymansabdarscould not collect taxes because of the Deccani raids. Many have not paid their cavalry for over a year. Themansabdarsstill feed the horses that have been branded and placed in their care. But they have not fed the men who must ride. Most of those have returned to their villages. There can be no army without coin to lure them back. Themansabdarsare fearful of Malik Ambar now, and many have secretly agreed with him not to muster even the troops they still have."

"How many Deccani troops are encamped around Burhanpur?"

"Our spies report as many as eighty thousand, Highness. Ghulam Adl dares not leave the fort in the center of the city. He has no more than five thousand men still remaining loyal, and his supplies are short."

Jadar had ordered immediate solitary confinement for the envoy, lest the news reach the camp. Now, watching hischitahsfeed, he calculated his next move.

I have to requisition silver coin from the treasury at Agra, and hope a supply caravan can still get through. In the meantime I'll muster the remaining cavalry from themansabdars, on the threat theirjagirswill be confiscated if they fail to deliver. It won't raise many men, but it will slow defections.

But if we're to recall the men still loyal, we must have silver. To raise the thirty thousand men we need, men who've not been paid for a year, will require at least five million rupees, fiftylakhs. I must have it by the time we reach Burhanpur. If we can hold that city, we can raise the army from there.

"Malik Ambar sued for peace three years ago because his alliance came apart." Vasant Rao spoke again, watching Jadar carefully, knowing that the prince was deeply troubled, had imprisoned a courier that very morning for which there could only be one reason—then released pigeons that flew north.

"And his alliance will come apart again. If we sow enough fear." Jadar seemed annoyed at the delay as the waitingchitahswere re-harnessed and the last carcasses of bluenilgaiwere loaded onto the ox-drawn wagons for return to the camp. "You still haven't learned to think like achitah."

Jadar signaled the hunt was finished and wheeled his horse back toward the camp. Vasant Rao rode a few paces behind, asking himself how long that regal head would remain on those royal shoulders.

You're threatened now on every side. You cannot be as oblivious as you seem.

He thought back over Prince Jadar's career. Of the Moghul’s four sons, Prince Jadar was the obvious one to succeed. Jadar's elder brother Khusrav had been blinded by the Moghul years before for attempting a palace revolt. Jadar's brother Parwaz, also older than the prince, was a notorious drunkard and unacceptably dissolute, even by the lax standards of the Moghul’s court. And Jadar's younger brother, Allaudin, was the handsome but witless son of a concubine, who well deserved his secret nickname, Nashu-dani, "the good-for-nothing." Since there was no law in India that the oldest must automatically succeed, power devolved to the fittest. Only Jadar, son of a royal Rajput mother, could lead an army, or rule India. Among the Moghul’s four sons, he was the obvious, deserving heir.

But ability alone was never enough to ensure success in the mire of palace intrigue. One must also have a powerful friend.

For years Prince Jadar had the most powerful friend of all.

The grooming of Jadar for office had begun over five years earlier, when he was taken under the protection of Queen Janahara. She had made herself the guardian of Jadar's interests at court; and two years ago she had induced the Moghul to elevate Jadar'smansab, his honorary rank, to twelve thousandzat. In income and prestige he had soared far beyond his brothers.

As is always the case, Jadar was expected to repay his obligation. On the day he ascended to the throne and assumed power from the ailing, opium-sotted Arangbar, he was expected to share that power with Queen Janahara.

But their unofficial alliance had begun to go wrong. Very wrong. And what had gone wrong was the most obvious problem of all. Jadar had lived half his life in army camps, fighting the Moghul’s wars because he was the only son who could fight them, and he no longer saw any reason to relinquish his battle-earned inheritance to the queen.

What will the queen do? Vasant Rao asked himself again. I know she has turned on the prince. I know she tried to marry her Persian daughter to Jadar's blinded brother Khusrav, but Jadar discovered this and demanded Khusrav be sent out of Agra, to be kept in confinement by a raja loyal to the prince. But the queen is still in Agra, and sooner or later she will produce another successor, a creature she can dominate. Her task will be easy if Jadar fails in this campaign.

"I have reports Maratha irregulars may be at the fort at Mandu within a week." Jadar broke the silence between them as they rode. The noisy Rajput horsemen rode discreetly well behind, cursing, laughing, wagering. The flawless blue sky seemed to cloud as Jadar spoke. "Tell me what you would do?"

"Strike camp and march south. We have no choice."

"Sometimes you Rajputs show less wit than your monkey god, Hanumanji." Jadar laughed good-naturedly. "You learned nothing from the hunt today. Don't you see that would merely scatter them? They'll never dare meet us if we march in force. They'll only stage small raids. Harass our baggage train. No, we must do just the opposite." Jadar reined in his horse, turned to Vasant Rao, and lowered his voice. "Think like achitahfor once, not like an impulsive Rajput. We'll send a small cavalry force only—five hundred horse, you will help me pick them—who will disperse, ride separately, never show their numbers. Like achitahstalks. No supply contingent. No elephants. No wagons. And, after the Marathas have set their siege at Mandu, our cavalry will quietly group and attack their flank. As they fall back, which they always do when facing a disciplined unit, the cavalry in the fort will ride out in force, forming the second arm of a pincer. And that will be the last we see of Malik Ambar's famous Maratha irregulars. They'll return to pillaging baggage trains and helpless villages."

"And after that?"

"We'll march directly on Burhanpur. We should reach it in less than a month."

"The Marathas will begin to harass our supply trains as soon as we cross the Narbada River. If they don't attack us while we cross."

"After Mandu, that's the one thing they will not do. Remember thechitahs. The Marathas will never know where our Mandu cavalry may be waiting in ambush."

"And when we reach Burhanpur?"

"We'll make our camp there, and muster cavalry from all themansabdars." Jadar passed over how he intended to do this. "That will be the end of Ambar's many alliances. We'll have the men we need to march in force on the south, on to Ahmadnagar, within the week. And Malik Ambar will sue for peace and return the territory he's seized, just like before."

Vasant Rao nodded in silent acknowledgment, asking himself what the prince was withholding. The strategy was far too straightforward for Jadar.

The camp was coming into view now. A vast movable city, it was easily several miles in circuit. Even from afar, however, Jadar's massive central tent dominated. It was bright red and stationed in the center of thegulal bar, a restricted central zone almost two hundred yards on the side that formed the focal point of the camp. Behind Jadar's tent, separated by a figured satin partition, were the red chintz tents of the women, where his first wife, Mumtaz, and her attendants stayed. Directly in front of Jadar's tent was a canopied platform with four massive corner pillars, called thesarachah, where Jadar held private briefings.

The entiregulalbarwas sealed from common view by a

high cloth wall. Near the entrance to Jadar's enclosure was the camp artillery, including the cannon, and the tents of the lead horses and war elephants. Its entry was guarded by mounted horsemen, and next to these were the tents for Jadar's leopards. Around the perimeter were the striped tents of the nobles and officers, whose respective colors flew above for easy identification. And spreading out from each officer's tent were the tents of his men, their wives, and their bazaar. The camp itself was laid out with such consistent precision that a soldier might easily find his tent in total darkness, regardless of where the army might be.

As Jadar dismounted at the entry to the gulal bar and strode toward his tent, his mind sorted through the moves that lay ahead. He had notified the Moghul of the envoy's secret report and asked for five million rupees in silver coin. It was the price for the Deccan. Surely he could not refuse. Arangbar's own administrators, who were supposed to monitor the mansabdars, were to blame.

There were also other, new and disquieting, complexities. Word had come through Surat only the day before that the Portuguese were secretly planning to arm Malik Ambar. Why? It was common knowledge they feared and hated Jadar, because he distrusted all Christians and said so. And they certainly were aware that if he should someday unite the rebel-infested province of Gujarat, where their ports of Daimon and Diu were situated, he would undoubtedly try to regain these ports for India. But they would not dare to openly, or even secretly, support rebels within the Moghul empire unless they were sure there would be no reprisals from Agra. Which meant they had powerful accomplices in court. Accomplices who would venture to endanger the empire itself to ruin Jadar.

Whose interests in Agra were served if the Deccan remained in turmoil? If Jadar were kept occupied and harried in the south?

The question virtually answered itself.

If this were not perplexing enough, news had arrived two days before telling of an incredible incident. Two merchant frigates of another European nation, calling themselves English, had appeared off the bar of Surat. And humiliated four Portuguese warships. Jadar had released pigeons for Surat immediately, ordering that the English be protected until he could determine their intentions.

The dispatch received the following morning, yesterday, reported that his orders had been timely. A Portuguese ambush of the English as they came up the Tapti River had been averted, by Rajputs using arrows stolen from the governor's own guard. And this morning there had been another message from Surat, with news that the governor had sent the Moghul a dispatch claiming credit for the action—this only after he discovered the English captain had gifts for Arangbar!

But who knew the intentions of the captain of this English fleet? Or the content of a letter he had brought for the Moghul. Reports said only that he was "quartered" in the governor's palace. Where he could no longer be protected. . . .

His eunuchs bowed and relayed an urgent message from Mumtaz. His wife begged to receive His Highness the moment he returned.

Without entering his own tent, Jadar proceeded through the circle of guards protecting the women's quarters. Mumtaz was waiting, surrounded by two of her women and the now-constant midwife. She was almost to term with Jadar's third child. The first two had been daughters. His first thought when he saw her was that this birth must be male. Merciful Allah, make this a son.

Mumtaz's gleaming black hair had been tightly braided, and she wore a shawl and trousers of gold-threaded silk. She had a pronounced fondness for gold and silk: few other luxuries were to be found in the army camps that had been her home for most of their marriage. Mumtaz's features were delicate, with high Persian cheeks, and she was well over thirty—the age at which most Muslim women ceased to interest their mates. But she had found ways to remain the center of Jadar's life, if not dominate it.

The flash of her eyes told Jadar she was in an extreme temper.

"Pigeons arrived just after you left. The report from Agra

is astonishing."

"What 'report' do you mean? Do you and your women receive my dispatches now?"

"Which are rarely worth the bother. No, I receive my own. From Father." Mumtaz was the daughter of Nadir Sharif, prime minister of the Moghul empire and brother of Queen Janahara. "I had the sense to leave him pigeons for here at Ujjain. And also for Burhanpur . . . which may prove to be vital for you, assuming that city is not overrun by Deccanis by the time you reach it."

"What message did Nadir Sharif ever send that wasn't dictated by our noble queen?"

"You're a fool not to trust him. But you'd do well to begin. And soon." Mumtaz's eyes snapped momentary fire, matching the hard red jewel on her forehead, and she eased herself slowly onto a well-traveled velvet bolster to lighten the weight of the child. "I think you'll discover your many friends may be difficult to find if we ever return to the capital."

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