Nadir Sharif studied the pigeon as it glided onto the red sandstone ledge and rustled its feathers in exhausted satisfaction. It cocked its white-spotted head for a moment as it examined the prime minister, then waddled contentedly toward the water cup waiting just inside the carved stone pigeon house.
He immediately recognized it as one of the birds he kept stationed in Gwalior, his last pigeon stage en route to Agra from the south. The cylinder bound to its leg, however, was not one of his own. Imprinted on its silver cap was the seal of the new Portuguese Viceroy of Goa, Miguel Vaijantes.
Nadir Sharif waited patiently for the pigeon to drink. He knew well the rewards of patience. He had waited patiently, studying the feringhi, for a full week. And he had learned almost all he needed to know.
The Englishman had been invited to durbar every day since his arrival. Arangbar was diverted by his stories and bemused by his rustic gifts. (The only gift that had not entertained Arangbar was the book of maps he had wheedled out of the Englishman, which upon inspection showed India as something far less than the greatest continent on the globe. But Arangbar found the map's rendering of India's coastline to be sufficiently naive to cast the accuracy of the entire book into question.) This was the first feringhi Arangbar had ever met who could speak Turkish and understand his native Turki, and the Moghul rejoiced in being able to snub the Jesuits and dispense with their services as translators.
But most of all, Arangbar loved to challenge the Englishman to drinking bouts, as night after night they matched cups in the Diwan-i-Khas until near midnight. As Arangbar and the Englishman drew closer, the Jesuits had grown distraught to near madness. The hard-drinking Englishman bragged of the East India Company and its bold plans for trade, of the old Levant Company and its disputes with Spain over Mediterranean routes, of English privateering in the West Indies. Of everything… except when the next voyage would come.
Nadir Sharif had listened closely to their expansive talk all those nights, and he had finally deciphered to his own satisfaction the answer to the question uppermost in Arangbar's mind.
The Englishman is bluffing. England has no fleet. At least no fleet that can ever hope to threaten Portuguese control of the Indian Ocean. There'll be no more voyages, and no more presents, for at least a year. The Englishman is living a fool's dream.
When his European presents are gone, and he's spent what's left of his money buying jewels and gifts for the Moghul, he'll be dropped from court. Arangbar plays him like a puppet, always hinting the firman will be ready tomorrow. But there'll be no firman unless Arangbar can be convinced the English king is powerful enough to protect Indian shipping from Portuguese reprisals at sea. And this the English clearly cannot do. At least not now, not without a fleet. The Englishman is living on borrowed time.
And I'm beginning to think he suspects it himself. He drinks more than a man in his place should. He's always able to stay in control, but just barely. If Arangbar were not always drunk himself, he would have noticed it also.
Nadir Sharif glanced at the silver cylinder and smiled to himself. So His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, is worried. Undoubtedly he's demanding I contain the Englishman, isolate him from Arangbar.
It will hardly be necessary. The Englishman is destined to be forgotten soon. How much longer can he hold the Moghul's attention? A month? Two months? I know his supply of trifles for Arangbar is already half depleted.
But why burden the Viceroy with this insight? Bargain with him. Let him pay enough and I will guarantee with my life that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. The end of the Englishman is no less sure.
Nadir Sharif stroked the pigeon lovingly as he began to unwind the silk binding holding the cylinder, and it reminded him again of the Deccan.
Still no pigeons from Mumtaz. How curious that her one dispatch in the last month, the one brought by the Rajput, was merely to request that small accommodation for the Englishman. Who knows why she asked it? Perhaps it was a joke of the prince's.
Nadir Sharif congratulated himself on how easy it had been. The Englishman had never known.
And it was obvious the woman Kamala had changed him, smoothed him. Was the prince grooming him for something? If so, why send the request through Mumtaz? Whatever the reason, it had been a pleasure to grant this one favor for the daughter he doted on. He also realized it might well be the last favor he could ever do for her.
It was clear now that Prince Jadar would be banished from Agra forever. The events of the next four weeks were inexorable.
Today Arangbar's birthday celebrations begin. Next week Allaudin will be guest of honor at a shikar, a royal hunt. Two weeks after that, the wedding formalities begin, and the following week is the wedding itself. Four weeks and Jadar will be finished. Even if he returned to Agra today, he could not forestall the inevitable.
Nadir Sharif took the pigeon on his wrist and offered it a few grains of soaked dal from his own hand as he gently slipped off the silver cylinder. When the bird was pecking contentedly he eased it onto the ledge, twisted away the silver cap of the cylinder, and settled against the rooftop divan to translate the cipher.
The morning wind from the Jamuna grew suddenly chill against his skin. Then, as the message slowly emerged, the wind from the Jamuna became ice.
Nadir Sharif translated the cipher again, to be sure. But there could be no mistaking what it said. Or what it meant. He would have declared its contents an absurd hoax, perhaps even a hoax inspired by the Englishman, had not the message been intercepted by the Portuguese, by capture of one of Jadar's own pigeons.
The cipher did not say so, but doubtless a copy had also been sent to Arangbar. Even had it not, the Moghul still would hear the news within the day. His own intelligence network was the best in India, after that of the queen.
He closed the door of the pigeon house, picked up a small silver bell beside the divan, and rang lightly. Almost before he had replaced the bell, a eunuch was waiting.
"Your pleasure, Sharif Sahib."
"The Englishman. Where is he now?"
"In the garden, Sharif Sahib. He's always there at this time of day, with the Hindu woman."
"What's he doing there?"
"Who can say, Sharif Sahib? All we know is he goes into the garden every day around noon-I think the Hindu woman may be teaching him to play the sitar there-before going to durbar in the Red Fort. But he will be leaving soon now, as you must, to be present for His Majesty's birthday weighings."
"The English feringhi was invited?" Nadir Sharif was momentarily startled.
"He received an invitation, Sharif Sahib."
"Bring him to the reception room. I will see him now, before he leaves."
The eunuch snapped around and was gone. Nadir Sharif paused to translate the cipher one last time before ringing for his turban.
"Ambassador Hawksworth, please forgive my preoccupation these past few days." Nadir Sharif was bowing, it seemed, unusually low. "We're not always privileged to entertain our guests as we might wish. Preparations for today's birthday ceremonies have kept me rushing about the palace. But please, be seated."
Hawksworth's gaze swept the room. It was cavernous, hung with thick tapestries on every wall, and lightly perfumed with rose incense. Before he could reply a bowing servant was proffering a chalice of Persian wine. As Nadir Sharif watched a glass being poured, his voice continued, silken.
"Have you found anything here to pass the time? They tell me you've developed an interest in the sitar. A marvelous instrument really. And in my garden. Tell me, what do you think of it?"
"I can't decide." Hawksworth felt his caution rising automatically, as it did any time he found himself alone with Nadir Sharif. "It reminds me of some of the Tudor gardens connected with English castles, but still it's different. I like the precise geometry of the walkways and hedges, and the running water. It's a soothing place to sit and practice."
"So you find the Persian garden soothing? It is Persian, you know. The whole idea of a symmetrical garden comes from Persia. Not from this barbarous wasteland." Nadir Sharif motioned him to a bolster, and paused until he was seated. "Yes, it's soothing. I agree with you. But of course, that's one of the purposes of a garden." Nadir Sharif eased himself against a bolster and accepted a glass of sharbat. "It pleases me that you enjoy my garden. You see, Ambassador, to a man in the desert, an oasis, a spot of water and green, is like a paradise. So we sometimes believe we are creating a bit of Allah's Paradise when we create a garden. You know, the Holy Quran itself tells us that Paradise will be something like a garden."
"But whose idea was it to build Persian gardens here?"
"When the first Moghul conqueror arrived in India, almost a century ago, he declared the land here around Agra to be particularly barren and depressing. So he immediately built a Persian garden. But we must all do our share, so today there are many gardens, all over India. The garden, you see, is our tribute to nature."
"But why so geometrical? Your garden uses water, stones, and plants to create designs that seem almost like the marble floors of your palace."
"Mathematics, Ambassador, principles of law. Islam is the rule of law. Why do you think we have so many mathematicians? I deliberately designed this garden with calculated geometric divisions. It provides me great satisfaction to impose order on the willfulness of nature."
"But why are the stone pathways all elevated above the level of the garden? In English gardens they're at ground level and lined with shrubs."
"But surely that's obvious as well. Our gardens are really concealed waterways, with water constantly flowing from one end to the other. We must put the walkways above the water." Nadir Sharif waved his hand. "But all of that is merely mechanics. The garden is where we find peace. It's where we wait to greet the spring, whose arrival we celebrate at the Persian New Year."
Nadir Sharif strolled to a window and looked out on the garden. "Spring in India seems to come up from the south. It's said that buds appear each day a few kos farther north, like a tender army on the march. But we Persians believe that spring must have a haven if she is to stay. And that's another reason we build gardens."
"I don't understand."
"There's a famous poem in Persian, by the poet Farrukhi, about gardens and spring. He once wrote of a place where spring always arrived feeling lowly and despised, because there was no land for her save desert, a place of rocks and thistles. But then a rich man-actually the patron of Farrukhi, whom he was writing to flatter-built a garden for her and the next year spring came forth from the south and found a home there." Nadir Sharif smiled. "In fact the poem begins by comparing spring's original arrivals to that of a bankrupt feringhi's, who appeared with no carpet, no livelihood. But after spring discovered the garden, she brought from the south turquoise for the willows, rubies for the rose."
Nadir Sharif smiled. "What do you think of Farrukhi's poem, Ambassador?"
"What do you mean?"
"Curiosity. I was wondering what are the chances that spring will come again from the south this year? Did the 'bankrupt feringhi merely come to see if the garden was ready? Was the first arrival of spring false, with the real arrival yet to come?"
Hawksworth studied Nadir Sharifs face. "I don't understand what you're trying to say. But I would like to know if you've spoken to His Majesty about the firman."
"Please believe I mention it daily. I think now he'll soon agree to terms."
"Then there's nothing yet?" Hawksworth set down the glass of wine. "I assumed that was why you wanted to speak to me. But you just wanted to talk about Persian gardens and Persian poets."
"Ambassador, I'm not a man for idle talk. Surely we know each other better than that." Nadir Sharif turned and banished the servants and eunuchs with a wave of his hand.
"Tell me. I know you met Prince Jadar once. Give me your honest opinion. Do you think he's a clever man?"
Hawksworth nodded noncommittally.
"I can assure you, Ambassador, that he's very clever indeed. Even his staunchest detractors would agree on that. And he's also resourceful. Not many here are aware he has a full intelligence network of his own. He does not, of course, have access to the dispatches of the official court reporters in the provinces, the wakianavis, or the dispatches of His Majesty's confidential reporters, the harkaras." Nadir Sharif paused. "At least we do not think he has access to their reports. But in a way he doesn't really need them. You see, he has his own system of reporters, which we know he began creating over two years ago. Spies whose identity is carefully guarded. We do not know any of their names, but we do know he calls them his swanih-nigars, and they prepare detailed information on anything in the provinces he asks them to. His network is extensive and, I understand, quite effective."
Hawksworth suddenly found himself remembering Shirin, the papers in the observatory, and wondering…
"Naturally he has agents along the southern coast. But at times they can be a bit too careless about the information they gather. For example, a cipher intended for the prince- sent by one of Jadar's secret swanih-nigars stationed in Cochin, on the far southern end of the Malabar Coast-was just intercepted by a Portuguese shipping agent at the port of Mangalore, down the coast south of Goa. The message was of great interest to the Portuguese, and they saw fit to forward it to me. What do you suppose the message contained?"
Hawksworth pulled himself alert.
"I have no idea."
"Tell me, Ambassador. The East India Company does trade on Java, am I correct?"
"Six years ago the Company established a factory… a trading station… at Bantam, the main port on the island."
"Was there a voyage to Bantam this year?"
"The Discovery was bound for Bantam this year, with cargo from Surat."
"Ambassador, the time for games is over. Your charade has made things very difficult for those of us who would try to help you." Nadir Sharif studied Hawksworth deliberately, almost sadly. "It would have been helpful if you had told me everything sooner. It's embarrassing that I must receive my information through captured intelligence, when I'm authorized to serve as your agent. I'm sure it will not surprise you that the Portuguese Viceroy, His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, is most disturbed at the news. There will be consequences."
"What are you talking about?"
"The cipher for Jadar. You could have told me sooner of your king's plans. It would have made all the difference." Nadir Sharif stared coldly at Hawksworth. "There's no longer any need to pretend you don't know. The fleet was sighted off the Malabar Coast, by coastal fishing barks, only three days ago. Four armed frigates, showing English colors, with a course north by northwest, which means they will stand to sea and avoid the Portuguese patrols along the coast. It was only by the slightest chance that they were seen. And then another accident that the cipher intended for Jadar was intercepted. Otherwise no one would have known. It was very resourceful of your East India Company, Ambassador, to have a second fleet sail up our west coast from the English factory at Java. Unless the Portuguese had intercepted and decoded Jadar's cipher, they would have been taken completely by surprise. Now they estimate the English fleet is scheduled to reach Surat within the month. Unless they are met and engaged… which they most assuredly will be."
The perfumed air of midmorning still seemed to hover above the inner courtyard of Arangbar's palace as Hawksworth approached its towering wooden gates. The astonishing news of the English fleet had sent his spirits soaring, and he had donned his finest doublet and hose for the occasion. As scimitared eunuchs scrutinized his gilded invitation and bowed obsequiously for him to pass, he suddenly felt he was walking through the portals of a Persian dreamland.
For the past two months servants and slaves had toiled through the crisp autumn nights transforming the courtyard of the Red Fort's inner palace from an open-air marble arcade into a vast, magnificent reception room for Arangbar's five-day lunar birthday fete. The surrounding galleries had been softened with rich carpets, their walls cloaked in new tapestries; and in the central square a flowering garden, freshened by interlocking marble fountains, had appeared out of nothing. In this new garden time had ceased to flow, night and day knew not their passage one into the other, for the sky itself was now a vast canopy of imperial red velvet, embroidered in gold and held aloft by silver-sheathed poles forty feet high and the size of ship's masts. The horizons of this velvet sky were secured to protruding stone eyelets along the second-story galleries by multicolored cotton cords the thickness of cable.
The centerpiece of the upcoming celebration was an enormous balance, the scale on which Arangbar's yearly weight would be taken. By that weight his physicians would foretell the future estate of his body, and if his weight had increased since the previous year, there was universal rejoicing. But, greater or less, his weight always seemed to augur well for India. His physicians inevitably found it reason to forecast another hundred years of his benevolent rule.
Nor was the balance itself suggestive of anything less than a portentous occasion. The measure of a king demanded kingly measures. Its weighing pans were two cushioned platforms, gilded and inlaid with jewels, suspended from each end of a central beam by heavy gold chains interwoven with silken cords. The beam itself, and its supports, were carved from rosewood, inlaid with jewels, and plated with gold leaf.
This event of universal joy was never witnessed by more than a few of Arangbar's closest circle. The first tier of court officials were permitted in watch, family members, favored officers with rank over five thousand horse, and a minuscule list of select foreign ambassadors.
Hawksworth tried to look formal and attentive, but his mind was still reeling from the news. All the way to the Red Fort he had tried to sort out the implications.
That crafty bastard Spencer. He well deserves to be Director of the East India Company. It's perfect. He timed it perfectly.
Why did he decide to send a second voyage? Did they accidentally rendezvous with the Discovery at Bantam? Or was it no accident? Could Elkington have ordered them north? Or maybe it's some sort of scheme with the Hollanders? Who could the Captain-General be?
Spencer, you deceiving whoremaster. You double-crossed Elkington, never told him about the letter from King James, and now you, or somebody, has double-crossed me.
Or saved the mission.
There's sure to be a bounty of gifts for Arangbar. If they can make it around Goa, and avoid the Portugals…
"Ambassador, this way." Nadir Sharif was standing near the balance, motioning him to the front.
"Ambassador, His Majesty is overjoyed at the news of the English fleet. He has asked that I seat you here, next to me, so I may translate the Persian for you and allow you to prepare a full report to your king." The prime minister had changed to formal dress, with a tapestried turban and cloak, under which were skin-tight, pastel-striped pants. He wore a necklace of enormous pearls and in the sash at his waist was a gold-handled katar set with emeralds. He was barefoot. "This is an ancient yearly custom of all the Great Moghuls.''
Hawksworth quickly unbuckled his shoes and tossed them by the edge of the vast carpet, near the arcade.
"Seat yourself here next to me and I will explain everything to you. His Majesty thinks the news of your trading fleet is extremely auspicious, coming as it did on the first day of his birthday celebration. He wants to return the honor by allowing you to join him in the royal circle at the wedding of Prince Allaudin and Princess Layla."
"That's very gracious of His Majesty. And when do you think he's planning to sign the firman approving English trade?"
"Your firman should be little more than a formality now, Ambassador. He has already accepted in principle the terms you requested, but you must realize he is quite preoccupied. I think you will have what you want in a few more weeks. His Majesty has assumed a natural fondness for you, but I still foresee various encumbrances from our friends in Goa. Much depends on the fleet, and what happens if the Portuguese intercept it."
Nadir Sharif moved closer and lowered his voice. "You know, Ambassador, the appearance of your fleet bring nearer the time we should work more closely together. Someday soon perhaps we can discuss the price of English wool. I have five jagirs in northern Gujarat that produce superb indigo. They are convenient to the port of Cambay, just a few kos north of Surat. And, as it happens, I have a private understanding with the Shahbandar of Cambay. It may be possible to make arrangements that would help us both avoid some of the normal customs duties. I suggest we explore it."
Hawksworth looked at him and smiled. I'll trade with you the day after hell turns to ice, you unscrupulous son of a whore.
Kettledrums sounded at the back of the square and Hawksworth turned to see Arangbar making his entry followed by Allaudin and a gray-bearded wazir. The men around Hawksworth bounded to their feet as one, performed the teslim, and then settled again on the carpets. On Nadir Sharifs whispered urgings, Hawksworth also rose and bowed, without the teslim… causing Nadir Sharif's eyes to flash momentary disapproval as they both resumed their seats.
The Moghul was outfitted in the most magnificent attire Hawksworth had ever seen. He seemed to be clothed in a fabric of jewels: diamonds, rubies, pearls were woven into his cloak, and his sword handle appeared to consist entirely of emeralds. His fingers were covered with jeweled rings and chains from which dangled walnut-sized rubies. His chest was covered with sparkling necklaces, and even his turban was bejeweled.
The crowd watched with anticipation as Arangbar strode directly to the nearest platform of the balance and tested its cushions with a sparkling hand. He waited with a broad smile while it was lowered to the carpet, then without a word seated himself onto the cushions, in the hunched squat all Indians performed. Allaudin and the wazir stood on either side and steadied him as officials from the mint, all wearing bright red turbans, approached bearing dark brown bags.
Bag after bag was piled onto the opposite platform, until Arangbar's side slowly began to levitate off the carpet. When a perfect balance had been achieved, his side was tipped gently back down by Allaudin and the wazir, while the officials began to remove and count the bags on the opposite platform. When the bags were counted, the weighing commenced again, this time with bags of purple silk.
"The first weighing is in silver rupees," Nadir Sharif whispered through the reverential silence. "Afterwards they are taken back to the mint and distributed to the poor by His Majesty. Today is one of great rejoicing in Agra."
"How much does he weigh?"
"His usual weight is about nine thousand silver rupees."
"That's over a thousand pounds in English sterling."
"Is that a large amount in your king's coinage, Ambassador?"
"It's a substantial sum of money."
"Over the following year, during the evenings, His Majesty will call the poor of Agra to come before him and he will give them the money with his own hand."
"How far will nine thousand rupees go to feed all the poor of Agra?"
"I don't understand your question, Ambassador?"
"Nothing. I… I was just wondering if perhaps King James should do the same."
"It is an old Moghul tradition here." Nadir Sharif turned back to the scales, where Arangbar was calling for the next weighing. "But watch. Now he will be weighed against gold mohurs."
The pile of bags was mounting, and again Arangbar's platform slowly began to rise into the air.
"There are twelve weighings in all. You will see. After the gold coins, he is weighed against gold cloth that has been given to him on his birthday by the women of the zenana. Then bags of jewels that were contributed by the governors of India's provinces, carpets and brocades from Agra nobles, and so forth. He is also weighed against silk, linen, spices, and even ghee and grains, which are distributed later to the Hindu merchant caste."
Arangbar continued to smile serenely as the weighing proceeded. During the weighing of silk, he spotted Hawksworth and winked, raising a hand to flash a diamond the size of a bullet. Hawksworth noted wryly that he had not seen any of the wealth actually being distributed, that it was all in fact returned directly to the palace.
When all the weighings were completed, Arangbar drew himself erect and regally moved to a raised platform that had been constructed at the back of the arcade. He then signaled for the massive balance to be removed and in moments it had disappeared into the recesses of the palace.
The crowd had begun to shuffle expectantly. As Hawksworth watched, he suddenly realized why.
Large covered baskets were being brought before Arangbar, and when their lids were removed, Hawksworth caught the glisten of silver. Arangbar took the first basket and stood to his full height on the dais. Then with a swing he flung the contents over the top of the crowd. The air seemed to rain silver and the assembled nobles began scrambling over the carpet retrieving the silver objects. Nadir Sharif picked up one and handed it to Hawksworth.
It was a silver nutmeg, life-sized and topped with a tiny gold flower. Hawksworth rolled it over… and it deflated to a thin piece of foil.
Arangbar flung another basket and the turmoil intensified. Only Hawksworth stood firm, as even Nadir Sharif could not resist scooping up several of the foil replicas of nuts, fruits, and spices that scattered on the carpet around them. The dignified assemblage had been reduced to bedlam. Then the beaming Arangbar spotted Hawksworth and called out.
"Ambassador Inglish. Is there nothing you would have?"
"May it please Your Majesty, an ambassador of the English king does not scramble for toys."
"Then come forward and you'll not have to."
When Hawksworth reached the dais he bowed lightly, and as he drew himself up, Arangbar seized the front of his doublet and dumped a basket of gold foil flowers down the front of his shirt.
Before he could move, the nobles were there, pulling open his doublet and scooping up the worked foil. In moments his doublet was plucked clean. He looked about in disbelief, and saw that Arangbar was already tossing more baskets to the turbaned crowd.
When the silver and gold were gone, Arangbar spoke quickly to the eunuchs, and trays appeared with chalices of hard spirits. The assembled nobles all toasted the Moghul's health and he joined in as the drinking began. Musicians appeared, followed by food on plates of silver worked in gold. Finally hookahs were set about the carpet, together with more drinks, and a singer arrived to perform an afternoon raga.
"This is an auspicious day for us both, Inglish." Arangbar beamed down from his throne as he motioned Hawksworth forward. "The news just reached me. Was this meant to be a surprise?"
"The English fleet is my king's birthday gift to Your Majesty."
"Nothing could gratify me more." Arangbar drank from a large cup of wine. "We think it might be time we considered sending an ambassador of our own to the court of your Inglish king. We just sent our first ambassador to Goa."
"King James would be most honored, Your Majesty."
"Tell me, Ambassador Inglish. When will these ships reach the port at Surat?"
"It depends on whether the Portugals want to honor the treaty between Spain and England and allow our fleet to pass unchallenged. Sailing up from the islands will mean tacking against the wind, but the fleet could possibly make landfall within a month." Hawksworth paused. "Your Majesty must realize this adds urgency to the matter of the trading firman.''
"Within the week or so, Inglish. Within a week or so."
Hawksworth caught a slight elevation of Nadir Sharif's eyebrows.
"How long now do you intend to be staying with us, Inglish?" Arangbar popped a ball of opium into his mouth… a bit too early in the day, Hawksworth thought.
"Until you've signed the firman for trade, Your Majesty. I'll return it to King James by the next shipping west."
"We would prefer that you stayed with us awhile longer, Inglish."
"No one regrets more than I that it's not possible, Your Majesty. But my king awaits Your Majesty's pleasure regarding the terms of the firman."
"We have conceived a new idea, Inglish. We will send the ito your king by our own ambassador. Then you can remain here with us until your king sends another ambassador to replace you." Arangbar laughed. "But he must be a man who drinks as well as you, or we may send him back."
Hawksworth felt his stomach tighten. "Who can say when another ambassador will be sent, Your Majesty? Should Your Majesty approve the firman, my duties here will be Resolved."
"But you must remain here to ensure we keep our word, Inglish." Arangbar winked broadly. "Else our heart could grow fickle."
"I am honored, Your Majesty." Hawksworth shifted. "But my first duty is to my king."
"We have been thinking perhaps you should have other duties…" Arangbar's voice trailed off as he sipped on his wine and studied Hawksworth. Then he looked up and his glance fell on the Portuguese Jesuits lingering at the back of the courtyard. As he examined them, he recalled the many long evenings when he had allowed the Jesuit Pinheiro and his superior, Father Sarmento, to debate with him the merits of Christianity. And again he found himself marveling how refreshingly different the Englishman was.
Out of curiosity he had once inquired of the Jesuits how exactly a king such as himself could become a Christian, and the very first thing they had said was he must select only one of all his wives and dismiss the rest.
He had tried to point out to them the absurdity of allowing a man only one wife, without even the option to rid oneself of her once she grew tiresome. And what, he had asked, was this king to do if his single remaining wife suddenly became blind one day? Was he to keep her still? Of course, they had replied, blindness in no way interferes with the act of marriage. And what if she becomes a leper? Patience, they had counseled, aided by God's grace, which renders all things easy. Such patience, he had pointed out, might be customary for a Jesuit, who had abstained from women all his life, but what about one who had not? And they had replied that Christians also were sometimes known to sin, but that the Grace of Christ provided the remedy of penitence, even for those who transgressed against the law of chastity. He had listened with mounting astonishment as they next proceeded to describe how Jesuits scourged themselves to still the fires of the flesh.
At this last, he had realized that Christian doctrines were incomprehensible and unworthy of further inquiry. From that time forward he had never bothered to take the Jesuits seriously.
But this Englishman is different, he told himself. A real man, who'll drink a cup of wine or eye a pretty woman with plenty of unchaste thoughts on his sleeve.
"From this day forth you'll be serving us, Inglish, as well as your king. We have decided to make you a khan."
Hawksworth stared at him uncomprehending. A murmur swept the crowd, but quickly died away to stunned silence.
"A khan, Your Majesty?"
"Khan is a title given to high-ranking officers in our service. It carries with it great honor. And a salary. No feringhi has ever before been made a khan by us. You will be the first." He laughed broadly. "So now you must stay in India and drink with us. You are in our hire."
"I'm flattered by Your Majesty's generosity." Hawksworth found himself stunned-by the honor and also by the disquieting implications for his planned return to England. "What are the duties of a khan?"
"First, Inglish, we must have a ceremony, to invest you properly." Arangbar seemed to ignore the looks of disbelief on the faces around him. "You will be given a personal honorary rank, called zat, of four hundred. And a horse rank, called suwar, of fifty."
"Does it mean I have to maintain that many cavalry?" Hawksworth blanched, realizing his money was already growing short.
"If you do, you will be the first khan in India who ever did. No, Inglish, you will be provided salary for that number, but you need not maintain more than twenty or thirty. We will personally select them for you after the wedding."
Arangbar turned and motioned to Nadir Sharif. The prime minister came forward and one of the eunuchs handed him a small box, of teakwood worked in gold. He motioned for Hawksworth to kneel directly in front of Arangbar. The nobles around them still could not disguise their astonished looks.
Nadir Sharif moved directly above where Hawksworth was kneeling and opened the box. "His Majesty, by this symbol, initiates you into discipleship. It is bestowed only on the very few." He took out a small gold medal, attached to a chain, and slipped the chain over Hawksworth's head. Hawksworth noted that the medal had the likeness of Arangbar imprinted on both sides. "Now you must prostrate yourself before His Majesty."
"May it please His Majesty, the ambassador of a king must show his gratitude after the custom of his own country," Hawksworth replied to Nadir Sharif, then bowed lightly to Arangbar. "I humbly thank Your Majesty in the name of King James."
Nadir Sharif's face darkened. "You must teslim to His Majesty."
"No, not the Inglish." Arangbar waved Nadir Sharif aside. "He must follow his own custom. Now, give him the pearl."
Nadir Sharif took a large pearl from the box and stood before Hawksworth.
"This you must wear in your left ear, where your gold earring is now."
Hawksworth examined the pearl. It was immense, and perfect.
"Again I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth looked up to see Arangbar beaming. "How shall I wear it?"
"My jeweler will fit it for you, Inglish."
A wry, portly man stepped forward and quickly removed the small gold earring from Hawksworth's ear. Just as deftly, he attached the pearl where it had been.
"And now, Inglish, I will bestow on you the highest favor of my court." He turned and signaled another eunuch to come forward. The eunuch carried a cloak woven with gold. "This cloak I have myself worn, then kept aside to bestow on a worthy disciple. It is for you."
Arangbar took the cloak himself and laid it over Hawksworth's shoulders.
"I thank Your Majesty. The honor is more than I could ever merit."
"That may well be true, Inglish." Arangbar roared. "But it's yours. You speak my tongue and you drink almost as well. Few men here today can equal you. And you have the wits of ten Portuguese. I think you deserve to be one of my khans." Arangbar signaled for him to rise. "Your salary will begin with the next lunar month. After that you will be known in this court as the Inglish Khan. Day after tomorrow you will ride with us in shikar, the royal hunt. You may soon decide you like India better than England. Have you ever seen a tiger?"
"Never, Your Majesty."
"You will soon enough. Day after tomorrow. So you had best do your drinking now, for tigers require a clear head." Arangbar laughed again and clapped and the tension in the courtyard semed to evaporate. The singer immediately began a second raga.
As Hawksworth fingered the earring, the medal, and the cloak, he found himself remembering Huyghen's burning eyes that day in the London alehouse. "You'll forget who you are," the old seaman had said. Could this be what he meant?
But maybe it's not so bad after all, he told himself. It's like a dream come true. And when the fleet makes landfall…
… "Of course I've heard. It was my idea. Although His Majesty naturally assumes he thought of it all by himself. Making the feringhi a khan will confuse the Portuguese. And it will take everyone's mind off the firman for a while." Queen Janahara had received Nadir Sharif immediately after Arangbar retired to the zenana for his afternoon dalliance. The balcony of the Jasmine Tower was empty, the servants all ordered back to the zenana. I'm more interested in the English fleet. Do you know what has happened?"
"What do you mean, Majesty?" Nadir Sharif noted that he had not been invited to sit.
"There was another message today, a private message from His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes." Janahara raised a silver, hourglass-shaped cuspidor to her lips and delicately discharged red betel juice. "Can you guess what he has dared to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"Miguel Vaijantes is a man without courage. The understanding was very clear."
"The understanding, Your Majesty?"
"We have kept our side of the agreement. There has been no firman for the English feringhi. But now His Excellency has declared that he must off-load the arms. He has begun assembling an armada to sail north and intercept the English."
"The arms, Your Majesty?" Nadir Sharif moved closer. "Miguel Vaijantes was shipping arms?"
"Surely you knew. My dear brother, has anything ever escaped your rapacious eyes." She smiled, then spat again. "For Ahmadnagar. Small arms and cannon."
"You were arming Malik Ambar? Against Jadar?" Nadir Sharif could not strain the surprise from his voice.
"We were not arming him. The Portuguese were. Miguel Vaijantes was to have armed a Maratha division on the western coast, off-loading at a Portuguese port called Bom Bahia, on the coast west of Ahmadnagar. He had his own reasons, but now it seems he has lost his nerve. I had no idea how alarmed these Portuguese were by the English."
Nadir Sharifs mind was reeling. Say something, anything.
"If I may inject a word on His Excellency's behalf, Majesty, you must understand that matters between the Portuguese and the English are extremely delicate at the moment." Nadir Sharif's voice grew more statesmanlike as he spoke. He scarcely heard his own words as his mind plowed through the consequences of it all. And the treachery. "The English could conceivably interrupt the entire trade of the Portuguese. All the prince could ever possibly do would be to tighten restrictions on our ports at Surat and Cambay. The Viceroy's decision is clearly strategic, nothing more. I'm sure the regard he holds for Your Majesty remains undiminished."
"That is a touching consolation." Janahara's voice was frigid, and she seemed suddenly much older.
Footsteps sounded through the marble corridor and Allaudin appeared at the doorway. He had changed to a foppish green turban, set off by an effeminate necklace of rubies. His elaborate katar was secured by a sash of gold- threaded brocade, and an emerald was set at the top of each slipper. He wore heavy perfume.
"Your Majesty." He salaamed to Queen Janahara and then stood attentively, somewhat sheepishly, until she gestured for him to sit.
"You're late."
"I was detained in my quarters, Majesty."
Janahara seemed completely preoccupied, unable even to look at the prince. "The question now is what to do about the Englishman."
"What do you mean?" Allaudin did not trouble to mask his sneer. "It's perfectly clear. His Majesty adores the feringhi. He'll surely sign the firman for English trade. Then there'll be a war on the seas. It's really most exciting."
"The firman is not yet signed." Janahara moved to the balcony and studied the river below. Her walk was purposeful, yet still the perfection of elegance. "Nor do I think it ever will be. His Majesty will not have the time. The wedding will be moved forward. Before His Highness, Prince Jadar, has the leisure to trouble us more."
Janahara turned and examined the two men, one her brother and one her future son-in-law, finding herself astonished by their credulity. Somehow, she told herself, the hand of Jadar lies behind all this. The coincidence was just too great. First, he had succeeded in raising troops from the southern mansabdars. And now the Deccanis could not be armed. Could he possibly still forge a peace in the Deccan. Still, after the wedding he would be isolated. Then what he did would no longer matter. But if the firman were signed, there would no longer be leverage with the Portuguese.
Janahara looked directly at Nadir Sharif. "If His Majesty signs the firman before the wedding, you will be held responsible."
"I understand, Majesty." Nadir Sharif shifted. "When will the wedding be?"
"I think it would be auspicious to hold it the week following the birthday celebration. Which means the preparations must begin now."
"Hold the wedding immediately after the hunt? There's scarcely time."
"There will be time. For that and more." Janahara turned to Allaudin. "And you would do well to start spending more time with a sword and bow, and less with your pretty slave girls. I will know before long if you are a match for Jadar. I pray to Allah I don't already suspect the answer."