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