room. "Ambassador Hawksworth, would you care for some wine? You need
not be squeamish, His Majesty has always admired men who drink. I would
join you, but regrettably I cannot. While His Majesty retires, the rest
of us must labor on."
"A glass would be welcome."
"A glass, Ambassador? Did you say 'a glass'?" Nadir Sharif laughed.
"You'll need more than a glass if you drink with His Majesty. I'll send
the servants." He bowed again at the doorway of the vestibule. "I'll
rejoin you when I can. In the meantime, summon the eunuchs if you
require anything."
He turned and was gone. In what seemed only moments, two turbaned
servants appeared, smiling as they placed a large chalice of wine on
the carpet next to Hawksworth's bolster.
"It's all too incredible." Queen Janahara slumped onto a velvet divan
and distractedly took a rolled betel leaf from the silver tray offered
by a hovering eunuch. Behind her a female _zenana _slave fanned a plume
of peacock feathers against the afternoon heat. As she spoke she
brushed back her gold-threaded scarf, revealing gleaming dark hair--the
few gray strands had been perfectly dyed--pulled back tightly against
her head and secured with a golden band. Her only jewels were in a
necklace, diamonds with a massive blue sapphire that complemented her
dark eyes. She was nearing fifty, but still possessed of a beauty that
had, with the years, evolved to magnificent dignity. Her face was
statuesque and her Persian was both elegant and mellifluous. "He's
still marching south. I think he actually enjoys living in the field,
surrounded by mud and Rajputs. How much longer can he continue?"
"Be assured this time the prince will bring his own undoing." Nadir
Sharif accepted a betel leaf from the tray, a gesture, and absently
rolled it between his thumb and finger. He wondered nervously why she
had summoned him to the Jasmine Tower the minute he left the English
_feringhi_. He normally enjoyed meeting her there, amid the marble
screens, where they could recline on the carpeted terrace and admire
the broad Jamuna. As her brother and prime minister, it was not
unseemly for him to visit her in her quarters. "The campaign in the
Deccan will change everything, Your Majesty. It cannot end as did the
last one, with Malik Ambar surrendering out of fright. The Abyssinian
surely suspects by now that Jadar is isolated."
Queen Janahara was no longer listening. Her thoughts were seething over
the two surprises of the day. The first was Nadir Sharif's absence from
her historic appearance at the _darshan _balcony. She had already been
informed of his absence by four separate eunuchs. All assumed it was
deliberate.
Nadir Sharif. My own brother. Can he be wavering? Or merely bargaining?
Why? Has something happened with Jadar? The march south should have
been the end of him. The _mansabdars _and their troops south of the
Narbada were in shambles. But somehow Jadar has managed to recall
enough cavalry to continue his campaign. What is he planning?
That question called to mind the second problem of the day.
The Englishman.
She knew, as Arangbar did not, that the Englishman had already met with
Jadar. Why had Jadar contrived such a meeting? The prince must know
that both she and Nadir Sharif had full support of the Viceroy of Goa.
Did he also know that the Viceroy had even offered secretly to help arm
the Deccanis against him, an arrangement she was now negotiating?
What of the English _feringhi_, his letter, his meeting with Jadar? She
had studied him carefully through her screen when he appeared at the
afternoon _durbar _and she had ordered a Persian translation of his
letter prepared immediately. And what she read was disturbing. The
English king had, it was true, asked merely for a trading _firman_. But
who knew what sea power waited behind the English appearance at Surat?
She knew Jadar despised Christians, but he would not scruple to use
them one against the other. Where would it lead, if Jadar could enlist
English sea power in the struggle that loomed ahead, and somehow
neutralize the influence of the Portuguese? Maddeningly, the Moghul
seemed amused by the Englishman, by his rude manner.
"Why did His Majesty invite the _feringhi _to the _Diwan-i- Khas
_tonight?"
"My esteemed sister, you were at today's durbar. You know His Majesty's
whims far better than I. Perhaps he was fascinated by finding a
_feringhi _who speaks his barbarous Turki. For His Majesty the new
_feringhi _cannot be anything more than merely a new toy, like a new
dog or horse. He will amuse himself with the _feringhi_, dangle
promises before him, and wait to see if more gifts are forthcoming. You
know he is the same with all ambassadors."
"This one I think is different. Did you see him refuse to _teslim_? I
think His Majesty is already awed by him. I fear for India if the
English ever gain influence here. Do you really believe the English
king wants nothing more than trade?" Janahara found herself searching
for the key to Nadir Sharifs thoughts. "What do you suppose would
happen if these English defy the Portuguese and one day decide to
blockade Surat? To allow trade only to those who have supported them at
court." She paused as she studied him. "Could there be some here
already who are fearful enough to pretend friendship to the
Englishman?"
"Who could know these things?" Nadir Sharif walked to the white marble
railing and gazed along the side of the fort, where the Jamuna lapped
gently against the thick red walls. He remembered his pigeons, and then
he remembered the morning _darshan_ and Janahara's unprecedented
appearance.
The Englishman is hardly a problem, my dear sister. He is already
tamed. You are the problem now. You and your newfound power. But if you
fear this harmless _feringhi_ more than you fear me, then I have at
last found a way to manage you as well. At long last.
"Tonight I will drink with the English _feringhi_, and then we may
learn something useful. A man lounging with a wine cup in his hands
says things he would never utter standing at _durbar_. I think His
Majesty may also be wondering about the intentions of his king."
Janahara chewed silently on the betel leaf and eyed him, knowing he had
met that morning with the Rajput who brought the English _feringhi _to
Agra and wondering why. Whatever the reason, she told herself, Nadir
Sharif would never be so foolish as to side with Jadar. Not so long as
the prince was isolated and weak. Nadir Sharif did not gamble.
"The _feringhi _must be watched closely. Find a way. We need to know
what he is doing, what he is thinking. Do you understand?"
"To hear is to obey." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly.
"And you will be at _darshan _tomorrow morning. Even if you were not
there today."
"Naturally had I but known, Majesty . . ."
"Father made you prime minister. You can be just as easily removed."
"Your Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed, and with an unseen flick sent the
rolled betel leaf spinning past the railing, toward the dark waters of
the Jamuna below.
Hawksworth sipped from the new cup of wine, his third, and watched the
musicians begin to retune. Around him the members of Arangbar's inner
circle were assembling in the _Diwan-i-Khas_. This must be evening
dress in Agra, he marveled: silk turbans studded with rubies and
sapphires, diamond earrings, swords trimmed in gold and silver, pearl
necklaces, cloaks of rich brocade, velvet slippers. The faces around
him all betrayed the indolent eyes and pasty cheeks of men long
indulged in rich food, hard spirits, sensuality.
It was, he now realized, the fairyland that Symmes had described that
freezing day so long ago in the offices of the Levant Company. What man
not a Papist monk could resist the worldly seductions of the Moghul's
court?
Then he remembered the brave Pathan who had been torn apart by a lion
that very afternoon, while all Arangbar's nobles watched unprotesting.