that Nadir Sharif and Zainul Beg were already waiting at the foot of
the dais. He also noted Queen Janahara was not present. And then he
realized why. The servants had neglected to erect her screen, the one
she normally sat behind to dictate his decisions. Since the appearance
of Arangbar's solitary rule still had to be maintained, she could not
be seen publicly issuing orders, at least not yet.
Hawksworth smiled to himself, wondering whose head would roll for the
oversight. Then, as he watched Nadir Sharif begin explaining petitions
to Arangbar, he thought he sensed a gleam of triumph in the prime
minister's eye. Could it be the failure to install a screen was
deliberate?
The Persian Safavid ambassador approached with the obligatory gift,
this time an ornamental case containing a ruby on a gold chain, and
then handed up a paper. Arangbar listened to Nadir Sharif explain the
document, then appeared to ponder it a moment. Finally he waved his
arms lightly and agreed to something Hawksworth did not catch. The
ambassador bowed his appreciation, revolved with enormous dignity, and
retreated into the sunshine.
Arangbar was already beginning to grow restless, clearly anxious to
dismiss everyone and begin loading the _zenana _women onto their
elephants. He turned and spoke to Nadir Sharif, who replied quickly and
motioned toward a Portuguese emissary in a starched doublet who stood
waiting, together with Father Sarmento. It was the first time
Hawksworth had noticed them, and he felt his gut knot in hatred as he
shoved his own way forward toward the pavilion.
Arangbar listened with a glazed expression, nodding occasionally, as
the Portuguese emissary delivered an elaborate speech, translated by
Sarmento, and began laying out the contents of a chest he carried. With
theatrical flair he drew out several large silver candlesticks, a brace
of gold- handled knives with jewel-embossed sheaths, a dozen wine cups
of Venetian crystal. Then he produced a leather packet with a red wax
seal. He spoke a few more words and passed it to Nadir Sharif.
The prime minister examined it, broke the seal to extract the
parchment, then gestured for Sarmento to come forward to translate. The
Jesuit suddenly looked very old and very uneasy as he adjusted his
peaked black hat and took the paper.
Hawksworth shoved closer, and for the first time Arangbar seemed to
notice him. The Moghul's eyes darkened and he started to say something
in Hawksworth's direction, but Sarmento had already begun the
translation into Turki.
"His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, sends this message of his high
regard and everlasting friendship for His Most High Majesty, the Great
Moghul of India. He bows before you and hopes you will honor him by
accepting these few small tokens of his admiration."
Sarmento shifted and cleared his throat. Arangbar's eyes had fluttered
partially closed and his head seemed to nod sleepily at the
conventional flattery.
"His Excellency asks Your Majesty's indulgence of a grievous misdeed
last week by a captain of one of our patrol vessels. He assures Your
Majesty that the captain will be stripped of all rank and returned in
chains to Goa within the month."
Arangbar's eyes had again opened and he shifted slightly on the throne.
"What 'misdeed' is referred to?"
Sarmento looked at the emissary, who quickly replied in Portuguese. The
Jesuit turned again to Arangbar.
"Your Majesty will doubtless receive a dispatch from Surat within a
short time describing an unfortunate incident. His Excellency wants you
to understand in advance that it was a mistaken order, undertaken
entirely without his knowledge or approval."
Arangbar was fully awake now and staring down at the two Portuguese.
"What order? Did the Viceroy order something he now wishes to disown?
What was it?"
"It's the unfortunate matter of the _Fatima_, Your Majesty." Sarmento
turned helplessly toward the Portuguese emissary, as though he too were
searching for an explanation.
"What about the _Fatima_? She's my largest cargo vessel. She's due in
Surat in two days, with goods from Persia." Arangbar's face was sober
now. "Her Highness, Maryam Zamani, had eighty _lakhs _of rupees . . ."
"The _Fatima_ is safe, Your Majesty. She has only been detained at sea,
on a mistaken interpretation of His Excellency's orders." Sarmento
seemed to be blurting out the words. "But he wishes to assure you . .
."
"Impossible!" Arangbar's voice was suddenly a roar. "He would not dare!
He knows the cargo was under my seal. I have a copy of the cartaz sent
to Goa."
"It was a grievous mistake, Majesty. His Excellency sends his deepest
apologies and offers to . . ."
"It was done on _someone's _order! It had to be his. How can it be a
'mistake'!" Arangbar's face had gone purple. "Why was it ordered in the
first place?"
Sarmento stood speechless while the envoy spoke rapidly into his ear.
Then he looked back at Arangbar. "Mistakes are always possible,
Majesty. His Excellency wishes to assure you the vessel and all cargo
will be released within two weeks."
"I demand it be released immediately! And damages equal the value of
the cargo brought to me personally." Arangbar's face was livid. "Or he
will never again have a _pice _of trade in an Indian port."
Sarmento turned and translated quickly to the emissary. The
Portuguese's face dropped over his moustache and he hesitantly spoke
something to Sarmento.
"We regret we have no power at this time to authorize a payment for
damages, Majesty. But we assure you His Excellency will . . ."
"Then 'His Excellency' will have no more trade in India." Arangbar
turned, his face overflowing with rage, and shouted to the guards
standing behind him. As they ran to his side he drew his sword and
waved it drunkenly at the emissary, whose face had gone white. "Take
him away."
As the guards seized the terrified Portuguese by the arms, sending his
hat tumbling onto the carpet, he looked imploringly at Nadir Sharif.
But the prime minister's face was a mask. Then Arangbar turned on
Father Sarmento. "If His Excellency has anything else to say to me, he
will say it himself, or he will send someone with the authority to
answer me. I do not receive his _peons_."
Sarmento flinched at the insulting Goan slang for dockhand. "Your
Majesty, again I assure you . . ."
" You will never again assure me of anything. I've listened to your
assurances for years, largely on matters about which you have only
belief, never proof. You assured me of the power of the Christian God,
but never once would you accept the challenge of the Islamic mullahs to
cast a Bible and the Quran into a fire together, to show once and for
all which held sacred truth. But their test is no longer needed. Your
Christian lies are over." Arangbar rose unsteadily from his throne, his
brow harrowed by his fury. "I order your stipend terminated and your
church in Agra closed. And your mission in Lahore. There will never
again be a Christian church in India. Never."
"Your Majesty, there are many Christians in India." Sarmento's voice
was pleading. "They must have a priest, to minister the Holy
Sacrament."
"Then do it in your lodgings. You no longer have a church." Arangbar
settled back on the throne, his anger seeming to overwhelm him. "Never
see me again unless you bring news the ship is released, and my demands
met. Never."
Sarmento watched in horror as Arangbar dismissed him with a gesture of
his arm. The old Jesuit turned and moved trembling into the crowd that
had pushed around the sides of the pavilion. As he passed by
Hawksworth, he suddenly stopped.
"This was all because of you." His voice quivered. "I learned of this
only today from my foolish prodigal, Pinheiro. May God have mercy on
you, heretic. You and your accomplices have destroyed all His work in
India."
As Hawksworth tried to find an answer he heard a drunken shout.
"Inglish! What are you doing here? Come forward and explain yourself."
He looked up to see Arangbar motioning at him.
"Are you deaf? Come forward." Arangbar glared mischievously. "Why are
you still in Agra? We were told we sent you away, almost a week ago. I
think I may decide to have you and every other Christian in India
hanged."
"May it please Your Majesty, I came to request an audience." Hawksworth
moved quickly forward, past the confused guards, carrying the package
he had brought.
"And what have you stolen of ours, Inglish? Have you come now to tell
us it was all a mistake, before I order your hand cut off?"
"Englishmen are not Portugals, Your Majesty. We do not take what is not
our own. What have I ever taken that Your Majesty did not freely give?"
"It's true what you say, Inglish. You are not a Portuguese." Arangbar
suddenly beamed as a thought flashed through his eyes. "Tell me,
Inglish, will your king destroy their fleets for me now?"
"Why would he do so, Your Majesty? You have denied him the right to
trade; you have refused to grant the _firman _he requested."
"Not if he will rout the Portuguese infidels from our seas, Inglish.
They are a pestilence, a plague, that sickens all it touches." Arangbar
waved in the direction of a eunuch, ordering wine for himself. "You
deceived me once, Inglish, but you did not rob me. Perhaps we will have
you stay here a few days longer."
"I have already made preparations to depart, Your Majesty, on your
orders."
"You cannot travel without our permission, Inglish. We still rule
India, despite what the Portuguese Viceroy may think." Arangbar paused
and drank thirstily from the glass of wine. "So why did you want an
audience, Inglish, if you were planning to leave?"
Hawksworth paused, thinking of the decision he had made, wondering
again if there was a chance.
"I've come to make a trifling request of Your Majesty." He moved
forward and bowed, presenting his parcel, the obligatory gift.
"What's this have you brought us, Inglish?"
"May it please Your Majesty, after settling my accounts in Agra, I have
no money remaining to purchase gifts worthy of Your Majesty. I have
only this remaining. I offer it to Your Majesty, in hopes you will
understand its unworthiness in your eyes is matched only by its
unequaled value to me. It is my treasure. I have had it by my side for
over twenty years, at sea and on land."
Arangbar accepted the parcel with curiosity and flipped aside the
velvet wrap. An English lute sparkled against the sunshine.
"What is this, Inglish?" Arangbar turned it in his hand, examining the
polished cedar staves that curved to form its melon-shaped back.
"An instrument of England, Your Majesty, which we hold in the same
esteem you grant your Indian sitar."
"This is a curious toy, Inglish. It has so few strings." He examined it
a moment longer, then turned to Hawksworth. "Do you yourself play this
instrument?"
"I do, Your Majesty."
"Then we will hear it." Arangbar passed the lute back to Hawksworth,
while the nobles around them buzzed in astonishment.
Hawksworth cradled it against him. The feel of its body flooded him
with sadness as he realized he would never play it again. Memories of
London, Tunis, Gibraltar, a dozen cabins and lodgings, flooded over
him. He inhaled deeply and began a short suite by Dowland. It was the
one he had played for Shirin that afternoon so long ago in the
observatory in Surat.
The clear notes flooded the canopied pavilion with their rich full
voice, then drifted outward into the square, settling silence in their
path. The suite was melancholy, a lament of lost love and beauty, and
Hawksworth found his own eyes misting as he played. When he reached the
end, the last crisp note died into a void that seemed to be his own
heart. He held the lute a moment longer, then turned to pass it back to
Arangbar.
The Moghul's eyes seemed to be misting as well.
"I have never heard anything quite like it, Inglish. It has a sadness
we never hear in a raga. Why have you never played for us before?"
"Your Majesty has musicians of your own."
"But no instrument like this, Inglish. Will you have your king send us
one?"
"But I have given you mine, Majesty."
Arangbar examined the lute once more, then looked at Hawksworth and
smiled. "But if I keep this instrument now, Inglish, I will most
probably forget by tomorrow where I have put it." He winked at
Hawksworth and handed back the lute. "Have your king send us one,
Inglish, and a teacher to instruct our musicians."
Hawksworth could not believe what he was hearing. "I humbly thank Your
Majesty. I . . ."
"Now what was it you came to ask of us, Inglish?" Arangbar continued to
study the lute as he sipped from his wine. "Ask it quickly."
"Merely a trifling indulgence of Your Majesty."
"Then tell us what it is, Inglish." Arangbar turned and searched the
square with his eyes, as though monitoring the state of preparations.
Hawksworth cleared his throat and tried to still his pulse. "Your
Majesty's release of the Persian woman Shirin, who is guilty of no
crime against Your Majesty."
Arangbar's smile faded as he turned back to Hawksworth.
"We have not yet decided her fate, Inglish. She does not concern you."
"May it please Your Majesty, she concerns me very much. I come to ask
Your Majesty's permission to make her my wife, and to take her back to
England with me, if Your Majesty will release her. She will be gone
from India soon, and will trouble Your Majesty no further."
"But we just told you you are not returning, Inglish. Not until we
permit it." He grinned. "You must stay and play this instrument for us
more."
"Then I beg that her life be spared until the time I am allowed to
leave."
Arangbar studied Hawksworth and a grudging smile played on his lips.
"You are an excellent judge of women, Inglish. Perhaps too much so. I
suspected it the first time I saw you."
"She wishes no ill toward Your Majesty. There is no purpose in taking
her life."
"How do you know what she wishes for us, Inglish? I think we know
better than you." Arangbar paused to sip again from his wine cup. "But
we will spare her for now, if your king will agree to send warships to
drive the infidel Portuguese from our shores. And if you will agree to
play more for me."
"Will Your Majesty order her release?"
"I will move her to my _zenana_ for now, Inglish. Until matters are
settled, I will order her brought with us to Fatehpur. That is my part
of the bargain. What will you do about yours?"
"I will inform my king of Your Majesty's wishes."
"And he will comply, if he wants to trade in India." Arangbar turned to
Nadir Sharif. "Order a horse for the Inglish. He will ride with us
today. And have the woman Shirin sent to the _zenana_."
Nadir Sharif bowed and edged next to Arangbar, adopting a confidential
tone.
"If I may be allowed, Your Majesty, you are aware the woman Shirin
would not be entirely welcome in the _zenana _by Her Majesty, Queen
Janahara."
"Her Majesty is not the Moghul of India." Arangbar seemed suddenly
exhilarated by the absence of the queen. "I have ordered it."
"To hear is to obey." Nadir Sharif bowed low, casting a worried glance
toward Hawksworth. "But perhaps it would be equally pleasing to Your
Majesty . . . and to Her Majesty as well . . . to allow the woman to
travel to Fatehpur under the cognizance of the English ambassador."
Arangbar glanced toward the palace, and his exhilaration seemed to
dissolve as suddenly as it had come. "Until Fatehpur, then. After that
we will decide where she will be kept until the Inglish satisfies his
part of the bargain." Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Agreed, Inglish?"
"I bow to Your Majesty's will."
"_Durbar_ is concluded." Arangbar rose by himself and moved to the edge
of the tent pavilion. As the trumpets and drums again sounded, the
fanning eunuchs scurried to stay beside him. He stepped into the
sunshine, stared about the square for a moment, then turned to Nadir
Sharif.
"Order everyone cleared and the women brought. I am suddenly growing
weary of Agra."
Nadir Sharif bowed again and spoke quickly to the captain of the guard.
As the order was circulated, he quietly moved next to Hawksworth.
"So it seems your luck changed after all, Ambassador. For now. But I
fear it may not last. As a friend I suggest you make the most of it."