The Moghul Part 18

"Obviously. But he compensated by his luck--my luck-- in saving me from a fall. He rides well enough, no matter how uncertain his stroke." The governor examined them both skeptically.

Hawksworth watched the exchange in incredulous silence. The _qazi_ may be covering for his own accident. Or perhaps it wasn't an accident. And if not, then he tried to kill the Mukarrab Khan in a way that would look like it was my responsibility.

"I still maintain it was most curious." Mukarrab Khan turned to watch as the stable-keepers prepared to shoot his favorite horse. "But tell me now what you think of _chaugan_, Captain Hawksworth?"

"It's exhilarating. And dangerous. A seaman might say it's like taking the whipstaff all alone in a gale, without a safety line." Hawksworth tried unsuccessfully to decipher Mukarrab Khan's thoughts.

"A quaint a.n.a.logy, but doubtless apt." He tried to smile. "You know, Captain, there are those who mistakenly regard _chaugan _as merely a game, whereas it is actually much, much more. It's a crucible of courage. It sharpens one's quickness of mind, tests one's powers of decision. The great Akman believed the same, and for that reason he encouraged it years ago among his officials. Of course it requires horsemanship, but in the last count it's a flawless test of manhood.

You did not entirely disappoint me. I suspect you English could one day be worthy of our little game."

A shot rang out, and the governor's face went pale for an instant, his eyes glossed with sadness. Then he turned again to Hawksworth.

"Deplorable waste. To think I bought him just last year especially for _chaugan_. From a grasping Arab, a confirmed thief who sensed I fancied that stallion and absolutely refused to bargain." The voice was calmer now, the official facade returning. "But enough. Perhaps I could interest you in a drink?"

He signaled toward the edge of the field, and a waiting groom ran toward them, bearing a black clay pot with a long spout.

"The sun has set. Ramadan is finished for this year. So I will join you. Let me show you how we drink on horseback." He lifted the pot above his head, tilted the spout toward him, and caught the stream effortlessly in his mouth. Then he pa.s.sed it to Hawksworth. "It's called _sharbat_. The _topiwallahs _all seem to like it and misp.r.o.nounce it 'sherbet.'"

The water was sugar sweet and tangy with bits of lemon. G.o.d, Hawksworth thought, would we had barrels of this for the voyage home. As he drank, drenching his beard, he first noticed the icy stars, a splendor of cold fire in an overhead canopy. The town's smoke had been banished by the freshening wind, and a placid silence now mantled the field. The players were preparing to leave, and the grooms were harnessing the remaining horses to lead them home.

"Tonight we feast to mark the end of Ramadan, Captain, our month of fasting during daylight hours. It's an evening celebrating the return of sensual pleasure." Mukarrab Khan stared at Hawksworth for a moment.

"By the looks of you, I'd suspect you're no Jesuit. I would be honored if you could join me." He forced a blithe cheerfulness his weary eyes belied.

As Hawksworth listened, he realized he very much wanted to go. To lose himself for a time. And suddenly the words of Huyghen, and of Roger Symmes, flashed through his mind. Of the India you would not want to leave. _Until you would not be able to leave.

_As they rode toward the town, Mukarrab Khan fell silent. And Abul Hasan, too, seemed lost in his own thoughts. Hawksworth slowly let his horse draw to the rear in order to count the governor's personal retinue of guards. Thirty men, with quivers of arrows beside their saddle, pikes at their right stirrup, and a matchlock musket. As they rode, the other hors.e.m.e.n eyed Hawksworth warily, keeping to themselves and making no effort to talk. Hawksworth thought he sensed an underlying hostility lurking through the crowd, but whether it was between the merchants and officials, or toward him, he could not discern.

Then a presumptuous thought pa.s.sed through his mind.

Could this entire scene have been staged by Mukarrab Khan to somehow test me? But to what purpose? What could he want to find out?

Whatever it was, I think he just may have found it.

Then he leaned back in the saddle, pushed aside his misgivings, and sampled the perfumed evening air.

CHAPTER SEVEN

They were deep within the center of Surat, nearing the river, when suddenly the street opened onto a wide stone-paved plaza. The first thing Hawksworth saw through the torchlight was a high iron fence, sentries posted with bucklers and pikes along its perimeter, and an ornate iron gate. Then, as they neared, he realized the fence was the outer perimeter of an immense pink sandstone fortress, with high turrets and a wide, arched entryway. Finally he spotted the water- filled moat that lay between the fence and the fortress walls. The moat was spanned by a single wooden bridge, and Hawksworth noted that when the bridge was drawn inward it neatly sealed the entry of the fortress.

As they approached the iron outer gate, the party of _chaugan _players began to disperse; after formal and minimal farewells the merchants and officials turned and disappeared into the night. Soon only Hawksworth and Mukarrab Khan were left, together with the governor's private grooms and guards. Hawksworth studied the departing players with curiosity. What sway does Mukarrab Khan hold over them? Respect? Fear?

Then the iron gate swung wide and their horses clattered across the wooden drawbridge. Hawksworth looked about and began to understand that the governor's palace guards were not merely ceremonial. Lining both sides of the drawbridge were uniformed infantrymen armed with pikes.

Then as they pa.s.sed under the stone archway leading into the fortress, Hawksworth turned to see even more armed guards, poised just inside, pikes in formal salute. And farther back he saw two armored animals, gigantic, many times larger than the biggest horse, with ma.s.sive ears and a snout several feet in length.

That must be what a war elephant looks like. So they really do exist.

But why so many guards? It's virtually a private army.

Then he felt a groom tug the reins of his horse and signal for him to dismount. They were now inside the palace grounds. Ahead, through an intricate formal garden, stood the residence of the governor of Surat.

The elaborate carvings of its pink sandstone decoration reflected hard red in the torchlight.

Mukarrab Khan directed him through a marble entryway,

ornately rounded at the top like the turret of a mosque. They had entered some form of reception hallway, and Hawksworth noticed that the marble floor was decorated with a complex geometry of colored stone.

Above his head were galleries of white plasterwork supported by delicate arches, and along the sides were ornate, curtained recesses.

Hanging oil lamps brilliantly illuminated the glistening walls, while rows of servants dressed in matching white turbans lined the sides in welcome.

As they approached the end of the reception hallway, Hawksworth studied the door ahead. It was ma.s.sive, and thick enough to withstand any war machine that could be brought into the hallway, and yet its protective function was concealed from obvious notice by a decoration of intricate carvings and a flawless polish. The servants slowly revolved it outward on its heavy bra.s.s hinges and Mukarrab Khan led them into a vast open courtyard surrounded by a veranda, with columns supporting balconies of marble filigree. It seemed a vast reception hall set in the open air, an elegant plaza whose roof was stars, and whose centerpiece was a canopied pavilion, under which stood a raised couch of juniper wood lined with red satin--not unlike an English four-poster bed, save the posts were delicately thin and polished to a burnished ebony. Large bronze lanterns along the balconies furnished a flickering vision of the complex interworking of paths, flower beds, and fountains surrounding the central pavilion.

Waiting on the veranda, just inside the entryway, were six tall figures, three on either side of the doorway. They were turbaned, exquisitely robed, and wore conspicuous jewels that gleamed against their dark skin. As they bowed to the governor, Hawksworth examined them for a brief moment and then his recognition clicked.

Eunuchs. They must be Mukarrab Khan's private guards, since they can go anywhere, even the women's apartments.

"Captain Hawksworth, perhaps you should meet my household officials.

They are Bengalis--slaves actually-- whom I bought young and trained years ago in Agra. One must, regrettably, employ eunuchs to maintain a household such as this. One's palace women can never be trusted, and one's intriguing wives least of all. I named them in the Arab fashion, after their position in the palace, so I need not trouble to remember their names, merely what they do. This is Nahir, who is in charge of my accounts." He gestured toward a pudgy face now glaring out from beneath a deep blue headdress, a tall conical turban tied in place with a wrap of white silk that circled his bloated throat. The eunuch's open jacket was a heavy brocade and it heaved as he breathed, betraying the sagging fat around his nipples.

"The one next to him selects my wardrobe." The second eunuch gazed at Hawksworth impa.s.sively, his puffed, indulgent lips red with betel juice. "That one selects the clothes for my spendthrift women, and the one on his left is responsible for all their jewels. The one over there takes care of the household linens and oversees the servants. And the one behind him is in charge of the kitchen. You will be asked to endure his handiwork tonight."

The eunuchs examined Hawksworth's ragged appearance with transparent contempt, and they seemed to melt around him as he walked through the doorway--two ahead, two behind, and one on either side. None spoke a greeting. Hawksworth examined them carefully, wondering which was in charge of the women's apartments. That's the most powerful position, he smiled to himself, nothing else really counts.

A servant came down the veranda bearing a tray and brought it directly to the governor. Then he kneeled and offered it. It was of beaten silver and on it were two large crystal goblets of a pastel green liquid.

"Captain, would you care to refresh yourself with a gla.s.s of _tundhi_.

It's the traditional way we break the fast of Ramadan." He directed the servant toward Hawksworth. "It's prepared in the women's apartments during the day, as an excuse for something to do."

Hawksworth touched the drink lightly with his tongue. It was a mixture of sweet and tang quite unlike anything he had ever known. Perhaps the closest was a brisk mug of spiced

ale, pungent with clove and cinnamon. But this spiced drink was mysteriously subtle. Puzzling, he turned to Mukarrab Khan.

"What is this? It tastes like the air in a garden."

"This? I've never paid any notice, although the women down it by the basinful after sunset." As he received his own goblet he turned to one of the eunuchs. "Nahir, how do the women prepare _tundhi_?"

"With seeds, Khan Sahib. Seeds of melons, cuc.u.mber, lettuce, and coriander are pounded, and then blended with rosewater, pomegranate essence, and juice of the aloe flower. But the secret is to strain it properly, and I find I must carefully oversee the work."

"Doubtless." Mukarrab Khan's voice was curt. "I suspect you should attend the accounts more and the women's apartments less." He turned to another eunuch.

"Is my bath ready?"

"As always, Khan Sahib." As the eunuch bowed he examined Hawksworth's dust-covered face and hair discreetly. "Will the distinguished _feringhi _also require a bath?"

"He was on the _chaugan _field this afternoon, just as I was."

Hawksworth groaned inwardly. What English host would have the effrontery to suggest a guest needed a bath? For that matter, what Englishman would even consider bathing more than twice a year? It's known well enough King James never bathes, that he never even washes his hands, only brushes them with a moist napkin at mealtime. Yet this Moor wants a full bath before a meal, merely to remove a bit of dust.