The Moghul Part 42

This isn't an offer. It's an ultimatum.

"Is His Highness aware I have with me a large sea chest? It will require a cart, which I plan to hire. Perhaps the delay this will impose would inconvenience you and your men, since you surely prefer to ride swiftly."

"On the contrary, Captain. We will have with us a small convoy of supplies, lead for molding shot. We will travel at a pace that best suits us all. Your chest presents no difficulty."

But there will be many difficulties, he told himself. And he thought again about Mirza Nuruddin and the terms he had demanded. Twenty percent interest on the loan, and only a hundred and eighty days to repay both the new silver coin and the interest.

But why, Vasant Rao asked himself again, did the Shahbandar agree to the plan at all? Is this Mirza Nuruddin's final wager? That Jadar will win?

"Will three days be sufficient for your preparations, Captain Hawksworth?"

"It will. If I decide to use the Burhanpur road." Hawksworth wondered how long he could taunt the Raput.

"Perhaps I should tell you something about travel in India, Amba.s.sador.

There are, as you say, two possible routes between Surat and Agra. Both present certain risks. The northern route, through Udaipur and Rajputana, is at first appearance faster, since the roads are drier and the rivers there have already subsided from the monsoon. But it is not a part of India where travelers are always welcomed by the local Rajput clans. You may well find yourself in the middle of a local war, or the reluctant guest of a petty raja who judges you worth a ransom.

"On the other hand, if you travel east, through Burhanpur, you may find that some rivers are still heavy from the monsoon, at least for another month. But the clans there are loyal to Prince Jadar, and only near Chopda, halfway to Burhanpur, will you encounter any local brigands.

Theirs, however, is an honorable profession, and they are always willing to accept bribes in return for safe pa.s.sage. We ordinarily do not kill them, though we easily could, since petty robbery--they view it as a toll--is their livelihood and their tradition. They are weak and they make weak demands. Such is not true of the rajas in Rajputana. The choice is yours, but if you value your goods, and your life, you will join us as we make our way east to Burhanpur."

Hawksworth studied the bearded Rajput guards as Vasant Rao spoke.

I'm either a captive of the prince or of Mukarrab Khan, regardless of what I do. Which one wants me dead more?

"My frigate sails tomorrow. I can leave the following day."

"Good, it's agreed then. Our convoy will leave in three days. It will be my pleasure to travel with you, Captain Hawksworth. Your reputation has already reached His Highness. We will meet you here at the beginning of the second _pahar_. I believe that's your hour of nine in the morning." He smiled with a warmth that was almost genuine. "You should consider yourself fortunate. Few _feringhi_ have ever traveled inland. You will find the interior far different from Surat. Until then."

He bowed lightly and snapped a command to the waiting hors.e.m.e.n. In moments they were lost among the trees.

"This evening must be a time of farewell for us both, Captain Hawksworth. You know, the Hindus believe life and death are an endless cycle that dooms them to repeat their miserable existence over and over again. I myself prefer to think that this one life is itself cyclical, ever renewing. What was new, exciting, yesterday is today tedious and tiresome. So tomorrow brings us both rebirth. For you it is Agra, for me Goa. But I expect to see Surat again, as no doubt do you. Who knows when our paths will cross once more?" Mukarrab Khan watched as a eunuch shoved wide the door leading onto the torchlit garden. "You have been a most gracious visitor, tolerating with exemplary forbearance my unworthy hospitality. Tonight perhaps you will endure one last evening of my company, even if I have little else left to offer."

The courtyard was a confused jumble of packing cases and household goods. Servants were everywhere, wrapping and crating rolled carpets, bolsters, furniture, vases, and women's clothing. Elephants stood near the back of the courtyard, howdahs on their backs, waiting to be loaded. Goods would be transferred to barks for the trip downriver to the bar, where they would be loaded aboard a waiting Portuguese frigate.

"My dining hall has been dismantled, its carpet rolled. We have no choice but to dine this evening in the open air, like soldiers on the march."

Hawksworth was no longer hearing Mukarrab Khan. He was staring past him, through the smoke, not quite believing what he saw. But it was all too real. Standing in the corner of the courtyard were two Europeans in black ca.s.socks. Portuguese Jesuits.

Mukarrab Khan noticed Hawksworth's diplomatic smile suddenly freeze on his face, and turned to follow his gaze.

"Ah, I must introduce you. You do understand the Portuguese language, Captain?"

"Enough."

"I should have thought so. I personally find it abominable and refuse to study it. But both the fathers here have studied Persian in Goa, and I think one of them knows a bit of Turki, from his time in Agra."

"What are they doing here?" Hawksworth tried to maintain his composure.

"They returned to Surat just today from Goa, where they've been these past few weeks. I understand they're en route to the Jesuit mission in Lah.o.r.e, a city in the Punjab, well to the north of Agra. They specifically asked to meet you." He laughed. "They're carrying no cannon, Captain, and I a.s.sumed you had no objection."

"You a.s.sumed wrong. I have nothing to say to a Jesuit."

"You'll meet Jesuits enough in Agra, Captain, at the Moghul's court.

Consider this evening a foretaste." Mukarrab Khan tried to smile politely, but there was a strained look in his eyes and he fingered his jeweled ring uncomfortably. "You would favor me by speaking to them."

The two Europeans were now moving toward them, working their way through the swarm of servants and crates in the courtyard. The ruby- studded crucifixes they wore against their black ca.s.socks seemed to shoot red sparks into the evening air. Mukarrab Khan urged Hawksworth forward apprehensively.

"May I have the pleasure to present Amba.s.sador Brian Hawksworth, who represents His Majesty, King James of England, and is also, I believe, an official of England's East India Company.

"And to you, Amba.s.sador, I have the honor to introduce Father Alvarez Sarmento, Superior for the Society of Jesus' mission in Lah.o.r.e, and Father Francisco da Silva."

Hawksworth nodded lightly and examined them. Although Sarmento was aged, his face remained strong and purposeful, with hard cheeks and eyes that might burn through marble. The younger priest could not have been more different. His ruddy neck bulged from the tight collar of his ca.s.sock, and his eyes shifted uncomfortably behind his puffed cheeks.

Hawksworth wondered absently how long his bloat--too much capon and port wine--would last if Mackintosh had him on the third watch for a month.

"You are a celebrated man, Captain Hawksworth." Father Sarmento spoke in flawless Turki, but his voice was like ice. "There is much talk of you in Goa. The new Viceroy himself requested that we meet you, and convey a message."

"His last message was to order an unlawful attack on my merchantmen. I think he still remembers my reply. Is he now offering to abide by the treaty your Spanish king signed with King James?"

"That treaty has no force in Asia, Captain. His Excellency has asked us to inform you that your mission to Agra will not succeed. Our fathers have already informed the Moghul that England is a lawless nation living outside the grace of the Church. Perhaps you are unaware of the esteem he now holds for our Agra mission. We have a church there now, and through it we have led many carnal-minded Moors to G.o.d. We have refuted the Islamic mullahs in His Majesty's very presence, and shown him the falsity of their Prophet and his laws. Indeed, it is only because of the esteem we have earned that he now sends an amba.s.sador to the Portuguese Viceroy."

Before Hawksworth could respond, Father Sarmento suddenly reached out and touched his arm imploringly. "Captain, let me speak now not for the Viceroy, but for the Holy Church." Hawksworth realized with a shock that he was speaking English. "Do you understand the importance of G.o.d's work in this sea of d.a.m.ned souls? For decades we have toiled in this vineyard, teaching the Grace of G.o.d and His Holy Church, and now at last our prayers are near to answer. When Arangbar became Moghul, our Third Mission had already been here for ten long, fruitless years.

We strove to teach the Grace of G.o.d to his father, Akman, but his d.a.m.nation was he could never accept a single True Church. He would harken to a heathen fakir as readily as to a disciple of G.o.d. At first Arangbar seemed like him, save his failing was not ec.u.menicity. It was indifference, and suspicion. Now, after years of ignominy, we have secured his trust. And with that trust will soon come his soul."

Sarmento paused to cross himself. "When at last a Christian holds the throne of India, there will be rejoicing at the Throne of Heaven. You may choose to live outside the Mystery of the Most Holy Sacrament, my son, but surely you would not wish to undo G.o.d's great work. I implore you not to go before the Moghul now, not to sow unrest in his believing mind with stories of the quarrels and hatreds of Europe. England was once in the bosom of the Holy Church, until your heretic King Henry; and England had returned again, before your last, heretic queen led you once more to d.a.m.nation. Know the Church always stands with open heart to receive you, or any apostate Lutheran, who wishes to repent and save his immortal soul."

"I see now why Jesuits are made diplomats. Is your concern the loss of the Moghul's soul, or the loss of his trade revenues in Goa?"

Hawksworth deliberately answered in Turki. "Tell your pope to stop trying to meddle in England's politics, and tell your Viceroy to honor our treaty and there'll be no 'quarrels' between us here."

"Will you believe my word, sworn before G.o.d, that I have told His Excellency that very thing? That this new war could destroy our years of work and prayer." Sarmento still spoke in English. "But he is a man with a personal vendetta toward the English. It is our great tragedy.

The Viceroy of Goa, His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, is a man nourished by hatred. May G.o.d forgive him."

Hawksworth stood speechless as Father Sarmento crossed himself.

"What did you say his name was?"

"Miguel Vaijantes. He was in Goa as a young captain, and now he has returned as Viceroy. We must endure him for three more years. The Antichrist himself could not have made our cup more bitter, could not have given us a greater test of our Christian love. Do you understand now why I beg you in G.o.d's name to halt this war between us?"

Hawksworth felt suddenly numb. He stumbled past the aged priest and blindly stared into the torchlit courtyard, trying to remember precisely what Roger Symmes had said that day so many years ago in the offices of the Levant Company. One of the few things he had never forgotten from Symmes's monologue of hallucinations and dreams was the name Miguel Vaijantes.

Hawksworth slowly turned to face Father Sarmento and switched to English.

"I will promise you this, Father. If I reach Agra, I will

never speak of popery unless asked. It honestly doesn't interest me.

I'm here on a mission, not a crusade. And in return I would ask one favor of you. I would like you to send a message to Miguel Vaijantes.

Tell him that twenty years ago in Goa he once ordered the death of an English captain named Hawksworth on the _strappado_. Tell him . . ."

The crash of shattering gla.s.s from the hallway of the palace severed the air between them. Then the heavy bronze door swung wide and Shirin emerged, grasping the broken base of a Chinese vase. Her eyes blazed and her disheveled hair streamed out behind her. Hawksworth thought he saw a stain on one cheek where a tear had trailed, but now that trail was dry. She strode directly to Mukarrab Khan and dashed the remainder of the vase at his feet, where it shattered to powder on the marble tiles of the veranda.