The Moghul Part 54

"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 pa.s.s 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 s.p.a.cious, 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

sc.r.a.pe 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, pa.s.sing 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."