The Moghul Part 58

"I can only say that if other English are like this man, then they are a determined race. He seems to seek the new because it is there, yet perhaps not knowing what he will do with it once it is his."

"What do you mean?"

"The Englishman, Hawksworth. He claims to be here for his king and his king only. But I sense this is only partly true. He is a man of complex desires."

"Then why is he here?"

"I think he is here also for himself. He wants something."

"Perhaps it's to make war on the Portuguese?"

"He will not shrink from it. But I think his own coming to India is to find something. He is searching, for what I cannot say. He is a man of curious parts. He spoke once of spending time in prison. And he is devoted to playing a small stringed instrument. He understands the tongue of the Moghuls, and he questions all he sees. He is beginning to know India, because he has made it his purpose to know India. If he stays, he could become very troubling for the Portuguese."

"And will that bring no good to affairs here?" Nadir Sharif paused.

"Will it?"

"I do not follow matters of state, Sharif Sahib."

Nadir Sharif let the silence swell, then in a voice brittle as ice he spoke.

"Why did the prince meet with him?"

Vasant Rao tried without success to mask his surprise. Lord Krishna, they know everything in Agra.

"There was a meeting." Vasant Rao hesitated, then decided to maintain discretion. "But neither spoke of it afterwards."

Nadir Sharif studied him, pondering if it were true. Then he turned to glance at the _darshan_ balcony as he spoke.

"The Moghul has demanded that the English _feringhi_ be brought to _durbar_ immediately after he arrives."

"Does that mean today?" Vasant Rao shifted with surprise.

"His Majesty will hear soon enough he has arrived. There

is no choice."

"Then the _feringhi_ must be told to prepare, Sharif Sahib. He has a chest containing gifts, and the letter."

"I know what he has. Tell him he must bring the gifts to _durbar_. For his sake I hope they're not trifles. His Majesty is most anxious to see them."

And the queen is even more anxious to see the letter, Nadir Sharif told himself. Then he smiled as he realized he would see it first.

It will be an interesting afternoon.

A fanfare of drums sounded faintly from the ramparts of the Red Fort, and for a moment the morning sun seemed to glow even brighter against the gleaming panels of the Jasmine Tower. Nadir Sharif turned toward the _darshan_ balcony. From the shadow of its embroidered satin awning a figure had suddenly emerged. It was just possible to make out the man's glistening robe and his elaborate, patterned turban. Then the heavy jewels of his earrings momentarily caught the morning sunshine and sent streams of light flashing outward. All the waiting crowd bowed low, each man touching the back of his right hand to the ground and then bringing the palm to his forehead as he drew erect. It was the formal _teslim_ given the Moghul, signifying each man's readiness to give himself as an offering.

Nadir Sharif scrutinized the scene carefully and drew an almost audible sigh of relief. Then he turned to Vasant Rao.

"Have you ever seen the Moghul at morning _darshan_? He continued on distractedly, neglecting to pause for an answer. "You know, it's actually a custom began by Akman, who worshiped the sun as one of the G.o.ds. But Arangbar appears in order to maintain his own authority. If he missed _darshan_ for a day, rumors would begin he was dead. Three days and there would be anarchy."

Suddenly the cheers from the courtyard died abruptly. In the silence that followed, a single pigeon's cry could be heard from overhead.

Nadir Sharif whirled to see a second figure now standing on the balcony beside Arangbar.

It was a dark-haired woman. He could not tell if she wore a veil, but her tiara of jewels glistened in the early sun. The color drained from Nadir Sharif's face as he watched.

So the rumor was true. For the first time in history, she has appeared beside him at _darshan_, to be worshiped equally.

Vasant Rao found himself staring in astonishment.

Queen Janahara. This is truly the beginning of the end for the prince.

He will never see Agra again. Unless he's at the head of an army, or in chains.

"What does it mean?" Vasant Rao could think of nothing else to say.

"Times and fashions change. Perhaps it's a whim of His Majesty." Nadir Sharif did not turn his gaze from the balcony. He did not want Vasant Rao to see his eyes.

"Escort the _feringhi_ to _durbar_ today. He's not safe here alone."

"As you wish, Sharif Sahib." Vasant Rao paused and studied the back of Nadir Sharifs turban. "Do you have a message for the prince when I return?"

"Official channels will serve for any message I have to give the prince." The prime minister whirled with uncharacteristic abruptness.

"That will be all. You would be wise to be out of Agra when the sun rises tomorrow."

As Vasant Rao made his way past the waiting eunuchs, Nadir Sharif turned once more to examine the _darshan_ balcony. He watched in growing dismay as the courtiers on the platform began salaams to Queen Janahara, who now stood boldly at the forefront of the canopied marble portico.

Then he recalled the dispatch from Mumtaz.

A line of mounted Imperial guards cleared a pathway through the narrow street, now a midday throng of bullock carts, dark-skinned porters, ambling cattle, and black-veiled women balancing heavy bra.s.s pots atop their heads. Along both sides of the street tan awnings shielded lines of quick- eyed, bearded merchants, who squatted on their porches beckoning all to inspect their unprecedented bargains in cloth, reeds, betel leaves. Vendors sizzled flat bread in charcoal-fired round pans and dropped b.a.l.l.s of brown dough into dark pots of smoking oil, seasoning the dusty air with piquant spice. Above the clatter of their horses' hooves came a cacophony of street Hindi, squeaking cart wheels, children's discordant piping.

Between the open shops were ornate doorways, framed in delicate plasterwork scallops, leading upward to overhead balconies supported by red sandstone brackets. Behind the latticework screens that fronted these balconies--some carved rosewood, some filigreed marble--Hawksworth could see cl.u.s.ters of idle women chewing betel and fanning themselves as they leaned forward to inspect the procession below.

Hawksworth studied the helmeted guards around him, whose ornate shields bore the Moghurs personal seal, and reflected on his introduction to Agra. His caravan from the south had arrived at the city's outskirts the evening before, after the sun's light had died away, and as he requested, Vasant Rao had found a traditional guest house for them. It was near the center of town, inconspicuous, and its primary amenities were a rainproof thatch roof and a stone floor. Tomorrow, the Rajput had told him, he must find a house befitting an amba.s.sador.

The guards accompanying them into Agra had not even dismounted, had turned back immediately for the south, and only Vasant Rao stayed to share the evening meal. They had dined quickly on fried bread and lentils and afterward the Rajput had retrieved his saddle from the stable and, pillowing it under his helmet, immediately fallen asleep, curved sword in hand. Hawksworth had lain awake listening to the night sounds of Agra, wondering what his next move should be. Sleep finally overtook him just before dawn broke.

He awoke to discover Vasant Rao already gone. But the Rajput had mysteriously returned in time to share a breakfast of more fried bread and spiced curds. After eating, Vasant Rao had announced that Arangbar expected him in _durbar_ that afternoon. The rest of the morning had been spent hastily procuring bearers for his chest of gifts and cleaning the mildewed doublet and hose he had been instructed by the Company to wear. Just after noon, a contingent of the Moghul's personal guard had arrived

unexpectedly with orders to escort them through the center of Agra, directly to the Moghul's private entrance to the Red Fort.

Their horses emerged abruptly from the narrow, jostling street and Hawksworth realized they had entered a wide, sunlit plaza opening outward from the fort's south gate. The close, acrid smells of the town were immediately scourged by the searing midday heat. Hawksworth reined in his horse and stared at the fort, incredulous at its immensity.

They were facing two concentric walls of polished red sandstone, the outer easily forty feet high and the inner at least seventy. Both were obviously thick, with battlements loop-holed for musketry and crowned by rampart-ways. A wide wooden drawbridge leading to the entrance spanned a thirty-foot, water-filled moat that followed the outer wall in both directions as far as the eye could see.

It had to be the largest, most powerfully built fortress Hawksworth had ever seen. No story he had heard, no imagined grandeur, had prepared him for this first view. The sight was at once awesome and chilling.

No wonder the Moghul frightens all of India. It's impregnable. The outer blocks of the walls seem to be linked by ma.s.sive iron rings and the round towers s.p.a.ced along them have slots designed for heavy ordnance. With two thick walls, which probably also have a moat between, it would be impossible to storm. And cannon would be almost useless.