The Moghul Part 59

Vasant Rao monitored Hawksworth's reaction, and his dark eyes betrayed his pride. "Do you understand now why the Moghul is held in such regard? No king in the world could have a palace as grand as this. Did you know that the distance around the walls is over one _kos_. What would that be? Around two of your English miles?"

Hawksworth nodded a.s.sent as their guards led them directly across the wide drawbridge and through a pa.s.sageway. The outer edge of the drawbridge was connected by heavy chains to rollers at the top of the entryway. The two rollers worked in a stone channel cut upward into the steep walls of the pa.s.sage and were held in place by iron bars inserted into the channel. The bridge would lift automatically by simple removal of the iron bars. Around them now was a small, heavily defended barbican and ahead, between the outer and inner wall, was a gateway set in a towering portal almost eighty feet high that was faced with gleaming blue enamel tiles.

"How many gates like this are there?"

"The Red Fort actually has four gates, one on the river and one on each of the other sides. This is the southern gate, which the Moghul recently renamed the Amar Singh Gate"--Vasant Rao lowered his voice-- "after a defiant Rajput who he murdered. I have never seen it before, but it is even more beautiful than the public Delhi Gate, on the north, which is inlaid marble. The Red Fort is truly astonishing. Tell me, Captain, is there anything in your England to compare?"

"Nothing." Hawksworth seached for his voice. "Why is it so large?"

"This is the place where India is governed. And the Moghul does not live alone. He has to house over a thousand women, an army to protect him and his treasury, and more servants than man can count." The Rajput seemed momentarily puzzled by the question. Then he continued with a sly smile. "The fort was built by the Moghul's father, the great Akman.

People say it required over eight years to complete. He also built another complete city in the desert a few _kos_ west of here, but later he abandoned it and moved back to Agra. Surely your English king governs from a palace."

"His Majesty, King James, has a palace at Hampton Court." Hawksworth paused. "But England is governed by laws made in Parliament, which has its own place to meet."

"It sounds like you have a very weak king. Captain Hawksworth, if he cannot rule." Vasant Rao glanced nervously at the guards. "You would do well not to tell that to Arangbar. In India there is only one law, the word of the Moghul."

As they entered the portico of the Amar Singh Gate, Hawksworth glanced behind him, relieved to see that their porters still followed, one at each side of his sea chest. Vasant Rao had cautioned him not to deliver all the gifts at once, since Arangbar would expect a new gift each time they met. King James's letter he carried personally, carefully secreted inside his doublet.

Inside the archway of the gate were sets of thick wooden doors, opened back against the sides. These inner doors bristled with long iron spikes, and as Hawksworth puzzled over them, Vasant Rao caught his questioning look.

"Those spikes embedded in the doors are to prevent war elephants from battering them in with their foreheads. It's common in a fortress." He smiled. "But then I keep forgetting your England probably has no elephants."

Ahead, at the terminus of the archway, the path was blocked by a heavy chain and armed sentries. The guards reined in their horses and began to dismount, while their leader pa.s.sed brusque orders to Vasant Rao.

"We ride no farther," Vasant Rao translated as he swung from the saddle. "He says no one except the Moghul himself, his sons, or his women is allowed to ride through the Amar Singh Gate. It's strictly enforced."

Hawksworth paused one last time, feeling about him the weight of the thick walls and the ornate tower rising above them, a great blue jewel in the afternoon sun. For a moment he had the curious sensation of entering a giant tomb. He took a deep breath and slowly dismounted, feeling suddenly conspicuous in his formal silk hose and ruffled doubtlet.

Vasant Rao pa.s.sed the reins of his horse to a waiting servant and drew alongside, his eyes intent. "Does it seem strange to you that the Moghul would name one of the four gates to the Red Fort after a Rajput?" He stroked the curl of his moustache, and lowered his voice.

"It's a story you should hear. It's not meant as an honor."

"What do you mean?"

"It's intended to be a warning to all Rajputs of what happens when he is defied. There was, several years ago, a Rajput adventurer named Amar Singh. He sought to rise to position in Arangbar's court--he eventually did rise to the rank of a thousand horse--and along the way he asked and received the help of an old courtier who had influence. Only later did the Rajput find out that this man expected his younger daughter in payment." Vasant Rao smile wryly. "They say she was incredibly beautiful. Well, Amar Singh was a true Rajput, and he was outraged.

Naturally he refused. So the courtier who had helped him decided to have revenge, and he went to Arangbar and told him about a certain beautiful Rajput girl who would make an excellent addition to the _zenana_. The Moghul immediately sent some of his personal guards to Amar Singh's house to take the girl. When Amar Singh realized why the guards had come, he called for the girl and stabbed her to death before their eyes. Then he took horse and rode to the Red Fort, even riding through this gate. He rode into the audience hall and demanded that Arangbar appear and explain. Such things, Captain, are simply not done in Agra. The moment he dismounted he was cut to pieces by a dozen of Arangbar's guards. Then the Moghul decided to name this gate after him, to remind all Rajputs of his fate. But he need not have bothered. No Rajput will ever forget."

Leaving the servants with their horses, they proceeded on foot up a wide, inclined path that led through an enclosed square. Around the sides of the square were porticoes and galleries, where hors.e.m.e.n with swords and pikes waited.

"Those men are on their _chauki_, their seventh-day watch." Vasant Rao pointed to the porticoes. "Every soldier in Agra must stand watch once every seven days. Either here or in the large square inside, where we're going. It's the Moghul's law."

They pa.s.sed through another large gate and suddenly a half dozen turbaned guards, in leather armor and wearing long curved swords, drew alongside, as though expecting them. Now with a double escort they began the ascent of a long walkway, perhaps twenty paces wide, situated between two high brick walls. Hawksworth's leather shoes padded against the square paving stones, which had been striated to permit easy footing for the Moghurs horses and elephants. As they reached the end, they emerged into another large court, comprising the southeast corner of the fort.

Ahead was yet a fourth gate. As they pa.s.sed through, Hawksworth realized it was protected by more mounted

hors.e.m.e.n in the recessed lower porticoes, and archers in elevated galleries. They walked past the wide wooden doors and into a vast milling square. It was several hundred feet on the side and ringed with arcades where still more mounted hors.e.m.e.n waited. A wide roadway divided the square.

"This is the quadrangle. I only saw it once before, but then I entered from the public side." Vasant Rao indicated an identical gate, directly opposite. "Over there."

The guards directed them toward a large multicolored silk canopy fanning out from the tall buildings on their right. The area beneath the canopy was cordoned off from the square by a red velvet railing, and porters with cudgels stood around the perimeter. Vasant Rao seemed increasingly nervous as their escorts led them forward, past the guards at the entry to the canopy. Hawksworth noticed that the air beneath the canopy was heavy with incense--ambergris and aloe--burning in gold and silver censers hanging from poles.

"The arcade ahead is the _Diwan-i-Am_, the Hall of Public Audience, where the Moghul holds his daily _durbar_." Vasant Rao pointed toward the steps that led upward to a large open pavilion at the far end of the canopy. It was several stories high and over a hundred feet on each side. The roof was borne by marble arches supported by rows of white columns. "No man with rank under five hundred horse is allowed to enter inside the railing. I think that's why we have a special escort."

Above the crowd, at the far end of the hall, was a raised platform of white marble, standing about three feet from the floor and covered by its own tapestried canopy. The platform was surrounded by a silver railing, and several turbaned men holding rolls of doc.u.ments were now struggling to gain a position at the rail. All around them the crowd buzzed with antic.i.p.ation.

Behind and above the platform, in a marble gallery set in the wall, rested an immense throne carved from black marble. At its four corners were life-sized statues of rearing lions, each spangled with jewels, which supported in their silver paws a canopy of pure gold. The walls on either side of the throne were latticework marble screens, through which the _zenana_ women could watch.

"I've never seen the throne this close before. It's famous." Vasant Rao paused. "And there are some in Agra who would sell their brother to have it."

The Imperial guards suddenly saluted, fists against their leather shields, turned and marched down the steps of the _Diwan-i-Am_ and back into the square. Vasant Rao watched them disappear into the crowd and then he shook the left sleeve of his riding cloak and a naked _katar_, the deadly "tiger knife" all Rajputs carried, dropped into his hand.

Its handle was a gold-plated grip between two p.r.o.ngs, designed to be held in the fist and thrust directly forward. Without a word he slipped it into a sheath secured in the sash of his belt.

Hawksworth pretended not to notice and instead turned to examine the crowd. Next to them an a.s.sembly of Persian diplomats, wearing heavy robes and jewel-encrusted turbans, eyed Hawksworth's plain doublet and hose with open contempt. The air was thick was sweat and incense and the sparkle of gold and jewels.

Uniformed servants sounded a drum roll on two large bra.s.s kettles at the back of the throne and the velvet curtains behind the throne parted. Two guards with gold-handled swords entered briskly and stood at attention, one on either side of the parted curtains.

Hawksworth felt his pulse surge as the next figure entered through the curtains.

He was of middle height, with a small moustache and glistening diamond earrings. He wore a tight patterned turban, a blue robe secured by a gold brocade sash, jeweled rings on both hands, and a ma.s.sive string of pearls. A golden-handled sword and dagger were at his waist, and two feline cubs frisked by his side. Hawksworth studied them in confusion, and after a moment realized they must be baby lions, an animal famous in English folklore but never actually seen firsthand by anyone in England.

At that instant a din of kettledrums erupted from galleries at the sides of the square. Almost as one those waiting called out a salaam, bent forward, and touched the back of their right hand to the ground and then to their forehead as they drew erect. The _durbar_ of the Moghul had begun.

"You did not perform the _teslim_." Vasant Rao turned to Hawksworth with dismay in his voice. "He may have taken note of it. That was unwise, my friend."

"An amba.s.sador for a king doesn't prostrate himself."

"You're new to India. That may be taken as an excuse. The other amba.s.sadors here know better."

As they watched, three other men slowly emerged from behind the throne and took their places on the marble platform, standing beside the Moghul. They all wore jeweled turbans and each had a sash of gold cloth about the waist. Hawksworth turned to Vasant Rao in time to see a look of hatred flash through his eyes.

"Who are they?"

"The two younger men are his sons. I saw them once before in Agra. It's traditional that his sons join him at the _durbar_ when they are here.

The younger one is Allaudin. He will be married next month to Queen Janahara's daughter. The other one is his drunken brother Parwaz. The older man is Zainul Beg, the Moghurs _wazir_, his chief counsel. He's the father of Nadir Sharif, the prime minister, and he's also the father of Queen Janahara."

Hawksworth watched as yet another man emerged through the curtain, walked casually past the throne, and was helped onto the marble platform directly in front. He turned to the silver rail, where a dozen pet.i.tions were immediately thrust up to him.

Vasant Rao nudged Hawksworth and pointed. "And that's Nadir Sharif, the prime minister. Remember him well. No one reaches the Moghul without his consent."

The prime minister paused to study the faces below, and then reached out for a pet.i.tion. He unrolled it, scanned it quickly, and turned to Arangbar, pa.s.sing it upward with a comment only those by the throne could hear. The business of the day was underway.

Arangbar listened with obvious boredom as one pet.i.tion after another was set before him. He held counsel with his sons and with the _wazir_, and frequently he would turn to the marble screen off the right side of the throne and discuss a pet.i.tion with someone waiting behind it.

Below the platform several amba.s.sadors shuffled, trying to mask their impatience. Hawksworth suddenly realized that the jewel-encrusted boxes they held, many of beaten gold, contained presents for the Moghul. He looked at his own leatherbound wooden chest, shabby by comparison, and his heart began to sink.

After a short while, the Moghul seemed to lose patience with the pet.i.tions and, ignoring the waiting n.o.bles, abruptly signaled for a review of the day's elephant troops. Moments later, a line of war elephants entered through the public gate and began to march single- file across the back of the square. Their tusks were wreathed with gold bands and they wore coverings of embroidered cloth which were strung with tinkling bells and ta.s.sels of Tibetan yak hair. As each reached a spot directly in front of the _Diwan-i-Am_ it stopped, kneeled, and trumpeted to Arangbar.

When the last elephant had pa.s.sed, drums were sounded again and a group of eight men came into the square leading a snarling beast by heavy chains attached to its iron collar. It was tawny, with a heavy mane and powerful paws, and it roared out its displeasure as it writhed and clawed at the chains.