The Moghul Part 60

Hawksworth took one look and realized it was a fully-grown male lion.

"That seems to be His Majesty's new toy." Vasant Rao pointed nervously.

"He collects lions as pets. That one must have just been captured."

Arangbar studied the lion with obvious delight. Then he bent down and stroked one of the cubs by his side, lifting it to better view the new prize. The a.s.sembly watched spellbound for a moment, then burst into cheers.

As Hawksworth watched, Arangbar set down the lion cub and spoke with his _wazir_. Zainul Beg stared into the crowd and then pointed. Moments later the black ca.s.sock of a Jesuit appeared at the railing. With a start Hawksworth recognized Father Alvarez Sarmento, last seen in the courtyard of Mukarrab Khan's palace in Surat. The Jesuit listened to the _wazir's_ instructions and then turned to the crowd. His announcement was in English.

"His Majesty orders the amba.s.sador from England to come forward."

Vasant Rao touched Hawksworth's arm and reached out to clasp his hand.

"This is your moment, my friend. By the time _durbar_ is through I will be far from here."

"Why are you leaving?" Hawksworth turned and looked into his eyes, suddenly realizing that Vasant Rao was the closest thing he had to a friend in India.

"It's impossible for me to stay longer." Vasant Rao paused, and Hawksworth sensed his warmth was genuine. Suddenly the Rajput reached into the sash at his belt and drew out his sheathed _katar_. "You saved my life once, in the village, and I've never found the words to thank you. Perhaps this can say it for me. Take it as a token of friendship from a Rajput. It was given to me by my father, and it has tasted blood more times than I can count. You're a brave and honest man, and I think we'll meet again."

Before Hawksworth could speak, Vasant Rao embraced him warmly and melted into the crowd.

A pathway was clearing through the glaring n.o.bles, and Hawksworth quickly slipped the katar into his doublet as he leaned over to secure the chest. When he reached the silver railing, Sarmento was waiting.

"Let me welcome you to Agra, Captain." The Jesuit spoke quietly in English, his face a hard mask. "I pray G.o.d gave you a pleasant journey."

"I thought you were bound for Lah.o.r.e."

"In time, Captain, in time. But we have an Agra mission as well. Our flock here grows. It must be tended. And do you remember what we agreed that night in Surat?"

"Translate for the Inglish amba.s.sador." Arangbar's voice interrupted, speaking in Persian. "I would know his name."

"He asks your name." Sarmento spoke quietly to Hawksworth in English.

"You must bow when you give it."

"I am Captain-General Brian Hawksworth, amba.s.sador of His Majesty, King James the First of England." Hawksworth replied in Turkish, trying to remember the speech he had been told to deliver. A look of delighted surprise flashed through Arangbar's eyes. Hawksworth bowed and then continued. "His Majesty, King James, has asked me to convey his friendship to His Most n.o.ble Majesty, Arangbar, Moghul of India, together with certain unworthy tokens of his regard." Hawksworth tried to think quickly of a way to explain the unimpressive gifts King James had sent. "Those trifles he sends are not intended as gifts deserving of Your Majesty, for that would be a bounty no single man could deliver. Instead he has asked me to bring certain common products of our country, not as gifts, for they are too unworthy, but as samples of English workmanship that Your Majesty may examine personally the goods he offers your merchants in trade. These are the first of many, more- worthy gifts he is now a.s.sembling for Your Majesty, to be sent on future voyages to your land."

"You speak the tongue of the Moghuls, Amba.s.sador. Already your king does me honor. I welcome you in his name." Arangbar leaned forward to watch as Hawksworth opened the clasp on the chest.

The first items were samples of English woolens, lace, and brocade, crafted into doublets. Hawksworth laid these aside and took out a silver-trimmed brace of pistols, a gold- handled sword, an hourgla.s.s in carved ivory, and finally a gold whistle studded with small diamonds.

The Moghul peered down from his marble throne impa.s.sively, and then called for them to be brought to him.

While he examined each gift briefly, a.s.sessing it with a quick glance and calling for the next, Hawksworth reached into the corner of the box and withdrew the next present, a three-cornered English hat topped with a feather. When Arangbar saw the hat his eyes brightened.

"At last I can look like a _topiwallah_." He pushed aside the other gifts and called for the hat. He turned it in his hand for a moment, then removed his jeweled turban and clapped it on his head with delight.

"The _feringhi_ hat is a puzzling invention, Amba.s.sador Khawksworth."

Arangbar stumbled over the p.r.o.nunciation of the name as he signaled for a mirror. "What purpose it serves I have never understood. You, I observe, do not wear one yourself."

"Hats are not to my taste, may it please Your Majesty." Hawksworth bowed again and then continued. "His Majesty, King James of England, also has asked me to deliver a portrait of himself to Your Majesty, together with letter expressing his desire for friendship between your land and his." Hawksworth produced a small framed watercolor from the wooden chest. It was a miniature on vellum, scarcely more than an inch square, by Isaac Oliver, a celebrated artist from the school of Nicholas Hilliard, who had been fashionable under Queen Elizabeth.

While Arangbar examined the painting, scrutinizing the workmanship as might a connoisseur, Hawksworth reached into his doublet and withdrew the letter. It was pa.s.sed to Nadir Sharif, who presented it to Arangbar.

The Moghul reluctantly handed the portrait to Allaudin, then inspected the leather binding of the letter. Finally he broke the red wax seal and began to study the writing, a quizzical expression spreading over his face.

"The seal and script are worthy of a king. But it is in a language of Europe."

"There are two copies, Your Majesty. One in English, the language of my king, and one in Spanish, a language something like the Portugals speak."

"Then we will have Father Sarmento translate."

Sarmento moved to the silver railing and took the leatherbound letter with a distasteful expression. He examined it for a moment and then began to read it silently, the color slowly draining from his face.

"What message does your king send, Amba.s.sador?"

"His admiration for Your Majesty, whose reputation has reached even Europe. And his offer of full and open trade between your nation and his."

"The letter is basely penned, Your Majesty." Sarmento's face was red with dismay as he turned to Arangbar. "Its style is unworthy of a great prince."

Arangbar examined the Jesuit with a troubled gaze and shifted on his throne.

"May it please Your Majesty, this man is the enemy of England."

Hawksworth pointed at Sarmento. "How can my king's letter be ill- penned, when he entreats Your Majesty's friendship?"

Arangbar paused a moment and then he smiled broadly. "A reasonable reply. The Inglish, I see, are a blunt-spoken race." He glanced at Sarmento. "And we have already seen their seamanship."

"Your words honor my king, Your Majesty." Hawksworth found himself bowing again and wondering how to respond.

"We would hear more of England. Is it large?"

"Not nearly as large as India, Your Majesty. It is an island, but the queen of all the islands of the West."

"It is a rocky, barren speck in the great seas of Europe, Your Majesty," Sarmento interjected himself, straining to hold his composure. "A breeder of drunken fishermen and pirates. Its king is a heretic, a sovereign of lawless privateers and an enemy of the Holy Church."

"It is a n.o.ble land, Your Majesty, ruled by a free king, not by a Spanish tyrant or an Italian pope, like the land of the Portugals. Our cannon are the best in the world, our ships the swiftest, our men the bravest. No flag but our own has ever flown above our soil. Our ships have sailed all the seas of the world, from the East to the West. My king's seamen have explored the seas north of England, searching for a northeast pa.s.sage to the Indies, and the Americas, searching for a northwest pa.s.sage. Off your own sh.o.r.es we have met the galleons of Portugal, as Your Majesty must know, and in the West Indies we have challenged and overcome the carracks of Papist Spain. There brave English captains named Hawkins and Drake stood off Spaniards ten times their number. The very name of England strikes fear in the heart of a Portugal or a Spaniard."

Arangbar toyed with the jeweled whistle as he listened. "Your England interests us, Amba.s.sador Khawksworth." He paused for a moment and reviewed the small, dispiriting a.s.semblage of gifts. "We would know when your king's next voyage will be."

"Very soon, may it please Your Majesty." Hawksworth squirmed, and noticed Nadir Sharif suddenly edge closer to listen.

"But your king must send out voyages regularly? We have heard of the English traders in our southern seas. Do you not know when the next voyage will be, or what gifts your king is preparing? Surely he will send them this year?"

"May it please Your Majesty"--Hawksworth fumbled with the railing, trying to gain time--"I . . ."

Prince Parwaz suddenly plucked at Arangbar's arm and pointed into the crowd. A tall bearded man with a vast turban and two ornate swords at his side had moved next to the silver railing, near Hawksworth, holding a pet.i.tion in his hand.

"He is the man I spoke of yesterday." Parwaz spoke in Turki, and his words seemed slurred. Hawksworth realized he was tipsy. "I told him to bring his pet.i.tion today personally. He's a commander with the rank of a thousand horse. His stipend is eight thousand rupees a month. He claims he has served honorably, most recently in the siege of Qandahar, but that he must resign his _mansab_ and dismiss his men and horse unless his stipend is increased."

Arangbar examined the man for a moment, then addressed him in Turki.

"What is your name and rank?"