The Moghul Part 74

As Hawksworth fingered the earring, the medal, and the cloak, he found himself remembering Huyghen's burning eyes that day in the London alehouse. "You'll forget who you are," the old seaman had said. Could this be what he meant?

But maybe it's not so bad after all, he told himself. It's like a dream come true. And when the fleet makes landfall. . . .

. . . "Of course I've heard. It was my idea. Although His Majesty naturally a.s.sumes he thought of it all by himself. Making the _feringhi _a _khan _will confuse the Portuguese. And it will take everyone's mind off the _firman _for a while." Queen Janahara had received Nadir Sharif immediately after Arangbar retired to the _zenana_ for his afternoon dalliance. The balcony of the Jasmine Tower was empty, the servants all ordered back to the _zenana_. I'm more interested in the English fleet.

Do you know what has happened?"

"What do you mean, Majesty?" Nadir Sharif noted that he had not been invited to sit.

"There was another message today, a private message from His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes." Janahara raised a silver, hourgla.s.s- shaped cuspidor to her lips and delicately discharged red betel juice.

"Can you guess what he has dared to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Miguel Vaijantes is a man without courage. The understanding was very clear."

"The understanding, Your Majesty?"

"We have kept our side of the agreement. There has been no _firman _for the English _feringhi_. But now His Excellency has declared that he must off-load the arms. He has begun a.s.sembling an armada to sail north and intercept the English."

"The arms, Your Majesty?" Nadir Sharif moved closer. "Miguel Vaijantes was shipping arms?"

"Surely you knew. My dear brother, has anything ever escaped your rapacious eyes." She smiled, then spat again. "For Ahmadnagar. Small arms and cannon."

"You were arming Malik Ambar? Against Jadar?" Nadir Sharif could not strain the surprise from his voice.

"We were not arming him. The Portuguese were. Miguel Vaijantes was to have armed a Maratha division on the western coast, off-loading at a Portuguese port called Bom Bahia, on the coast west of Ahmadnagar. He had his own reasons, but now it seems he has lost his nerve. I had no idea how alarmed these Portuguese were by the English."

Nadir Sharifs mind was reeling. Say something, anything.

"If I may inject a word on His Excellency's behalf, Majesty, you must understand that matters between the Portuguese and the English are extremely delicate at the moment." Nadir Sharif's voice grew more statesmanlike as he spoke. He scarcely heard his own words as his mind plowed through the consequences of it all. And the treachery. "The English could conceivably interrupt the entire trade of the Portuguese.

All the prince could ever possibly do would be to tighten restrictions on our ports at Surat and Cambay. The Viceroy's decision is clearly strategic, nothing more. I'm sure the regard he holds for Your Majesty remains undiminished."

"That is a touching consolation." Janahara's voice was frigid, and she seemed suddenly much older.

Footsteps sounded through the marble corridor and Allaudin appeared at the doorway. He had changed to a foppish green turban, set off by an effeminate necklace of rubies. His elaborate _katar _was secured by a sash of gold- threaded brocade, and an emerald was set at the top of each slipper. He wore heavy perfume.

"Your Majesty." He salaamed to Queen Janahara and then stood attentively, somewhat sheepishly, until she gestured for him to sit.

"You're late."

"I was detained in my quarters, Majesty."

Janahara seemed completely preoccupied, unable even to look at the prince. "The question now is what to do about the Englishman."

"What do you mean?" Allaudin did not trouble to mask his sneer. "It's perfectly clear. His Majesty adores the _feringhi_. He'll surely sign the _firman_ for English trade. Then there'll be a war on the seas.

It's really most exciting."

"The _firman_ is not yet signed." Janahara moved to the balcony and studied the river below. Her walk was purposeful, yet still the perfection of elegance. "Nor do I think it ever will be. His Majesty will not have the time. The wedding will be moved forward. Before His Highness, Prince Jadar, has the leisure to trouble us more."

Janahara turned and examined the two men, one her brother and one her future son-in-law, finding herself astonished by their credulity.

Somehow, she told herself, the hand of Jadar lies behind all this. The coincidence was just too great. First, he had succeeded in raising troops from the southern _mansabdars_. And now the Deccanis could not be armed. Could he possibly still forge a peace in the Deccan. Still, after the wedding he would be isolated. Then what he did would no longer matter. But if the _firman _were signed, there would no longer be leverage with the Portuguese.

Janahara looked directly at Nadir Sharif. "If His Majesty signs the _firman _before the wedding, you will be held responsible."

"I understand, Majesty." Nadir Sharif shifted. "When will the wedding be?"

"I think it would be auspicious to hold it the week following the birthday celebration. Which means the preparations must begin now."

"Hold the wedding immediately after the hunt? There's scarcely time."

"There will be time. For that and more." Janahara turned to Allaudin.

"And you would do well to start spending more time with a sword and bow, and less with your pretty slave girls. I will know before long if you are a match for Jadar. I pray to Allah I don't already suspect the answer."

CHAPTER TWENTY

"There, on that hill, Inglish, is where I was born." Arangbar pointed to the high sandstone walls of a distant hilltop fortress, outlined against the midday sky. "It's called Fatehpur Sekri. It was a great city during the time of my father Akman, but now it's abandoned.

It's romantic, but it's also forbidding. I've only been back once in my life, and that was enough."

Hawksworth's elephant was half a length behind those of Arangbar and Allaudin, even with that of Nadir Sharif. It was the second morning of their ride, and they were nearing the locale of the royal hunt. It seemed to him that half of Agra had traveled along. The queen and her retinue were behind them, as were many of Arangbar's favorite women, his guard, his eunuchs, the entire palace staff. The location of the hunt was a two-day ride from Agra.

"What's there now?"

"It's abandoned, Inglish. Except for a few Sufi Muslims. They were there before, and I guess they'll be there forever."

"What do you mean 'they were there before'? Before what?"

"Ah, Inglish. We had a very romantic birth. You seem to know nothing of it. You see, my father, the Great Akman, had tried for many years to have a son before I was born. Many hundreds of women, Inglish, but not one could give him a son. Once twin boys were born to a Rajput princess he had wived, but both died a few days later. Gradually he became obsessed with fears of death, of dying without a lineage, and he began calling holy men to the _Diwan-i-Khas _every evening to question them about mortality. Once a Hindu holy man came who told Akman the greatest duty of a king is to leave a male heir, who can carry his lineage forward. The Great Akman was plunged into even greater sadness by this, and he _Resolve_d to renounce everything until he could have a son.

"He walked all the way from Agra to that mountain, Inglish." Arangbar pointed toward the fortress. "He came to see a holy Sufi living there, among the rocks and wild beasts. It was a momentous meeting. Akman fell at the feet of the holy man, and the Sufi held out his arms in welcome to the Great Moghul of India. In later years many of Akman's artists painted the scene. Akman told him that he had come to find the peace of Allah. To find his own destiny. As a seeker after truth. The Sufi offered this great warrior berries to eat, and gave him his own simple hut for an abode. Akman stayed for many days, meditating with the Sufi, and finally, when he made ready to leave, the Sufi told him he would have three sons.

"And now," Arangbar grinned, "we reach the interesting part. When next a wife announced she was with child, Akman moved her out here, to stay in the same abode as the holy man. And, as the Sufi predicted, a male child was born."

"And the child was . . ."

"You are riding beside him, Inglish. That is the story of my birth.

Akman was so elated that he decided to build an entire city here, and move the capital from Agra. He built the city, but it was an obvious act of excess. He never found time to live there, and soon it was abandoned. So now the mountain is like it was before my birth, home to wild birds and a few mad Sufis. The only difference is they have a magnificent abandoned city to live in, instead of straw huts." He laughed again. "Perhaps I owe my very life to a Sufi. Incidentally, descendants of that holy man still live there."

"Are they all Sufis?"

"Who knows, Inglish? I think holy men from all over India can be found there from time to time. It's become a kind of retreat."

"I'd like permission to visit it sometime, Majesty."

"Of course, Inglish. You'll find it's magnificent."