The Moghul Part 99

"The Globe has an open roof except over the stage. But if it gets too dull on winter afternoons, they light the stage with torches of burning pitch or tar."

"Who exactly goes to these playhouses?"

"Everyone. Except maybe the Puritans. Anybody can afford a penny. And the Globe is not that far from the Southwark bear gardens, so a lot of people come after they've been to see bearbaiting. The pit is usually full of rowdy tradesmen, who stand around the stage and turn the air blue with tobacco smoke."

"So high-caste women and women from good families wouldn't go."

"Of course women go." Hawksworth tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. "There are gallants in London who'll tell you the Globe is the perfect place to spot a comely wench, or even a woman of fashion looking for some sport while her husband's drunk at a gaming house."

"I don't believe such things happen."

"Well that's the way it is in England." Hawksworth settled against the boulder. "You have to understand women there don't let themselves be locked up and hidden behind veils. So if a cavalier spies a comely woman at the Globe, he'll find a way to praise her dress, or her figure, and then he'll offer to sit next to her, you know, just to make sure some rude fellow doesn't trod on the hem of her petticoats with muddy boots, and no chips fall in her lap. Then after the play begins, he'll buy her a bag of roasted chestnuts, or maybe some oranges from one of the orange-wenches walking through the galleries. And if she carries on with him a bit, he'll offer to squire her home."

"I suppose you've done just that?" She examined him in dismay.

Hawksworth shifted, avoiding her gaze. "I've mainly heard of it."

"Well, I don't enjoy hearing about it. What about the honor of these women's families? They sound reprehensible, with less dignity than _nautch _girls."

"Oh no, they're very different." He turned with a wink and tweaked her ear. "They don't dance."

"That's even worse. At least most _nautch _girls have some training."

"You already think English women are wicked, and you've never even met one. That's not fair. But I think you'd come to love England. If we were in London now, right this minute, we could hire one of those coaches you don't believe exist . . . a coach with two horses and a coachman cost scarcely more than ten shillings a day, if prices haven't gone up . . . and ride out to a country inn. Just outside London the country is as green as Nadir Sharif's palace garden, with fields and hedgerows that look like a great patchwork coverlet sewed by some sotted alewife." Hawksworth's chest tightened with homesickness. "If you want to look like an Englishwoman, you could powder your b.r.e.a.s.t.s with white lead, and rouge your nipples, and maybe paste some beauty stars on your cheeks. I'll dine you on goose and veal and capon and nappy English ale. And English mutton dripping with more fat than any lamb you'll taste in Agra."

Shirin studied him silently for a moment. "You love to talk of England, don't you? But I'd rather you talked about India. I want you to stay.

Why would you ever want to leave?"

"I'm trying to tell you you'd love England if you gave yourself a chance. I'll have the _firman _soon, and when I return the East India Company will . . ."

"Arangbar will never sign a _firman _for the English king to trade.

Don't you realize Queen Janahara will never allow it?"

"Right now I'm less worried about the queen than about Jadar. I think he wants to stop the _firman _too, why I don't know, but he's succeeded so far. He almost stopped it permanently with his false rumor about the fleet. He did it deliberately to raise Arangbar's hopes and then disappoint him, with the blame falling on me. Who knows what he'll think to do next?"

"You're so wrong about him. That had nothing to do with you. Don't you understand why he had to do that? You never once asked me."

Hawksworth stared at her. "Tell me why."

"To divert the Portuguese fleet. It's so obvious. He somehow discovered Queen Janahara had paid the Portuguese Viceroy to ship cannons to Malik Ambar. If the Marathas had gotten cannon, they could have defended Ahmadnagar forever. So he tricked the Portuguese into searching for the English fleet that wasn't there. The Portuguese are a lot more worried about their trade monopoly than about what happens to Prince Jadar. He knew they would be."

"I know you support him, but for my money he's still a certified b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Hawksworth studied her for a moment, wondering whether to believe her words. If it were actually true it would all make sense, would fill out a bizarre tapestry of palace deception. But in the end his ruse had done Jadar no good. "And for all his scheming, he was still defeated in the south. I hear the rumors too." Hawksworth rose and took Shirin's arm. She started to reply, then stopped herself.

They began to walk slowly back toward his tent. "So he deceived everyone to no purpose."

As they rounded the curve of the slope and emerged into the sunshine, Hawksworth noted that some of the war elephants had already been led back to their stables and were being harnessed. He looked across the valley toward the tents of the Imperial army and thought he sensed a growing urgency in the air, as though men and horse were being quietly mobilized to move out.

"But don't you realize? The prince is not retreating." Shirin finally seized his arm and stopped him. "No one here yet realizes that Malik Ambar has . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked ahead. A group of Rajput officers was loitering, aimlessly, near the entrance to her tent. "I wish I could tell you now what's happening." Her voice grew quieter. "Just be ready to ride."

Hawksworth stared at her, uncomprehending. "Ride where?" He reached to touch her hand, but she glanced at the Rajputs and quickly pulled it away. "I don't want to ride anywhere. I want to tell you more about England. Don't you think you'd like to see it someday?"

"I don't know. Perhaps." She shifted her gaze away from the Rajputs.

For an instant Hawksworth thought he saw her make a quick movement with her hands urging them to leave. Or had she? They casually moved on down the hill, their rhino-hide shields swinging loosely from their shoulder straps. "After . . . after things are settled."

"After what? After Arangbar signs the _firman_?"

"I can't seem to make you understand." She turned to face him squarely.

"About Prince Jadar. Even if you got a _firman _it would soon be worthless."

"I understand this much. If he's thinking to challenge Arangbar, and the queen, then he's G.o.d's own fool. Haven't you seen the army traveling with us? It's three times the size of Jadar's." He turned and continued to walk. "His Imperial Majesty may be a sot, but he's in no peril from young Prince Jadar."

As they approached the entrance to his tent, she paused for a moment to look at him, her eyes a mixture of longing and apprehension.

"I can't stay now. Not today." She kissed him quickly and before he could speak she was moving rapidly down the hill, in the direction the Rajputs had gone.

Queen Janahara studied Allaudin thoughtfully as he strode toward her tent. His floral turban was set rakishly to one side in the latest style, and his purple gauze cloak was too effeminate for anyone but a eunuch or a dandy. She caught a flash from the jewel-handled katar at his waist, too ornamental ever to be used, and suddenly realized that she had never seen him actually hold a knife, or a sword. She had never seen him respond to any crisis. And Princess Layla had hinted he was not quite the husband she had envisioned, whatever that might imply.

Suddenly it all mattered. It had only been a week since Jadar's demands had been refused, and already he had taken the initiative. Now, she sighed, she would have to protect her _nashudani_, her "good-for- nothing" son-in-law. He could never protect himself, not from Jadar.

"Your Majesty." Allaudin salaamed formally as he dipped below the tapestried portiere of her tent, never forgetting that his new mother- in-law was also the queen. "The princess sends her wishes for your health this morning."

"Sit down." Janahara continued to examine him with her brooding dark eyes. "Where is Nadir Sharif?"

"The eunuchs said he would be a few moments late."

"He always tries to irritate me." Her voice trailed off as she watched Allaudin ensconce himself with a wide flourish against a velvet bolster. "Tell me, are you content with your bride?"

"She is very pleasing to me, Majesty."

"Are you satisfying your obligations as a husband?"

"Majesty?" Allaudin looked up at her as though not comprehending the question.

"Your duties are not merely to her. Or to me. They're also to India.

Jadar has a male heir now. Such things matter in Agra, or weren't you aware?"

Allaudin giggled. "I visit her tent every night, Majesty."

"But for what purpose? After you're drunk and you've spent yourself with a _nautch _dancer. Don't deny it. I know it's true. Do you forget she has servants? There are no secrets in this camp. I think you'll sooner sire an heir on a slave girl than on my daughter. I will not have it."

"Majesty." Allaudin twisted uncomfortably and glanced up with relief to see Nadir Sharif pushing aside the portiere of the tent. As he entered, Janahara motioned toward the servants and eunuchs waiting in attendance and in moments they had disappeared through the curtained doorways at the rear.

"You're late."

"My sincerest apologies, Majesty. There are endless matters to attend.

You know His Majesty still holds morning _darshan _from his tent, and has two _durbar _audiences a day. The difficulties . . ."

"Your 'difficulties' are only beginning." She was extracting a dispatch from a gilded bamboo tube. "Read this."