The Moghul, page 34
A line of mounted Imperial guards cleared a pathway through the narrowstreet, now a midday throng of bullock carts, dark-skinned porters,ambling cattle, and black-veiled women balancing heavy brass pots atoptheir heads. Along both sides of the street tan awnings shielded linesof quick- eyed, bearded merchants, who squatted on their porchesbeckoning all to inspect their unprecedented bargains in cloth, reeds,betel leaves. Vendors sizzled flat bread in charcoal-fired round pansand dropped balls of brown dough into dark pots of smoking oil,seasoning the dusty air with piquant spice. Above the clatter of theirhorses' hooves came a cacophony of street Hindi, squeaking cart wheels,children's discordant piping.
Between the open shops were ornate doorways, framed in delicateplasterwork scallops, leading upward to overhead balconies supported byred sandstone brackets. Behind the latticework screens that frontedthese balconies--some carved rosewood, some filigreed marble--Hawksworthcould see clusters of idle women chewing betel and fanning themselvesas they leaned forward to inspect the procession below.
Hawksworth studied the helmeted guards around him, whose ornate shieldsbore the Moghurs personal seal, and reflected on his introduction toAgra. His caravan from the south had arrived at the city's outskirtsthe evening before, after the sun's light had died away, and as herequested, Vasant Rao had found a traditional guest house for them. Itwas near the center of town, inconspicuous, and its primary amenitieswere a rainproof thatch roof and a stone floor. Tomorrow, the Rajputhad told him, he must find a house befitting an ambassador.
The guards accompanying them into Agra had not even dismounted, hadturned back immediately for the south, and only Vasant Rao stayed toshare the evening meal. They had dined quickly on fried bread andlentils and afterward the Rajput had retrieved his saddle from thestable and, pillowing it under his helmet, immediately fallen asleep,curved sword in hand. Hawksworth had lain awake listening to the nightsounds of Agra, wondering what his next move should be. Sleep finallyovertook him just before dawn broke.
He awoke to discover Vasant Rao already gone. But the Rajput hadmysteriously returned in time to share a breakfast of more fried breadand spiced curds. After eating, Vasant Rao had announced that Arangbarexpected him in _durbar_ that afternoon. The rest of the morning hadbeen spent hastily procuring bearers for his chest of gifts andcleaning the mildewed doublet and hose he had been instructed by theCompany to wear. Just after noon, a contingent of the Moghul's personalguard 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 andHawksworth realized they had entered a wide, sunlit plaza openingoutward from the fort's south gate. The close, acrid smells of the townwere immediately scourged by the searing midday heat. Hawksworth reinedin his horse and stared at the fort, incredulous at its immensity.
They were facing two concentric walls of polished red sandstone, theouter easily forty feet high and the inner at least seventy. Both wereobviously thick, with battlements loop-holed for musketry and crownedby rampart-ways. A wide wooden drawbridge leading to the entrancespanned a thirty-foot, water-filled moat that followed the outer wallin both directions as far as the eye could see.
It had to be the largest, most powerfully built fortress Hawksworth hadever seen. No story he had heard, no imagined grandeur, had preparedhim for this first view. The sight was at once awesome and chilling.
No wonder the Moghul frightens all of India. It's impregnable. Theouter blocks of the walls seem to be linked by massive iron rings andthe round towers spaced along them have slots designed for heavyordnance. With two thick walls, which probably also have a moatbetween, it would be impossible to storm. And cannon would be almostuseless.
Vasant Rao monitored Hawksworth's reaction, and his dark eyes betrayedhis pride. "Do you understand now why the Moghul is held in suchregard? No king in the world could have a palace as grand as this. Didyou know that the distance around the walls is over one _kos_. Whatwould that be? Around two of your English miles?"
Hawksworth nodded assent as their guards led them directly across thewide drawbridge and through a passageway. The outer edge of thedrawbridge was connected by heavy chains to rollers at the top of theentryway. The two rollers worked in a stone channel cut upward into thesteep walls of the passage and were held in place by iron bars insertedinto the channel. The bridge would lift automatically by simple removalof the iron bars. Around them now was a small, heavily defendedbarbican and ahead, between the outer and inner wall, was a gateway setin a towering portal almost eighty feet high that was faced withgleaming blue enamel tiles.
"How many gates like this are there?"
"The Red Fort actually has four gates, one on the river and one on eachof the other sides. This is the southern gate, which the Moghulrecently 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 notlive alone. He has to house over a thousand women, an army to protecthim and his treasury, and more servants than man can count." The Rajputseemed momentarily puzzled by the question. Then he continued with asly smile. "The fort was built by the Moghul's father, the great Akman.People say it required over eight years to complete. He also builtanother complete city in the desert a few _kos_ west of here, but laterhe abandoned it and moved back to Agra. Surely your English kinggoverns from a palace."
"His Majesty, King James, has a palace at Hampton Court." Hawksworthpaused. "But England is governed by laws made in Parliament, which hasits own place to meet."
"It sounds like you have a very weak king. Captain Hawksworth, if hecannot rule." Vasant Rao glanced nervously at the guards. "You would dowell not to tell that to Arangbar. In India there is only one law, theword of the Moghul."
As they entered the portico of the Amar Singh Gate, Hawksworth glancedbehind him, relieved to see that their porters still followed, one ateach side of his sea chest. Vasant Rao had cautioned him not to deliverall the gifts at once, since Arangbar would expect a new gift each timethey met. King James's letter he carried personally, carefully secretedinside his doublet.
Inside the archway of the gate were sets of thick wooden doors, openedback against the sides. These inner doors bristled with long ironspikes, and as Hawksworth puzzled over them, Vasant Rao caught hisquestioning look.
"Those spikes embedded in the doors are to prevent war elephants frombattering them in with their foreheads. It's common in a fortress." Hesmiled. "But then I keep forgetting your England probably has noelephants."
Ahead, at the terminus of the archway, the path was blocked by a heavychain and armed sentries. The guards reined in their horses and beganto dismount, while their leader passed brusque orders to Vasant Rao.
"We ride no farther," Vasant Rao translated as he swung from thesaddle. "He says no one except the Moghul himself, his sons, or hiswomen is allowed to ride through the Amar Singh Gate. It's strictlyenforced."
Hawksworth paused one last time, feeling about him the weight of thethick walls and the ornate tower rising above them, a great blue jewelin the afternoon sun. For a moment he had the curious sensation ofentering a giant tomb. He took a deep breath and slowly dismounted,feeling suddenly conspicuous in his formal silk hose and ruffleddoubtlet.
Vasant Rao passed the reins of his horse to a waiting servant and drewalongside, his eyes intent. "Does it seem strange to you that theMoghul would name one of the four gates to the Red Fort after aRajput?" 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 heis defied. There was, several years ago, a Rajput adventurer named AmarSingh. He sought to rise to position in Arangbar's court--he eventuallydid rise to the rank of a thousand horse--and along the way he asked andreceived the help of an old courtier who had influence. Only later didthe Rajput find out that this man expected his younger daughter inpayment." Vasant Rao smile wryly. "They say she was incrediblybeautiful. Well, Amar Singh was a true Rajput, and he was outraged.Naturally he refused. So the courtier who had helped him decided tohave revenge, and he went to Arangbar and told him about a certainbeautiful Rajput girl who would make an excellent addition to the_zenana_. The Moghul immediately sent some of his personal guards toAmar Singh's house to take the girl. When Amar Singh realized why theguards had come, he called for the girl and stabbed her to death beforetheir eyes. Then he took horse and rode to the Red Fort, even ridingthrough this gate. He rode into the audience hall and demanded thatArangbar appear and explain. Such things, Captain, are simply not donein Agra. The moment he dismounted he was cut to pieces by a dozen ofArangbar'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. NoRajput will ever forget."
Leaving the servants with their horses, they proceeded on foot up awide, inclined path that led through an enclosed square. Around thesides of the square were porticoes and galleries, where horsemen withswords and pikes waited.
"Those men are on their _chauki_, their seventh-day watch." Vasant Raopointed to the porticoes. "Every soldier in Agra must stand watch onceevery seven days. Either here or in the large square inside, wherewe're going. It's the Moghul's law."
They passed through another large gate and suddenly a half dozenturbaned guards, in leather armor and wearing long curved swords, drewalongside, as though expecting them. Now with a double escort theybegan the ascent of a long walkway, perhaps twenty paces wide, situatedbetween two high brick walls. Hawksworth's leather shoes padded againstthe square paving stones, which had been striated to permit easyfooting for the Moghurs horses and elephants. As they reached the end,they emerged into another large court, comprising the southeast cornerof the fort.
Ahead was yet a fourth gate. As they passed through, Hawksworthrealized it was protected by more mounted
horsemen in the recessed lower porticoes, and archers in elevatedgalleries. They walked past the wide wooden doors and into a vastmilling square. It was several hundred feet on the side and ringed witharcades where still more mounted horsemen waited. A wide roadwaydivided the square.
"This is the quadrangle. I only saw it once before, but then I enteredfrom the public side." Vasant Rao indicated an identical gate, directlyopposite. "Over there."
The guards directed them toward a large multicolored silk canopyfanning out from the tall buildings on their right. The area beneaththe canopy was cordoned off from the square by a red velvet railing,and porters with cudgels stood around the perimeter. Vasant Rao seemedincreasingly nervous as their escorts led them forward, past the guardsat the entry to the canopy. Hawksworth noticed that the air beneath thecanopy was heavy with incense--ambergris and aloe--burning in gold andsilver 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 towardthe steps that led upward to a large open pavilion at the far end ofthe canopy. It was several stories high and over a hundred feet on eachside. The roof was borne by marble arches supported by rows of whitecolumns. "No man with rank under five hundred horse is allowed to enterinside 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 ofwhite marble, standing about three feet from the floor and covered byits own tapestried canopy. The platform was surrounded by a silverrailing, and several turbaned men holding rolls of documents were nowstruggling to gain a position at the rail. All around them the crowdbuzzed with anticipation.
Behind and above the platform, in a marble gallery set in the wall,rested an immense throne carved from black marble. At its four cornerswere life-sized statues of rearing lions, each spangled with jewels,which supported in their silver paws a canopy of pure gold. The wallson either side of the throne were latticework marble screens, throughwhich the _zenana_ women could watch.
"I've never seen the throne this close before. It's famous." Vasant Raopaused. "And there are some in Agra who would sell their brother tohave it."
The Imperial guards suddenly saluted, fists against their leathershields, turned and marched down the steps of the _Diwan-i-Am_ and backinto the square. Vasant Rao watched them disappear into the crowd andthen 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 prongs, designed to beheld in the fist and thrust directly forward. Without a word he slippedit into a sheath secured in the sash of his belt.
Hawksworth pretended not to notice and instead turned to examine thecrowd. Next to them an assembly of Persian diplomats, wearing heavyrobes and jewel-encrusted turbans, eyed Hawksworth's plain doublet andhose with open contempt. The air was thick was sweat and incense andthe sparkle of gold and jewels.
Uniformed servants sounded a drum roll on two large brass kettles atthe back of the throne and the velvet curtains behind the throneparted. Two guards with gold-handled swords entered briskly and stoodat attention, one on either side of the parted curtains.
Hawksworth felt his pulse surge as the next figure entered through thecurtains.
He was of middle height, with a small moustache and glistening diamondearrings. He wore a tight patterned turban, a blue robe secured by agold brocade sash, jeweled rings on both hands, and a massive string ofpearls. A golden-handled sword and dagger were at his waist, and twofeline cubs frisked by his side. Hawksworth studied them in confusion,and after a moment realized they must be baby lions, an animal famousin English folklore but never actually seen firsthand by anyone inEngland.
At that instant a din of kettledrums erupted from galleries at thesides of the square. Almost as one those waiting called out a salaam,bent forward, and touched the back of their right hand to the groundand then to their forehead as they drew erect. The _durbar_ of theMoghul had begun.
"You did not perform the _teslim_." Vasant Rao turned to Hawksworthwith dismay in his voice. "He may have taken note of it. That wasunwise, my friend."
"An ambassador for a king doesn't prostrate himself."
"You're new to India. That may be taken as an excuse. The otherambassadors here know better."
As they watched, three other men slowly emerged from behind the throneand took their places on the marble platform, standing beside theMoghul. They all wore jeweled turbans and each had a sash of gold clothabout the waist. Hawksworth turned to Vasant Rao in time to see a lookof hatred flash through his eyes.
"Who are they?"
"The two younger men are his sons. I saw them once before in Agra. It'straditional that his sons join him at the _durbar_ when they are here.The younger one is Allaudin. He will be married next month to QueenJanahara's daughter. The other one is his drunken brother Parwaz. Theolder man is Zainul Beg, the Moghurs _wazir_, his chief counsel. He'sthe father of Nadir Sharif, the prime minister, and he's also thefather of Queen Janahara."
Hawksworth watched as yet another man emerged through the curtain,walked casually past the throne, and was helped onto the marbleplatform directly in front. He turned to the silver rail, where a dozenpetitions were immediately thrust up to him.
Vasant Rao nudged Hawksworth and pointed. "And that's Nadir Sharif, theprime minister. Remember him well. No one reaches the Moghul withouthis consent."
The prime minister paused to study the faces below, and then reachedout for a petition. He unrolled it, scanned it quickly, and turned toArangbar, passing it upward with a comment only those by the thronecould hear. The business of the day was underway.
Arangbar listened with obvious boredom as one petition after anotherwas 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 ofthe throne and discuss a petition with someone waiting behind it.
Below the platform several ambassadors shuffled, trying to mask theirimpatience. Hawksworth suddenly realized that the jewel-encrusted boxesthey held, many of beaten gold, contained presents for the Moghul. Helooked at his own leatherbound wooden chest, shabby by comparison, andhis heart began to sink.
After a short while, the Moghul seemed to lose patience with thepetitions and, ignoring the waiting nobles, abruptly signaled for areview of the day's elephant troops. Moments later, a line of warelephants entered through the public gate and began to march single-file across the back of the square. Their tusks were wreathed with goldbands and they wore coverings of embroidered cloth which were strungwith tinkling bells and tassels of Tibetan yak hair. As each reached aspot directly in front of the _Diwan-i-Am_ it stopped, kneeled, andtrumpeted to Arangbar.
When the last elephant had passed, drums were sounded again and a groupof eight men came into the square leading a snarling beast by heavychains attached to its iron collar. It was tawny, with a heavy mane andpowerful paws, and it roared out its displeasure as it writhed andclawed at the chains.
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 andstroked one of the cubs by his side, lifting it to better view the newprize. The assembly watched spellbound for a moment, then burst intocheers.
As Hawksworth watched, Arangbar set down the lion cub and spoke withhis _wazir_. Zainul Beg stared into the crowd and then pointed. Momentslater the black cassock of a Jesuit appeared at the railing. With astart Hawksworth recognized Father Alvarez Sarmento, last seen in thecourtyard of Mukarrab Khan's palace in Surat. The Jesuit listened tothe _wazir's_ instructions and then turned to the crowd. Hisannouncement was in English.
"His Majesty orders the ambassador 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 willbe 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 afriend in India.
"It's impossible for me to stay longer." Vasant Rao paused, andHawksworth sensed his warmth was genuine. Suddenly the Rajput reachedinto the sash at his belt and drew out his sheathed _katar_. "You savedmy life once, in the village, and I've never found the words to thankyou. Perhaps this can say it for me. Take it as a token of friendshipfrom a Rajput. It was given to me by my father, and it has tasted bloodmore times than I can count. You're a brave and honest man, and I thinkwe'll meet again."
Before Hawksworth could speak, Vasant Rao embraced him warmly andmelted into the crowd.
A pathway was clearing through the glaring nobles, and Hawksworthquickly slipped the katar into his doublet as he leaned over to securethe chest. When he reached the silver railing, Sarmento was waiting.
"Let me welcome you to Agra, Captain." The Jesuit spoke quietly inEnglish, his face a hard mask. "I pray God gave you a pleasantjourney."
"I thought you were bound for Lahore."
"In time, Captain, in time. But we have an Agra mission as well. Ourflock here grows. It must be tended. And do you remember what we agreedthat night in Surat?"
"Translate for the Inglish ambassador." 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, ambassador of His Majesty, KingJames the First of England." Hawksworth replied in Turkish, trying toremember the speech he had been told to deliver. A look of delightedsurprise flashed through Arangbar's eyes. Hawksworth bowed and thencontinued. "His Majesty, King James, has asked me to convey hisfriendship to His Most Noble Majesty, Arangbar, Moghul of India,together with certain unworthy tokens of his regard." Hawksworth triedto think quickly of a way to explain the unimpressive gifts King Jameshad sent. "Those trifles he sends are not intended as gifts deservingof Your Majesty, for that would be a bounty no single man coulddeliver. Instead he has asked me to bring certain common products ofour country, not as gifts, for they are too unworthy, but as samples ofEnglish workmanship that Your Majesty may examine personally the goodshe offers your merchants in trade. These are the first of many, more-worthy gifts he is now assembling for Your Majesty, to be sent onfuture voyages to your land."
"You speak the tongue of the Moghuls, Ambassador. Already your kingdoes me honor. I welcome you in his name." Arangbar leaned forward towatch 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 asilver-trimmed brace of pistols, a gold- handled sword, an hourglass incarved ivory, and finally a gold whistle studded with small diamonds.The Moghul peered down from his marble throne impassively, and thencalled for them to be brought to him.
While he examined each gift briefly, assessing it with a quick glanceand calling for the next, Hawksworth reached into the corner of the boxand withdrew the next present, a three-cornered English hat topped witha feather. When Arangbar saw the hat his eyes brightened.
"At last I can look like a _topiwallah_." He pushed aside the othergifts 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 withdelight.
"The _feringhi_ hat is a puzzling invention, Ambassador Khawksworth."Arangbar stumbled over the pronunciation of the name as he signaled fora mirror. "What purpose it serves I have never understood. You, Iobserve, do not wear one yourself."
"Hats are not to my taste, may it please Your Majesty." Hawksworthbowed 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 yourland and his." Hawksworth produced a small framed watercolor from thewooden chest. It was a miniature on vellum, scarcely more than an inchsquare, by Isaac Oliver, a celebrated artist from the school ofNicholas Hilliard, who had been fashionable under Queen Elizabeth.While Arangbar examined the painting, scrutinizing the workmanship asmight a connoisseur, Hawksworth reached into his doublet and withdrewthe letter. It was passed to Nadir Sharif, who presented it toArangbar.
The Moghul reluctantly handed the portrait to Allaudin, then inspectedthe leather binding of the letter. Finally he broke the red wax sealand began to study the writing, a quizzical expression spreading overhis face.
"The seal and script are worthy of a king. But it is in a language ofEurope."
"There are two copies, Your Majesty. One in English, the language of myking, and one in Spanish, a language something like the Portugalsspeak."
"Then we will have Father Sarmento translate."
Sarmento moved to the silver railing and took the leatherbound letterwith a distasteful expression. He examined it for a moment and thenbegan to read it silently, the color slowly draining from his face.
"What message does your king send, Ambassador?"
"His admiration for Your Majesty, whose reputation has reached evenEurope. And his offer of full and open trade between your nation andhis."
"The letter is basely penned, Your Majesty." Sarmento's face was redwith dismay as he turned to Arangbar. "Its style is unworthy of a greatprince."
Arangbar examined the Jesuit with a troubled gaze and shifted on histhrone.
"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 reasonablereply. The Inglish, I see, are a blunt-spoken race." He glanced atSarmento. "And we have already seen their seamanship."
"Your words honor my king, Your Majesty." Hawksworth found himselfbowing 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 thequeen of all the islands of the West."
"It is a rocky, barren speck in the great seas of Europe, YourMajesty," Sarmento interjected himself, straining to hold hiscomposure. "A breeder of drunken fishermen and pirates. Its king is aheretic, a sovereign of lawless privateers and an enemy of the HolyChurch."
"It is a noble land, Your Majesty, ruled by a free king, not by aSpanish tyrant or an Italian pope, like the land of the Portugals. Ourcannon are the best in the world, our ships the swiftest, our men thebravest. No flag but our own has ever flown above our soil. Our shipshave sailed all the seas of the world, from the East to the West. Myking's seamen have explored the seas north of England, searching for anortheast passage to the Indies, and the Americas, searching for anorthwest passage. Off your own shores we have met the galleons ofPortugal, as Your Majesty must know, and in the West Indies we havechallenged and overcome the carracks of Papist Spain. There braveEnglish captains named Hawkins and Drake stood off Spaniards ten timestheir number. The very name of England strikes fear in the heart of aPortugal or a Spaniard."
Arangbar toyed with the jeweled whistle as he listened. "Your Englandinterests us, Ambassador Khawksworth." He paused for a moment andreviewed the small, dispiriting assemblage of gifts. "We would knowwhen your king's next voyage will be."
"Very soon, may it please Your Majesty." Hawksworth squirmed, andnoticed Nadir Sharif suddenly edge closer to listen.
"But your king must send out voyages regularly? We have heard of theEnglish traders in our southern seas. Do you not know when the nextvoyage will be, or what gifts your king is preparing? Surely he willsend 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 thecrowd. A tall bearded man with a vast turban and two ornate swords athis side had moved next to the silver railing, near Hawksworth, holdinga petition in his hand.
"He is the man I spoke of yesterday." Parwaz spoke in Turki, and hiswords seemed slurred. Hawksworth realized he was tipsy. "I told him tobring his petition today personally. He's a commander with the rank ofa thousand horse. His stipend is eight thousand rupees a month. Heclaims he has served honorably, most recently in the siege of Qandahar,but that he must resign his _mansab_ and dismiss his men and horseunless his stipend is increased."
Arangbar examined the man for a moment, then addressed him in Turki.
"What is your name and rank?"
"I am Amanat Mubarik, Your Majesty. I maintain a thousand horse, thefinest Arabian blood in India." The man stood straight and spoke with aloud, clear voice.
"Is not your stipend the amount prescribed any man who maintains thatnumber?"
"It is, Your Highness. But I am not any man. I am a Pathan, and myfather was Fath Shah. No enemy of Your Majesty has ever seen the backof my shield. His Highness, Prince Parwaz, saw me defend the royalencampment five years ago when he moved south of the Narbada. With mycavalry I held position when all others called for retreat. I challengeany man here today to do me battle in your presence. With any weapon.On horseback or on foot. Then you may decide if I am as other men."
The Moghul examined him carefully for a long moment.
"If you are not like other men, then I will let you prove it." Arangbarpointed beyond the marble porticoes. "Will you fight with the lion?"
The Pathan commander turned and stared blankly into the sunlit square,where the captured lion was snarling and pawing at its chains.
"A lion is a wild beast, Your Majesty. What trial is it for a man tocontest with a lion?"
"I think it would be the best trial of all." Arangbar's eyes began toglow.
"A beast has no understanding, Majesty." He shifted nervously as herealized Arangbar was not jesting. "It's not a fit thing for a man tofight."
"You will joust with him." The fancy seemed to flood Arangbar withpleasure, and he turned abruptly to one of the guards. "Give him aglove and a truncheon. That should suffice for a man who claims braveryabove all others."
Hawksworth watched in disbelief as the dazed commander was led from the_Diwan-i-Am_ and into the quadrangle. A murmur of amazement passedthrough the crowd.
The square cleared quickly as the lion was brought forward by itskeepers. Still incredulous, the Pathan slowly pulled the heavy gloveonto his left hand, then he took the truncheon, no more than a foot anda half long, in his right. Guards took his swords and turban and inmoments he and the lion were faced off in the afternoon sunshine.
Hawksworth forced himself to watch as the commander began to spar withthe lion, a young male with powerful claws. He managed to cudgel thelion several times, with the effect that it became more enraged thanharmed. Then with a roar it sprang, pulling free of its keepers, andthey went down together, rolling in the dust of the square.
The Pathan continued to bravely cudgel the lion, even while its clawsripped across his face and arms. Hawksworth watched the lion's hardtail whip for balance as it pawed again and again at the truncheon.Suddenly the man pulled free of its grasp and, with a wide arcingswing, brought the truncheon directly across the crown of the lion'shead. Its rear haunches clawed upward spastically and then it pitchedunconscious into the bloody dust, its body still twitching.
A cheer rose from the crowd of onlookers as the Pathan slowly drewhimself erect. Hawksworth realized that the right side of his face hadbeen completely ripped away by the lion's sharp claws. He made a fewhalting steps toward the _Diwan-i-Am_, wheeled dizzily, and collapsedin a pool of blood. He was dead by the time the guards reached him.
Arangbar had watched in spellbound delight. He clapped his hands andturned to Parwaz, whose glazed eyes seemed not to have fullycomprehended the spectacle.
"Astounding. I never knew a man could kill a lion with a mere club. Hewas braver than he knew. If he has sons, I will allow them to keep halfhis estate." Arangbar turned to the guard captain standing by thecurtained entrance. "Tomorrow select ten of your best men and we willbring more lions. What better test of bravery?"
The uniformed men standing at attention around the perimeter of the_Diwan-i-Am_ all blanched but their eyes remained fixed straight ahead.Then Arangbar suddenly remembered Hawksworth.
"Does England have men as brave as ours, Ambassador?"
Hawksworth felt a cold sweat in his palms.
"No man in England would dare challenge one of Your Majesty's lions."
Arangbar laughed loudly. Before he could respond, the _wazir_ waswhispering in his ear. He glanced at the marble screen directly behindhis throne and nodded. Then he turned to Hawksworth.
"We are called away, Ambassador. I'm told I must take my afternoonrest. This is the time of day I retire to the _zenana_ for one_pahar_." He winked and gestured toward the marble screen. "Her Majestyrules our time. But I want to speak more with you today about thisisland of England. And about your king's schedule for trade. You willattend me in the Diwan-i-Khas this evening."
"As Your Majesty pleases."
As Arangbar rose his eye caught the painting. He picked it up andscrutinized it, then turned to Hawksworth.
"Is this a fair example of Inglish painting?"
"It came from the school of a celebrated artist, Your Majesty. HisMajesty, King James, sat to have it painted especially for you."Hawksworth sensed that Arangbar had taken more interest in the paintingthan in any of the other gifts, except perhaps the hat. "The paintersof England are the finest in the world."
The Moghul stirred slightly and then summoned a small, wiry man withheavy brows from the first row of courtiers. He briskly moved to thefront and salaamed to Arangbar. The Moghul passed the painting to himand together they studied it, conversing quietly in Persian. ThenArangbar turned to Hawksworth.
"We have a school of artists here in the palace, AmbassadorKhawksworth. This man, who directs the school, says this portrait'sbackground is too dark, the eyes lifeless. And it is neither three-quarter nor full face, as is our proven convention. Consequently itgives no sense of your king's depth of character." Arangbar smiled. "Healso says the portraits he and his men execute are far more difficult.They catch the soul of the man, not merely his physical likeness."
"May it please Your Majesty, I cannot accept what he says."
Arangbar translated to the artist, who replied quickly in Persian,casting a quick, contemptuous glance at Hawksworth.
"He declares he could easily duplicate this simple portrait of yourking, in a likeness so exact you could not tell his copy from theoriginal."
"Such a thing is not possible, Your Majesty. No man in the world couldexecute this exact painting, save the man who first put in on paper."
Arangbar again translated for his painter, who replied animatedly.
"My Chief Painter says he and his workshop could easily
produce four copies of this, any one of which would pass for theoriginal."
"May it please Your Majesty, I say it is impossible. European paintingis a centuries' old tradition, requiring years of apprenticeship andstudy."
The men around Hawksworth had begun to shift uncomfortably. The Moghulwas never contradicted. Yet he seemed to relish the dispute.
"Then we'll set a wager. What will you wager me, Ambassador, that I canmake this one painting of your king into five?"
"I know not what to lay with so great a prince, nor does it befit me toname a sum to Your Majesty." Hawksworth shifted uneasily, unsure of theprotocol of betting with kings.
"Then if you'll not wager with me, wager with my painter."
"Begging Your Majesty's pardon, your painter is no more suited to wagerwith an ambassador than I am to wager with Your Majesty."
"Then wager with my prime minister." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "Whatwill you lay?"
"Five thousand gold mohurs, Majesty."
Hawksworth swallowed hard, realizing the amount was almost ten thousandpounds English sterling, more money than he had ever seen.
"Money is not an honorable bet among those who speak for great princes,Your Majesty." Hawksworth glanced about wildly, then an idea came. "Butperhaps I could wager your prime minister a horse, a fine Arabianstallion."
"Done." Arangbar beamed. "I'll have the paintings tonight."
The painter stared at Arangbar in dismay.
"It's not possible, Majesty. There's not time."
"You'll find a way. Or you'll owe Nadir Sharif a horse."
Arangbar passed the painting back to the painter and whirled with aflourish to leave. Around Hawksworth the nobles all bowed to theground.
Hawksworth turned quickly to scan the back of the crowd, but Vasant Raohad disappeared. Then guards surrounded him and before he knew what washappening he was swept past Sarmento, whose eyes still glowed withhatred, toward a marble doorway at the corner of the _Diwan-i-Am_.
