The Moghul Part 97

"It's true what you say, Inglish. You are not a Portuguese." Arangbar suddenly beamed as a thought flashed through his eyes. "Tell me, Inglish, will your king destroy their fleets for me now?"

"Why would he do so, Your Majesty? You have denied him the right to trade; you have refused to grant the _firman _he requested."

"Not if he will rout the Portuguese infidels from our seas, Inglish.

They are a pestilence, a plague, that sickens all it touches." Arangbar waved in the direction of a eunuch, ordering wine for himself. "You deceived me once, Inglish, but you did not rob me. Perhaps we will have you stay here a few days longer."

"I have already made preparations to depart, Your Majesty, on your orders."

"You cannot travel without our permission, Inglish. We still rule India, despite what the Portuguese Viceroy may think." Arangbar paused and drank thirstily from the gla.s.s of wine. "So why did you want an audience, Inglish, if you were planning to leave?"

Hawksworth paused, thinking of the decision he had made, wondering again if there was a chance.

"I've come to make a trifling request of Your Majesty." He moved forward and bowed, presenting his parcel, the obligatory gift.

"What's this have you brought us, Inglish?"

"May it please Your Majesty, after settling my accounts in Agra, I have no money remaining to purchase gifts worthy of Your Majesty. I have only this remaining. I offer it to Your Majesty, in hopes you will understand its unworthiness in your eyes is matched only by its unequaled value to me. It is my treasure. I have had it by my side for over twenty years, at sea and on land."

Arangbar accepted the parcel with curiosity and flipped aside the velvet wrap. An English lute sparkled against the suns.h.i.+ne.

"What is this, Inglish?" Arangbar turned it in his hand, examining the polished cedar staves that curved to form its melon-shaped back.

"An instrument of England, Your Majesty, which we hold in the same esteem you grant your Indian sitar."

"This is a curious toy, Inglish. It has so few strings." He examined it a moment longer, then turned to Hawksworth. "Do you yourself play this instrument?"

"I do, Your Majesty."

"Then we will hear it." Arangbar pa.s.sed the lute back to Hawksworth, while the n.o.bles around them buzzed in astonishment.

Hawksworth cradled it against him. The feel of its body flooded him with sadness as he realized he would never play it again. Memories of London, Tunis, Gibraltar, a dozen cabins and lodgings, flooded over him. He inhaled deeply and began a short suite by Dowland. It was the one he had played for s.h.i.+rin that afternoon so long ago in the observatory in Surat.

The clear notes flooded the canopied pavilion with their rich full voice, then drifted outward into the square, settling silence in their path. The suite was melancholy, a lament of lost love and beauty, and Hawksworth found his own eyes misting as he played. When he reached the end, the last crisp note died into a void that seemed to be his own heart. He held the lute a moment longer, then turned to pa.s.s it back to Arangbar.

The Moghul's eyes seemed to be misting as well.

"I have never heard anything quite like it, Inglish. It has a sadness we never hear in a raga. Why have you never played for us before?"

"Your Majesty has musicians of your own."

"But no instrument like this, Inglish. Will you have your king send us one?"

"But I have given you mine, Majesty."

Arangbar examined the lute once more, then looked at Hawksworth and smiled. "But if I keep this instrument now, Inglish, I will most probably forget by tomorrow where I have put it." He winked at Hawksworth and handed back the lute. "Have your king send us one, Inglish, and a teacher to instruct our musicians."

Hawksworth could not believe what he was hearing. "I humbly thank Your Majesty. I . . ."

"Now what was it you came to ask of us, Inglish?" Arangbar continued to study the lute as he sipped from his wine. "Ask it quickly."

"Merely a trifling indulgence of Your Majesty."

"Then tell us what it is, Inglish." Arangbar turned and searched the square with his eyes, as though monitoring the state of preparations.

Hawksworth cleared his throat and tried to still his pulse. "Your Majesty's release of the Persian woman s.h.i.+rin, who is guilty of no crime against Your Majesty."

Arangbar's smile faded as he turned back to Hawksworth.

"We have not yet decided her fate, Inglish. She does not concern you."

"May it please Your Majesty, she concerns me very much. I come to ask Your Majesty's permission to make her my wife, and to take her back to England with me, if Your Majesty will release her. She will be gone from India soon, and will trouble Your Majesty no further."

"But we just told you you are not returning, Inglish. Not until we permit it." He grinned. "You must stay and play this instrument for us more."

"Then I beg that her life be spared until the time I am allowed to leave."

Arangbar studied Hawksworth and a grudging smile played on his lips.

"You are an excellent judge of women, Inglish. Perhaps too much so. I suspected it the first time I saw you."

"She wishes no ill toward Your Majesty. There is no purpose in taking her life."

"How do you know what she wishes for us, Inglish? I think we know better than you." Arangbar paused to sip again from his wine cup. "But we will spare her for now, if your king will agree to send wars.h.i.+ps to drive the infidel Portuguese from our sh.o.r.es. And if you will agree to play more for me."

"Will Your Majesty order her release?"

"I will move her to my _zenana_ for now, Inglish. Until matters are settled, I will order her brought with us to Fatehpur. That is my part of the bargain. What will you do about yours?"

"I will inform my king of Your Majesty's wishes."

"And he will comply, if he wants to trade in India." Arangbar turned to Nadir Sharif. "Order a horse for the Inglish. He will ride with us today. And have the woman s.h.i.+rin sent to the _zenana_."

Nadir Sharif bowed and edged next to Arangbar, adopting a confidential tone.

"If I may be allowed, Your Majesty, you are aware the woman s.h.i.+rin would not be entirely welcome in the _zenana _by Her Majesty, Queen Janahara."

"Her Majesty is not the Moghul of India." Arangbar seemed suddenly exhilarated by the absence of the queen. "I have ordered it."

"To hear is to obey." Nadir Sharif bowed low, casting a worried glance toward Hawksworth. "But perhaps it would be equally pleasing to Your Majesty . . . and to Her Majesty as well . . . to allow the woman to travel to Fatehpur under the cognizance of the English amba.s.sador."

Arangbar glanced toward the palace, and his exhilaration seemed to dissolve as suddenly as it had come. "Until Fatehpur, then. After that we will decide where she will be kept until the Inglish satisfies his part of the bargain." Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Agreed, Inglish?"

"I bow to Your Majesty's will."

"_Durbar_ is concluded." Arangbar rose by himself and moved to the edge of the tent pavilion. As the trumpets and drums again sounded, the fanning eunuchs scurried to stay beside him. He stepped into the suns.h.i.+ne, stared about the square for a moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif.

"Order everyone cleared and the women brought. I am suddenly growing weary of Agra."

Nadir Sharif bowed again and spoke quickly to the captain of the guard.

As the order was circulated, he quietly moved next to Hawksworth.