The moghul, p.37
The Moghul, page 37
Hawksworth sipped from the new cup of wine, his third, and watched themusicians begin to retune. Around him the members of Arangbar's innercircle were assembling in the _Diwan-i-Khas_. This must be eveningdress in Agra, he marveled: silk turbans studded with rubies andsapphires, diamond earrings, swords trimmed in gold and silver, pearlnecklaces, cloaks of rich brocade, velvet slippers. The faces aroundhim all betrayed the indolent eyes and pasty cheeks of men longindulged in rich food, hard spirits, sensuality.
It was, he now realized, the fairyland that Symmes had described thatfreezing day so long ago in the offices of the Levant Company. What mannot a Papist monk could resist the worldly seductions of the Moghul'scourt?
Then he remembered the brave Pathan who had been torn apart by a lionthat very afternoon, while all Arangbar's nobles watched unprotesting.
On the signal of a eunuch standing by the doorway the
drummer suddenly pounded out a loud, rhythmic fanfare, and then thesitarist took up a martial motif. The brocade drapery hanging inside amarble archway at the back of the room was drawn aside by a guard and amoment later Arangbar swept into the room. The courtiers all bowed inthe _teslim_, rising with their hands on their forehead.
Arangbar had changed to evening dress. He wore a dark velvet turbanencrusted with jewels, tight-fitting patterned trousers beneath atransparent muslin skirt, and a gold brocade cinch at his waist. Heclapped his hands in delight when he saw Hawksworth holding a wine cup.
"The ambassador has already tasted our Persian wine. How do you findit, Ambassador . . . Khaw . . . ?" He stumbled over the name. "Wait.The first thing we must do is rename you. Henceforth we will call you'Inglish.' Now, have we pronounced that properly?"
"Perfectly, Your Majesty. And, so please Your Majesty, the wine isexcellent, though perhaps not as sweet as the wines of Europe."
"Every _feringhi _says the same, Inglish. But we will civilize you. Andalso teach you something about painting." He seized a glass of winefrom a waiting eunuch and then shouted to Nadir Sharif, who had enteredmoments before from the back. "Where are my five paintings?"
"I'm told they will be ready before Your Majesty retires. The paintersare still hard at work, so please Your Majesty."
"It does not please me, but then I have no wager." He roared withamusement. "Your stables will be reduced by a prize stallion comemorning if the paintings are not ready soon. Look to it."
As Nadir Sharif bowed in acknowledgment, Arangbar whirled toHawksworth.
"Tell me something about your king, Inglish? How many wives does hehave? We have hundreds."
"He has but one, Your Majesty, and I believe she is mostly for show.King James prefers the company of young men."
"Very like most Christians I've met. And you, Inglish. Have you anywives?" Arangbar had already finished his first glass of wine and takena second.
"I have none, Your Majesty."
"But you, I suspect, are not a Jesuit, or a eunuch."
"No, Your Majesty."
"Then we shall find you a wife, Inglish." He took a ball of opium andwashed it down with wine. "No, we will find you two. Yes, you shall bewell wived."
"May it please Your Majesty, I have no means to care for a wife. I amhere for only a season." Hawksworth shifted uncomfortably.
"You will only leave Agra, Inglish, when it is our pleasure. But if youwill not have a wife, you must at least have a house."
"I am arranging it now, Your Majesty."
Arangbar looked at Hawksworth sharply, then continued as though he hadnot heard.
"Now tell us more about your king. We would know what he's like."
Hawksworth bowed as he tried to collect his thoughts. The wine wasalready toying with his brain. Although most of what he knew about KingJames was hearsay, he knew he did not care for England's new kingoverly much. No English subject did. And idle seamen had reason todislike him the most of all. He was not the sovereign Elizabeth hadbeen.
"He's of middle stature, Your Majesty, not overly fat though he seemsso since he always wears quilted, stiletto-proof doublets."
Arangbar seemed surprised. "Is he not safe? Has he no guards?"
"He's a prudent man, Your Majesty, as befits a sovereign." And,Hawksworth thought, also a coward, if you believe the talk in London.What all men know for fact, though, is that he's a weakling, whose legsare so spindly he has to be helped to walk, leaning on other men'sshoulders while he fiddles spastically with his codpiece.
"Does your king wear many jewels, Ambassador Inglish?"
"Of course, Your Majesty." Hawksworth drank calmly from his wine cup,hoping the lie would pass unnoticed.
What would the Moghul think if he knew the truth, Hawksworth askedhimself? That King James of England only changes his clothes when theyare rags, and his fashion never. He was once, they say, given aSpanish-style hat, and he cast it away, swearing he loved neither themnor their fashions. Another time he was given shoes with brocade roseson them, and he railed at the giver, asking if he was to be made aruff-footed dove.
"Is your king generous of nature, Ambassador? We are loved by ourpeople because we give of our bounty on every holy day. Baskets ofsilver rupees are flung down the streets of Agra."
"King James is giving also, Your Majesty." With the moneys of others.He'd part willingly with a hundred pounds not in his own keeping beforehe'd release ten shillings from his private purse. And it's said he'drather spend a hundred thousand pounds on embassies abroad, buyingpeace with bribes, than ten thousand on an army that would enforcepeace with honor. "He is a man among men, Your Majesty, admired andloved by all his subjects."
"As are we, Ambassador." Arangbar took another ball of opium and washedit down with a third glass of wine. "Tell me, does your king drinkspirits?"
"It is said he drinks often, Your Majesty, though many declare it ismore out of custom than delight. He drinks strong liquors--Frontiniack,Canary, High Canary wine, Tent wine, Scottish ale--but never, it's said,more than a few spoonfuls."
"Then he could never drink with the Moghul of India, Ambassador. Wehave twenty cups of wine a night. And twelve grains of opium." Arangbarpaused as he accepted yet another glass. His voice had begun to slurslightly. "But perhaps your king can trade with me. When will the shipsfrom your king's next voyage arrive? And how many of your king'sfrigates will we see yearly if we grant him the trading _firman _herequests?"
Hawksworth noticed out of the corner of his eye that Nadir Sharif hadnow moved directly beside him. The prime minister held a glass of winefrom which he sipped delicately. Around him the other courtiers werealready drinking heavily, to the obvious approval of Arangbar.
He'll not finish a single glass of wine, if my guess is right. NadirSharif'll find a way to stay stone sober while the rest of the roomsinks into its cups. And they'll all be too drunk to notice.
"King James will one day send an armada of frigates, Your Majesty."Keep Arangbar's mind off the next voyage. He just may try to hold youhere until it comes, or refuse to grant a _firman _until he sees thenext batch of presents. "His Majesty, King James, is always eager totrade the seas where his ships are welcome."
"Even if other nations of Europe would quarrel with his rights to thoseseas?"
"England has no quarrels in Europe, Your Majesty. If you refer to theengagement off Surat, you should know that was caused by amisunderstanding of the treaties that now exist in Europe. England isat peace with all her neighbors."
A skeptical silence seemed to envelop the room. Arangbar took anothercup of wine and drank it off. Then he turned to Hawksworth.
"The matter, Ambassador Inglish, does not seem to us to be that simple.But we will examine it more later. Nights are made for beauty, days foraffairs of state." Arangbar's voice had begun to slur even morenoticeably. "You may have heard there will be a wedding here soon. Myyoungest prince is betrothed to the daughter of my queen. The weddingwill be held one month after my own birthday celebration, and it willbe an event to remember. Tonight I begin the always-pleasant task ofselecting the women who will dance. Do you know anything of Indiandance?"
"Very little, Your Majesty. I have only seen it once. In Surat. At agathering one evening at the palace of the Shahbandar."
Arangbar roared and seized another glass of wine. "I can well imaginethe kind of entertainment the Shahbandar of Surat provides for hisguests. No, Ambassador, I mean the real dance of India. The dance ofgreat artists? Perhaps you have classical dance in England?"
"No, Your Majesty. We have nothing similar. At least similar to thedance I saw."
"Then a pleasant surprise awaits you." Arangbar examined Hawksworth'scup and motioned for a servant to refill it. "Drink up, Inglish. Theevening is only beginning."
Arangbar clapped drunkenly and the guests began to settle themselvesaround the bolsters that had been strewn about the carpet. An ornatesilk pillow was provided for each man to rest against, and a number oflarge hookahs, each with several mouthpieces, were lighted andstationed about the room. The servants also distributed garlands ofyellow flowers, and as Nadir Sharif took his place next to Hawksworth,he wrapped one of the garlands about his left wrist. With the otherhand he set down his wineglass, still full, and signaled a servant toreplenish Hawksworth's. Arangbar was reclining now on the throne,against his own bolster, and the oil lamps around the side of the roomwere lowered, leaving illumination only on the musicians and on a barespot in the center of the carpet. The air was rich with the aroma ofroses as servants passed shaking rosewater on the guests from long-necked silver decanters.
The musicians were completing their tuning, and Hawksworth noticed thatnow there were two drummers, a sitar player, and a new musician holdinga _sarangi_. In the background another man sat methodically strumming asimple upright instrument, shaped like the sitar save it providednothing more than a low-pitched droning, against which the otherinstruments had been tuned. Next a man entered, wearing a simple whiteshirt, and settled himself on the carpet in front of the musicians. Assilence gripped the room, Arangbar signaled to the seated man with hiswineglass and the man began to sing a low, soulful melody that seemedto consist of only a few syllables. "Ga, Ma, Pa." The voice soaredupward. "Da, Ni, Sa." After a few moments Hawksworth guessed he must besinging the names of the notes in the Indian scale. They were virtuallyidentical to the Western scale, except certain notes seemed to be a fewmicrotones higher or lower, depending whether approached from ascent ordescent.
The singer's voice soared slowly upward in pitch and volume, growingmore intense as it quavered around certain of the high notes, while thesarangi player listened attentively and bowed the exact notes he sang,always seeming to guess which note he would find next. The song wasmelodic, and gradually what had at first seemed almost a dirge grew tobe a poignant line of beauty.
Suddenly the singer's voice cut the air with a fast-tempo phrase, whichwas brief and immediately repeated, the second time to theaccompaniment of the drum, as both players picked up the notes. On thethird repetition of the phrase, the curtains on Arangbar's right wereswept aside and a young woman seemed to fairly burst across the room,her every skipping step announced by a band of tiny bells bound aroundher ankles and across the tops of her bare feet.
As she spun into the light, she whirled a fast pirouette that sent herlong braided pigtail--so long the end was attached to her waist--whistling in an arc behind her. Her flowered silk tunic flew outwardfrom her spinning body, revealing all of her tight-fitting whitetrousers. She wore a crown of jewels, straight pendant earrings ofemerald, and an inch- long string of diamonds dangled from the centerof her nose.
She paused for an instant, whirled toward Arangbar, and performed a_salaam _with her right hand, fingers slightly bent, thumb across herpalm as she raised her hand to her forehead. The movement was possessedof so much grace it seemed a perfect dance figure.
"May I take the liberty of interpreting for you, Ambassador?" NadirSharif ignored the hookah mouthpiece that another, slightly tipsy,guest was urging on him and slid closer to Hawksworth. "Kathak is anart, like painting or pigeon-flying, best appreciated when you know therules." He pointed toward the dancer. "Her name is Sangeeta, and shehas just performed the invocation. For the Hindus it is a salute totheir elephant-headed god Ganesh. For Muslims, it is a _salaam_."
Next she turned slowly toward the guests and struck a pose, one footcrossed behind the other, arms bent as though holding a drawn bow. Asthe _sarangi _played a slow, tuneful melody, she seemed to control therhythm of the drums by quietly stroking together again and again thethumb and forefinger of each hand. The explosive tension in her bodyseemed focused entirely in this single, virtually imperceptible motion,almost as a glass marshals the power of the sun to a tiny point. Thenher eyes began to dart from side to side, and first one eyebrow andthen the other lifted seductively. Gradually the rhythm was taken up byher head, as it began to glide from side to side in a subtle, elegantexpression that seemed an extension of the music.
She had possessed the room almost as a spirit of pure dance, chaste,powerful, disciplined, and there was nothing of the overtsuggestiveness of the nautch dancers of the Shahbandar's courtyard. Shewore a low-cut, tight vest of brocade over a long-sleeved silk shirt,and of her body only her hands, feet, and face were visible. It wasthese, Hawksworth realized, not her body, that were the elements ofKathak dance.
"Now she'll begin the second section of the dance. It's theintroduction and corresponds to the opening of a raga. It sets theatmosphere and makes you long for more. I know of no _feringhi _who hasever seen Kathak, but perhaps you can understand. Do you feel it?"
Hawksworth sipped his wine slowly and tried to clear his head. In truthhe felt very little, save the intensity that seemed to be held incheck.
"It appears to be rather subtle. Very little seems to be happening."Hawksworth drank again and found himself longing for a lively hornpipe.
"A great deal will happen, Ambassador, and very soon. In India you mustlearn patience."
Almost at that moment the drummers erupted with a dense rhythmic cycleand the _sarangi _took up a single repetitive phrase. Sangeeta lookeddirectly at Hawksworth and called out a complex series of rhythmicsyllables, in a melodic if slightly strident voice, all the whileduplicating the exact pattern of sounds by slapping the henna-reddenedsoles of her feet against the carpet. Then she glided across the carpetin a series of syncopated foot movements, saluting each of the guestsin turn and calling out strings of syllables, after which she woulddance a sequence that replicated the rhythm exactly, her feet a precisepercussion instrument.
"The syllables she recites are called _bols_, Ambassador, which are thenames of the many different strokes on the tabla drums. Drummerssometimes call out a sequence before they play it. She does the same,except she uses her feet almost as a drummer uses his hands."
As Hawksworth watched, Sangeeta called strings of syllables that wereincreasingly longer and more complex. He could not understand the_bols_, or perceive the rhythms as she danced them, but the drunken menaround him were smiling and swinging their heads from side to side inwhat he took to be appreciative approval. Suddenly Arangbar shoutedsomething to her and pointed toward the first drummer. The drummerbeamed, nodded, and as Sangeeta watched, called out a dense series of_bols_. Then she proceeded to dance the sequence with her feet. Theroom exploded with cries of appreciation when she finished thesequence, and Hawksworth assumed she had managed to capture theinstructions the musician had called. Then Arangbar pointed to theother drummer and he also called out a string of _bols_, which againSangeeta repeated. Finally the singer called a rhythm sequence, themost complex yet, and both dancer and drummer repeated them preciselytogether.
As the tempo became wilder, Sangeeta began a series of lightning spins,still pounding the carpet with her reddened soles, and in time sheseemed to transform into a whirling top, her pigtail loose now andsinging through the air like a deadly whip. She had become a blur, andfor a brief moment she appeared to have two heads. Hawksworth watchedin wonder and sipped from his wine cup.
"Now she'll begin the last part, Ambassador, the most demanding ofall."
The rhythm became almost a frenzy now. Then as suddenly as they hadbegun the whirls ended. Sangeeta struck a statuesque pose, armsextended in rigid curves, and began a display of intensely rhythmicfootwork. Her body seemed frozen in space as nothing moved save herfeet. The bells on her ankles became a continuous chime, increasing intempo with the drum and the _sarangi _until the rhythmic phrase itselfwas nothing more than a dense blur of notes, Suddenly the drummer andinstrumentalist fell silent, conceding the room to Sangeeta's whirringbells. She seemed, at the last, to be treading on pure air, her feetalmost invisible. When the intensity of her rhythm became almostunbearable, the drummers and _sarangi _player reentered, urging theexcitement to a crescendo. A final phrase was introduced, repeated withgreater intensity, and then a third and final time, ending with apowerful crash on the large drum that seemed to explode the tension inthe room. Several of the musicians cried out involuntarily, almostorgasmically, in exultation. In the spellbound silence that followed,the nobles around Hawksworth burst into cheers.
Sangeeta seemed near collapse as she bowed to Arangbar. The Moghulsmiled broadly, withdrew a velvet purse of coins from his cloak, andthrew it at her feet. Moments later several others in the room followedsuit. With a second bow she scooped the purses from the carpet andvanished through the curtains. The cheers followed her long after shewas gone.
"What do you think, Ambassador? You know half the men here would give athousand gold _mohurs _to have her tonight." Nadir Sharif beamedmischievously. "The other half two thousand."
"Come forward." Arangbar motioned to the singer sitting on the carpet.He was, Hawksworth now realized, an aging, portly man with short whitehair and a painful limp. As he approached Arangbar's dais, he beganremoving the tiny cymbals attached to the fingers of one hand that hehad used to keep time for the dancer.
"He's her guru, her teacher." Nadir Sharif pointed to the man as hebowed obsequiously before the Moghul. "If His Majesty decides to selectSangeeta to dance at the wedding, his fortune will be made. Frankly Ithought she was good, though there is still a trifle too much flair inher style, too many tricks. But then she's young, and perhaps it's toosoon to expect genuine maturity. Still, I noticed His Majesty was takenwith her. She could well find herself in the _zenana_ soon."
Arangbar flipped another purse of coins to the man, and then spoke tohim curtly in Persian.
"His Majesty has expressed his admiration, and says he may call himagain after he has seen the other dancers." Nadir Sharif winked."Choosing the dancers is a weighty responsibility. Naturally HisMajesty will want to carefully review all the women."
The lamps brightened again and servants bustled about the carpetfilling glasses and exchanging the burned-out tobacco chillum, claybowls at the top of each hookah. When they had finished, Arangbar tookanother glass of wine and signaled for the lamps to be lowered oncemore. A new group of musicians began filing into the room, carryinginstruments Hawksworth had never before seen. First came the drummer,who carried not the two short tabla drums but rather a single longinstrument, designed to be played at both ends simultaneously. A singerentered next, already wearing small gold cymbals on each hand. Finallya third man entered, carrying nothing but a piece of inch-thick bamboo,less than two feet in length and perforated with a line of holes.
Arangbar looked quizzically at Nadir Sharif.
As though reading the question, the prime minister rose and spoke inTurki. "This one's name is Kamala, Your Majesty. She is originally fromthe south, but now she is famous among the Hindus in Agra. Although Ihave never seen her dance, I assumed Your Majesty would want to humorthe Hindus by auditioning her."
"We are a sovereign of all our subjects. I have never seen this Hindudance. Nor these instruments of the south. What are they called?"
"The drum is called a mirdanga, Majesty. They use it in the south witha type of sitar they call the veena. The other instrument is a bambooflute."
Arangbar shifted impatiently. "Tell them this should be brief."
Nadir Sharif spoke quickly to the musicians in a language few in theroom seemed to understand. They nodded and immediately the flautistbegan a haunting lyric line that bathed the room in a soft, echoingmelody. Hawksworth was startled that so simple an instrument couldproduce such rich, warm tones.
The curtains parted and a tall, elaborately jeweled woman swept acrossthe carpet. She took command of the space around her, possessed it,almost as though it were part of her being. Her long silk _sari _hadbeen gathered about each leg so that it seemed like trousers, and herevery step was announced by dense bracelets of bells at her ankles.Most striking, however, was her carriage. Hawksworth had never beforeseen such dignity of motion.
As he stared at her, he realized she was wearing an immense, diamond-encrusted nose ring and long pendant earrings, also of diamonds. Noteven the Moghul wore stones to equal hers. Her face was heavilypainted, but still he suspected she might no longer be in the firstbloom of youth. Her self-assurance was too secure. She knew exactly whoshe was.
She turned her back to Arangbar as she reverently gave an invocation,both hands together and raised above her head, to some absent god. Theonly sound was the slow, measured cadence of the drum. Suddenly itseemed as though her body had captured some perfect moment of balance,a feeling of timelessness within time.
Hawksworth glanced toward Arangbar, whose irritation was obvious.
How can she be so imprudent as to ignore him? Aren't Hindus afraid ofhim? What was her name? Kamala?
His eyes shot back to the woman.
Kamala.
Can she be the woman Kali spoke of that last night in Surat? The LotusWoman? Nadir Sharif said she was famous.
"Just who are you?" Arangbar's voice cut through the carpeted room,toward the woman's back. He was speaking Turki, and he was outraged.
Kamala whirled on him. "One who dances for Shiva, in his
aspect as Nataraj, the god of the dance. For him and for him alone."
"What do you call this dance for your infidel god?"
"Bharata Natyam. The dance of the temple. The sacred tradition as oldas India itself. The god Shiva set the world in motion by the rhythmsof his dance. My dance is a prayer to Shiva." Kamala's eyes snappedwith hatred. "I dance for no one else."
"You were summoned here to dance for me." Arangbar pulled himselfdrunkenly erect. Around the room the nobles began to shift uneasily,their bleary eyes filling with alarm.
"Then I will not dance. You have the world in your hands. But youcannot possess the dance of Shiva. Our dance is prescribed in the NatyaShastra of the ancient sage Bharata. Over a thousand years ago hedeclared that dance is not merely for pleasure; dance is the blendingof all art, religion, philosophy. It gives mankind wisdom, discipline,endurance. Through dance we are allowed to know the totality of allthat is. My dance is not for your sport."
Arangbar's anger increased, but now it was leavened with puzzlement.
"If you will not dance your Shiva dance, then dance Kathak."
"The dance Muslims call Kathak is the perversion of yet another of oursacred traditions. Perhaps there are some Hindu dancers who will, forMuslim gold, debase the ancient Kathak dance of India, will make it adisplay of empty technique for the amusement of India's oppressors.Muslims and"--she turned and glared at Hawksworth--"now _feringhi_. But Iwill not do it. The Kathak you want to see is no longer true Kathak. Ithas been made empty, without meaning. I will never debase our trueKathak dance for you, as others have done, any more than I willdedicate a performance of Bharata Natyam to a mortal man."
The guards near the entrance of the _Diwan-i-Khas _had all tensed,their hands dropping uneasily to their swords.
"I have heard enough. A man who dared speak to me as you have would besent to the elephants. You, I think, deserve more. Since you speak toyour god through dance, you do not need a tongue."
Arangbar turned to summon the waiting guards when, at the rear of the_Diwan-i-Khas_, the figure of the Chief Painter emerged, his assistantstrailing behind. They carried a long, thin board.
Nadir Sharif spotted them and immediately leaped to his feet, almost asthough he had been expecting their entrance.
"Your Majesty." He quickly moved between Arangbar and Kamala, who stoodmotionless. "The paintings have arrived. I'm ready for my horse. Letthe English ambassador see them now."
Arangbar looked up in confusion, his eyes half closed from the opium.Then he saw the painters and remembered.
"Bring them in." Suddenly his alertness seemed to return. "I want tosee five Inglish kings."
The paintings were brought to the foot of Arangbar's dais, and heinspected them drunkenly, but with obvious satisfaction.
"Ambassador Inglish. Have a look." Arangbar called toward the hushedshadows of the seated guests. A path immediately cleared among thebolsters, as hookahs were pushed aside, wineglasses seized.
Hawksworth walked unsteadily forward, his mind still stunned by theimminent death sentence waiting for the woman. As he passed her, hesensed her powerful presence and inhaled her musky perfume. There wasno hint of fear in her eyes as she stood waiting, statuesque anddefiant.
By the time he reached the throne, eunuchs were waiting with candles,one on each side of the board, bathing it in flickering light. On itwas a line of five English miniatures of King James, each approximatelyan inch square.
Good Jesus, they're identical. Am I so drunk I can't tell a painting ofKing James?
He looked up shakily at Arangbar, whose smile was a gloat.
"Well, Ambassador Inglish. What say you? Are the painters of my schoolequal to any your king has?"
"One moment, Majesty. Until my eyes adjust." Hawksworth grasped oneedge of the board to steady himself. Behind him there were murmurs ofdelight and he caught the word "_feringhi_."
As he walked along the board, studying each painting in turn, hesuddenly noticed that the reflection of the candlelight was differentfor one.
The paint is still wet on the new portraits. That's the difference. Oris it? Are my eyes playing tricks? Damn me for letting Nadir Shariffill my wineglass every chance he had.
"Come, Ambassador Inglish. We do not have all night." Arangbar's voicewas brimming with triumph.
Hawksworth studied the paintings more closely. Yes, there's a slightdifference. The colors on the one painting are slightly different.Duller.
They didn't use varnish. And there are fewer shadows. Theirs are moretwo-dimensional.
"I'm astounded, Your Majesty. But I believe this is the one by IsaacOliver." Hawksworth pointed to the painting second from the right end.
"Let me see them again." Arangbar's voice was a husky slur. "I willtell if you have guessed correctly."
The board was handed up. Arangbar glanced at the paintings for only aninstant. "You have guessed right, Ambassador Inglish. And I realize howyou did it. The light from the candles."
"The portraits are identical, Your Majesty. I confess it."
"So we have won our point. And you won the wager, Inglish. Still, youwon only because of my haste. Tomorrow you would not have known. Do youadmit it?"
"I do, Your Majesty." Hawksworth bowed slightly.
"So, you did not really win the wager after all. We lost it. But I am aman of honor. We will release Nadir Sharif from his pledge. I am theone who must pay. What would you have? Perhaps a diamond?"
"The wager was only for a horse, Your Majesty." Hawksworth was stunned.
"No. That was the wager of Nadir Sharif. You have won a wager from aking. Yours must be the payment of a king. If not a jewel, then whatwould you have?"
Before Hawksworth could reply, Nadir Sharif stepped forward and benttoward Arangbar.
"If I may be allowed to suggest, Your Majesty, the _feringhi _needs awoman. Give him this dancer. Let him amuse himself with her until youcan find a suitable wife for him."
Arangbar looked toward Hawksworth with glazed eyes. It was obvious hehad already forgotten about Kamala.
"The Kathak dancer who was here? She was excellent. Yes, that would beperfect."
"Your Majesty of course means the woman standing here now." NadirSharif directed Arangbar's groggy gaze toward Kamala, who stood mutely,eyes flashing.
"There she is. Of course. What do you say to her, Inglish?"
Hawksworth was astounded by Nadir Sharifs quickness of wit. He's savedthe woman. He's a genius. Of course I'll take her. Good Jesus, there'sbeen enough bloodshed today.
"The woman would be the gift of a great prince, Your Majesty."
"So there's manhood about you after all, Inglish. I had begun to thinkyou were like your king." Arangbar laughed in delight. "So it's a womanyou would have, Ambassador? Merciful Allah, I have too many now.Perhaps you would like two. I recall there's an Armenian Christiansomewhere in the _zenana_. Perhaps several. They're said to be as lustyas the Portuguese harlots in Goa." He choked for a moment on laughter."Let me summon the eunuchs."
"This one will do for now, Your Majesty." Think how to phrase this."Merely to serve me."
"Yes, she will 'serve' you, Ambassador. Or we will have her head. Ifshe would amuse you, she's yours."
Kamala's look met Hawksworth's. It was strangely without emotion.
Then Arangbar suddenly remembered Kamala's defiance and turned to studyher again with half-closed eyes.
"But not this one. It must be the other one you want. This one will behanged tonight, in a room far beneath the _zenana_. After she hasanswered for her words. Tomorrow her carcass will pollute the Jamuna. Aman in her place would already be dead."
"May it please Your Majesty, it would satisfy me even more to have thisone." Hawksworth paused. "Perhaps it's what the English call honor. Weboth know I did not win our wager fairly. Only by taking something ofno value, like this woman, could I maintain my honor, and my king's."
"You are persuasive, Inglish, and I am drunk. But not too drunk tosuspect you've taken a fancy to this infidel. But if you prefer her tothe other, then so be it. We offered you whatever you wished. She'syours. But never let her be seen on the streets of Agra again. We willhave her cut down."
"As please Your Majesty."
"It's done." Arangbar turned to Nadir Sharif. "Is it true you've founda house for the Inglish?"
"I have, Your Majesty."
"Then send her there." He turned to Hawksworth. "Allah protect you fromthese infidel Hindus, Inglish. They have none of your Inglish honor."
"I humbly thank Your Majesty." Jesus Christ, I've just been imprisonedin a house staffed by Nadir Sharifs hand-picked spies.
"Enough. We've been told to retire early tonight. Her Majesty thinks wedrink to excess." He laughed a slurred chortle. "But we will see youtomorrow, Inglish. To talk more. We have much to discuss. We want tohear what gifts your king is preparing for us. We would very much likea large mastiff from Europe. We hear they hunt game like a _chitah._"
Arangbar drew himself up shakily and two eunuchs immediately were athis side, helping him from the white marble throne. None of the guestsmoved until he had passed through the curtains. Immediately the eunuchsbegan moving about the room, extinguishing the lamps. By the time theguests assembled to leave, the room was virtually dark. Kamala and themusicians had been escorted from the room by Arangbar's guards.Suddenly Hawksworth felt Nadir Sharifs hand on his arm.
"That was a noble thing you did, Ambassador. We all owe you a debt ofthanks. I have rarely seen His Majesty so out of temper. Therepercussions could have been distressing for many of us."
"It was your idea."
"Merely a quick fancy, an act of desperation. But without yourcooperation it would have been impossible. I do thank you."
"There's nothing to thank me for." Hawksworth drew his arm away."Where's this house you've found for me?"
Nadir Sharif sighed. "Finding a secure lodging these days is moredifficult than you might first imagine, Ambassador. But you were inluck. I remembered there's a small lodge in my palace grounds that isunoccupied. I did not reckon on quarters for two, but of course thewoman will be living with your servants. The house should serve untilsomething more fitting can be found."
"My thanks." Damn you. "When do I move there?"
"Your effects have already been moved, on His Majesty's authority. Youcan come tonight. My men will show you there. Your dinner is probablywaiting."
At that moment the last lamp was extinguished. Along with the otherguests they groped their way out of the _Diwan-i-Khas _in totaldarkness.
