The Moghul Page 27

  The waves curled gently against the shore, breaking iridescent over thestaves of a half-buried keg. Before him the sea spread wide and empty.Only a single sail broke the horizon. His mare pawed impatiently, butHawksworth could not bring himself to turn her back toward the road.Not yet. Only when the sail's white had blended with the sea did herein her around and, with one last glance at the empty blue, give herthe spur.

  He rode briskly past the nodding palms along the shore, then turnedinland toward Surat, through villages of thatch- roofed houses on lowstilts. Women watched from the wide porches, sewing, nursing infants.After a time he no longer saw them, no longer urged the mare. Histhoughts were filled with images from the tumultuous evening past.

  He had paced the vacant rooms of the palace till the early hours ofmorning, his mind in turmoil. Sleep was never a possibility. When thecourtyard at last grew still, he had slipped back into the garden,wanting its openness, the feel of its order. In the moonlight it laydeserted, and as he strolled alongside the bubbling fountain, he felthimself even more lost in this alien place, this alien land. The pilotKarim had been right. India had already unsettled him more than hethought he could bear.

  In time he found himself wandering once more through the orchard, amidthe wistful calls of night birds. The trees formed a roof of leafyshadows, cold and joyless as the moon above. Even then, all he couldsee was Shirin, poised defiant in the stark torchlight, taunting thequeen. She had offered herself up to almost certain death, for reasonshe scarcely comprehended.

  Before he fully realized where he was, he looked up and saw theobservatory. A tiny blinking owl perched atop the staircase, studyinghim critically as he approached. Around him the marble instrumentsglistened like silver, while ahead stood the stone hut, forlorn now,more ramshackle than he had ever remembered, more abandoned. Hereflected sadly that it probably would soon be forgotten entirely. Whowould ever come here again?

  The door of the hut was sealed tightly and for a time he stood simplylooking at it, trying to recall all that had passed inside. Finally hereached with a determined hand and pulled it wide.

  Shirin stared up from the table in shock, grabbing the lamp as thoughto extinguish it. Then she recognized him in the flickering light.

  "Why . . . why are you here?"

  Before he could answer, she moved in front of the table, masking itfrom his view. "You should not have come. If you're seen . . ."

  As his own surprise passed, he felt himself suddenly wanting to takeher in his arms. "What does it matter now? You're divorced." The wordsfilled him with momentary exhilaration, till he remembered the rest."You're also in danger, whether I'm seen or not."

  "That's my concern."

  "What are you planning to do?"

  "Leave. But I still have friends."

  He reached out and took the lamp from her, to feel the touch of herhand. It was soft and warm. "Will I ever see you again?"

  "Who knows what will happen now?" The wildness in her eyes wasbeginning to gentle. She moved back from the table and dropped into achair. He realized it was the same chair she had sat in when tellinghim about the queen. On the table before her were piles of papers, tiedinto small, neat bundles. She examined him for a few moments insilence, then reached to brush the hair back from her eyes. "Did youcome here just to see me?"

  "Not really . . ." He stopped, then laughed. "I think maybe I did. Ithink I somehow knew you would be here, without realizing I knew. I'vebeen thinking about you all night."

  "Why?" Her voice quickened just enough for him to notice.

  "I'm not sure. I do know I'm very worried about what may happen toyou."

  "No one else seems to be. No one will talk to me now, not even theservants. Suddenly I don't exist." Her eyes softened. "Thank you. Thankyou for coming. It means you're not afraid. I'm glad."

  "Why do you care whether I came or not?" He asked almost beforerealizing what he was saying.

  She hesitated, and unconsciously ran her glance down his frame. "To seeyou one more time." He thought he saw something enter her eyes, risingup unbidden. "Don't you realize you've become very special for me?"

  "Tell me." He studied her eyes in the lamplight, watching them softeneven more.

  "You're not like anyone I've ever known. You're part of somethingthat's very strange to me. I sometimes find myself dreaming of you.You're . . . you're very powerful. Something about you." She caughtherself, then laughed. "But maybe it's not really you I dream about atall. Maybe it's what you are."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're a man, from the West. There's a strength about you I can'tfully understand." He watched her holding herself in check.

  "Go on."

  "Maybe it's partly the way you touch and master the things around you."She looked at him directly. "Let me try to explain what I mean. Formost people in India, the world that matters most is the world within.We explore the seas inside our own mind. And so we wait, we wait forthe world outside to be brought to us. But for you the inner worldseems secondary." She laughed again, and now her voice was controlledand even. "Perhaps I'm not explaining it well. Let me try again. Do youremember the first thing you did on your very first morning in thepalace?"

  "I walked out here, to the observatory."

  "But why did you?"

  "Because I'm a seaman, and I thought . . ."

  "No, that's only partly the reason." She smiled. "I think you came tosee it because it belongs to the world of things. Like a good European,you felt you must first and always be the master of things. Of ships,of guns, even of the stars. Maybe that's why I find you so strong." Shepaused, then reached out and touched his hand. The gesture had beenimpulsive, and when she realized what she'd done, she moved to pull itback, then stopped herself.

  He looked at her in the lamplight, then gently placed his other handover hers and held it firm. "Then let me tell you something. I find youjust as hard to understand. I find myself drawn to something about you,and it troubles me."

  "Why should it trouble you?"

  "Because I don't know who you are. What you are. Even what you'redoing, or why. You've risked everything for principles that arecompletely outside me." He looked into her eyes, trying to find words."And regardless of what you say, I think you somehow know everythingthere is to know about me. I don't even have to tell you."

  "Things pass between a man and woman that go beyond words. Noteverything has to be said." She shifted her gaze away. "You've hadgreat sadness in your life. And I think it's killed some part of you.You no longer allow yourself to trust or to love."

  "I've had some bad experiences with trust."

  "But don't let it die." Her eyes met his. "It's the thing mostworthwhile."

  He looked at her a long moment, feeling the tenderness beneath herstrength, and he knew he wanted her more than anything. Before hethought, he had slipped his arm around her waist and drawn her up tohim. He later remembered his amazement at her softness, her warmth ashe pulled her body against his own. Before she could speak, he hadkissed her, bringing her mouth full to his lips. He had thought for aninstant she would resist, and he meant to draw her closer. Only thendid he realize it was she who had come to him, pressing her bodyagainst his. They clung together in the lamplight, neither wanting themoment to end. At last, with an act of will, she pulled herself away.

  "No." Her breath was coming almost faster than his own. "It'simpossible."

  "Nothing's impossible." He suddenly knew, with an absolute certainty,that he had to make her his own. "Come with me to Agra. Together . . ."

  "Don't say it." She stopped his lips with her finger. "Not yet." Sheglanced at the papers on the table, then reached for his hand, bringingit to her moist cheek. "Not yet."

  "You're leaving. So am I. We'll leave together."

  "I can't." She was slipping from him. He felt it. "I'll think of youwhen you're in Agra. And when we're ready, we'll find each other, Ipromise it."

  Before he knew, she had turned and gathered the bundles. When shereached fo
r the lamp, suddenly her hand stopped.

  "Let's leave it." She looked toward him. "Still burning." Then shereached out and brushed his lips with her fingertips one last time. Hewatched in dismay as she passed on through the doorway. In moments shewas lost among the shadows of the orchard.

  BOOK THREE

  THE ROAD