The Moghul Read online

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They were deep within the center of Surat, nearing the river,when suddenly the street opened onto a wide stone-paved plaza. Thefirst thing Hawksworth saw through the torchlight was a high ironfence, sentries posted with bucklers and pikes along its perimeter, andan ornate iron gate. Then, as they neared, he realized the fence wasthe outer perimeter of an immense pink sandstone fortress, with highturrets and a wide, arched entryway. Finally he spotted the water-filled moat that lay between the fence and the fortress walls. The moatwas spanned by a single wooden bridge, and Hawksworth noted that whenthe bridge was drawn inward it neatly sealed the entry of the fortress.

  As they approached the iron outer gate, the party of _chaugan _playersbegan to disperse; after formal and minimal farewells the merchants andofficials turned and disappeared into the night. Soon only Hawksworthand Mukarrab Khan were left, together with the governor's privategrooms and guards. Hawksworth studied the departing players withcuriosity. What sway does Mukarrab Khan hold over them? Respect? Fear?

  Then the iron gate swung wide and their horses clattered across thewooden drawbridge. Hawksworth looked about and began to understand thatthe governor's palace guards were not merely ceremonial. Lining bothsides of the drawbridge were uniformed infantrymen armed with pikes.Then as they passed under the stone archway leading into the fortress,Hawksworth turned to see even more armed guards, poised just inside,pikes in formal salute. And farther back he saw two armored animals,gigantic, many times larger than the biggest horse, with massive earsand a snout several feet in length.

  That must be what a war elephant looks like. So they really do exist.But why so many guards? It's virtually a private army.

  Then he felt a groom tug the reins of his horse and signal for him todismount. They were now inside the palace grounds. Ahead, through anintricate formal garden, stood the residence of the governor of Surat.The elaborate carvings of its pink sandstone decoration reflected hardred in the torchlight.

  Mukarrab Khan directed him through a marble entryway,

  ornately rounded at the top like the turret of a mosque. They hadentered some form of reception hallway, and Hawksworth noticed that themarble floor was decorated with a complex geometry of colored stone.

  Above his head were galleries of white plasterwork supported bydelicate arches, and along the sides were ornate, curtained recesses.Hanging oil lamps brilliantly illuminated the glistening walls, whilerows of servants dressed in matching white turbans lined the sides inwelcome.

  As they approached the end of the reception hallway, Hawksworth studiedthe door ahead. It was massive, and thick enough to withstand any warmachine that could be brought into the hallway, and yet its protectivefunction was concealed from obvious notice by a decoration of intricatecarvings and a flawless polish. The servants slowly revolved it outwardon its heavy brass hinges and Mukarrab Khan led them into a vast opencourtyard surrounded by a veranda, with columns supporting balconies ofmarble filigree. It seemed a vast reception hall set in the open air,an elegant plaza whose roof was stars, and whose centerpiece was acanopied pavilion, under which stood a raised couch of juniper woodlined with red satin--not unlike an English four-poster bed, save theposts were delicately thin and polished to a burnished ebony. Largebronze lanterns along the balconies furnished a flickering vision ofthe complex interworking of paths, flower beds, and fountainssurrounding the central pavilion.

  Waiting on the veranda, just inside the entryway, were six tallfigures, three on either side of the doorway. They were turbaned,exquisitely robed, and wore conspicuous jewels that gleamed againsttheir dark skin. As they bowed to the governor, Hawksworth examinedthem for a brief moment and then his recognition clicked.

  Eunuchs. They must be Mukarrab Khan's private guards, since they can goanywhere, even the women's apartments.

  "Captain Hawksworth, perhaps you should meet my household officials.They are Bengalis--slaves actually-- whom I bought young and trainedyears ago in Agra. One must, regrettably, employ eunuchs to maintain ahousehold such as this. One's palace women can never be trusted, andone's intriguing wives least of all. I named them in the Arab fashion,after their position in the palace, so I need not trouble to remembertheir names, merely what they do. This is Nahir, who is in charge of myaccounts." He gestured toward a pudgy face now glaring out from beneatha deep blue headdress, a tall conical turban tied in place with a wrapof white silk that circled his bloated throat. The eunuch's open jacketwas a heavy brocade and it heaved as he breathed, betraying the saggingfat around his nipples.

  "The one next to him selects my wardrobe." The second eunuch gazed atHawksworth impassively, his puffed, indulgent lips red with beteljuice. "That one selects the clothes for my spendthrift women, and theone on his left is responsible for all their jewels. The one over theretakes care of the household linens and oversees the servants. And theone behind him is in charge of the kitchen. You will be asked to endurehis handiwork tonight."

  The eunuchs examined Hawksworth's ragged appearance with transparentcontempt, and they seemed to melt around him as he walked through thedoorway--two ahead, two behind, and one on either side. None spoke agreeting. Hawksworth examined them carefully, wondering which was incharge of the women's apartments. That's the most powerful position, hesmiled to himself, nothing else really counts.

  A servant came down the veranda bearing a tray and brought it directlyto the governor. Then he kneeled and offered it. It was of beatensilver and on it were two large crystal goblets of a pastel greenliquid.

  "Captain, would you care to refresh yourself with a glass of _tundhi_.It's the traditional way we break the fast of Ramadan." He directed theservant toward Hawksworth. "It's prepared in the women's apartmentsduring the day, as an excuse for something to do."

  Hawksworth touched the drink lightly with his tongue. It was a mixtureof sweet and tang quite unlike anything he had ever known. Perhaps theclosest was a brisk mug of spiced

  ale, pungent with clove and cinnamon. But this spiced drink wasmysteriously subtle. Puzzling, he turned to Mukarrab Khan.

  "What is this? It tastes like the air in a garden."

  "This? I've never paid any notice, although the women down it by thebasinful after sunset." As he received his own goblet he turned to oneof the eunuchs. "Nahir, how do the women prepare _tundhi_?"

  "With seeds, Khan Sahib. Seeds of melons, cucumber, lettuce, andcoriander are pounded, and then blended with rosewater, pomegranateessence, and juice of the aloe flower. But the secret is to strain itproperly, and I find I must carefully oversee the work."

  "Doubtless." Mukarrab Khan's voice was curt. "I suspect you shouldattend the accounts more and the women's apartments less." He turned toanother eunuch.

  "Is my bath ready?"

  "As always, Khan Sahib." As the eunuch bowed he examined Hawksworth'sdust-covered face and hair discreetly. "Will the distinguished_feringhi _also require a bath?"

  "He was on the _chaugan _field this afternoon, just as I was."

  Hawksworth groaned inwardly. What English host would have theeffrontery to suggest a guest needed a bath? For that matter, whatEnglishman would even consider bathing more than twice a year? It'sknown well enough King James never bathes, that he never even washeshis hands, only brushes them with a moist napkin at mealtime. Yet thisMoor wants a full bath before a meal, merely to remove a bit of dust.

  "I would be content to rinse my hands."

  Mukarrab Khan examined him for a moment and then broke into a widesmile. "I always forget _feringhi _are positively afraid of water." Hespoke quickly to one of the eunuchs, who turned and barked orders tothe servants in a language Hawksworth did not understand.

  "The servants will provide whatever you require." Mukarrab Khan bowedperfunctorily to Hawksworth and disappeared through one of the archeddoorways leading off the courtyard, followed by the eunuchs. ThenHawksworth turned to see a dark-skinned man bearing a large silverbasin down the veranda. Behind him a second man carried a red velvetcushion, shaped like a lon
g cylinder, and placed it on a stool next tothe canopied pavilion, gesturing for Hawksworth to sit.

  As Hawksworth seated himself and turned toward the basin the servantheld waiting, he caught the fresh aroma of a full bouquet, as thoughthe fragrances of some tropic Eden had been distilled into the water.He looked down to see flower petals floating on its shimmering, oil-covered surface. How curious, he thought. English countrywomensometimes distill toilet water from the flowers in their gardens, butnever in such quantities'that it can be used merely to wash hands. Andwhile English toilet waters are cloying and sweet, violets andgilliflowers, this aroma is light and delicate.

  War elephants and perfumed waters, in the same palace. It's incredible.

  He gingerly splashed his hands, and looked up to find a steaming towelbeing proffered. He sponged away the remaining mud of the playing fieldand watched as one by one the servants began to melt into the darkenedrecesses of the marble galleries. The last was an old witheredgamekeeper, who wandered through the garden berating a sullen peacocktoward its roost. And then the courtyard fell austerely quiet.

  Illuminated now only by lanterns and pale moonlight, it became afairyland almost outside of time. He smiled as he thought of where hehad been only the previous night--fending off an attack by Portugueseinfantry. And now, this.

  His thoughts began to drift randomly, to float in and among the marblelatticework of the veranda. And he thought once more of Roger Symmesand his bizarre stories of India.

  He was right. It's a heaven on earth. But with an undertow of violencejust beneath the serene, polished surface. All this beauty, and yetit's guarded with war elephants and a moat. It's a world that's . . .artificial. It's carved of marble and jewels, and then locked away. NowI'm beginning to understand why he found it so enticing. Andfrightening. God, for a brandy. Now.

  "Khan Sahib awaits you." Hawksworth looked up to see the eunuchstanding directly in front of him, freshly attired in a long robe ofpatterned silk. As he rose, startled from his reveries, a pudgy handshot out and seized his arm.

  "Your sword is not permitted in the banquet room."

  Hawksworth froze. Then he remembered the knife strapped inside the topof his boot and the thought gave him comfort.

  He unbuckled his sword slowly, deliberately, pausing to meet theeunuch's defiant stare as he passed it over.

  The eunuch seemed to ignore Hawksworth's look as he continued.

  "You will also remove your boots. It is against custom to wear them inthe banquet room."

  Hawksworth moved to protest, then sadly concluded there would be nopoint. Of course the room would be filled with carpets. And that mustbe the reason everyone I've seen here wears open shoes with the backsfolded down: they're constantly being removed at doorways.

  He bent over and unbuckled his boots. The eunuch stiffened momentarilywhen he saw the glint of the knife handle in the lamplight, but he saidnothing, merely swept up the boots with his other hand.

  As they walked slowly down the marble hallway toward the bronzed doorof the banquet room, Hawksworth tried to rehearse what he would say toMukarrab Khan.

  He has to petition the court in Agra to grant safe conduct for thetrip. He just has to send one letter. How can he possibly refuse?Remember, you're an ambassador. . . .

  The eunuch shoved wide the bronzed door, and Hawksworth was astonishedby what he saw.

  The governor of Surat lounged against a purple velvet bolster at thefar end of a long room whose walls were a cool expanse of flawlesswhite and whose marble floor was softened with an enormous carpet inthe thick Persian style. His skin glistened with light oil, and he haddonned a fresh turban, patterned in brown and white, tied in intricateswirls, and bound with a strand of dark jewels. A single large pearlhung over his forehead, and two tassels, each also suspending a pearl,brushed his shoulders. He wore a tight-fitting patterned shirt in palebrown, and over this a heavy green vest lined in white satin andembroidered in gold. It was bound with a woven cinch decorated withbrocade. Around his neck were two strings of pearls, the shortersuspending a large ruby from its center. He had put on heavy bracelets,and intricate rings circled the first and fourth fingers of both hands.Hawksworth also noticed for the first time that he wore earrings, eacha tiny green emerald.

  The eunuchs stood behind him, and around the sides of the room servantsand slaves stood waiting. Along a back wall two men sat silentlypoised, one behind a pair of small drums and the other holding anornate stringed instrument, its polished body glistening in the light.The only women in the room mingled among the servers.

  "Captain Hawksworth, our fare tonight will be simple and unworthy, butplease honor my table by your indulgence." Mukarrab Khan smiled warmlyand motioned Hawksworth to enter. "At least we can talk freely."

  "Is this an official meeting?" Hawksworth did not move, but stood asofficiously as he could muster.

  "If you wish. Our meeting can be considered formal, even if we arenot."

  "Then as ambassador of His Majesty, King James of England, I mustinsist that you rise to receive me." Hawksworth tried to suppress thefeeling that he looked vaguely foolish as a barefoot ambassador. But noone else in the room wore shoes either. "A governor is still his king'ssubject. I represent my king's person."

  "I was not informed you were an ambassador." Mukarrab Khan's facesobered noticeably, but he did not move. "You are Captain-General oftwo merchant vessels."

  "I'm here in the name of the king of England, with authority to speakfor him in all matters regarding trade." Hawksworth recalled the effectthis had had on the Shahbandar. "I'm entrusted with his personal letterto the Moghul."

  Mukarrab Khan examined Hawksworth for a long moment, seeming to collectand assemble a number of thoughts.

  "Your request would be proper for an ambassador. Let us say I comply inthe interest of mutual good will." He rose and bowed formally, if onlysightly, more a nod. "The governor of Surat welcomes you, arepresentative of the English king."

  "And I convey my king's acknowledgement of your welcome." Hawksworthentered and seated himself facing Mukarrab Khan, against a large velvetbolster already positioned for him.

  "And what is this letter your English king sends to His Majesty?"Mukarrab Khan reclined back on his own bolster and arched hisfingertips together.

  "That is a concern between King James and the Moghul." Hawksworthcaught the quickly suppressed flash of anger in Mukarrab Khan's eyes."I only ask that you petition the court in Agra for permission totravel there. It would also be helpful if you would order theShahbandar to allow our merchants to trade their goods at the port ofSurat."

  "Yes, I understand you had the pleasure of meeting our Shahbandar. Iregret deeply having to tell you I have virtually no influence overthat notorious man. He was appointed by the Moghul's son, Prince Jadar,who is in charge of administering this province. He acts very much ashe pleases."

  Lie number one, Hawksworth thought: you forced him to order my transferhere.

  "Surely you're aware," Mukarrab Khan continued evenly, "that no otherEuropeans besides the Portuguese have ever before landed cargo on theshores of India. Arabs, Persians, even Turks are a common sight, but noother Europeans. Not even your Dutch, who, I'm told, consort with someof our southeastern neighbors. In fact, the Moghul's trade agreementwith the Portuguese is intended to exclude all other Europeans."Mukarrab Khan stirred on his bolster and signaled one of the eunuchs toprepare the carpet for dining. "Although frankly he has little choice,since they control the seas. In fact, it might be said that they allowour merchants to trade. Indian cargo vessels must all acquire a licensefrom Portuguese officials in Goa before leaving port."

  "The Portugals control India's trade because you've allowed them to.Your territorial waters belong to India, or should."

  Mukarrab Khan seemed to ignore Hawksworth as he watched the servantsspread a large covering of tooled leather across the carpet in front ofthem. After a moment his concentration reappeared, and he turnedabruptly.

  "Ambassador Hawksworth, we d
o not need to be advised by you how Indiashould manage her own affairs. But perhaps I will advise you that HisExcellency, the Portuguese Viceroy, has already sent notice bymessenger that he intends to lodge charges of piracy against your twoships. He has requested that they be confiscated and that you, yourmerchants, and your crews be transferred to Goa for trial."

  Hawksworth's heart stopped and he examined Mukarrab Khan in dismay. Sothe _chaugan _match had merely been an excuse to take him intoconfinement. After a moment he stiffened and drew himself erect. "And Isay the Portugals were the ones acting as pirates. Their attack on ourEnglish merchantmen was in violation of the treaty of peace that nowexists between England and Spain, and by extension to the cravenPortugals, who are now nothing more than a vassal of the Spanish king."

  "Yes, I've heard rumors of this treaty. We in India are not entirelyignorant of Europe. But His Excellency denies there's any such treatyextending to our shores. As I recall he characterized England as anisland of stinking fishermen, who should remain content to fish theirown sea."

  "The treaty between England and Spain exists." Hawksworth decided toignore the insult. "We have exchanged ambassadors and it is honored byboth our kings. It ended almost two decades of war."

  "I will grant you such a treaty may indeed exist. Whether it applieshere I do not know. Nor, frankly, do I particularly care. What I doknow, English ambassador, is that you are very far from the law courtsof Europe. The Portuguese still control the seas off India, as theyhave done for a hundred years. And unenforceable treaties have littlebearing on the rule of might."

  "We showed you the 'might' of the Portugals yesterday."

  Mukarrab Khan laughed heartily, and when he glanced toward his eunuchs,they returned obsequious grins. "You are truly more naive than I everimagined, English Captain Hawksworth. What effect can one smallengagement have on the fleet of warships at Goa? If you want protectionat sea, you will have to provide it yourself. Is that what your kinghopes to gain from the Moghul, or from me?"

  "I told you I have only two requests. One is your message to Agrarequesting permission for my journey. The other is your approval totrade the cargo we've brought."

  "Yes, so you have said. Unfortunately, what you ask may not be all thateasy to grant. Your unhappy engagement with the Portuguese Viceroy'sfleet has made my situation more than a trifle awkward." He leaned backand spoke rapidly in Persian to the eunuchs standing behind him. Thenhe turned back to Hawksworth. "But as one of our Agra poets, a Sufirascal named Samad, once penned, The thread of life is all too short;the soul tastes wine and passes on.' Before we explore these tiresomeconcerns further, let us taste some wine."

  The eunuchs were already dictating orders to the servants. A silverchalice of fresh fruit appeared beside Hawksworth, brimming withmangoes, oranges larger than he had ever before seen, slices of melon,and other unknown fruits of varied colors. A similar bowl was placedbeside Mukarrab Khan, who seemed to ignore it. Then as Hawksworthwatched, the servants began spreading a white linen cloth over the redleather coverlet that had been placed on the carpet in front of them.

  "A host is expected, Ambassador, to apologize for the meal he offers. Iwill take the occasion to do that now." Mukarrab Khan flashed asprightly smile. "But perhaps after your months at sea, you will belenient. For my own part, I have fasted today, and there's an Arabproverb that hunger is the best spice. Still, I prefer leisurelygratification. I concur with our Hindu sensualists that pleasureprolonged is pleasure enhanced. All pleasure. Perhaps this evening youwill see their wisdom."

  Before Hawksworth could respond, two heavy doors at the back of theroom slowly opened, glinting the lamplight off their elaborate filigreeof gold and bronze, and the first trays appeared, covered with silverlids and borne by young men from the kitchen. Uniformed servantspreceded them into the room. One by one the trays were passed to theeunuchs, who removed their lids and carefully inspected the contents ofeach dish. After a brief consultation, the eunuchs ordered several ofthe dishes returned to the kitchen.

  Hawksworth suddenly realized he was ravenous, and he watched thedeparting dishes in dismay. Did they somehow fail the eunuchs' exactingstandards? Sweet Jesus, who cares? It all looks delicious.

  After final approval by the eunuchs, the silver serving bowls werepassed to servants waiting along the sides of the room, who in turnarrayed them across the linen cloth between Hawksworth and MukarrabKhan. A chief server then knelt behind the dishes, while several stacksof porcelain plates were placed next to him. Hawksworth tried to countthe silver serving bowls, but stopped after twenty.

  One by one the server ceremoniously removed the silver lids from thebowls. Beneath them the contents of the dishes had been arrayed in thecolors of a rainbow. On beds of rice that ranged from white to saffronto green, and even purple, was an overwhelming array of meats, fish,and birds of all sizes. There were carved baked fruits; tiny balls ofmeat flaked with spice and coconut; fried vegetables surrounded bysilver cups of a pastel green sauce; large flat fish encased in darkbaking shells flecked with red and green spices; and a virtual aviaryof wild fowl, from small game birds to plump pea hens.

  The server dished hearty helpings from each bowl onto separateporcelain plates, together with mounds of almond rice and jelliedfruits. As he started to pass the first plate to Hawksworth, MukarrabKhan roughly arrested his hand. "This ill-bred kitchen _wallah_ willserve in the stables after tonight." He seized the serving spoons and,with a flourish of traditional Moghul etiquette, personally laded extraportions from each of the dishes onto Hawksworth's plates. The serverbeamed a knowing smile.

  Hawksworth stared at the food for a moment, dazzled, and then hegingerly sampled a meatball. The taste was delicious, yet hardy, and hecaught the musky flavor of lamb, lightened and transmuted by a bouquetof spice. He next pulled away the side of a fish and wolfed it, beforerealizing the red and green flecks on its surface were some incendiarygarnish. He surveyed the room in agony, praying for a mug of ale, tillan alert eunuch signaled a servant to pass a dish of yogurt. To hisamazement, the tangy, ice cold liquid seemed to instantly dissolve thefire on his tongue.

  He plunged back into the dishes. He had never eaten like this before,even in England. He suddenly recalled with a smile an episode sixmonths into the voyage. After Zanzibar, when he had become so weary ofstale salt pork and biscuit he thought he could not bear to see itagain, he had locked the door of the Great Cabin and composed a fullEnglish banquet in his mind--roast capon, next a pigeon pie larded inbacon fat, then a dripping red side of roast mutton, followed byoysters on the shell spiced with grilled eel, and finally a thick goosepudding on honeyed ham. And to wash it down, a bottle of sack to beginand a sweet muscadel, mulled even sweeter with sugar, to end. But this!No luscious pork fat, and not nearly cloying enough for a trueEnglishman. Yet it worked poetry. Symmes was right. This was heaven.

  With both hands he ripped the leg off a huge bird that had been bastedto a glistening red and, to the visible horror of the server, dipped itdirectly into one of the silver bowls of saffron sauce meant for pigeoneggs. Hawksworth looked up in time to catch the server's look.

  Does he think I don't like the food?

  To demonstrate appreciation, he hoisted a goblet of wine to toast theserver, while he stretched for a piece of lamb with his other hand. Butinstead of acknowledging the compliment, the server went pale.

  "It's customary, Ambassador, to use only one's right hand when eating."Mukarrab Khan forced a polite smile. "The left is normally reserved for. . . attending to other functions."

  Hawksworth then noticed how Mukarrab Khan was dining. He, too, ate withhis fingers, just as you would in England, but somehow he managed tolift his food gracefully with balls of rice, the sauce never soilinghis fingertips.

  A breeze lightly touched Hawksworth's cheek, and he turned to see aservant standing behind him, banishing the occasional fly with a largewhisk fashioned from stiff horsehair attached to a long stick. Anotherservant stood opposite, politely but unnecessarily cooling him
with alarge fan made of red leather stretched over a frame.

  "As I said, Ambassador, your requests present a number ofdifficulties." Mukarrab Khan looked up and took a goblet of fruitnectar from a waiting servant. "You ask certain things from me, thingsnot entirely in my power to grant, while there are others who makeentirely different requests."

  "You mean the Portugals."

  "Yes, the Portuguese Viceroy, who maintains you have acted illegally,in violation of his law and ours, and should be brought to account."

  "And I accuse them of acting illegally. As I told you, there's been aSpanish ambassador in London ever since the war ended, and when wereturn I assure you the East India Company will . . ."

  "This is India, Captain Hawksworth, not London. Please understand Imust consider Portuguese demands. But we are pragmatic. I urge you totell me a bit more about your king's intentions. Your king's letter.Surely you must know what it contains."

  Mukarrab Khan paused to dip a fried mango into a shimmering orangesauce, asking himself what he should do. He had, of course, postedpigeons to Agra at sunrise, but he suspected already what the replywould be. He had received a full account of the battle, and the attackon the river, before the early, pre-sun Ramadan meal. And it was onlyshortly afterward that Father Manoel Pinheiro had appeared, frantic andbathed in sweat. Was it a sign of Portuguese contempt, he oftenwondered, that they would assign such an incompetent to India?Throughout their entire Society of Jesus, could there possibly be anypriest more ill-bred? The Jesuit had repeated facts already knownthroughout the palace, and Mukarrab Khan had listened politely, maskinghis amusement. How often did a smug Portuguese find himself explaininga naval disaster? Four Portuguese warships, galleons with two gundecks,humiliated by two small English frigates. How, Mukarrab Khan hadwondered aloud, could this have happened?

  "There were reasons, Excellency. We have learned the English captainfired langrel into our infantry, shredded metal, a most flagrantviolation of the unwritten ethics of warfare."

  "Are there really supposed to be ethics in warfare? Then I suppose youshould have sent only two of your warships against him. Instead yousent four, and still he prevailed. Today he has no need for excuses.And tell me again what happened when your infantry assaulted theEnglish traders on the river?" Mukarrab Khan had monitored the Jesuit'seyes in secret glee, watching him mentally writhe in humiliation. "Am Ito understand you could not even capture a pinnace?"

  "No one knows, Excellency. The men sent apparently disappeared withouta trace. Perhaps the English had set a trap." Father Pinheiro hadswabbed his greasy brow with the sleeve of his cassock. His dark eyesshowed none of the haughty disdain he usually brought to theirmeetings. "I would ask you not to speak of it outside the palace. Itwas, after all, a special mission."

  "You would prefer the court in Agra not know?"

  "There is no reason to trouble the Moghul, Excellency." The Jesuitpaused carefully. "Or Her Majesty, the queen. This really concerns theViceroy alone." The Jesuit's Persian was grammatically flawless, ifheavily accented, and he awkwardly tried to leaven it with the politecomplexities he had been taught in Goa. "Still less is there any needfor Prince Jadar to know."

  "As you wish." Mukarrab Khan had nodded gravely, knowing the news hadalready reached half of India, and most certainly Prince Jadar. "How,then, may I assist?"

  "The English pirate and his merchants must be delayed here at leastfour weeks. Until the fleet of galleons now unlading in Goa, those ofthe spring voyage just arrived from Lisbon, can be outfitted to meethim."

  "But surely he and his merchants will sail when they choose. And soonerif we deny them trade. Do you suggest that I approve this trade?"

  "You must act as you see fit, Excellency. You know the Viceroy hasalways been of service to Queen Janahara." Pinheiro had paused slyly."Just as you have been."

  The cynicism of Pinheiro's flaunting his knowledge had galled MukarrabKhan most of all. If this Jesuit knew, who else must know? That thegovernor of Surat was bound inescapably to the queen. That on anymatter involving Portuguese trade he must always send a formal messageto the Moghul and a secret one to the queen, and then wait while shedictated the ruling Arangbar would give. Did this Jesuit know also whyMukarrab Khan had been exiled from Agra? To the wilderness ofprovincial Surat? That it was on orders of the queen, to marry and takewith him a woman becoming dangerous, the _zenana _favorite of theMoghul, before the woman's influence outweighed that even of Janahara.And now this female viper was in his palace forever, could not beremoved or divorced, because she was still a favorite of the Moghul's.

  "So you tell me I must make them rich before you can destroy them. Thatseems to be Christian wisdom at its most incisive." Mukarrab Khan hadsummoned a tray of rolled betel leaves, signifying that the interviewwas ended. "It is always a pleasure to see you, Father. You will havemy reply when Allah wills."

  The Jesuit had departed as awkwardly as he had come, and it was thenthat Mukarrab Khan decided to meet the Englishman for himself. Whilethere was still time. How long, he wondered, before the Shahbandarrealized the obvious? And the prince?"

  In the banquet room the air was now dense with the aroma of spice.Hawksworth realized he had so gorged he could scarcely breathe. And hewas having increasing difficulty deflecting Mukarrab Khan's probingquestions. The governor was skillfully angling for information heproperly did not need, and he did not seem a man given to aimlesscuriosity.

  "What do you mean when you ask about the 'intentions' of England?"

  "If the Moghul should approve a trade agreement with your East IndiaCompany, what volume of goods would you bring through our port here inSurat?" Mukarrab Khan smiled disarmingly. "Is the Company's fleetextensive?"

  "That's a matter better addressed to the merchants of the Company."Hawksworth monitored Mukarrab Khan's expression, searching for a clueto his thoughts. "Right now the Company merely wishes to trade thegoods in our two merchantmen. English wool for Indian cotton."

  "Yes, I am aware that was the first of your two requests." MukarrabKhan motioned away the silver trays. "Incidentally, I hope you are fondof lamb."

  The bronzed doors opened again and a single large tray was borne in bythe dark-skinned, unsmiling servants. It supported a huge cookingvessel, still steaming from the oven. The lid was decorated withlifelike silver castings of various birds and animals. After twoeunuchs examined it, the servants delivered it to the center of thelinen serving cloth.

  "Tonight to signify the end of Ramadan I instructed my cooks to preparemy special biryani. I hope you will not be disappointed. My kitchenhere is scandalous by Agra standards, but I've succeeded in teachingthem a few things."

  The lid was lifted from the pot and a bouquet of saffron burst over theroom. Inside, covering a flawless white crust, was a second menagerieof birds and animals, wrought from silver the thinness of paper. Theserver spooned impossible portions from the pot onto silver plates, onefor Hawksworth and one for Mukarrab Khan. The silver-foil menagerie wasdistributed around the sides of each plate.

  "Actually I once bribed a cook in the Moghul's own kitchen to give methis recipe. You will taste nothing like it here in Surat."

  Hawksworth watched as he assembled a ball of the rice-and-meat melangewith his fingers and reverently popped it into his mouth.

  "Please try it, Ambassador. I think you'll find it remarkable. Itrequires the preparation of two sauces, and seems to occupy half myincompetent kitchen staff." The governor smiled appreciatively.Hawksworth watched dumbfounded as he next chewed up and swallowed oneof the silver-foil animals.

  Hawksworth tried to construct a ball of the mixture but finallydespaired and simply scooped up a handful. It was rich but light, andseemed to hint of every spice in the Indies.

  "There are times," Mukarrab Khan continued, "when I positively yearnfor the so-called deprivation of Ramadan. When the appetite is whettedday long, the nightly indulgence is all the more gratifying."

  Hawksworth took another mouthful of the savory mixture. After the many
long months of salt meat and biscuit, he found his taste confused andoverwhelmed by its complexity. Its spices were all assertive, yet hecould not specifically identify a single one. They had been blended, itseemed, to enhance one another, to create a pattern from many parts,much as the marble inlays of the floor, in which there were manycolors, yet the overall effect was that of a single design, not itscomponents.

  "I've never tasted anything quite like this, even in the Levant. Couldyou prepare instructions for our ship's cook?"

  "It would be my pleasure, Ambassador, but I doubt very much a_feringhi_ cook could reproduce this dish. It's far too complex. Firstmy kitchen prepares a masala, a blend of nuts and spices such asalmonds, turmeric, and ginger. The bits of lamb are cooked in this andin ghee, which we make by boiling and clarifying butter. Next a secondsauce is prepared, this a lighter mixture--curds seasoned with mint,clove, and many other spices I'm sure you know nothing of. This isblended with the lamb, and then layered in the pot you see theretogether with rice cooked in milk and saffron. Finally it's coveredwith a crust of wheat flour and baked in a special clay oven. Is thisreally something a ship's cook could do?"

  Hawksworth smiled resignedly and took another mouthful.

  Whoever thought there could be so many uses for spice. We use spice inEngland, to be sure--clove, cinnamon, pepper, even ginger and cardamom--but they're intended mainly to disguise the taste of meat past itsprime. But here spices are essential ingredients.

  "Let us return to your requests, Captain Hawksworth. I'm afraid neitherof these is entirely within my power to bestow. In the matter oftrading privileges for your cargo, I'll see what can be done. Yours isan unusual request, in the sense that no Europeans have ever come hereto war with the Portuguese, then asked to compete with them in trade."

  "It seems simple enough. We merely exchange our goods for some of thecotton cloth I saw arriving at the customs house this morning. TheShahbandar stated you have the power to authorize this trade."

  "Yes, I enjoy some modest influence. And I really don't expect thatPrince Jadar would object."

  "He's the Moghul's son?"

  "Correct. He has full authority over this province, but he's frequentlyon campaign and difficult to reach. His other duties includeresponsibility for military conscription here, and maintaining order.These are somewhat uneasy times, especially in the Deccan, southeast ofhere."

  "When will we learn your decision, or his decision? There are othermarkets for our goods."

  "You will learn his decision when it is decided." Mukarrab Khan shovedaside his plate and a servant whisked it from the carpet. "Concerningyour second request, that I petition Agra to authorize your travelthere, I will see what can be done. But it will require time."

  "I would ask the request be sent immediately."

  "Naturally." Mukarrab Khan watched absently as more brimming trays werebrought in, these piled with candied

  fruits and sweetmeats. A hookah water pipe appeared and was placedbeside Hawksworth.

  "Do you enjoy the new _feringhi _custom of smoking tobacco, CaptainHawksworth? It was introduced recently, and already it's becomefashionable. So much so the Moghul just issued a decree denouncing it."

  "King James has denounced it too, claiming it destroys health. But it'salso the fashion in London. Personally, I think it ruins the taste ofbrandy, and wine."

  "Overall I'm inclined to agree. But tell me now, what's your opinion ofthe wine you're drinking? It's Persian."

  "Better than the French. Though frankly it could be sweeter."

  Mukarrab Khan laughed. "A common complaint from _topiwallahs_. Someactually add sugar to our wine. Abominable." He paused. "So I gatherthen you only use spirits?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "There are many subtle pleasures in the world, Ambassador. Liquorsadmittedly enhance one's dining, but they do little for one'sappreciation of art."

  As Hawksworth watched him, puzzling, he turned and spoke quietly to oneof the eunuchs hovering behind him. Moments later a small goldencabinet, encrusted with jewels, was placed between them. Mukarrab Khanopened a tiny drawer on the side of the box and extraced a small brownball.

  "May I suggest a ball of _ghola_? He offered it to Hawksworth. Itcarried a strange, alien fragrance.

  "What's _ghola_?"

  "A preparation of opium and spice, Ambassador. I think it might helpyou better experience this evening's entertainment." He nodded lightlyin the direction of the rear wall.

  The snap of a drum exploded behind Hawksworth, and he whirled to seethe two musicians begin tuning to perform. The drummer sat before twofoot-high drums, each nestled in a circular roll of fabric. Next to himwas a wizened old man in a black Muslim skullcap tuning a large six-stringed instrument made of two hollowed-out gourds, both lacquered andpolished, connected by a long teakwood fingerboard. About a dozencurved brass frets were tied to the fingerboard with silk cords, and asHawksworth watched, the player began shifting the location of twofrets, sliding them an inch or so along the neck to create a newmusical scale. Then he began adjusting the tension on a row of finewires that lay directly against the teakwood fingerboard, sympatheticstrings that passed beneath those to be plucked. These he seemed to betuning to match the notes in the new scale he had created by moving thefrets.

  When the sitarist had completed his tuning, he settled back and theroom fell totally silent. He paused a moment, as though in meditation,then struck the first note of a somber melody Hawksworth at first foundalmost totally rootless. Using a wire plectrum attached to his rightforefinger, he seemed to be waving sounds from the air above thefingerboard. A note would shimmer into existence from some undefinedstarting point, then glide through the scale via a subtle arabesque ashe stretched the playing string diagonally against a fret, manipulatingits tension. Finally the sound would dissolve meltingly into its ownsilence. Each note of the alien melody, if melody it could be called,was first lovingly explored for its own character, approached from bothabove and below as though a glistening prize on display. Only after thenote was suitably embroidered was it allowed to enter the melody--asthough the song were a necklace that had to be strung one pearl at atime, and only after each pearl had been carefully polished. Thetension of some vague melodic quest began to grow, with no hint of aresolution. In the emotional intensity of his haunting search, thepassage of time had suddenly ceased to exist.

  Finally, as though satisifed with his chosen scale, he returned to thevery first note he had started from and actually began a song, deftlytying together the musical strands he had so painstakingly evolved. Thesought-for resolution had never come, only the sense that the firstnote was the one he had been looking for the entire time.

  This must be the mystical music Symmes spoke of, Hawksworth thought,and he was right. It's unlike anything I've ever heard. Where's theharmony, the chords of thirds and fifths? Whatever's going on, I don'tthink opium is going to help me understand it.

  Hawksworth turned, still puzzling, back to Mukarrab Khan and waved awaythe brown ball--which the governor immediately washed down himself withfruit nectar.

  "Is our music a bit difficult for you to grasp, Ambassador?" MukarrabKhan leaned back on his bolster with an easy smile. "Pity, for there'struly little else in this backwater port worth the bother. The cuisineis abominable, the classical dancers despicable. In desperation I'veeven had to train my own musicians, although I did manage to steal oneUstad, a grand master, away from Agra." He impulsively reached for thewater pipe and absorbed a deep draw, his eyes misting.

  "I confess I do find it hard to follow." Hawksworth took a draft ofwine from the fresh cup that had been placed beside him on the carpet.

  "It demands a connoisseur's taste, Ambassador, not unlike anappreciation of fine wine."

  The room grew ominously still for a moment, and then the drums suddenlyexploded in a torrent of rhythm, wild and exciting yet unmistakablydisciplined by some rigorous underlying structure. The rhythm soared ina cycle, returning again and again, after each elaborate i
nterlockingof time and its divisions, back to a forceful crescendo.

  Hawksworth watched Mukarrab Khan in fascination as he leaned back andclosed his eyes in wistful anticipation. And at that moment theinstrumentalist began a lightning-fast ascent of the scale, quaveringeach note in erotic suggestiveness for the fraction of a second it wasfingered. The governor seemed absorbed in some intuitive communicationwith the sound, a reaction to music Hawksworth had never beforewitnessed. His entire body would perceptibly tense as the drummer begana cycle, then it would pulse and relax the instant the cycle thudded toa resolution. Hawksworth was struck by the sensuality inherent in themusic, the almost sexual sense of tension and release.

  Then he noticed two eunuchs leading a young boy into the room. Theyouth appeared to be hovering at the age of puberty, with still notrace of a beard. He wore a small but elaborately tied pastel turban,pearl earrings, and a large sapphire on a chain around his pale throat.His elaborate ensemble included a transparent blouse through which hisdelicate skin glistened in the lamplight, a long quilted sash at hiswaist, and tight-fitting trousers beneath light gauze pajamas thatclung to his thighs as he moved. His lips were lightly red, and hisperfume a mixture of flowers and musk. The boy reached for a ball ofspiced opium and settled back against a quilted gold bolster next toMukarrab Khan. The governor studied him momentarily and then returnedto the music. And his thoughts.

  He reflected again on Abul Hasan's blundering "accident" on the_chaugan_ field, and what it must signify. If it were true the _qazi_had been bought by the Shahbandar, as some whispered, then it meantMirza Nuruddin must be alarmed to the point of imprudence. Fearful ofwhat could happen if the English were detained long enough for thePortuguese warships to prepare. Which meant that somewhere behind itall lay the hand of Prince Jadar.

  He examined Hawksworth again, wondering how this English captain couldhave savaged the Viceroy's fleet with such embarrassing ease. What, heasked himself again, will the queen order done?

  "I'm sorry you don't find our music more congenial. Ambassador. PerhapsI too would be wiser if I loved it less. The passion for classicalmusic has cost many a great warrior his kingdom in India over the lastcenturies. For example, when the great Moghul patriarch Akman conqueredBaz Bahadur, once the proud ruler of Malwa, it was because that princewas a better patron of music than of the arts of war." He smiledreflectively. "Admittedly, the great Akman himself also flooded hiscourt with musicians, but then he had the wit to study arms as well.Regrettably, I find myself lacking his strength of character."

  He paused to take a sip of nectar, then shrugged. "But enough. Tell menow what you really think of my Ustad, my master sitarist. There arethose in Agra who will never forgive me for stealing him away."

  "I'm not sure what I think. I've never heard a composition quite likethe one he's playing."

  "What do you mean by 'composition'?" Mukarrab Khan's tone was puzzled.

  "That's how a piece of music is written out."

  Mukarrab Khan paused and examined him skeptically for a long moment."Written out? You write down your music? But whatever for? Does thatmean your musicians play the same song again and again, precisely thesame way?"

  "If they're good they do. A composer writes a piece of music andmusicians try to play it."

  "How utterly tiresome." Mukarrab Khan sighed and leaned back on hisbolster. "Music is a living art, Ambassador. It's meant to illuminatethe emotions of the one who gives it life. How can written music haveany feeling? My Ustad would never play a raga the same way twice.Indeed, I doubt he would be physically capable of such a boorish feat."

  "You mean he creates a new composition each time he plays?"

  "Not precisely. But his handling of the specific notes of a raga mustspeak to his mood, mv mood. These vary, why not his art?"

  "But what is a raga then, if not a song?"

  "That's always difficult to explain. At some rudimentary level youmight say it's simply a melody form, a fixed series of notes aroundwhich a musician improvises. But although a raga has a rigorouslyprescribed ascending and descending note sequence and specific melodicmotifs, it also has its own mood, 'flavor.' What we call its _rasa_.How could one possibly write down a mood?"

  "I guess I see your point. But it's still confusing." Hawksworth tookanother sip of wine. "How many ragas are there?"

  "There are seventy-two primary scales on which ragas are based. Butsome scales have more than one raga. There are ragas for morning, forevening, for late at night. My Ustad is playing a late evening raganow. Although he uses only the notes and motifs peculiar to this raga,what he does with them is entirely governed by his feeling tonight."

  "But why is there no harmony?"

  "I don't understand what you mean by 'harmony.'"

  "Striking several notes together, so they blend to produce a chord."

  Mukarrab Khan studied him, uncomprehending, and Hawksworth continued.

  "If I had my lute I'd show you how harmony and chords are used in anEnglish song." Hawksworth thought again of his instrument, and of thedifficulty he'd had protecting it during the voyage. He knew all alongit was foolish to bring it, but he often told himself every man had theright to one folly.

  "Then by all means." The governor's curiosity seemed to arouse himinstantly from the opium. "Would you believe I've never met a_feringhi_ who could play an instrument, any instrument?"

  "But my lute was detained, along with all my belongings, at the customshouse. I was going to retrieve my chest from the Shahbandar when youintercepted his men."

  "Ambassador, please believe I had good reason. But I thought I told youarrangements have been made." He turned and dictated rapidly to one ofthe eunuchs. There was an expressionless bow, and the man left theroom. Moments later he returned through the bronze entry doors,followed by two dark-skinned servants carrying Hawksworth's chest, oneat each end.

  "I ordered your belongings sent from the customs house this afternoon.You would honor me by staying here as my guest." Mukarrab Khan smiledwarmly. "And now I would hear you play this English instrument."

  Hawksworth was momentarily startled, wondering why his safety wassuddenly of such great interest to Mukarrab Khan. But he pushed asidethe question and turned to examine the large brass lock on his chest.Although it had been newly polished to a high sheen, as had the entirechest, there was no visible evidence it had been opened. He extractedthe key from his doublet, slipped it into the lock, and turned ittwice. It revolved smoothly, opening with a soft click.

  The lute rested precisely where he had left it. Its body was shapedlike a huge pear cut in half lengthwise, with the back a glisteningmelon of curved cedar staves and the face a polished cherry. The neckwas broad, and the head, where the strings were wound to their pegs,angled sharply back. He admired it for a moment, already eager for thetouch of its dark frets. During the voyage it had been wrapped in heavycloth, sealed in oilskins, and stored deep in his cabin chest. Not tilllandfall at Zanzibar had he dared expose it to the sea air.

  Of all English music, he still loved the galliards of Dowland best. Hewas only a boy when Dowland's first book of galliards was published,but he had been made to learn them all by heart, because his exactingtutor had despised popular ballads and street songs.

  Mukarrab Khan called for the instrument and slowly turned it in thelamplight, its polished cedar shining like a great jewel. He thenpassed it to his two musicians, and a brief discussion in Persianensued, as brows were wrinkled and grave points adjudicated. After itsappearance was agreed upon, the instrumentalist gingerly plucked a gutstring with the wire plectrum attached to his forefinger and studiedits sound with a distant expression. The torrent of Persian began anew,as each string was plucked in turn and its particular quality debated.Then the governor revolved to Hawksworth.

  "I congratulate your wisdom, Ambassador, in not hazarding a truly fineinstrument on a sea voyage. It would have been a waste of realworkmanship."

  Hawksworth stared at him dumbfounded.

  "There's not a f
iner lute in London." He seized it back. "I had itspecially crafted several years ago by a master, a man once lute-makerto the queen. It's one of the last he made."

  "You must pardon me then, but why no embellishment? No ivory inlay, nocarved decoration? Compare, if you will, Ustad Qasim's sitar. It's awork of fine art. A full year was spent on its decoration. Note thehead has been carved as the body of a swan, the neck and pegs inlaidwith finest ivory, the face decorated with mother-of-pearl and _lapislazuli_. Your lute has absolutely no decoration whatsoever."

  "The beauty of an instrument is in its tone."

  "Yes, that's a separate point. But perhaps we should hear it played byone skilled in its use. I must confess we are all curious what can bedone with so simple an instrument." Mukarrab Khan shifted on hisbolster, while the young man next to him toyed with a jewel, nottroubling to disguise his boredom.

  Hawksworth tuned the strings quickly and meticulously. Then he settledhimself on the carpet and took a deep breath. His fingers were stiff,his mind groggy with wine, but he would play a song he knew well. Agalliard Dowland had written when Queen Elizabeth was still alive, inhonor of a Cornwall sea captain named Piper, whom she'd given a letterof marque to attack the Spanish, but who instead turned anuncontrollable pirate, pillaging the shipping of any flag convenient.He'd become an official outlaw but a genuine English folk hero, andDowland had honored his memory with a rousing composition--"Piper'sGalliard."

  A full chord, followed by a run of crisp notes, cut the close air. Thetheme was somber, a plaintive query in a minor mode followed by amelodic but defiant reply. Just the answer Piper would have given tothe charges, Hawksworth thought.

  The servants had all gathered to listen, and the eunuchs had stoppedgossiping. Then Hawksworth glanced toward the musicians, who hadshifted themselves onto the carpet to watch. Both the sitarist and hisdrummer still eyed the instrument skeptically, no hint of appreciationin their look.

  Hawksworth had expected it.

  Wait till they hear this.

  He crouched over the lute and attacked the strings with all fourfingers, producing a dense toccata, with three melodic lines advancingat once, two in the treble and one in the base. His hand flew over thefrets until it seemed every fingertip commanded a string, eachembellishing a theme another had begun. Then he brought the galliard toa rousing crescendo with a flourish that spanned two entire octaves.

  A polite silence seemed to grip the room. Mukarrab Khan sippedthoughtfully from his cup for a moment, his jeweled rings refractingthe lamplight, then summoned a eunuch and whispered briefly in his ear.As the eunuch passed the order to a hovering servant, Mukarrab Khanturned to Hawksworth.

  "Your English music is interesting, Ambassador, if somewhat simple." Hecleared his throat as an excuse to pause. "But frankly I must tell youit touched only my mind. Not my heart. Although I heard it, I did notfeel it. Do you understand the difference? I sensed nothing of itsrasa, the emotion and desire one should taste at a moment like this,the merging of sound and spirit. Your English music seems to standaloof, unapproachable." Mukarrab Khan searched for words. "It inhabitsits own world admirably, but it did not enter mine."

  Servants suddenly appeared bearing two silver trays, on which werecrystal cups of green, frothy liquid. As the servant placedHawksworth's tray on the patterned carpet, he bowed, beaming. MukarrabKhan ignored his own tray and instead summoned the sitarist, BahramQasim, to whisper brief instructions in his ear. Then the governorturned to Hawksworth.

  "Perhaps I can show you what I mean. This may be difficult for you, sofirst I would urge you try a cup of _bhang_. It has the remarkableeffect of opening one's heart."

  Hawksworth tested the beverage warily. Its underlying bitterness hadbeen obscured with sweet yogurt and potent spices. It was actually verypalatable. He drank again, this time thirstily.

  "What did you call this? _Bhang?"

  _"Yes, it's made from the leaves of hemp. Unlike wine, which only dullsthe spirit, _bhang _hones the senses. Now I've arranged a demonstrationfor you."

  He signaled the sitarist, and Bahram Qasim began the unmistakable themeof "Piper's Galliard." The song was drawn out slowly, languorously, aseach individual note was introduced, lovingly explored for its own puresound, and then framed with microtone embellishment and a sensualvibrato. The clear, simple notes of the lute were transmuted into analmost orchestral richness by an undertone of harmonic density from thesitar's sympathetic strings, the second row of wires beneath thosebeing plucked, tuned to match the notes of the song and respond withoutbeing touched. Dowland's harmonies were absent, but now the entire roomresonated with a single majestic chord underlying each note. Graduallythe sitarist accelerated the tempo, while also beginning to insert hisown melodic variations over the original notes of the theme.

  Hawksworth took another sip of _bhang _and suddenly noticed the notesseemed to be weaving a tapestry in his mind, evolving an elaboratepattern that enveloped the room with shapes as colored as thegeometries of the Persian carpet.

  Next the drummer casually introduced a rhythmic underpinning, his lithefingers touring easily over and around the taut drumheads as hedissected, then restructured the simple meter of Dowland's music. Heseemed to regard the original meter as merely a frame, a skeleton onwhich the real artistry had yet to be applied. He knowingly subdividedDowland's meter into minuscule elements of time, and with these devisedelaborate new interlockings of sound and silence. Yet each newstructure always _Resolve_d to its perfect culmination at the close ofa musical phrase. Then as he punctuated his transient edifice with athud of the larger drum--much as an artist might sign a painting with anelaborate flourish--he would catch Hawksworth's incredulous gaze andwink, his eyes twinkling in triumph.

  Meanwhile, the sitarist structured Dowland's spirited theme to thedrummer's frame, adding microtones Dowland had never imagined, andmatching the ornate tempo of the drum as they blended together tobecome a single racing heartbeat.

  Hawksworth realized suddenly that he was no longer merely hearing themusic, that instead he seemed to be absorbing it.

  How curious . . .

  The music soared on to a final crescendo, a simultaneous

  climax of sitar and drum, and then the English song seemed to dissolveslowly into the incense around them. After only a moment's pause, themusicians immediately took up a sensuous late evening raga.

  Hawksworth looked about and noticed for the first time that the lampsin the room had been lowered, settling a semi- darkness about themusicians and the moving figures around him. He felt for his glass of_bhang_ and saw that it was dry, and that another had been placedbeside it. He drank again to clear his mind.

  What's going on? Damned if I'll stay here. My God, it's impossible tothink. I'm tired. No, not tired. It's just . . . just that my mind is .. . like I'd swilled a cask of ale. But I'm still in perfect control.And where's Mukarrab Khan? Now there are screens where he was sitting.Covered with peacocks that strut obscenely from one screen to theother. And the eunuchs are all watching. Bastards. I'll take back mysword. Jesus, where is it? I've never felt so adrift. But I'm notstaying. I'll take the chest and damn his eunuchs. And his guards. Hecan't hold me here. Not even on charges. There are no charges. I'mleaving. I'll find the men . . .

  He pulled himself defiantly to his feet. And collapsed.