The Moghul

by Thomas Hoover

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Ambassador Hawksworth, His Majesty has asked me to ensure you are wanting in nothing while you wait." Nadir Sharif was standing on the wide marble balcony when Hawksworth emerged from the stairs that led upward from the Diwan-i-Am to the interior courtyard of the palace. He salaamed with practiced dignity even as his darting eyes assessed Hawksworth in a quick sweep. "As prime minister for His Majesty it is my duty, indeed my pleasure, to attend your comfort and acquaint you with our protocol."

  "I thank you on behalf of His Majesty, King James." Hawksworth awkwardly tried to salaam in return, careful not to bend as low as the prime minister.

  "Perhaps I can begin by acquainting you with the palace." He gestured toward the open courtyard, where workmen thronged installing marble fountains, and the rest of the encircling second-story balcony. "The stalls below us are where the wives of merchants sometimes come to offer finery to the women of the zenana. Now they are being readied for His Majesty's birthday celebration. And there, across the way"—he pointed to a massive silk canopy covering a pavilion opposite the square, on the riverside of the palace— "is the Diwan-i-Khas, where His Majesty holds his evening gatherings. To the left are His Majesty's baths and on the right, projecting out over the river, is the Jasmine Tower of Queen Janahara. Now please follow me. His Majesty has honored you by inviting you to wait for him in the Diwan-i- Khas. The only other feringhis ever to see it are the Jesuits he sometimes invites here to debate with the mullahs."

  Around them the marble porticoes had been carved in relief, a profusion of flowers and vines, creating a monochromatic garden in stone. The floors were patterned marble and the walls decorated with hanging tapestries. As they entered the Diwan-i-Khas, Hawksworth noticed its floor was covered with a vast Persian carpet, over which had been scattered bolsters and pillows for lounging. On the side nearest the interior square was a foot-high platform in white marble and on the opposite side, facing a gallery overlooking the arena below and the Jamuna River beyond, was a similar platform in black marble. Both were padded with rich carpets.

  "His Majesty uses the white throne in evenings, and the black in the afternoons, when he sometimes comes here to watch elephant fights in the square below. The doorway there leads to Her Majesty's apartments."

  "Where is His Majesty now?"

  "He has retired to the zenana for one pahar, three hours, where he dines on roasted meats, some wine, and passes the time agreeably. Each afternoon Her Majesty selects a woman for him." Moghul smiled. "Naturally it's never the same one. Her Majesty is always first in his heart, but she never allows his wanton affections to wander. Afterward he comes here for his evening gathering." Nadir Sharif walked to the gallery and looked down on the river. Far below, on the opposite bank, a caravan of heavily loaded camels passed silently. "By the way, His Majesty has asked me to inquire if you have a lodging yet, Ambassador."

  "I have references for brokers, and tomorrow I'll begin to look."

  "And personal servants?"

  "I'd hoped they'd be provided with the house."

  "His Majesty may wish to arrange lodgings for you." Nadir Sharif turned back toward Hawksworth and paused for a moment before continuing. "In Agra ambassadors must acquire their lodgings and servants with care. There is, regrettably, a certain amount of intrigue in our city. Trustworthy and efficient servants are not always the easiest thing to find. Perhaps I should raise the matter of your lodging and servants with His Majesty."

  "There's no reason to trouble His Majesty. I'll contact the brokers tomorrow." Hawksworth's tone was level but firm, suspecting that any servants picked for him would be spies. And if they turned out to be "trustworthy and efficient" rather than lazy and begrudging, there would be no doubt.

  "The matter rests with His Majesty." Nadir Sharif watched as a eunuch entered bearing a tray with glasses of sharbat. A sarangi player followed him and settled in the corner, striking up a mournful-sounding tune on an instrument that looked like a bloated violin and sounded, to Hawksworth, like a distressed cat.

  "Have you engaged an agent yet, Ambassador?" Nadir Sharif directed the tray toward Hawksworth.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If your king wishes to trade large quantities of commodity, he will certainly require an agent here in Agra. To ensure that documents and approvals are handled efficiently." Nadir Sharif sighed. "Officials here naturally prefer to work with someone who understands their . . . requirements. An agent will be essential, if your king expects to trade heavily." Nadir Sharif paused. "I presume that is his intention, assuming His Majesty approves the firman?"

  Hawksworth examined Nadir Sharif for a moment, assuming he was offering to be the agent for King James. Or was he merely hoping to elicit trade information to pass on to the Portuguese.

  "I'll engage an agent when the time seems proper. For now I have no firman." Then a light suddenly dawned somewhere in Hawksworth's brain. "But I suppose I'll need an 'agent' for that as well?"

  "It could prove useful. His Majesty can be distressingly absentminded."

  "And what would be this agent's fee?"

  "It depends on the difficulty involved." Nadir Sharif’s face remained impassive.

  "I would say it also depends on whether he's successful."

  "So it would. But he would need more information on English trading intentions than you have divulged so far."

  "That will come in time, when I know more about the 'agent.'"

  "Naturally." Nadir Sharif cleared his throat. "But enough of affairs. Permit me to toast your arrival. When your request for a safe-conduct pass arrived from Surat, we all wondered if a feringhi new to India could successfully travel our bandit-infested roads, even with the Moghul’s pass." He took a delicate sip of the beverage. "I trust your journey was without mishap."

  "For the most part."

  "A diplomatic answer. But you seem to have survived all parts well enough. Did you take the Burhanpur road?"

  "I did."

  "Ah, then perhaps you passed Prince Jadar. I understand he was there recently." Nadir Sharif smiled disarmingly. "I always welcome news of him. You may know he's married to my first daughter, Mumtaz. I hear she just presented him with his first son."

  "He was in Burhanpur when I arrived. But I was only there for three days."

  "Not a very interesting city, I'm told. But they say the Deccan itself is quite beautiful in harvest. I envy you your trip. I, alas, rarely can escape Agra, except when His Majesty goes to Kashmir in the heat of summer." Nadir Sharif signaled the eunuch to refill Hawksworth's cup. The sarangi player had been joined by a drummer, who took up a slow, even rhythm. "Did I understand you to say you met the prince while you were there?"

  Hawksworth hesitated and studied Nadir Sharif, not remembering he had mentioned meeting Jadar. "Actually I did see him briefly once. He was in the fortress, where I stayed."

  "Ah yes, the fortress. That was wise of you, considering the situation now. I'm pleased he invited you to join him."

  "As it happened, I traveled from Surat with men from his guard. Their destination was the fortress."

  "His guards? Then you were most fortunate indeed." Nadir Sharif seemed to listen absently to the melody for a moment. "I'm always a bit stupid about military campaigns. What would men from his guards be doing in Surat?"

  Hawksworth heard an inner alarm suddenly sound. "I think they were there to accompany a convoy."

  "A convoy? From Surat? Odd. But then I rarely understand these things. What was it bringing?" Nadir Sharif chuckled congenially. "Barrels of Persian wine for the prince, I would venture to guess?"

  "I understand it was lead for shot."

  Nadir Sharif gave Hawksworth a quick, troubled glance. "I see. Yes, lead would require a guard. But Prince Jadar's Rajputs virtually scorn to use muskets, so I assume it was rather a small number of carts."

  Hawksworth straightened his doublet, shifting the loca­tion of Vasant Rao's katar. "I don't recall the precise number."

  "Naturally.
I'm confused by numbers myself. Probably something like twenty, I suppose. Certainly, I would presume, no more than fifty?"

  "I didn't count the exact number."

  "Too many to count? I see." Nadir Sharif seemed to be only half attentive to the conversation, as he swung his head from side to side in appreciation of the accelerating tempo of the drummer. "Doubtless it was some of the very lead I'm told you brought for trade."

  "It wasn't English."

  "Ah, then I suppose it was Portuguese. I assume you must have noticed."

  "Not actually." Hawksworth paused. "It wasn't really my concern."

  "Yes, quite so." Nadir Sharif walked again to the gallery and stood silent, still swinging his head absently to the time of the music. The pieces of the puzzle had already dropped into place.

  So that's how Jadar did it. And only one man in Surat could have provided the prince the silver he needed, that contemptible son of a moneylender Mirza Nuruddin. He's uncontrollable. But even if the prince survives the Deccan, what can he do? The Imperial army . . .

  Allah, it's obvious! There's only one way he can ever march north with enough men to meet Janahara's army. By the Merciful Prophet, he's mad!

  Nadir Sharif coughed lightly and turned back toward the room. "Ambassador Hawksworth, would you care for some wine? You need not be squeamish, His Majesty has always admired men who drink. I would join you, but regrettably I cannot. While His Majesty retires, the rest of us must labor on."

  "A glass would be welcome."

  "A glass, Ambassador? Did you say 'a glass'?" Nadir Sharif laughed. "You'll need more than a glass if you drink with His Majesty. I'll send the servants." He bowed again at the doorway of the vestibule. "I'll rejoin you when I can. In the meantime, summon the eunuchs if you require any­thing."

  He turned and was gone. In what seemed only moments, two turbaned servants appeared, smiling as they placed a large chalice of wine on the carpet next to Hawksworth's bolster.

  "It's all too incredible." Queen Janahara slumped onto a velvet divan and distractedly took a rolled betel leaf from the silver tray offered by a hovering eunuch. Behind her a female zenana slave fanned a plume of peacock feathers against the afternoon heat. As she spoke she brushed back her gold-threaded scarf, revealing gleaming dark hair—the few gray strands had been perfectly dyed—pulled back tightly against her head and secured with a golden band. Her only jewels were in a necklace, diamonds with a massive blue sapphire that complemented her dark eyes. She was nearing fifty, but still possessed of a beauty that had, with the years, evolved to magnificent dignity. Her face was statuesque and her Persian was both elegant and mellifluous. "He's still marching south. I think he actually enjoys living in the field, surrounded by mud and Rajputs. How much longer can he continue?"

  "Be assured this time the prince will bring his own undoing." Nadir Sharif accepted a betel leaf from the tray, a gesture, and absently rolled it between his thumb and finger. He wondered nervously why she had summoned him to the Jasmine Tower the minute he left the English feringhi. He normally enjoyed meeting her there, amid the marble screens, where they could recline on the carpeted terrace and admire the broad Jamuna. As her brother and prime minister, it was not unseemly for him to visit her in her quarters. "The campaign in the Deccan will change everything, Your Majesty. It cannot end as did the last one, with Malik Ambar surrendering out of fright. The Abyssin­ian surely suspects by now that Jadar is isolated."

  Queen Janahara was no longer listening. Her thoughts were seething over the two surprises of the day. The first was Nadir Sharif’s absence from her historic appearance at the darshan balcony. She had already been informed of his absence by four separate eunuchs. All assumed it was deliberate.

  Nadir Sharif. My own brother. Can he be wavering? Or merely bargaining?

  Why? Has something happened with Jadar? The march south should have been the end of him. The mansabdars and their troops south of the Narbada were in shambles. But somehow Jadar has managed to recall enough cavalry to continue his campaign. What is he planning?

  That question called to mind the second problem of the day.

  The Englishman.

  She knew, as Arangbar did not, that the Englishman had already met with Jadar. Why had Jadar contrived such a meeting? The prince must know that both she and Nadir Sharif had full support of the Viceroy of Goa. Did he also know that the Viceroy had even offered secretly to help arm the Deccanis against him, an arrangement she was now negotiating?

  What of the English feringhi, his letter, his meeting with Jadar? She had studied him carefully through her screen when he appeared at the afternoon durbar and she had ordered a Persian translation of his letter prepared immediately. And what she read was disturbing. The English king had, it was true, asked merely for a trading firman. But who knew what sea power waited behind the English appearance at Surat?

  She knew Jadar despised Christians, but he would not scruple to use them one against the other. Where would it lead, if Jadar could enlist English sea power in the struggle that loomed ahead, and somehow neutralize the influence of the Portuguese? Maddeningly, the Moghul seemed amused by the Englishman, by his rude manner.

  "Why did His Majesty invite the feringhi to the Diwan-i- Khas tonight?"

  "My esteemed sister, you were at today's durbar. You know His Majesty's whims far better than I. Perhaps he was fascinated by finding a feringhi who speaks his barbarous Turki. For His Majesty the new feringhi cannot be anything more than merely a new toy, like a new dog or horse. He will amuse himself with the feringhi, dangle promises before him, and wait to see if more gifts are forthcoming. You know he is the same with all ambassadors."

  "This one I think is different. Did you see him refuse to teslim? I think His Majesty is already awed by him. I fear for India if the English ever gain influence here. Do you really believe the English king wants nothing more than trade?" Janahara found herself searching for the key to Nadir Sharifs thoughts. "What do you suppose would happen if these English defy the Portuguese and one day decide to blockade Surat? To allow trade only to those who have supported them at court." She paused as she studied him. "Could there be some here already who are fearful enough to pretend friendship to the Englishman?"

  "Who could know these things?" Nadir Sharif walked to the white marble railing and gazed along the side of the fort, where the Jamuna lapped gently against the thick red walls. He remembered his pigeons, and then he remembered the morning darshan and Janahara's unprecedented appear­ance.

  The Englishman is hardly a problem, my dear sister. He is already tamed. You are the problem now. You and your newfound power. But if you fear this harmless feringhi more than you fear me, then I have at last found a way to manage you as well. At long last.

  "Tonight I will drink with the English feringhi, and then we may learn something useful. A man lounging with a wine cup in his hands says things he would never utter standing at durbar. I think His Majesty may also be wondering about the intentions of his king."

  Janahara chewed silently on the betel leaf and eyed him, knowing he had met that morning with the Rajput who brought the English feringhi to Agra and wondering why. Whatever the reason, she told herself, Nadir Sharif would never be so foolish as to side with Jadar. Not so long as the prince was isolated and weak. Nadir Sharif did not gamble.

  "The feringhi must be watched closely. Find a way. We need to know what he is doing, what he is thinking. Do you understand?"

  "To hear is to obey." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly.

  "And you will be at darshan tomorrow morning. Even if you were not there today."

  "Naturally had I but known, Majesty . . ."

  "Father made you prime minister. You can be just as easily removed."

  "Your Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed, and with an unseen flick sent the rolled betel leaf spinning past the railing, toward the dark waters of the Jamuna below.