The Moghul Part 85

Arangbar was watching a dancer who had approached the dais to begin a suggestive _nautch _dance for him. It seemed to Hawksworth that they were already well acquainted, for she smiled at him knowingly, avoiding the queen's glance.

"I care nothing for heresies." Arangbar turned back to Janahara. "I only care for the honor of my reign."

"But a faith divided does you no honor."

"Then unite it if you care so much. I have other duties." Arangbar turned again to watch the dancer. She had a large ring in one side of her nose, and her eyes seemed to snap as she slapped her bare feet against the carpeted floor. "I never knew she was so good." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "Send her a small ruby and find out for me tomorrow what her salary is. Whatever it is, I think she should have more."

"As you wish. Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly and turned again to watch the dancer.

Hawksworth studied the prime minister's face. It was grim, leaden.

It's everything s.h.i.+rin said would happen. Prince Jadar has been stripped of his lands, and the queen has been granted license to start an inquisition.

You'd better get the _firman _signed, before the country starts coming apart.

The doors of the hall burst open, and a crowd of women entered. They carried a silver plate, on which was a folded silken sheet. They moved quickly before the queen and performed the _teslim_. Then one held out the plate.

The queen took the sheet and inspected it. Hawksworth watched her, puzzling, then remembered that in Muslim society a bloodstained wedding sheet is considered evidence, vital to the honor of both the families, of the bride's virginity and the groom's virility. With a triumphant smile, Janahara nodded and turned to exhibit the sheet to Arangbar.

There were light pink traces across the white silk.

"He's a man after all." Arangbar pa.s.sed the sheet to Zainul Beg, who beamed and pa.s.sed it to Nadir Sharif. The prime minister smiled with approval.

"He has earned his _jagirs_." Arangbar turned to Janahara. "Let it be recorded. And now we feast."

More silver dishes of baked lamp appeared from inside the palace, brought by eunuchs who inspected them carefully before handing them to serving women. The music and dancing were exultant now and lasted until the light of dawn showed. The drunken guests waited reverently until Arangbar, who had gone to sleep, was carried from the hall on a palanquin. Then they began to disperse.

Hawksworth reached Nadir Sharif's side as the prime minister was moving out through the large, tapestry-adorned doorway.

"What really happened tonight?"

"What do you mean, Amba.s.sador?"

"The transfer of _jagirs_. What will Jadar do?"

"Amba.s.sador, that's a matter for the rulers of India to decide. It's not your affair." Nadir Sharif did not look around. "Instead let me ask you a question. When will your English fleet make landfall? They are overdue, but there have been no further sightings. I'm beginning to wonder if there really is a fleet."

"Perhaps the weather's been against them." Hawksworth tried to steady himself on his feet. "After all, it was sighted by Jadar's men."

"Was it? Or did you and Prince Jadar deceive us all? If there's no fleet. Amba.s.sador, you're in very serious trouble. There will be no _firman_. His Majesty is hardly a fool."

"He promised to sign the _firman _long before the sighting."

"You do not know him as I do. You have another week, perhaps two, and then . . . Let me merely say you cannot drink the fleet into existence.

We are both going to have difficulty explaining this deception to His Majesty. You met with the prince. I'm beginning to wonder now if you both planned this. If you did, it was most unwise."

"Then wait two weeks and see." Hawksworth felt his palms grow moist.

"Two weeks is not so long a time."

"It is a very long time, Amba.s.sador. Much is happening. You have made many of the wrong friends. Good evening, Amba.s.sador. I must speak to Her Majesty." Nadir Sharif turned and was swallowed by the crowd.

As Hawksworth moved into the street, he saw that the front of the palace was already bathed in morning light. And Agra was beginning to come to life. He strolled for a time along the side of the Jamuna, where burned-out candles still floated, and studied the outline of the Red Fort against the morning sky.

What if there really is no fleet? What if it really was a trick by Jadar, for some reason of his own? To destroy my mission? Has he cozened us all?

Midmorning was approaching when he finally reached his lodge at the rear of Nadir Sharifs estate. As he pa.s.sed through the curtained doorway, he saw Kamala waiting, her eyes dark. She was wearing none of her jewels.

"Have you heard?" She took his turban and knelt to remove his _kamar- band_.

"Heard what?"

"Do you know the Sufi Samad? And the Persian woman who was with him?"

Hawksworth examined her, wondering who else knew of his stay in Fatehpur Sekri.

"Why do you ask?"

"If you do know them, it is no longer wise to admit it."

"Why?" Hawksworth felt his gut tighten. Suddenly Kamala's touch no longer stirred him.

"The news is already spreading in Agra." She began removing his cloak, pausing to smooth her hand across his chest. "They were arrested last night, while the wedding was underway, in the bazaar this morning they say he is sure to be condemned to death for heresy, and she for aiding him. People think they will both be executed within the week."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Father Manoel Pinheiro's clean-shaven face was grim and his lips set tightly against the brisk air as he pushed a path through the crowded alley, headed toward the riverside palace of Nadir Sharif.

Around him large black cauldrons of frying bread filled the dawn with the aroma of oil and spice. He had slipped from the mission house at first light and, clasping his peaked black hat tightly over his forehead, he had tried to melt inconspicuously among the rattling bullock carts and noisy street vendors. Now he paused for breath and watched as a large white cow licked the few grains of rice from the begging bowl of a dozing leper. The image seemed to capture all the despair of India, and he suddenly felt himself overwhelmed by the enormity of the Church's

burden. Before he could move on, a crowd of chanting Hindus jostled him against a wall as they poured into a small, garishly decorated temple br.i.m.m.i.n.g with poly-colored heathen idols. On either side Hindu fakirs sat listlessly, long white hair streaming down over their streaked faces, their limpid eyes devoid of G.o.d's understanding. He shook his head sadly as he made the sign of the cross over them, and found his heart near bursting.

On every hand, he told himself, the fields are ripe unto harvest, the flocks wanting a keeper. For every soul in this forgotten land we bring to G.o.d and the Church, a hundred, nay a thousand, are born into eternal darkness, d.a.m.ned forever. Our task is overwhelming, even with G.o.d's help.

He thought of the Holy Church, the Society of Jesus, and their long years of disappointment in India. But now, at last, it seemed their hopes and prayers might be nearing fulfillment. After all the years of humiliation and ignominy, there seemed a chance, a genuine chance, that Arangbar, the Great Moghul himself, would at last consent to be baptized into the Holy Church. After him, all of India would surely soon follow.

Father Pinheiro crossed himself again, and prayed silently that G.o.d would make him a worthy instrument of His will.

The burden of India was by now a Jesuit legend. It had been taken up when the first mission came to the court of Akman over three decades before. And even now the pagan fields of India remained, in many ways, the greatest challenge of the Society of Jesus and the Holy Church.

India had, it was true, been held in the grip of Portuguese sea power for many years before the first mission arrived in Agra. But Portuguese arms and trade had not served the work of the Church. They had served the greed of Portuguese merchants and the coffers of Portuguese royalty. The lost souls of India were denied the Grace of the Holy Church.

Then, in 1540, a priest named Ignatius Loyola, once a n.o.bleman and a soldier, founded the Society of Jesus, whose dual purpose was to defend the Holy Church against the Protestant Reformation and begin preaching the True Faith

to the pagan lands of Asia and the Americas. In 1542 the Society of Jesus reached Portuguese Goa, on the very sh.o.r.es of India, in the person of Francis Xavier, a close friend of Ignatius Loyola's from student days at the University of Paris.