The Moghul

back of the crowd, but Vasant Rao had disappeared. Then guards surrounded him and before he knew what was happening he was swept past Sarmento, whose eyes still glowed with hatred, toward a marble doorway at the corner of the Diwan-i-Am .

    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