The Moghul

Hawksworth paused, wondering how much to tell. "And some countries in Europe use fireworks in battle, Majesty. Helmets that throw fire, swords and lances with fiery points, and bucklers that give out flames when struck."
    Arangbar gave him a puzzled glance. "But what good are those, Inglish? In battle the most important use of flame is the fire lance. What use are sparking swords? Watch and you will see what I mean."
    Arangbar pointed to a line of Rajput marksmen, carrying horn bows and heavy spears, who had assembled at one side of the clearing. While they fell into a formation perpendicular to the river, servants were placing clay pots on small stands at the opposite side, perhaps seventy yards away. The Rajputs watched impassively as the arrows in their bows were lighted, and then on the shout of their commander they lifted their bows and fired in unison.
    Ten streaks of flame shot across the riverfront, and the crowd fell expectantly silent. All the arrows seemed to reach their target at precisely the same instant. Each had been aimed at a separate pot, and as they impacted, the silence was rent by what sounded like a single explosion. The pots, Hawksworth realized, had been primed with powder, ready to detonate.
    The smoke was still drifting across the grounds when torch carriers with large flambeaux moved to the center, illuminating scaffolding that had been hastily erected. More clay pots, painted white, hung suspended from the scaffolds on long ropes. The servants set the pots swinging and then fell back, while the Rajputs ignited the tips of their spears.
    Again flame streaked across the clearing and again there was a simultaneous explosion as the spears caught the swinging pots.
    Arangbar joined the cheers, then turned and slapped Hawksworth on the shoulder. "That, Inglish, is how you use fire in battle. You must put it where you want it. No soldier of India would be daunted by trick swords and bucklers."
    "My king agrees with you, Majesty. He leaves such toys to the Germans."
    The display continued for almost an hour, as one exotic device after another was carried next to the riverfront. The water became littered with burning paper and the air so dense with smoke that Queen Janahara finally started to cough. Arangbar immediately ordered an end to the fireworks, and as the crowd filed back into the hall, the tapestries were lowered to again conceal the smoky view of the river.
    Now the music began, and the dancing, as musicians and women moved to the center of the hall. Servants circulated with more betel leaves and sharbat , and Arangbar took his first ball of opium.
    Hawksworth glanced guardedly at the queen. Her manner was imperious, regal, everything a sovereign should be. Everything Allaudin was not. And, he thought, probably a lot Arangbar himself is not.
    She'll soon have India by the cojones , not a doubt on it. And then it's farewell Jadar. And probably farewell Arangbar too. Will I get a signed firman for trade before it's too late?
    As midnight neared, the music and dance were suddenly interrupted by trumpets and a drum roll and shouts of "the bride comes." The curtains covering a large doorway leading into the palace were drawn open, and a closed palanquin was brought in by four eunuchs. It was accompanied by veiled women singing something Hawksworth did not understand. The palanquin was carried to the center of the room, where a low platform covered with gold brocade had been positioned, and then the eunuchs lowered it to the marble floor. The curtains were drawn aside and a veiled woman emerged, her small body almost smothered in a dress that seemed made of multiple layers of beaten gold. She was helped to the middle of the platform, still wearing a veil that covered her entire face. Chants of "Hail to the bride" arose on all sides.
    Then Allaudin was escorted forward, taking his place on the platform beside her. He stole a quick, distasteful glance at the veiled figure beside him, then an official smile illuminated his face and he sat patiently as the qazi was summoned in front of them. The official was bearded, stern- faced, and transparently arrogant. He stood before the veiled bride and motioned around him for silence.
    "Is it by your own consent that this marriage take place with Prince Allaudin, son of His Royal Majesty?"
    From beneath the layers of the veil came a muffled, almost hesitant, "It is by my consent."
    The qazi seemed satisfied and began reading a passage from the Quran,