The Moghul

washed down the opium.
    "It's not allowed for a Christian, Majesty."
    "Then become a Muslim." Arangbar smiled and took another sip from his glass. "Are you circumcised, Inglish?"
    "Majesty?"
    "Never mind." Arangbar laughed out loud. "Neither am I. How are the mullahs to know? My father, Akman, actually wanted to start his own religion, combining the wisdom of India, Persia, and the West. He thought circumcision was an absurd practice. You know, there was once a feringhi here, I believe he was Portuguese, who decided to become a Muslim, a True Believer. Apparently he had found a Muslim woman he wanted to marry, and her father declared she could never marry a Christian. So he had himself circumcised." Arangbar paused dramatically. "And immediately bled to death. But doubtless he was healed by the time he reached Paradise. Perhaps he made up there for what he missed here." Arangbar chuckled and took a sip of wine. Hawksworth noticed that Queen Janahara was trying with great difficulty to retain her pleased expression. "Do you believe there is a Paradise after death, Inglish?"
    "What man can say. Majesty? No one has returned from death to tell what he found. I think life is best lived in the present."
    "I've always believed the same, Inglish. And I've lived as few men on Allah's earth have lived." Arangbar settled himself against his bolster and reached for another glass. He was starting to grow visibly tipsy. "I now enjoy all Allah could possibly grant to a living man. There is nothing on earth I cannot have. And yet, do you know, I still have many griefs. Show me the man whose heart is free of grief." He took a piece of lamb from a dish and washed it down. "So I find my greatest happiness with wine. Like a low-caste camel driver. Why must I still endure sorrow, Inglish?"
    "We all are mortal. Majesty."
    "That we are. Inglish. But I will soon see this Paradise, if it exists. I will find out the truth soon enough. And when I'm finally wise, who will then come after me? Now my sons practically war among themselves. Someday, Inglish, I fear they may decide to war against me as well. And what of those I see around me? Do they think I am blind to their deceit?" Arangbar leaned farther back on the bolster. Nadir Sharif sat listening, rolling a ball of lamb between his fingers. "Sometimes I think you may be the only honest man left in India, Inglish. You are the only one who has ever dared refuse to teslim . It is only with the greatest forbearance that I do not order you hanged."
    "I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth took a decanter and poured more wine into Arangbar's glass before replenishing his own.
    "No, Inglish, instead you should thank your Christian God. If He listens to you. But sometimes I wonder. I've heard you called a heretic more than once."
    "And I have names for the Jesuits, Your Majesty. Would you care to hear them?"
    "No, Inglish. Frankly, I have names for them too. But tell me, what am I to do to find peace?" Arangbar lowered his voice, but only slightly. "I see around me an army of sycophants, nautch women dressed as men. Whom dare I trust? You know, my own people were once warriors, Mongols of the steppes. They knew that the only ties that last are blood. And that's why this wedding cheers me. It is blood to blood." Arangbar turned and again touched Janahara's hand. Her face was expressionless as she accepted the gesture. "The only person in India I dare trust completely is my own queen. She is the only one who cannot, will not deceive me. Never. I feel it is true, as I feel nothing else in life. Nothing else."
    Janahara's face remained a mask as Arangbar drank again. Nadir Sharif was watching wordlessly, his face beginning to turn noticeably grim. Hawksworth realized he had not been mentioned.
    "I have loved her since I was a youth, Inglish," Arangbar continued, his voice growing maudlin. "And she has never betrayed my trust. That's the reason I would do anything she asked me. Anything, anytime. I always know it is right."
    Hawksworth found himself marveling as he glanced at Janahara's calculating eyes.
    I'd not trust her with two pence. He must be God's own fool.
    Arangbar sat silent for a moment, savoring his own pronouncement, then he turned to Janahara and spoke to her in a dull slur.
    "Ask something of me. Let me prove to the Inglish that I can never deny you."
    Janahara turned as though she had not been listening. Hawksworth knew she had been straining for every word.
    "What could I ask, Majesty? You