The Moghul

fathers journeyed to Goa, there was always a request for more Christian art. True the Moghul’s understanding of blasphemy was erratic, as evidenced by a recent evening in the Diwan-i-Khas when, drunk and roaring with laughter, Arangbar had set a wager with the Jesuits on how long he could stand with his arms outstretched as a cross. But then he had built a church for the mission, and also provided them a house, which he now visited ever more frequently to secretly indulge his passion for forbidden pork.
    A scant two months before, Arangbar had taken an action that sent the mission's hopes soaring. He had summoned the Jesuit fathers to baptize two of his young nephews, ordering the boys to become Christians. The mullahs had been outraged, immediately spreading the pernicious rumor he had done so merely to better remove them from the line of succession. In Goa, however, the mission was roundly congratulated on nearing its goal. If Arangbar became a Christian, many in his court and perhaps eventually all of India would someday follow.
    This had all been before the arrival of the English heretic, Hawksworth. At the very moment when Arangbar's mind seemed within their grasp, there had now emerged the specter that all their work might be undone. Arangbar had treated the Englishman as though he were qualified to speak on theological matters and had even questioned him about the most Holy Sacrament, when the Church's doctrine regarding this Mystery had already been fully expounded to him by Father Sarmento himself. Arangbar had listened with seeming interest while the Englishman proceeded to tell him much that was contrary to the Truth and to Church teaching. When asked point blank, the Englishman had even denied that His Holiness, the pope, should be acknowledged head of the Universal Church, going on to characterize His Holiness' political concerns in almost scatological terms. Father Sarmento, normally the most forbearing of priests, was nearing despair.
    Most disturbing of all, Arangbar had only last week asked the Englishman by what means the Portuguese fortress at the northern port of Diu could be recaptured by India. The Englishman had confided that he believed a blockade by a dozen English frigates, supported by an Indian land army of no more than twenty thousand, could force the Portuguese garrison to capitulate from hunger!
    Clearly Arangbar was growing eccentric. The English heretic had beguiled him and was near to becoming a serious detriment to Portuguese interests. To make matters worse, there was the latest dispatch from Goa, which had arrived only the previous evening. Father Pinheiro had studied it well into the night, and finally concluded that the time had come to stop the Englishman. He also concluded it was time to make this unmistakably clear to Nadir Sharif. As the situation continued to deteriorate, only the influence of Nadir Sharif could still neutralize the Englishman.
    Father Pinheiro moved on through the jostling street, occasionally swabbing his brow. And as he looked about him, he began to dream of the day there would be a Christian India. It would be the society's greatest triumph. What would it be like? What would Arangbar do to silence the heretical mullahs? Would the time come when India, like Europe, would require an Inquisition to purify the sovereignty of the Church?
    One thing was certain. With a Catholic monarch in India, there would be no further English trade, no Dutch trade, no Protestant trade. The declining fortunes of Portuguese commerce at Goa, the Protestant challenge to Portuguese supremacy in the Indies, would both be permanently reversed in a single stroke.
    The thought heartened him as he looked up to see the sandstone turrets of Nadir Sharif’s palace gleaming in the morning sun.

    "Father, it is always a pleasure to see you." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly and indicated a bolster. He did not order refreshments from the servants. "No matter what the hour."
    "I realize the time is early. I wanted to find you at home. And to come here when there were the fewest possible eyes on the street." Pinheiro paused and then decided to sit. He was perspiring heavily from the walk, even though the real heat of the day lay hours ahead.
    Nadir Sharif flinched at the Jesuit's school-book Persian and examined him with ill-concealed disdain, knowing word of his visit surely had already found the ears of the queen.
    "Then I should ask the occasion for this unexpected pleasure." Nadir Sharif