The Moghul

easily behind him in perfect repose.
    "Of course." Pinheiro stood dazed at the implications of Nadir Sharifs words. He paused for a moment, digesting them. "Do I understand you to be suggesting the Viceroy take hostile action against one of His Majesty's own trading ships?"
    "You have contested the Englishman with words, and he seems to be winning." Nadir Sharif turned and examined Pinheiro. "Your Viceroy is undoubtedly aware that Her Majesty, Queen Janahara, is equally disturbed by the Englishman. She too is concerned with the possible effects on her . . . trading arrangements if the English gain undue influence."
    "Would she be willing to speak to His Majesty?"
    "Again you talk merely of words. What have they gained you?"
    "Father Sarmento would never consent to an overt action. He would be too fearful of the possible consequences to the mission."
    "Bold measures are for bold men. I think His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, understands boldness. And His Majesty understands boldness better than anyone." Nadir Sharif paused. "It may be of interest to His Excellency to know that His Majesty currently has a vessel en route from the Red Sea, with cargo owned by the mother of His Majesty, the dowager Maryam Zamani. It is due to make landfall within the week, if it has managed to hold its schedule. The vessel's safety is, quite naturally, of utmost concern to His Majesty . . ."
    "I think I understand." Father Pinheiro again swabbed the moisture from his brow. "But Father Sarmento . . ."
    "What possible concern could Father Sarmento have with decisions made by His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes? He is the Viceroy." Nadir Sharif nodded toward a pudgy eunuch hovering at the doorway, who immediately entered with a tray of betel leaves, signaling that the meeting was adjourned.
    "His Excellency will undoubtedly be most appreciative of your thoughts." Pinheiro paused. "Still, wouldn't it be prudent to advise Her Majesty, lest she mistake our Viceroy's intentions?"
    "I will attend to it." Nadir Sharif smiled warmly. "You must be aware, however, that if His Majesty chooses to respond irresponsibly, I will know nothing about any action that may be taken. The Viceroy must weather his own seas."
    "Naturally." Pinheiro bowed. "You have always been a friend. I thank you, and bless you in God's name."
    "Your thanks are sufficient." Nadir Sharif smiled again and watched as the Jesuit was led through the scalloped doorway by the waiting eunuch.
    Only when he turned back to the window did he realize his palms were drenched with perspiration.

    *
    Arangbar moved groggily through the arched corridor carrying a fresh silver cup of wine and quietly humming the motif of his favorite Hindustani raga. His afternoon nap in the zenana had been fitful, unusually so, and when he finally admitted to himself why, he had dismissed the two young women who waited to pleasure him, retrieved his jeweled turban, and waved aside the attending eunuchs. He had announced he wanted to stroll among the fruit trees in the courtyard of the Anguri Bagh, which lay down the marble steps from the Khas Mahal, the breezy upper pavilion of the zenana . But when he reached the trees, he had turned and slipped through his private doorway leading to the women's apartments in the lower level of the fort.
    The zenana was quiet, even the eunuchs were dozing, and no one noticed when he passed along the shadowed afternoon corridor toward the circular staircase leading to the lower apartments. As he began to descend the curved stone steps, he felt his legs momentarily grow unsteady, and he paused to rest against the hard polished wall, tightening his light brocade cloak against the cooler air and taking a short sip of wine for warmth. Then he continued on, carefully feeling for each step in the dim light of the overhead oil lamps.
    He emerged on the next level and stopped to catch his breath on the balcony that opened out over the Jamuna. This was the level where he had built private apartments for his favorite women, and behind him was the large room, with a painted cupola ceiling high above a large rose-shaped marble fountain, which he had granted to one of his Hindu wives. (Now he could no longer recall precisely who she was; she had reached thirty some time past and he had not summoned her to his couch in many years.) Since she was a devout Hindu, he had ordered it decorated with brilliantly colored scenes from the Ramayana. The room itself was cooled by a high waterfall in the