The Moghul

His Majesty."
    The elephant moved with calm deliberation toward the kneeling prisoner, guided by the mahout, until it towered directly over the quivering man. Suddenly it whipped its trunk about the man's torso and lifted him squirming into the air, holding him firmly against its banded tusks. It swung the screaming man back and forth in delight for a long moment, seeming to relish the torment, then dashed him violently to the ground.
    The prisoner hit on his back, gasping, and weakly tried to roll to his feet. Before he could gain his footing, the elephant was there again, seizing him once more with its leathery trunk and again slamming him to the ground.
    "The elephant will torment him for a time. Sahib. Before the moment of death." The small brown man's eyes shone in anticipation.
    Again the prisoner was lifted and again dashed to the ground. Now he no longer attempted to struggle; he merely lay moaning in a broken voice.
    Then the mahout shouted something to the elephant and the animal suddenly reared above the man, crushing down on him with both front feet. There was a final, rending scream and then silence, as blood sprayed over the dust. The elephant reared again, and again mashed the lifeless body. Then again. Finally the animal placed one foot on the man's lower torso and seized his crushed chest with its trunk, wrenching upward and rending the body in two. Maddened by the smell of blood, he whipped the torn half upward and slammed it once more against the hard earth. Finally the mahout tapped the blood-spattered elephant with his ankus and began guiding it toward the back of the square. The crowd, which had held a spellbound silence, erupted into cheers.
    "That's the most brutal death I've ever seen." Hawksworth found his voice only after the initial shock had passed.
    "It's why so few men dare to commit murder, Sahib. But His Majesty is very just. All criminals are given a full Islamic trial before they are executed."
    Hawksworth looked up to see yet another man being led into the plaza. The cheers of the crowd died abruptly. He wore only a loincloth, which was pure white, and his hands were bound not behind him but in front, secured through a large wooden clamp that had been locked together like European stocks. Hawksworth took one look and felt his own groin tighten.
    "All praise to Allah the Merciful. And to the Holy Prophet, on whom be peace," one of the white-bearded mullahs shouted through the silence. He wore a gray turban, a dingy collarless shirt that reached to his knees, and over that a long black vest. He carried a staff and was barefoot. Other mullahs clustered around him immediately and joined his call.
    "Murder! Murder!" Another voice began to chant, from a young man standing near Hawksworth. Then other young men with him took up the cry and began to surge forward. They were fresh-faced, with clean white shirts and trousers, and they awkwardly began to brandish short swords.
    Imperial guards immediately threw a line across the crowd and held the young men back with short pikes. While the crowd watched, the prisoner continued to walk alone and unescorted toward the center of the square.
    Hawksworth studied the face again, the deep sad eyes above a flowing white beard, and there was no doubt. He turned to the man standing beside him.
    "Do you know who that is?"
    "Of course, Sahib. He's the heretic poet Samad. Did you hear that he denied the existence of Allah in an Islamic court? He has been sentenced to death."
    "Who are those men with the swords?"
    "They're his disciples. I think they came today to try to save him."
    Hawksworth turned to see the elephant again being urged forward.
    "What about . . . what about the Persian woman I heard was arrested with him?"
    "I do not think she has been executed yet, Sahib. They say she will be hanged, secretly, in the fort. Women are not executed by elephant."
    "When . . ." Hawksworth struggled to contain his voice. "When do they say she'll be hanged?"
    "Perhaps in a week or two. Perhaps she is already dead." He moved forward to watch. "What do poor Believers know of justice inside the fort? But the heretic Samad will die for all to see, so there will be no rumors that he still lives. Already there are stories in Agra that he had escaped to Persia."
    Samad had reached the center of the square. As the elephant approached, he turned to the crowd of young men, raising his bound hands toward them in a gesture of recognition.
    "Do not grieve for this weak