The Moghul

sweat.
    Is this the last time I ever see the Moghul of India? And Shirin never again? Is this how it ends?
    He had spent the last several days in a private hell, thinking of Shirin and waiting for the first fever, the first nodules that would signal the plague. So far there had been no signs of the disease. And he had heard that the consensus in the bazaar was the infection would subside within the month. Clearly it would be nothing like London in 1603.
    Palace rumors said that Shirin was still alive. All executions had ceased after the appearance of the plague. And stories were that the Moghul was rarely seen sober. Perhaps, Hawksworth told himself, Arangbar has stayed so drunk he has forgotten her.
    He had finally conceived one last plan to try to save her. Then he had packed his chest, settled his accounts, and dismissed his servants. If nothing came of the meeting today . . . if there was a meeting . . . he would have to leave in any case.
    He moved closer to the royal pavilion, pushing his way through the melee of shirtless servants. The elephants for the zenana had been moved into the square and were now being readied. There were, by Hawksworth's rough count, approximately a hundred elephants to carry Arangbar's women. The howdahs for the main wives were fashioned from gold, with gratings of gold wire around the sides to provide a view and an umbrella canopy of silver cloth for shade. A special elephant was waiting for Queen Janahara and Princess Layla, decorated with a canvas of gold brocade and bearing a jewel-studded howdah .
    As Hawksworth watched, another elephant, shining with black paint and the largest he had ever seen, lumbered regally into the square, ridden by a mahout with a gold-braided turban. Its covering was even more lavish than that of the queen's mount, and its howdah was emblazoned with the Imperial standard of Arangbar, a long-tailed lion crouching menacingly in front of a golden sun face. Beneath the verandas rows of saddled horses waited for the lesser members of the court, each with a slave stationed alongside bearing an umbrella of gold cloth, and in front of the horses were rows of crimson-colored palanquins, their pearl-embroidered velvet gleaming in the light, ready for high officials.
    The roadway leading from the square of the Diwan-i-Am had been lined with a guard of three hundred male war elephants, each with a cannon turret on its back. Behind those, three hundred female elephants stood idling in the sunshine, their backs covered with gold cloth marked with the Moghurs insignia, waiting to be loaded with household goods from the zenana . Just beyond the gate a host of watermen were poised with waterskins slung from their backs, ready to run before the Moghul’s procession sprinkling the roadway to banish dust. Near them a small party of men stood holding the harness of a camel bearing a roll of white cloth, used to cover and banish from sight any dead animals that might lie along the route of the Moghuls party.
    The courtyard erupted with a sudden blare of trumpets and kettledrums, and Hawksworth turned to see Arangbar being carried in on an open palanquin, supported by uniformed eunuchs. A slave walked along one side, holding a satin umbrella over his head for shade, while on the other, two chubby eunuchs walked fanning him with sprays of peacock feathers attached to long poles.
    As the palanquin neared the tent, Hawksworth pushed through the crowd to gain a better view. Arangbar was dressed for a ceremonial occasion, wearing a velvet turban with a plume of white heme feathers almost two feet in length. A walnut-sized ruby dangled from one side of the turban, and on the other side was a massive diamond, paired with a heart-shaped emerald. Around his turban was a sash wreathed with a chain of pearls. Rings bearing flashing jewels decorated every finger, and his cloak was gold brocade, decorated with jeweled armlets.
    As he descended from the palanquin, at the entry of the pavilion, the nobles near him yelled "Padshah Salamat," Long Live the Emperor, and performed the teslim . As he moved toward his throne two more eunuchs were waiting. One stepped forward and presented an enormous pink carp on a silver tray, while the other held out a dish of starchy white liquid. Arangbar dipped his finger in the liquid, touched it to the fish, then rubbed his own forehead—a Moghul ceremony presaging good omens for a march.
    Next, another eunuch stepped forward, bowed, and presented him with