The Moghul

."
    Hawksworth laughed. "But surely Mukarrab Khan knew what you were doing?"
    "I think he probably guessed. But what could he do? He was only the governor, not Allah. He finally forbade me to go into the palace grounds alone. When I refused to obey, he thought of sending you to the observatory, just to annoy me." She smoothed the mane of her horse. "So I think he knew I was doing something there. But he was too entangled by his own intrigues for Janahara to really care."
    "Mukarrab Khan worked for the queen? How?"
    "Two ways. Naturally he gathered intelligence for her, mainly about the Portuguese. But he also collected her Portuguese revenues at the ports of Surat and Cambay."
    "Her revenues? I thought all duties went to the Moghul’s Imperial treasury."
    Shirin stifled a smile. "That's what Arangbar thinks too. And at Surat it's mostly true. She collects very little. Mirza Nuruddin despises her and always finds devious ways to muddle her accounts, probably keeping some of her money for himself. But the Shahbandar at the port of Cambay, where Mukarrab Khan used to go every two weeks, would accept bribes from the Portuguese to undervalue their goods, and then split the money with Mukarrab Khan and Janahara." She paused to watch a bright-winged bird dart past. "Arangbar could never understand why his revenue from Cambay was so low. I heard he's thinking about closing the port." She laughed. "If only he knew it's going mostly to Janahara."
    Hawksworth rode silently for a moment, thinking. "You know, Nadir Sharif once proposed the same arrangement for English goods, if I would trade with him personally through the port of Cambay. I ignored him. I suspected he planned to find some way to confiscate the goods later on, claiming nonpayment of duty."
    "No, on that I think Nadir Sharif would have been very fair. He always honors his agreements, with friend or foe." She looked ahead, her weary eyes brightening as they approached the first jumble of tents and roaming livestock that formed the edge of the camp. Servants in soiled dhotis were leading camels bearing huge baskets of fodder along the makeshift streets between the tents. "But their swindle will be finished when Prince Jadar becomes Moghul. He despises the Portuguese traders and their Christian priests."
    The perimeter of the compound reserved for Jadar and his zenana was clearly visible now, towering above the center of the camp. It was bordered by a ten-foot-high wall of billowing red chintz, decorated with a white hem at the top and held up with gilded poles spaced no more than two feet apart. Spreading out around it were clusters of smaller tents—red and white striped cloth for noblemen, and onesided lean-to shelters ranging from brocade to ragged blankets for their troops.
    "The prince asked that we all ride directly to the gulal bar , his personal compound," Vasant Rao shouted back over his shoulder at Hawksworth. "I think he'll particularly want to see you, Captain."
    Cheers erupted as they entered the camp. Tents emptied and infantrymen lined the sides of the wide avenue leading to Jadar's compound, beating their swords against their leather shields. As Hawksworth studied the forest of flying standards spreading out on either side, he suddenly realized that each mansabdar nobleman was flying his own insignia above his cluster of tents.
    Ahead, rising upward from the center of Jadar's compound, was a pole some fifty feet high with a huge vessel of burning oil secured on its tip. Hawksworth examined the flame with astonishment, then drew his horse alongside Vasant Rao's.
    "Why's there a light in the middle of the camp? It can be seen for miles?"
    "That's called the akas-diya , Captain, the Light of Heaven. It's the Great Camp Light and it's used by everyone to keep their bearings at night. How else could a man find his tent? There are probably fifty thousand men here, with their women and servants. In the evenings, after all the cow-dung fires are lighted for cooking, it's so smoky here you can't see your own tent till you're practically in it."
    "This camp's a town almost the size of London. How do the people live?"
    "The camp bazaar travels with us, Captain. But you're right. It is a city; merely one that moves." He gestured around them. "The prince of course has his own personal supplies, but everyone else must shift for himself. See those small tents on the street over there, between those two high poles bearing standards. That's one of the bazaars for