The Moghul

in friendship. We wish you victory over those who would deny you your birthright, which you have earned both by blood and by deed. No other in India is more fit to reign, more just to govern, more honorable to his friends, more feared by his foes. Tonight we offer you our hand and our prayers that Lord Krishna will always stand with you."
    Hawksworth turned to Shirin and whispered. "What's he saying?"
    Her eyes were dark. "He's delaying his answer to the prince. Offering him prayers to Lord Krishna. Prince Jadar doesn't need prayers to Krishna. He needs Rajputs. Thousands of Rajputs. But perhaps in time the maharana can be convinced. Banquets are not the place for negotiation. They're the place for perfumed talk."
    Jadar was smiling as though he had just been offered the whole of Rajputana. He managed to thank the maharana lavishly.
    The maharana beamed and signaled for pan leaves again, signifying the evening was ended. The room emptied in moments.
    "I think Jadar could be in serious trouble." Hawksworth turned to Shirin as they entered the hallway. "If he fails to get support here, what will he do?"
    "I don't know. I think he may still manage an alliance before he's through. But it will be costly. Otherwise he'll probably have to move south and try to convince Malik Ambar to commit him his Maratha army. But Rajputs are better." She moved closer. "I'm suddenly so very, very tired of armies and tents and strategies. I don't know where it will end. Time is running out. For him and for us." She brushed him lightly with her body. "Will you make love to me tonight as though we'd never heard of Rajputs and Marathas? We'll look at the lake in the moonlight and forget everything, just for tonight." She opened her hand. Inside were several small brown balls. "I took some of the maharana's affion . Tonight we have no battles to fight."

    *
    Hawksworth sat beside Shirin watching the oarsmen strain against the locks, their orange oars flashing against the ornately gilded boat like the immense gills of some ceremonial fish. A turbaned drummer sat at one end, sounding the beat, and the tillerman stood behind him.
    They were headed for Jagmandir Island, on the invitation of Prince Jadar, in a boat provided by Maharana Karan Singh. Three weeks of banquets, hunting, and oaths of lasting friendship seemed to have done little to resolve the question of the maharana's support for Jadar's rebellion. Time, Hawksworth told himself, is starting to work heavily against the prince. The Imperial army let us escape because they were too shattered to attack again. But we all know they're rebuilding. Jadar has to decide soon how much longer he can afford to stay here and listen to vague promises.
    Behind them the high walls and turrets of the maharana's palace towered above the cliff, reflecting gold in the late afternoon sun. As they neared the island, Hawksworth turned back to see the thick stone walls of the city following the curve of the surrounding hilltops and finally angling down to a tall watchtower at the very edge of the lake. He realized the lake itself was actually the city's fourth defense barrier.
    Ahead, the white sandstone palace on Jagmandir glistened against the water. At the front a large pavilion surrounded by delicate white pillars jutted out into the lake. Its entrance was guarded by a row of life-sized stone elephants rising out of the water, their trunks raised above their heads in silent salute. As their boat neared the arched entryway of the pavilion, Hawksworth saw a veiled woman surrounded by eunuchs standing on the marble-paved dock to greet them.
    "It's Her Highness, Princess Mumtaz." Shirin's voice was suddenly flooded with surprised delight. Then she turned to Hawksworth with a laugh. "Welcome to the zenana , Ambassador."
    "What's she doing here?" Hawksworth examined the figure, whose jewels glistened in the afternoon sun, then warily studied the eunuchs.
    "She's come to meet us." Shirin's voice was lilting in anticipation. "I think she's bored to frustration trapped on this island prison."
    As their boat touched the dock, Mumtaz moved forward and immediately embraced Shirin. Her eyes swept Hawksworth as he bowed.
    "Your Highness."
    Mumtaz giggled behind her veil and turned to Shirin, speaking in Persian. "Do we have to speak barbarous Turki because of him?"
    "Just for this afternoon."
    "I welcome you in the name of His Highness." Mumtaz's Turki was accented but otherwise flawless. "He asked me to meet you and