The Moghul

perhaps you will endure one last evening of my company, even if I have little else left to offer."
    The courtyard was a confused jumble of packing cases and household goods. Servants were everywhere, wrapping and crating rolled carpets, bolsters, furniture, vases, and women's clothing. Elephants stood near the back of the courtyard, howdahs on their backs, waiting to be loaded. Goods would be transferred to barks for the trip downriver to the bar, where they would be loaded aboard a waiting Portuguese frigate.
    "My dining hall has been dismantled, its carpet rolled. We have no choice but to dine this evening in the open air, like soldiers on the march."
    Hawksworth was no longer hearing Mukarrab Khan. He was staring past him, through the smoke, not quite believing what he saw. But it was all too real. Standing in the corner of the courtyard were two Europeans in black cassocks. Portuguese Jesuits.
    Mukarrab Khan noticed Hawksworth's diplomatic smile suddenly freeze on his face, and turned to follow his gaze.
    "Ah, I must introduce you. You do understand the Portuguese language, Captain?"
    "Enough."
    "I should have thought so. I personally find it abominable and refuse to study it. But both the fathers here have studied Persian in Goa, and I think one of them knows a bit of Turki, from his time in Agra."
    "What are they doing here?" Hawksworth tried to maintain his composure.
    "They returned to Surat just today from Goa, where they've been these past few weeks. I understand they're en route to the Jesuit mission in Lahore, a city in the Punjab, well to the north of Agra. They specifically asked to meet you." He laughed. "They're carrying no cannon, Captain, and I assumed you had no objection."
    "You assumed wrong. I have nothing to say to a Jesuit."
    "You'll meet Jesuits enough in Agra, Captain, at the Moghul’s court. Consider this evening a foretaste." Mukarrab Khan tried to smile politely, but there was a strained look in his eyes and he fingered his jeweled ring uncomfortably. "You would favor me by speaking to them."
    The two Europeans were now moving toward them, working their way through the swarm of servants and crates in the courtyard. The ruby-studded crucifixes they wore against their black cassocks seemed to shoot red sparks into the evening air. Mukarrab Khan urged Hawksworth forward apprehensively.
    "May I have the pleasure to present Ambassador Brian Hawksworth, who represents His Majesty, King James of England, and is also, I believe, an official of England's East India Company.
    "And to you, Ambassador, I have the honor to introduce Father Alvarez Sarmento, Superior for the Society of Jesus' mission in Lahore, and Father Francisco da Silva."
    Hawksworth nodded lightly and examined them. Although Sarmento was aged, his face remained strong and purposeful, with hard cheeks and eyes that might burn through marble. The younger priest could not have been more different. His ruddy neck bulged from the tight collar of his cassock, and his eyes shifted uncomfortably behind his puffed cheeks. Hawksworth wondered absently how long his bloat—too much capon and port wine—would last if Mackintosh had him on the third watch for a month.
    "You are a celebrated man, Captain Hawksworth." Father Sarmento spoke in flawless Turki, but his voice was like ice. "There is much talk of you in Goa. The new Viceroy himself requested that we meet you, and convey a message."
    "His last message was to order an unlawful attack on my merchantmen. I think he still remembers my reply. Is he now offering to abide by the treaty your Spanish king signed with King James?"
    "That treaty has no force in Asia, Captain. His Excellency has asked us to inform you that your mission to Agra will not succeed. Our fathers have already informed the Moghul that England is a lawless nation living outside the grace of the Church. Perhaps you are unaware of the esteem he now holds for our Agra mission. We have a church there now, and through it we have led many carnal-minded Moors to God. We have refuted the Islamic mullahs in His Majesty's very presence, and shown him the falsity of their Prophet and his laws. Indeed, it is only because of the esteem we have earned that he now sends an ambassador to the Portuguese Viceroy."
    Before Hawksworth could respond, Father Sarmento suddenly reached out and touched his arm imploringly. "Captain, let me speak now not for the Viceroy, but for the Holy Church." Hawksworth realized with a shock that he was