The Moghul

Tonight. For all to see. And I will return to my father, or go where I wish. Or you may kill me, as you have already tried to do. But you must decide."
    Mukarrab Khan's face was lost in shock. The courtyard stood lifeless, caught in a silence more powerful than any Hawksworth had ever known. He looked in confusion at Father Sarmento, and the old Jesuit quietly whispered a translation of the Persian, his own eyes wide in disbelief. Never before had he seen a Muslim woman defy her husband publicly. The humiliation was unthinkable. Mukarrab Khan had no power to order her death. He had no choice but to divorce her as she demanded. But everyone knew why she was his wife. What would a divorce mean?
    "You will proceed to Goa as my wife, or you will spend the rest of your days, and what little remains of your fading beauty, as a nautch girl at the port. Your price will be one copper pice . I will order it in the morning."
    "His Majesty will know of it within a week. I have friends enough in Agra."
    "As do I. And mine have the power to act."
    "Then divorce me."
    Mukarrab Khan paused painfully, then glanced down and absently whisked a fleck of lint from his brocade sleeve. "Which form do you wish?"
    An audible gasp passed through the servants, and not one breathed as they waited for the answer. There were three forms of divorce for Muslims. The first, called a revocable divorce, was performed when a man said "I have divorced you" only once. He had three months to reconsider and reconcile before it became final. The second form, called irrevocable, required the phrase be repeated twice, after which she could only become his wife again through a second marriage ceremony. The third, absolute, required three repetitions of the phrase and became effective the day her next reproductive cycle ended. There could be no remarriage unless she had, in the interim, been married to another.
    "Absolute."
    "Do you 'insist’?"
    "I do."
    "Then by law you must return the entire marriage settlement."
    "You took it from me and squandered it long ago on affion and pretty boys. What is left to return?"
    "Then it is done."
    Hawksworth watched in disbelief as Mukarrab Khan repeated three times the Arabic phrase from the Quran that cast her out. The two Jesuits also stood silently, their faces horrified.
    Shirin listened impassively as his voice echoed across the stunned courtyard. Then without a word she ripped the strands of pearls from her neck and threw them at his feet. Before Mukarrab Khan could speak again, she had turned and disappeared through the doorway of the palace.
    "In the eyes of God, Excellency, you will always be man and wife," Father Sarmento broke the silence. "What He has joined, man cannot rend."
    A look of great weariness seemed to flood Mukarrab Khan's face as he groped to find the facade of calm that protected him. Then, with an almost visible act of will, it came again.
    "Perhaps you understand now, Father, why the Prophet's laws grant us more than one wife. Allah allows for certain . . . mistakes." He forced a smile, then whirled on a wide-eyed eunuch. "Will the packing be finished by morning?"
    "As ordered, Khan Sahib." The eunuch snapped to formality.
    "Then see dinner is served my guests, or put my kitchen wallahs to the lash." He turned back to Hawksworth. "I'm told you met her once, Ambassador. I trust she was more pleasant then."
    "Merely by accident, Excellency. While I was at the . . . in the garden."
    "She does very little by accident. You should mark her well."
    "Your counsel is always welcome, Excellency." Hawksworth felt his pulse surge. "What will she do now?"
    "I think she will have all her wishes granted." He turned wearily toward the marble columns of the veranda. "You will forgive me if I must leave you now for a while. You understand I have further dispatches to prepare."
    He turned and was gone. After a moment's pause, the despairing Jesuits trailed after.
    And suddenly the courtyard seemed empty.

    *
    The waves curled gently against the shore, breaking iridescent over the staves of a half-buried keg. Before him the sea spread wide and empty. Only a single sail broke the horizon. His mare pawed impatiently, but Hawksworth could not bring himself to turn her back toward the road. Not yet. Only when the sail's white had blended with the sea did he rein her around and, with one last glance at the empty blue, give her the spur.
    He rode briskly past the nodding palms along the shore, then turned inland toward