The Moghul

date.
    With a tight smile that pained his aching face he carefully wrapped the astrolabe and returned it to the bottom of the chest, together with the books. He snapped the lock in place just as the door of the cell swung open.
    He looked up to see the face of the man who had swung the club.
    Good Jesus, I thought he was dead. And he looks even younger. . . .
    Then Hawksworth realized it had to be his son. But the heavy brow, the dark beard, the narrow eyes, were all the same, almost as though his father's blood had flowed directly into his veins. He wore no helmet or breastplate now, only a simple robe, entirely white.
    The man spoke curtly to Vasant Rao in a language Hawksworth did not understand.
    "He has ordered us to come with him. It's time for the ceremony. He says you must watch how the man you killed is honored."
    Vasant Rao rose easily and pinched out the oil lamp. In the darkened silence Hawksworth heard the lowing of cattle, as well as the distant drone of a chant. Outside the guards were waiting. He noted they carried sheathed swords. And they too were dressed in white.
    In the midday sunshine he quickly tried to survey the terrain. Jagged rock outcrops seemed to ring the village, with a gorge providing an easily protected entrance.
    He was right. It's a fortress. And probably impregnable.
    The road was wide, with rows of mud-brick homes on either side, and ahead was an open square, where a crowd had gathered. Facing the square, at the far end, was an immense house of baked brick, the largest in the fortress village, with a wide front and a high porch.
    As they approached the square, Hawksworth realized a deep pit had been newly excavated directly in the center. Mourners clustered nearby, silently waiting, while a group of women—five in all—held hands and moved slowly around the pit intoning a dirge.
    As they reached the side of the opening he saw the Rajput's body, lying face up on a fragrant bier of sandalwood and neem branches. His head and beard had been shaved and his body bound in a silk winding sheet. He was surrounded by garlands of flowers. The wood in the pit smelled of ghee and rose-scented coconut oil. Nearby, Brahmin priests recited in Sanskrit.
    "His body will be cremated with the full honor of a Rajput warrior." Vasant Rao stood alongside. "It's clear the Brahmins have been paid enough."
    Hawksworth looked around at the square and the nearby houses, their shutters all sealed in mourning. Chanting priests in ceremonial robes had stationed themselves near the large house, and an Arabian mare, all white and bedecked with flowers, was tied at the entrance. Suddenly the tones of mournful, discordant music sounded around him.
    As Hawksworth watched, the heavy wooden doors of the great house opened slowly and a woman stepped into the midday sunshine. Even from their distance he could see that she was resplendent—in an immaculate white wrap that sparkled with gold ornaments—and her movements regal as she descended the steps and was helped onto the horse. As she rode slowly in the direction of the pit, she was supported on each side by Brahmin priests, long-haired men with stripes of white clay painted down their forehead.
    "She is his wife." Vasant Rao had also turned to watch. "Now you'll see a woman of the warrior caste follow her dharma ."
    As the woman rode slowly by, Hawksworth sensed she was only barely conscious of her surroundings, as though she had been drugged. She circled the pit three times, then stopped near where Hawksworth and Vasant Rao were standing. As the priests helped her down from the mare, one urged her to drink again from a cup of dense liquid he carried. Her silk robe was fragrant with scented oil, and Hawksworth saw that decorations of saffron and sandalwood had been applied to her arms and forehead.
    It's a curious form of mourning. She's dressed and perfumed as though for a banquet, not a funeral. And what's she drinking? From the way she moves I'd guess it's some opium concoction.
    She paused at the edge of the pit and seemed to glare for an instant at the five women who moved around her. Then she drank again from the cup, and calmly began removing her jewels, handing them to the priest, until her only ornament was a necklace of dark seeds. Next the Brahmins sprinkled her head with water from a pot and, as a bell began to toll, started helping her into the pit. Hawksworth watched in disbelief as she knelt next to her husband's body and lovingly cradled his head