Part 89 (2/2)

”That's the most brutal death I've ever seen.” Hawksworth found his voice only after the initial shock had pa.s.sed.

”It's why so few men dare to commit murder, Sahib. But His Majesty is very just. All criminals are given a full Islamic trial before they are executed.”

Hawksworth looked up to see yet another man being led into the plaza.

The cheers of the crowd died abruptly. He wore only a loincloth, which was pure white, and his hands were bound not behind him but in front, secured through a large wooden clamp that had been locked together like European stocks. Hawksworth took one look and felt his own groin tighten.

”All praise to Allah the Merciful. And to the Holy Prophet, on whom be peace,” one of the white-bearded mullahs shouted through the silence.

He wore a gray turban, a dingy collarless s.h.i.+rt that reached to his knees, and over that a long black vest. He carried a staff and was barefoot. Other mullahs cl.u.s.tered around him immediately and joined his call.

”Murder! Murder!” Another voice began to chant, from a young man standing near Hawksworth. Then other young men with him took up the cry and began to surge forward. They were fresh-faced, with clean white s.h.i.+rts and trousers, and they awkwardly began to brandish short swords.

Imperial guards immediately threw a line across the crowd and held the young men back with short pikes. While the crowd watched, the prisoner continued to walk alone and unescorted toward the center of the square.

Hawksworth studied the face again, the deep sad eyes above a flowing white beard, and there was no doubt. He turned to the man standing beside him.

”Do you know who that is?”

”Of course, Sahib. He's the heretic poet Samad. Did you hear that he denied the existence of Allah in an Islamic court? He has been sentenced to death.”

”Who are those men with the swords?”

”They're his disciples. I think they came today to try to save him.”

Hawksworth turned to see the elephant again being urged forward.

”What about. . . what about the Persian woman I heard was arrested with him?”

”I do not think she has been executed yet, Sahib. They say she will be hanged, secretly, in the fort. Women are not executed by elephant.”

”When . . .” Hawksworth struggled to contain his voice. ”When do they say she'll be hanged?”

”Perhaps in a week or two. Perhaps she is already dead.” He moved forward to watch. ”What do poor Believers know of justice inside the fort? But the heretic Samad will die for all to see, so there will be no rumors that he still lives. Already there are stories in Agra that he had escaped to Persia.”

Samad had reached the center of the square. As the elephant approached, he turned to the crowd of young men, raising his bound hands toward them in a gesture of recognition.

”Do not grieve for this weak clay.” His voice was sonorous, hypnotic, and the crowd fell curiously quiet. ”Grieve for yourselves, you who must travel on a short while, sorrowing still.”

The crowd erupted again, the mullahs and many others urging his death, the young followers decrying it. Again he lifted his hands, and his voice seemed to bring silence around it.

”I say to you do not grieve. You will all soon know far greater sorrow.

Soon death will lay his dark hand across the city of Agra, upon Muslim and Hindu alike, upon woman and child. Many will perish without cause.

Therefore grieve not for me. Grieve for yourselves, when death will descend upon your doorsteps, there to take the innocent. Sorrow for your own.”

The crowd had listened in hushed silence. Then a bearded mullah shouted ”Death to the heretic” and others took up the cry.

Samad watched the elephant quietly as it continued to lumber forward.

When it reached him, he bowed to it with an ironic smile. The mahout looked upward toward the black throne of the _Diwan-i-Khas_, where Arangbar and Janahara sat waiting. Arangbar turned to the queen, with what seemed a question, and she replied without moving her stare from the court below. Arangbar paused a moment, then signaled the mahout to proceed. The bearded mahout saluted the Moghul, then urged the elephant forward with his sharp _ankus_.

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