Part 90 (1/2)
The elephant flapped its bloodstained ears in confusion but did not move.
The mahout goaded it again and shouted something in its ear, but it merely waved its trunk and trumpeted.
”Merciful Allah. The elephant does not smell his crime.” The small man caught Hawksworth's questioning look. ”The Great Akman believed elephants would not kill an innocent man, that they can always smell a man's guilt. But I have never before seen one refuse to kill a prisoner. I think Samad must be a wizard, who has entranced the animal.”
”Innocent,” a young man from the group of disciples yelled out above the silence.
The mahout goaded the elephant once more, but still it stood unmoving.
”Innocent.” More cries went up from Samad's young followers, and again they pressed forward, swords in hand. In moments the plaza became a battleground, blood staining the earth as the Imperial guards began turning their pikes against the line of disciples. Then others in the crowd, mullahs leading them, broke through and joined the battle against the young men. Sword rang against sword and calls to Allah rent the air.
Samad stood quietly watching as the battle edged toward him. Then suddenly a group of bearded mullahs broke from the crowd and surged toward him, swords drawn. Hawksworth instinctively reached for his own weapon, but the man beside him caught his arm. He looked down to see a small, rust-handled _katar _pointed against his chest.
”This is the will of Allah. An infidel must not interfere.”
The mullahs had formed a ring around Samad. He stood silently, waiting, as the leader stepped forward and thrust a long sword into the bare skin of his lower stomach. He jerked but did not fall, standing tall as another swung a sharp blade across his open neck. His head dropped to one side and he slumped forward, as two more men thrust swords into his belly. In seconds he disappeared beneath a crowd of black cloaks.
From a low latticework window down the east side of the Red Fort, past the Jasmine Tower and many levels down the Khas Mahal, it was just possible to see the center of the plaza. A woman stood by the window watching as the crowd turned on the young men and, one by one, cut them down. Then she saw a bloodstained body being hoisted above a black- cloaked a.s.sembly and carried triumphantly toward the river gate.
There had been tears as s.h.i.+rin watched. But as she turned away, toward the darkness of the cell, her eyes were hard and dry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hawksworth waited anxiously by the rear entryway of the _Diwan- i-Khas _and watched the three Jesuits file silently through the tapestried archway beside him. Father Alvarez Sarmento, imperious in his freshly laundered black habit, moved directly to the silver railing that circled the throne. The old priest's eyes seemed to fairly glow in triumph. Behind him trailed Father Pinheiro and the pudgy father Francisco da Silva, their attempts at poise marred by s.h.i.+fting, anxious glances of disquiet. Hawksworth studied all three and puzzled even more what could be afoot.
Over a week had pa.s.sed since the death of Samad, and since that day he had no longer been invited to Arangbar's evenings in the _Diwan-i- Khas_. Even his requests for an audience had been ignored. Before the poet's death, it had been possible for him to believe that the absurdity of Samad and s.h.i.+rin's arrest would eventually _Resolve_ itself, that the nightmare would fade into reality and bring their release. But the killing of Samad had blotted out that illusion. When he saw Arangbar, presiding high above the square, signal the Sufi's death, he had realized finally the nightmare was all too real. Since that time he had spent the sleepless nights alone, distraught, counting the pa.s.sage of each hour as he awaited news s.h.i.+rin was also dead. In his mind he had conceived a dozen stratagems to try to save her, a dozen arguments, threats, bargains for her release, but nothing could be done if he was denied even an audience with the Moghul.
That they should have tasted so much, only to lose it all. He found himself aware, for the first time ever, how much he could want, could need, a woman like s.h.i.+rin beside him. With her, life itself seemed renewed. She was like no other he had ever known: strong, beautiful, self-willed. He had found himself admiring the last most of all, even though he still found it startling. But the love he had known with her in his arms now only made the despair deeper. Nothing was left. Now there was only abiding sorrow, loss beyond healing. She had given him something he had never known, something he realized--for the first time ever--he no longer wanted to live without. He would have taken her place a hundred times over, but even that seemed impossible.
Then, that morning, hope had appeared, almost a miracle., A sudden, urgent message had been delivered, instructing him to appear once more in the _Diwan-i-Khas_. It almost certainly meant Arangbar had received word of the English fleet. If s.h.i.+rin were still alive, and there had been no news of her death, it must mean that the Moghul was uncertain about her guilt: he was not a man who normally waited to act. And if she was alive, all things again became possible . . .
He had asked himself again and again over the past week why he had suddenly been forgotten by Arangbar. He finally concluded it was the distracting turmoil that had gripped Agra and the court since Samad's death.
The Sufi's last words had been repeated throughout the city, and already there were rumors of impending calamity: the bazaars were alive with talk of a Persian Safavid invasion from the northwest, a rebellion among the Imperial guards, an impending holocaust that would burn all Agra to ash, a universal plague. The streets had an apocalyptic air, with omens foreseen in every temple.
Another reason for Arangbar's preoccupation could be the rumors from the south. Word was sweeping Agra that Prince Jadar and his army had been savaged by the Deccani forces and were now retreating northward, with Malik Ambar in pursuit. If this story were true, then the Abyssinian's defeat of Jadar must have been overwhelming, since rebels did not normally pursue Moghul forces. But this story was still merely rumor. There had been no actual reports of any engagements in the south.
Jadar's possible defeat, so the talk in Agra went, had gone very heavily with Arangbar, and accounted for his increasing dependence on opium and wine. Those who had seen him reported the Moghul was growing noticeably weaker. And as his strength waned, so too did his authority.
Ever since the night of the wedding, Queen Janahara had been moving to a.s.sume more and more of the prerogatives of power. Arangbar already seemed to be becoming a figurehead. The only sanctuary she had not yet invaded was the _Diwan-i-Khas_.
Those evening gatherings Arangbar still ruled like a G.o.d, and the unusual note he had sent to Hawksworth was worded almost more like an order than an invitation. It confirmed vividly the reports that Arangbar was growing more erratic by the day.
Around Hawksworth sat the usual a.s.sembly of Arangbar's closest advisers, men whose perpetually smiling faces he had come to know well over the past weeks. Prominent among them as always was Nadir Sharif, who now seemed to be avoiding Hawksworth's glance. Also in attendance was a special contingent of Rajput guards, in Imperial turbans and tunics. Hawksworth could never remember having seen these particular guards in the _Diwan-i-Khas _before.
When the last official had arrived, the Rajput guards moved across the doorway and the kettledrum was sounded. Moments later the tapestry behind the throne was pushed aside by two eunuchs and Arangbar emerged into the light. He stumbled momentarily on the edge of a carpet, then recovered his balance and took his seat on the white marble throne. His dull eyes glistened against the lamplight as the men in the room dropped to _teslim_. For the first time he seemed more annoyed than amused when Hawksworth failed to bow to the carpet. He glared at him for a long moment and then spoke to Nadir Sharif, who stood waiting by his side. The prime minister turned to the room.
”Amba.s.sador Hawksworth, His Majesty commands you to come forward.”