The Moghul

by Thomas Hoover

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hawksworth heard the exultant cheer of the Rajputs riding behind him and snapped awake. It was midmorning of the third day and he had been dozing fitfully in the saddle since dawn, fatigue deep in his bones. Through the trees ahead the camp of Prince Jadar lay spread before them, blanketing half the valley.

  "I told you we'd make the camp in three days' ride." Vasant Rao smiled wearily at Hawksworth and spurred his lathered mount forward. "Every man with us is eager to be with the prince."

  They had covered, it seemed to Hawksworth, well over a hundred miles since departing the environs of Fatehpur. Between five and six hundred Rajputs rode behind them, all heavily armed with an array of swords, pikes, clubs, saddle-axes. Each man's body armor, a woven network of steel and the quilted garment worn beneath it, was secured behind his saddle, ready to be donned for combat. Hanging at the side of each rider was a round leather shield and a large quiver containing his horn bow and arrows. None carried muskets.

  Hawksworth glanced back at Shirin, who rode a few paces behind, and they shared a tired smile. She had ridden the distance like a Rajput, but now her eyes were glazed with weariness. He had suddenly realized, the morning after they all galloped out of the camp at Fatehpur, that he had never before seen a woman in India ride. Where had she learned? He had pondered the question for an hour, riding behind her to watch her easy posture in the saddle, and then he had pulled alongside and asked her point-blank. She said nothing, merely smiled and tossed the loose strands of hair back from her face. He understood her well enough to know this meant she had never ridden before . . . and didn't wish Vasant Rao to know.

  "This is the moment I've waited for so long." She reined her mount alongside Hawksworth's, reached out and touched his hand. "You must help the prince now too."

  "I'm not so sure I'm eager to die for Prince Jadar."

  "You can always go back to Agra. And wait to be murdered by Janahara's guards. The prince has saved your life, and mine, once already. What makes you think he'll bother with you again?"

  "To tell the truth, he also saved my life several months ago, the night we made landfall at Surat and were ambushed on the Tapti River by the Portugals."

  "I know." She spurred her horse ahead. "I received the pigeon from Prince Jadar ordering it. I passed the message to the Shahbandar, Mirza Nuruddin, who sent his personal Rajputs to protect you."

  Hawksworth urged his horse back alongside. "So I was right. You were one of Jadar's agents in Surat. What did Nadir Sharif once call them . . . swanih-nigars?”

  "I gathered information for the prince." She smiled in consent. "I kept his accounts and coded his ciphers at the old observatory. Then you came along and started combing through it. You made my work that much more difficult. I never knew when you'd decide to go out there. Or what you'd find."

  "Why didn't you just tell me? What did I care?"

  "Too much was at risk. The prince once said never to trust a topiwallah."

  Hawksworth laughed. "But surely Mukarrab Khan knew what you were doing?"

  "I think he probably guessed. But what could he do? He was only the governor, not Allah. He finally forbade me to go into the palace grounds alone. When I refused to obey, he thought of sending you to the observatory, just to annoy me." She smoothed the mane of her horse. "So I think he knew I was doing something there. But he was too entangled by his own intrigues for Janahara to really care."

  "Mukarrab Khan worked for the queen? How?"

  "Two ways. Naturally he gathered intelligence for her, mainly about the Portuguese. But he also collected her Portuguese revenues at the ports of Surat and Cambay."

  "Her revenues? I thought all duties went to the Moghul’s Imperial treasury."

  Shirin stifled a smile. "That's what Arangbar thinks too. And at Surat it's mostly true. She collects very little. Mirza Nuruddin despises her and always finds devious ways to muddle her accounts, probably keeping some of her money for himself. But the Shahbandar at the port of Cambay, where Mukarrab Khan used to go every two weeks, would accept bribes from the Portuguese to undervalue their goods, and then split the money with Mukarrab Khan and Janahara." She paused to watch a bright-winged bird dart past. "Arangbar could never understand why his revenue from Cambay was so low. I heard he's thinking about closing the port." She laughed. "If only he knew it's going mostly to Janahara."

  Hawksworth rode silently for a moment, thinking. "You know, Nadir Sharif once proposed the same arrangement for English goods, if I would trade with him personally through the port of Cambay. I ignored him. I suspected he planned to find some way to confiscate the goods later on, claiming nonpayment of duty."

  "No, on that I think Nadir Sharif would have been very fair. He always honors his agreements, with friend or foe." She looked ahead, her weary eyes brightening as they approached the first jumble of tents and roaming livestock that formed the edge of the camp. Servants in soiled dhotis were leading camels bearing huge baskets of fodder along the makeshift streets between the tents. "But their swindle will be finished when Prince Jadar becomes Moghul. He despises the Portuguese traders and their Christian priests."

  The perimeter of the compound reserved for Jadar and his zenana was clearly visible now, towering above the center of the camp. It was bordered by a ten-foot-high wall of billowing red chintz, decorated with a white hem at the top and held up with gilded poles spaced no more than two feet apart. Spreading out around it were clusters of smaller tents—red and white striped cloth for noblemen, and one­sided lean-to shelters ranging from brocade to ragged blankets for their troops.

  "The prince asked that we all ride directly to the gulal bar, his personal compound," Vasant Rao shouted back over his shoulder at Hawksworth. "I think he'll particularly want to see you, Captain."

  Cheers erupted as they entered the camp. Tents emptied and infantrymen lined the sides of the wide avenue leading to Jadar's compound, beating their swords against their leather shields. As Hawksworth studied the forest of flying standards spreading out on either side, he suddenly realized that each mansabdar nobleman was flying his own insignia above his cluster of tents.

  Ahead, rising upward from the center of Jadar's com­pound, was a pole some fifty feet high with a huge vessel of burning oil secured on its tip. Hawksworth examined the flame with astonishment, then drew his horse alongside Vasant Rao's.

  "Why's there a light in the middle of the camp? It can be seen for miles?"

  "That's called the akas-diya, Captain, the Light of Heaven. It's the Great Camp Light and it's used by everyone to keep their bearings at night. How else could a man find his tent? There are probably fifty thousand men here, with their women and servants. In the evenings, after all the cow-dung fires are lighted for cooking, it's so smoky here you can't see your own tent till you're practically in it."

  "This camp's a town almost the size of London. How do the people live?"

  "The camp bazaar travels with us, Captain. But you're right. It is a city; merely one that moves." He gestured around them. "The prince of course has his own personal supplies, but everyone else must shift for himself. See those small tents on the street over there, between those two high poles bearing standards. That's one of the bazaars for the banyas, Hindu merchants who follow the army and sell grain, oil, ghee, rice, dal, everything you'd find in any town. They feed the men. The horses are fed by sending servants out to gather fodder. They cut grass and bring it back on camels, or baggage ponies, or even on their own head. On a long campaign many of the men bring their women, to cook and carry water. The women have to bring water from any wells or streams nearby." He laughed. "Incidentally, I should warn you the prices these banyas ask are as inflated as the market will bear."

  "For once I can't fault the merchants. They may well be out of buyers soon."

  Vasant Rao snorted and whipped his horse ahead. They were approaching the entry to Jadar's compound, a wide silk awning with the prince's banners flying from atop its posts. On either side stood rows of ornate red t
ents with yellow fringe along the eaves. As Hawksworth rode by, he noticed a high open tent on the left holding caged hunting leopards. Next to it stood a massive canopy, surrounded by guards, sheltering light artillery. He squinted against the sun to look inside and caught a glimpse of several dozen small-bore cannon mounted on carriages. He also noticed swivel guns fitted with a harness on their base, obviously intended to be mounted atop elephants or camels. In the center were several stacks of long-barreled Indian muskets wrapped in cloth. The last tent on the left, adjacent to the gate, sheltered several gilded palanquins and a row of immaculate bullock carts for Jadar's zenana women.

  On the opposite side of the avenue was a row of stables for elephants, camels, and horses. Turbaned grooms were busy brushing the animals and fitting harness. Next to the stables were quarters for the animals' superintendents.

  "Does all this belong to Jadar?"

  "These are for the prince, his women, and guards. Each nobleman also has his own stables and light artillery. The top command is split three ways: with separate field commanders for the Rajputs, for the Muslims, for the men of Moghul descent." Vasant Rao smiled reflectively. "It's always wisest not to mix. For one thing, each needs its own bazaar; no Rajput would eat food handled by an un­touchable Muslim."

  Their horses drew into the shade of the awning above the entrance to the gulal bar. Vasant Rao and the other Rajputs reined in their mounts and began to dismount.

  "This is the naqqara-khana, Captain Hawksworth, the entry to His Highness' private compound." Vasant Rao waved toward the red awning. "Come. You'll be welcomed warmly by the prince, I promise you. I know he'd hoped you'd join him."

  Hawksworth swung down from his dark mare and stroked her one last time, wiping away the lather around the saddle. Then he turned to help Shirin alight. She leaned over and dropped into his arms, the sweat of exhaustion mingled with her perfume.

  Grooms from Jadar's stables were already waiting. As they took the horses, the leader of the Rajput riders shouted staccato orders to them in Urdu, the lingua franca of the camp, then turned and dismissed his men, who immediately swaggered into the gathering crowd to embrace old acquaintances.

  "His Highness is expecting you." Vasant Rao smiled and bowed lightly to the Rajput commander, who was tan and beardless save for a small moustache, with a white skirt, a small turban of braided gold cloth, and a velvet-sheathed katar in a red waist sash. The Rajput nodded, then adjusted his turban and retrieved a tightly wrapped brocade bundle from behind his saddle. As he led the way through the naqqara-khana, Vasant Rao turned and motioned for Hawksworth and Shirin to follow.

  Jadar's guards directed them along a pathway of carpets leading through the outer barbican. Ahead was another gate, decorated with striped chintz and sealed with a hanging tapestry. As they approached it, the guards swept the tapestry aside and ushered them through.

  The second compound was floored entirely with carpets and in its center stood an open, satin canopy held aloft by four gilded poles. The canopy shaded a rich Persian carpet and a throne fashioned from velvet bolsters. Several men with shoulder-high kettledrums and long brass trumpets were waiting nearby.

  As Hawksworth watched, two eunuchs emerged through a curtain at the far gate and lifted it high. While a fanfare of drums and trumpets filled the air, Prince Jadar strolled jauntily through the entryway, alone.

  He was dressed formally, with an elaborate silk cloak in pastel blue and a jeweled turban that reminded Hawksworth of the one worn by the Moghul himself. The brocade sash at his waist held a heavy katar with a ruby on each side of the handle. His beard was close-trimmed, accenting his dark eyes. Nothing about him suggested the appearance of a man facing impending defeat.

  "Nimaste, Mahdu, my old friend." Jadar walked directly to the Rajput commander, grasped the man's turban and pressed it to his own breast. "How long since we sat together and ate your Udaipur lapsi from the same dish?"

  "The New Year's festival of diwali two years past, Highness. In my brother's palace. And I wore the gold cloak you gave me in honor of the treaty between your armies and his, five years before."

  "And tonight we will dine together again." He smiled. "If my cooks can find enough cane-juice gur in all the bazaars to sweeten your lapsi."

  "Seeing you again, Highness, sweetens my tongue already." He bowed and produced the brocade bundle. "My brother, the maharana, sends this unworthy token, together with his prayers for your victory."

  A eunuch stepped forward and brought it to Jadar. When the prince opened the wrapping, a scabbard holding a jewel-handled sword glistened in the mid morning light.

  "He does me honor. A Rajput blade knows its friends and its foes." Jadar smiled as he brushed the sword handle. Next he drew out the blade and tested its edge with his finger. The Rajput watched as Jadar sheathed the sword, then lifted the ruby-studded katar from his own belt. "To honor him, I grant his brother my own katar. May its blade soon be crimson with the blood of his foes."

  The Rajput bowed as he received the knife. Jadar admired his new sword a moment longer, then continued. "How many of our friends rode west with you?"

  "Half a thousand, Highness. More would have joined us now, but I thought it unwise. Your Highness will understand why. But those who did come I picked carefully. Twenty officers of superior class, and the rest first and second class."

  "The eunuchs watched your banners enter the camp. I've already heard some of the names." The prince's voice rose. "I think you've gutted the Rajput field command in the Imperial army."

  "Not entirely, Highness."

  "Ah, but I know you did." Jadar smiled and leaned forward, dropping his voice again and switching from Turki to Rajasthani. "The tent poles here can repeat my words." He drew himself erect again and signaled for a tray of pan leaves from the eunuchs. "A tent has been prepared for you. Tonight we will dine again from the same dish and you can tell me how many white-necked cranes you bagged on Pichola Lake last winter."

  The Rajput clasped his hands together and bowed lightly before taking a pan leaf. "Tonight, Highness."

  As Mahdu marched regally back through the entryway, Jadar turned and studied Shirin thoughtfully for a moment. Then he motioned her forward and smiled toward Vasant Rao. "And who else did you bring? Yet another old friend?"

  Shirin salaamed lightly. "I thank Your Highness for still remembering me."

  "I remember you very well. But the last I'd heard, Janahara had ordered you imprisoned. I'm astonished to see you still alive."

  "I was released by Arangbar, Highness, after Samad was executed." She tried unsuccessfully to diguise the fatigue in her voice. "I still do not know why."

  "Perhaps it was his weakness for beauty." Jadar smiled. "But just now I think you need rest. Mumtaz has asked me to invite you to stay with her in the zenana.”

  "Shirin stays with me." Hawksworth heard his own voice, abruptly rising above his exhaustion.

  Jadar turned and studied him for a moment, then laughed out loud. "Suddenly I understand many, many things. Mumtaz was right after all. Why is it women always seem to see these things so clearly?" His gaze swept Hawksworth's tattered jerkin. "Well? How are you, Captain Hawksworth? Still alive, I see, just as I foretold. And still the fashionable English ambassador."

  "There is no other. Unfortunately, however, my mission was not a complete success."

  "First, India must have a just rule. Then trade can be conducted with an even hand." Jadar leaned back on his bolster. "Tell me, Captain, have you seen enough of Agra and court intrigue to rethink the matter we once discussed?"

  "I've probably seen all of Agra I'll ever see." Hawksworth fixed Jadar squarely. "But then I'll have much company."

  Jadar sobered and regarded Hawksworth a moment in silence.

  "I see time still has not mellowed you. Or taught you very much. Do you understand anything at all of land tactics, Sea Captain Hawksworth?"

  "I've never claimed to. But I can count infantry."

  Jadar laughed again.
"You still amuse me, Captain. I'll never know why. It saddens me there'll be so few occasions for us to pass the time together during the next few days. But at least let me show you around my compound. You'll see the next Moghul of India does not campaign entirely like a destitute Arab."

  "Why don't we start with your fortifications?"

  Jadar roared as he lifted nimbly from his bolster throne and walked into the sunshine. Then he paused and turned to Shirin. "Join us if you wish. And by the way, where've you decided to stay?"

  Shirin looked at Hawksworth for a moment, and their eyes locked. Then he saw a smile flicker across her face. "I'll stay with the English ambassador, Highness."

  "As you wish." Jadar's tone was wistful. "I no longer try to reason with the mind of a woman. But just let me caution you. If you stay among the Muslims here, their women will spit on you unless you put on a veil. They've never heard of Persia."

  "Then we'll stay with the Rajputs." Shirin tossed her head and followed along as Jadar led them through a side exit in the interior chintz wall and into the outer perimeter of the compound. The kettledrums thundered Jadar's exit.

  "This side is for food, Captain." Jadar gestured toward a row of ornate tents that lined the inside of the chintz walls. "The first is for fruit and melons. No man can campaign without them, particularly if he has a hungry zenana. The tent over there is for making sharbat, and that one is for keeping betel leaves to make pan." Jadar smiled. "Try denying a woman her betel and you'll have nothing but squabbles." He led them on, pointing, as he walked. "The large tent there is the kitchen, the one beyond it the bakery, and the one past that for grinding spices."

  Hawksworth found himself astonished. Who could lead an army amid such extravagance? The tents were all red satin, with gilded poles around the outside, giving them the appearance of luxurious pavilions. Some, like the one for fruits and melons, were raised on a platform above the ground, while others were two-story, with an interior stair. As he watched the servants scurry from tent to tent bearing silver trays, he found it difficult to remember a war was looming.

  "You'll soon discover traveling with women is always burdensome, Captain. For example, on the other side of the gulal bar I've had to erect a special tent just for their perfumes, another for their tailors, another to hold their wardrobes. Then there's a tent for mattresses, one for basins, and one for lamps and oil. These women rule my life. The things I really need—workshops, guardhouses, my arsenal— I've had to situate back behind the zenana, near where the servingwomen stay." Jadar paused, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Well, what do you think?"

  "I think an army camp should have fewer women and more men."

  Jadar laughed and looked pointedly at Shirin. "But what is life without women, Captain?"

  "Wives don't travel with an army in Europe."

  "Then Europe could learn something from India."

  "About fighting or about women?"

  "Before you're through you may learn a few thing about both." Jadar turned and started back down the row of tents. "War here is very different from wars on the seas, Captain. You should see my men fight before you judge them. But my question now is whether you know how to fight well enough to be of any help. Tell me, can you handle a bow?"

  "Armies don't use bows in England any more. I've certainly never used one. I think the last time bows were issued for battle was back around the time of the Spanish Armada, about thirty years ago. Some of the local forces in Devonshire equipped eight hundred men with longbows."

  Jadar paused uncertainly. "What do you mean by 'longbow'?"

  "It's a bow about five feet in length. The best ones are made of yew, but they're also made from ash and elm."

  "You mean your bows are made entirely from wood?" Jadar's voice betrayed his skepticism. "What weight did they pull?"

  "I don't know exactly, but they were powerful enough. You can draw a longbow all the way back to your ear. During the time of King Harry it was forbidden to practice with a longbow using a range less than a full furlong. The English longbow drove the crossbow right out of Europe. I've heard it said a longbow can pierce a four-inch-thick oak door."

  "But you don't use them now?"

  "We prefer muskets."

  He seemed to ponder the answer as he led them back into his carpeted reception area. He took his place beneath the canopy, then turned to Hawksworth.

  "We use muskets too. But frankly they're often more trouble than they're worth. They're cumbersome and inaccurate, and while you're reloading and priming your matchlock a Rajput archer will put half a dozen arrows through you. Infantry here normally is one-third matchlock men and two-thirds archers. If you're going to be any help to us, Captain, you'll need to learn to use a bow."

  Jadar stopped and turned to look at Shirin. Her eyes were fluttering with fatigue. "But I forget my manners. You must have some rest while we teach the feringhi how to fight. Perhaps the best thing would be to clear a tent for you at the rear of the gulal bar, near the workshops. And the English captain can stay there too," Jadar laughed. "So I can watch him practice his bow." He glanced back at Hawksworth and his eyes froze on the pearl earring. "I see you're a khan now, as well as an ambassador. Congratulations. If Arangbar can make you a khan, I can surely make you an archer."

  Jadar motioned to the eunuchs, who came forward and escorted Shirin through the rear doorway of the compound. Hawksworth was watching her leave, praying for sleep himself, when Jadar's voice brought him back.

  "Let me begin by explaining our Indian bow to you, Captain. I think it's probably quite different from the English bow you described." Jadar turned to Vasant Rao and motioned toward his quiver, a flat leather case hanging from a strap over one shoulder. It was covered with gold embossing and held both his bow and his arrows. "You know we have a proverb: the sword is better than the katar, the spear is better than the sword; the arrow better than the spear. I've heard Muslims claim the bow and arrow were first given to Adam by the archangel Gabriel." Jadar paused while Vasant Rao took out his bow and passed it over. "Now, the first thing you need to learn is how to string this. It's more difficult than you might suppose, since a bow is reflexed, curved back around the opposite way when unstrung. It's stressed against the strung position to give it more weight on the pull." Jadar examined the bow for a moment. "In fact, you can tell how much use a bow has had by the way it's bent when unstrung. The original curve in this bow is almost gone, which means it's had a lot of use. Here hold it for a moment."

  Hawksworth grasped the bow in his hand. It was some four feet long, shaped in a wide curve with the ends bent back. The grip was velvet, with a gold-embossed design on the inner side.

  "You say your English bows are made of wood, but I find that difficult to believe. This one is a composite, a mango-wood core with strips of buffalo horn glued over the outside. And the outer curve is lined with catgut to give it even more force. That's why this bow had to be sealed on the outside with leather. We use leather or lacquer to protect the glue from the dampness of the monsoon. The string, by the way, is a silk skein with a crisscross binding at the center."

  "How do you string it?"

  Jadar grinned as he took back the bow. "It's not easy. If you have to string a bow while riding, you hook one end between the stirrup and the instep of your foot and brace it backward against your knee. But usually we bend it over our back." He took the string in his hand and slipped the bow around his waist. Then he flipped it against his back and pulled its free end over his left shoulder, inverting the curve and hooking the string in a single motion. It was done in an instant.

  "There. But I've made it look easier than it is. You should practice. And it would also be well if you could learn to string a bow and shoot from horseback."

  "Horseback!"

  "All horsemen use a bow."

  "How can you possibly hit anything from horseback?"

  "Practice. A good Rajput archer can shoot as well from horseback as standing. The Uzbeks shoot better." As Jadar spoke
he was extracting a heavy ring from inside his cloak. One side of the ring was a green emerald, flat and square and half an inch wide.

  "This is a zihgir, a bow ring, to protect your thumb when you draw. It also increases your range."

  He pushed the emerald ring over his thumb, notched an arrow into the string, and drew it back effortlessly, holding the thin bamboo arrow in position with a touch of his forefinger. The whole sequence had taken less than a second. Hawksworth found himself staring in admiration.

  "By the way," Jadar turned to Vasant Rao, "show him how you shoot under a shield."

  The Rajput turned to one of Jadar's guards, whose shield was hanging loosely from a shoulder strap. He took the shield and slipped it onto his wrist. It was circular, a quarter inch thick and about two feet in diameter, and curved like a wide bowl. The front was figured with a silver ensign and in the center were four steel nailheads, which secured the handgrips on the back.

  "That shield's one of the best. It's made with cured rhino hide and toughened with lacquer. You hold it by those two straps attached inside, there in the center." Jadar pointed as Vasant Rao held out the back of the shield. "Notice the straps are large and loose. So when you want to shoot, you can slip your hand through and slide the shield up your wrist, like he's doing now. Then your hand extends out beyond the rim and you can hold the grip of the bow. But remember you'll have no protection when shooting, so you'll learn to shoot fast or you won't live long in a battle. Here, try the shield."

  Hawksworth took the shield and gripped the leather thongs on the back. "It's light. How much protection does it give?"

  "A buffalo-hide shield is really only effective against arrows, but a rhino-hide shield like this one will usually deflect musket fire. We'll find a rhino shield for you somewhere." Jadar rose to leave. "Incidentally, after seeing how you handle that bow, I think I'd better assign you to the guards stationed back with the zenana. That should keep you well out of the battle. I don't want my first English ambassador dead just yet." He fingered his long pearl necklace and studied Hawksworth. "You may be interested to know my reports say the Imperial army will reach us in two days. Tomorrow I plan to poison all the tanks and water wells within twenty kos east of here, forcing them to attack immediately. I hope you'll be ready."

  He turned and was gone.