Akbar raised his expressive, fine dark eyes heavenward. “Let me guess,” he said, somewhat wryly. “Several just passable horses, a few second-rate fighting elephants, at least one brace of moth-eaten hunting cats, another painting of some Christian saint or martyr,anda pouch of inferior gemstones.” He sighed deeply. “Whydothe Portuguese insist on sending me bad fighting elephants and worse gemstones, Ramesh? They have absolutely no taste in either. Am I right, old friend?”
Ramesh, the lord high steward, smiled affectionately at his master. “You are correct, Most High, but this time the Portuguese have added two additional gifts. One should please you, but as for the other …” He shrugged.
“There is more?” Akbar was surprised, for Portuguese generosity toward him was generally scant. The Portuguese were far more interested in what they could take from India than in what they could give to it. “Well, Ramesh,” he said, “what have the Portuguese added to their caravan of delights this time to please and amuse this barbarian king?”
“What will please you, Most High, is a jeweled clock that chimes the hour,” was the lord high steward’s reply.
Akbar’s eyes lit with pleasure, for he very much enjoyed mechanical objects.“And?”he queried.
Ramesh’s face grew concerned. “The Portuguese have sent you a woman, Most High.”
“A woman?”The emperor was astounded. “Do the Portuguese think my zenana is not full enough?” Then he grew curious. “What kind of a woman, Ramesh? Have they sent me one of their dwarfs for my amusement or perhaps some other female freak of nature?”
“I think she is a European, Most High. She is certainly not of our land or from Cathay,” the lord high steward replied.
“What frets you about her, Ramesh?”
The lord high steward hesitated a moment, and then said, “I believe that the Portuguese meant to please you, but this woman is, I am absolutely convinced, stark, raving mad. I question that she has not been sent here to assassinate Your Majesty, and I fear for your safety.”
Akbar’s interest was piqued, and he found that he was much less bored. During this whole afternoon in the oppressive heat of the monsoon season he had sat patiently listening to various, long-winded complaints from his subjects and mediating delicate disputes between the many fiery factions, both religious and political, that made up his realm. He needed a diversion, and here, at last, was something different.
“Have the woman brought to me,” he commanded. “I would see her now.”
“My lord,” protested Ramesh, “I fear for you, and, besides, I promise you she is like the gemstones and the elephants, nothing special. Her skin is very white but for her hands, face, and feet, which have been sunburned in the trek from the coast. The Portuguese governor did not even think enough of her to provide her with an elephant or a camel or even a simple litter. I cannot make out the color of her hair because it is so dirty—I suspect it is filled with lice and fleas. Her eyes seem to be of a light hue. I have never seen anything like them before. She is an ugly creature. Let me send her to the kitchens. Perhaps they can make use of her.”
Akbar laughed. “I cannot send a gift from the Portuguese to the kitchens,” he said. “At the very least I must see her, and then she shall be sent to my zenana. Now stop fussing like an old woman, Ramesh, and bring me this female!”
The khan-i-saman signaled to one of his underlings, who hurried from the audience chamber. A few moments later an unearthly shriek rent the air, startling all within the steaming chamber. They could hear a woman’s voice angrily raging, a sound that drew nearer and nearer until the double doors to the audience chamber burst open and two servants dragged in a naked, struggling creature who screamed and fought them wildly, her heavy, lank hair thrashing about her body.
“Take your filthy hands from me, you evil baboons!” she angrily shouted, but they no more understood her protests than she comprehended their sharp commands.
“Kneel, woman! You are in the presence of the emperor!” They attempted to force her to her knees, but the woman, in a most surprising maneuver, broke free and, snatching a cape from one of the servants who was trying to restrain her, attempted to cover her nudity. Then with her bare foot she kicked out at the other servant, catching him in a most vulnerable and tender spot.
“Arrrrgh!” cried the wounded one, falling to the floor and clutching at himself.
In the chaos that followed the woman bent and swiftly relieved her victim of his dagger, then, turning, she backed quickly into a corner, pointing the weapon outward toward her tormentors.
“Come near me, any of you, and I swear I’ll kill you!” she threatened.
“Aiyee!” wailed the khan-i-saman, rolling his head from side to side. “I knew this creature would bring disaster upon us all! She has the evil eye, I am sure! Call out the guard lest she harm the emperor!”
“Remain in your places, all of you!” Akbar sharply commanded. “Can none of you see? The woman is terrified.” He himself felt no fear. Watching the drama unfolding before him, he found he was rather fascinated and curious as to what the woman looked like beneath her many layers of dirt. He had never seen a European woman before, and he couldn’t tell a great deal at the moment about the filthy, crouching female. “Has anyone tried to speak reasonably with her?” he asked.
“No one can understand her barbarian tongue, Most High,” quavered Ramesh.
“How like the Portuguese not to teach her even a few words of our language,” murmured the emperor. “But then, knowing their lack of subtlety of intellect, they probably assumed the simple Mughal would find no need to speak with the woman. He would simply fall upon her and sate his lust.”
“Do you think she is Portuguese?” wondered Ramesh.
Akbar shook his head. “It is doubtful they would send one of their own women to me,” he said.
“The holy fathers taught you their tongues, Most High. Could you not speak to this woman in them?”
“Yes, my old friend,” said the emperor. “I have learned two languages from the holy fathers. If this woman understands one of them, then perhaps we can calm her fears.”
“What can she possibly be afraid of?” fussed the lord high steward in a somewhat aggrieved tone of voice. “This is a civilized land. Our cultures—Moslem, Buddhist, even Hindu with its caste system—are ancient and venerable. Older, in many instances, than the Europeans, and certainly more civilized.
Akbar smiled. “Yes,” he agreed, “but do the Europeans know it, Ramesh?” He turned to the woman who was still crouched defensively in her corner. None of the others had noticed, but he could see that she was trembling slightly. Still, she gave no other indication of her fear and that intrigued him. Although he knew of brave women by reputation, he had never before faced one. Her eyes—intelligent eyes, he noted—had been following the conversation between himself and Ramesh as she attempted to ascertain some indication of her fate.
