‘Even if they acknowledge their error, their earthly bodies are still consigned to the flames to cleanse their souls of sin and make them worthy to enter the kingdom of heaven.’
‘How do you persuade men to change their beliefs? By debate, such as we are having here?’
The fathers exchanged glances. ‘Indeed, we use force of argument to bring stray sheep back to the fold, but regrettably we must sometimes also employ physical force.’
‘My scholars have read to me of such things — of devices for stretching the body of a man until his joints leap from their sockets, of a great wheel on which men are spread-eagled naked and beaten with iron bars until the marrow spurts from their bones, of knotted ropes twisted tight against men’s eyes until their eyeballs burst. .’
‘Sometimes it is necessary, Majesty. The torment of a few hours is nothing compared to the red-hot fires of eternal hell.’
‘You torture women and children as well as men?’
‘The devil casts a wide net, Majesty. Women are especially weak vessels, and tender years are no protection.’
‘But how can you be sure that the tortured have truly repented and are not dissimulating to make their torments cease?’
‘Our Catholic Inquisitors are skilled in such matters, Majesty, just as your investigators are. Only last week I saw two suspected thieves being buried up to their arms in hot sand to make them confess to their misdeeds. I see no difference.’
‘The difference lies in whether a crime has been committed. In the case of the thieves, undoubtedly a felony had taken place and the magistrates were attempting to discover the truth. But does one religion have the right to force its opinions on another? Isn’t that the question we should be addressing? In my realms, I do not distinguish between men because of their religion. My advisers, my commanders and even my wives are not all of my own faith.’
The Jesuits looked grave and Salim could see Shaikh Ahmad vigorously shaking his head and muttering something to another of the
‘Let us extend our enquiry. .’ Akbar continued, seemingly content that the import of his words had sunk in. ‘You have told me your beliefs, but let us now hear from one of these Protestants you were speaking of with such disdain. . I wish to question the Englishman John Newberry. One of my scholars, a Turk, knows his language and can translate.’
The red-headed Englishman looked as confident as a turkey cock and about as truculent, Salim thought, as he strutted forward, the Turkish interpreter by his side.
‘What is your religion, John Newberry? Tell the assembled people just as you have told me in private.’
The merchant muttered a few words to the Turk who began to translate in a somewhat hesitant voice. ‘I am English and a Protestant and proud to be both.’
‘You told me that your queen is the head of your religion. Explain to us how that came about.’
Again more whispering between Newberry and the Turk, but the interpreter seemed to be gaining in confidence and, though having to pause every few seconds for fresh information, was soon able to keep up a smooth commentary. ‘When he was very young, Her Majesty’s father, our great King Henry, married a princess who had once been betrothed to his brother. However, as the years passed and she bore him only one surviving child — a daughter — he realised that by wedding his brother’s affianced bride he had sinned in the eyes of God. He sought to remedy the ill by divorcing her but the Pope — whom these Jesuits revere so much — refused to allow it. Our king decided that he could not permit such interference in the governing of his kingdom. He declared himself the head of the church in England, divorced his wife and married the woman who gave birth to our present great and blessed queen, Elizabeth.’
‘You have told me your religion allows a man only one wife, but I have heard that this King of England, Henry, took six wives. How? Are there different rules for a king in your country?’
‘No, Majesty. Our queen’s mother was found guilty of adultery — it was even said she was a witch — and executed. The king married yet again but his third queen died when her son was not two weeks old. He divorced his fourth wife — a foreign princess — because she did not please his eye. His fifth wife — young and beautiful but sadly not virtuous — also fell into the snare of adultery and was beheaded on his orders. But the king’s sixth and final wife, a modest matron, outlived him.’
‘Your king might have saved himself some trouble had he followed our path and taken more than one wife at a time. And it seems he did not guard his
‘Tell me about your queen, John Newberry. Are the men of your country content to be ruled by a woman?’
‘She is loved by our people because she protects us from the Catholic menace and keeps us free.’
‘Has she no husband?’
‘She glories in being a virgin. Many foreign princes have wooed her but she says England is her bridegroom.’
‘Is she beautiful?’
‘She is more than beautiful — she is glorious.’
Salim saw Father Antonio whispering urgently into Father Francisco’s ear and after a few moments the latter stepped forward. ‘If I might speak, Majesty,’ he said in his smooth court Persian. ‘You are in danger of being misled by this merchant. This queen of England was born of a sinful union between a king inflamed by lust and a proven whore. This Elizabeth is not the legitimate ruler of her country — which by rights should be ruled by the Catholic King of Spain — but a bastard heretic leading her country to eternal damnation. Our master the Pope in Rome has cast her out and she will burn for ever.’
The Turk was translating all this for Newberry, whose already crimson countenance was darkening as he took in what the priest had said, but Salim saw that Akbar was starting to look bored. His father enjoyed philosophical debate rather than the trading of insults, and Salim was not surprised when he rose abruptly.
‘Enough. We will resume our enquiries another day,’ he said, and swept from the chamber.
It was a perfect autumn day. Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage of the forest as the beaters advanced, banging their gongs and shouting to drive the game ahead of them. Salim enjoyed the rhythmic motion as the elephant bearing him and his three attendants plodded on. Some ten yards ahead he could see his father’s elephant, Lakna, left hind leg scored by the claws of a male tiger many years earlier. Lakna was Akbar’s favourite hunting elephant. He had captured him himself, while still a youth, from a herd of wild elephants, then tamed him.
Salim had watched his father fearlessly break other elephants. It was a dangerous business requiring two men, each perched on a tame elephant on either side of the wild beast. Once in position, their task was to fling a noose of stout rope round the neck of the wild elephant and secure it to the neck of their own mount. Then, by progressively tightening the noose, they were able gradually to calm the beast and bring it under control. Salim had seen many good men killed during the process. It was easy to fall off and what chance did a man have beneath the feet of an enraged elephant? Several times he had heard the sickening squelch of a body trampled beneath a heavy grey foot. Even after the initial subduing, months of hard work remained, training the beast to advance to order by throwing fodder down on the ground before it. But Lakna had served Akbar well, and amply repaid the time he had spent.
The temperature was rising and a bead of salty sweat ran into the corner of Salim’s mouth. He flicked it away with the tip of his tongue. Soon the circle of beaters, who had been closing in since dawn, would be tight enough and the hunt would begin. Glancing over his shoulder he saw his
The brief shadow that fell on Salim’s spirits as he watched his father’s elephant advance into a particularly thickly wooded part of the forest passed quickly. He must continue to do as Shaikh Salim Chishti had told him —