"You did not perform the teslim." Vasant Rao turned to Hawksworth with dismay in his voice. "He may have taken note of it. That was unwise, my friend."
"An ambassador for a king doesn't prostrate himself."
"You're new to India. That may be taken as an excuse. The other ambassadors here know better."
As they watched, three other men slowly emerged from behind the throne and took their places on the marble platform, standing beside the Moghul. They all wore jeweled turbans and each had a sash of gold cloth about the waist. Hawksworth turned to Vasant Rao in time to see a look of hatred flash through his eyes.
"Who are they?"
"The two younger men are his sons. I saw them once before in Agra. It's traditional that his sons join him at the durbar when they are here. The younger one is Allaudin. He will be married next month to Queen Janahara's daughter. The other one is his drunken brother Parwaz. The older man is Zainul Beg, the Moghurs wazir, his chief counsel. He's the father of Nadir Sharif, the prime minister, and he's also the father of Queen Janahara."
Hawksworth watched as yet another man emerged through the curtain, walked casually past the throne, and was helped onto the marble platform directly in front. He turned to the silver rail, where a dozen petitions were immediately thrust up to him.
Vasant Rao nudged Hawksworth and pointed. "And that's Nadir Sharif, the prime minister. Remember him well. No one reaches the Moghul without his consent."
The prime minister paused to study the faces below, and then reached out for a petition. He unrolled it, scanned it quickly, and turned to Arangbar, passing it upward with a comment only those by the throne could hear. The business of the day was underway.
Arangbar listened with obvious boredom as one petition after another was set before him. He held counsel with his sons and with the wazir, and frequently he would turn to the marble screen off the right side of the throne and discuss a petition with someone waiting behind it.