"The ambassador has already tasted our Persian wine. How do you find it, Ambassador . . . Khaw . . . ?" He stumbled over the name. "Wait. The first thing we must do is rename you. Henceforth we will call you 'Inglish.' Now, have we pronounced that properly?"
"Perfectly, Your Majesty. And, so please Your Majesty, the wine is excellent, though perhaps not as sweet as the wines of Europe."
"Every feringhi says the same, Inglish. But we will civilize you. And also teach you something about painting." He seized a glass of wine from a waiting eunuch and then shouted to Nadir Sharif, who had entered moments before from the back. "Where are my five paintings?"
"I'm told they will be ready before Your Majesty retires. The painters are still hard at work, so please Your Majesty."
"It does not please me, but then I have no wager." He roared with amusement. "Your stables will be reduced by a prize stallion come morning if the paintings are not ready soon. Look to it."
As Nadir Sharif bowed in acknowledgment, Arangbar whirled to Hawksworth.
"Tell me something about your king, Inglish? How many wives does he have? We have hundreds."
"He has but one, Your Majesty, and I believe she is mostly for show. King James prefers the company of young men."
"Very like most Christians I've met. And you, Inglish. Have you any wives?" Arangbar had already finished his first glass of wine and taken a second.
"I have none, Your Majesty."