Before Hawksworth could reply, Nadir Sharif stepped forward and bent toward Arangbar.
"If I may be allowed to suggest, Your Majesty, the feringhi needs a woman. Give him this dancer. Let him amuse himself with her until you can find a suitable wife for him."
Arangbar looked toward Hawksworth with glazed eyes. It was obvious he had already forgotten about Kamala.
"The Kathak dancer who was here? She was excellent. Yes, that would be perfect."
"Your Majesty of course means the woman standing here now." Nadir Sharif directed Arangbar's groggy gaze toward Kamala, who stood mutely, eyes flashing.
"There she is. Of course. What do you say to her, Inglish?"
Hawksworth was astounded by Nadir Sharifs quickness of wit. He's saved the woman. He's a genius. Of course I'll take her. Good Jesus, there's been enough bloodshed today.
"The woman would be the gift of a great prince, Your Majesty."
"So there's manhood about you after all, Inglish. I had begun to think you were like your king." Arangbar laughed in delight. "So it's a woman you would have, Ambassador? Merciful Allah, I have too many now. Perhaps you would like two. I recall there's an Armenian Christian somewhere in the zenana. Perhaps several. They're said to be as lusty as the Portuguese harlots in Goa." He choked for a moment on laughter. "Let me summon the eunuchs."
"This one will do for now, Your Majesty." Think how to phrase this. "Merely to serve me."