"Yes, she will 'serve' you, Ambassador. Or we will have her head. If she would amuse you, she's yours."
Kamala's look met Hawksworth's. It was strangely without emotion.
Then Arangbar suddenly remembered Kamala's defiance and turned to study her again with half-closed eyes.
"But not this one. It must be the other one you want. This one will be hanged tonight, in a room far beneath the zenana. After she has answered for her words. Tomorrow her carcass will pollute the Jamuna. A man in her place would already be dead."
"May it please Your Majesty, it would satisfy me even more to have this one." Hawksworth paused. "Perhaps it's what the English call honor. We both know I did not win our wager fairly. Only by taking something of no value, like this woman, could I maintain my honor, and my king's."
"You are persuasive, Inglish, and I am drunk. But not too drunk to suspect you've taken a fancy to this infidel. But if you prefer her to the other, then so be it. We offered you whatever you wished. She's yours. But never let her be seen on the streets of Agra again. We will have her cut down."
"As please Your Majesty."
"It's done." Arangbar turned to Nadir Sharif. "Is it true you've found a house for the Inglish?"
"I have, Your Majesty."
"Then send her there." He turned to Hawksworth. "Allah protect you from these infidel Hindus, Inglish. They have none of your Inglish honor."