"It's auspicious, Inglish, if his first sight of his bride is in a mirror. I have not seen her before either." Arangbar examined her for a moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif. "What do you think? Should I buy him another one for his bed?"
"She's a goddess of beauty, Majesty. Inspiration for a poet."
"Is that what you think?" Arangbar sipped pensively from his cup. "Well, perhaps it's true. We'll discover soon enough if she inspires her groom."
The guests watched as Allaudin and Layla were helped into a large palanquin. In moments their procession was winding out of the palace, followed by Layla's household silver, to a great fanfare of drums and trumpets and the shouts of servants.
"Peace on the Prophet!"
"There is no nobility but the nobility of Mohammed!"
"Allah be with Him, the noblest, the purest, the highest!"
Hawksworth settled back against his bolster and realized groggily that it was already past two o'clock in the morning.
When the wedding procession had disappeared from view, the jubilant servants immediately turned to preparations for the banquet.
"Sometimes life can be sweet, Inglish." Arangbar leaned back against a bolster and pinched Janahara's hand. "I think he should have more wives. You know there's a saying in India: 'A man should have four wives: A Persian to have someone to talk to; a Khurasani to keep his house; a big-breasted Hindu from the South to nurse his children; and a Bengali to whip, as a warning to the other three.' So far he has only the Persian."