The first rays of sun struck the hard ocher sandstone of the Red Fort's east wall and suddenly it glowed like an inflamed ruby, throwing its warmth across the face of the Jamuna River. Moments later the heightening sun illuminated the rooftops of Agra, a sea of red tile and thatch that spread out in a wide arc west of the fort. Agra, the capital of Moghul India, was one of the great cities of the East. It was home to over half a million, more than lived in any capital of Europe, and some said a man on horseback could scarcely circle it in a day. Yet most of the city was far from grand. It was a jumble of two-story brick and tile merchant houses, clay-faced homes of Hindu tradesmen, and a spreading sea of mud and thatch one-room hovels that sheltered the rest. But along the river on either side of the Red Fort had been created a different world. There glistened the mansions of Moghul grandees like Nadir Sharif, magical and remote, behind whose walls lay spacious gardens cooled by marble fountains and gilded rooms filled with carpets from Persia, porcelains from China, imported crystal from Venice. Their _zenanas_ thronging with exquisite, dark-eyed women, and their tapestried halls with hosts of slaves and eunuchs. Nadir Sharif inhaled the clean air of morning and surveyed the palaces on either side along the riverbank. They were all sumptuous, but none more than his own. A vainer man might have swelled with pride at such a moment, but Nadir Sharif knew from years of court experience that vanity always led, inevitably, to excess, and finally to debt and ruin. To keep one's place, he often told himself, one must know it. He also knew that to hold one's ground, one must know when to shift. His reverie was abruptly dispelled by the noise of shuffling feet, and then a hesitant voice. "A man is at the outer gate, Sharif Sahib, asking to see you." Nadir Sharif turned to see the eunuch's spotless white turban bowing toward him. He flared inwardly that his orders for absolute privacy had been ignored, and then, as always, he waited a few seconds for composure before speaking. "I'm too ill to receive. Have you already forgotten my orders?" "Forgive me, Sharif Sahib." The eunuch bowed ever lower and raised his clasped palms in involuntary supplication. "He has demanded an audience. He claimed he has arrived last night from the Deccan. He was with the prince . . ." Nadir Sharifs body tensed perceptibly. "What name did he give?" "A Rajput name, Sharif Sahib. He said he was requested by Her Highness, the princess, to report to you immediately on arriving." Nadir Sharifs heart skipped a beat. Does this mean the English _feringhi_ has arrived? Allah! On this of all days. "Tell him I am at home." The voice was coolly matter-of-fact.