"Hats are not to my taste, may it please Your Majesty." Hawksworth bowed again and then continued. "His Majesty, King James of England, also has asked me to deliver a portrait of himself to Your Majesty, together with letter expressing his desire for friendship between your land and his." Hawksworth produced a small framed watercolor from the wooden chest. It was a miniature on vellum, scarcely more than an inch square, by Isaac Oliver, a celebrated artist from the school of Nicholas Hilliard, who had been fashionable under Queen Elizabeth. While Arangbar examined the painting, scrutinizing the workmanship as might a connoisseur, Hawksworth reached into his doublet and withdrew the letter. It was passed to Nadir Sharif, who presented it to Arangbar. The Moghul reluctantly handed the portrait to Allaudin, then inspected the leather binding of the letter. Finally he broke the red wax seal and began to study the writing, a quizzical expression spreading over his face. "The seal and script are worthy of a king. But it is in a language of Europe." "There are two copies, Your Majesty. One in English, the language of my king, and one in Spanish, a language something like the Portugals speak." "Then we will have Father Sarmento translate." Sarmento moved to the silver railing and took the leatherbound letter with a distasteful expression. He examined it for a moment and then began to read it silently, the color slowly draining from his face. "What message does your king send, Ambassador?" "His admiration for Your Majesty, whose reputation has reached even Europe. And his offer of full and open trade between your nation and his." "The letter is basely penned, Your Majesty." Sarmento's face was red with dismay as he turned to Arangbar. "Its style is unworthy of a great prince." Arangbar examined the Jesuit with a troubled gaze and shifted on his throne. "May it please Your Majesty, this man is the enemy of England." Hawksworth pointed at Sarmento. "How can my king's letter be ill- penned, when he entreats Your Majesty's friendship?" Arangbar paused a moment and then he smiled broadly. "A reasonable reply. The Inglish, I see, are a blunt-spoken race." He glanced at Sarmento. "And we have already seen their seamanship." "Your words honor my king, Your Majesty." Hawksworth found himself bowing again and wondering how to respond. "We would hear more of England. Is it large?" "Not nearly as large as India, Your Majesty. It is an island, but the queen of all the islands of the West." "It is a rocky, barren speck in the great seas of Europe, Your Majesty," Sarmento interjected himself, straining to hold his composure. "A breeder of drunken fishermen and pirates. Its king is a heretic, a sovereign of lawless privateers and an enemy of the Holy Church."