THE GREAT HALL gleamed with light from hundreds of candles. The flames reflected in the jeweled turbans of Shah Abbas’s guests, highlighting gold and silver threads in robes of brocade and silk. A sonorous voice reading Sa’adi’s poetry filled the hushed hall. At last the poem concluded:
Thou who art indifferentto other men’s afflictions,If they call thee a man,art unworthy of the name.
After a moment of silence, Shah Abbas rose, saying, “We thank you!” A sigh whispered among the courtiers, and soft music of flute and lute began as dancing girls wove among the guests. Their black braids nearly swept the floor as they swirled around the court, and their long, full skirts brushed the tops of their soft, heeled boots. Servants in brocade tunics passed trays of hot tea.
“Sir Robert!” commanded the Shah, stroking his magnificent black mustache.
A young Englishman stood nearby, richly attired in black velvet trunk hose with slashes of scarlet silk. He ran forward and bowed low.
“We were to discuss the progress of cannon construction and practice,” said the Shah, “but we will postpone that until morning. Our enemies can thank Allah for one night of respite. The hour grows late, and tonight we must see to other matters.”
Sir Robert Sherley bowed again and rejoined the seated courtiers.
Shah Abbas rose, motioned for the guests to continue with the banquet, and strode toward the rear wall. His aide Mostafa pulled back a tapestry and opened the small door
