Chapter 28
Jahanara’s Tent
April 1635
“How do negotiations proceed, Father?”
Shah Jahan smiled as his grandson’s tiny fist grasped his finger. “They proceed slowly, Jahanara. Hargobind Singh attempts to drive a hard bargain, thinking I have not received God’s message.”
Jahanara resisted the urge to ask what that message was. Father had been avoiding her presence for so long, she did not want to drive him away.
“Your up-timers have proven their worth again: your brother, I am told, is recovering well. This, when my own physicians told me there was little to no hope for him—claiming the infection would kill him.”
“It was your wisdom, not mine, that kept them close.”
“You are too modest.” He sighed. “And I have missed you, Daughter. I fear I was too hard on you. Fear and uncertainty made me suspicious of everyone. Now I know better…” He didn’t quite finish the sentence, lapsing into silence.
The baby cooed, drawing him from his thoughts. “How is his mother?”
“She is well, and resting. Would you care to see her?”
“Let her rest. This one is likely a challenge.”
Such a strange mood. I hope he will not take offense: “Do you think Nadira might see Dara soon?”
Shah Jahan sighed again. “Not yet. Neither myself nor Hargobind Singh want to add potential hostages to the situation. I wish it were otherwise, but there it is.”
Jahanara bowed her head. “Perfectly understandable, Father. You see why it is I felt I must ask, don’t you?”
“Of course.” He looked down at his suddenly fussy grandson, “I would not keep my son from my grandson any longer than absolutely necessary. I have even gone so far as to tell Hargobind Singh that I will, formally and completely, lift the jizya—not just for his people, but for everyone: Hindus, Jains, Sikhs, even the Christians.”
“But the mullahs…”
“Let them piss and moan, I care not. They will do as they’re told and be happy about it or risk having the jagirs I gave them to support their madrassas and mosques returned to the crown.”
Jahanara bit her lip against the ingrained instinct to respond with her own thoughts about the wisdom of that course.
Father didn’t notice, continuing to speak as his grandson’s other hand rose to wrap his ring finger in a tiny fist, “It was not as if I was zealous in collecting the jizya anyway, especially to hear the mullahs tell it. But I have had enough of listening to all of their prattling. I will decide the fate of this empire. Not foreigners, not imams, not mullahs, not Sikhs, nor gurus.
“Me. And what I want—no, what I will have is my son returned to me. He shall not be made to atone for my sins. This chance at redemption, God has given me.”
Jahanara bowed, overcome by the intensity of his manner.
Shah Jahan snorted. “Get up. I must sound like a hermit emerging from his cave to spit prophecy and doom. But I am not claiming any powers of prophecy, merely telling you, my sweet child, that I have had an epiphany.”
He leaned over the child and tickled his belly with one finger. “I have done things…Actions I thought necessary and right. Actions that, according to the up-timer documents, pave the way for Aurangzeb to kill his brothers, imprison you and me, and seize the throne. In so doing, he expands the empire to its greatest extent, while at the same time sowing the seeds of its destruction. We cannot rule India—not for long—without the consent of our Hindu subjects. And the Sikhs.”
Jahanara bit her lip, fearful of interrupting, yet still more frightened of what else Father might say.
“What, no advice?” he asked, gently mocking.
A most unflattering noise, only vaguely similar to a giggle, escaped her lips.
He chuckled and gently rescued his fingers from the wrestling match his grandson was determined to win. He stepped around the child and opened his arms to Jahanara. “I am so sorry, Jahanara. I was cruel and unfair. Please forgive me, I will do better in future.”
Tears in her eyes, Jahanara clung to her father for some time.
Ilsa’s Tent
Grinning like an idiot, John rolled to one side of Ilsa and tried to catch his breath.
Ilsa sat up and poured herself a drink, blonde hair falling in waves down her naked back.
For his part, John drank in the sight of her.
Up until a short while ago she’d been wearing some of the sheerest, sexiest stuff he’d ever seen. That, and the intermittent separations forced on the couple by their living arrangements had led to surprisingly intense sex each time they’d had an opportunity.
Half-fearing she might disappear, John reached out a hand and ran it down the hollow of her back, delighting in the shiver his touch elicited.
“I’ll give you exactly one fortnight to stop doing that,” she said, a smile in her voice.
He did it again as he sat up and kissed the nape of her neck. “How’s the littlest prince?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “He’s fine. Fussy, but fine. And before you ask: Nadira is fine, too.”
“Sorry, but you and Priscilla really saved our asses by helping deliver the boy. I don’t think Shah Jahan was about to give us the time of day, let alone believe us capable of providing what we promised until you two came through.”
“Oh, we know what we did. We’re just a little bit impatient, waiting on Shah Jahan to make up his mind whether he is going to take Hargobind Singh up on his offer or not.”
“I’m not sure it is the emperor that’s slowing us down. Hargobind Singh seems…Well, Salim seems to think the guru doesn’t believe Shah Jahan is actually willing to grant his requests.”
She turned to face him, folding one knee under her. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Shah Jahan imprisoned Hargobind Singh and had his predecessor executed.”
“What?”
“Jahanara told us last night. Apparently, the Sikhs were not at all militant until this guru. You saw those banners, the ones with two swords?”
John nodded.
“They represent the two swords that Hargobind Singh wore at his coronation: one indicating his spiritual power, the other his power in temporal matters.”
John nodded. “Makes sense. Have you seen him?”
“No. Being in the harem, I don’t get out much.”
“Sorry, stupid question…It makes sense. He looks at least as much a badass as Salim. Not one I’d want to tangle with at all.”
“I’m sure: Being kept like this,” she gestured at the walls of the tent, “is slowly driving me mad, John.”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that right now, Ilsa. Especially since you and Priscilla have shown how valuable your skills are.” He shook his head. “And I don’t know if it will be offensive for us to even ask if we can, as Christians, forego the requirements of purdah while still inmates.”
“I understand that. I just wanted to ask you if you thought it was safe for me to broach the subject with Jahanara, especially since the emperor mentioned a reward.”
“Yeah, about that: you might want to consider putting on some weight.”
She shook her head. “Wait, why?”
“Because, my dear, His Jahaniness offered a reward of your weight in silver.”
Her eyes went round.
“But if you want out of this decadent prison,” John snorted, “We can always forego a king’s ransom in silver…”
She smacked his chest with her palm. “Oh, that’s cruel.”
He grinned wider, leaning into her hand. “But getting back to your question about Jahanara: I wouldn’t know. Hell, with the restrictions in place between men and women, I haven’t even spoken to her. I have no idea how she’ll take it, do you?”
Ilsa shrugged, making it exceedingly difficult for John to keep his eyes level with hers. “She really seems quite open-minded, and interested in everything Priscilla has to say. That said, something is going on between her and her father.” She lay down against him, snuggling up to his side and throwing one leg over him.
“What?”
“I don’t know, but the first time I actually saw them together was just a couple of days ago, and Jahanara was…I suppose relieved would be the best way to describe her, after.”
“You ask any of the servants what’s up?”
“Yes, but our translator was brought in after whatever happened to estrange them, so she didn’t know. I didn’t think it safe to ask anybody else.”
John nodded. “Yeah, that was probably the smart move.”
“Speaking of smart women: did you know she’s in charge here?”
“Meaning?”
“She’s responsible for the finances of the harem.”
“I thought Diwan Firoz Khan was responsible for all that.”
“He is, to a degree. But he got his position because Jahanara asked Shah Jahan for him and she manages the books with his assistance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he makes reports to Shah Jahan, but she manages the day-to-day affairs and finances of the harem.”
“Wait, doesn’t he have some other wives?”
He felt her nod against his chest. “At least four wives, and…I can’t even begin to count the number of concubines.”
“So shouldn’t one of those wives be in charge?”
“Jahanara’s mother was the man’s true love, and that’s why he only seems to consider her children together as possible heirs. Which also explains why he dotes on her, and gave her the position.”
“But aren’t princesses these days valued more for potential political marriages than anything else?”
“Normally, yes. I had not—” She sat up abruptly. “I don’t think we’ve even asked Jahanara what her marriage prospects are. I don’t even know if she wants to get married. Now that I think about it, that might be the cause of the tension between her and her father. I mean, if he wanted to marry her off to some old, ugly, politically powerful man and she resisted…”
“Then there would certainly be tension between the two.”
She settled her warm weight against him again.
“Lucky,” he sighed.
“What’s that?” she asked, idly running the knuckles of her hand across his ribs.
“I was just thinking that, as an old, ugly man, I am very lucky to have fooled you into thinking I’m politically powerful. Otherwise, we’d never have mar—”
She cut him off with a painful pinch and playful growl.
Laughing, he pushed her hand away.
“You’re not old, you’re just older than me.”
“Yep, and before the Ring, the whole town would have been talking about the years between us…not to mention my mother.”
“Silly man,” she blew a raspberry against his chest, making him squirm. “Cora is still talking about it.”
He chuckled. “I bet she is.”
She raised her head to look at him. “Do you miss your mother?”
“Not as much as I miss being with you, of course…But yeah, now and then. Especially these last couple weeks, with so little to do but ride back and forth to meet Rodney and Gervais.”
“Some problems get you no sympathy,” she said, laying her head on his chest again.
He winced. “Sorry. Ask Jahanara about an outing, at least. If she approves then you might find a tactful way to ask about getting out more.”
“I’ll talk to Priscilla first, and see what we can come up with.”
“Smart idea.”
“Of which I have many: what about using the emperor’s reward to purchase a house in Agra?”
“What?”
“I’m sure we could get one built, call it the Mission House or some such. The English have one, don’t they?”
“I think they did, yes.”
“Did?”
“As far as I can tell, there are no representatives of the English government with the court, not even of the East India Company.”
“But getting back to the point…”
“I think it’s a very good idea, but do we know whether we’ll be going back to Agra?”
“I asked Jahanara, and she is certain of it. Shah Jahan pays close attention to construction of the Taj, always returning to it, barring some catastrophe. He spends a great deal of time at the construction site, overseeing the workers.”
“All right. I’ll see about it.”
The Red Tent
Priscilla and the other mission women stumbled to a halt on entering the tent.
Before the emperor’s informal throne was what looked like the largest balance scale Priscilla had ever seen. Joined by a single massive bronze rivet at the center, an enormously heavy iron tripod supported an iron crossbeam from which hung chains and huge brass pans, each a yard across.
“Someone’s a Libra!” Monique quipped.
The others were too nervous to laugh outright, but a few chuckles were heard. After an exchange of disbelieving glances, they took the places Jahanara had them rehearse.
Nadira Begum was seated with her son in front of and below the emperor. Priscilla noticed that the princess’ eyes above the veil were smiling. As she was in the harem of her father-in-law, not her husband’s, she must go veiled, like them.
Shah Jahan, an equally-pleased smile piercing his beard, addressed the gathered ladies of the harem: “As I commanded, so shall it be: Madame Totman, be seated upon the scales.”
Never thought I would be so happy of the veils. Might spoil the gravity of the moment, everyone seeing me grin like an idiot, Pris thought as she approached the scales. She extended a tentative foot over the beaten bronze dish hanging from the balance, trying to work out how to sit without making a sound like a gong being struck.
Sahana saved her, sliding a cushion under the pan.
Mouthing a thank you the young girl couldn’t see for the veil, Priscilla gripped the chains and eased herself into a seated position. The scale noiselessly tipped her way, leaving the other pan well off the floor.
“As reward for your service to my family, I promised your weight in silver. Here, now, I see that promise fulfilled.”
Five pairs of eunuchs entered from the side, each sweating duo carrying a chest between them. The first pair opened their chest and started pulling bar after bar of shining silver out to place them neatly on the pan opposite Priscilla.
This is some story-book silly! Too bad I lost so much weight since we came through the Ring of Fire. With what I weighed back then, I could have really put a dent in the emperor’s treasury!
It required a great many bars, but gradually her pan began to rise. The workers slowed, then stopped, leaving her just a few inches higher than the pan opposite.
Shah Jahan chuckled. “Take that last bar off and bring forth coin to equal out the measure…” The emperor trailed off as Nadira gracefully climbed to her feet and approached Priscilla, her son in her arms.
She extended the child to Priscilla. “Take him,” she said, eyes shining. “For surely without you, he would not be the weight and treasure that he is.”
The child tipped the scales in Priscilla’s favor once again.
Nur Jahan’s Tent
“You lie!” Mohan hissed, prayer beads rattling with rage.
Nur swallowed her first response, instead answering calmly: “I assure you, I do not.”
Oblivious, Mullah Mohan continued his rant. “I do not understand why he would even consider, let alone say these things! Surely he knows the faithful will not be bullied into submission by threatening to remove his support! Unthinkable! To close schools and places of worship because the true faithful might object to his divergence from Holy Law! Unthinkable!”
Nur waited, silently urging Mohan to control his tongue before its wagging reached the ears of someone who cared to end them both.
It took far longer than Nur would have preferred, but eventually Mohan wound down.
“If we keep our calm, this is nothing but another opportunity to advance our benefactor’s position.”
“Another—”
Unwilling to endure another rant, she interrupted: “Pardon, but if you quietly called on your brothers in the Order and, through them, to all right-thinking Muslims, surely this can be turned into a groundswell of support. Support from so many and from all quarters will, of necessity, be heard by Shah Jahan.”
Lust for power made his eyes glow in a manner the rage of a moment before hadn’t. He was a foolish man; cautious when he should be bold and heedless when he should be wary.
The mullah’s expression changed, naked hunger replaced by calculation. “But with Shah Jahan’s favorite back in play, Aurangzeb is even more distant from power.”
“True, but Dara has already proven his willingness to lie down with heretics, and will prove yet another reason for right-thinking Muslims to rally to our cause. And who knows, Dara may yet perish from the infection.”
“I doubt that. Not with the foreigners who claim to be from the future treating him.”
“Which can also be turned to advantage as well: they are not Muslim. In fact, they hardly seem to practice any religion.”
“I don’t know…”
Nur, forgetting for the moment who she was speaking with, mused aloud: “Perhaps if they were seen to fail after all the faith the Sultan Al’Azam has placed in them…”
He seized on the idea, however. “Yes, that would certainly silence those who have advanced the foolish idea these people’s presence here is God’s will. I will leave it to you to see this idea through.”
Nur opened her mouth to refuse but Mohan raised a hand, “No, I should not know any of the details. That way, when it is done, I can honestly say I knew nothing.”
Nur Jahan closed her mouth. Had she become so old and stupid, to be outmaneuvered by this poor excuse for a man?
As he’d make a hash of it anyway, I suppose there’s nothing for it…
“I will see what can be done to see to it they fail, Mullah Mohan.”