1637: The Peacock Throne

by Eric Flint

  That Aurangzeb had not taken a wife was one of the few things that made this interview possible. Had he wives, or worse yet, children, he would be too obviously a threat to Shuja’s claim for his dissembling to have any chance at success. Every event was an opportunity, every crisis a lever to move the world.

  That Shah Shuja himself had entered into negotiations for several wives in the last weeks had not been lost on Aurangzeb as he prepared this moment.

  Indeed, Nur had served both brothers well in this regard: her rank and seniority making her the natural choice as go-between for Shuja and the families of prospective wives, and then duly reporting her observations from those meetings to Aurangzeb.

  That she was also cautiously vetting several of Shuja’s more prominent nobles regarding marriage prospects for Aurangzeb went without saying. The nobles she’d chosen were to be kept in the dark a little while longer, as it was not yet safe for her to approach them, regardless of how carefully they were selected for discretion as well as clear indications that they had joined their cause to Shuja’s more because of proximity to his power rather than any earnest desire to serve Aurangzeb’s older brother.

  Even ordering Nur to assess such nobles had been a risk. But, while Aurangzeb must allay Shuja’s fears, the end game also required that he had allies in place to secure a smooth transition of power. Marriage alliances were the best way to secure those allies. So, for now, he was unmarried, which only added to his reputation for asceticism for the conservative nobility and insured that Shuja would perceive him to be less of a threat.

  “And, while he persists in resisting your rule, Sultan Al’Azam, I cannot but support you in putting a stop to his misrule. So I bring you those who have been loyal to my court, and place them, and myself, at your service.”

  Silence descended in the wake of Aurangzeb’s final, ringing assertion. Not because those who heard him did not feel the pull of his charisma and skill at oratory, but because even the least discerning of Shuja’s courtiers was aware that Shuja’s reaction was the only one that mattered in this moment.

  If Shuja waited a long moment before answering, Aurangzeb could not be certain as to his strained nerves each and every beat of his own heart required an eternity to complete.

  “You speak wisely and well, little brother, and I thank you for your offer of service.” He paused a moment, keeping his listeners in suspense, then continued. “I accept it, as I accept you: with my whole heart and open arms.” He stood and suited actions to words. “Come, embrace me!”

  Aurangzeb moved forward and stepped into his brother’s embrace as the court erupted in approbation.

  None were near enough to hear a smiling Shuja speak in Aurangzeb’s ear: “I will gladly send you off to Mecca with a glorious stipend when we have defeated Dara, brother. You are too dangerous to be allowed to remain, otherwise.”

  Smiling to the crowd, Aurangzeb said quietly, “You wound me, brother. I but serve at your pleasure.”

  Shuja released Aurangzeb and looked him in the eye. “Be sure it remains so, and I will not have you thrown into Gwalior Fort to rot.”

  “Your will, Sultan Al’Azam,” Aurangzeb intoned as he gave another, deeper, and most solemn bow before his brother. That the movement concealed his pleasure was proper, as the thought resounding through his mind was a simple, incredibly powerful refrain:

  All is accomplished according to His will, and in His time!

  It seemed to Aurangzeb that his plans were in accordance with that Will, and were thereby rewarded with success.

  Nur’s tent

  Shah Shuja’s camp

  Triumph stirred Nur’s heart to an erratic beat as Aurangzeb and his brother retired to the Red Tent to plan Dara’s downfall. Such a public display of amity and common purpose was useful for both men, and would, no doubt, be recorded by the many informants who dwelt in both camps.

  Aurangzeb had not explicitly revealed his plans to her before embarking on this course, but she had suspected something of the sort. Instrumental in sounding out certain nobles on the subject of marriage, she had learned early on that he had long-term plans. His interest in seeking marriage alliances was the one factor that promoted her suspicions to absolute assurance: Aurangzeb had plans that reached far beyond this clever act of political theater.

  Using her successful overtures and negotiations with Shuja on his behalf as a pretext for her elevation, Nur had been rewarded with high position in both courts as a result. That said, both of them knew the truth: By allowing her to do this on his behalf, Aurangzeb had ceded her some measure of power over him. Keeping secrets for a prince was the first duty of a loyal servant, and the first public show of trust a prince or emperor could bestow upon his subordinates.

  She returned to the tent Shuja had set aside for her in his camp and ordered a light meal. The men would be at it long into the night, especially Shuja, who continued to drink and carouse far more than was wise for a fresh-minted emperor with brothers still alive and ready to contend for the Peacock Throne.

  There was, perhaps, an opportunity there. She must see if someone could be suborned in Shuja’s tent. Someone with access to his food or, better still, some of the vast quantity of wine the man consumed.

  It seemed that by his every action, including today’s acceptance of Aurangzeb’s fealty, Shuja reaffirmed her decision to support Aurangzeb’s claim on the Peacock Throne.

  In contrast, Aurangzeb was a natural politician, charismatic in a way neither of his older brothers were, and wise beyond his years. In this, he most resembled his eldest sister, Jahanara.

  Exchanging heavy robes of state for lighter silks, she spied a fresh missive from Agra resting on a golden tray. Eagerly, she plucked it up and set to work decoding the cipher.

  As she worked, a part of Nur’s mind examined why she’d thought of Jahanara in the context of leadership. Of course, her own history of ruling alongside her husband made her more alert to the possibility of women wielding great power from the harem, but never before had the sister of an emperor been so powerful. Always before it was a wife, or perhaps concubine, who had risen to power. Jahanara’s position in her father’s court was perhaps unusual, but not entirely unprecedented, as there were other fathers who had doted on their daughters to some extent and gave them power and position. But Jahanara Begum’s power and prestige under Dara was entirely new to the Mughal court.

  As any court had more than its share of jealousies, Nur had chosen Jahanara’s unique status as an avenue of attack.

  And going on the attack had been, and continued to be, necessary. All her previous intelligence from Agra had it that the young woman was at the center of the intrigues and bedevilments that continued to make life difficult for spies and informants wishing to report the goings-on in Dara’s court. Gaining private, insightful news of Dara’s health or state of mind was well-nigh impossible these days, and Nur’s overtures to those noble wives who had access to the harem had been slow to bear fruit. And even then, she was forced to admit, the product had been small and barely worth the cost in time and promises, as their information was scarcely more than what was available through official public channels.

  The cipher cracked, she had to focus all her considerable mind on reassembling the message for a few minutes.

  The corners of her mouth turned down as she finished and read the message through once more. The content was both timely to the subject of her thoughts and exceedingly frustrating: Nadira had, through clever manipulation of the court, put an end to the whisper campaign Nur had launched against Jahanara only a month past.

  While the whispers had not cost her significant time or effort to begin, it was a gambit she’d used to great success in the past when attempting to draw the fangs of rivals, both within the harem and in the wider court. Such attacks were also not repeatable, at least for the foreseeable future. Those who had been most vocal in their complaining would not be as readily listened to should they essay some new complaint against Jahanara. Worse
yet, those who might have been encouraged to raise their voices from other quarters would be discouraged by observing how Nadira had rallied to Jahanara’s side to quash the whispers. Perhaps if she were there, things would be different. Most harem politics was reducible to a game of credibility and character, with the emperor’s children and the emperor’s time and affection among the critical pieces in play at all times, in all seasons.

  Nur hoped the one piece she’d moved that had yet to report might still have success, but there was no telling when that play would bear fruit, let alone what that fruit would be.

  She shook her head, acknowledging she was, perhaps, too distant from Dara’s court to directly influence the full gamut of court play. It put her in mind of the years she had spent in quasi-exile after her defeat at Shah Jahan’s hands.

  After a moment spent in self-pity, she put her frustrations away and turned her attention to Shuja’s court. Events here were more than enough to keep her mind active, thoughts focused, and her thirst for power whetted to a keen edge.

  Yes. Nur would let Aurangzeb direct her to any active subterfuge in Dara’s court and otherwise simply continue to monitor her sources for usable intelligence. It was time to focus on the work nearer to hand. Already she had planned two marriage bids for Shah Shuja. Now she must find a way to present them, first to Aurangzeb so that he could let her know if either choice would prove a detriment to his plans, and then to Shuja. It would be a delicate process, but one she’d managed before.

  It would help if Aurangzeb did not keep his plans so close. The young man had a knack for political maneuvering, but in consequence he did not share his plans easily or often.

  Perhaps she should not be thinking in terms of what he planned, but when he would execute them. She knew, with a certainty normally reserved for the sun rising in the east, that the end goal of all his maneuvering and plots was to rule as emperor.

  Yes. That was it. She could spend time and effort trying to learn what he planned and get nowhere…Or, she could, instead, set herself to preparing for the moment of Aurangzeb’s next move.

  Yes.

  She would make herself indispensable to his cause by being ready to assist him in that moment, whatever his needs might be.

  Chapter 14

  Agra

  Red Fort, the harem

  Heart hammering in her chest, Jahanara nodded at Atisheh as she approached the warrior’s post.

  The freshly appointed commander of the warrior women assigned to guard Dara’s harem made a silent half-bow in return.

  Sudden trepidation made Jahanara slow just steps before Atisheh. Even now, she could return to her quarters, call off this folly and act as if she’d had nothing to do with bringing a man into the harem precincts.

  She stood on the balls of her feet, ready to turn and flee.

  “You only wish to meet the amir because of the fire of your desire, Shehzadi. Please do not do this thing,” Smidha had cautioned, only that afternoon. “It is dangerous, and gains you nothing you do not already have.”

  Jahanara had simply ignored her servant’s cautionary whisper, as arguing the point could provide listeners with proof she entertained the idea. Keeping secrets from everyone who did not have an absolute need to know seemed to have become the one constant of her existence.

  The argument she would have given, had circumstances allowed, was primarily that her brother needed his closest advisors to know each other’s minds. The daily requirements of court life prevented any real chance of that understanding between the amir and her, especially as their public conduct was the subject of constant scrutiny from all quarters.

  Written missives were equally problematic, as they could too easily fall into the wrong hands, and all potential messengers were watched at one time or another.

  She straightened. No, this had to be done. At least this once, she had to meet him face-to-face. To thank him for his service, if they could not reach some greater understanding.

  Silencing the uneasy thought that Smidha’s assessment of Jahanara’s true motives for the meeting could be more accurate than her own, Jahanara squared her shoulders and strode forward on slippered feet.

  Atisheh pulled aside the hanging and pressed a particular part of the wall. The section of wall opened, revealing a secret passage from which the smells of sweet tobacco smoke drifted out to enfold her.

  Glad the scents of desperation and death that had permeated the chamber beyond when Mullah Mohan was tortured to his end had been cleansed, Jahanara entered the passage.

  * * *

  Salim puffed at the water pipe, uneasiness stirring in his belly as he waited for the messenger he had been told was coming.

  The secrecy he’d been ordered to maintain seemed…extreme.

  For one, he did not like the location. Oh, the chamber itself was fine: small but hung with silks, plump cushions, and lit with scented candles. A chilled, golden carafe of some juice or another sat beside goblets on a gold tray, while a fine water pipe sat in the midst of the cushions. That it was loaded with the very best tobacco that Salim had ever smoked was besides the point.

  For another, Salim was used to secrecy by now. He wondered what was to be gained by meeting with a messenger face-to-face here, rather than receiving the message among others, thereby concealing any importance.

  Unless the messenger is more important than the message. The thought chilled him, as it called to mind only one, or perhaps two, people who might fit that description, both of them women.

  And the location of the secret chamber took on an even more ominous meaning in light of that thought. During the time he’d spent in service to Shah Jahan, translating the up-timer documents almost nightly, he’d gained a fair degree of working knowledge of the layout of the harem precincts. He suspected he was very near those precincts if not within them even before Atisheh had shown him through the secret door he’d had no idea existed. The warrior woman, most trusted of Jahanara’s guards, had told him she would be outside, to avail himself of refreshment, to relax, and that he should only have a short wait. That it had been Atisheh who showed him here made him more nervous, not less. Granted, the warrior woman would never betray her mistress, but Salim could not imagine Atisheh acting in so clandestine a manner for anyone but Jahanara, and that was a problem in and of itself.

  He could not shake the remembered feel of Jahanara Begum’s skin under his hands nor the touch of her body as she clung to him the night he’d tried, and failed, to defend Shah Jahan from the assassins sent by Mullah Mohan.

  The sound of her voice issuing from behind the jali while giving counsel to her brother had been indicative of a sharp, inquisitive mind that was certainly superior to his, at least in regard to formal education. But that voice also brought to mind the shape of her nose, her eyes, her…

  It required an effort of will to stop his thoughts from pursuing the path they’d turned to. He closed his eyes and offered an unspoken prayer: God, please don’t let it be Jahanara Begum who wishes this meeting, for I am weak, and she is exactly that which waters the parched plains of my desire.

  He heard a sound from the short passage he’d entered from. Dreading who he would see, Salim looked and then cast his eyes heavenward.

  God, you make no effort to save this poor petitioner from himself!

  She was veiled and swathed in silken robes that protected her modesty, but he recognized her from her graceful movements and, when she drew closer, her eyes—the color and shape of them as well as the lovely long lashes that she lowered demurely.

  “Shehzadi Jahanara Begum,” he said, coming to his feet for a deep, respectful bow that also gave him time to gather scattered wits.

  He glanced surreptitiously beyond her in search of some escort, but was disappointed to see the secret door closing, and not so much as a maid or guard to protect her reputation.

  “Amir Salim Yilmaz, honored commander of five thousand,” she returned, gliding forward to the cushions opposite him. The smell of roses t
raveled the air in her wake, as if flowers bloomed in honor of her passage. She did not so much sit as gracefully fold herself onto the cushions.

  Salim remained standing, frozen in place. Caught entirely unprepared for this private meeting and, frankly, unmanned by the strength of his reaction to her presence.

  An instant later his mind thawed enough to run through the dire repercussions of discovery: repercussions that started with execution and ran heedless and fast down a mountainous slope from there.

  The political ramifications alone could potentially cripple Dara when he needed to appear, at all times, to be fully in charge of everything that occurred in his household, especially to those of his followers—and they were in the majority—who set great stock in such things.

  This meeting was breathtakingly dangerous—

  “Do you like the tobacco?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts while picking up another of the water pipe’s stems and slipping it under her veil. The pipe burbled as she drew on it.

  Realizing he still held the other stem of the pipe in his hand, Salim said, “I do, Begum Sahib.”

  “It is my favorite,” she said, regarding him through the smoke she exhaled. “You may be interested to know that it is from Nur’s personal stores. Procured through some family connection in Persia, no doubt.”

  “Begum Sahib, I don’t know how to say this…”

  “Then don’t.” She gestured with a hennaed hand for him to sit across from her. “We do not have a great deal of time, and I would prefer to spend it speaking of important matters rather than your advising me that I endanger my brother’s cause with this meeting, so please…” She waved again, eyes sparkling.

  “Begum Sahib, I am your servant.” He sat and took a long draw on the pipe to avoid meeting her eyes and losing himself in them.

  “You have been a most worthy servant to me and my brother. I wanted to thank you once more for your efforts on the night my father was assassinated. Beyond that service, which nearly cost you your life, you have continued to aid my brother in his time of need, keeping our secrets and working consistently to secure our future.”