1636: Mission to the Mughals

by Eric Flint

  Salim nodded. “Yes, Sultan Al’Azam, they said exactly those things.”

  “And yet they offer no gifts worthy of the name. Something as surety of their goodwill. All other supplicants to the throne offer up something of commensurate value to the thing they desire in order to show us exactly how serious they are.”

  “Sultan Al’Azam, these people are not…” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “I do not believe they had a full understanding of how things work here at court before they departed Europe. Lacking such knowledge, they could not properly provide such sureties.”

  Shah Jahan waved that argument aside, retrieving a drink from his cupbearer. “I well remember who it was who sent Baram Khan to this ‘Grantville,’ hoping for the very end he met.” He drank, then wiped his beard. “So I suppose I should not complain overmuch about their ignorance of our ways.”

  The emperor lapsed into brooding silence.

  They were losing him to mourning again, and Salim didn’t know how to stop it. India could not afford to let him lapse into melancholy again. There was so much that could be done, if he would but stay active and interested in the knowledge the up-timers offered.

  Something more personal, perhaps…? “Also, Sultan Al’Azam, I believe their advanced knowledge of medicine will prove a great boon.” He looked down, took a deep, steadying breath and offered a silent prayer: God forgive me if I offend!

  “Sultan Al’Azam, they chose not to mention it—I think out of misplaced concerns over modesty issues they think we would have—but they know things that make their women the greatest of midwives, practices that lead to many fewer deaths among newborns, healthier children, and mothers who recover more quickly from the difficulties of childbirth.”

  The cup clattered against the tray. Salim looked up.

  Shah Jahan was staring back at him. At length the emperor of India swallowed, eyes glittering, and said quietly, “Would that one of them had been here when my Mumtaz was giving birth.”

  Part Three

  Winter and Spring, 1635

  I will, before the giants’ eyes,

  Their city and their king chastise;

  Chapter 25

  Shah Jahan’s camp

  January 1635

  She had barely settled to supper, joints aching from the unaccustomed travel, when Gargi announced Aurangzeb was without. He must have been praying just outside to come upon her tent so quickly, she thought, telling Gargi to admit him.

  Barely pausing to let his eyes adjust, Aurangzeb crossed the carpets to where she was sitting and plucked a fig from the tray beside her. “You wished to speak, Nur Jahan?”

  “Indeed I did, Shehzada. Will you take a seat or must I crane my neck?”

  Aurangzeb seated himself with the ease of youth, causing her a mild pang of envy. Ignoring the momentary urge to mourn things long gone, she asked, “Are you satisfied with the men we arranged to place themselves at your service?”

  “Yes, they will do, for now.”

  “Good, have you given any thought to what we discussed?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  Aurangzeb refused to answer her question, instead proposing his own: “Any word from your people in Lahore? Did they find any evidence that Mian Mir is working with the Sikhs?”

  “No, they have not. As I said before, I had doubts Mian Mir would even think to cooperate with the Sikhs in their rebellion against your father. It is just not in his nature.”

  “I keep hearing from you and my siblings what a great man this Mian Mir is. I think I need to hear a little less about how wonderful he is and a little more about how I can use his relationship with Salim Yilmaz to drive a wedge between Father and the amir.”

  Thank you for proving yourself unready to hear the very play I have in motion. I had nearly forgotten how youth breeds impatience like nothing else.

  I suppose it should come as no surprise that he almost sounds like Mullah Mohan. Ah well, that bed is made…

  “I’m sure we’ll find a wedge suitable to your purpose, Shehzada.”

  Aurangzeb surprised her then, giving a wan smile that reminded her exactly how young he was. “Forgive me, Nur. I am impatient, not with you, but with the situation. With each passing day we grow closer to Lahore, and still I have not been able to determine how Dara was killed. That, and Hargobind Singh has not moved from Ramdaspur though he must know the doom that is descending upon him.”

  “It is a great mystery.”

  “I find I do not like mysteries.”

  “And is it one you must solve, Shehzada?”

  Aurangzeb smiled more broadly, the humor touching his eyes for the first time, “I suppose not. Especially if Hargobind Singh is merely waiting to die rather than kill us all.”

  “Do you think that’s really possible?”

  “What? That he could defeat my father and us as easily as he did Dara?”

  She nodded.

  “No, but his behavior remains inexplicable. And as I said, I do not like mysteries.”

  Deciding she had sown enough on that point, Nur moved on to more fertile ground. “Speaking of which, have you had an opportunity to speak with the ferenghi?”

  “I have not. You?”

  “No. Begum Sahib keeps them close and her bodyguard, Atisheh, watches me closely whenever I am near them.”

  “She was always my sister’s favorite.”

  “And you cannot get Jahanara to support you?”

  “She, like Dara, is far too liberal for my taste.”

  Nur spread her hands wide. “And what am I if not someone you made into an ally despite our differences?”

  “Unlike you, she loves Father terribly and would not see my actions as planning for the future, but, rather preparing to usurp Father.”

  Nur smiled. “As usual, your assessment of our kin matches my own.”

  “And while it might be comforting to know that, it isn’t exactly helpful in resolving the issue.”

  It required a greater degree of self-control than Nur was accustomed to using to keep the smile fixed in place as she replied, “No, I suppose not. Have you considered using the one against the other?”

  “Which ones?”

  “Mian Mir has proven inscrutable, correct?”

  “You know it is so. Do not waste my time.”

  “Apologies, Shehzada. It is the way I think best.” She held up a hand to forestall his incipient objection and went on quickly, “Shah Jahan has barely met with the ferenghis and suffers the same lack of intelligence regarding Mian Mir’s possible connections to the Sikhs as you, does he not?”

  In the habit clearly picked up from his father, Aurangzeb touched the thin beard just sprouting from his chin. “All true, though I fail to see what it is you would like me to do.”

  Nur smiled again. “You said the foreigners offered Shah Jahan technologies from the future. Who is to say your father is the only one to receive such an offer?”

  Aurangzeb’s expression snapped closed like a lantern shuttered in bronze.

  Nur hid a smile. So the young prince didn’t like the feeling of being last to reach the answer. That was something to be aware of, in the future, especially after some of her other, more sensitive seeds had matured and borne fruit.

  Red Tent, near Lahore

  The Red Tent was full of Father’s advisors, the scent of horses, men, and oils combining in an odor that Aurangzeb would forever associate with war.

  This is how we were meant to live—fighting the enemies of Islam and living in camp! Ready at a moment’s notice, to move to His will.

  The sowar completed his report: the Sikhs had made no move to depart the area around Ramdaspur. Father gave the messenger coin from his own hand and dismissed him.

  Tugging his beard, Shah Jahan spoke aloud to his gathered war council: “He has to know I will crush him. Why does he not withdraw east, disappear into the hills? He has to know I will offer no mercy, no quarter, nothing at all to the killer of my
son.”

  Aurangzeb watched Father’s councilors prattle and mumble, their answers failing to satisfy reason, let alone their ruler. If Wazir Khan were here things might be different, but as it was they provided no information the common trooper did not already suspect or know.

  So Aurangzeb watched, and waited, biding his time.

  Casting a glance at his younger brother, Shah Shuja spoke when the others slowed in their clucking. “Sultan Al’Azam, Hargobind Singh surely knows that your wrath will pursue him unto the ends of the earth, and that he would only die tired should he attempt to run.”

  Aurangzeb choked back laughter. That was actually quite an excellent line, if not a thoughtful answer.

  Father must have heard something because he looked at his younger son. “And what do you think, Aurangzeb?”

  “Sultan Al’Azam, your understandable and righteous refusal to parley with the murderer of one of your sons has also prevented us gaining any insight into the mind of our adversary. They are, perhaps, preparing to die. I do not believe it is so, but it is one answer.”

  “And you have the one, true answer?” Shah Shuja asked.

  “No, I do not claim God’s insight into a man’s mind. I but guess, like all of us here. Firstly, Hargobind Singh might have placed his faith in some trickery, some tactic of war that might see him successful against the great odds against him.”

  “Our spies and scouts report no efforts to fortify or mine,” insisted Shah Shuja.

  Aurangzeb looked at his elder brother, resisting the urge to thank him for his objection. “You are correct, they do not. Of course, Dara’s scouts no doubt reported precisely the same thing to him.” He returned his attention to Father. “Secondly, Hargobind Singh may believe someone is riding to his aid.”

  Shah Jahan waggled his head. “My spies tell me that a few of the local chieftains, more brigands than warriors, made overtures to the Sikh leadership and were rebuffed.”

  You mean your spies, posing as brigands, were not allowed to join the Sikh host.

  Shah Shuja, voice dripping with contempt, said, “They but show their religious intolerance and hatred of Islam.”

  Aurangzeb nodded even as he disagreed with the details: “While the decision could have been made on religious grounds, I think it has more to do with preserving whatever secret weapon or tactic they plan to use against us. If they let in outsiders, then there exists the chance one of your spies will uncover whatever it is they plan.”

  Father’s advisors muttered in consternation.

  Judging Father’s suspicion sufficiently primed, Aurangzeb held up a finger and asked quietly, “Do we know if the people from the future have had contact with Hargobind Singh or his people?”

  Father tugged at his beard, musing aloud, “Those that are in our camp have not, as far as we know…”

  “But others may have?”

  “An excellent question. One Salim should be able to answer for me.”

  Knowing he trod dangerous ground, but unwilling to let the opportunity to drive a wedge between Father and one of his favorites pass, Aurangzeb said, “Sultan Al’Azam, I would call attention to certain things about Amir Yilmaz that I have learned since he has come to court.”

  Aurangzeb felt a chill hand run down his spine as Father’s cold gaze fell on him. “Proceed.”

  “Like our brother Dara he was taught by Mian Mir. Yet, unlike Dara, he chose to study under that Mian Mir. Mian Mir is known to be a great friend of the Sikhs, so much so that he even laid the cornerstone of their temple while Jahangir’s lax policies toward upholding Islam held sway. Further, I learned that Mian Mir also moved Amir Yilmaz to travel with Baram Khan to that place from the future.”

  Shah Jahan raised a hand and shook his head. “I will hear no more on these vague allegations until Amir Yilmaz has had an opportunity to speak to them.”

  “Sultan Al’Azam, I make no formal allegations, I merely bring these facts to your attention.”

  “And sow discord in our ranks just days before we are to fight.”

  “That was not my intent. I heard nothing of these issues from your other councilors, and wished to be sure you were appraised of them.”

  “And I have been advised. I will hear no more on this, now.”

  Aurangzeb bowed, seething: Too much, too fast. God grant that I am more patient next time.

  Red Tent, near Lahore

  Salim returned to the Red Tent and immediately noticed a strangled tenseness. He glanced around as he resumed his place behind the majority of men, who commanded far more than his paltry five hundred. As Salim completed his bow and sat, he caught Shah Shuja looking at him, a calculating expression on his face.

  What is that about? What happened?

  He didn’t have time to ponder it, as Shah Jahan dismissed his remaining councilors. He stood to leave but the emperor called out to him, “Not you, Amir. Come forward.”

  “Yes, Sultan Al’Azam.” Salim walked past Aurangzeb and Shah Shuja as the young princes departed. Aurangzeb appeared deep in thought, while Shah Shuja betrayed none of the interest of a moment before.

  Salim bowed again, began to kneel.

  “Closer, Amir.”

  Salim moved forward again, kneeling where Shah Shuja had been. He had never been closer to Shah Jahan, even in the man’s sleeping quarters.

  “I would ask you a question.”

  “Yes, Sultan Al’Azam?”

  “How well do you know these ferenghis?”

  “Sultan Al’Azam?” Salim asked, confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

  “Simple enough: I want to know if you met any of the ferenghi before I sent you to meet them last month.”

  “No, Sultan Al’Azam, I did not meet any of these envoys prior to their arrival in your lands.”

  “And do you know if another party of the foreigners traveled with them here?”

  “I cannot be certain, Sultan Al’Azam, but nothing the envoys have said or done has made me suspect that is so.”

  “What contact have you had with Mian Mir?”

  “I sent a letter informing him that I had returned safely and was in good health, and that his instinct regarding Grantville was correct.”

  “And what instinct was that?”

  “That events in Grantville were or would be very important.”

  “Such a long journey, at so much peril, and you only had that much to say?”

  Salim ventured a smile, one that was not returned. “I was more detailed in the letter, Sultan Al’Azam, a copy of which I still have if you wish to see it?”

  “Perhaps later. Just now I would like to know what it is he told you to do.”

  “Told, Sultan Al’Azam?”

  “Yes, did he give you specific instruction as to what to do or tell me regarding the ferenghis?”

  “No, he did not. He only repeated his request that I do what I could to ensure you and your heirs had access to everything that I brought back with me from Grantville. I have that letter as well, should you wish to read it.”

  Shah Jahan tugged his beard and asked: “Do you know if Mian Mir sent anyone else to Grantville?”

  “No, Sultan Al’Azam, he made no mention of any others. May I ask why I am being questioned?”

  “You may…though it is not you who is truly being questioned. It has come to my attention that Mian Mir may have influenced the Sikhs or be in league with Hargobind Singh against me.”

  Salim shook his head. “Sultan Al’Azam, that cannot be true. He has been, it is true, a friend to the Sikhs, but there is a vast difference between respect for a faith and supporting insurrection against you, the rightful Sultan Al’Azam. Mian Mir would never support a rebellion, and would certainly not have betrayed your son, one of his favored students, to anyone.”

  “And how is it you are so certain of his motives?”

  Salim swallowed indignation, knowing it would do his argument no good. “Mian Mir does not speak falsely to anyone, let alone those he
has chosen to teach. There is no misdirection in him. That is why his students are willing to undertake such dangerous tasks as my own.”

  Shah Jahan sniffed. “He ordered it. You, as his servant and a student in his madrassa, were obliged to do it.”

  “No, Sultan Al’Azam. He does not order anyone. He does not command anyone. He but asks, and does not punish those who refuse him. He told me of the good that might come of my journeying to Europe. I accepted the risk and undertook the journey, that is all.”

  Shah Jahan did not seem satisfied by this answer.

  “Do I have your leave, Sultan Al’Azam, to bring you the letters I’ve received from Mian Mir? They will, I am sure, explain exactly what I have told you.”

  “Certainly, I will look at these letters. But you have to know that whatever their content, I cannot be certain they are the only letters Mian Mir has been sending.”

  “Yes, Sultan Al’Azam. I understand that it is difficult to trust in the word of your courtiers, especially those recently come into your service.”

  Shah Jahan snorted and waved a hand. “And, more importantly—my other courtiers may be speaking against you and Mian Mir while you are not present to defend yourselves.”

  So that is what Shah Shuja was looking at me about! Either he or Aurangzeb were trying to create distance between Shah Jahan and me.

  “We shall soon be in Lahore. Perhaps Mian Mir can come pay a visit to you. While he is old and frail I’m sure he would like to see you, Sultan Al’Azam.”

  “Perhaps. For now, go fetch your letters and the English book, I would have you read more of it to me.”

  “Of course, Sultan Al’Azam.”

  Jahanara’s Tent, near Lahore

  “What news, mistress?”

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid,” Jahanara said, opening the letter. She scanned the note quickly and shook her head, eyes filling with tears.

  “What is it?”

  “Mian Mir has fallen gravely ill. His physicians do not think he will live.” She snapped her fingers, summoning a messenger. Quickly, she wrote her orders and gave them over to the messenger. “Give this to Diwan Firoz Khan. Tell him I want no expense spared, do you hear me?”