by Eric Flint
Light flared behind him, Dara turning up the bedside lantern. “Down, Shehzada!” he hissed.
“What—”
“Turn the lantern down and stay away from the balcony.”
The light dimmed, then was snuffed out as Dara hurried to comply.
Several tense breaths later, Salim quietly answered Dara’s earlier question. “I don’t know. Someone was on the roof with a rope, and may have been inside. Not knowing who or how many, I thought it best not to raise the alarm.”
“What do we do now?” Dara whispered.
“I don’t know, wait?”
“Till dawn?”
Salim shifted his grip on the knife. “Unless you have a better idea?”
“Perhaps I should wake the palace and get Hargobind to double my guard.”
“Think on that, Shehzada.”
“You think he is behind this?”
“I just don’t know.” He looked across at Dara’s dim shadow, recalling how quickly the prince had responded to his entry. “You were awake when I came in?”
“The cravings woke me.”
“I see, Shehzada.”
A tense silence settled, Salim straining to hear some sign.
“Can I tell you something, Salim?” Dara asked, making the Afghan twitch.
“Of course.”
“I want the pipe even more, now.”
“Fight it, Shehzada.”
* * *
“What’s that?”
“We had visitors. You slept through it.”
Gervais blinked, yawned, and gave himself a good scratch.
“And I thought it was Rodney snoring loud enough to shake the pillars of heaven.”
“Oh, he snores loud enough, but he possesses an amateur’s instrument compared to this magnificent piece of art,” he pointed at his prominent, and very Gallic, nose.
Salim laughed. “I’m sure.”
“You said something about visitors?”
“Yes, most…I would say alarming, but I didn’t raise the alarm, so I suppose the word should be…intriguing.”
“What?”
“They came in the night, didn’t take anything as far as Dara and I can tell, and didn’t make an attempt on our lives.”
“Then what makes you think these ‘visitors’ are anyone but our hosts?”
“They entered from the roof.”
“Oh?” Gervais climbed to his feet.
“Yes.” Salim handed the older man his robe.
“Nothing was taken?”
“No.”
“Did you interrupt them, cause them to flee before they’d accomplished their design?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“How is the prince?”
“Fine, I just left him. He’s even up and around.”
Nothing taken, nothing changed, nothing…Gervais swallowed sudden fear, hurrying past Salim and into the central chamber. Dara Shikoh roused from the cushions. “Dr. Vieuxpont.”
“Shehzada. Pardon me.” He walked past Dara without correcting him and went to the small table that held the herbs and medications he and Rodney were treating the prince with. He studied it a moment.
“Is it that time, already?” Dara asked, eager.
“No, Shehzada. I am merely making sure of something.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing appears tampered with.”
“You think they were trying to poison me?”
Gervais examined each of the containers, starting with the cabinet of herbs. “Well, it stands to reason that anyone going to all the trouble of scaling the walls, climbing the roof, and avoiding all the guards must have wanted to do more than simply lower a rope into your quarters, Shehzada.”
“Yes, I can see that. I but wonder who it might be. And why so late?”
“Late, Shehzada?”
Dara Shikoh nodded. “I was far more vulnerable when you first came here. Why wait until now?”
“Unless they are new arrivals?” Salim asked. “Perhaps in Wazir Khan’s entourage?”
“My grandfather would not do such a thing to me.”
“No, but he marches with a substantial army made up of many men from all parts.”
Gervais, finished with the cabinet, examined the urn holding Dara’s opium.
“What cause have they to try and kill me?”
He held the urn up in the light. Something’s off…
“I don’t know, Shehzada.”
Gervais bent close and drew a deep breath through his nose.
What was that smell? Something different…He ran a finger into the urn, dragged it across the contents, examining the residue in the light.
Clever, clever bastards. It was lettuce opium.
“I am sorry, Shehzada, but it seems you are going to need to quit the opium a bit faster than we intended.”
“Why?”
Gervais wiped his finger. “I’m not absolutely certain of the method, but our nocturnal visitor appears to have added something to your opium. I suspect it is lettuce opium.”
The prince and Salim’s equally blank looks showed Gervais he wasn’t explaining himself well. “Sorry, an extract from a particular breed of lettuce, known for its effects on cramp, sleeplessness, and mild anesthetic qualities.”
“And how is that a problem?” Dara Shikoh asked.
“Alone, it isn’t. But combining it with real opium might slow breathing so much that the patient—in this case, you—expires.”
Salim shook his head. “Fiendishly clever.”
“I must agree. Someone has, at the very least, an advanced understanding of herbalism and a complete lack of morals.”
“Gervais, this isn’t just about poisoning the prince. They wanted him dead in a way sure to discredit Rodney and you—all of the up-timers.”
Gervais pulled at his lip. “Would have worked, as well, but for your light sleeping habits.”
Using his left hand, Dara snatched the urn out of Gervais’ hand, reared back awkwardly and hurled it at the wall. Shards of pottery exploded from the impact to patter against the carpets, the drug leaving a brown smear on the wall.
“Shehzada?” Salim asked, alarmed.
Eyes burning, Dara Shikoh pointed a finger at the mess. “They thought to use my own weakness against me! Planned for me to die in my sleep, victim of my own inability to bear the slightest pain. I will not be so weak again.”
“Shehzada,” Salim said, bowing.
Gervais followed suit and said, “We will do what we can to support you, Shehzada, but you will feel far worse before you are free of your need for the pipe. You will have to be very strong in the coming days.”
“So be it. God as my witness, I shall not touch the pipe again.”
“Good, Shehzada. You will need every bit of that resolve.”
A pair of their guards entered, drawn by the raised voice and breaking crockery.
One looked at the wall and back at the prince. With an expression Gervais translated as, Glad I’m not picking that up, the man turned and led his companion from the room.
“The question remains: who stands to gain?” Salim asked as the guards disappeared through the door.
“I can think of at least three people, all of them princes,” Gervais quipped.
“I think we can rule out Murad. Unless he is assigning assassins from the harem,” Dara Shikoh said with a wan smile.
“Of course, but you see my point?”
“Indeed I do.” His jaw working, Dara lowered himself onto a convenient cushion. “My death would also serve to enrage Father so much he would surely destroy the Sikhs, as he originally planned.” He looked at Salim, “I imagine some of the more hardline orthodox among Father’s subjects are not pleased with the current détente?”
Salim nodded. “To put it mildly, Shehzada.”
“And there are some others who fear and mistrust the up-timers?”
Another nod.
“And what have my brothers said?”
“As far as I
know, since I first revealed you were alive, Aurangzeb has had no public disagreements with Shah Jahan. Shah Shuja seemed genuinely happy that you lived, and has made no comment on Shah Jahan’s negotiations with Hargobind Singh.”
“Do either of your brothers have an apothecary in their entourages?” Gervais asked.
Dara looked at Salim, received a tiny shake of the head and said, “Each prince that has his own household does, but there’s no one of particular note I am aware of.”
“Who does?”
“Father has many physicians and apothecaries serving him and the harem.”
“The harem?” Gervais mused.
Dara nodded. “And poisoning is, while not common, certainly not unheard of in harem politics.” Dara winced. “It is a favored method of removing rivals or their pregnant—Oh.” Dara swallowed, sweat beading his brow. He put a hand to his belly. “Uhh…”
It was coming faster than Rodney had thought it would, the onset of withdrawal. Rodney said it would likely take twelve hours, that it was safe for him to go see his wife. The opium must have been purer than they thought.
“Salim, I think our friend might need the use of his chamber pot,” Gervais said, helping the unresisting prince to his feet. “As the opium loosens its grip on him, so too will he lose his grip on his bowels.”
“Yet another indignity,” Dara panted.
Gervais smiled, “Ah, but are you familiar with the up-timer’s colorful vernacular regarding thrones?”
Dara, looking truly pale now, shook his head and spoke through gritted teeth. “No, Dr. Vieuxpont, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Well then, allow me to tell you how you’re going to ascend the throne early.”
Part Four
Summer and Fall, 1635
He stood and grasped his mighty bow,
Terrific as the fire of doom
Whose quenchless flames the world consume.
Chapter 30
Jahanara’s Tent, Emperor’s Camp
June 1635
“Atisheh, make a circuit. Assure there are no listeners who might overhear our words with the up-time woman.”
The big Turkic warrior-woman bowed and departed, mail ringing.
“Is this wise, Shehzadi?”
“I do not know, but I must hear them first before making any decision.”
“But—”
“I know, Smidha. I would rather not go to Father with some new request so soon after our reconciliation. Let us hope the up-timers are not going to ask a favor of me.” She smoothed her robes and settled herself. “Now, let them in.”
Smidha did as she was told, returning shortly with the up-timer and her two friends as well as Sahana. The women bowed and sat among the cushions before Jahanara. Sahana off to one side, ready to translate.
“Smidha informs me you have an important request to make of me?”
Priscilla nodded, the other women deferring to her. “We actually have a few things to tell you first.”
Atisheh pushed into the tent and signaled the all clear.
“Please,” Jahanara said, gesturing for her guest to continue.
“First,” her eyes traveled to Sahana and Smidha, “are you reasonably sure what we say will not be repeated?”
Jahanara looked first to Sahana, then arched a brow at Smidha.
“Sahana will not betray us, Shehzadi.”
Jahanara returned her gaze to Priscilla, “Then, aside from what I must tell Father as a dutiful daughter, you need not fear any wagging tongues.”
Priscilla nodded again. “Good enough for me, Shehzadi. Someone tried to poison your brother’s opium two nights ago. Actually, they succeeded, but Monique’s father found the drug they added before it could be administered. In fact, it was Salim who woke in the middle of the night and saw the poisoner leaving. Fearing Dara had been assassinated, he was surprised to find him both alive and unharmed. The next morning he told Monique’s father of the odd event, which caused Gervais to look through their medicines, suspicious—”
“Pardon, but you used two different terms: drug and poison.” She looked at Sahana. “Or was that some error of translation?”
Priscilla shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m probably not telling this well. Whoever planned this was quite clever. They added another drug to your brother’s opium, one that would likely cause him to stop breathing during the middle of the night. It’s not uncommon for people who overdose on opiates to have this happen, so it would likely have gone unnoticed had Salim not seen the intruder’s rope.”
“So if I understand you correctly, the addition of this other drug would have had the effect of a poison?”
“Exactly, Shehzadi.”
Jahanara looked at Monique, the quickest of the mission women to learn Persian and said slowly but with feeling: “Then it appears I owe your father a great deal.”
Monique smiled and answered without Sahana. “While I would like to say it’s nothing, I’m sure my father would disagree. He certainly does like his rewards.”
“Did the poisoner escape?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
I shall have to tease Salim about that, when next we meet. She had a vision, sudden and intense, of the man’s hawkish, fascinating face and broad shoulders. Blinking it away, she asked, “And what has my brother said about all this?”
“He wanted to reassure you that he does not believe the Sikhs were behind the attack. He suspects someone in the Sultan Al’Azam’s harem, as the attempt required significant knowledge of the interactions between the two drugs. Since there are few physicians without close links to their respective masters, he believes it to be either a woman or a eunuch, one who is advised by or themselves have significant knowledge of the reactions between these substances and the human body.”
Jahanara looked at Smidha. “Subtle, this move against my brother.”
Her servant did not respond immediately, cocking her head and considering her reply. “This is not some inexperienced concubine or eunuch trying to advance their position, but someone with patience, talent, and nerve.”
“I can think of but one person who fits those criteria, but we won’t speak her name just yet.”
Smidha’s eyes narrowed as she gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Did Dara Shikoh leave instruction as to how he wishes to deal with this matter?”
“No. He asked us to tell you he is not healthy, nor fully in his right mind. He hopes to be, soon, but his efforts to quit the opium will make him sick and unable to make”—a pause as Sahana sought clarification on a term—“trustworthy judgments for some time.”
“I see.” Jahanara closed her eyes in frustration.
No instruction whatsoever. Should she tell her father? And what of Nadira? The poor woman would be most upset to hear this…and likely more upset if she learned Jahanara hadn’t told her.
She opened her eyes to see Monique was leaning forward, a concerned look on her face. “Shehzadi, we’re sorry to put this on you. My father, your brother, and Priscilla’s husband were all in agreement: you were the only one we could trust with this information.” She smiled, gestured at the other women. “And, of course, we agreed.”
Jahanara Begum closed her eyes again. I prayed for power over my own fate and here I am asked to navigate this intrigue with my brother’s life in the balance.
God does surely answer in his own time and fashion.
God wills it, then so be it!
She opened her eyes. “Smidha said you had a request to make of me. I trust it was not just a pretext to give me this information?”
Priscilla glanced uncomfortably at Ilsa. “I think, given the information we just passed to you, it can wait, Shehzadi.”
“I would prefer it if you told me now. We may not have another moment such as this to discuss sensitive issues openly.”
“Well…Shehzadi, we had hoped to talk to you about purdah…” she trailed off.
Jahanara motioned for her to continue.
“Well, as you no doubt know, we are not Muslim and unaccustomed to the rules and restrictions placed on us as guests attached to your father’s harem. We were wondering if it would be possible for us to be relieved of these restrictions. Not entirely, of course. But to be allowed out wearing veils and modest clothing rather than being escorted everywhere, having our contact with friends severely restricted.”
Jahanara struggled to understand what the women were asking for. “But, you are all able to speak with one another, and with me and with all the women of the harem.”
Monique smiled, answered for the others: “All true. But we…We often have friends of the opposite sex. Priscilla and the up-timers even more so.”
“I see.” She shook her head, felt a sad smile spread across her lips. “Here I was worried my brother overestimated my ability to affect Father’s policies. That concern is but a teardrop in relation to the river of worry this subject causes. Father and I had a falling out just before you came to court. He accused me of trying to maneuver him into granting me permission to marry, and implied I was betraying him.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Smidha tense, give a tiny shake of the head.
She looked directly at her servant but spoke for the benefit of all: “He ordered me from him and refused to see me until Nadira gave birth. You see, while he encourages me to manage the affairs of the harem and my holdings, Father fears that if he allows me or Roshanara to wed, it will imperil his sons’ claims to the throne.
“Father believed me to be his opponent in this. I am not, but I am uncertain whether or not he truly knows this. Should I come to him on your behalf, I believe he will take it as a sign I mean to resume trying to move him to allow me to marry.”
“Shehzadi—” Priscilla looked at Ilsa and Monique, who both nodded encouragement. “We didn’t know. We’ll bide our time and wait for you to tell us when you think it’s safe to ask your father. We certainly do not want there to be any bad blood between you and him, not on our behalf.”
Moved by Priscilla’s understanding, Jahanara looked at her guests and spoke from the heart. “I will do my very best to seize the first opportunity to ask him about this. I’m sorry that you, who have given us our brother back, must wait for this small favor. I will make it up to you, I swear.”
