by Eric Flint
Red Tent, Emperor’s Camp
“Peace! The Sultan Al’Azam has concluded a peace with Hargobind Singh!” The news writer’s announcement went through the camp like a grass fire, a crackling heat in the air that forever changed the lay of the land for all in its path.
Concealing some trepidation, Aurangzeb turned and entered the Red Tent for the Diwan-i-Khas with Father.
Inside, he found Shah Shuja already seated, waiting. Wazir Khan was standing below the throne, giving orders to a rider.
Aurangzeb approached and bowed.
Father waved him to his proper place. “Aurangzeb, be seated.”
Wazir Khan smiled at his grandsons.
Aurangzeb returned a nod. He wished that he could tell what his grandfather was thinking. He’d spent the better part of a life around him, and yet Aurangzeb still could never tell what he was thinking. Then again, he imagined that was what Nur Jahan had said right up to the moment Wazir Khan had betrayed her to the emperor.
Shah Jahan interrupted Aurangzeb’s thoughts: “Now that peace is concluded with the Sikhs, I have new orders for you.” He gestured at his father-in-law. “Wazir Asaf Khan will not be returning to the Deccan. I have decided that he will, instead, move from here into Bengal to better enforce our will there against Ahom and the Old King.”
He looked at Shah Shuja and Aurangzeb. “While he does this on my behalf, you will both take command of armies and march them into the Deccan to attack Ahmednagar. You will reduce their capital to rubble and see to the dismantling of that troubling sultanate for good and all. I do not set you an easy task, my sons: Ahmednagar and its Nizams have repeatedly proven their willingness to contribute to strife in the Deccan, their latest offense against peace being an alliance with Bijapur against our supposed ‘aggression.’”
“Wazir Asaf Khan has the freshest information from the Deccan.” Shah Jahan gestured his father-in-law to speak.
“This latest conflict comes about solely because the Sultan Al’Azam insisted on his rights; that the terms of the agreement reached between himself and these Deccani Sultans be kept.”
The petty border sultans were always falling behind in their payments of tribute. Which provided his father with ready excuses to invade, raid, and pillage just about any one of them at any given time.
Asaf Khan was still speaking: “They even went so far as to install a child on their so-called throne and, as the Sultan Al’Azam says, have already announced an alliance with Bijapur. Between the two sultanates, they can field an army of about fifteen thousand horse. Most of it inferior to ours, of course, but still proficient. They have few elephants—”
“Aside from those they refused to send me in tribute,” Shah Jahan added.
“As the Sultan Al’Azam says. They have few elephants, but their infantry is…motivated against us. They believe us responsible for their many pains these last years. I will provide you both with more detailed information before you depart. But for now, know that you will be facing what will likely be two separate armies. This is the reason your father has decided to split the command. If any of the other so-called sultanates take the field against you with their allies, then you may take whatever action you deem appropriate against them.”
Shah Jahan nodded. “Yes, they must be taught it is unwise to side with our enemies against us.”
The emperor’s eyes traveled from Shah Shuja to Aurangzeb. “I leave it to you to decide how best to cooperate and achieve my ends. You will be given ample resources to accomplish this task, including jagirs in the Deccan to entice your followers to good service and perhaps suborn a few Deccani fence-sitters to your side. There will also be sizable sums to offer as bribes for those who hesitate to engage with our bureaucracy. I expect success.”
Shah Shuja bowed from the waist. “We will not disappoint, Father.”
Aurangzeb bowed as well but asked: “And once we have successfully defeated them? What then, Father?”
“Then I will decide which of you is to remain in the Deccan as governor. Perform well and it may be you. If you both disappoint, it will be some umara of the court.”
“Our forces will be equal?” Shah Shuja asked.
Shah Jahan nodded. “You are free to raise further sowar out of your personal establishment, of course.”
Aurangzeb did not miss the sly look Shah Shuja sent his way. He believes he can recruit more men than I.
I’ll even encourage that belief to allow Mullah Mohan opportunity to introduce more men loyal to me, or at least Mohan, into Shuja’s army.
“That said, the purpose of this is not to see who can raise the largest army, but, through your combined efforts, bring to heel all of the Deccani Sultans so that we may avoid future conflicts with our coreligionists.
“I want the sultans to remember what it is you do when next they think to defy me. Am I understood?”
The brothers bowed, chorused, “Yes, Father.”
It wasn’t until after, when the meeting was over and he was leaving, that Aurangzeb began to process the actual meaning of what was said. Process, and question: Having read what he’d read, why was Father giving him an army? The obvious answer: to get Aurangzeb out of the way while Dara Shikoh recovered, did not satisfy. Dara might recover, but he’d still be far less experienced than Aurangzeb when the time came.
Realization struck as Aurangzeb stepped into the afternoon sunlight outside the Red Tent. He nearly bit his tongue fighting the urge to curse as the simple yet brilliant strategy behind Father’s gambit unfolded before his mind’s eye.
He wants me fighting fellow Muslims, especially Shia Muslims, to divide and undercut my power-base. Then, even if I win—no, especially if I win—and he gives me the Deccan to rule as governor, I will be too busy ruling fractious nobles who hate me for either religious differences or the actions I will be forced to take in order to assure the quick victory I need.
And, to be certain it must be a quick victory, he places me in competition with my brother.
Shaking his head in admiration, Aurangzeb resumed walking.
But he only made it a few more steps toward his own tent when another troublesome thought surfaced: This new plan, so soon after Wazir Khan’s return? No, this was not Father’s idea alone. Grandfather had a hand in this.
He needed to speak with Nur Jahan.
Wait, tread carefully. He slowed. Think it through. She failed to foresee her brother’s hand before it was too late last time, why should it be any different now?
* * *
“You are very thin, my son,” Shah Jahan said, holding Dara at arm’s length.
Though he tried to hide it, Jahanara saw the relief in Father’s eyes reflected in her brother’s as Dara answered, “It is only recently that I have begun to eat normally again, Father. I had no appetite. But now,” he looked at his wife and child, “I find I hunger for a great many things life has to offer.”
“Good. Good.” Shah Jahan released Dara and sat down, gesturing for the rest of the royal party to do the same.
The baby squealed as his mother eased herself onto the cushions.
Shah Jahan smiled to hear it. “Have you considered what to name him?”
“Nadira and I have both prayed over that very question. I think tonight we shall decide upon a name for him. I’m sure you and my brothers all have thoughts on the matter.” He looked around, “Where are my brothers?”
“Already departed, I’m afraid. They left this morning for the Deccan. They are to undertake the task I originally assigned Wazir Asaf Khan while he moves on to Bengal.”
“I see.”
Jahanara could see Dara’s disappointment, though she was uncertain whether it was a result of their being picked for such an important task or the apparent lack of interest both displayed by failing to stay long enough to see him.
“Will we soon be on the move as well?”
“Not so very far. I plan to hunt in the hills here, making sure my presence is noted by the rest of the Punjabi even
as I make sure my subordinates do not attempt to subvert my will to accommodate the Sikhs. There will be a great many officials upset that their source of graft and sinecure has suddenly dried up. I must make sure they do not commit some fresh offense against Hargobind Singh.”
“Most wise, Father.”
Mustering her courage, Jahanara leaned forward and addressed Father, “Pardon, but the up-timer physicians, Rodney and Priscilla both, suggest that Dara not be moved a great deal for the next few weeks.”
Shah Jahan cocked his head. “I will not offer Hargobind Singh offense by encamping much longer in the vicinity of Ramdaspur.”
“Perhaps we could go to Lahore while you complete your tour?”
“Which would also allow you both to pay your respects to Mian Mir…” Shah Jahan nodded after a moment’s consideration. “He offered encouragement to both sides in reaching this peaceful conclusion.”
The emperor chuckled to see the matching expressions of surprise on his children. “I give a great deal of thought to events that occurred when you were both children. Jahangir did a vicious, cruel thing when he decided your education would be different from that of your siblings, Dara and Jahanara.” He looked at his hands. “I thought at the time he was continuing Akbar’s search for understanding between religions of the land we live in, but I know now he was merely driving a wedge between my children to match that which he saw his father drive between me and him.”
Jahanara blinked back tears.
“I would not have it so, Father,” Dara said.
“Nor I, but God has already laid these things out for us and we must make do.” Shah Jahan fixed his eyes on Dara. “You must get well and grow strong. None of my other sons possess the spirit of tolerance you carry in your heart. If they ascend the throne, what follows will be hundreds of years of religious strife, sectarian violence, and the defilement of our peoples and heritage by the Europeans. This cannot be my—no, our—legacy. To this end, I will continue to train you as my heir and do everything I can to reestablish your court as second only to mine.”
Dara, white with shock, did not speak.
Hardly less surprised, Jahanara found her tongue first: “But Father, surely Shah Shuja and Aurangzeb are not beyond redemption?”
Shah Jahan shook his head. “I cannot bring myself to believe they are, but Aurangzeb in particular has chosen allies I know harbor hatred toward non-Muslims and, more directly, my rule.”
Nur Jahan? Was it Aurangzeb who brought her back to court?
“He has done nothing so far to act against me. In fact, he has acted in near-perfect accordance with my wishes at every turn. While that continues, I will not move against him.”
Shah Jahan sighed. The look he gave his eldest children was haunted. “Even should he rise up in rebellion, I do not know I could act against him; such is the love I bore your mother, such is the love I bear each of you.”
Chapter 31
Between the emperor’s camp and Ramdaspur
July 1635
“Man, it’s hot,” Rodney complained, wiping his neck with a handkerchief—no, that wasn’t what they called it, it was a…bandana.
“That it is,” Gervais said, looking to the mass of mounted men moving south just a few yards from their position. As soon as he heard they might be moving, Gervais had asked Rodney to come with him into town to restock their dwindling supply of salves and medicinal herbs. They’d left before dawn, only to be caught in the tide of riders heading south.
Gervais nodded at the passing soldiers. “I imagine it’s even hotter where they’re going. From what I’ve heard, the Deccan is no earthly paradise, not by a good margin, and the various sultanates are supposed to be quite capable at defending themselves.”
“Speaking of which, aren’t Muslims barred from fighting one another?”
Gervais looked at the up-timer, drawled, “Oh yes, and no Christian ever killed another Christian. Not ever. No. Not once.”
Rodney raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I guess I deserved that.”
“Did you?”
“Don’t make me wring my bandana out in your face, Gervais.”
“But getting to the gist of your question: I’m not really clear on the divisions myself, but as far as I can tell, Shah Jahan’s conflict with the Deccan states isn’t about religion at all.” He shook his head. “Indeed, it’s a lot like Central Europe before you people showed up, only with different religions for spice.”
“That may be so, but just about every one of those guys”—Rodney gestured at the mounted soldiers riding by—“looks like a true believer to me.”
“Perhaps,” Gervais said, looking closely at the men for the first time. Some of them spared a look for the two horsemen sitting on the slight rise, expressions souring when they identified them.
A sudden chill ran down his back despite the heat. Rodney was right. Many of them did seem to have that special look in their eyes, the one that tells a sensible thief he’s dealing with unreasonable men.
He tried to shake the feeling, said: “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing they’re all riding south while we head to Lahore.”
“I suppose so…” Rodney had that look that said he didn’t really believe what he was saying either. Expression brightening, he hiked a thumb over his shoulder at the camp. “Probably a good thing we’re on the move again. The boys are getting really antsy. Having nothing to do has them ready to break everything.”
Gervais looked a question at Rodney, who shrugged massive shoulders and explained, “It was hard enough while we were in Agra, but at least there Angelo was able to point them toward the knocking shops and wine sinks that are ignored by the emperor’s lawmen. Here,” he gestured at the camp surrounding them, “there’s nothing. At least, nothing for young men with more balls than sense.”
“They haven’t been—”
Rodney interrupted, “No, no real trouble yet.”
“But you suspect?”
“Of course. I remember being a guy just out of his teens as well as the next thirtysomething. Randy is especially living up to his namesake. There’s only so much training, riding, and carrying on some guys can do before they really need a…a different outlet.”
Gervais snorted, glad for once of purdah’s restrictions on the interactions between men and women. While Monique was a sensible young lady in most things, she was inexperienced in love, and certain woes they simply couldn’t afford here.
“What do you know about this Mian Mir guy?” Rodney asked, drawing Gervais from his thoughts.
“Not much. Angelo doesn’t know anything we didn’t get from Salim. I managed to ask a few people, but they don’t seem to know anything more. I asked Monique to look into it, but she hasn’t yet had an opportunity.”
“Yeah, Salim said something about Jahanara being taught by Mian Mir, so the ladies might know something more—or be able to ask.”
“I’ll ask next time I see her, but when last we spoke she left me the impression Jahanara was already expending a lot of personal political capital on behalf of the ladies, clarifying their position with regard to the harem and purdah. Which reminds me, that Das fellow Salim engaged to build us the mission?”
“Yes?”
“He says they have a site picked out and bribed the correct people to allow construction to go forward.”
“Good news, I suppose.”
“Why suppose?”
“Makes me nervous, buying something sight-unseen.”
John’s Tent, Emperor’s Camp
“And just where is this army going?”
Salim smiled, looking out past the shade of the awning and into the harsh afternoon light and the horsemen riding away. “To Bengal. The Assamese have proven themselves a greater threat than Islam Khan Mashhadi foresaw.”
“Who?” John asked, biting into a mango.
“The present governor of Mughal-controlled Bengal. He’s held the office a short time.”
“Pardon, I meant to ask about
the Assamese, not the governor.”
“Oh. I’m not all that familiar with them myself.” He shrugged. “Foreigners from beyond the eastern borders of the empire.”
“But not ferenghi?” John asked, smiling broadly.
Puzzled, Salim answered the question seriously. “No. That term is used for Europeans.”
“Oh, and here I thought I’d have a chance to go full Klingon.”
“Sorry, but what?”
John chuckled. “It’s from a show on TV, back up-time before the Ring of Fire. It had a race of aliens called Ferengi, merchants and hustlers to a man, bound only by their own set of rules, rules that often clashed with what all the other races thought of as correct behavior.”
Salim tried to hide his surprise at how accurate that translation was. The ferenghi had a deplorable reputation among the peoples of India. They broke agreements, interfered with the pilgrims on Hajj, and generally disrupted everything.
John caught the look of discomfort. “Wait, that’s what you guys actually think of us?” he asked, eyes wide.
Salim tried to make amends: “The merchants, they haven’t been the best representatives of Europeans in general, and with what…” He trailed off. Shah Jahan would not like to hear that he’d spoken of what they knew of the history.
“With what?”
“With what has been going on with Dara Shikoh, I meant to say.”
“Huh. I thought you were going to mention what the English did to India in our…that other history.”
Caught out again, Salim shook his head and decided to give up dissembling. “I was, but I don’t think it my place to bring it up just now.”
“If not now, when? Rodney isn’t here, but we, all of us, are prepared to talk openly about what happened in our history. We did some studying before we left Grantville, see.”
“You would speak openly about it?”
“Of course.” John’s brows drew together over his eyes. “It’s not like we did anything wrong.”
“I see the distinction, but it is a fine one to draw. Perhaps too fine for the angry.”
John nodded. “True, though we still believe that the more you know about what went down in our timeline, the better for everyone.”
