1637: The Peacock Throne, стр. 20
Dara brought the session to a successful conclusion without further lapses, and Jahanara departed the Diwan-i-Khas. Smidha fell in behind her with a slight grunt of effort. Her longest-serving servant and most trusted confidant, Smidha had taken to complaining of stiffness of late. Jahanara was not unsympathetic to her situation and slowed to accommodate her. A wordless sigh was Smidha’s thanks.
Red Fort, the harem
As they entered the Rose Court, Nadira Begum called out a greeting over the head of her infant son.
“Greetings, Nadira. My brother will retire to the Hammam-i-shahi before joining us for further refreshment.”
“Excellent,” Nadira said, her tiny nod telling Jahanara she understood the coded message: Dara was not well. Rising to join her sister-in-law, she handed the boy off to one of his milk mothers who in turn bundled him off to the nursery apartments with his kokas.
The cabal of Dara’s inner circle had, of necessity, developed a coded lexicon in the weeks since Dara’s injury. If Father’s death had taught Jahanara anything it was this: Even here in the harem, that most sacred of places for the emperor’s repose, there were those who would inform for their enemies. Everyone was watching—and listening—for signs of weakness, and the more Jahanara could do to conceal his condition, the better for everyone.
“Shehzadi Begum Sahib, the Amir Salim Yusufzai awaits the Sultan Al’Azam’s pleasure in the Hammam-i-shahi,” Firoz Khan provided as they entered the shade of the zenana.
“Very good,” Jahanara answered.
Firoz Khan’s gesture launched another trusted servant to find Rodney or Gervais and tell them to meet their patient in the Hammam-i-shahi—the imperial bathhouse, where only the emperor’s doctors and closest advisors would have tongues to speak of what counsel was given there.
Smidha had carefully culled the imperial household for illiterate mutes who could be placed in service in the Hammam-i-shahi, and if they were not aesthetically pleasing to look on, nor particularly well trained to their tasks as yet, at least they were certain not to speak or write of what they heard there.
“Sister, my husband expressed the wish to have a quiet evening tonight, with only the very best dancers and his favorites in attendance,” Nadira said.
“As he wishes, sister of my heart and light of my brother’s life,” Jahanara said, pausing a moment to examine her brother’s wife as they took seats in one of Jahanara’s favorite chambers.
Nadira Begum was only four years her junior, already married, and mother to a prince. She had every right to assert control over her husband’s harem, yet she allowed Jahanara to persist as head of the imperial harem and her appointees remain in their positions. What’s more, she’d done so with grace and, more importantly under the current circumstances, without question.
“Firoz Khan?” Jahanara said, still watching Nadira.
There would have to come a time, though, when Jahanara would have to step aside and let Nadira be mistress of her husband’s affairs. That moment would come sooner rather than later if, God willing, Jahanara’s current plans came to fruition in timely fashion.
“Yes, Shehzadi?”
“Nadira Begum and the Sultan Al’Azam will dine privately this night, with only his favorite dancers, players, and body service. I will take my meal in my quarters with my nephew and anyone else that was to attend the Sultan Al’Azam’s dinner tonight and will settle for my paltry company.”
“Your will, Shehzadi.” The eunuch bowed and departed. Smidha ordered refreshments and took a seat behind Jahanara to watch that all was done according to her command.
Nadira met her gaze, smiled gently and reached out with hennaed, lovely hands to take Jahanara’s in hers.
“What is it, dear sister?”
“I marvel at you, who has so many cares, and yet carries through with such grace.”
Nadira released Jahanara’s hands to point at the jeweled ceiling above. “God as my witness, it is only because my husband’s sister loves him so, and takes such pains to be of greater service than any save Him could possibly command.”
Two women entered and deposited golden plates laden with dates and other fruits beside the women before retiring to sit just out of easy earshot.
“You are too kind.”
“I only return the kindness given to me…perhaps with some polish upon it,” Nadira said, an impish grin on her face as she mimed polishing one plate with the hem of her silks.
The very idea was so ridiculous, Jahanara chuckled. Smidha, too.
“Truth, now! You have some fresh worry, do you not?” Nadira asked, sobering.
“Beyond our already frequently discussed problems, no.”
Smidha cleared her throat.
Nadira looked from her to Jahanara. “It seems your conscience has it otherwise.”
Jahanara glanced over her shoulder at Smidha and stuck her tongue out.
Smidha, unperturbed, said, “I have asked my mistress repeatedly to let me send a letter to her old suitor, Nasr Khan.”
“Oh?” Nadira said, smiling mischievously.
“He is rumored to have taken service with Asaf Khan, and would certainly return to fight for Dara.”
Jahanara shook her head. “Nasr Khan serves our uncle, Shaista Khan,” she said, hoping to shift the subject from old wounds.
“Who, in turn, serves Asaf Khan,” Smidha insisted with a sniff.
“And both Dara and I have written Asaf Khan already, ordering his return that he might show the proper submission to Dara’s rule. I see no point in muddying the waters with personal requests for men already in service to those who are honor bound to serve us.”
“And yet…”
“And, as of yet there has been no reply.” Jahanara did not want to think about what that meant, just as she did not want to think on Nasr Khan.
“Surely messengers would have reached him with the news.”
“It is barely possible they have not. Bengal has killed many a horse and rider through the ages, imperial messenger or no.”
And if