1637: The Peacock Throne, стр. 39
“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