Prince Aurangzeb tells me that Prince Dara is acting on his own account in a bid to seize the throne and that the instruction he claims to be from your Imperial Majesty is his forgery. By denying him I believe I am acting in the best interests of both my emperor and the empire. Instead I have given Delhi into the stewardship of Prince Aurangzeb who, I am convinced, is your loving and obedient son, seeking only to safeguard your Imperial Majesty’s position. May God in his great goodness grant you a swift return to health.
‘I hope one day Dara and I will be in a position to punish the governor for his duplicity and hypocrisy. I’d like to see him executed. That I cannot even send a reply condemning his action only brings home the harder how powerless I’ve become to impose my will on my empire.’
‘Do you think Aurangzeb is still pursuing Dara?’
‘Yes. Dara is the greatest threat to him. I doubt Aurangzeb’ll rest until he’s satisfied he’s driven Dara far away from Agra and Delhi. But he’ll want to get back here as soon as he can. He daren’t risk leaving Murad in sole command for too long. Aurangzeb must secretly fear that Murad means to seize the whole empire if he can — as doubtless he does himself. My hope is that the two of them will soon quarrel. If they do, it may give Dara a chance, especially if Suleiman brings back his army from the east. This war isn’t over yet …’
For a while he and Jahanara stood in silence. That was how it often was these days, she reflected. Cut off as they were from the outside world, what was there to talk about? Speculation was painful, raising fresh anxieties that each doubtless wished to spare the other. With every day she sensed her father retreating more and more into himself and she was doing the same. Sometimes her thoughts turned to Nicholas. The world around her — once so full of certainties — had become such a fragile place. Nicholas was one of the very few she knew she could still trust. She hadn’t forgotten his gentle touch on her scarred face. What had she felt at that moment? Not suprise, or shock, but … and it had taken her a little time to realise this … gratitude for such a human gesture at such a bleak time. If Roshanara had witnessed it, she would doubtless have interpreted it very differently.
The thought of Roshanara reminded Jahanara that she should return to the haram for the evening meal, which since the start of the siege she had taken to eating with her sisters. Her relationship with Roshanara was still strained and they said little to one another, but she knew that the boom of the cannon frightened Gauharara. Though she was no child but a grown woman, her youngest sister was eating little and sleeping badly. Every evening Jahanara tried to reassure her and turn her mind to happier things.
‘Father, with your permission I will return to the haram.’ He nodded but said nothing. Just as in the days of peace the evening torches were lit on either side of the gates leading into the main courtyard of the haram as Jahanara approached.
As the Turkish female guards swung the gates open to admit her, she heard laughter. Three young women were sitting together on the marble edge of a splashing fountain in the centre of the courtyard. For a moment, listening to them, she could pretend that nothing was amiss with the world. Soon she would order the evening meal for herself and her sisters, but first she would go and tell Roshanara what their father had said about defending the fort.
But when she entered Roshanara’s apartments on the far side of the courtyard she saw that her sister wasn’t there. Neither were her attendants. Perhaps she had gone to the bath house? She was turning to leave when she noticed a piece of folded paper lying on top of her sister’s gilded jewellery box. Curious, she picked it up and saw that it was a letter addressed to their father in Roshanara’s neat hand and sealed with her sister’s emblem of a displaying peacock. How odd that Roshanara should write to their father when she could see him whenever she wished … Jahanara was about to put the letter back when she noticed something else — the box’s silver clasps were unfastened despite the fact that Roshanara kept her finest rubies and carved emeralds, including a necklace that had belonged to their great-great-grandmother Hamida, in it. How could her attendants have been so careless? She raised the lid and looked inside. The box was empty except for a few silver bangles.
Letting the heavy lid drop back, Jahanara scanned the room. It was not as tidy as usual. A Kashmir shawl was hanging out of a chest and a gold-tasselled silk skirt was crumpled on the floor. Could there have been a robbery? Surely not in the well-guarded haram. But then a thought struck her … She was being ridiculous and yet … Almost before she knew what she was doing she broke the seal of the letter she was still holding and as fragments of green wax showered the carpet, read what her sister had written.
My dear father,
By the time you read this I will have left the fort to go to my brothers. Please forgive me but I owe my loyalty to those you have wronged and who have the best interests of the empire at heart. I must obey my conscience. May we meet again in happier times.
For a moment Jahanara stood there, scarcely able to take in the meaning of those few lines. Then, refolding the letter, she went to the door and called to an attendant.
‘Ask the khawajasara to come at once. Tell her it’s urgent.’
Barely two minutes later the haram superintendent appeared, carved ivory staff of office in hand, and anxiety on her normally calm and dignified face. ‘Highness?’
‘When I came to visit my sister she wasn’t here. Instead I found this letter saying she’s left the fort.’
‘But that’s impossible … quite, quite impossible.’
‘I think you’re wrong. When did you last see her?’
The khawajasara hesitated. ‘Probably when I spoke to her early this morning … about an incident in the haram …’
‘What incident?’
‘I didn’t think I needed to trouble you with it, Highness. Yesterday evening one of the haram servants, an elderly latrine cleaner, died. She was a Hindu from the town and her last wish was that her body be taken from the fort and returned to her people for cremation. The poor creature was very agitated at the last and I promised to do my best, though to be honest I doubted it would be possible. Somehow Princess Roshanara learned of the death and summoned me. I was surprised. It was unlike her to take such an interest in a humble member of my staff. She questioned me closely, then said that it was our duty to do our very best to fulfil the woman’s dying request. At first light this morning she sent a note to the garrison commander asking him to send a messenger to Prince Murad’s camp under flag of truce before the day’s bombardment began, carrying a letter she’d already written and sealed appealing for permission for the corpse to be carried from the fort … at least that’s what she claimed was in the letter …’ The khawajasara’s voice tailed off. ‘Madam, I …’
‘Go on.’
‘Our messenger brought back word that at dusk we would be permitted to send the woman’s body from the fort in safety. We had everything in readiness and shortly after you had gone to join His Majesty on the battlements four white-clad haram attendants carried the corpse from the fort …’ The khawajasara clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘That must be how she managed it. One of the women must have been your sister in disguise. They were all heavily veiled and it never occurred to me to check their identities …’
‘Which gate did they use?’
‘The same side gate as our messenger had earlier — a small one facing the town.’