Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Agiggle, with a distinctly mischievous ring to it, came from somewhere near the tall orchid trees that soared gracefully into the late spring afternoon.

"My princess! Where are you?" The head eunuch of Yasaman Kama Begum's household staff moved anxiously through the Grand Mughal's gardens. "Where has that imp of Azrael gotten to?" he muttered crankily to himself. He stopped to listen, but only the noisy chatter of birds met his sharp ears.

"Adali! Have you found Yasaman yet?" Rugaiya Begum called to him impatiently from an open balcony in the princess's palace.

"Nay, my lady, but I will," the eunuch answered. Then he heard the giggle of the child again. His brown eyes grew crafty, and he said in a wheedling tone, "I hear you, my princess. Come to Adali and he will give you your favorite sweetmeats." The air about him was silent again but for the birds.

"Mariam Makani will soon be here, Adali." Rugaiya Begum was beginning to sound anxious. She now stood upon a colonnaded porch that opened directly into the gardens. Yasaman's grandmother was the highest-ranking lady in the kingdom. One did not keep her waiting when she chose to visit. Rugaiya Begum sighed deeply. Yasaman was such a mischievous child, but why oh why had she chosen today to tease them all?

"You look troubled, Aunt."

Rugaiya Begum jumped, startled by the sound of Prince Salim's voice. "Salim! Oh, Allah! Is your grandmother here already?" Her face grew distressed.

"Grandmother is coming here? Today? I did not know," the prince replied. "No, she is not with me, but what is it that troubles you so?"

"Mariam Makani is due at any moment," Rugaiya Begum said, "and your little sister has taken this moment to play one of her games. Adali cannot find her. She is hiding in the gardens from us and she will not come out!"

Prince Salim chuckled indulgently. "I will ferret her out," he said, and moved down the steps from the colonnaded porch into the garden. "Yasaman, my little sweetmeat, where are you?" he called in dulcet tones.

"Salim? Is it you?" his sister's voice called back.

"It is I, my adorable one. Come out! Our grandmother is coming to visit at any time now. You know how she dislikes being kept waiting." His dark eyes scanned the greenery before him, seeking for some movement that would betray the child.

"You must find me!" she teased him wickedly.

He laughed. He had never imagined when this youngest child of his father's had been born six years ago that he, a grown man even then, could be overwhelmingly enchanted by so small a human being. His own children had never appealed to him so; but he adored this baby half sister of his. "Very well, you naughty monkey, I shall find you, and when I do, I shall spank your little bottom for this lack of respect," the prince threatened.

Yasaman giggled in reply.

Salim glanced back at his aunt and saw that she was looking even more frantic. The time for subtlety was obviously over. Carefully, he looked about the garden, seeking some small thing out of place, and then he saw it—a small scrap of red gauze amid the Crown Imperials. Softly he crept toward the spot, and then, with a noisy cry, he swooped down to capture his crouching prey. With a shriek of surprise she squirmed from his grasp, black hair flying, and dashed past him, but Salim was quicker. Catching his little sister once again, he lifted her up and carried her kicking and raging to where Rugaiya Begum awaited. A firm but loving smack upon her small posterior silenced her temporarily.

"Here is your daughter, Aunt," Salim said. He set the child upon her bare feet, but kept a firm hand upon her head.

"Thank you, Salim," Rugaiya Begum said. "Will you stay and have refreshments with us when your grandmother arrives? She will count it a great bonus to see you too."

"I thank you for your invitation, Aunt. Yes, I will stay," he replied.

"How did you find me when Adali could not?" Yasaman demanded, looking up at her adored eldest brother, her startling turquoise-blue eyes curious.

"I looked carefully about the garden, my little monkey, and saw the edge of your skirt," he told her with a superior smile. "There it was fluttering bright and scarlet amongst the yellow Crown Imperials."

"Adali's eyes are not as sharp as yours, my brother," Yasaman noted as the eunuch came noisily puffing up to them.

"I will deliver her to Toramalli and Rohana to be prepared," Adali said to Rugaiya Begum, taking Yasaman's little hand in his. "You have been most naughty, my princess," he scolded his little mistress as he led her into the palace.

"It is not fun always being good, Adali," she answered him.

Her honesty brought a smile to the faces of both Rugaiya Begum and Prince Salim.

"She has brought you much joy, hasn't she, Aunt?" the young man said.

"She is the child of my heart, even if I did not bear her," Rugaiya Begum said quietly. "I wonder if Candra thinks often of her."

"Perhaps she does," the prince said. He had not known his father's young English wife particularly well. She had been with them so short a time. "Then again," Salim said, "perhaps she does not think of Yasaman at all. She was, after all, returned to another husband. Surely she has had other children. Those children and their care would possibly take her mind from Yasaman."

"How could a woman forget her first child?" Rugaiya said indignantly. "I do not believe that Candra has ever forgotten her daughter! She was not that kind of woman."

The prince shrugged. "In the almost six years since she has been gone, has she ever once written a letter to inquire of the child's well-being, Aunt?"

"It was agreed that she would not," Rugaiya said quietly. "It would be far too painful for her."

Again Salim shrugged. "My father was right to retain custody of Yasaman. Here she is safe and beloved of all who know her. It would not have been so in that foreign land."

"You cannot know that for certain," Rugaiya Begum said, some instinct deep within her wanting to defend the other half of her daughter's heritage. Though separated by many years, Candra had been her friend.

Before the prince might reply, a servant arrived to tell Rugaiya Begum, "The queen mother's procession approaches, gracious lady."

"Send for the princess Yasaman," she told the servant. "She must be here to greet Mariam Makani."

"It has already been done, gracious lady," the servant replied a trifle smugly.

"Your diligence and foresight are to be commended, Ali," Rugaiya Begum said dryly, dismissing the servant.

"Mama Begum! Mama Begum!" Yasaman danced out onto the portico. Her scarlet skirt had been changed for one of turquoise-blue silk gauze with large gold coin-shaped dots. The hem of the skirt was edged in a two-inch band of gold. Her short-sleeved half blouse was made of cloth-of-gold and had a modest little round neckline that seemed to be at war with the wide area of bare skin between the bottom of the blouse and the waistband of her skirt. On the child's narrow and elegant little feet were slippers that matched her skirt. Her ebony hair was pulled back from her face and fashioned into a single long braid that had been woven with pearls and hung down her back. Yasaman wore a small necklace of pink diamonds, and there were pink diamond studs in her tiny earlobes. Her unique blue eyes had been outlined in kohl, rendering them even more brilliant.

"Mama Begum!" Yasaman said insistently a third time, and having gained Rugaiya Begum's attention, she smiled winningly. Placing the palms of her hands together, she bowed her head prettily, then looking up, asked, "Do you think the old queen, my grandmother, will be pleased with me?"

"Yes, I do," Rugaiya Begum assured the child, "but you must not call Mariam Makani the ‘old queen,' my little one. Your grandmother is a great lady in this land."

"Should her eyes be outlined so with kohl, Aunt?" Salim suddenly demanded. The effect, he thought, seemed to make Yasaman appear older than her six years. For the first time he saw a small glimpse of a woman within his youngest sister. It was a startling revelation.

"It is a special occasion, Salim," Rugaiya Begum said with a smile.

"I do not know if I like it," he replied. "It makes her look like a Nautch girl."

"Salim!" Rugaiya Begum was shocked.

"What is a Nautch girl?" demanded Yasaman.

"A pretty dancing girl," her mother quickly replied, "but you are a princess, not a dancing girl. Salim! Apologize to your sister at once!" Rugaiya Begum's dark eyes flashed angrily at her husband's eldest son and heir. A Nautch girl was indeed a dancing girl, but she was also more often than not a prostitute as well. That Salim would use such language around his sister distressed Rugaiya Begum.

"I do apologize, Aunt, for I did not mean to offend. I sought for a word to describe my displeasure with Yasaman's appearance. I should have said I thought the kohl about her eyes too sophisticated for a little girl of six." The prince took Rugaiya Begum's hands in his and touched his head to them in a gesture of obeisance.

"I am six and a half!" Yasaman said sharply to her brother, and the look on her face was so like Akbar's that both Salim and Rugaiya Begum could not restrain their laughter.

"It is good to enter a happy house so filled with laughter," came a strong, sweet voice, and the queen mother swept into the garden smiling.

"Grandmother!" Yasaman launched herself at the old lady and, wrapping her little arms about Mariam Makani's neck, kissed her cheek.

"Let me look at you! Let me look at you!" her grandmother said, unwrapping the arms that embraced her. Yasaman pirouetted gracefully. "Ahh, yes," Mariam Makani noted. "You have grown taller since my last visit, my child. Are you studying hard? Your father is a great believer in education. He has educated not only your brothers, but your older sisters as well."

"Yes, Grandmother, I am studying very hard," Yasaman assured her. "I can do my numbers. I am learning the history of our people. I am also learning French and Portuguese, as well as English, which I am told was Candra Begum's language."

"Who has your sire chosen for your tutor, my child?" Mariam Makani demanded, her black eyes curious.

"He is a priest, Grandmother. His name is Father Cullen Butler, and he is a great deal of fun; not at all like that sour old Father Xavier and the other priests. Father Cullen laughs at Baba, my monkey, and the naughty things he does. He even brings Baba treats and does not call him the devil's own spawn, as does Father Xavier," Yasaman told her earnestly. "Baba ate Father Xavier's rosary. It made him sick for a day."

"I do not like these Christians that my son has allowed into our land," Mariam Makani said.

"They hold no more power over my lord Akbar than do the mullahs or the priests of the Buddhists, the Hindus, or the Jains," Rugaiya Begum reassured her mother-in-law, and taking her by the arm, she led her into the palace. "Come and let us have some refreshment, my gracious lady."

"Salim!" the old woman called, and he hurried to her side. "Are you well, my boy? And your wives and children?"

"All well, Grandmother. I thank you for asking. May I say how happy I am to see you so blooming with health and vigor. You have yet the beauty of a young woman." He kissed her cheek.

"Flatterer!" She chuckled, but she was pleased by the flattery. "Are you to take refreshment with us then?"

"When the lady Rugaiya Begum told me of your visit, I would not go until I had seen you. Yes, I will be pleased to take refreshment with you," Salim told her.

They sat by a long reflecting pool that ran almost the entire length of the entry hall. Above them soft light filtered through the latticed jasper set into the bottom of the dome that capped the palace. Great porcelain tubs decorated with blue designs lined the walls of the lovely little hall. Long-leafed cardamom with its sprays of blue and white-lipped yellow-green flowers, as well as yellow, cream, and white ginger lilies, their long-tubed flowers sweetly scenting the air, filled the tubs. A golden chandelier hung down and, in the evenings, lit the entry. So the room had been in the time of Candra, and so it had remained, but for the couches Rugaiya Begum had placed near the water, along with several small, low, brass and ebony tables.

The servants, soft-footed and discreet in their white robes, brought out platters upon which were set slices of fresh melon, pomelos, and small bananas, as well as little pastries made from chopped nuts, shredded coconut, and honey. Blue and white porcelain cups of Assam tea, made even more fragrant by the addition of cloves, were passed around. There were tiny bowls of pistachio and pine nuts. Yasaman sat curled up within her eldest brother's embrace. She giggled as he fed her bits of sweetmeats and as he nibbled at her fingers when she, in turn, pressed bits of fruit and pastry upon him.

"It is good to see the love between the eldest and the youngest," their grandmother noted with a smile.

"He spoils her too much," Rugaiya Begum said, "as does her father when he comes to see her."

"When my son is no longer here, Yasaman will have a powerful ally and protector in her brother Salim," Mariam Makani answered her daughter-in-law wisely.

"Yasaman will be long married by that day," Rugaiya Begum replied. "Her husband will protect her."

"Her husband will not be the Grand Mughal. Salim will," Mariam Makani said tartly.

"Why do not brothers and sisters marry, Grandmother?" Yasaman asked, overhearing them. "I can think of no better husband to have than my brother Salim."

"It is unhealthy to mix blood that is so close, my child," the old woman answered. "It is considered an abomination by all faiths for a brother and sister to know each other as a man and a woman know each other. Ask your priest. That is one thing upon which we will agree, although there is little else."

"Yet in the ancient culture of Egypt," Salim told them, "it was mandatory for the ruler to wed with his sister, that their royal blood not be tainted by foreigners. Only their children could inherit the throne of Egypt."

Yasaman giggled innocently. "Then when I grow up, my brother, I shall wed with you. Our children shall rule India for a thousand generations to come." She wound her arms about his neck and kissed him upon the lips. Then she looked archly at her audience.

"When you grow up," Rugaiya Begum said, "you will marry a most handsome young prince, my Yasaman. He will come for you one day riding upon a fine elephant. The beast will be bedecked in silken cloths and jewels and there will be a gold howdah upon its back. Your prince will have dark eyes and a sweet voice to sing you love songs. He will carry you away to his kingdom, where you will have many sons and live happily ever after. Look! It is all here in the teacup." Rugaiya Begum turned the little blue and white cup so that her daughter could see the black leaves in it.

"But I want to marry Salim!" Yasaman's mouth pouted and her eyes grew mutinous.

"Well, you cannot," her grandmother said briskly. "What of Salim's dear wives—Man Bai, the mother of your nephew Khusrau, and your niece, Sultan un-Nisa Begum; and Nur Jahan, his new passion and wife of less than a year? You would hurt their feelings if you stole Salim away from them."

"They are old," Yasaman said, making a face. "Why, Man Bai is at least three years past twenty. She will be even older when I am ready to marry, and so will Nur Jahan."

Salim laughed. "What a wicked little creature you are, baby sister," he said indulgently, and plucking a bright jewel from his jacket, he gave it to her.

She gazed up at him adoringly.

"I have brought you a present, Yasaman," Mariam Makani said, in an attempt to change the subject.

The child was immediately diverted by her natural youthful greed and, slipping off her eldest brother's lap, turned to stand before the old queen. "What have you brought me, Grandmother?" she demanded. "Can I wear it? Can I play with it?"

The elderly woman cackled at her granddaughter's eagerness. "You are a true Mughal, child," she said. "Your hands are ever outstretched, grasping all you desire, or think you desire." She nodded to her personal servant, who had been standing behind her couch. The eunuch hurried off, to return but a moment later carrying an absolutely beautiful bird upon his arm. There was a small gold band about the creature's left ankle, to which was attached a thick gold chain that the eunuch grasped.

It was a large bird with glorious plumage—a bright gold breast, and turquoise-blue wings and tail. There was a patch of blue-black about his large hooked beak and his lively dark eyes. Upon his head was a small half cap of green feathers. The creature, made a trifle nervous by his new surroundings, flapped his wings strongly, revealing them to be bright gold underneath.

"A parrot!" Yasaman was wide-eyed with delight. She had a pony and an elephant, but she loved animals.

"His name is Hiraman," began Mariam Makani.

"Like the Raja Parrot in the story of Princess Labam!" Yasaman said excitedly.

"Perhaps it is the same bird," the old lady said slyly, and then she looked at the parrot. "Hiraman, this is your new mistress. Make your salaam."

To everyone's surprise, the parrot lifted its right foot, ducked its head slightly, and said in a gravelly voice, "Live a hundred years, lady!"

"Ohhhhhh!" Yasaman breathed, quite awed. "It talks, Grandmother! Hiraman talks!"

"Indeed he does, child," she agreed, smiling.

"It is a wonderful gift you have brought Yasaman, Mariam Makani," Rugaiya Begum said, and before she might admonish her daughter for a lack of manners, Yasaman was speaking.

"Oh, thank you, Grandmother! It is the best present I have ever received!" the little girl said enthusiastically.

"Hiraman has his own keeper, Yasaman," her grandmother told the child. "You may come forward and meet your new mistress," Mariam Makani called, and a tiny woman stepped into their vision. "This is Balna," the old queen said. "She is full-grown, though she stands but three feet high. She knows how to feed and care for Hiraman."

Balna fell to her knees and, touching her head to Yasaman's slipper, said, "I but live to serve you, my princess."

"You may rise, Balna," the little girl replied. "Why are you so small?"

"It is the will of Allah, my princess," Balna answered as she scrambled to her feet.

"How old are you?" Yasaman demanded.

"I am sixteen, my princess," Balna said. She was a pretty girl with pale brown skin and large, expressive amber-colored eyes. Her dark hair was neatly braided into two long plaits.

"Can Hiraman say and do other things?" Yasaman wanted to know.

"Indeed, my princess, he most certainly can," Balna told Yasaman, "but he is quite tired from his journey now and would probably like nothing better than a piece of banana and his perch."

"I'll give it to him!" Yasaman said eagerly, and before anyone could stop her, she had broken off a piece of peeled banana and was thrusting it toward the parrot.

Hiraman cocked his head and looked directly at Yasaman. Then reaching out, he gently took the fruit from her little fingers, saying most distinctly, "Thank you, lady."

"He thanked me, Grandmother! Hiraman Parrot thanked me for the banana!" Yasaman said excitedly.

The bird, his banana now clutched in one of his claws, said, "Thank you, lady! Thank you!" and began to eat.

Salim burst out laughing. "This is indeed an excellent present you have brought my baby sister, Grandmother. I do not ever remember you bringing me anything quite so fine."

"You did not deserve it," the old lady told him bluntly. "You have been in a rebellion of one kind or another against my son, your father, since your birth. Yasaman, however, respects her father."

"But you love me, Grandmother," he gently teased her, putting his arm about her.

"I love you," she answered, "but your father will always come first in my heart, Salim."

"Yet you have defended me to him on many an occasion," he rejoined.

"Would that I did not have to, my grandson. You are Akbar's eldest son and heir. You must understand that loyalty and respect go with that position and privilege. You are too eager to inherit all that is your father's, Salim."

His arm dropped from about her. "I am a man, Grandmother. I do not seek to supplant my father, but I need to have him rely upon me and not upon others, like Abul Fazl."

"Foolish boy!" his grandmother said irritably. "Abul Fazl is your father's historian. No more! He does naught but keep a record of your father's reign."

"He is my father's friend. My father asks his advice. He does not ask my advice!" Salim said angrily.

Mariam Makani snorted. "They are together constantly, Salim. You are little with your father, and yet he adores you above all his children, even Yasaman. If he occasionally asks Abul Fazl's advice, it is because Abul Fazl is there and you are not. You have your own life and duties. You have a family and your children. You must learn to rule through your father's example, but you will not rule here in this land until Akbar is gone." She pierced her grandson with a sharp look. "And may that be many years hence and I long gone myself."

"Salim would never harm Papa," Yasaman said, intuitive and clever for her years.

"Of course I would not harm our father," the prince replied smoothly, and, bending, he picked the little girl up in his arms. "I must go now, little monkey. Come with me to the gate." He smoothed her dark hair. "Your hair is as black as night and as soft as silk," he said almost to himself.

"He needs but a light rein," his grandmother said as she watched them moving away.

"He is ambitious to rule and, at times, cannot hide it," Rugaiya Begum replied. As deeply fond of Salim as she was, she could not ignore his faults, as all the other ladies of the zenana could. How many times had Salim gotten into his father's bad books only to have the other women of the household beg and plead for his restoration to his father's good graces? Akbar, Allah help him, loved Salim. He always forgave him. One day, Rugaiya Begum feared, he would not. One day Salim would step over that invisible line in the sands of life.

"He is a good boy," Mariam Makani continued.

"He is a grown man with wives and children," Rugaiya answered the old lady.

"He is the best of Akbar's sons," Mariam Makani continued.

"Aye, he is," Rugaiya agreed. "I pity Murad and Daniyal. They have spent their lives in Salim's shadow. How hard it has been for them knowing that no matter how good they were at anything, Salim would rule over them one day. It is what has driven them to liquor and opiates which may someday kill them. They have not their father's strength of will. So often the sons of a man like Akbar are lacking."

"It is all those Hindu women he marries," Mariam Makani grumbled. "Their blood is weak, and they breed weak sons."

"Salim's mother is a Rajput, the highest caste," Rugaiya Begum reminded her mother-in-law, "and he is not weak."

"True. True, my dear. Perhaps it is just that no one can compare to my son. Even his sons."

"You do not fool me, Mariam Makani." Rugaiya Begum laughed. "You dote on Salim as does every other female of his acquaintance."

The old woman chuckled. "I admit to it." She smiled. "But how can I not? Salim has such great charm."

Rugaiya Begum argued no further with her mother-in-law on the subject of Prince Salim. Instead she signaled her servants to pour them fresh tea. Salim did indeed have charm, but it was a dangerous charm. He used it to gain everything he wanted, but underneath he was ambitious and ruthless. Nothing stood in the way of Salim's desires. Nothing and no one except Akbar, who turned a blind eye to his son's faults, although he knew them, and continued to call him by the pet name he had given him in babyhood: Shaikho Baba.

Salim did have his good points. He was good to his women and his children. He loved animals, though he could be a vigorous and overly zealous hunter. He loved beautiful things and was already famed for his collection of fine art, particularly European prints which he liked to have set in gold frames decorated with Mughal floral borders. His collection of Chinese porcelain grew with each passing year. Recently he had begun to accumulate beautifully made wine cups of all kinds, and jeweled daggers.

His energy and curiosity were his strong points; but he had an eccentric side to his personality that sometimes could be whimsical, and other times just plain capricious. His large sexual appetite was considered by many a strength, by others a weakness, as was his fondness for good wine and his occasional foray into opium. He was wise enough to know his responsibilities, however, Rugaiya Begum thought, and did not as often indulge himself in these vices as did his two younger brothers. More than anything else, Salim Muhammad desired to rule India. He would do nothing to jeopardize that.

Yasaman came running back to them, chattering even as she came. "Salim says he will take me on a tiger hunt soon! Several of the beasts have been sighted near Agra. Can I go, Mama Begum? Can I go? Please! Please!" She danced around the two women.

"We are leaving for Kashmir shortly, my daughter," her foster mother told her. "It is your father's wish that you spend most of the year there rather than here in Lahore. The climate is better for you."

"I don't want to go to Kashmir," Yasaman pouted. "I want to go on a tiger hunt with Salim. I never have any fun!"

"No fun! No fun!" Hiraman Parrot said, and the beautiful bird shook his head from side to side sadly.

They looked, astounded, at him for a brief moment and then began to laugh. Even Yasaman was unable to keep from giggling, and her bad mood instantly dissipated.

"Hiraman Parrot is so funny," she bubbled, and then she turned to her grandmother. "He really is the best present I have ever had!"

Mariam Makani smiled at her youngest grandchild, showing betel-stained teeth. "I am glad to have made you so happy, child," she said. "Hiraman Parrot will remind you of me while I am away from you."

"Why do you not come to Kashmir, Grandmother?" Yasaman asked.

"Because I am an old lady, my child, and I love my home best of all. I have traveled much in my life, but I do not have to travel now if I do not want to, and I do not. I am happiest amongst my own things."

"I love Kashmir," Yasaman said. "I love the palace there that Papa built for Candra that is now mine. I love the lakes and the mountains. It is so peaceful."

"Do you not like Lahore?" her grandmother asked.

"Not as much as Kashmir," Yasaman replied. "Lahore is such a large and noisy city, Grandmother. I do not like its walls, and I cannot see the mountains unless I go outside the city. The land is so dry, except near the canals which draw water from the river that runs by the city. How can a land be so brown and arid with a river in its midst, Grandmother?"

Mariam Makani shook her head. "I do not know, my child. Perhaps you should ask your tutor. The Christian priests claim to know everything." She frowned slightly and then continued, "But this palace is a fine place to live, is it not? You are not crowded within the zenana like the other women of this family. You have your own little palace within the palace gardens. Did you know that your Mama Begum and Papa played here as children?"

Yasaman nodded her head, smiling. "Mama Begum says that Papa used to catch beetles and chase her with them. Big, black, ugly beetles!" she said, making an ugly face. Hunching her shoulders and raising her hands up, she wiggled her fingers pretending to be a beetle.

Rugaiya Begum recoiled in mock horror, which sent her daughter into a fresh fit of giggles, particularly as her mother cried out, "Oh, Yasaman, do not do that! It terrifies me so!" Then, reaching out, she pulled the little girl into her warm embrace and hugged her. "Do not contort your beautiful face so, my darling. What if a wicked jinn saw you thus and liked it enough to cast a spell upon you so it would always remain that way?"

"Ohhh, no Mama Begum!" Yasaman gasped, quickly looking about, her turquoise eyes wide, and she snuggled into her mother's arms.

Rugaiya Begum chuckled. "I think it is time for you to bid your grandmother farewell, my daughter. Both Balna and Hiraman Parrot look tired and need to be shown to their quarters. Take them to Adali."

"Yes, Mama Begum," the child answered, slipping from Rugaiya's arms, kissing her on the cheek as she drew away. "Good-bye, Grandmother. I am so happy you came to visit with me today." Yasaman kissed the old lady on both of her cheeks. "I hope you will come to see me again very soon."

"And bring you another wonderful present, my child?" Mariam Makani asked slyly, her dark eyes bright and amused.

"Ohhh, Grandmother, you could never give me another present as wonderful as Hiraman Parrot!" Yasaman exclaimed, and then taking the parrot's keeper by the hand, she led her off.

"Has my son chosen a husband for her yet?" Mariam Makani asked.

"She is too young," Rugaiya replied. "You know how Akbar feels about marrying too young. Yasaman is not quite seven yet. There is plenty of time."

"She grows so quickly," Mariam Makani noted. "She will be taller than most girls, but already she is a beauty. Akbar is wise to wait with her. She will only grow more beautiful with each passing year. Her bride price will be great, and her husband a man of much influence and power. That is as it should be for a daughter of Akbar the Great." She paused in her conversation to drink deeply from her cup. "Do you speak to her of Candia Begum?"

Rugaiya nodded. "Yes," she said. "It is not fair that she not know of the mother who gave birth to her and who left her so very reluctantly. Their separation was not of Candra's making. Given the choice—and she was not—Candra would never have left her child."

"I am sorry I did not know her," Mariam Makani said. "Akbar grieved greatly for her; and you and Jodh Bai speak so fondly of her. What was she like?"

Rugaiya Begum was somewhat surprised by her mother-in-law's query. Mariam Makani had never before inquired about Candra. In the brief time that Candra had been with them, Mariam Makani had been traveling on a religious pilgrimage. She had been home but a few days when her son's two favorite wives had sent for her out of desperation. Candra was gone and Akbar had locked himself in a high tower of the Lahore palace. Candra's weeping servants, Rohana and Toramalli, had brought the infant Princess Yasaman to Rugaiya Begum. They were virtually incoherent with their grief.

"Candra was a beautiful woman," Rugaiya said slowly, striving to remember the face of her long-ago friend. "She was quite different from anyone we have ever seen. Even the Portuguese women are similar to us in coloring, as you know. Candra had skin like polished silk. It was as white as the mountain snows. Her eyes were as green as the emeralds you wear, Mariam Makani; and her hair! Ahh, what hair she had! It was a deep, rich brown, and it was filled with fiery red lights. She called the color," and here Rugaiya Begum cudgeled her memory for a long moment, "Auburn!" she finished triumphantly.

"I have always known it was from Candra that Yasaman gained her light-colored eyes," the elderly woman replied, "but I thought their eyes would be the same color. Emerald-green you say. How interesting. I have seen blue-eyed Englishmen at my son's court; but none have had eyes like a turquoise, as does Yasaman. I wonder if there is one with such eyes in Candra's family? But tell me, Rugaiya Begum, of Candra herself. Her beauty I suspected, for my granddaughter is beautiful. The fairest of Akbar's children, in fact. Tell me of the woman my son loved so deeply." Mariam Makani reached for a honeyed pastry and popped it into her mouth.

"Candra was intelligent," Rugaiya said quietly. "She had exquisite manners. The first time Jodh Bai saw her in the baths, Candra recognized in Jodh Bai a woman of royalty and bowed as they passed. She was kind, and there was no meanness in her at all. Almira and some of Akbar's other wives were fiercely jealous of her. They set themselves against Candra and took every opportunity they could find to insult her. She met their insolence with spirited courtesy, accepting none of their slights, and defending her position with gallantry. Her demeanor infuriated them." Rugaiya chuckled.

"Did she truly love my son?"

"Oh, yes! And when Yasaman was born to Candra, she was radiant with her happiness. Then when Yasaman was but six months of age, tragedy struck. Candra's uncle, a Christian priest, arrived at court. Candra's first husband had not been killed as she had thought. Both he and her family wanted Candra back. I am told she refused to go, telling Akbar that she would sooner be the lowest of the low within his household than to be parted from him."

"But my son's sense of honor would not permit such a thing," Mariam Makani said knowingly. "Foolish man! He sacrificed his own happiness and Candra's for his honor. Had it been me, I should have killed the priest and put an end to it then and there!" She snorted with impatience at her son's past behavior. "Still, some good came of it. You are a good mother to my granddaughter, Yasaman. Her kismet is a fortunate one, I believe."

"So the astrologers predicted at her birth," Rugaiya replied.

Mariam Makani rose to her feet. "I have tarried with you a long time this day," she noted. "It is past time I went to my own home."

"Your presence has honored our house," Rugaiya murmured, standing politely. "I hope, Mariam Makani, that you will come again soon."

"Perhaps before you leave for Kashmir at the end of the month," her mother-in-law promised.

Rugaiya Begum escorted her guest to her elephant, waiting politely as Mariam Makani was helped into her gold and scarlet howdah, waving as the old queen mother's small procession wended its way from her courtyard. Only then did she turn back into the little palace, hurrying up the staircase to the second level and down the hallway to her daughter's bedchamber. Yasaman had already been bathed and fed. She was tucked into her small bed, her beautiful blue and gold parrot in his brass cage within her sight.

Rugaiya Begum smiled and said, "I have come to bid you good-night, my child. Have you had a happy day?"

Yasaman smiled sleepily. "Oh, yes, Mama Begum!"

Rugaiya Begum bent down and kissed the little girl's cheek. "May God give you sweet dreams, my daughter," she said.

"Tell me of Candra again," Yasaman begged. Her eyes were heavy, but her tone determined.

Rugaiya positioned herself on the edge of the child's bed. To argue would be useless. Yasaman was very stubborn when she wanted something. She would fall asleep within five minutes if not thwarted. "Once upon a time," Rugaiya Begum began, "there was a beautiful princess who came from many months' distance away, over the vast seas to the land of the great emperor Akbar. She was the most beautiful maiden that the emperor had ever seen, and he immediately fell in love with her and made her his fortieth wife. He called her Candra in honor of the moon, for she was, he said, as fair as the moon. After several months a child was born from the love shared by Akbar and Candra. Candra loved her child with all her heart, and the infant princess was named Yasaman Kama. Yasaman for the jasmine flowers whose scent was Candra's favorite, and Kama, which means love, for the little girl had been conceived and born of love."

Yasaman's eyes suddenly widened. "Papa!" she cried joyfully, holding out her arms to her father even as Rugaiya Begum arose, bowing to her husband, her hands folded in a gesture of respect.

"My little love," the emperor said with a warm smile for this youngest of his children. He bent to kiss her, then sat down upon the edge of her bed. "What story does your Mama Begum tell you?" he asked.

"The story of Candra!" the little girl replied excitedly. "It is my favorite story of all, Papa, except for its sad ending. How I wish it had a happier ending."

Akbar's expressive dark eyes clouded for a moment with the painful memory and he sighed sadly, deeply.

"My dearest lord," Rugaiya Begum said, "I beg your forgiveness, but I have never thought it right that Yasaman not know the truth."

He looked up at her, and she almost cried out at the hurt she saw in his face. Then he took her hand in his and answered, "I gave you our daughter to raise, my dear wife. You can do no wrong with her in my eyes. Continue with your tale now, for Yasaman will not rest until it is finished, will you, my little love?"

Yasaman shook her head most vigorously.

"Now, where was I?" Rugaiya wondered aloud, remembering quite clearly where she had stopped, but enjoying her daughter's excitement.

"The little girl had been conceived and born of love," Yasaman prompted her.

"Ahh, yes," she said, and then continued, "When the child was but a half a year old, a wise man came from Candra's native land. He brought terrible news, and Candra was forced to leave her beloved daughter and the emperor, Akbar. She did not want to go, but more important, she did not want to leave her child. Akbar, however, would not allow his little daughter to be taken from him; and so Candra placed her baby into the keeping of her friend, Rugaiya Begum. ‘Be the Mama Begum to my child as I cannot now be,' she said, and Rugaiya Begum, whom Allah had not blessed with a child of her own womb, happily agreed because she loved her friend, and she loved the baby. Candra left the emperor's lands, never to be seen again by him or the others who loved her.

"It is known that she reached her own land safely, and each year upon the birthday of Yasaman Kama Begum, the emperor, Akbar, sends a perfect pearl to Candra's mother, who is Yasaman's other grandmama, that Candra's family may be reassured that the child thrives."

Yasaman's eyes were now shut tightly. Her breathing had slowed and her left thumb crept slowly into her mouth. The two adults rose from their places at the side of her bed and departed the room. Rugaiya Begum led her husband to the small dining room within the palace, for he had come to take supper with her.

"I must apologize for the simplicity of the meal, my lord, but you did not give me a great deal of notice," she said.

"I enjoy your simple meals, my dear wife," he told her. "Each day in the main palace I must eat in state. There are a minimum of five hundred dishes served to me. No one eating with me can touch a morsel until each of these dishes is presented to me. It is exhausting."

Rugaiya lowered her head to hide her smile. Akbar was the ruler of this vast land. He might complain of all the pomp surrounding his daily life, but if he really desired to make that life more simple, he had but to command it. The truth was, he generally enjoyed all the fuss, although occasionally, like this evening, he sought a more simple life. Raising her eyes, she signaled her servants to begin serving them.

The meal began with a watermelon sherbet to cleanse the palate for the delights to come. A honey loaf sprinkled with poppy seeds was put upon the table, followed by a leg of delicately cooked baby lamb, chicken in a mustard leaf curry, a river fish with red chili, bowls of carrots, tiny, sharp herbed pickles, and saffron rice. Akbar tore the loaf in half and helped himself generously to each of the dishes offered him. When he had finished, a lemon sherbet was brought to him, and then lychees, peeled, in a dish of light wine were set before him along with a tray of fresh fruits, a bowl of shelled pistachios, and a plate of rose petals encased in crystallized honey.

He ate with gusto, and when he was finished he said, "I sleep better for your simple meals, my dear Rugaiya."

"So do we all, my lord," she answered him with a smile. "We are no longer as young as we once were."

"I am not that old," he protested.

"Do not forget, my lord," Rugaiya teased him mischievously, "that I am well aware of your exact age. We are cousins, after all, as well as husband and wife."

He chuckled. "It is true," he agreed, "but I am still young enough to enjoy a comely maiden in my bed."

"Is any man ever too old for a comely maiden?" she replied wickedly. It pleased her that after all these years she could still make him laugh. Now, more than ever, he needed to laugh.

"Have you always been this wise," he teased back, "or is it your age? Remember, I know how old you are too!"

"But you are far too noble to disclose that information publicly, my lord, I am certain," she said.

Again he laughed, but then he grew a trifle sober and asked her, "Why do you not tell Yasaman exactly why Candra was taken from us? Does she not ever ask just what the ‘terrible news' brought by the wise man was? She is normally as curious as a monkey."

"But she is still just a child, my lord, barely out of her babyhood. For now it is enough that Candra loved her and did not want to leave her. She would not understand even if I attempted to explain the truth to her. Later on when she is older and capable of more intricate thought, I will tell her precisely what happened if she wants to know. It may not be important to her then."

"Why did you tell her at all then, my dear one?"

"Because if I had not, one day you may be certain someone would have. There is no way anyone would believe Yasaman was a child of your seed and my womb. It is obvious I am not her natural mother. I am plump and big-boned. My eyes are black. My skin is a wheaten-gold in color. Yasaman, on the other hand, is slender and delicately made. Her turquoise eyes give her away as the daughter of another woman. Her skin is the color of heavy cream, and her black hair, though it is as straight as yours, my lord, shines with hidden fire, even as Candra's did.

"There would come a day when someone, out of mischief, or jealousy, or just plain meanness, would have told Yasaman of Candra. They would not know the truth as I know the truth. Did you not order Abul Fazl, your personal historian, to erase all mention of Candra from his writings of your reign? I know that you did it because of your great pain over the matter, but others would not know that. They would try and make something unkind of it. They would hurt my child, and I will never allow anyone to hurt her! As long as there is breath in my body and strength in my arms, no one shall harm our daughter!"

Akbar nodded, and taking her hand in his, he pressed it lovingly. "I chose wisely when I gave Yasaman to you, Rugaiya. I can remember back to when Candra came to me about how jealous Shaikho Baba was of me, for he wanted her for himself. When Yasaman was born he even suggested she might not be my daughter but the get of some Portuguese who had first taken Candra for his own pleasure. He was very angry in his deep disappointment, yet today he adores his little sister."

"No one looking at Yasaman could doubt she was your child, my dear lord," Rugaiya Begum said. "The tiny mole between her upper lip and her left nostril is the twin to yours, but for its size, which is smaller; and although she does not resemble you exactly, her imperious look when she is thwarted is your look." She laughed. "She quite cows the servants with that look."

"Yes," he agreed. "I have seen it. Her fierce Tatar ancestry shows in that look." Then he looked deep into his first wife's eyes and told her, "You are a good mother, Rugaiya Begum. Yasaman is fortunate to have your love, to be in your care."

"She is the child of my heart, my dear lord. I thank God each day that you have entrusted me with her care."

"I am of a mind to rest comfortably this night," Akbar answered her. "May I stay in your bed, my dearest Rugaiya?"

"No comely maiden, my lord?" she gently mocked him.

"Sometimes old friends are the best," he replied, smiling at her and touching her soft cheek with gentle fingers.

"Do you not mean old wives?" she teased him back.

"No," he said quietly. "You are my friend, Rugaiya Begum. I have thirty-nine wives, of which you are the first; but I have few true friends upon whom I can count. You are amongst those few."

"We are fortunate to have each other, are we not?" she said.

"Yes," he agreed, and rising, he led her from the dining room, back up the staircase to her chamber.