Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The fisherman, casting his nets in the still, dark waters of the lake, peered curiously at the palace of the Grand Mughal's daughter. He was quite near to it, perhaps closer than he should have been, but the fish were running into the shore tonight. Besides, Yasaman Kama Begum did not mind. Had she not personally given him permission to fish these waters by her home? He was the envy of all the men in the village, he thought, pushing his chest out with his pride; but had he not saved the princess's cat from a watery death? A young creature of obviously little sense, it had unwisely leapt from the marble terrace in pursuit of a noisy, arrogant duck. He chuckled with the memory.

He had seen the cat, an elegant beastie with long silvery-white fur, stalking the duck from the terrace top. The fisherman had assumed it was merely a feline exercise until the cat, perhaps taunted to rashness by the squawking duck, had leapt out high over the water, landing with a resounding splash and a howl of surprise which was half muffled by the water in its mouth. The duck, protesting this invasion of its territory, lifted itself off the lake with an indignant flap and flew away.

Almost immediately a chattering monkey had appeared upon the terrace wall, to be followed by a young girl who shrieked her distress. The fisherman, who had daughters of his own, realized that this was a beloved pet. Diving into the calm waters of the lake, he hauled the cat out and dumped it in his boat, which was little more than a hollowed-out log. The cat, in its terror, scratched him badly. Without thinking, the fisherman cursed loudly, likening the cat's mother to the bottom of a cesspit.

"Mama Begum says that no one should use such language," the girl said, but then she giggled.

The fisherman was astounded to be addressed by the cat's mistress. He did not need to be told who she was. She was the Grand Mughal's youngest and, so it was said, most beloved daughter. He dared not speak again, and climbing back into his boat, he cast his eyes down.

"If you will row but a bit closer," Yasaman Kama Begum said, "you can, I believe, hand Fou-Fou up to me."

The fisherman looked up and gaped at her foolishly.

"The cat, good sir," the princess gently explained.

"The cat," he repeated, and then looked down into the bottom of his vessel where the stupid creature crouched, eyeing him balefully and growling low. Yes, the cat! The fisherman realized that in being where he should not be, the sooner he departed, the less likely it was that questions would be asked of him. Stooping quickly, he reached for the beast which, with an angry hiss, struck out at him with a claw. Startled, the fisherman drew back.

"Bad Fou-Fou!" the young girl scolded. "This man saved your foolish life and but wishes to return you to me."

The cat's ears perked at the sound of its mistress's voice, and looking up, it meowed piteously. The fisherman quickly lifted the diverted animal from the boat's bottom and handed it to the princess.

"Oh, thank you, good sir," she said to him with a winning smile. "You must be rewarded for your bravery. My father would not have it otherwise. What is your name?"

Allah help me! the fisherman thought. I will surely be punished now for fishing so close to the royal palace, but there was no help for it. "My name is Ali, great lady," he said, bowing awkwardly, painfully conscious of his bare feet and dirty loincloth.

"You should not have been fishing so near to my palace, should you, Ali?" the princess said wisely. "Had you not, however, I should have lost my dear Fou-Fou. He was given to me by my brother Salim, who will one day be Grand Mughal. Fou-Fou is a most important cat, and you are responsible for saving her life." She smiled at him, showing perfect little white teeth. "Do you come so close because the fishing is good here, Ali?"

He nodded, afraid. She knew he should not have been there. He would certainly be punished.

"Then tomorrow, Adali, who is the high steward of my household, shall go to the village and present your headman with my written permission for you to fish in the waters near my palace. Do you have sons, Ali?"

"Two, great lady," he answered her, his heart hammering with excitement.

"And sons-in-law?" she further queried.

"Three," he said, suddenly realizing that what was said about this royal princess was absolutely true. She was the most beautiful female ever begat.

Yasaman Kama Begum nodded thoughtfully, and then said, "You may bring two of these men with you if you choose, Ali the fisherman. More would be an intrusion, and none may come without you. This privilege will span your lifetime only. This is my reward to you for saving my pet."

"Thank you, great lady! Thank you!" His head was swimming with delight. Fishing rights by the princess's palace, among the richest fishing grounds on the lake! He was going to be a wealthy man! "Thank you! Thank you!" he babbled. He wanted to row quickly home to tell his wife and family of his good fortune, but he would not. He had fishing to attend to.

"It is I who should thank you, Ali the fisherman." She smiled again. "Fou-Fou thanks you too," she assured him.

He would always remember her smile, Ali thought as he recalled that afternoon three years before, when his kismet had placed him in the wrong place at the right time. He had indeed grown wealthy by her kindness; but his family had many needs that seemed to grow with his fortune. Only he could fish this spot, with two of his offspring or his sons-in-law. So it was necessary to continue laboring. Now his youngest daughter was getting married, and there was a great deal his wife insisted she must have. The fisherman was just as glad to have an excuse to get away from his house and all the chattering women. His happiness had always been here on the lake.

He gazed at the nearby palace, which in the twilight seemed to float upon the waters of the lake. There were lanterns decorating the terrace tonight, and he could hear the sounds of flutes and drums. Candles fixed into little rounds of wood had been lit and set afloat in the lake. It was most magical and a perfect way to celebrate the princess's birthday. He knew it was her birthday because she had spoken to him when she saw him just a few days ago.

"I will be thirteen," she had said. "My father and brother are coming to see me. I shall be given my weight in precious jewels, Ali. I have been every year since my birth."

"You must be very rich, great lady," he had observed.

"I suppose I am," she replied modestly.

The fisherman smiled to himself. She was a most charming young girl, and he would always bless her for his good fortune. He hoped her kismet would be a happy one, but then why wouldn't it be? She was a princess. Ali cast his nets gracefully and gazed toward the terrace where two figures now stood intertwined. One of them was Yasaman Kama Begum, the other a man. The fisherman discreetly turned his back upon them. He was curious, but then it was not his business.

"Why does that fisherman come so close to your palace?" Salim demanded of his sister.

She peered through the fast-darkening evening and then answered him, "It is Ali; the man who saved Fou-Fou three years ago. You know I gave him fishing rights."

"What I know is that you have grown more fair, if that is possible," the prince replied. He drew her tightly against him and was excited to feel the soft flesh of her young breasts give against his chest.

"Mama Begum is going to speak to Father while he is here about the candidates for my hand in marriage," she told him, looking up into his face, her dark lashes fluttering just slightly.

"You are too young for marriage!" he growled in an angry voice.

"I am not," she replied calmly. "I bleed each month like all women of childbearing age. I am ready. You were not much older than I am now when you first wed."

"You know nothing of men, sweet sister," he murmured, and his hand caressed her silky head. "Besides, I will not let you go, Yasaman. I want you by me when I come into my inheritance. Remember how we spoke on it when you were little?"

"So you admit I am no longer a child," she teased him.

"I admit nothing! Sweet sister, do you not remember the kings and queens of ancient Egypt?" He bent his head and gently kissed her brow.

"The ones who wed each other in order to keep their bloodline pure? Aye, brother, I remember, but do you not recall our grandmother says that such a thing is unclean?" His arms about her were both exciting and frightening, she decided. Salim, twenty-one years her senior, seemed so sophisticated and worldly.

"She is a querulous old woman! What does she know of life, my lotus blossom?" He pressed his lips to her temple once again. Allah! How he wanted her! It was madness, he knew, but for several years now he had lusted after his half sister with a passion that frightened even him. He seemed to have no control over it, and it had only grown worse as Yasaman had matured and grown more beautiful.

He had three wives. Man Bai, Amara, and the elegant Nur Jahan. He loved them. Yet still he wanted Yasaman. The thought of another man's lingham piercing her sweet yoni was more than he could bear. He felt his own member hardening at the thought. Yasaman! The mere thought of her consumed him with a raging, burning passion.

"Am I to be a spinster then, like our poor sister, Aram-Banu?" Yasaman demanded, shifting nervously at the unfamiliar pressure against her leg.

"Aram-Banu is a child," he told her.

"Aram-Banu is older than I am, Salim!" she retorted spiritedly.

"In years, aye, sweet sister, but Aram-Banu has the mind of a child. She is too simpleminded to be given to any man for a wife, else Father would have married her off to his advantage long ago." Reaching out, he cupped her face in his hand. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you, little monkey. Tell Father you will accept no husband now, and stay with me." He smiled down at her. "You know that I adore you, Yasaman." He ran his thumb along her full lips. She opened those lips and took his thumb in her mouth, sucking teasingly upon it for a moment. He believed he would lose control entirely as thoughts of her mouth upon a more intimate part of him filled his head. Yet practical instinct told him she was still half a child and had no real knowledge of her effect upon him.

"There you two are!" Rugaiya Begum had come upon them, although they had not heard her approach. "Yasaman, run along and change your garments. Your father's messenger has just arrived to say that Akbar is only an hour away."

The girl pulled easily from her brother's grasp and, without so much as a backward glance, hurried off. The prince and the older woman stared at each other a long, hard moment.

Then Rugaiya Begum said, "Your father and I are going to choose suitors for Yasaman while he is here. It is time we began to consider an advantageous marriage for her."

"Under the law, she cannot marry until she is fourteen," Salim replied. "I think it is much too soon to betroth her."

"Your father made the laws, and he can amend them, Salim. I cannot protect Yasaman the way a husband can." Rugaiya Begum answered him.

"Does she need protection, lady? Who would harm the Grand Mughal's daughter?"

She knew!The bitch had a sharp eye and a keener judgment of his character than any other. Whenever he had gotten in his father's bad graces over the years, he could always rely upon the ladies of his father's zenana to aid him. All but Rugaiya Begum. She loved him for his mother's sake, but unlike the others, even his grandmother, she was not fooled by him.

"You will want to change your clothes, Salim, or perhaps you would prefer to leave," she said, ignoring his question. Then she turned away, hurrying back into the house.

Rugaiya Begum went to her daughter's apartments, where Yasaman was bathing in a marble pool of perfumed water with the aid of her two body servants, Rohana and Toramalli. Looking about her, Rugaiya Begum sighed. The child was still such an innocent. Fou-Fou, the long-haired white cat Yasaman so doted upon, lay sprawled indolently upon a silken couch. Baba, the monkey, had perched himself upon the rolled arm of the couch and was eating a piece of fruit which was dripping juice all over the silk fabric. The parrot, Hiraman, strutted fretfully about the pool muttering, "Water! Water!" beneath its breath and watching Yasaman nervously.

Rugaiya Begum shook her head. Yasaman had been too cosseted and too sheltered! It was all her fault that Yasaman was too immature to marry, and yet … Rugaiya Begum bit her lip in vexation. Was she mistaken? Surely Salim did not lust after his little sister! It had to be the imagination of an old woman seeing shadows where there were none. Still, Akbar was not well, although he hid it from everyone but his physician and her. A marriage had to be arranged for Yasaman eventually. Now was as good a time as any to settle the matter. Her instincts had never failed her before, but she was still loath to believe that the prince desired Yasaman as a woman. If Yasaman were married, however, the matter would be settled for good and all. If she was right, this would be but one of Salim's temporary passions. A royal marriage for his sister would cool his ardor and bring him to his senses.

"What have you decided to wear, my child?" she asked her daughter.

"The peacock-blue- and gold-striped pajama, and a cloth-of-gold kurti with my new shabnam peshwaz, Mama Begum," Yasaman answered as she stepped from the marble bathing pool.

Rugaiya Begum looked closely at her daughter for the first time in a long while and realized, to her surprise, that Yasaman had the body of a woman. Her breasts were high cones of smooth pale skin that would grow quite lush with age. Her legs were long and shapely. With a young body like that, her desires would only increase as each day went by. No wonder she was so susceptible to Salim. Yasaman's body was maturing faster than her emotions, which, of course, were confusing the girl, who did not know yet what to do with those emotions.

"A perfect choice, dearest one, but then you always had an instinct for style," Rugaiya Begum complimented her daughter. Then she said in a more serious tone, "We must speak, my daughter, for you have done something you knew would displease me, and yet you did it."

"What is that, Mama Begum?" Yasaman replied sweetly, raising her arms to allow her servants to dry her off before massaging her with almond oil.

"You were wrong to ask your brother to come to your birthday celebration, Yasaman," Rugaiya Begum said.

"Next to Papa and you, he is my favorite person," the girl answered.

"Your father has not, nor will he ever forgive Salim for his part in the murder of Abul Fazl."

"Salim did not murder Abul Fazl!" Yasaman defended her brother.

"No," agreed Rugaiya Begum. "Your brother did not wield the weapon that pierced the heart of Abul Fazl; but he most certainly directed Bir Singh of Orchha to do so. It is no secret, Yasaman. You know it to be so. Bir Singh has publicly said your brother promised him his patronage and a rich reward for the deed."

"The cowardly bandit lies!" Yasaman exclaimed angrily, but at the same time she felt uncomfortable. She had heard the gossip, and Salim had always been jealous of her father's friend, the historian. Abul Fazl had been a gentle, wise man with a wonderful sense of humor. He had always been especially kind to her, and Yasaman's conscience nagged her. Still, she loved her brother. She could not believe he would do such a thing!

"A man on the run such as Bir Singh exposes his compatriots in order to divert the whole punishment from himself, my child."

"Father forgave Salim," Yasaman muttered with a total lack of logic.

"Your father had no choice but to publicly forgive Salim," Rugaiya Begum explained gently. "Your two other brothers, Murad and Daniyal, are not fit to rule. Salim is the only heir. Only the intercession of your grandmother and Gulbadan Begum, your father's elderly aunt, saved Salim. Your father was ready to disinherit him and declare Salim's son, Prince Khusrau, the next Mughal.

"Publicly your father has reconciled himself with your brother. Privately he does not want to see him. You have been incredibly thoughtless, Yasaman. You should have asked me before you sent to Salim. Abul Fazl was murdered one year ago this very day."

Yasaman turned, her young face shocked. "Ohh, Mama Begum! I did not know!"

"There was no need for you to know, my child, until now. Had you not asked Prince Salim to come, it would never have been necessary to tell you that your father's dearest friend and advisor was murdered on your twelfth birthday. It is tragic that a day your father has always held in esteem and joy became one of sadness for him."

"Oh, Mama Begum, I would not hurt my father! You know how much I love him!" Yasaman cried.

"Then send Adali to your brother with the message that he must leave here before your father arrives," Rugaiya Begum advised.

"Yes! Yes!" Yasaman agreed. Calling the eunuch who was her high steward, she instructed him nervously, her eyes flicking back and forth from the eunuch's face to her mother's for approval.

Adali nodded solemnly, his brown eyes meeting Rugaiya Begum's for a brief moment of total understanding. Then, with a bow to his young mistress, he hurried off.

"There, there, my child," Rugaiya Begum said, gathering her daughter into her arms to soothe her. "Everything will be all right now, I promise you." She patted Yasaman, all the while thinking, Salim will rush off in a temper if I know him, and I do. We'll not be bothered with him for a long while now.

She was incorrect, however. She had returned to her own quarters to dress when Adali came to her.

"The prince says he will leave the palace so that his sister's birthday celebration will not be spoilt. He will remain in the vicinity, however, so he may visit with her, as they have been separated these many months and he has missed her company. He asks that you tender his respects to his father. One of his servants will remain to present the prince's birthday gift to the princess."

Rugaiya Begum frowned. "I had hoped he would leave us entirely," she said, disappointed.

"I understand, gracious lady," Adali replied, nodding.

"Do you, I wonder?" Rugaiya Begum said almost to herself.

"The prince lusts after his sister, which is wrong," Adali answered her softly.

Rugaiya Begum gasped, shocked to hear her own fears voiced aloud by another. "Is it so obvious then, Adali?" she questioned him.

"Only to you and to me, gracious lady. We both know how the prince behaves when he desires something he cannot or should not have. We have both watched over our little princess since she was born, and we would keep her safe from all wickedness. What will you do, gracious lady?" Though Adali was a servant, he was a trusted one, and Rugaiya Begum thought, he was also a friend.

"My lord Akbar will be here in Kashmir for several days, Adali. In that time I hope to broach the matter of Yasaman's marriage. I believe if we can settle her with a husband, Prince Salim's unnatural desires will dissolve."

The high steward nodded in agreement. "As always, gracious lady, I stand in awe of your wisdom," he said.

Rugaiya Begum smiled. "We have had many adventures together over our dear child, haven't we, Adali? Do you remember the time she felt sorry for her father's fighting elephants and let them loose?"

"And they wandered through the city of Lahore trumpeting piteously and frightening the general population, who thought they were under attack?" Adali wheezed with laughter.

"Even Akbar found it funny," Rugaiya Begum chuckled, "although afterwards he scolded her most severely. He had to pay for all the damages too, particularly in the open market where the fruits and vegetables were sold. Those elephants ate everything in sight!"

"But our good and gracious master also explained to our little princess that the fighting elephants were trained to go into battle and, indeed, enjoyed it. When Yasaman understood that by loosing the beasts she had frightened them, for they felt lost and afraid, she repented of her naughtiness. I remember our lord Akbar telling her that if ever again she thought that a cruelty was being perpetrated upon an animal, she was to come to him first. How he loves the creatures, and he has taught his daughter to love and cherish them too."

Before they might continue with their reminiscences, however, they heard the sound of the drums that accompanied the emperor in his travels. Akbar was approaching the palace.

"Find Yasaman!" Rugaiya Begum instructed Adali, and he ran off to do so.

Rugaiya Begum turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror that she possessed, and was pleased with the reflection that looked back at her. She wore a jaguli: a high-waisted dress long favored by her Mughal ancestors. It had an open neck and long, tight-fitting sleeves. The skirt flowed regally about her. The midnight-blue color was particularly flattering, and the silken skirt was dotted with silver stars that seemed to match her hair. She wore a long necklace of fat Indian Ocean pearls and Ceylon sapphires that echoed the sapphires in her ears.

"Well," she said to herself in a low voice, "I am becoming an old woman, but by Allah, I am a handsome old woman!" She chuckled and patted her beautiful silvery hair, which she wore parted in the center and wound into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. Her plain but kindly face was lined around her lively black eyes, but barely touched elsewhere. She took great pride in her soft, fine skin which quite belied the fact that she would be sixty on her next birthday in the spring.

"Mama Begum! Mama Begum! Papa is almost in the courtyard!" Yasaman danced into her view. "Ohhh, how beautiful you are!"

Rugaiya Begum smiled happily and replied, "You far outshine me, my daughter. I am astounded by the evidence of my eyes. You are really quite grown up."

"Am I?" Yasaman's voice was somewhat breathless with her excitement.

Rugaiya Begum turned from her mirror and gently patted her daughter's cheek. "Yes you are."

"Do you think Papa will be pleased with my costume? My aunt, the lady Jodh Bai, sent me this shabnam peshwaz. It is the muslin of the morning dew. Only a Mughal's daughter may have peshwaz of shabnam."

"Yes, I know that," said Rugaiya Begum, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "There are other fine muslins, like White of the Clouds when the Rain Is Spent; the Jasmine Rower White; White of the August Moon; but, of course, only plain princesses can wear those. Only a royal Mughal princess can wear the shabnam muslin. It goes quite well with your peacock-blue and cloth-of-gold pajama and kurti. I like what Toramalli has done with your hair too."

Yasaman's long black tresses were loose, but her maidservant had fashioned a single braid amid the thick cloud of hair, weaving it with small pearls and diamonds, which hung down her back and glittered with her every movement. Then she had powdered Yasaman's hair with gold dust. In the princess's small ears, diamonds sparkled also.

"You look perfect," her mother assured her. "Let us go now and greet your father."

Hand in hand they entered the courtyard just as the emperor arrived. Akbar would be sixty-one in the autumn. He was still a handsome man, and if his concealed ill health had taken a toll on him, it was not visible. He was dressed all in white, from the silk dastar turban on his head to the jama, a long coat-tunic with a full skirt that covered his long pants, which were called cuddidara pajamas. Only his patka, a sash of cloth-of-gold studded with sparkling diamonds, broke the pristine purity of his snow-white costume.

Climbing off his horse, he turned and opened his arms to his wife and daughter. "At last!" he said with a deep sigh, and then he pretended to look about. "Rugaiya, my dear, where is Yasaman? Why is she not here to greet her old father?"

"Papa!" Yasaman giggled and ran into his embrace. "It is me!"

The emperor set her back down and declared, "No! You cannot be my little daughter! You are far too seductive a maiden. My Yasaman is but a child." His dark eyes were twinkling.

"Papa! This is my thirteenth birthday! I am a grown woman now," Yasaman declared.

"Are you certain that you are Yasaman Kama Begum?" he teased her. "You are not some fairy maid come to steal her presents, are you?"

"Presents?" Yasaman pretended she was offended, but then she began to giggle.

"You are not entirely grown-up yet, I am relieved to see," Akbar told her dryly.

"Do you not want me to grow up?" Yasaman asked her father, taking him by the hand to lead him into her palace.

"The older you grow, my little rosebud, the older I grow," he told her. "It is the natural order of things, but not necessarily how I would want it."

"If you could change anything, Papa, what would it be?" she asked him curiously.

"There is not a great deal I would change, my child," he answered slowly. "I think I would have wanted my twin sons, Hussein and Hassan, to live instead of dying at birth. And, of course, I would have wanted Candra to remain with us. And perhaps if the great God would give me the opportunity to change things, Abul Fazl would be here with us today." He sighed and a sad look came into his eyes. "So many people I have loved. Gone."

"Do not be sad, Papa," Yasaman said, looking up at her father. Mama Begum and I love you. We are here, and for all those gone, there are others yet with you."

The emperor looked into his daughter's young face for a long moment. "You are growing up," he said quietly. "You have said a very wise thing, my daughter."

They had moved from the courtyard through the palace and were now coming out onto the lakeside terrace where the celebration was to be held.

"Good evening, my gracious lord," Adali said, coming up to Akbar and bowing low. "The boats are even now approaching with the royal ladies."

Akbar nodded and, with his daughter and senior wife, watched as the barges, festively decorated with twinkling lanterns, made their way over the placid waters to bump against the small marble quay at Yasaman's palace, at the foot of a short flight of steps. As each boat disgorged its passengers, it moved back into the lake to bob at anchor. Yasaman greeted her guests individually.

Watching them come, Rugaiya Begum considered that time had not been kind to most of Akbar's other wives. Zada Begum, the second wife Akbar had taken, never changed. She had been a gray-brown mouse of a woman her entire life. Older than her husband by several years, she was now wizened and stooped. Still, she managed a smile for Yasaman, who sweetly kissed her wrinkled cheek and personally led her to a comfortable cushioned seat. Zada Begum had always been a haughty woman and had never acknowledged Candra; but for some unknown reason she had always had a soft spot for Yasaman.

The third wife, Salima Begum, was the mother of Yasaman's eldest sister, Shahzad-Kanim Begum. She, too, had never accepted Candra, but Yasaman was a different matter. Yasaman was blood kin to her own child; a royal Mughal princess, not some foreigner whom she held in contempt. Tall and thin, her hair was now iron-gray, and her Mughal nose had grown more hawklike with age.

"How old are you now, child?" she demanded of Yasaman.

"Thirteen this day, my honored aunt," was the polite reply. Yasaman had learned early that the prickly Salima Begum was not to be trifled with.

"You have the breasts of an older woman," remarked Salima Begum bluntly. "It is time you were married."

"So my mother says," Yasaman agreed pleasantly.

"Does she indeed?" Salima Begum noted. "Well, she is right for once!" Then she passed on to sit with Zada Begum, who was her best friend.

The other consorts arrived. Almira, the mother of Prince Murad, had once been a beautiful, passionate creature over whom Akbar had caused a minor scandal. Now she was a hollow-eyed and embittered woman. Strangely for one so young, Yasaman understood this aunt. She greeted her in a kindly fashion, but received barely a nod from Almira in return.

Leila, the princess of Khandesh, the mother of Akbar's second daughter, Shukuran Nisa Begum, kissed Yasaman politely and passed on. After her came Roopmati, the princess of Bikaner, the mother of the charming but weak-willed Prince Daniyal, Yasaman's youngest brother. There was Kamlavati, the princess of Jaisalmer, and her cousin Sadera, the princess of Puragadh. They were pleasant ladies, but none of them really knew Yasaman, for she lived apart from them in her own palaces in Lahore and Kashmir. The lady Waqi and her daughter, Yasaman's sister, Aram-Banu Begum, arrived and were warmly welcomed. Waqi had been a mere concubine who had somehow managed, in a very brief encounter with Akbar, to conceive his child. She was a goodhearted woman whose life revolved about her impaired daughter, now aged twenty-two, and the many works of charity she performed, for she was a devout Muslim.

"I knew that shabnam peshwaz would look perfect on you!" said Akbar's favorite wife, Jodh Bai, who arrived last.

Yasaman hugged her happily and kissed her cheek. "I love it, dearest aunt! I have never had such a fine peshwaz." Then she leaned over and whispered softly in Jodh Bai's ear, "Salim was here! He is coming back to see me when Father is gone."

"I know," Jodh Bai whispered back. "That is why I am late. My son came to see me too!" Time had changed the mother of Akbar's heir little. She was petite in stature, her famed long, dark hair still as black as a raven's wing. Golden-brown eyes twinkled conspiratorially in a remarkably smooth-skinned face. She adored her only child and was delighted by the close bond between him and his half sister.

"Why are you the only one amongst us who does not grow old?" grumbled Rugaiya Begum as she joined them.

Jodh Bai laughed her tinkling laughter. "Perhaps my face remains young as did my mother's and my grandmother's before me; but my bones are old now, Rugaiya, I swear it! On damp summer mornings my knees ache most fiercely."

The guests having all assembled, it was time for Yasaman's traditional birthday weighing. The double scales were brought forth and set up in the middle of the terrace. The young princess was helped into her seat on one side of the scales. Then two servants, carrying an open chest of loose gemstones, came forth. They set the chest upon the ground and slowly, using small gold scoops, began to carefully fill the other scale pan with brightly colored jewels and vari-colored pearls. After a while the scales began to tilt, until finally they were balanced so finely that a feather would have created an imbalance.

"You do not look as if you weigh more than last year, my daughter," Akbar said, "but you do. It is, I think, the height you have attained." He helped her from her seat. "My birthday gift to you will be a nice addition to your personal wealth."

"It is her breasts." Salima Begum nodded wisely to Zada Begum. "She has fine breasts for a young girl. I will wager they would weigh heavily in a man's hands." She chuckled.

The other women now came forward with their gifts for the princess. There was the usual assortment of silk scarves and saris; perfumes, gold bracelets, and earrings. Aram-Banu Begum brought her youngest sister a little cage with two lovebirds.

"They are for you," she said slowly, struggling to remember the words exactly as her mother had taught her. "I raised them myself. My mama says you like birds."

"I shall love them dearly, my revered elder sister, especially knowing that you raised them for me yourself," Yasaman told Aram-Banu Begum, and she hugged her.

"She has a good heart," the lady Waqi observed wisely. "Not like others here I might name. You have raised her well, my lady Rugaiya Begum."

"I thank you, Lady Waqi," Rugaiya Begum said with a kindly smile. Poor Waqi. She had been but a passing fancy with Akbar, and only the fact she had borne his child saved her from total obscurity. If Aram-Banu had been normal, she would have married well, and Waqi would have spent a comfortable old age in a rich son-in-law's house spoiling her grandchildren. Her daughter's feeble mind denied her all these things. She would grow old in the zenana.

"I have a most special gift for our Yasaman," Jodh Bai announced, and all eyes turned to her.

"What is it, Aunt?" Yasaman asked, surprised. She had believed her shabnam peshwaz Jodh Bai's gift.

Jodh Bai signaled to her servant. The eunuch hurried forth to present Yasaman with a sandalwood box with gold filigreed corners and a matching filigreed lock. The lock, however, was only decorative. As he held the box, Yasaman lifted the lid to reveal its contents. The interior was lined in beaten gold, and upon a scarlet satin pillow rested a book.

"It is a Pillow Book, my dearest," Jodh Bai told Yasaman. "It is the very same Pillow Book I gave Candra those many years ago. Now it is yours."

Yasaman's eyes filled with tears. She looked away, embarrassed for a brief moment. Then, regaining control over her emotions, she said, "You could have given me nothing that would have pleased me more. To have something that Candra cherished is almost too much to bear, dear aunt. It makes me feel closer to her." Yasaman lifted the book from its box. It was exquisitely bound in peacock-blue silk, its edges of pure gold studded with tiny pearls and diamonds. Opening the first ivory-vellum page she read aloud the words that were written in gold upon it.

" ‘Once the Wheel of Love has been set in motion, there is no absolute rule.' " Her heart seemed to beat a little faster as the words echoed in the night. "Ohh, how perfectly romantic! It's from the Kama Sutra, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Jodh Bai, a little surprised. "You have read the Kama Sutra?"

"Only some of it, Aunt. It disturbs poor Father Cullen when I do, and so I only read it occasionally."

"If the Kama Sutra upsets the priest, I can only imagine what a Pillow Book is going to do," Jodh Bai said mischievously.

"There is nothing wrong with a Pillow Book," Rugaiya Begum said indignantly. "These priests! Why they deny their manhood is a mystery I shall never solve. They have linghams like other men, and yet all they use them for is to pee. It is a terrible waste, I tell you! If Allah had wanted a race of men who didn't use their linghams for joy, then he would have so created them! Pay no attention to Father Cullen, my daughter. A Pillow Book but prepares a young girl for the marriage bed by allowing her to see what will go on there. Ignorance has no virtue, and fear should play no part in lovemaking."

"Is she not perhaps a little too young for a Pillow Book?" Akbar asked.

Before Rugaiya Begum might reply, Jodh Bai said, "No, my good lord, she is not. Look closely at Yasaman. Salima is correct. The girl has the breasts of a mature woman. She is ripe for marriage."

"It is time we spoke of finding a husband for Yasaman, my lord," Rugaiya Begum said now that this perfect opportunity had presented itself to her. "In another year Yasaman will be of marriageable age. It would be good to settle the matter soon," she finished, casting her friend, Jodh Bai, a grateful look.

"Yes, I suppose you are correct, my dear Rugaiya," Akbar said, "but let us speak on it later."

"As my lord wishes," Rugaiya Begum agreed, surmising that his reluctance to discuss the matter stemmed from the presence of the other consorts, all of whom had grown suddenly still as they strained to hear the conversation between their shared husband and his first wife.

Since it was past time for the evening meal, Rugaiya Begum signaled her servants discreetly. Under Adali's firm direction, they moved about the terrace offering the guests fruit and sweetmeats. Because she knew the older of the wives particularly enjoyed them, Yasaman had asked that Turkish paste candies be served. There was tea to drink, both smoky black Assam and a delicate green tea from China that had a faint flavor and aroma of apricots. Food was an important part of the zenana life, and the wives of Akbar enjoyed it as much as anyone.

Behind a screen the musicians played softly. Some young dancing girls entertained the ladies, and they were followed by a wizened old man who charmed a snake from its woven basket. A large bright moon gave the feeling of daylight, and when a light breeze sprang up, Rugaiya Begum called to Adali to bring kites. Akbar enjoyed kite flying, and the wind was just right this evening for the delicate paper toys.

"I want the tiger," Yasaman said.

"But I want it too," teased her father.

"It is my birthday," the girl reasoned with him. "Therefore, I should have whatever I so desire, Papa, and I desire the tiger kite!"

"I am forced to agree with you, my daughter," the emperor told her gracefully. "I shall take the elephant kite instead."

"Aram-Banu! Come and join us!" Yasaman called to her sister. "There is a peacock for you."

Delighted to be included, Aram-Banu arose and took hold of the silken string attached to her kite, which Adali had already begun flying for her. Yasaman came to stand next to her sister and gently instructed her in the art so that the childlike woman's kite would not crash to earth. Aram-Banu might be slower than most women her age, but she had a full-blown Mughal temper when frustrated or thwarted.

"Yasaman will be a good mother one day," Rugaiya Begum said, pleased by her daughter's kind behavior.

"Why should she not be?" Jodh Bai demanded. "She has had the best example possible in you, my dear friend."

"If I had not been here for her, you would have been," Rugaiya Begum replied practically.

"I could not have raised her the way you raised her," Jodh Bai insisted. "Behold my son Salim, dear friend."

"He will be a fine emperor one day," Rugaiya insisted. "He is simply impatient."

"And stubborn and full of pride," Jodh Bai said. "He is my child, and I love him. I want to believe him perfect even if I know better."

"Like his father," Rugaiya Begum chuckled, "and like my darling daughter, Yasaman."

"You defend Salim. Yet of all the women in his father's house, you have never interceded for him or been won over by his charm," Jodh Bai noted.

"No, I have not," her friend agreed. "Salim must learn that not all women will succumb to his magnetism. He must be able to accept when he is wrong. I have always been the voice of Salim's conscience. I will continue to be as long as I walk this earth. If he learns from his errors, he will one day be a good and just emperor. I believe he can accomplish this."

The celebration ended shortly afterward. The servants brought bowls of rose water and soft towels to the ladies that they might remove the sticky sweet residue of the dessert from their fingers. Yasaman politely saw her guests to their boats and, kissing each aunt and her elder sister, waved them all off. Only Akbar and her mother remained. Hugging her parents, the princess bid them a good-night and sought her own bed. It had been a most exciting day, but she knew that her mother and father wanted to discuss possible plans for her marriage. As for herself, she wanted to examine in detail the Pillow Book Jodh Bai had brought her, the book that had once belonged to Candra—the woman who had given her life and then disappeared back into her own world.

Akbar called to Adali, "Come and help me out of these clothes, old friend, and then bring me a cup of light wine."

The steward quickly divested the emperor of his jama coat and his patka. "Bring his majesty a lungi," he instructed a slave woman. Then, kneeling, he removed Akbar's slippers and cuddidara pajamas. He handed each garment to a young eunuch who stood attentively by his side. When he had removed all of his master's clothing, he swathed him in the lungi which the slave woman had brought him. The garment was a simple length of cloth that wrapped about his hips several times and was tucked in at the waist. It was the traditional at-home garb of the Mughals. "There, my gracious lord," Adali said, finishing his task and impatiently waving the young eunuch away.

"Ahhhh," Akbar replied, comfortable at last.

Adali permitted himself a small grin as, hurrying over to a little table, he poured his master the required beverage, handing it to him and bowing himself off the terrace. He knew the importance of the conversation about to take place. He wanted that conversation to begin. Carefully, he stationed himself in the shadows where he could hear all, but not be seen.

The emperor lowered himself onto a large couch and, stretching out, sipped his wine. Rugaiya Begum sat on a low stool by his side and waited for her lord to broach the subject she had already attempted with him. Finally he said, "She is still too young to marry under our law, Rugaiya."

"Nonetheless, we must choose a husband for her, my lord, for that day, a year from now, when she will not be too young to marry," his wife replied.

"You love her so dearly," he observed, "that I did not believe you would ever want to discuss her marriage. Well, now that you have brought it up, there are several eligible princes available for Yasaman. The raja of Orissa, or perhaps the heir to Khandesh or Mewar."

"Orissa would be too hot for Yasaman," Rugaiya Begum said. "You know she absolutely wilts in the heat, and the dampness off the Bay of Bengal would kill her before her time. I see a similar problem with Khandesh, and besides, I'm not certain how the lady Leila would like it if you married Yasaman to the son of the man who overthrew her father. As for Mewar, you cannot make peace with them or bribe them with our daughter. I am astounded you would even suggest it. They are very troublesome people, the folk of Mewar," Rugaiya Begum concluded.

Akbar hid a small smile. Rugaiya Begum had obviously already decided upon Yasaman's future husband. It was a mere formality that she consult with him. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "you are right about Orissa, Khandesh, and Mewar, my dear. Do you have another suggestion you want to make to me? You, of course, are Yasaman's mother and want only what is best for her."

Rugaiya Begum chuckled. How well he knew her. "Yasaman," she began, "loves Kashmir above all places. Each year she manages to spend more and more time here and less in Lahore and Agra. She has actually spent most of this year here. I think that nothing would make her happier than if she could remain here for the rest of her life. Yusef Khan, the former ruler of Kashmir, who is now your most loyal general, has several surviving sons. The eldest, Yaqub Ali Khan, is, for all his recent submission to you, a rebel, and the middle son, Haider, follows him. Jamal Darya Khan does not."

"How old is Jamal Khan?" the emperor asked.

"He is twenty-three, my lord," she replied.

"Does he have any wives?"

"No. He has a zenana, not a large one—perhaps a half a dozen women of whom he is fond, but not overly attached.

"Yaqub Khan is some years Prince Jamal's senior and has a different mother. This youngest son is the offspring of a lady from a respectable but not very important Kashmiri family. The story, I am told, is that Yusef Khan married her when her father, a loyal government official, begged him to take the girl into his zenana. The man was on his deathbed. There was no other family, and he feared for his child. She was quite lovely—Prince Jamal is a particularly handsome young man.

"Upon seeing the maiden, Yusef Khan agreed to marry her and to provide for her, which was, of course, far more than the official had hoped. The wedding was celebrated almost immediately, before the dying father. Yusef Khan took the maiden to his bed that very night, and proof of the consummation was brought to her father the next morning. He died that same day. Then several weeks later the new bride announced that she was expecting a child. It is said that Yusef Khan was most pleased, although Yaqub Khan's mother was not, particularly when the new baby turned out to be another son.

"This prince was raised by his mother from his earliest years to be totally loyal to his father and his father's wishes. It is how the grateful lady repaid her debt to her lord. That is why, when Yusef Khan so gracefully accepted defeat at your hands in the battle for Kashmir and then became one of your most loyal generals, Prince Jamal did not rebel against you as did his brother, Yaqub Khan.

"I knew Prince Jamal's mother. She died two years ago, but she was a good and gracious woman. I believe this young prince would be a perfect husband for Yasaman. When you learn to trust him yourself as you trust his father, you might even make him governor here in your name. You cannot help but bind the Kashmiri people closer to you, my dear Akbar, by making a son of their former ruling family your voice and marrying your own beloved daughter to him as well.

"Forgive me for speaking the unspeakable, but you will not always be here for Yasaman, and neither will I. One day Salim will rule, and with his favorite sister married to Kashmir's governor, his northern flank will be safe. You must think on the future when you think of Yasaman's marriage and Salim's kingship," she finished.

"You have thought this out most carefully, haven't you, my dear Rugaiya? I will, of course, want to meet this young paragon of princely virtue before rendering a decision in the matter." Akbar smiled at his wife. "Does Yasaman know Prince Jamal?"

Rugaiya Begum shook her head in the negative. "Yasaman knows nothing but the simple life she has always lived within the safety of her family. It has not been necessary that she know anything else."

He nodded slowly. "No. You are wise, my dear, in the ways of your motherhood. Salima was correct, however, when she said the girl had matured physically. She is suddenly quite beautiful. Indeed, the most beautiful of all my children. I wish Candra could see her now. Perhaps it is best we marry her young. Her mother was young when I took her as my wife." For a moment his eyes were misty with his memories. "Young and very passionate," he said softly, "and so beautiful."

"So you still think of her," Rugaiya Begum answered him. "I certainly have never forgotten her. Sometimes Yasaman will gesture in a certain manner, or glance in a particular way, and I see Candra."

Akbar looked at her and said candidly, "A day has not gone by since Candra was taken from me that I have not thought of her, my dear. I did not stop loving her because she was no longer here. The proof of my great love for my English rose is Yasaman. I want only what is best for her. If you say that Prince Jamal Darya Khan is the best husband our daughter can have, then I trust your judgment."

"I thank you, my dearest lord," Rugaiya Begum said. "I have indeed thought long and hard on this matter. Although she is half of our blood, and has been raised in India, Yasaman has Candra's blood in her as well. There is an independence and determination about her that is totally alien. The Kashmiri peoples are independent-minded too. Here she will be freer to be herself."

"And," the emperor continued with a smile, "once Yasaman delves into that Pillow Book Jodh Bai gave her tonight, her youthful curiosity will quickly assert itself. Who better to be the recipient of that curiosity than an eager and equally passionate young bridegroom?"

"Do you remember," Rugaiya Begum reminded him, "how you could not breach Candra's defenses at first, and you came to Jodh Bai and me for aid? The book was originally intended as a gift for Jodh Bai's niece who was to be married, but instead she offered to send it to Candra."

The memory was a bittersweet one for Akbar, but still he smiled and said, "She was so curious, and yet shy of it. I remember sitting with her and turning the pages for her, watching her slow arousal until at last she yielded herself to me. I have relived that night a thousand times and again a thousand in my mind over the years." He sighed deeply.

"And now the book belongs to the child she bore you," Rugaiya Begum said. "I wonder if perhaps I should not have let her have it until after her marriage is arranged."

Akbar shook his head. "She is innocent, but curious, Rugaiya. I think it better to allow her curiosity an innocent release."

While her parents spoke on the things that would decide her future, Yasaman had stood patiently as her two women servants removed her clothing and sponged her with rose water. Twin sisters, Rohana and Toramalli were twenty-four years of age and identical in features but for one thing. They each carried a small flower-shaped birthmark set at the edge of an eye. Toramalli's, however, was situated by the corner of her right eye, and Rohana's was by the corner of her left eye. They had expressive dark brown eyes, golden skin, and long, straight black hair. They had been barely ten years of age when the Mughal had presented them to Candra, and when she had departed India, they had remained to serve her child.

Rohana undid her mistress's long black hair and brushed it free of gold dust. Then she perfumed it with jasmine oil. Toramalli brought her lady a large, light shawl to wrap about her, for the evening had turned cool. Then the two servants escorted Yasaman to her bed.

"Leave me," the princess told them. "Go to your own beds."

The twin sisters bowed themselves from the bedchamber. Alone, Yasaman leapt from her bed to fetch a small oil lamp and the Pillow Book. Setting the lamp on the little round table next to her bed, Yasaman settled herself down and opened the book. The small shawl slid about her shoulders, but she didn't notice. She leafed past the title page with its cryptic words from the Kama Sutra to the page with the first painting. The colors were clear and bright. The picture depicted a prince, fully clothed, wearing a lotus crown, seated with his equally clothed consort.

Yasaman found herself slightly disappointed. There was nothing at all titillating about it. Yasaman knew enough about the Hindu faith to know that the lotus crown indicated that the wearer had attained a high level of spiritual awareness. Did a man have to reach such a spiritual plateau in order to make love to a woman? And what about the woman? Or did she misunderstand entirely? Perhaps men also wore lotus crowns when they made love to a woman. Yes! That had to be it! She turned the page to find she was totally mistaken.

The second painting showed the prince unclothed and crownless, his consort also unclothed. The young woman, looking coyly from beneath her eyelashes, cuddled against her lord, who had quite a firm grasp on one of her breasts, while his other hand roamed freely over the lady's bare belly. This was definitely more interesting, Yasaman thought, encouraged. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a man fondling her so intimately. She couldn't even begin to conceive such a thing because she had never known a man romantically, nor had she even known a man about whom she might fantasize romantically. The only men she had ever known were her father, Abul Fazl, her brothers, Adali—who was a eunuch—and Father Cullen, who might as well be one. Salim was so handsome, though, it would be easy to think of him as a lover if he wasn't her brother.

She turned the page of the book to find that the prince and his consort were now quite intimately entwined, gazing lovingly into one another's eyes. The prince's lingham was thrust boldly forward in anticipation of the pleasure to come. Closing her eyes, Yasaman tried her hardest to imagine how such a moment would feel. Her shawl fell completely away from her shoulders. With a deep sigh she cupped her own breast in her hand and then shivered at the tiny thrill of excitement she felt race through her.

And at that moment the faintest of footfalls caught her attention. Her eyes flew open just as a man slipped into her chamber from the terrace, Yasaman blushed guiltily in the half darkness as she recognized the silhouette of her brother, Salim, in the moonlight. He stepped into the room saying, "Still awake, little monkey?" His eyes slid with surprise over her lush nudity.

"Salim!" she squealed softly. "It is late! What on earth are you doing here?" Her erotic thoughts at first made her forget her nudity, but then she drew her shawl up.

"I promised you I would be back," he told her, walking across the chamber and seating himself by her side. Allah! he thought. What a magnificent body she has, my sweet baby sister. She must be mine! I can let no other man have her!

"I did not think you meant tonight," Yasaman replied, suddenly uncomfortable, and a little annoyed that he had interrupted her fantasy just as it was becoming interesting.

He heard the irritation in her voice. Though it was slight, and no one else would have heard it, he knew every nuance of her emotions. She fascinated him and always had. There was something different about Yasaman he could not quite pinpoint, but she was unlike any other female he knew. Then his eye caught the book in her lap. "What is this, little monkey?" he asked her, seeing quite clearly what it was.

"It is a Pillow Book. Your mother gave it to me tonight. It once belonged to the Rose Princess," Yasaman said.

"A Pillow Book? Of course! Both Man Bai and Nur Jahan had Pillow Books among their bridal chests. Of course I did not need them," he told her boastfully. "So Rugaiya Begum is really considering a betrothal for you, Yasaman?"

"Papa and Mama Begum could hardly wait for me to leave them tonight so they might discuss it," Yasaman admitted. "I wonder who they will choose to be my husband."

"And you could barely wait to leave so you might learn all the knowledge the Pillow Book contains," he teased her gently, ignoring her last remark.

"Salim!" she said, pretending outrage, but then she sighed. "All the Pillow Book can do is show me how a man and a woman make love, my brother."

"And that is not enough?" he probed gently. Allah! Was he to be provided an opportunity he had not even dared to imagine? His heart hammered in his ears and he felt his blood racing excitedly in his veins.

"I cannot help but be curious as to how I would feel," Yasaman replied, "if I were the consort in that picture. Is that wrong of me, Salim? What if they choose a husband for me, but I do not like it when he makes love to me? How do I even know I will like to make love at all? Oh, it is so difficult to be a maiden!"

Salim put his arm about his young sister, his fingers gently caressing her flesh. How soft it was! "Of course you are not wrong to wonder these things, Yasaman," he said soothingly. "All girls do. There is really quite a simple solution to your problem, you know. Girls with older brothers have solved this same problem the same way since the beginning of time, little monkey." How delicious her hair smelled.

"How?" she asked, looking curiously into his handsome face. Why had she never noticed before how sensual Salim's mouth was?

"Together we can emulate what is on the pages of the Pillow Book. Not, mind you," he continued quickly, seeing her look of surprise and seeking to reassure her, "the full consummation of a man and a woman's love. No, no! Your precious maidenhead belongs to your husband, my sister; but there is nothing to prevent me from teaching you what will please that husband as outlined here on the pages of the Pillow Book. I know how very much you dislike appearing at a disadvantage." And as if to emphasize his point, Salim reached out, his hand finding one of her breasts, and cupped it within his palm. Very gently the ball of his thumb rubbed against her nipple. He heard her sharp intake of breath. "You will not," he murmured hotly in her ear, "look foolish, my sister, if you will but trust me." Lowering his head for a moment, he kissed her rounded shoulder.

Yasaman felt a sharp spur to her pride, but nonetheless her conscience pricked her. "You know it is wrong to imitate the ancient lords of Egypt," she said low. "They all say it is wrong, Salim."

"But we will not do that, my sister," he promised her. "There is far more to learn of passion than a man's lingham slipping into a woman's yoni. Trust me, little monkey. I will make you the most accomplished of brides."

"Will my husband want an accomplished bride?" she questioned him sharply. "Should not my knowledge of passion come from him?" Should she like Salim's hand upon her breast? Yet surely something so nice was not wrong.

"As long as your maidenhead is intact, my sister," Salim told Yasaman with assurance, "he will care naught but for the pleasure you give him." He dropped another kiss upon her naked shoulder.

"I am still not sure this is right," Yasaman told him slowly, but her pride and her natural inquisitiveness were overcoming her scruples.

"I must remove my lungi, little monkey," he told her, sliding off the bed and standing up. Let her see him nude. He was proud of his body. It was hard and firm. There was no fat on him, despite a fondness for wine.

Yasaman pondered a long moment. Then she nodded. His hand on her breast had given her a lovely, tingly feeling once she had gotten over the shock of the intimacy. She wanted that feeling back. He was only touching her. There couldn't be anything wrong with just his touching her.

With a supreme burst of self-discipline, Salim masked his feeling of triumph as he unwrapped his lungi and laid it aside. For tonight he would keep a tight rein on his own desires. If Yasaman proved as passionate as he believed she was, there would come a night soon when she would not care what transpired between them. Indeed, she would beg him to plunge himself into her. He knew she was the female side of him. Once she overcame her childish fears, she would want him every bit as much as he wanted her!

Standing proudly, he watched from beneath hooded lids as she carefully looked him over. Then he returned to her side. "Turn the page, Yasaman," he commanded her, and she obeyed.

"What in Allah's name is this prince doing to his consort?" Yasaman demanded of her brother. She stared curiously at the picture which showed the beautiful maiden now upon her back, the prince between her open legs, his pointed tongue licking at her most intimate spot. The woman looked blissful, her sloe eyes half closed, as if she knew some special secret.

"It is the first great pleasure a man can offer his consort while preserving her maidenhead intact," Salim told her.

"Show me!"

"Not quite yet, Yasaman," he told her. Allah! How eager she was, but he must go slowly if he was to have her completely. "You have such lovely breasts, my sister," he murmured. "I would like to caress them. That, too, gives pleasure." He was now seated cross-legged, facing her. He leaned forward, reaching out with both his hands, and began to stroke her breasts fervently. "Give me your sweet lips," he told her. "I would kiss you, but not like a brother kisses a sister; rather as a man kisses a woman."

"You can do both things at once? That is quite marvelous!" she exclaimed. She leaned forward, pursing her lips as she did so.

Allah! Her innocence was so provocative, and it aroused him mightily. He kissed her firmly, then commanded, "Open your mouth, Yasaman, and give me your tongue."

"Why?" She drew back from him for a moment, looking curious.

"Because that, too, gives pleasure," he replied. "Sweet, hot, melting pleasure."

Closing her eyes, Yasaman obeyed him. She was both surprised and delighted to feel delicious little shivers racing up and down her spine as his tongue caressed her tongue with long, slow strokes, while his hands continued to gently crush and caress her breasts. "Mmmmmmmm," she murmured, quite pleased by this new and dawning knowledge.

He drew away from her mouth just enough to speak once again. "We will add a third element, my sister. So far it is you who are receiving all the pleasure. When I kiss you again, reach down and take my lingham within your delicate little hands. It is at rest, but perhaps your untutored touch can arouse it and give me pleasure too."

"Oh Salim," she cried, "it is really impossible to do all these wonderful things at one time, isn't it? Besides, I have never touched a man's lingham before. I do not know if I dare!" She glanced down shyly at his male organ; the love weapon, she had heard it called. His seemed most impressive, although she had never seen another.

"We can do everything, Yasaman, and much more, I promise you," he assured her. "Take my lingham within your soft, pale hands, for you are the Mughal's daughter and should fear nothing!"

Their lips met once more and, reaching out, she found his manhood. Gently she caressed it, her hand enclosing it, squeezing it, releasing it and stroking it lightly. To her amazement, Salim's lingham both grew in length and breadth. It hardened until it was like a pillar of iron in her hands. When he groaned suddenly, Yasaman pulled away, saying frantically, "I have not hurt you, Salim, have I? Oh, I did not mean to harm your love weapon!"

"No," he reassured her through gritted teeth. Allah! He had not expected that she would arouse him so thoroughly, so completely, so quickly. She was only a maiden! He wanted to press forward until he filled her yoni to overflowing with his passion; but he also instinctively knew that now was not the time. If she grew frightened and cried out, it could be the end for him. His father was in the palace tonight.

Salim knew that should the old man discover what he was about with Yasaman, Akbar would not hesitate to replace him as his heir with Salim's own son, Khusrau. This time there would be no pleas for amnesty from the ladies of the household. Mariam Makani, his mother, and all the important consorts, adored Yasaman. As for Rugaiya Begum, she was not his friend. They would never forgive him for this incestuous seduction. Indeed, they would encourage his father to destroy him. Akbar would probably administer the death blow himself if he discovered his son in a clandestine and prohibited relationship with his naive young sister.

Yasaman trusted him so completely.

"Why then did you cry out?" she questioned him, piercing his thoughts.

"Because you gave me great pleasure, my sister," he told her, struggling to regain control of his body, on fire with her touch. He had to distract himself. "Let me give you a similar delight now, Yasaman. We will imitate the page you have open in the Pillow Book." He stroked her cheek, kissing her lips lightly. "Lie back, little monkey, and spread your legs for me. Be careful you do not tumble off the bed. It is very small, I can see." He leaned forward and placed a satin bolster beneath her neck and shoulders.

"It is not meant for two people, Salim," she told him, and carefully positioned herself. "What are you going to do?"

He knelt between her limbs and leaned forward to caress the soft folds of flesh offered up so innocently to him, saying softly, "What the prince in the picture is doing, my precious one. Hidden within your nether lips, my sweet, is a tiny jewel of great sensitivity. Only the most delicate of touches can arouse it, allowing you pleasure as you have never before experienced." With two elegant fingers he lightly stroked the soft, plump mound beneath his hot eyes. Yasaman squirmed nervously, a half giggle escaping her at the tickly feeling his touch gave her as his two thumbs gently pulled the folds apart.

Fascinated, Yasaman watched as Salim bent farther forward, his dark head pushing between her open thighs. She glanced over at the page of the Pillow Book. Yes. It was quite correct. Then suddenly she felt it. Tiny, feathery touches to her most intimate self. A momentary panic raced through her. What was Salim doing? Her head rolled to one side and then the other. His hands were pressed flat on either side of her. What was he doing? The shock of realization raced through her. His tongue! He was putting his tongue on her! Her heart beat wildly. Briefly she considered whether he should be doing this to her, and yet … yet.

She shivered, and then quite suddenly relaxed. Salim would not hurt her. He would not! Indeed, his tongue on her hot flesh was quite pleasurable. She made a soft sound, and, as if by some sort of signal, her body felt surprisingly languid and violently tense all at the same time. She sighed and her eyes closed of their own volition, allowing her to float free. It was so lovely. So deliciously lovely. She was melting into nothingness.

He groaned low and then growled softly to her, "Do you feel the pleasure, Yasaman? Do you feel it?" Allah! She was like no other. He would never be able to get enough of her honeyed cream.

"More," she begged him shamelessly.

For a moment longer he complied; but then Salim realized that Yasaman would soon no longer be satisfied with just this charming foreplay he offered. He wanted her, but there was so much more for her to learn and know before they consummated their mutual passion. He would not spoil that time with unseemly haste now. When the time came she would beg him for everything he could offer, and he would give it to her gladly. He flicked his tongue back and forth against her little jewel, drawing her first taste of hot, sweet passion to an end. She shuddered a final time and cried out softly.

Raising himself from between her quivering thighs, he silenced her with a deep kiss, plunging his tongue, still wet with her juices, into her mouth to subdue her. His hard body covering her soft one, he reveled for a long moment in the firmness of her full breasts.

Then, not daring to remain atop her lest he lose complete control, Salim rolled to one side and sat up. "There, my sister," he told her in a deceptively calm voice, "you have tasted passion. Did you like it?"

Yasaman opened her turquoise-blue eyes and looked directly at him. "Yes," she said softly. "I liked it very much, Salim. Will my husband give me pleasure like that?"

"Yes," he told her, "if he is a good lover."

"I do not want to marry any man who is not," was her ingenuous answer. "How can we tell beforehand, Salim?"

"His reputation should precede him," the prince answered, amused. Yes, Yasaman was his equal in matters of passion. He would teach her everything, and she would be for him alone. A fourth wife could be nothing but good fortune. Four had always been his lucky number. Man Bai, his cousin, the mother of his children; loyal and sweet. Amara, adoring and politically correct. Nur Jahan, quick, intelligent, ambitious for him and herself, too, if the truth be known. Yasaman, his half sister. Passionate and hot-blooded. His equal and his refuge. Together they would be perfect!

"Look!" Yasaman had recovered and had turned to the next page of the Pillow Book. "The consort has taken her lord's lingham into her own mouth. That gives him pleasure, doesn't it, Salim?"

"Yes," he said, struggling to restrain the shudder welling within him. Not yet, his more cautious self warned him. If you allow her that, there will be no going back.

"May I give you pleasure in that manner, then?" she asked.

"Not tonight, my sister," he told her, pleased with the look of disappointment that sprang into her eyes. "It is late. You have learned much already and are an apt pupil. Let us save some pleasures for another time."

"When?" she demanded eagerly.

"I will come to you tomorrow night, my sweet sister; when all have again gone to their beds. Will you like that?" He arose from her bed, and picking up his lungi, wrapped it around his burning loins.

"Yes," she told him slowly, "but it will seem like a hundred years, Salim."

"Passion anticipated is usually best, Yasaman," he told her wisely. "Now come and bid me a proper good-night, little monkey."

She sprang from the bed and, to his delighted amusement, wrapped her arms about his neck, her body pressing hotly against his. Their lips met in a torrid kiss that left him frankly breathless. Patience! the inner voice warned him. He drew back and, with a cool smile, calmly departed her chamber, although he did not want to go.

Yasaman watched him leave. With a sigh she picked up the Pillow Book, then glancing regretfully at it, closed it and put it away. Smoothing the wrinkles from her bed, she lay down again, but sleep seemed elusive now. Slowly her hand crept to that magical spot between her legs and she pushed between the folds of flesh.

How moist she was. Moist and hot. Her fingers began to play lightly within the wetness. A tiny tingle of delight raced through her. It was nowhere near the pleasure his facile tongue had given, but it offered relief from the anxious irritation that seemed to have suffused her entire body. Her fingers played fiercely and more fiercely until at last, with a sigh of relief, she felt herself relaxing. Her breathing became slow and even as she slipped from a waking state into a deep sleep.

From the shadows of the room a shapeless form emerged and silently padded across the floor. Taking the Pillow Book from where Yasaman had placed it, Adali picked it up and hurried from the chamber. He had observed everything that had happened between his little princess and her brother. The child had been entrusted to his care since she was six months old, and never before had he allowed evil to come so close to her. He had been aware of Prince Salim's wicked intentions toward Yasaman for several years now, watching carefully each time brother and sister were together. Ever vigilant for the safety of his princess, he often saw danger long before others saw it, even the good Rugaiya Begum. Many times he had quietly prevented harm coming to his little lady without anyone else knowing. But this was different. Tonight he had been forced to watch the prince weave his sensuous spell about Yasaman while he remained helplessly silent, for his knowledge could be his death warrant. Prince Salim was totally ruthless, as Abul Fazl's murder had proven. Adali knew he could not aid his young mistress from beyond the grave. He realized he was facing a problem that required someone of greater stature and power than he had. He knocked softly upon the door of Rugaiya Begum's chamber, hoping against hope as he did that the emperor would not be there with her.

The door was opened by Rugaiya Begum's chief serving woman, Laili. "She has already retired, Adali," Laili said irritably. She, herself, had been sleeping.

"Nonetheless, I must see her," he replied. This was Princess Yasaman's house, and he was the princess's high steward. Laili could not refuse him.

"Come in, then," she said, and grumbling beneath her breath, went into her mistress's bedchamber, returning a few moments later to wave him into the room.

"You may go to your bed," Adali instructed her. "My lady Rugaiya Begum will not need you again this night." He closed the door firmly behind the serving woman, pressing his ear against it until he was certain she had gone off.

Rugaiya Begum was seated in her bed, her silver hair braided into one thick plait. "Sit here," she told him, patting the side of the bed. "If she comes back to listen, she will hear nothing if we are close." Rugaiya Begum knew that if Adali would seek her presence at so late an hour, the matter was indeed urgent. "Now tell me what it is," she finished as he sat beside her.

"Tonight," he said without further ado, "I secreted myself in Princess Yasaman's room. Do not ask why, my lady, for I am not even certain myself. Some deep instinct, perhaps, warned me to be there."

Rugaiya Begum nodded, but said nothing, listening with growing horror as he described what he had seen in Yasaman's bedchamber. "Princess Yasaman responded with innocent ardor to the prince's overtures," Adali concluded. "She is a most passionate young girl who shows promise of becoming a very passionate woman. It is to be expected. Her father is a passionate man, and Candra a passionate woman."

"But that passion must not be directed toward Salim!" Rugaiya Begum exclaimed. "Ohh, he is wicked, Adali! He knows that he is wrong, but he attempts to seduce Yasaman, who really knows no better. What can I do? If anything happens to my lord, how can I protect Yasaman from her brother? I cannot!"

"You cannot wait to marry her off, my lady Begum," Adali said bluntly. As an old and valued servant, he was permitted to freely speak his mind. "The princess must be married before the onset of winter. She must not return south again to Lahore."

"You know the law, Adali, as well as I do," Rugaiya Begum said desperately. "No girl below the age of fourteen, or boy below the age of sixteen, may be married. Yasaman is only thirteen."

"You are allowing your maternal fears to overcome your own good sense, my lady Begum," Adali scolded her. "You have said yourself that the emperor made the laws and that he can amend them if he so chooses."

"But what possible reason can I give Akbar for wanting to press ahead so quickly with Yasaman's betrothal and marriage?" Rugaiya Begum was beginning to look haggard with her worry.

"There is only one reason that will sway him, my lady Begum," Adali told her. "The truth."

Rugaiya Begum grew pale. "I cannot tell him such a thing," she protested.

"You must!" he insisted. "The Mughal is no fool, lady, and he is, Allah forgive me my words, dying. Who knows when the black camel of death will arrive to take him away. It will be sooner rather than later, as we both know. When he has left this world, who will protect our princess? Neither you nor I have the power."

"Will a husband?" Rugaiya Begum responded. "Once Salim is the Grand Mughal, who is there more powerful than he?"

"Prince Salim is capricious in many of his actions, I will admit, my lady Begum," the eunuch replied, "but he knows his lust is wrong, no matter how he may rationalize it. If the princess is married and happy, I do not believe he will attempt to spoil her happiness, for he loves her. If she is a mother, so much the better."

"But does he love himself more, I wonder?" Rugaiya Begum mused. "Even I have never been certain of just how far he would go. This murder of Abul Fazl truly surprised me. Salim always used to pride himself on his self-discipline where wine and opium are concerned. He saw what they have done to his brothers, Murad and Daniyal. Yet I have heard disturbing stories of late about Salim's excesses and drunkenness. When under the influence of wine and opium together, he does things he would not otherwise dare. I am told he recently had a young page who offended him castrated; and a servant beaten to death. This instability of character frightens me, Adali."

"Then you must certainly tell our lord Akbar the truth, my lady Begum. The prince will obviously stop at nothing. The princess must be protected at all costs. When you spoke with our lord tonight, did he have any suggestions for a husband for our little lady?"

"Of course," Rugaiya Begum said, "but none were suitable. There is but one prince for Yasaman. Jamal Darya Khan."

Adali raised his eyebrows slightly in approval of Rugaiya Begum. "An admirable choice, my lady Begum," he said. "If our princess weds a Kashmiri prince, she will be well out of her brother's sphere of influence. Excellent! When will you discuss this with the Mughal?"

"Let him sleep the night, Adali, although Allah knows I will not! My lord and I will settle this matter in the morning before he returns to his own palace. There can be no delay in Yasaman's wedding. Ahh, my poor daughter. She is so young!"

"She is also strong like Candra, my lady Begum," Adali said. "Whatever fate life has in store for her, she will meet the challenge and triumph. This I know in my heart."