Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When Yasaman awoke she was confused for a moment as to where she was. Then, as memory reasserted itself, she rolled over to find she was alone. Had he gone to one of his women? she wondered, surprised to find that she was jealous. Why should she be jealous of a man she hardly knew? She arose and wrapped her sari about her body, annoyed that there was again no water for washing. The servants were worse than lax. Walking out onto the terrace that bordered the chamber, she was pleased to find that it was early morning. Jamal was seated at a table eating, quite alone.

Joining him, she said, "Good morning, my lord. I am pleased to see that at least you have been fed. Would that someone show me the same courtesy." She helped herself to a banana.

"Indeed, Princess, you do have your work cut out for you," he agreed, watching her neatly peel the fruit.

"This is all mine to oversee?" She waved her hand airily. "You will not interfere with my management or authority? Last night you said so," Yasaman reminded him, wanting to be certain she understood.

"You are the mistress here, Princess," he said. Then he smiled at her. "You are very beautiful, Yasaman, when you sleep."

"Only when I sleep?" What had made her say such a thing? Was this flirting? She blushed.

He laughed. "You are beautiful at all times," he replied diplomatically, and then he amended his words teasingly, "at least as far as I can see, my princess, based upon our short acquaintance."

He was flirting with her!Her heart accelerated and her cheeks grew even pinker. She distinctly felt at a disadvantage. She wished she were safely back in her own palace across Wular Lake playing with her cats, but she was not. She was a married woman; no, not yet a woman. She was a bride, and she had a formidable task ahead of her if she was to put her husband's house in order. She could see he thought her an amusing child. She would gain his respect and hopefully, in time, his love.

"I have much to do, my lord," she told him formally. "Please excuse me," and she turned away from him, hurrying back into the little palace.

Her sense of direction being good, Yasaman left her husband's apartment, making her way through the building and back into the women's quarters. In the daylight her own rooms appeared in even worse repair than they had last night. They were dingy, old-fashioned, and appallingly dirty. She could see that once they had been elegant, for the tiles were beautiful and the walls inlaid with lapis, carnelian, malachite, mother-of-pearl, coral, and obsidian. Obviously, they had belonged to his mother, and even more obviously, they had not been cleaned in the years since her death. She mentally noted that the rugs were missing.

"My lady!" The dual voices belonged to her twin servants. Toramalli's glance swept the room. "Surely this is not your chamber," she said, shocked, as a puffball of dust wafted by her foot.

"I'm afraid it is," Yasaman said, "but we cannot blame the prince. His servants and his women are out of control for lack of a guiding hand. We have our work cut out for us, I fear, if we are to make our new home livable."

"My lady! Come out onto the terrace and see," Rohana said indignantly. "The trunks sent two days ago remain where our people delivered them! We are only fortunate it did not rain. Although the dew has not been good for them, there is no damage, I am relieved to report. It is untenable that you should be treated in so shameful a fashion!"

"Run quickly, Rohana, and tell our boatman I must see him before he returns across the lake," Yasaman instructed her servant.

The girl called down to the boatman. He leapt from his vessel and hurried up the steps to the terrace, bowing low before the princess.

"Take a message to my mother," Yasaman told him. "Say I must have Adali and at least half a dozen of our best house servants this very morning without delay."

"Yes, Princess!" the man replied.

They watched as he departed, rowing the boat, it seemed, with more speed than he usually did.

"Now," said Yasaman, "we must regain control of my lord's zenana. There are five women in it, of whom one is particularly bold. The others seem afraid of her. We must either pull the stinger from this queen bee's tail or destroy her. She will eventually decide her own fate."

Rohana and Toramalli followed their mistress as she made her way back into the building and into the zenana. Though silent, their eyes widened at the luxury of these quarters compared with Yasaman's apartment. Neither twin was stupid. They quickly realized the deliberate insult leveled at Yasaman by the zenana women. A look of understanding passed between them. They knew what these foolish creatures did not know. Their mistress might be young, but she was very determined and she would have her way. If Yasaman had made up her mind that she would take total control of this palace and of the prince, then she would.

"Good morning, ladies," Yasaman said coolly, and not even waiting for an answer, continued, "Samira—that is your name, isn't it? Present these others to me immediately."

Caught totally by surprise, Samira complied with the authoritative tone of Yasaman's voice before she even realized what she was doing. By then, of course, it was too late. She had already lost face before her companions. "Layla, Nilak, Lalita, and Thyra," she finished curtly, wanting to claw the little smile from Yasaman's face.

"Lalita, you are of India, are you not? You will always stand when I speak with any of you. It is only mannerly," Yasaman chided them firmly.

The woman called Lalita arose quickly and politely bowed to the princess. "Yes," she said. "I come from the south, Golconda."

" ‘Yes, my lady,' " Yasaman gently instructed her. "You must each remember that I am the mistress of this house now. I must be treated with dignity."

"Yes, my lady," Lalita replied. She was a tiny, dark-skinned woman with a sweet expression on her round face.

"Layla. Nilak. You are Persian, I believe," Yasaman said. "Layla means Dark as Night in the Persian tongue. Nilak, a bluish lilac flower. Your names are as lovely as you both are."

The two young women, pale-skinned with blue-black hair and black eyes, arose and bowed. "Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady," they chorused brightly. Samira scowled.

Yasaman's head turned to look at the young woman with the golden hair. She had never before seen such hair. "Thyra? What sort of a name is that?" she asked.

Thyra stood now and bowed almost arrogantly. "I am Greek," she said, and her cool eyes looked directly at Yasaman, but the princess did not flinch. Finally, with a small smile and a shrug of defeat, Thyra lowered her gaze.

"Do you not wish to know where I come from?" demanded Samira, irritated to be so ignored.

"Wherever you come from," Yasaman told her, "they did not teach you any manners!"

"I come from Samarkand," Samira said proudly. "My father was a great general!"

"Your father was a common soldier who bred you on a street whore," Thyra said mockingly. She had had all she wanted of Samira. "Why else would you be a slave in a zenana?"

Samira grabbed up a small fruit knife and snarled, "I will cut your heart out for that insult, foreign bitch!"

With lightning speed Toramalli slapped the knife from Samira's hand, much to the woman's surprise. "Do not ever arm yourself in my mistress's presence again," she said fiercely, "else I will have the pleasure of killing you."

Samira's rage turned from Thyra to Yasaman's servant. "Who," she demanded angrily, "are you?"

"I am Toramalli. I guard the princess now, as I have ever since her birth. You are not fit to breathe the same air she does, woman of the streets. You had best beware me."

"Enough!" Yasaman said quietly. "Samira, please go through the palace and seek out the servants. Tell them that I would see them immediately on the main lakeside terrace.

"I am not your messenger," Samira said rudely. "Find the servants yourself, my lady!" She stood boldly before Yasaman, feet apart, chin thrust forward. "I am the prince's favorite. You cannot make me do anything I do not want to do."

"I do not repeat a command twice," Yasaman said softly. "Go now as I bid you, or you will find yourself for sale in the marketplace before the noon hour, Samira. Believe me when I tell you it is within my power to do so." Then Yasaman turned on her heel and left the zenana, followed by her two faithful women.

When she had gone, Thyra laughed. "You had best do as she says, Samira. She is young, our master's bride, but she will, I can see, have her way. Or if you wish, do us the favor of being more disobedient. None of us would be sorry to see you go."

"Go yourself," Samira replied. "I am not that little girl's slave. I belong to Prince Jamal. Her threat is meaningless, Thyra. Do you think he would let his wife sell any of his women? She is daring with a boldness that comes of having had a man's lingham up her yoni for the first time.

"She thinks he loves her and will let her do whatever she wants to do. She will quickly learn differently. I will speak with our master when he comes to us tonight, and he will come. A woman can lose her virginity only once. After that she becomes like other women, distinguishable only by her degree of erotic skills. I doubt a carefully nurtured little royal blossom has such skills as we possess."

"Do not be a fool, Samira! This girl is not just a wife. She is the Mughal's daughter," Thyra said. "She was married to Prince Jamal for a reason. Already there are rumors that the Mughal means to give our master Kashmir to rule in his name. That will only happen, however, if the Mughal's daughter is a happy bride. Now go and do her bidding, lest her wrath fall on all of us!"

"You are the fool, Thyra!" Samira snapped. "This princess is an inexperienced girl! He will use her vigorously until she is with child. Then he will have done his duty and not bother with her again. Do you think he will find her fascinating when she is fat and swelling like an overripe melon? A Mughal's daughter is for breeding sons and nothing more. We are the important women in his life, not that whey-faced bitch!"

"I will go and fetch the servants," Lalita said to Thyra. "As long as they appear, the princess will not know which one of us did her bidding. She will be satisfied, and we will avoid a confrontation." She hurried out.

Samira smiled smugly. Then, taking up an ivory comb, she began to dress her long hair.

"Samira is right, of course," Layla assured Nilak and Thyra. "She is very knowledgeable regarding men."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," Thyra replied. "She cannot predict with certainty if the prince will lose his heart to his new wife or not. Zenana women are for young, unmarried men, and old married men. There is a period between the two when we are simply not needed. Now that our master has taken a wife, he may take three more. What use are we to him then?

"We might escape this princess's wrath if we are pleasant company and do not anger her. I know that is too much to ask of you, Samira, isn't it? Our days here, ladies, are numbered, I fear. Prepare yourself. This woman of Samarkand will seal our doom sooner rather than later. Then we will find ourselves on the block once more."

Layla and Nilak looked unhappily at each other, but Samira just laughed at Thyra's words and continued to dress her hair, dipping her comb into heavily scented musk oil. Thyra shook her head. She wouldn't be sorry to find herself away from Samira, who, she thought, would sow discord even in paradise.

The servants were surprised to find themselves summoned by a woman from the zenana. The zenana women were rarely seen but by those few female slaves who brought them their daily food and occasionally cleaned their chambers. The servants' life was a good one because the prince, their master, required little of them. They had more than enough to eat, and comfortable sleeping quarters as well. Most spent their days at leisure, fishing or sunning themselves, or working in the little gardens they cultivated for themselves. They sold this produce of Jamal Khan's land for extra rupees, with which they purchased little luxuries and forbidden wine.

Yasaman awaited them on the lakeside terrace, her foot tapping impatiently. She was flanked by Adali, Rohana, and Toramalli. The servants fell to their knees, their heads touching the terrace floor; then they sat back upon their heels, looking up expectantly at their new mistress.

"Who is high steward here?" were the first words she spoke to them.

"The steward died a year ago, gracious princess," came the reply.

"Who are you?" Yasaman demanded.

"I am Hassan, the head cook, gracious princess."

Yasaman saw the gauze mask hanging about Hassan's neck. Of course he was the cook. She should have noted it sooner, and would have were she not so angry. "Since there is no high steward here, the high steward from my own palace will take immediate charge. This is Adali, and he speaks with my voice. You will obey him in all things, unquestioningly and with dispatch. There is much work to do here. You have badly neglected your duties; but I will not blame you entirely, for there was no one to oversee you. This is my lord's home, and all will be harmonious for him from this day forth." She smiled briefly at them, then, turning, departed, Rohana and Toramalli walking in her wake.

Adali looked out over the nervous faces. "I was with the princess's mother;" he began, "and I have looked after Yasaman Kama Begum's household since her birth. I cannot be bribed. The past is past. Today you each begin anew. That is how my mistress wishes it to be, though frankly, I think her too lenient in this case. Beware of my wrath. I do not possess her kindness. Now, we have much work ahead of us. The princess's apartments must be ready by sunset for her habitation. Hassan the cook!"

"My lord steward?" the cook spoke up quickly.

"For supper the princess wishes a fresh lake fish, broiled. A roasted chicken, and perhaps a small curry. She will speak with you later as to the prince's likes and dislikes. She, however, prefers simple meals and enjoys a variety of fruits and vegetables."

"Yes, my lord steward!"

"You and your kitchen help are dismissed. I will question the rest of you, each in his turn," Adali said, and proceeded to do just that. As each department of the household staff was identified, the eunuch set them about their tasks until he was finally alone on the terrace. With a satisfied smile, he hurried off to his mistress's apartments.

"All the cleaning in the world will not make these rooms a pleasant place to be," Yasaman wailed as the servants worked about her.

"Let me send for your own things from your own palace," Adali suggested. "The furnishings here are outdated and old-fashioned. It will not take long to have them brought across the lake."

"The walls are impossible," Yasaman said. "The designs are caked with filth, and there are stones pried from them that will take months to repair."

"We will hang carpets and tapestries, my lady," Adali soothed her, "and once your own furniture is in place, it will seem quite friendly. Where are your trunks?"

"Upon the terrace where our people left them two days ago," Rohana told him, frowning. "There is also no private bath for our mistress, Adali!"

"Where are the women's baths, then?" he asked her.

"In the zenana," Rohana said. "What are we to do, Adali? Our mistress cannot share a bath with those creatures of the prince's."

He nodded in agreement. The whole situation was absolutely untenable. This is what came of having to arrange a hasty union for Yasaman Kama Begum. This palace was absolutely not ready to receive her, let alone any decent woman. She could not remain, Adali decided. "My lady," he said to his young mistress. "I would suggest that you return to your own palace until we can set this one in order. Let me speak to the prince. I know he will agree with me. It will take time to make these rooms fit for your habitation."

Yasaman looked about her. To return home to Rugaiya Begum would be such an anticlimax, but she was a realist. There simply wasn't any choice. The furniture in her apartments was worn or rotting. Their efforts to clean the place were resulting in clouds of dust. She sneezed several times, and then she burst out laughing.

"I will sleep in my own house," she told them, "but I must remain during the day to oversee the renovations. The salon of the zenana is quite large, Adali, and there is a fountain in the room. Let us call the builders and take a portion of that room to make a private bath for me. The plumbers can run piping beneath the floor into the new bath for a water supply." She sneezed twice more. "Go to my lord, Adali, and tell him of what we would do. He will not gainsay us."

And, indeed, Jamal Khan did not. He returned to Yasaman's apartments in Adali's company and, looking about, grimaced. "You are correct, Princess, in your assessment of these rooms," he agreed. "It will take time to make them habitable. Do whatever you must. I will not deny you."

"Will you join me at night, my lord, at my own palace?" she asked. "There is more than enough room for you."

"I think it best, Princess, that I remain here to be certain our servants do not slip back into their slothful ways," he told her.

"Nonsense, my lord," Adali told the prince. "Go with your bride! I will oversee all. You will forgive my saying it, but you are not used to such things as the running of a household, my lord. I am."

"You are correct, Adali," Jamal Khan answered the eunuch gratefully. This Adali was a clever fellow who was obviously going to make life quite pleasant. "Time alone with my bride will give me time to get to know her better," the prince said. He smiled warmly at Yasaman, and she smiled shyly back.

"Go now," Adali encouraged them. "It is a fine late summer's day. The lake is perfect for a relaxing cruise. Rohana and Toramalli will return to you later."

"I will teach you to fish," Jamal Khan told his bride.

"Will I have to bait my own hook?" she asked him nervously, and he chuckled indulgently, thinking her charming even as he took her hand to lead her from the palace.

Behind them, Adali looked askance, while Rohana and Toramalli found themselves unable to restrain their giggles. Yasaman Kama Begum was a most experienced fisherwoman and had been since the age of five. She could also ride a horse astride like a warrior, and had been hunting for tiger and gazelle with her father many times. Like Akbar, she loved the chase and was fearless to the point of being reckless, much to the worry of Rugaiya Begum. Still, she was an expert at handling her own weapons, both bow and gun. Akbar and Salim were united in their admiration of her abilities, which had eased Rugaiya Begum's fears somewhat.

Adali chuckled. "I can see who will truly be in charge of this marriage," he said to his two companions.

"It is as it should be," Toramalli answered him pertly. "Men should confine themselves to making love and seeing their families can pay the merchant's bills."

"Bold baggage," the eunuch sniffed. "What makes you so wise in the ways of men?" Then he threw up his hands and sighed dramatically. "No! I do not want to know how you obtained your wisdom. It is better I think of you and your sister as sweet, biddable girls."

"We are indeed sweet, but perhaps not as biddable as you would have us, dear Adali," Rohana told him. "Still, together we all serve our mistress well, do we not?"

He chuckled once again. "Aye, we do serve her well. We have not failed Candra in that."

"Do you think she ever thinks of us, Adali?" Toramalli asked.

"I wonder what she is like today," Rohana replied. "Do you think she is still as beautiful as she was those many years ago? Do you think she found happiness again with her other lord? Does she think of our little mistress?"

"Questions! Questions!" the eunuch fussed at them, although if the truth were known, he had had the same thoughts of Candra. He recalled his last glimpse of her; pale, wan, half drugged; but with what part of her awareness remained, her concern was only for the infant daughter she had been forced to leave behind. Yes. He had thought of her many times. "These are questions we cannot possibly know the answers to," he grumbled at them as reality returned, "and while we stand idly chattering, our work awaits us."

Yasaman sat demurely in a small boat just off her own palace across the lake.

"It is really quite simple," Jamal Khan was explaining to his bride, thinking how sweet she looked in pale green trousers and matching bodice. He stood within the small vessel, balancing himself carefully, a bamboo fishing pole in his hands. "Just bait the hook like this and then you are ready." Demonstrating, he neatly dropped the fishing line into the water.

She sat, eyes wide, and asked, "Like this?" as she quickly baited her own hook and, with a quick flick of her wrist, sent her line into the lake.

Surprised, he asked, "Is it possible that you have done this before, Princess?"

"Perhaps," she teased coyly, struggling to keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Either you have or you haven't," he said, and the fact of how little he knew his wife was suddenly brought home to him.

"Ohhh!" Yasaman replied in answer, jumping to her feet. "I think I have a bite, my lord!"

"Stand still!" he ordered her sharply. Their boat was rocking quite dangerously.

"Ohhhhh!" she wailed again, eyes twinkling, her amusement bubbling over into gales of laughter as she moved backward and forward.

He realized too late that she was doing it deliberately. Jamal Khan lost his precarious footing, but as he tumbled into the water he shouted at her, "Vixen!" The water closed over him for a brief moment before he struggled to the surface. He splashed about, glowering fiercely toward the boat. To his shock, he realized that she was no longer in the little vessel. His heart began to pound furiously. What could have possibly happened to her? "Yasaman!" he cried frantically. "Yasaman!"

"You called, my lord?"

He turned about in the water to discover her bobbing quite calmly next to him. "You can swim!" His tone had an accusatory ring to it.

She laughed. "Of course I can swim. How could I grow up on this lake and not learn to swim? You swim. Did you have no sisters? Girls can swim as well as boys, my lord."

"And you fish too," he said, "don't you?"

Yasaman laughed again. "Of course, but you were so sweet to teach me that I could not resist teasing you just a bit. So now, my lord, you know three things about me. I swim, I fish, and I have a wicked sense of humor like my father. I had best warn you that I hunt and ride as well. I am quite proficient with bow, spear, and musket, it is said."

"There is something else I know about you," he told her as he treaded water next to her. His brown eyes twinkled mischievously.

"What is it?"

"You have an extravagantly beautiful body, Yasaman," and he laughed as she blushed.

"Villain!" she cried and, reaching out, yanked his dark hair before she dunked him beneath the waters of the lake.

"I was right!" he declared after he came up sputtering and laughing. It had never occurred to him that a wife could be fun. "You are a vixen!"

"Something else you have learned about me today!" she mocked him, swimming away from him toward the marble steps that led down from the boat quay of her palace.

Chuckling, Jamal Khan gathered up his fishing pole, which was floating nearby. Putting it into the bottom of the boat, he pulled himself in behind it and paddled back to the shore.

Yasaman, having hauled herself from the water, was now wringing out her long black hair. Her sheer green trousers and her green and gold silk choli, a short-sleeved bodice, left little to the imagination when wet. Looking down at him, she once more felt her cheeks grow warm at the admiring look he gave her. He was wearing only a dhoti. She thought his muscled legs and smooth chest quite impressive. He tied their boat fast and climbed the steps to join her.

"It is fortunate we did not have to fish for our supper, my princess," he said mischievously.

Yasaman nodded. "I prefer curry anyway. I will ask Mama Begum to have the cook prepare lamb curry for supper."

"Where will we sleep afterward? There is nothing left in your chambers, Yasaman. It has all been taken across the lake to our palace."

"There are guest chambers, my lord."

"We will need only one," he replied. "As you did not want my zenana women to know of our little arrangement, I would prefer your servants not know. Servants gossip. It would quickly be all over Kashmir that Jamal Khan's bride was still a virgin. It is a state I do not think I will allow you to long retain. We are, I see, becoming fast friends."

"Why should anyone care if we are intimate or not, my lord? Is it not our business and no one else's?" His words disturbed her, but she instinctively knew he would keep his promise to her.

"That is true, Yasaman, it is our business alone, but it would still not prevent gossip. There would be those who thought me foolish to allow a maiden's fears to overrule my own desires. They would assume that I was weak and could be manipulated. If I am to govern Kashmir in your father's name, I must appear strong, even if my secret heart is soft. For the love and respect I feel for my own father, for the respect your father deserves of me, I will govern this province well."

Yasaman Kama Begum looked into her bridegroom's eyes with new regard. Loyalty to family and duty were things she well understood. She hardly knew this man, and yet she knew him quite well by his words. "I believe," she said thoughtfully, "that I can love you one day, my lord Jamal."

He smiled down at her; a smile of great sweetness, and then he gently caressed her face. "I believe I will learn to love you as well, my princess. A woman who can fish is indeed a pearl beyond price."

Yasaman burst out laughing. "You have a sense of humor too," she said. "You are the perfect man, my lord. Loyalty, duty, and humor! I can ask for no more."

"But there is more, Yasaman," he told her seriously. "There is my heart, and I offer it to you gladly."

"I cannot refuse so gracious a gift, Jamal," she returned softly, her heart beating a little faster. He was really the most romantic man she had ever met. When she had dreamed of a lover that short while ago, Jamal, faceless then, had been exactly what she had longed for. She could not wait to share her happiness with her brother, Salim. She would write him tomorrow. Salim, who loved his favorite wives deeply, would surely understand and be happy for her.

Watching them from a window in the palace, now hand in hand, Rugaiya Begum said a small prayer of thanks to Allah. Her instincts had been right in this matter. The handsome young Kashmiri prince was the perfect husband for her daughter, especially as neither of them had ever been in love before. Rugaiya Begum knew that her child was still untouched, for Yasaman had shared that knowledge with her, but even if she hadn't, Rohana and Toramalli had also told her. They had whisked the sheets from the prince's bed themselves this morning that they might protect their mistress's privacy. Without pressure the two young people would eventually fall in love and nature would take its sweet course. The older woman smiled, contented.

Several days later, Yasaman and her husband, assured by Adali that the prince's palace was now habitable, returned across the lake. Adali had told his mistress of his discovery that the zenana rooms were actually a part of her apartments. In Jamal Khan's mother's day there had been no zenana, he had concluded. All its rooms, including the lovely little marble bath, had certainly belonged to the prince's mother. The zenana women were usurping Yasaman's quarters.

"Share the bath for now, my lady," he counseled her. "I will see you have it to yourself whenever you want it. Perhaps the prince will not need a zenana in future."

Yasaman agreed with his wisdom, for she trusted the eunuch.

Akbar and his court departed Kashmir for Lahore and then Agra. For the first time in her life Yasaman remained behind. As the autumn deepened, she felt her energy rising along with a pure joy of living. She had never been so happy in her life. She loved her mountain kingdom, and she was, she realized, beginning to care for Jamal Khan. The more they were together, the more she got to know him and the better she liked him. He was not indolent like so many of the southerners she knew. He had no taste for intrigue or politics. He was a young man with an honest, straightforward outlook on life. As Akbar's unofficial governor, he worked hard at the rather dull business of the administration of the Mughal government in Kashmir. Jamal Khan was not a man to toil constantly, however. He liked to hunt, and he had taken Yasaman with him on several occasions. He was quite astounded by her facility with weapons, even proud of her talent.

As the days passed, he became more enchanted by the girl herself. He had not once visited his zenana since his marriage. It had become quite a sore point with Samira, who, unaware of the true relationship between Jamal and Yasaman, was convinced their neglect was Yasaman's fault. This was something she could not fathom. The princess was an untutored child. She, Samira, was a skilled courtesan. So were her companions.

Adali watched the situation until it had almost come to the boiling point. The zenana women were unhappy in their enforced virtue. The prince was growing restless with his noble chastity. As for Yasaman, she was irritable, beset by a longing she didn't understand, and euphoric and despondent by turns. She flung herself into seeing that her household ran perfectly. Adali decided that the time was ripe for the plan of action he had formulated in his wily mind the morning after the marriage had taken place, when he had learned from Rohana and Toramalli of their mistress's desire to know her husband better before they were intimate.

The prince hunted alone one chilly autumn day. He came home ill-humored, for he had found no game at all and had been caught several miles from home in a cold rainstorm.

"My lord," Adali petitioned him in dulcet tones, "you need the company of your zenana women tonight. I know you have kept from them since your marriage, but sometimes a variety of delights is just what a man needs after a disappointing day."

Jamal Khan thought on Adali's words. His pent-up energy was almost burning him from the inside out. There he was with a zenana of luscious treats, and he had not had a woman in two months! He had been patient. He was willing to remain patient, but where was it written that a man must be faithful to but a single woman? He didn't know any who were. His own father had a houseful of women. His father-in-law had forty wives, not to mention a zenana large enough to populate a small city.

The words were from his mouth before he could think another thought. "Tell the zenana women that I will join them this evening, Adali," he told his new high steward.

"Very good, my lord prince," Adali murmured deferentially. "Shall I tell the princess you will have your evening meal alone?"

Logic did no good. Jamal Khan felt guilty. The last thing he wanted to do was have a meal with his trusting young wife while contemplating an evening of lustful pleasures with his zenana. "Yes," he said. "Tell the princess my mood is foul and I would not inflict myself upon her. Tell her I will see her in the morning."

"Yes, my lord," Adali said, hiding his own delight. Bowing, he hurried off.

Disappointed, Yasaman nonetheless accepted the message. Men were as prone to moodiness as women, Mama Begum had often said. Rohana and Toramalli, alert to their mistress's state of dejection, tried to cheer her with her favorite chicken curry and lychee nuts in a honey syrup. Yasaman picked at her food and decided she was not interested in playing a game of chess with Rohana. She would retire early for lack of anything better to do.

She was awakened by the sound of soft music and laughter coming from the zenana. At first she was not even certain of what she heard. In her two months as Jamal Khan's wife, there had never been any unseemly noise from the other side of the wall. Curious, Yasaman arose and slipped out onto the terrace that she shared with the zenana. Standing behind a carved marble screen, she peered into the room, for the draperies were not drawn. Layla and Nilak were seated upon a divan lightly strumming upon stringed instruments. Yasaman cast her eyes about for the other women and gasped softly in shock, for Jamal Khan was with them.

They were all naked, she realized, and her husband stood quite still as Samira knelt before him, her hand firmly grasping his lingham as she suckled upon it. The golden-skinned woman's thighs were parted, allowing the Greek woman, Thyra, to he with her head between them. Lalita lay atop Thyra, her head between the fair woman's legs, her hands outstretched to balance herself. For a moment the significance of the erotic tableau did not register on Yasaman, and then she gasped again.

Jamal Khan's fingers kneaded Samira's head strongly. His eyes were half closed, and deep pleasure was very evident upon his face. Yasaman stood very quietly, not even feeling the icy marble beneath her bare feet or the light chilly wind that had begun to blow off the lake. She was fascinated by what she was seeing. It was a living Pillow Book.

Thyra had begun to moan softly when the prince said to Samira, "Cease, woman! I will not be unmanned yet."

Samira looked up at him, her black eyes heavy with her own passion. Then swinging herself about, she bent forward in a kneeling position, her small round bottom facing her master. Thyra and Lalita rolled away from her, entwining their arms about each other as they frantically kissed. Jamal Khan knelt directly behind Samira.

"Enter me through the portal of Sodom, my lord," she begged him. "You know the pleasure it gives us both."

He pulled the twin halves of her bottom apart, and Thyra, seeing his need through the haze of her own lust, broke away from Lalita. Scrambling across the floor to her master, she grasped his great shaft and led it to the target. Jamal Khan grasped Samira firmly about the hips and began to press against the dainty, puckered orifice. For a moment it was unyielding, but then, like a bud, it began to open, giving way to the rigid rod of flesh that demanded entry.

She whimpered, but she also made an obviously conscious effort to relax for him, her back dipping lower. Suddenly the inflexible became flexible. He pushed through into her body. Slowly, slowly, he screwed his way forward into her denseness, even as her back arched more to facilitate him and she wiggled her body with her rising pleasure. Finally he could go no farther, and Samira purred with satisfaction as she felt the pouch containing his seed slap against her flesh.

"Ohhhh, my lord!" she said huskily. "How I love being the mare to your stallion! Use me! Use me, I beg you! Do not be gentle!"

Watching her husband piston Samira with growing vigor, Yasaman felt a stab of jealousy. Jamal had refused to join her this evening for supper and chess because his mood was foul? He certainly did not look as if his mood were foul now. His look was one of smug satisfaction as Samira began to howl and gasp beneath him. Then, with a great shudder and a roar, the prince withdrew from Samira's body as she sprawled forward sobbing with pleasure.

Immediately Layla and Nilak rushed forward, a basin of scented water and love cloths in their hands. Tenderly they bathed their lord's lingham as Lalita offered him a cup of wine that had been laced with aphrodisiacs. He gulped it down, grinning as his vigor was restored by both the wine and the sensual ministrations of their hands. His arms about Layla and Nilak, he escorted them a few feet to a large silken feather mattress that had been placed upon the floor.

"Layla, my little flower," he said to her, and she giggled as he pulled her down atop him. "Ride the stallion, little flower," Jamal Khan commanded his zenana woman, but poor Layla was so aroused by all that had already taken place that she was scarcely atop her master when her own pleasure quickly came and quickly departed.

"Ohhhhh!" she complained bitterly as shudders of delight raced through her.

Jamal Khan laughed and lifted her off him. "Who will be next, my beauties?" he teased his women. "I have a randy lingham tonight that needs much attention."

Nilak and Lalita both attempted to mount their master, and their frantic efforts dissolved into a quarrel between the two women that allowed Thyra to take advantage of the situation. Deliberately and with great care the Greek girl bathed his member once again. Then mounting him, she slowly sheathed his length within her own eager body.

Yasaman watched, fascinated as Thyra arched her back, her arms behind her that she might balance upon her hands. Thyra writhed sensually atop her master, making small, deep noises of satisfaction as she moved. Jamal Khan reached up and began to fondle his concubine's large white breasts, his fingers leaving faint reddish marks upon the girl's skin. The Greek's movements changed suddenly. Her hips began a frantic motion, and she was quite audibly panting and crying out by turns.

Yasaman did not even start when a soft wool shawl was wrapped about her. "He has betrayed me," she said softly.

"No, he has not," Adali told her. "He is a man, and men have needs that can only be satisfied by the flesh of a woman. You do not need to be told this, my princess. For two months you have held your husband at bay and he has been patient."

"I wanted to know him," she protested.

"I understand, but you would have gone on like this unless convinced otherwise, wouldn't you, my princess?"

"Sometimes," Yasaman told him as she turned to move away from the zenana scene, "I think I should be very afraid of you, my dear old Adali. I am not certain that you should know me better than I know myself; but then I remember that you love me, and so I cannot be afraid of you."

"Come inside," he said to her. "The night is cold, and you will catch a chill, my lady."

"Tomorrow my husband goes to hunt again," Yasaman reminded the eunuch. "He is meeting his elder brother, Yaqub Ali Khan, in the hills, and he will be gone for several days. Take the zenana women into the city and dispose of them. Thyra, Nilak, Layla, and Lalita leave with a good slave merchant. As for Samira, sell her yourself in the public marketplace. Surely some tribesman or brothel keeper will find her to his taste. Her greedy yoni will no longer entertain my husband's eager lingham. Just knowing she is in my house this night enrages me! I would kill her if I could!" Yasaman declared angrily.

"And the monies from the sale, my lady?" Adali inquired. "What shall I do with the proceeds of these sales?"

"They will go into my household treasury, Adali," Yasaman replied. "And gather together the workmen. Now that I am to reclaim my entire apartment, I want to redecorate it so that my husband will enjoy coming here. Do you think there is room for a nursery here?"

Adali grinned broadly. "Possibly, my lady, but when we must address that issue, perhaps it would be better to add an additional wing to the palace for the children. It would guarantee you and the prince your privacy. Lovers, I am told, prefer privacy, my lady." He helped his mistress back into her bed and drew the coverlet over her. "You will be lovers, Princess. I already see the dawn of love within both the prince's eyes and yours. It is time."

"Yes," she agreed with him. "It is time."

Adali left her, and Yasaman quickly slept. When she awoke she quickly learned that Jamal Khan had already departed, but he had left her a gift. Smiling, Yasaman undid the bejeweled silk handkerchief to find a fine blue and white porcelain bowl. She admired it, and then Rohana put it away even as Toramalli appeared with a tray laden with fresh, late melon, a boiled egg, yogurt, and bread with which to break her fast.

"Where is Adali?" she asked them.

"He has gone to the city, as you instructed, my lady," Toramalli answered softly.

"They are gone?"

"They are gone," her servant reassured Yasaman, and she could not help but smile at her mistress.

"Good!" Yasaman declared, and then for a brief moment she looked stricken. "I have never done anything so terrible," she admitted.

"They should not have been here when you first came two months ago as the prince's bride," Toramalli said indignantly.

"A man with a beautiful young wife does not need a zenana full of inferior women," Rohana added. "You are the Mughal's daughter, my lady, not the child of some provincial nobleman. It was insulting that the prince did not rid your house of those creatures!"

"Perhaps he was too kindhearted," Yasaman answered, "but now the deed is done. I hope he will not be angry with me."

Jamal Darya Khan returned home five days later. Although the sport had been good, he had been forced to bear the company of not just his elder brother, Yaqub, but his next elder brother, Haider. He did not like either of the men, both of whom had been grown when he was born. Throughout his childhood they had alternated between ignoring him and reminding him of his mother's inferiority in comparison with their two mothers. He bore them for the sake of his father. He would not have accepted Yaqub's invitation had he but known Haider would be with them. Yaqub was a braggart and a whiner. Haider, however, reminded Jamal of a poisonous snake. He was too wily by far.

His brothers were embittered with the loss of Kashmir to the Mughals, never mind the unsavory part that they had played in that loss. They were jealous that the youngest of their siblings had been honored with the Mughal's favorite daughter as a wife. They had heard rumors that Jamal Darya Khan would eventually be named official Mughal governor of Kashmir. They were martial, dense men of little vision. He had spent the entire time he was hunting with them explaining Akbar's reasons for giving him Yasaman.

When he left them, he was certain that they still believed the Grand Mughal's actions were a plot to hurt them. After all, it was Yaqub Ali Khan who was Yusef Khan's eldest son, and after him came Haider, not Jamal, as they had told him over and over again in the time he was in their sour company.

Consequently, Jamal Khan arrived home tired, irritable, and eager for some entertaining company. His zenana women had been most diverting the night before his departure. He had ignored them for far too long. It was a mistake he did not intend making again. He wanted a bath first, a good supper second, and then an evening of sport with his ladies. He grinned in anticipation, thinking about their silken flesh, their fine breasts, and their variety of sensual talents.

His naughty thoughts made his lingham bob up and down in the bath with a randy motion, to the amusement of his attendants. The male slaves teased him wickedly, praising his reputed prowess, suggesting he would wear himself out before it was time. Jamal Khan did not notice the looks that passed between his servants when he bragged that he would wear out every yoni in his zenana this evening, so eager was he for their erotic company. Instead, his servants suddenly grew quiet, bathing him and massaging their master with sandalwood oil. They wrapped him in a clean white dhoti when they were through, and Jamal Khan retired to his quarters for a light meal.

When he had eaten and was rested, he arose, walking leisurely through his palace to the women's quarters. He had not yet greeted his wife, but it would wait until morning. For now all he could think of was being entrapped between a pair of soft but firm thighs. He passed the door to Yasaman's chamber and moved on, but where the door to the zenana had been, there was now a solid wall. Confused, Jamal Khan stopped, thinking that he had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he had gone too far; but when he turned and faced the wall, he could plainly see that there was but one door to the women's quarters—through Yasaman's chamber.

"Fetch the high steward," he told one of the guards at the door to his wife's chamber.

The soldier ran off, and Jamal Khan paced silently during the minutes it took for Adali to make his appearance.

"My lord?" Adali's robes were dancing about him. He had obviously run all the way, a fact the prince noted and was pleased by.

"Where is the entry to the zenana, Adali?" Jamal Khan demanded.

"That is a matter you had best discuss with the princess, my lord," Adali answered politely.

"I am asking you," Jamal Khan said through gritted teeth.

"My lord, I cannot answer you," Adali told him, and it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. "Please take this up with my mistress."

"I do not wish to see your mistress tonight, Adali," Jamal Khan told him, his anger barely in check. "I want to sport with my women in the zenana, but the door to the zenana no longer exists."

"Because the zenana no longer exists," he heard Yasaman say.

Jamal Khan whirled about, her words barely penetrating his mind, so great was his shock.

"Come in, my lord," she said, drawing him into her chamber. She shut the door behind him. He quickly saw that they were alone, and he realized she looked particularly beautiful tonight. Her silk skirt was black, flecked with small gold stars, and the fabric was so sheer he could see her slender legs through it. Her choli molded her breasts, her nipples visible through the black silk with its embroidered gold neckline and sleeves.

Jamal Khan looked about him. Something had changed. This was no bedchamber. It was suddenly a salon with comfortable divans, large pillows, tables of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, brass tray tables and beautiful ruby glass and brass lamps, both hanging and standing upon brass pedestals. The gorgeous blue and gold parrot that Yasaman possessed was showcased in a corner. His tiny keeper Balna sat nearby, embroidering on a silken cloth which was to be a new cage cover. Fou-Fou was sprawled upon a divan in her usual reclining position, and the black kitten he had given Yasaman as a betrothal gift now lay by her side. Even the monkey, Baba, was there, eyeing the prince suspiciously as he silently peeled a small piece of fruit. The room had a comfortable, warm feeling to it, Jamal Khan thought as he looked about it. He couldn't ever remember it looking so fine.

He saw through the door that connected this room with the zenana, a bedchamber. "Where are my women?" he demanded, remembering why he was here.

"I have sold them," she said calmly. "Do sit down, my lord, and tell me of your trip. Was there much game? I do hope you brought back a deer. I love its meat!"

"You sold my zenana women? How did you dare do such a thing?" Jamal Khan was absolutely outraged by his wife's actions. He glowered at her fiercely. Then he was quite taken aback when she spoke to defend herself. It wasn't a defense. It was an attack!

"How did you dare to bring me to this place, my lord, without properly preparing it?" she countered, stamping her foot angrily. "In your mother's time, may Allah bless her worthy soul, there was no zenana here. These were your mother's rooms, and you gave most of them over to those low creatures while cramming your wife into a single chamber. Your women did not respect me, and no wonder! I was even forced to share a bath with them! There was no room for my servants or my things, and you obviously were quite oblivious to it all. Your only interest was in yourself.

"Well, I am the Mughal's daughter! I will not be abused by you or by those females who found such dubious favor in your eyes. This is my home. You, yourself, gave me charge over it to do as I pleased. This apartment is simply not large enough for me and for any others. If you wish a zenana, my lord, then you must build another wing to this palace to house it. In the meantime, I have sold your women and taken the monies from their sale to decorate my rooms properly." She glared at him fiercely, daring him to dispute her.

Jamal Khan could only stare in amazement at Yasaman as he digested her words. She had sold his zenana for monies to finance her decoration scheme? Suddenly the humor in the situation hit him. What a woman she was! He began to laugh, and he continued laughing for several long minutes while she stood there before him refusing to be stared down. Tears of mirth ran down his cheeks. His sides ached. She was indeed the Mughal's daughter. He would get fine, strong sons and beautiful, willful daughters on her.

His laughter died as swiftly as it had begun. The getting of sons and daughters required a degree of intimacy that they had yet to attain, and he no longer had his zenana women upon which to slack his lusts. Yasaman Kama Begum was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The prince felt his desire rising. He wanted her. Now. Tonight.

"Having sold my zenana women," he said thoughtfully, "you must surely be prepared to serve me as they served me, Yasaman. You cannot dispose of them, yet continue to deny me."

She said nothing, but those incredibly fascinating turquoise-blue eyes of hers widened just imperceptibly. She was very still, like some wild creature about to be flushed from its cover. He reached out with an arm, his hand sliding about her waist to draw her near to him.

"You have not answered me, Yasaman," he said softly. "Are you ready to minister to all of my needs as a good wife should?" His other hand reached up to caress her face, which felt warm to his touch.

Her senses were swimming. She could hear the beat of her own heart in her ears. For a moment she couldn't even draw a breath. She felt as if she were being smothered. She cast her eyes about, instinctively seeking for help, but her servants, in the room but a moment ago, had suddenly all disappeared. They were alone.

He bent and kissed her forehead softly. "Yasaman, my proud princess, answer me."

It was as if the kiss had released her from some spell. "I am ready to be your wife, my lord," she murmured low. "You will have no need for any others now."

"Give me your lips," he replied, "and let us seal the bargain between us, my jasmine blossom." He brushed her mouth lightly with his and said, "You are so young, Yasaman. So fair. You cannot possibly have any knowledge of how great my desire for you is at this moment."

Reaching behind her, he unfastened her choli and removed it. Her full breasts enchanted him with their smooth roundness. He cupped them in his two hands, his thumbs lightly brushing the nipples. Her soft hiss told him of her arousal.

Next he undid her ghagra skirt and let it puddle about her ankles, rendering her totally nude. Standing away from her a moment, he enjoyed the sight of his wife as God had made her. He could feel his lingham straining the fabric of his dhoti. He, too, was aroused.

She stood silent and still, mesmerized by his warm brown eyes, shivering just slightly as the cool night air touched her skin. Or was it perhaps the touch of his hands upon her shoulders? He drew her near again. His fingers made small circles of sensation, smoothing around and down her back, over her buttocks and up again to touch her face once more. He held her head between his strong, gentle hands for a minute. Then his lips met hers once again.

Yasaman eagerly gave herself up to his kisses, her arms slipping about his neck in a welcoming embrace. She had been waiting for this all her life. The mouth on hers was warm and tender. It spoke to her without words, the firm but delicate pressure conveying the loving passion he felt for her. His breath was just faintly perfumed with mint, she noted, when in response to his silent signal she parted her lips and their tongues touched, circling each other in an erotic ballet of sweetly moist sensation. Yasaman sighed deeply, her own emotions stirring with innocent enthusiasm.

Content in his embrace, with eager little hands she undid his dhoti, bringing him to a natural state. Shyly but with growing boldness, she caressed him in return; stroking his smooth back, cupping his taut buttocks with her palms. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his lingham, already firm, against her thigh. Her startled eyes flew to his face.

"I did not know that a virgin could arouse a husband so, my lord," she told him wonderingly.

"Perhaps not every virgin," he responded, "but certainly this virgin, my jasmine blossom." With a sweet smile he lifted her into his arms and walked toward her bedchamber.

"My Pillow Book!" she exclaimed to him. "I must have my Pillow Book else I cannot be certain what to do, Jamal!"

"Tonight," he told her, smiling again into her eyes, "I will guide you, my love, in all that you must know. Tonight I will teach you to enjoy passion. In the nights that follow, Yasaman, I will show you other ways of giving me pleasure, but tonight I will give you that special joy that only a man who loves a woman can give to her, and in doing so, I will gain equal joy. There is a saying from the Ananga Ranga which goes, ‘How delicious an instrument is woman, when artfully played upon; how capable is she of producing the most exquisite harmonies, or executing the most complicated variations of love, and giving the most Divine of erotic pleasures.' " He lay her down upon the bed, joining her and tenderly caressing her breasts.

Yasaman watched him as he touched her; watched as her nipples responded to his touch, again filled with a dawning wonder as she felt her heart seemingly expand within her chest, radiating a warmth she had never before experienced. She did not know if it was love or desire that she was feeling, but whatever it was, it was most pleasant.

"In Lahore," she told him softly, "in the bedchamber of the woman who gave me life, there is a large shamsa upon the wall. In the center of the sunburst is a rosette of gold, red, and blue; and in the very center of the rosette is a circle inscribed with several verses. The first is from the Kama Sutra. It reads: ‘Once the Wheel of Love has been set in motion, there is no absolute rule.' I think I am beginning to understand what that means, Jamal."

He drew slowly and sensuously upon the nipple of her breast, sending a sensation of pleasure through her being. Then he said, "Do you love me, Yasaman?"

"I am not certain what love between a man and a woman is, Jamal," was her ingenuous reply. "You are most experienced in such matters, so I would ask you, do you love me?"

He pondered a moment and then he said, "I must, my Yasaman, else I should have beaten you for selling my zenana women off." His brown eyes twinkled down at her.

"Perhaps," she told him, "I care for you a little, my lord, else the thought of that bitch, Samira, in your arms would not drive me so wild with rage!" She pulled his head down and kissed him fiercely.

Jamal Khan's heart leapt within his chest. Marriage to a pleasant woman was the best he had dared to hope for, but somehow he had been blessed. He did love her. Her artless confession of angry jealousy told him that she did indeed love him, even if she was not quite certain of the emotion yet.

He kissed her back, nibbling upon her lips, tempering her fury with deep, slow kisses that set her to sighing with delight. He let his lips wander across her sensitive body, finding the hollow of her throat; the perfumed curve of a round shoulder; the deep, scented valley between her wonderful breasts; the flesh of her flat belly, which seemed to vibrate beneath his warm lips.

Yasaman sighed again. His mouth on her skin was like nothing she had ever experienced. Within, she felt a longing ache she thought would surely kill her if it was not satisfied. There was a sweetness between them that she had not felt when she and Salim had practiced those pages from her Pillow Book. Suddenly she knew that what they had done was wrong. Whatever Salim may have told her of the passion between ancient royals, it was wrong. This was right! She reached out and caressed the back of Jamal's neck with her fingers. His skin was so soft to her touch. She hadn't realized before that men had soft skin. His dark hair was silky as she twined her hands through it.

He brushed the soft flesh of her thighs, pressing gently between them, touching her more intimately. Her heart began to beat fiercely. She realized she very much wanted the sweet intimacy that existed between lovers. She wanted it desperately.

"Rid me now of my virginity, my lord Jamal," she begged him. "I find I am suddenly afraid of the unknown. I do not want to fear you. Take me quickly that my fears may ease and we may begin to enjoy one another!"

He understood her plea, but he also knew that the first experience with physical passion should bring not just pain, but pleasure as well. "Trust me, my blossom, not to harm you," he begged her.

Twisting his body about, he found her secret jewel with his mouth. His tongue touched the tender pink flesh with quick, sure strokes. When he had almost brought her into bloom, he swung his body over hers, preparing to enter her yoni.

Yasaman grasped his lingham between her two hands and guided him, her turquoise eyes never once leaving his warm, dark eyes. Slowly he penetrated, struggling with himself to go gently, hesitating just a fraction when he saw the shock of pain in her eyes.

"No!" she gasped, and thrust her young body up to absorb him completely, the pain slowly leaving her expression, to be replaced with a look of surprise.

It was then he began to move upon her, riding her as he would a finely bred mare, pacing himself to give her her first taste of adult pleasure before he took his own, watching the joy creep into her eyes; her cry of newborn ecstasy filling him with pure delight as he finally released his passion.

When, after their first bout with Eros, they lay content in each other's embrace, Yasaman said, "There is another saying inscribed upon that same shamsa I told you of, my lord. The second verse reads: ‘Your being contains mine; now I am truly part of you. Together as one, we form an unbroken circle of love.' I did not fully understand that saying until now. Is it not right that such sweetness create another being?"

"Oh, Yasaman," he answered her, astounded by her youthful wisdom, "I think you understand far more than you even realize. The Mahabharata says: ‘The wife is half the man, his priceless friend; Of pleasure, virtue, wealth, his constant source; A help throughout his earthly years; Through life unchanging, even beyond its end.' So, I believe, will be true of you. I am all the more fortunate for it, my jasmine blossom."

Yasaman pulled away from her husband and, raising herself up to balance upon her elbow, looked into his handsome face. Her own visage was pale with what was most certainly shock. "How did you know that verse from the Mahabharata, Jamal? Someone told you, of course!"

"Told me what?" he replied. "I have studied the Mahabharata, Yasaman. That verse was a particular favorite of mine. I always felt it described exactly how a man should feel about his wife. Perhaps it was my reason for not taking a spouse before now." He touched her face gently. "You are ashen, my love. What is it? Has our first shared passion been too much for you?"

"The verse you have quoted me from the Mahabharata, Jamal, is the third and final verse inscribed upon the shamsa in Candra's bedchamber. It is almost as if she has blessed our union, is it not?"

He was astounded by her words, but then he smiled. "Yes," he agreed. "Perhaps in a way she has, my love. Such a blessing is, I believe, very lucky for us." He kissed her tenderly. "Very fortunate indeed!"