Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The newly appointed governor of Kashmir, Prince Jamal Darya Khan, was dead. He had been found in an elephant stable, crushed beneath the feet of a frantic, newly delivered female. It was at first assumed that the young man had, in his curiosity, strayed too close to the baby elephant, and the mother had reacted in what she believed was a need to protect her infant.

The emperor was informed of this monumental tragedy by a nervous elephant keeper who was rushed into his presence. Akbar had been sitting enjoying a cup of mint tea with his wife, Rugaiya Begum, when the man was brought to him.

The keeper delivered his bad news, then seeing that they were alone, said suddenly, "It was not an accident, gracious lord. I saw it all!"

The Mughal stiffened. "What?" he asked, uncertain that he had heard correctly. "What did you say to me?"

"It was not an accident," the keeper repeated from his uncomfortable position, on his knees before his ruler.

"Explain yourself! If you do not tell me the exact truth, I will have your tongue yanked from your head," Akbar said furiously.

"Prince Jamal came to the barns at midday with his two brothers, Prince Yaqub and Prince Haider, gracious lord. I warned them to beware of that female in particular, as she had only given birth this morning. Then I left to get some water. When I returned but a minute later, Yaqub Khan and Haider Khan were lifting the prone, unconscious body of Prince Jamal over the gate into the elephant mother's pen. She was wild with terror and had already begun to trumpet her fear." The keeper hung his head in shame. "I was frightened, gracious lord. I know I should have shouted to them, but when I saw what they were doing, I was afraid. I am a poor and humble man. They might have blamed me for the terrible deed, and because they are rich and powerful, they would have been believed. Besides, I was not in time to stop them. I feared that if they saw me, they would kill me too.

"As soon as they had deposited him in the female's pen, they began to cry for help as if it were an accident. I ran also to the pen to see if I could save Prince Jamal. But alas! His skull was already crushed beneath the feet of the terrified mother elephant. There was nothing else I could do but come to you, gracious lord, and throw myself upon your mercy," the keeper concluded. He prostrated himself fully before the emperor.

"You are absolutely certain of what you saw?" Akbar asked the elephant keeper numbly. "These are serious charges you make against Yaqub Khan and Haider Khan. How are you certain that it was them?"

The elephant keeper raised himself up slightly, saying, "Haider Khan keeps a magnificent fighting elephant in the royal barns. I have had the privilege of attending the beast, gracious lord. This prince has spoken to me on several occasions. Once he came with his brother. Yaqub Khan. Haider Khan introduced me to him and told him that I was the finest elephant keeper in all the royal stables. I would know him anywhere!" The keeper threw himself flat again.

Akbar could feel Rugaiya Begum shaking as she sat next to him. She was obviously suffering from shock. "Arise, good keeper, and go back to the stables," he told the man. "Say nothing of what you have seen or what you know to anyone, on peril of your life. I will administer justice fairly. Those involved will atone with their lives for this terrible crime before the hour is past. If Jamal Khan's brothers thought to replace him in Kashmir, they have committed this crime for naught."

The keeper scrambled quickly to his feet. He had known the emperor his entire life. He knew that his word was good. Bowing himself out of the room, he ran to do Akbar's bidding, thinking that the worst being over, he would gain a certain stature from being among the discoverers of Jamal Khan's body.

Rugaiya Begum began to weep softly, but Akbar ignored her, calling for his guard instead. "Find Yaqub Khan and Haider Khan, the sons of Yusef Khan," he told the captain of his guard. "Bring them here to me quickly with as much discretion as you can manage. And send someone to find my daughter, Yasaman Kama Begum. Bring her to me also."

The captain of the guard hurried off.

"What can we tell her?" Rugaiya Begum sobbed. "This will kill my child for certain. She loves Jamal Khan with all her heart and soul. There will never again be another man for her!"

"She must know the truth, my wife," Akbar replied, "even though it causes her great pain. She is my daughter. She is strong. I want her here when the murderers are brought before me so that she may hear their explanation for this horrific crime. There is more to this than meets the eye, Rugaiya. I feel it!"

"It is Salim!" Rugaiya Begum said bitterly. "He is behind this, and no one else! His desire for her must burn as strongly as it ever did. He knows his time to rule is coming. He but prepared the way for himself that he may have Yasaman as well. We must not let him, my husband!"

Akbar paled. "Do not say it, my wife. Do not say it! Salim knows that a sensual relationship with his sister is not only repellent, but forbidden by both man's law and God's law. Surely he would not try to defy nature."

"When did either man or God, or even Akbar, ever stop Prince Salim Muhammad in his quest for what he desired?" Rugaiya Begum replied harshly. "He has been out of control his entire life. You should have recognized he was unfit when he was a boy. Instead you made him the heir. Daniyal was more fit, but it is too late for poor Daniyal, lost in his grape and poppy haze."

They sat in silence for several long minutes. Then the door to the room opened to admit Yasaman. She was wearing a pale blue and gold sari, and her dark hair was braided with strands of small pearls. She looked so happy.

"You called me, my father?" she said, coming to him and kissing his cheek.

Akbar drew her down between Rugaiya Begum and himself. "I have terrible news, my daughter. I will not hold back because nothing will couch the blow I must deliver to you. Jamal Khan is dead." The emperor tightened his arm about his youngest daughter to comfort her.

"How?" Yasaman's voice was distant and without emotion.

"It appears he was murdered, my child," Akbar told her, and repeated the elephant keeper's tale.

"Why, my father?" She was suddenly cold. Terribly cold. Jamal dead? No! It could not be, but why would they lie to her?

"I have ordered Yaqub Khan and Haider Khan brought to me immediately, Yasaman, my child," she heard Akbar say. "They will tell us before they die why they have committed this deed."

Once more silence descended upon the room. Yasaman was struggling to digest what her father had told her, but she could still not quite believe his words. It seemed so unreal. Like some horrible dream from which she could not awaken, although she was sure when she did, Jamal would be beside her.

Rugaiya Begum had been rendered speechless. She did not know how to comfort Yasaman for the loss of a husband. What did one say in such a situation? There, there. Everything will be all right. Everything was not going to be all right, particularly if, as she suspected, Salim was behind the matter. They had married Yasaman off to Jamal Khan to protect her from her brother's evil lust. How would they protect her now? The negotiations involved in arranging another marriage could not even begin until Yasaman had finished her period of mourning a year from now. Akbar was not going to live that long, Rugaiya Begum knew. Salim had planned well, damn his wicked soul, and now Yasaman, the beloved child of her heart, was in mortal danger.

The door to the room was once again flung open and several soldiers entered escorting Yaqub Khan and Haider Khan, who were protesting loudly at what they considered a great indignity.

"Send me two mutes, then dismiss all the men. You remain," Akbar ordered the captain. When the mutes had come and the others were gone, the door was closed. Akbar pierced Yusef Khan's two remaining sons with a hard look and said without preamble, "Why did you kill your brother Jamal?"

Neither of the Kashmiri princes answered him.

"The elephant keeper saw you. He came to me," Akbar told them quietly. "I repeat, why did you kill your brother?"

Yaqub Khan looked at his younger brother and shrugged. Both men were aware that the mutes were royal executioners. To deny the plot was now futile, but had they been betrayed by Salim? he wondered. Perhaps the truth would save their lives. Akbar was known for fairness. "Your son, Salim, promised me the governorship of Kashmir and his sister, Yasaman Kama Begum, for my concubine. To my brother, Haider, he promised a high military position," he said.

"Did you approach him in this matter, or did he approach you?" Akbar demanded, hoping against hope that it had been the two Kashmiri princes who had first gone to his son with the idea.

"He called us to him early in the morning, gracious lord," Yaqub Khan said. "We would not have done this deed had we not been assured great rewards by someone so powerful."

Akbar nodded. Yaqub Khan was speaking the truth, he knew. The man was a follower and not a leader. "You swear this on your miserable life?" he asked the two brothers.

They nodded, and Yaqub Khan said, "We swear it with our dying breaths, gracious lord." He suddenly understood the certainty of his fate, for he realized too late that the woman next to the emperor was his sister-in-law, Yasaman Kama Begum.

Akbar sighed deeply and looked to the captain of his guard. The captain silently nodded to the two mutes standing behind the Kashmiri princes. The mutes, with incredible swiftness, garroted Yaqub Khan and his brother Haider before they even realized what was happening. Then, under the direction of the captain, they removed the bodies for immediate burial, departing the room and leaving the emperor, his wife, and his daughter alone again. The captain did not need to be admonished to silence. His entire career had been at the Mughal court, and he knew that Salim would soon rule.

"They lied!" Yasaman burst out. "They lied!"

"No," Akbar said wearily, "they told the truth, my rosebud."

"Salim would not hurt me in this way," Yasaman whispered, her voice beginning to quiver with emotion. "He would not hurt me! He loves me."

"Yes," Akbar said, "he loves you, my daughter, but he does not love you as a brother loves his sister. He loves and desires you as a man desires a beautiful woman. I think perhaps that this is something you knew but dared not admit to yourself."

"He tried to seduce me the night of my thirteenth birthday," Yasaman half whispered to her father. "I thought it might be wrong, and yet …" Her voice trailed off.

"I know he tried to seduce you then," Akbar replied, "but you must not feel guilty about it, Yasaman. You were an innocent young girl filled with a new and burning passion you did not understand or know what to do with; but your brother, may God forgive him, knew, and he took shameful advantage of you."

"How did you know, Father?" Her cheeks were pink with the memory of the brief but torrid encounter with her brother.

"Adali was there. He had seen the looks your brother had lavished upon you over the past years. He was suspicious of him, and rightly so, it turns out," the emperor said. "Remember, Adali is loyal beyond question. He had long ago promised Candra to protect you from all evil. It was not a promise he made lightly, my daughter."

Yasaman nodded. "Is that why I was married in such haste to Jamal?" she asked her father.

"Yes. Your mother and I wanted to protect you, Yasaman. We believed such a marriage the answer to our problem."

"I had known Jamal's mother briefly," Rugaiya Begum spoke up. "I had even seen the prince on one or two occasions. He was handsome and seemed kind. His reputation was spotless. I knew you would not be unhappy to remain in Kashmir. In Kashmir you would have been far from Salim's eye and, we hoped, his thoughts. It would appear, however, that you are an obsession with your brother. He knows that your father is dying. He has acted to remove the final barrier to his possession of you."

Yasaman's world was unraveling about her even as they spoke. Jamal, her beloved husband, was dead by her beloved brother's command; and Salim was preparing to … to … what did he really want of her? To possess her body, she understood, but what place was she to have in his life? She had loved Salim her entire life, but now she hated him. She hated him with as deep a passion as he obviously loved her.

"I will kill him if I have to face him," she said finally. Her heart was gone and she was so cold.

"No," Akbar said quietly. "You cannot."

"How will you punish him, my father?" Yasaman demanded in a hard voice. "Will you replace him with Khusrau or Khurram? Will you have him garroted as you did his two hapless minions? No! He must bear a slow death. I want him to suffer!"

Rugaiya Begum looked at Akbar. How will you answer her? her mournful dark eyes asked of him. What comfort can you possibly bring to her?

"Khusrau is too volatile," Akbar finally said. "He has inherited the worst traits of both his parents. As for Khurram, he is too young, I fear, though he shows great promise. I cannot live long enough to assure his safe ascent to power if I destroy his father, Yasaman. Khurram is only fourteen."

"You were fourteen when my grandfather, Humayun, died," she reminded him. "You fought off uncles, cousins, and brothers to retain your throne."

"Times were different then," he protested. "I had not all of this land."

"Yes, they were harder times, my father! The Mughals had little left after their wars with the Afghan tribes and Sher Shah. You had an empire to conquer and half a dozen aspirants to your throne eager to bring you down so that they could rule in your place! Our world is nothing like that now!"

"No," he agreed, "it is a far more subtle and deadly world, my daughter. I have conquered almost all of this land by the sword and by the alliances I have so cleverly forged by virtue of the marriage bed. A boy of fourteen could not hold this empire together. India needs a man. Unfortunately there is but one son of my loins fit to rule. Your brother Salim."

"What of Daniyal?" she replied furiously.

"Daniyal is too often in his cups to function successfully, I fear, my daughter. No, Salim is India's only hope. He may have tried me sorely over the years with his eagerness to fill my boots, but he is an able administrator and a fine warrior. The people fear him, and they respect him."

"How long would they respect him if they knew of his desire to commit incest with his sister?" Yasaman said bitterly. "How long would they respect him if they knew he had ordered his brother-in-law's murder in order to clear a path to my bed?" Her voice was beginning to rise as her grief began to overcome her. "You say you are dying, my father. How will you protect me then from Salim? I will kill myself before I will allow him to violate me! But if it comes to that, I will kill him too!"

"Be silent, my daughter!" Rugaiya Begum said sharply, and both Akbar and Yasaman turned to look at her, startled. "I will hear no talk of killing. We have but one course in this matter, but in order to take it, we must not let Salim know that we are aware of his perfidy. Your father is correct, Yasaman. There is no one who can follow him but Salim. That is unescapable fact. Nothing you say or do can alter it. Trust me when I tell you that no one would come to your aid if Salim forced you to an incestuous relationship. You are only a woman. Any cleric who protested would be killed to silence his chatter. We must, therefore, protect you from Salim and protect Salim from himself. There is only one way. You must leave India."

"Leave India?" Yasaman was horrified. "Where would I go, Mama Begum?"

"You must go to Candra's land; to your other grandmother. It is the only place where you will be safe. Your brother will not know where you are, and therefore cannot send after you. Obviously your fate is not here in India, my daughter. Before your marriage, your father's astrologer saw both happiness and tragedy in your stars, as well as several children. If you remain here, Salim will not permit you to have another husband to father those children."

"I cannot leave India," Yasaman said. "It is my home."

"Yes," Akbar said as if a sudden revelation had been presented to him. "Yes, Rugaiya, my wife, it is the only way! Why I did not think of it myself, I do not know. England! You will be safe in England, my beloved daughter. And Candra's family will surely protect you."

"You were not so certain of Candra's family when you permitted her to return to her own land without me," Yasaman said.

"I did not know them then, but over the years your other grandmother has corresponded with me. I believe her to be a woman of great morality and good sense. She will not refuse to shelter you," Akbar said.

"Yes, she has corresponded with you, my father, but never have you corresponded with her! What will she think when I suddenly appear upon her doorstep?"

"We will consult with Father Cullen," Akbar said. "He is one of them, a European. He will know; but I believe England is the safest place for you, Yasaman."

Before they might continue the conversation, however, Yasaman suddenly doubled over and cried out in pain.

"What is it, my daughter?" Rugaiya Begum said, frightened.

Yasaman looked up at her mutely, her eyes filled with anguish. "I think I may be with child," she managed to gasp.

Akbar scrambled to his feet. Hurrying over to the door of the chamber, he opened it and called to the guardsman outside, "Fetch the lady Juliana immediately! Quickly! Quickly!" When he turned back, Rugaiya Begum was cradling Yasaman in her arms.

Yasaman's eyes were closed and she was very pale. Tiny drops of perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip.

They sat silently until finally the door to the room opened and Juliana Bourbon hurried in. "What has happened?" Seeing Yasaman, she knelt by her side and looked at Rugaiya Begum questioningly.

"She may be with child," Rugaiya Begum told the doctor.

"Not any longer," Juliana Bourbon replied, pointing to the ooze of blood staining Yasaman's clothing. "I am sorry, my princess," she told Yasaman, whose eyes fluttered open at the doctor's words. "How long since your last show of blood?"

"Eight, nine weeks," Yasaman murmured weakly.

"It will be all right, my child," Juliana Bourbon reassured the girl. "You are young and healthy. You will have other children."

Yasaman began to weep wildly.

"Jamal Khan has been murdered this day," Akbar told the doctor.

"Ahh," she replied, "then that is what has brought about this sad event. Sometimes a terrible shock will do that to a woman, and the princess is very young. Let me call for a litter. She will need immediate treatment."

"Take her to my quarters here in the fort," Rugaiya Begum told Juliana Bourbon, "and can you give her something to quiet her before you move her? I do not want this event to become a public scandal, under the circumstances."

"Of course," the doctor said. "Give me some water, my lady Begum," and she removed a gilded pill from a pouch that hung from her belt. Gently she inserted it between Yasaman's lips, the sobbing girl choking slightly as Rugaiya Begum forced some water from a goblet down her daughter's throat. Yasaman swallowed, and a few short minutes later her sobs died as she fell into a deep sleep.

The litter was brought and the young princess gently put upon it.

"Take my daughter directly to her mother's apartments," Akbar instructed the bearers. "Go with them," he told his wife, and Rugaiya Begum accompanied the doctor from the room. When she had departed, Akbar told the attending guardsman, "Find Father Cullen and send him to me."

The priest came and Akbar told him of all the events that had transpired this day, concluding, "I know that you know the real reason we married Yasaman off so quickly, Father. Now, however, all our plans to keep her safe from Salim, and Salim safe from his own wicked desires, have gone astray."

"What are we to do then, gracious lord?" the priest asked.

"Rugaiya Begum and I have discussed it, Father. Yasaman must leave India. There is no other way. She must go to England to Candra's family. I will, of course, want you to escort her. Will the Church allow you to leave your post here, I wonder?"

"My post is with the princess, gracious lord," the priest answered. "My instructions, which came from my bishop, were to remain with her always. If she goes to England, then I must, of necessity, follow her."

"Is the Church so interested in the welfare of a single soul that it would assign a priest to its keeping?" Akbar mused aloud.

Cullen Butler laughed softly. "Has it never occurred to you, gracious lord, that perhaps the Church was not quite as involved with my coming as you assumed? That perhaps there were other factors involved in my being assigned to the princess's household?"

"I do not understand you," the Mughal said. "I myself requested that the Jesuits send me a priest for Yasaman's household."

"Indeed you did, gracious lord. In due time I was sent to you, a priest—but not a member of the order of the Jesuits. I was very surprised, although at the same time most grateful, that you never questioned the Church's decision. The Jesuits are a powerful order and very jealous of their foothold here in India. I have had to walk carefully and defer to them at every turn lest they grow too curious themselves as to why I, and not one of their own, was sent to your daughter's household. It was not an easy task that I was set when I was sent forth to India."

The Mughal stared hard at the pleasant-faced priest as the import of his words penetrated his brain. "Who are you?" he finally asked quietly. "And how did you come to be here?"

"I was sent at your request, which was forwarded by the Jesuits to Paris. There, Bearach O'Dowd, a priest high in the Jesuit order, came into the picture. He heard of your desire and communicated with his childhood friend, an Irish bishop, who communicated with his sister. The result was that I, and not a Jesuit, was sent to India. You have met this Irish bishop yourself, but once. He is Michael O'Malley. His sister is Yasaman Kama Begum's other grandmother, Lady de Marisco. I, gracious lord, am their nephew, the youngest son of Sine O'Malley Butler.

"When Father O'Dowd told my uncle Michael that a priest was required for the princess's household, Lady de Marisco insisted that I be sent. In that way my aunt was always able to have firsthand accounts of her grandchild. Although she understood your reasons for not allowing the princess to come to England with her mother, she grieved for the grandchild lost to her. My aunt is a woman of strong values, gracious lord, and for her, family is everything."

"If she knew of Yasaman's progress through communication with you, Father Cullen, then why was she always pestering me with her letters?" the Mughal asked curiously.

"It was my aunt's way of personally letting you know that she cared what happened to her granddaughter," the priest answered.

Akbar sighed. "I think I should be angry that Lady de Marisco's reach is so long. She must be a very powerful woman. Why did you not tell me until now, Father Cullen, that you are related by blood to my daughter? Perhaps you feared that I would send you away?"

"There was always that possibility, gracious lord. I was not sent here to spy, but rather to watch over my young relative. If you knew my aunt, you would understand, but I would not have you gain an incorrect picture of her. She is wealthy through her own efforts, proud, stubborn, and determined. She is the strongest woman I have ever known, and possibly the most noble."

"Will she really welcome my daughter into her family?" Akbar asked Father Cullen. "And what of Yasaman's mother, Candra? I cannot remember her other name. She has always been Candra in my heart and mind," the emperor told the priest.

"The princess's mother is called Velvet, and she is my cousin. I do not really know her except by reputation. I will take the princess to her grandmother, my aunt, in England. Velvet lives far to the north of her mother in another country called Scotland, although now that Scotland has inherited England's throne, the two lands will certainly be joined, I am certain."

"Has she other children, my daughter's mother?" He had never before wanted to know such a thing, for the memories had been too painful. Now, however, it was different. His life was coming to an end, and the one thing that had bound him to Candra, their daughter, must leave him to go to England.

"She has borne her husband five sons," Cullen Butler said.

"Five sons!" Akbar marveled. "What are their ages, Father?"

"The eldest is twelve, I believe, and the youngest five," the priest told the Mughal. "There is also a stepdaughter from another alliance Velvet's husband had. The girl is just a little older than the princess and will surely be a good sister to her.

"Lady de Marisco will, I think, want to keep the princess with her, however, gracious lord. As a beautiful and wealthy young widow, Yasaman will have a better opportunity to contract a fine marriage from her grandmother's house than she would have if she went to her mother in Scotland. There is no court in Scotland any longer."

Akbar nodded. "Yes," he said. "I want my Yasaman to remarry and to be happy, Father. The love of a good man will help her to find contentment in her new life. Children too." He sighed deeply. "Ahh, I shall never see the grandchildren my daughter gives me! I shall never be able to dandle them upon my knee, or take them tiger hunting in my howdah as I did Yasaman when she was just a small baby. How Candra scolded me over it, Father Cullen. I wonder if she ever forgave me for refusing to allow Yasaman to go with her. Now I must send our daughter to her for protection. I can only pray that she will love and welcome her as I would were our positions reversed."

"The princess will be safe with her mother's family, gracious lord, I swear it!" Cullen Butler told the Mughal sincerely.

"My daughter will not arrive in England a pauper," Akbar said. "Your aunt's ships put into Cambay once yearly, in midsummer. Yasaman will travel to England on one and her fortune will accompany her. There will be gold, jewels, spices, and silks. She will live out her days like the queen she was born to be. Our preparations, however, must remain a secret. Only Yasaman, her mother, Adali, you, and I can know what we are planning. If Prince Salim learns of Yasaman's departure, he will stop her. I cannot prevent it. He is too strong for me now, and I am dying."

"Can you live long enough to see to your daughter's going, gracious lord?" the priest asked frankly. "It is a journey of several weeks to the coast. Such a large caravan will certainly attract attention."

"You have a factor in Cambay, do you not?" Akbar queried.

"Aye. He is one of our own people." A smile touched the corners of Cullen Butler's lips. "By coincidence, he is one of the princess's cousins, Alain O'Flaherty, the third son of Lady de Marisco's eldest child, Ewan O'Flaherty. He has been in charge of our establishment in Cambay for five years now, gracious lord."

Akbar could not help but chuckle. "Your aunt is a very wise woman, Father. This grandson, I assume, is a younger son, and she has given him a chance to make his own fortune by coming to India."

"Exactly, gracious lord! Family can usually be trusted, and in this case, young Alain was a good choice," the priest said. "He knows nothing, of course, about Yasaman, but I will explain everything to him when we reach Cambay. Our timing is most crucial. We must sail for England before the end of August, or we will lose the trade winds. The voyage, my lord, is some five to six months, but going overland would be far more dangerous, and take us close to two years."

"Send a messenger to him this very day, Father. I will provide you with one of my own people for the journey. Simply say that there will be shipments from Agra coming to him over the next few weeks that are to go to England. Tell him you will be coming to visit him midsummer and will then explain further. That should be soon enough. My daughter will need time to regain her strength, to try and recover from the shock of her husband's murder and the loss of their child."

"How will you keep her safe from your son, gracious lord?"

"Yasaman will remain in her mother's care. Salim cannot predict the term of a woman's grief. My daughter's grief will be very, very great. Jamal's body must be buried immediately according to his Muslim faith, but I will have his heart removed from his body to be buried in Kashmir. When it is time for Yasaman to journey to the coast, we will use a small ruse to cover her departure. Another caravan, this one carrying the heart of Jamal Khan, will depart for Kashmir. It will appear that the grieving young widow is with it. Salim dare not object to a wife accompanying her husband's heart to its burial ground. He will feel secure in knowing where she is and that he can get to her at any time."

The priest nodded. "You plan as skillfully as does my aunt," he said with a smile.

The emperor chuckled. "How I should like to know that woman!" he said. "Tell me, Father. Is she beautiful? Candra was beautiful."

"I only saw my cousin Velvet when she was a child, but my aunt Skye is probably the most beautiful woman I have ever known. None of her daughters had the same beauty. Strangely, it is your daughter who reminds me most of my aunt in her youth, although the princess does not really look like her. My aunt has fair white skin, and dark, dark hair, and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are blue-green in color. She will be sixty-five this year, gracious lord, but the last time I saw her, those wonderful eyes had not dimmed in color."

"Are her eyes then like my daughter's?" the emperor asked. "I have always wondered where Yasaman got her eye color. Her mother's were an emerald-green of incredible clarity."

"No, gracious lord. The princess's eyes are the blue of a Persian turquoise. My aunt's are more like the blue-green waters off the coast of Kerry, a province of my native Ireland," Cullen Butler replied. "My mother and her elder sisters were always jealous of my aunt's great beauty. My aunt is the youngest of the sisters. Yet it was she who defied all tradition and went out into the world to conquer it. She succeeded, too, much to their chagrin," the priest finished with a chuckle.

"Tell me of my daughter's grandfather. I remember that Candra adored her father," Akbar said.

"Adam de Marisco is my aunt's sixth husband. She outlived the other five. His mother was French, his father English. The de Mariscos are a very ancient family. Adam is brave, and clever and witty, gracious lord. He is a large, fierce-looking man with the heart of a lion and the soul of a lamb. He totally understands my aunt, allowing her to do exactly as she pleases, for he knows that she is not a foolish woman. He will be absolutely delighted to have Yasaman in his house, and will undoubtedly spoil her every bit as much as I am told he spoiled her mother."

The emperor smiled. "I send her to good people, do I not, Father Cullen?"

"You do, gracious lord. Her English family will love and cherish the princess. They defend their own. They will allow no harm to come to her. Once she has gotten over losing everything she has ever known, she will be happy with them. It will not be easy, gracious lord, but the princess is a strong woman, as her mother was strong; as Rugaiya Begum, the mother who raised her, is strong; as both her grandmothers, Mariam Makani of sainted memory, and my aunt Skye, are strong. Your daughter springs from a race of fierce women, gracious lord. Trust me. She will survive."

* * *

The priest's words sustained Akbar in the days that followed. They were turbulent days. Yasaman, after her first outburst of grief, mourned her husband and child with hard, cold eyes. She would allow no one to speak of the tragedy, shutting herself away from her family to weep bitter tears in the lonely hours of the night, when there were none to hear or see her deep sorrow.

Yusef Khan had been devastated by Jamal Khan's death, and even more so by the knowledge that his youngest son had died at the hands of his elder brothers. Akbar kept Salim's part in the murder to himself. Salim was his undisputed heir and needed no more enemies than he already had. Yusef Khan resigned his position in the emperor's service in order to return to Kashmir to oversee his remaining family, which included the wives and children that his older sons had left.

"I applaud your swift justice, gracious lord," he told Akbar, "even if it meant the loss of all my sons. I will see my grandsons learn their loyalty to you and to your chosen descendants."

Akbar nodded sadly, reluctantly allowing him to go, but it was better this way. He knew that all of Yasaman's ties to Kashmir had to be severed.

Word reached the emperor in Agra that his youngest son, Daniyal, had died in Burhanpur on March 11, 1605, the very day that he had held his fiftieth-year celebration Darbar. Daniyal's father-in-law, under Akbar's orders, had attempted to wean the young man from his weakness for wine, but one of his servants had brought the forbidden beverage into the prince's chamber, hidden in the barrel of his favorite gun. The wine mixed with the gunpowder residue, and the rust of the iron interior of the weapon poisoned the prince as soon as he drank, killing him.

The family mourned Daniyal, who had been a charming man, and Salim became even more careful of his health than before. Both his brothers had died of an excess of wine. It was a warning he took most seriously, particularly as he saw that the news of Daniyal's death, coming as it did on top of Jamal Khan's death, took a great toll on Akbar. The Mughal seemed to shrink and grow more feeble before their very eyes. His mother and Rugaiya Begum, as well as the other wives, were visibly worried; but Salim, though filled with sorrow on one hand, secretly rejoiced. Soon his father would be dead. He would rule, and Yasaman would be his to possess forever without interference.

He had not seen her in several weeks now, for she had, it seemed, been with child when Jamal Khan had met his most unfortunate death. Yasaman had miscarried of her infant and was slow to recover her strength, or so Rugaiya Begum claimed. He had not considered the possibility that she might be pregnant when he had ordered her husband's death, but it was better the child was lost. He wanted no loving reminders of the Kashmiri prince who had captured his sister's heart. Eventually she would forget Jamal Khan, Salim thought, because there would not be room in her heart for anyone but himself.

As spring moved toward summer, the prince learned that his sister would accompany her husband's heart home to Kashmir. Good! he thought. That will put an end to it once and for all. She will be where I can get to her when I want her.

His sister's departure was to be the morning after the Holi festival, and Salim intended to visit her the night of the festival. Though a Hindu fete, Holi was celebrated by everyone in India, for it was such a happy time. It fell on the day of the summer equinox, and the barriers between men and women, as well as between castes, magically disappeared. The legends concerning Holi were ancient. It seemed originally to have been a fertility rite.

The revels surrounding Holi were observed with wild abandon. Kama, the Hindu god of Pleasure, presided. He carried a bow made of sugarcane, its string a line of honey bees. His arrows were flowers which, in this season of floral abundance, was perfect symbolism. The flower arrows were said to be tipped with passion, and those touched by them were lost in love forever.

It was the custom at Holi for the celebrants to smear each other with colored powder which was made from crushed flowers. By evening the air was tinted with the reds and purples, pinks and yellows of the freely tossed powder. Some people mixed water and musk with the colors, filling hollow bamboos, which they then squirted at each other. People sang and danced and ate special sweetmeats, some of which were laced with opium and hashish, accounting for the most rowdy, abandoned behavior.

Yasaman could hear the celebration going on in the city all day. She was fully recovered physically from her miscarriage, and had been for several weeks now. Tomorrow she would begin the long journey that would take her from her home, from everyone and everything she had ever known. She was bitter and angry when word came to her that her brother Salim would pay her a visit.

"I do not want to see him, Mama Begum," she told Rugaiya. "How can I face him and not desire to kill him? He has taken everything I hold dear from me. My husband is dead! I have lost our child from the shock of Jamal's murder, and now I must go forth from India, from you and Papa. I hate Salim!"

"Listen to me, Yasaman," Rugaiya Begum told her daughter. "If you give in to your anger, you will allow Salim the very thing you seek to deny him. A victory over you. He would sooner see you dead than happy in another man's arms. Escape him! He will be forever forced to live his life without you, knowing that you have found happiness with others, knowing that given the choice, you left India. Left him. It will not kill him immediately, but it will rub him like an open canker for as long as he lives. This is a far better vengeance than any other that we could think of, my child."

"Come with me!" Yasaman begged Rugaiya Begum.

"I cannot, Yasaman. I am too old for adventure now. Besides, your father needs me as he has never needed me before. Akbar and I have lived our entire lives together. As a small boy, I am told, he was present at my birth. If the child my mother bore was a girl, she was to be his first wife. Your father saw me born into this world. I must be here to see him out of it. It is only right. I have been his wife longer than I have been anything else." Rugaiya Begum smoothed Yasaman's dark hair gently. "Your father has given me everything I hold dear—his love and his daughter to raise. I should be a poor wife if I left him now. The others will not care for him as I can."

Yasaman wept softly in her mother's arms. "I cannot bear the thought of my life without you, Mama Begum," she said. "This, too, I owe my brother, may God damn his black soul to eternal night! Do not make me receive him, I beg of you!"

"Yasaman! Yasaman! You cannot allow your own feelings to prevent you from doing your duty," Rugaiya Begum gently scolded. "Your father, Adali, Father Cullen, and I have worked diligently to make certain that your escape is assured. If you refuse to see your brother, he will become suspicious, my child. Do not destroy yourself, Yasaman, by foolish actions. Be strong! Always remember that you are the Mughal's daughter. Within you runs the blood of many mighty conquerors. Do not deny it!"

Yasaman sighed deeply. Then she drew away from her mother, saying, "I must see him alone lest he become apprehensive." When Rugaiya Begum looked worried, Yasaman reassured her, "I am not the child my brother tried to seduce almost two years ago, Mama Begum. No matter his lust, he will not press me right now, I am certain."

I must trust to her judgment, Rugaiya Begum thought. Tomorrow I will send her on a journey that will take her half a world away from me, and I will never see this child of my heart again. I can protect her no longer. "Very well, my daughter," she told Yasaman. "Do what you think is best in this matter. I will, however, be here to greet Salim when he comes, else he think my absence odd."

And when Salim arrived that evening, Rugaiya Begum salaamed politely. "Welcome, my nephew," she said.

"Aunt! It is good to see you again," he answered, and kissed her cheek affectionately. "How is Yasaman?"

"Ask her yourself, dear boy," Rugaiya Begum told him. "She is in the garden enjoying the roses and the pristine beauty of the summer moonlight. I will leave you together. As for me, I am an old woman now. I want nothing more of this night than my comfortable bed." She chuckled. "Do not keep your sister too long, Salim. She has a long journey to begin tomorrow morning, but once it is completed, a door is shut and another is opened to Yasaman. That is life, is it not?" She kissed his cheek and, with a smile, left him.

The garden of Rugaiya Begum's small palace within the fort was completely enclosed by red sandstone walls. It was not a large garden. The pebbled pathways were set out in the shape of a cross, and in the center was a beautiful white marble fountain filled with white lotus and goldfish. There were several tall orchid trees and a number of rosebushes which were currently in full, fragrant bloom. The flower beds had been planted with night-blooming blossoms that gave off their sweetness after the heat of the day. Beautiful, exquisite frangipani, exotic queen of the night, and creamy jasmine flourished in the silvery moonlight.

Salim found his sister sitting by the lotus pool. Her cotton sari was a pale purple in color and her dark hair was loose about her shoulders. He swallowed hard. It was far too soon for him to approach her, but she was the most desirable woman he had ever seen. In her simple garb and unadorned by any jewelry, she was more beautiful than any female he knew.

"Yasaman." He finally found his voice.

She looked up and, for the briefest moment, the look in her turquoise eyes was unfathomable, but then she smiled at him. "Salim, my brother. It is good to see you again. I have been ill, you know."

She was impossible to resist. Seating himself by her side, he put an arm about her. "I know, little monkey, and I wept with you," he told her, his voice thick with sincerity.

Liar, she thought, but she looked up meltingly into his face. "I have missed you, my brother. I have no one now, you know. My husband is dead, and I have miscarried our child. I am alone, Salim."

"You will never be alone as long as I am alive, Yasaman!" he vowed to her. "Must you return to Kashmir, my beloved sister?"

"Alas, yes, beloved brother. Jamal was good to me, and in my way, I cared for him. I will take his heart home to the land he so loved and bury it with honor. Afterward," she sighed sadly, "I do not know what will happen to me. Father is dying, you realize. Yet I would remain in Kashmir with its lakes and mountains, its many flowers and fields of saffron. Do you remember the saffron fields, Salim?"

His arm about her tightened, and with his other hand he caressed her face. He did indeed remember the fields of saffron with a fragrance so wonderful that if he had died at the very moment the scent overwhelmed him, it would have been enough. "Yasaman," he breathed, and his lips touched hers briefly. When she did not resist him, he pressed more firmly upon her mouth, thrilled when she parted her lips slightly for him. The hand that had brushed softly over her cheek now moved lower to fondle her full breasts. "Sweet little sister," he murmured against her ear, his fingers squeezing her nipples almost painfully as he struggled to restrain himself. "You will never be alone, Yasaman. Remember the princes of ancient Egypt, little monkey? When you have fulfilled your obligations to Jamal Khan, you will return to me and we will find our own destiny together. If you love Kashmir so, I will build a garden for you there that only you and I may enter. I will call it Shalimar, the garden of love. It will stand for all time as a testimony of Salim's desire and devotion to Yasaman. Will that please you?"

"Yes," she answered him with seeming shyness, casting her eyes down. "I believe that you have been correct all along, Salim, my brother. I believe our kismet is that we always be in each other's thoughts."

"And you will return to me next spring, sister?"

"I will return as soon as I have buried the heart of Jamal Khan in Kashmir, Salim. Father will need me first, dear brother," she murmured, struggling to remain calm within his hateful embrace. He must never suspect how she really felt. How at this very moment a cold anger burned within her belly, so painful in its intensity that it was all she could do not to scream. He could never know how she longed to claw his face to bloody ribbons, and then with her bare fists beat what remained into a bleeding pulp.

"I have never loved anyone like I love you, Yasaman," he told her passionately. "Our coming together will be like nothing that has ever happened in the history of man. I will even restrain my ardor for you until I have built you our Garden of Shalimar."

It is there we will consummate our union and our children will rule India for a thousand generations to come, he thought silently, triumphantly.

"Salim!" She drew gently away from him, her voice softly chiding him. "You go much too quickly for me. I love you, too, my brother, but I am not certain I can come to terms with what this love between us means."

The soft blush on her cheeks, her modest reticence, all combined to but arouse his unholy passions further. He caught her hand in his and held it against his swiftly beating heart. "I will convince you, my beloved Yasaman, that what we desire is good and right," he declared with fervor. "How could the love we feel for one another be wrong?"

She arose, pulling away from him. "You must go, dear brother. It is very late. I must leave for Kashmir before sunrise."

He caught her to him and, looking down at her, kissed her hard. "Remember that, and remember how deeply I love you until we meet again, beloved," he whispered to her. Then, releasing her, he hurried back through the garden into the house.

Yasaman stood in stony silence, listening closely. She could hear the low hum of voices as Salim bid the servants good-night. She heard the rumble of the doors to her mother's palace closing, the heavy bolt being lifted into place with a thud. Only then did she lean over and vomit the contents of her stomach onto the ground. She wanted a bath, although all the washing in the world could not cleanse her of this feeling of defilement. It amazed her that she had been able to remain so docile and acquiescent while her brother had kissed and caressed her.

Her only regret was that he would never know how much he disgusted her; but Salim was so wrapped up in what he desired, it never occurred to him that others might not want what he did. By remaining calm while his mouth and hands had ravished her, she had convinced him that she would shortly be his. Yasaman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and, leaving the garden, found her way to her mother's private apartments.

Rugaiya Begum looked up anxiously as her daughter entered her bedchamber. "He is gone?"

Yasaman nodded. "Yes, he is gone. Gone believing that he has practically won me over, and that I shall return to him after I have closed the door on Jamal Khan. He has vowed to build a garden called Shalimar in Kashmir as a testimony of his love for me. How dare he!" She flung herself into Rugaiya Begum's arms. "I let him kiss me and fondle my breasts, Mama Begum. But at least now he believes me truly within his grasp. I vomited after he left me."

Rugaiya Begum held her daughter tightly, stroking her dark hair tenderly. In just a few short hours they would be separated forever, and she would never again hold her child in her arms. She would never again see Yasaman, or know the man who would one day capture her heart, or grow old with her grandchildren about her. She grappled with herself to hold back her tears. The situation was even harder for poor Yasaman. Yasaman must leave everyone and everything she had ever known. This was what Salim had brought them to. She would never forgive him for it. "I hate him, too, my child," she admitted softly.

The two women stayed together for a time. Then Yasaman arose to bathe and dress for her journey. A young mute girl with a vague but passable resemblance to Yasaman had been found among the several thousand women of the Mughal's household From a distance it would be assumed she was the princess. The caravan was under the charge of a loyal young Kashmiri captain whose mission was to deliver the heart of Jamal Khan to Yusef Khan, his father, for burial. The mute slave girl would be given her freedom, a dowry large enough to overcome her disability, and be put into the care of Yusef Khan, who would be instructed to find her a good husband. These were the captain's instructions.

Knowing nothing of why she was really being sent to Kashmir, and unable to speak even if she did know, the girl would be safe. So would the young captain, for he was not aware he should be accompanying Yasaman Kama Begum. His instructions were simply to take Jamal Khan's heart and the young mute to Yusef Khan. As for Yusef Khan himself, he only knew his son's heart was being sent home.

Indeed, by the time Salim discovered his sister was among the missing, there would only be two people in India who could tell him of Yasaman's whereabouts: his father and Rugaiya Begum. Akbar might even be dead by that time, and nothing, even the threat of torture and death, would make Rugaiya Begum divulge her daughter's sanctuary. Salim would not dare to attack his aunt, they all knew. She was his mother's best friend and well loved within the household. Rugaiya Begum would live out her lonely old age in peace.

Yasaman's caravan was to leave from outside the city and not from the emperor's fort. It would depart several hours before the sunrise. Almost all of Yasaman's possessions, including Balna and her charge, Hiraman, had been sent to the coast weeks ago to be put into the care of the factor of the O'Malley-Small Trading Company. This caravan would be a heavily armed, swiftly moving unit. The soldiers accompanying it were unquestioningly loyal to Akbar. Their captains had only been told that a young person of importance was to be taken quickly and safely to Cambay. Eventually, of course, Salim might hear of this, but then again he might not if the trip was an uneventful one, for this group of soldiers frequently discharged duties of this exact nature.

There would be nothing, however, to indicate that this was the caravan of a royal Mughal princess. Yasaman was only close to Rohana and Toramalli, among her servants, and to her high steward, Adali. None of the trio would allow her to leave them behind despite the fact that she had offered them their freedom, along with dowries for the two sisters who were pretty and young enough yet to find husbands, and a monetary settlement for Adali so he might go into business for himself. All refused.

"Our life is with you, gracious lady," Adali had said, speaking for them all. "If you leave us behind, we will be in danger. Even if we were not privy to your plans, Prince Salim would not believe we did not know your destination. He would hunt us down and torture us for answers we could not give him. Besides, what would you do without us? We have served you your whole life."

"And served me well," she told them. "Very well, you may come with me, but you come not as slaves, rather as freed servants. If at any time you wish to leave me, you have but to ask. I will settle a sum of money upon you then for your term of faithful service. From this day, however, you will receive your wages yearly, as well as a clothing allowance, your room, and your board. Is it agreed?"

They fell to their knees before her, thanking her. Their princess had been more than generous. Then, to their horror, Yasaman had told them that they must learn to ride horses. That would be their means of transportation to the coast Now, several weeks later, they prepared nervously for their upcoming journey over the dusty summer roads of India, heading for the sea which only Adali and Father Cullen had ever seen.

Adali escorted Rohana and Toramalli, dressed as young men, to the caravan site and returned for his mistress and the priest. Akbar had slipped away from his own palace and entered his wife's palace through an underground passage that connected them. Now father and daughter stood together with Rugaiya Begum.

"What can I say to you, Yasaman, that you do not already know?" Akbar asked his youngest child. "Will it help you to once again hear that you are my favorite child? That were I not dying, I should not be strong enough to send you from me and from this terrible danger you face at your brother Salim's hands? Ahhh, Yasaman, how I love you! Never forget that you were born of the great love that was once shared between Candra and me. I can only pray that she will welcome you into her heart as I once welcomed her into mine when she arrived in this land, frightened and alone. Tell her … tell her I have never forgotten what we once shared, and that I take the memory of her to my grave. I shall be dead before you reach this England that I am sending you to, my daughter, but you will know for certain that I have joined our ancestors by this sign that Rugaiya Begum shall send to you." He removed a strand of black pearls from about his neck and gave them to the older woman.

"I know I must go, and yet I do not want to leave you," Yasaman told him. "Still, my hatred of Salim is so great now that I dare not remain else I be driven to violence or worse to some plot against my brother's succession. I would not hurt you, Papa. I know that despite everything, you love your Shaikho Baba. If I remained, you would be forced to choose between your love for him and your love for me."

"The priest, your cousin, tells me that Candra's family will welcome you gladly and with love, Yasaman. Take courage in that knowledge, but never forget that no matter where you are, you are the Mughal Akbar's daughter. In your veins runs the blood of Genghis Khan, Kublai Khan, and the great Tamerlane; noble members all of a proud and ancient race. You are their descendant, and you must never bow your head before any man or woman, for none is your true equal!" Taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her forehead. "Go with the God who watches over us all, my child."

She struggled against them, but the tears sprang into her turquoise eyes, making them shine and glitter. "I will not forget, my father," she told him. "How could I ever forget that I am your daughter?"

He smiled weakly at her as he made a small attempt at humor. "You are a handsome son for so dutiful a daughter," he told her, for she was dressed in man's garb, her dark hair tucked beneath a small white turban.

Yasaman bit her lip and quickly turned away lest her resolve not to weep openly weaken. "Mama Begum, you are my only mother and I shall love you forever! Do not forget me," Yasaman begged, hugging the older woman.

My heart is breaking, Rugaiya Begum thought sadly, but she answered bravely, "I am the mother fortunate enough to have raised you to womanhood. I love you with all my heart, my daughter, but Candra is the mother who bore you. We did not ever believe you should know her, but fate has dictated otherwise. There is much in her, I remember, that reminds me of you. She is intelligent, and kind, and her temper burned every bit as hot as yours does. Do not dislike her because your kismet has driven you from India. None of this is her fault, and I thank Allah that she is there, a safe haven for us to send you to, Yasaman." Rugaiya Begum kissed her daughter tenderly and then said, "Go now. Never look back, Yasaman. Always look forward as you travel through life. Memories are good things to have, but to live life is to obey Allah's wishes for us. Remember that too."

Adali took his mistress by the arm and quickly led her from the chamber where Akbar and Rugaiya Begum remained. She did not see the stricken look upon the Mughal's face, or hear the bitter sobs that came from Rugaiya Begum, who collapsed in her husband's arms, weeping.

Adali and Yasaman left the palace and, walking swiftly across the courtyards and walkways, through arches and over marble footbridges, exited the Red Fort through the small private south gate where the guardsman now slept a wine-induced sleep at his post. Cullen Butler was waiting for them with the horses. Mounting, they rode across the city of Agra to its outskirts, where their caravan awaited them.

The moon was bright as they traveled along, and Cullen Butler could see the silent tears that rolled down Yasaman's face. "Are you all right?" he finally asked her.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "If I don't weep a bit, I shall scream," she admitted. "It has been a terrible few hours."

"I want you to speak English from now on," he told her. "You need to practice, and besides, if you do, we won't have to worry about anyone overhearing and understanding us," he explained in that tongue.

"Very well, cousin," she agreed. "I had indeed best practice the use of Candra's native tongue. You and I must teach my maidens on the long voyage how to speak proper English."

He smiled back at her, and Yasaman wondered if the rest of her other family looked like Cullen Butler. They had explained his true relationship to her weeks ago when she had recovered from the miscarriage of her child. It had seemed a sign at the time. She had lost one family in Jamal and their baby, only to have gained another in Cullen Butler, whom she had actually known her entire life.

They arrived safely in the port city of Cambay, and Alain O'Flaherty, after his initial shock, greeted his newfound cousin warmly. As they had been several weeks upon the road, Yasaman welcomed the next few days of rest while they awaited the arrival of the O'Malley-Small fleet.

When, however, her companion saw the princess beginning to grow restless, an excursion to Cambay's marketplace was arranged. In the company of Alain, who was a younger version of Cullen Butler, and with Adali and her female servants, Yasaman walked through the market. Properly veiled and with such a prosperous-looking party, she was assailed on all sides by the shouting merchants hawking their wares. She bought several wonderful bolts of silk, and others of cotton. Blocks of foil-wrapped tea, both green and black, were added to her stash. A slipper merchant's stall caught her eye, but there was, to her disappointment, nothing to fit her slender foot.

"I should think not!" Toramalli huffed indignantly. "You are a princess and not some common creature who buys her footwear in an open market." She turned to Alain. "Why, good sir, all my mistress's slippers are made for her alone. Do you know how the foot of a princess is measured?" And before he could answer, she continued on. "Why, it is measured with a string of pearls, and the pearls not needed for the shoemaker, our lady has given to my sister and me." She held up a particularly beautiful strand from about her neck. "Those discarded gems over the years have gone to make me this fine necklace! No, indeed! A princess does not buy her footwear in a marketplace."

Alain was astounded. "Is this fact?" he asked Yasaman.

"Yes it is," she said with a small smile.

"Amazing! Here these last few days you have been questioning all of us about life in England, and yet your life is far more fascinating, cousin."

When they returned to the harbor, they found that eight ships of the O'Malley-Small trading fleet had arrived at Cambay. The fleet was under the command of Captain Michael Small, who told them that there were eight other vessels with which they would rendezvous off the African coast and were now in the Spice Islands picking up their cargos.

To Yasaman's surprise, Captain Small knew immediately who she was. He had been told of her by her uncle Murrough many years ago, he explained, for the secret of her existence had weighed heavily upon Murrough, who had captained the vessel that brought Velvet home from India. Michael Small's kindness reassured the princess, who was growing more nervous as the time of her departure approached.

Yasaman's fortune was loaded onto her family's fleet. She would travel upon Cardiff Rose. Captain Small had ceded his large quarters to his royal passenger and her companions. The simple, spare area was now lush with colorful silk cushions and seductive gauze hangings. Hiraman, the parrot, shrieked noisily from his perch. Fou-Fou and Jiinn had settled themselves regally upon the cushions. Only Baba, Yasaman's monkey, seemed truly unhappy.

"I have, on occasion, seen birds like this one in England," the captain told Yasaman, "and the cats will, of course, thrive quite nicely, but I fear for this little fellow." He cuddled the monkey in the crook of his arm. "He may not survive our cold weather."

"He is the first pet I ever had," Yasaman said. "My father gave him to me for my fourth birthday." She scratched the monkey's small round head and a tear slipped down her cheek. "I don't really pay a great deal of attention to him anymore, but I will miss him if I leave him behind. What will happen to him?"

"Give him to me," Alain said. "I'll give him a good home. He seems to enjoy playing in the courtyard trees by my office, cousin. He might even find himself a lady monkey to keep him company in his old age," the factor told Yasaman with a twinkle in his eye. "Every gentleman should have a lady to keep him happy when he has had his fill of adventuring. I think Baba has reached that stage of life. He seems to like me, don't you, old fellow?"

She sighed deeply, but then agreed. "Take him, Alain, but promise me you will be good to him. He doesn't like thunderstorms. He'll want to cuddle in your arms if there is one. And he loves fresh coconut and mango. You will see he gets those fruits, won't you?"

"I will treat him as my own."

Alain O'Flaherty departed the ship with Baba clinging to his shoulder, chattering excitedly with relief to be off the vessel. The factor remained upon the docks overseeing the raising of the gangway and the anchor. He watched as the sails on all of the ships were raised slowly, catching the gentle afternoon trade winds. He stood waving as the O'Malley-Small ships cleared the harbor.

Captain Michael Small, having seen his ship safely out of the harbor and into the open sea, joined his passenger at the ship's rail. Yasaman stood silently watching the coastline as it quickly disappeared. India. The land of her birth. The blood of its people ran in her veins, but then so, too, did the blood of the English. She had always been so certain of who she was and where she belonged. Now she was not so certain.

The captain took her delicate hand in his big rough one and told her, "Do not be sad, my child. There is a saying among our people that when one door closes, another one is certain to open. You have so much to look forward to, Yasaman. Do not despair."

"As I have so much to anticipate, Captain," she told him, "I also have so many memories to recall. I can never forget India."

"You must not!" he said. "Ah, no, Yasaman, you must never forget any experience, good or bad. Learn from them, treasure them, but never, ever forget. That, dear girl, is life, and life, your grandmother Lady de Marisco has taught me, is good. It is to be lived to the fullest, even in the darkest of times. And now, Yasaman Begum, you have closed the door on one part of your life, only to find the next door wide open and ready for you to walk through." He squeezed her hand. "I will be with you, and Cullen Butler, and your Adali, and your women. Do not be afraid, Princess."

Remember you are the Mughal's daughter, she heard Rugaiya Begum saying in her heart. "I am not afraid, Michael Small," she told him. "If I am sad in leaving my home, so am I happy to have my … my mother's family to be going to in England."

"You're a brave lass, Yasaman, but then you come from a race of brave women," he told her.

"Not Yasaman, Captain," she replied, and she gazed a final time on the disappearing coast of India. "I have left Yasaman Kama Begum behind me. If I am to blend into this new world I must enter, it is best if I do not seem different. From this moment on you will call me Jasmine, which is the English translation of my name. And it is the custom, is it not, for the English to have surnames? Do you think my grandparents would mind if I took their surname as my own?"

"No," he said quietly, "I do not think they would mind. Rather, I think they will be most pleased."

"Then it is settled," she said with a smile. "I am Jasmine de Marisco from this day forth, but," she added, "I will, nonetheless, always be the Mughal's daughter."