Ships from the West (19 page)

Eleven

Aurungzeb stirred lazily with a kiss of silk hissing about his hams. ‘I like that woman. I have always liked her. As direct as a man, but with a mind as subtle as an assassin’s.’

He rolled over in the bed and the sturdy hardwood frame creaked under him. The white-limbed girl who shared it with him scurried nimbly out of the way as his vast bulk settled and he sighed comfortably.

Ancient Akran, the vizier, leant on a staff that had once been ceremonial but now was genuinely necessary. He stood on the other side of a curtain of gauzy silk which hung like fog around the Sultan’s monumental four-poster.

‘She is … remarkable, my Sultan, it must be said. Making arrangements for her husband’s wedding while she, his wife, is yet living. That argues a formidable degree of will.’

‘He will accept, of course. But I find myself worrying all the same. Perhaps we sent out the embassy too soon. I am not convinced that he will see past the unseemly haste of the thing. Corfe is as cold and murderous as a winter wolf, but there is a stiff propriety about him. These Ramusians - well, they are not Ramusian any longer, I suppose, but our brothers-in-faith after all - they see marriage in a different light to the rest of us. The Prophet, may God be good to him, never said that a man should have one spouse only, and for a monarch, well … How can a man maintain his dignity with just the one wife? How can he be wholly sure of a son to follow him? Torunna’s Queen may be a marvellous woman in many respects, but that did not stop her womb from proving as barren as a salted field. Or near as damn it. One child in sixteen years, and a girl at that. And the bearing of it rendered her a virtual invalid by all accounts. If he has any red blood in his veins at all, Corfe ought to jump at this chance. A beautiful young woman to share his bed and bear him sons? And she
is
beautiful, Akran. As fair as her mother once was.

‘No, unseemly haste or not, Torunna’s Queen and myself are of the one mind on this matter. And the fruit of this new union will be my grandchild. Think of that, Akran! My grandson on the throne of Torunna!’

Akran bowed, straightening with the aid of his staff and stifling a groan. ‘And what of this other union, sire? The Prince Nasir is impatient to know more of his intended bride.’

Aurungzeb’s grin faded into the bristling darkness of his beard. He levered himself into a sitting position, helped by the nude girl beside him, and while she leant against his back to keep him upright, he stroked his bearded chin with one plump, hairy hand, the rings upon it sparkling like a brilliant, tiny constellation.

‘Ah, yes. The girl. A good match, a balancing of the scales.’ He lowered his voice and peered into the grey mist of the surrounding gauze. ‘They say she is a witch, you know. Like her mother.’

‘It may be court gossip sire, no more.’

‘It matters not; that shall be Nasir’s problem, not mine.’ He boomed with sudden laughter, shaking the slim, straining shoulders of the girl who was supporting him.

“The Prince has expressed a wish to see this girl before he marries her. He is in fact relaying through me a request to go to Torunn to meet this Princess Mirren face to face.’ Akran licked his thin lips nervously.

Aurungzeb frowned. ‘He will hold his tongue and do as he is told. What does it matter to him how this girl looks? He will plough her furrow and plant in her a son, and then for recreation he shall have a garden of concubines. The young! They hatch such absurd ideas.’

‘He also would like to visit Torunn in order to—’

‘What? Spit it forth.’

‘He wants to see something of his mother’s homeland.’ Aurungzeb’s eyebrows shot up his face like two caterpillars on strings. ‘Does something ail the boy?’ Akran coughed delicately. ‘I believe the Queen has been telling him stories about the history of her people. I beg your pardon, my Sultan. I mean the people she once belonged to.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Aurungzeb growled. ‘And I was aware of it. She has been filling his head with tall tales of John Mogen and Kaile Ormann. She would do better to prate to him of Indun Meruk or Shahr Baraz.’

With a titanic heave, the Sultan hauled himself off the bed. He struggled through the flimsy veil that surrounded it, and sashed close his silk dressing gown. Barefoot, he padded over to a small gilt table that glittered in the light of the overhead lamps. His soles slapped loudly on the marble floor, for he was an immense man with a pendulous paunch. He gently lifted the brindled length of his beard out of the bosom of his robe and poured himself a goblet of sharp-smelling amber liquid from a silver jug.

He sipped at it, his face changing. There was no trace of joviality left in it now. His eyes were two black stones.

‘What do we know of the current situation at Gaderion?’ he snapped.

‘There has been fighting in the open country between the two defensive lines, sire, and the Torunnans may have had the worst of it. In any case, our spies tell us that conscription has begun in earnest, and martial law declared.’

Aurungzeb grunted. ‘He will be wanting troops, under the terms of the treaty. I suppose I shall have to give him some. We are allies, after all, and with these marriages …’ He broke off, chin sunk in his chest.

‘There are times, Akran, when I wonder if it is all but a dream. Everything that has happened since Armagedir. Here are we, two countries whose faith is the same in all but name, who are about to be joined by the closest of dynastic ties - so close that, if they take, then these two Royal lines will become virtually one. And yet twenty years ago we were each striving for the annihilation of the other in the most savage war that history has yet seen. Old habits have not died hard; they have withered away like morning mist as the sun climbs. I try to tell myself that all this is for the best, for all our peoples, but still something within me is astonished by it, and is still waiting for the war to begin again. And then this Second Empire, arising out of thin air and empty theology to dominate the world—’ He shook his head like a baffled old bear. ‘Strange times indeed.’

He mused some more.

‘I tell you what: Nasir shall indeed go to Torunn. He shall lead the contingent of reinforcements that the treaty obliges us to render, and he shall see the face of his bride-to-be. But he shall also make a first-hand report on the state of the Torunnan military, and the current situation up at the gap. His wide-eyed enthusiasm may well get farther than the shadowed creeping of our spies.’

‘He is young, sire …’

‘Bah, at his age I had already fought in half a dozen battles. The younger generation has no idea—’ Here Aurungzeb halted, interrupted by the boom of the chamber doors as they were rolled back by a pair of bald-pated eunuchs.

Through the ornate doorway strode a tall woman in cobalt blue silk. A veil covered her face, but above it two grey eyes flashed from under stibium-darkened brows. Her sandal-clad feet clapped on the marble. Behind her a gaggle of veiled women huddled nervously, and dropped to their knees as the Sultan’s baleful glare swept over them. In the four-poster, the slim girl pulled the sheets over her head.

‘My Queen—’ Aurungzeb began with a voice like thunder, but the woman cut him short.

‘What is this I hear about a marriage between Aria and the Torunnan King? Is it true?’

The vizier backed away discreetly and signalled for the eunuchs to close the doors again. They did so, the sonorous boom passing unnoticed as Aurungzeb and his Queen stood glaring at one another.

‘Your presence in the harem is both awkward and insulting,’ Aurungzeb bellowed. ‘A Merduk queen—’

‘It is true?’

Something went out of Aurungzeb, some kind of self-righteous outrage. He turned away and studied his forgotten wine goblet as if reluctant to meet the fire of her eyes. ‘Yes, it is true. There have been negotiations, and both parties are in favour of the match. I take it you have some objection.’

To his surprise she did not speak. He turned back to her enquiringly and found that she was standing rigid as wood, her hands clasped together, and the beautiful eyes alight above the veil with tears that would not fall.

‘Ahara?’ he asked, startled.

She lowered her head. ‘Who thought up this match? The man’s wife is not yet dead.’

‘Actually it was she who suggested it, through our regular diplomatic couriers. She is dying, it seems, and wishes her husband’s line to be secured. Torunna needs a male heir. And what better way to cement the bond between our two countries? Nasir shall marry Corfe’s daughter at the same time. It will be quite touching I am sure.’ Here Aurungzeb stopped. ‘Ahara, what is wrong?’

The tears had slipped down inside the veil. ‘Please do not do this. Do not make Aria do this thing.’ Her voice was low and there was a throb in it.

‘Why ever not?’ Aurungzeb was a picture of exasperation and perplexity.

‘She is … she is so young.’

Aurungzeb smiled indulgently and took Ahara in his arms. ‘It is hard for a mother, I know. But these things are necessary in affairs of state. You will become used to the idea in time, as will she. This Corfe is not a bad fellow. A little austere, perhaps, but he will be good to her. He had better be; she is my daughter, after all. With this our two houses will be joined for all time. Our peoples will become even closer.’ Aurungzeb tried to hug her more tightly. It was like embracing a pillar of stone. Over her shoulder, he nodded meaningfully at Akran. The vizier rapped on the chamber doors. ‘The Queen is leaving. Make way.’

Aurungzeb released her. He tilted up her chin and kissed her though the veil. Her eyes were empty, expressionless, their tears dried.

‘That is more like it. That is the bearing of a Merduk queen. Now I feel you may need a rest, my sweetness. Akran, see the Queen back to her apartments. And Akran, see that Serrim gives her something to calm her nerves.’ Another meaningful look.

Ahara, or Heria as she had once been, left without another word. Aurungzeb stood with his hands on his broad hips, frowning. She was Nasir’s mother, hence the dam of a future sultan. And he had made her his queen - almost seventeen years now she had been his wife. But there was some part of her she kept always hidden, even now. Women! So many times more difficult to deal with than men. He thought she confided in old Shahr Baraz, but that was all. And he - you would think he was her father the way he watched over her.

A purr from the bed. ‘My Sultan? It grows cold here. I need to be warmed.’

He rubbed his chin. Since Nasir was going to get a look at his new wife, why not do Corfe the same courtesy? Yes, Aria would also go, with a suitable chaperone from the harem. Her beauty would melt that stiff-necked propriety of his, and he would see sense. Excellent. Now where might this glorious double wedding be held? Aurungabar for choice - Pir Sar would be such a magnificent setting. No, Corfe would insist on it being in Torunn. He was King of Torunna after all. But it must be soon. This war was erupting around their ears, and once it had blossomed into full flower Corfe would no doubt take the field, perhaps not to return to the capital for months. Yes, let it happen in Torunn, and straight away. In fact, let Aria take the road at once.

Then Aurungzeb remembered that Odelia had not yet breathed her last. He said a quick, furtive prayer of apology to the Prophet for being so presumptuous. He liked and respected Torunna’s present Queen; their letter correspondence had been a stimulating challenge. But he needed her dead, soon.

The Queen of Ostrabar sat in her chambers like a porcelain vase set aside in a velvet-padded box. She sat straight-backed on a divan and stared through the fretwork of an ornately carved shutter at the teeming sprawl of the city below. This place had been her home throughout her life, though in different guises. Once it had been Aekir, and she had been Heria. Now it was Aurungabar, and she was Ahara. She was a queen, and the man who had been her husband was a king. But of different kingdoms.

When she thought about it like that she had to marvel at the joke fate had played upon Corfe and herself. It had been a long time. She was past youth now, sliding into middle age with grown-up children by a man for whom she felt nothing but distaste.

And her daughter was destined, it seemed, to marry the man who had once been her husband.

How could Corfe do this to her, or to himself? Had he changed that much? Perhaps the passing years had healed or hardened him. Perhaps he was entirely a king now, with a politician’s pragmatism. A matter of state, was that it?

‘You sent for me, Mother?’ It was Aria by the door, in the Queen’s Wing and thus unveiled, a willowy version of herself as a young woman. Perhaps that was it. The resemblance to the ghost of a woman he once had loved.

‘Mother?’

‘Come sit with me, Aria.’

The girl joined her. Heria smoothed back the raven hair from her cheek with a smile. There was a dreamy sense of unreality that fogged her mind, but it was not unpleasant. Serrim, the ageing eunuch, had a small chest full of every potion and herb and drug that the east produced, and he had made her eat a tiny cube of pure
kobhang
an hour before. He and that wizened crow Akran had watched her swallow it down with ill-concealed relief. It was not that they were afraid of her, but they were the butts of Aurungzeb’s anger when she committed some transgression, such as walking unaccompanied in the market, or receiving a male visitor without a eunuch present. The rules seemed to have become more stifling over the years, partly because she was the mother of the Sultan’s heir, and partly because as a noble matron she was supposed to set an example, to lead a veiled life of discretion and inoffensiveness. She was no longer even allowed to ride a horse, but must be borne in a palanquin like some kind of aged libertine.

‘Have you heard the rumours too, Aria?’

‘About my wedding? Yes, Mother.’ The girl’s eyes fell. ‘I am to be married to the King of Torunna, and Nasir is to marry his daughter.’

‘You know then. I am sorry. You should have heard it from me.’

‘It’s all right. I know what is expected of me. I suppose it will be quite soon now. In the kitchens they are talking about a caravan being prepared for Torunn, and Nasir is to lead an army to help King Corfe. Imagine Mother, Nasir leading an army!’ She smiled. She was a quiet, grave girl, but the smile lit up her face.