Equal of the Sun (18 page)

T
he coronation was scheduled for the hottest month of the year, so most of the festivities would take place in the Promenade of the Royal Stallions for the public and under pavilions within the palace for the courtiers. Preparations at the palace had started from the moment that Isma‘il had been welcomed at Kholafa’s house. All the chambers had been aired, scrubbed, and perfumed with frankincense from Yemen. Roses were cut and placed throughout the palace in large vases. A grand feast was under way; all of the cooks in the court’s private kitchens had been hard at work. The trays of sweetmeats alone would probably feed all the citizens of Qazveen.

On the morning of the coronation, the palace was astir well before it was light. Balamani and I went to the baths with the other eunuchs. We donned our best robes and turbans and proceeded to the large courtyard closest to the Ali Qapu. All of the servants of the shah—the royal family, the men of the pen, sword, and religion, the eunuchs, the messenger boys, and the male slaves—were assembling there in order of rank. I took my place among the eunuchs, well behind Anwar, whose position in charge of the royal household made him one of the most exalted servants, but far ahead of those who served ladies of lower status than Pari.

Before long, we heard the pounding of horses’ hooves and the powerful blast of the royal drums. Thousands of us stood up to greet Isma‘il. The palace gates were opened, and we saw the crowds of citizens lining the Promenade of the Royal Stallions to welcome the new shah. Isma‘il charged in on an Arabian mare, whose skin was so dappled it looked wrapped in snow-white lace. Its saddle was covered with a crimson velvet cloth worked with silver. Great shouts of welcome rose up from among us: “Thanks be to God!” “The star of the universe has arrived!” “We would sacrifice ourselves for you!”

Isma‘il was followed by a large retinue on foot, including soldiers
dressed in battle armor. As he rode through a channel that had been cleared for him, all of us fell to the ground and placed our foreheads against the courtyard’s stones, which vibrated in response to the horses’ hooves. Saleem Khan commanded all of us to stand, and we arose as a single body to salute our new leader. Isma‘il wore a green velvet robe, sober yet very fine, bound by a white silk sash threaded with gray, and a turban of the same white silk with a gold aigrette surmounted by an emerald the size of my eye. Around his waist, a jeweled belt held a curved damascened sword. The jewels threw off brilliant sparkles in the morning sun, so bright that they looked as if they might annihilate any man they struck.

The Shah proceeded through the palace to Forty Columns Hall, and all of us followed. The crowd was so large that many of us had to assemble in the gardens outside the hall. The long fountain was lined with courtiers, and all of the open-air pavilions were thronged. Only royalty and the highest-ranking nobles fit inside the hall.

When every man was in his proper place, Isma‘il mounted a jewel-encrusted throne. Then Saleem Khan recited his lineage, starting with the mystic Safi al-din, who gave the Safavi dynasty its first inspiration, followed by the great deeds of his grandfather Isma‘il, who declared Shi’ism the official religion of Iran; his father Tahmasb’s long reign; and his own valor on the battlefield. A crown the length of a man’s arm was offered to Isma‘il on an engraved silver tray. The crown was decorated with small pearls and beads of pure gold, and at its peak gleamed a ruby the size of my fist surrounded by diamonds. Isma‘il removed his white turban, revealing wisps of thin black hair. He lifted the crown and placed it firmly upon his balding head. No one could crown an adult shah except for himself, since no one overmastered him but God.

Saleem Khan spoke to the assembly. “I call upon all of you to take the oath of loyalty to Isma‘il II, our new shah. Today you swear to follow his commands, to protect him at all costs, and to offer your lives for his. Remember, your oath is a legal contract; the penalty for breaking it is death.”

Our voices raised such a thunder that I am certain it was heard in heaven. At last, after months of waiting, we had a new leader!
The orderly palace I remembered under the late shah would finally return, and peace and prosperity would be our everyday fare.

Isma‘il’s favorite companion, Hassan Beyg Halvachi Oghli, knelt down to pull off the Shah’s dusty riding boots and replaced them with pristine gray silk slippers. Hassan Beyg had voluntarily endured five years of confinement with Isma‘il at Qahqaheh, earning his master’s trust. Anwar described him as a trained monkey; now that monkey would sleep under bedcovers embroidered with gold.

Saleem Khan called Sultanam’s eldest son, Mohammad Khodabandeh, to approach the Shah. Mohammad walked toward him slowly because of his poor vision, led by his handsome eldest son, sixteen-year-old Sultan Hassan Mirza. As the elder brother, Mohammad might have wished to compete for the throne, but his near blindness made him ineligible. I had heard that he had no such desires and not enough force inside him to master other men. Rather than governing, he preferred to spend his time listening to poetry. He bent low, reaching out his hands tentatively in search of his brother’s feet. When he finally found them, he kissed their insoles and congratulated his brother with dignity.

Next came the late Shah’s sons born of other wives, consorts, or slaves: among them was the feckless Suleyman Mirza, Pari’s brother, whose clay had not received the blessings that had gone to her. He lumbered to the throne. Mahmood, by contrast, although still young, strode confidently toward the Shah, his bearing erect from his lessons in swordsmanship and horse riding. I felt a surge of pride. He kissed the Shah’s feet in a good-natured but not servile fashion.

After all of Isma‘il’s brothers had come forward and kissed his feet, they were followed by their uncle Bahram’s sons and then their children. All the highest-ranking members of the clergy, dressed in their black robes, came forward next; the Shah would be their spiritual guide. Then followed the Mowsellu nobles of Sultanam’s family, their red batons fiercely erect in their turbans even as they bent down for the kiss. Other qizilbash were honored, too: the Rumlu, the Shamlu, the Qajar, and the Afshar, followed by the Georgians,
the Kurds, and the Circassians. As Shamkhal bent to perform the kiss, Isma‘il flattered him with a smile.

Then salutations were read by ambassadors from Murad III of the Ottomans, Akbar the Great of the Mughals, Zhu Yijun of the Ming, and Abdullah Khan of the Uzbeks, the most exalted and powerful rulers on earth, as well as a few from those who ruled the Christian kingdoms to the west, Philip II of Spain and Elizabeth I of England, who were currently sparring with one another over faith. Each of the great empires had sent delegations with hundreds of emissaries and dozens of animals laden with precious gifts. The richest offerings were presented for all to see, including a beautiful copy of the Qur’an by the finest calligraphers of the Ottoman court, huge blue porcelain vases from the Chinese emperor, and ewers made of gold from the Uzbeks. A hush fell on the crowd when a mahout sent with the Mughal delegation paraded an elephant before us. I had never seen such a creature before, nor such costly trappings. The animal wore a jeweled cap on its intelligent brow, and its tusks were wrapped in sheets of gold.

When the ceremony was almost finished, I slipped away, walked through the checkpoints, and entered the harem. The women had sworn their oath to Isma‘il earlier in the day, and now they were taking turns watching the ceremony from screened areas on the top floor of Isma‘il’s new residence. He had spared no expense in appointing the building. The large guest room where the women had gathered was filled with the sweet aroma of jasmine and the soothing burbling of a fountain that wafted up from the floor below, which was open to the air. I slipped off my shoes; the carpets were made of such thick silk that they seemed to caress the soles of my feet. A wall decorated with battle shields caught my eye. One was made of lacquered black leather with a central medallion of gold, pale turquoise, and pearls; another boasted open silver metalwork with a spray of emeralds, like drops of dew caught in a spiderweb.

The ladies had attired themselves in robes the felicitous colors of a sunrise and laid chains of gems against their foreheads or under their chins. How beautiful they were, from the golden-haired women of the Caucasus to those from the south whose curls glistened
as black as naphtha! They kept their eyes on the coronation scene below, and the room buzzed with excitement when the elephant moved into view.

“Look at his jewelry.”

“If you had half as much, you would be rich!”

The elephant let loose a steaming pile of dung, and shouts of laughter erupted throughout the room. It had been months since anyone had felt free to celebrate, and the excitement seemed almost hysterical.

Although Pari had told me she would be there, she had already left. I pretended that she had instructed me to wait for her, so that I could watch the other women.

Sultanam sat near Khadijeh, her new daughter-in-law, and held her hand on her day of motherly triumph. Sultanam seemed to have expanded in width so that everyone in the room appeared insubstantial beside her. Khadijeh, who was seated on a cushion at her right, looked as ripe as a peach. I couldn’t deny that her marriage agreed with her. When she saw me, her lips curved into a tender smile.

I had never before seen Khayr al-Nisa Beygom, Mohammad Khodabandeh’s wife, who lived with him in Shiraz. She had small, stern features except for her mouth, which was so large that it seemed to overpower her whole face. As she watched the ceremony, she kept adjusting her legs on her cushion as if she couldn’t get comfortable.

“How my head aches!” she complained, her voice loud and high-pitched.

Sultanam offered her rose water, herbs, and cool compresses, but Khayr al-Nisa rejected all of them.

“Look!” said Khadijeh. “He is arising to take his leave.” Through the latticed windows, I saw Isma‘il mount his horse and canter in our direction, while all the men bowed low.

Sultanam leaned toward Khadijeh like a conspirator. “So now it is official. After nearly forty years of waiting, the bird of hope has stirred in the ashes of my heart and taken flight! How sweet the beat of its wings! How my heart soars!”

Khayr al-Nisa’s lips turned down, but she kept her eyes carefully
averted from Sultanam’s. If not for her husband’s blindness, she would have been queen of all Iran.

Sultanam didn’t seem to care how she felt. She put a hand lightly against Khadijeh’s flat belly. “Is it too much to ask that I should also be grandmother to the next shah? May God forgive me for entertaining this hope on a day when my other hopes have been realized—but may he also look kindly on my desire.”

Khayr al-Nisa’s torso twitched as if she had been struck. At that moment, a maid offered her saffron rice pudding on a silver tray. She reached out her hand as if to accept, but then, with an almost imperceptible flick of the wrist, she sent several bowls flying to the floor. They landed with a great crash on the carpet, the embroidered pillows, and on her, the sticky pudding clinging in great white clumps.

“Forgive me!” wailed the maid, her face twisted with fear. Khayr al-Nisa glared at her. Servants rushed to clean the spill.

“Ah, ah! How clumsy you are. I must go change.”

“Yes, I suppose you must.” Sultanam dismissed Khayr al-Nisa from the room with a condescending look.

“What a spoiled child!” she said to Khadijeh after Khayr al-Nisa had left. “It is lucky for the rest of us that she is not queen.”

Two grand celebrations were planned for that evening in the birooni and andarooni. Pari was obliged to join a celebration for the women organized by Sultanam, and she sent me to attend the festivities at Forty Columns Hall. My stomach rumbled in anticipation of the rich dishes that would be served, giving us our first taste of the new Shah’s generosity. But even more than that, I hoped that Mahmood Mirza would be there. Ever since he had left, I had had to train my heart. I told myself I had no claim over the boy, other than as his teacher. Yet you cannot spend eight years with a child without feeling as if he were a member of your own family. Mahmood was just two years older than Jalileh, and I knew him better
than my own sister. I missed him and wanted to find out if his new life suited him.

Forty Columns Hall glittered in the night. Servants had decorated it with so many hanging lamps that its arches and painted ceiling glowed, and the hall was flooded with golden beams. Bouquets of freshly cut flowers bloomed in the corners of the room and spilled their perfume into the air. The doors opened onto the large garden, illuminated on this night with torches so that all of nature seemed part of the celebration. Heaping platters of fruit and nuts hinted at the lavishness of the meal to come. Balamani found me so that we could feast together, and we took a seat on one of the cloths that had been laid out in the garden under a sky thick with stars.

When Isma‘il entered Forty Columns Hall that evening, everyone stood up. He was wearing a saffron-colored robe, the color of gaiety itself, and had put a jaunty blue feather in his turban, despite the recent death of his father.