Equal of the Sun (22 page)

“Yes, defender of our faith, it is true.”

“How dare you support my opponent?”

“O merciful Shah, I am not the only one. There were many who did not understand that your star was ascendant. If you arrest me, you might as well arrest most of your court.”

“That is true,” replied the Shah, “but you were the one who led the invasion and desecrated the sanctity of the women’s quarters. How can you expect such a violation to be forgiven?”

“O light of the universe,” said Hossein Beyg, with the ferocity of a man who knows he is fighting for his life, “it was a time of lawlessness and uncertainty. We acted with the intention of protecting the royal grounds, and we were not the only ones who did so. A large group of—”

“Choke yourself!” said the Shah. “A man can find no end of excuses for his actions on earth. Why should I believe that you would become loyal?”

“Clemency makes a man loyal,” Hossein Beyg replied in a quiet tone. “Kindness is answered with greater kindness.”

“Your words are empty; they don’t convince me,” said the Shah. “Why shouldn’t I execute you? You are a conniver and a plotter.”

Hossein Beyg bowed his head respectfully, speaking to the ground near the Shah. “Your own father was faced with insubordination many times. He showed mercy by imprisoning his enemies—even members of his own family whom he suspected of rebellion.”

Others would have fallen to their knees, cringing and begging. His bravery filled me with admiration.

“Don’t dare to compare yourself to me!” replied the Shah. “Nothing you have said mitigates what you have done. If you had been successful, I wouldn’t be here, and I see no reason to trust you. I therefore order your execution, to be carried out tomorrow morning.”

He gestured to the guards. “Remove him from my gaze.”

The guards grabbed Hossein Beyg and dragged him toward the rear door. He turned back to the assembly and stared directly into
the eyes of the Shah in violation of every rule of respect and protocol. I was astonished to see a man daring to behave as if he were the Shah’s equal. The faces of the men around me were transfixed with horror.

“May God punish you for this first of your sins!” Hossein Beyg shouted, his words falling on the room like a curse. “May you fear for your life every day you are Shah. May your children be murdered without mercy, just as you have condemned me. Men of the court, take heed! You will be next if you don’t root out this viper in your midst.”

The guards pummeled him so hard in the face and chest that he fell to the floor with a thud. They forced him to his feet and pushed him out of the room, but the expression on his face remained stoic and dignified.

I was appalled. Hossein Beyg had pled his case well before a man who had been a prisoner himself only a few months before. I thought the Shah should have treated him with more mercy.

After his removal, the room was so silent that you could hear the flapping of birds’ wings outside. Rather than being the gentlest of sounds, it was like listening to a beating.

“Sadr al-din Khan, your men are the cause of this disorder,” added Isma‘il Shah. “There is nothing you can say to redeem yourself for what you have done. However, I am indeed merciful, and therefore I order you merely to be imprisoned along with your accomplices.”

He named five men, two of whom were governors, and the guards lifted each man to his feet and pushed him toward the door.

I thought about the terrible warren of palace prison cells, which stank of mold and grief. They were always bitterly cold, even on the hottest days of summer.

The Shah scowled as they were led away, and twisted restlessly on his cushion. “Those of you who remain in this room, look around you. Do you notice anyone missing from your ranks?”

I checked the room, annoyed that I had not thought to do so earlier. Balamani had a knowing look in his eyes.

“Kholafa Rumlu,” he whispered.

Balamani could look around a room and see more than any other
man. He could recite every noble family’s lineages and their proper titles until day turned into night.

“Perhaps you have noticed the absence of Kholafa, which you may find surprising since he was one of my greatest backers. The news about him will freeze your blood.”

No one had been a greater devotee!

“Not long ago, I offered Kholafa a new post in our government, which required him to give up his existing position. He refused to relinquish his title. Then I suggested that he be put in charge of the royal zoo.”

I suppressed a horrified laugh. Overseeing the zoo was an insult to a man of Kholafa’s rank.

“Kholafa refused to respond to my royal command. For his pride and disobedience, he too will pay the price of his life.”

I heard a low expostulation from Balamani. My heart felt as if it had stopped beating.

“As you ponder the fate of Kholafa and Hossein Beyg, don’t forget that your fate could be the same. Tell them, Saleem Khan.”

“God is great, and the Shah is his deputy here on earth. The punishment for disobedience is death,” said Saleem Khan.

We replied in unison, “We pledge submission to the light of the universe.”

But the Shah hadn’t finished yet.

“And another thing, while I am on the subject of violations of the royal person and palace. It has come to my attention that a number of courtiers have continued to call upon those who are most dear to our honor. I am certain you would agree that there is nothing as important as honor—nothing. Visiting them is absolutely forbidden.”

If he had objected, why hadn’t he said so earlier? No doubt he had been afraid of Pari’s power.

None of the courtiers dared to say a word; they bowed their heads, hoping Isma‘il would not demand accountability from them. I stared at Shamkhal but could detect no surprise in his expression, nor did he utter a single word in support of his niece.

Mirza Salman asked permission to speak, which I thought brave under the circumstances.

“O commander of all that is pure, in your absence, many of us were concerned about the security and safety of the palace. We thought that no one could guide us better than a close descendant of your revered father. We sincerely hope that we haven’t erred.”

Isma‘il looked pleased by this pretty speech. “In such a situation, when the palace is in chaos and no Safavi prince is present to make decisions, you did well to listen to a member of the family,” he replied. “But everything is different now. I am here to lead you, and therefore no such ministrations are required—or allowed. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” replied Mirza Salman.

The Shah signaled to Saleem Khan that the meeting was over, and that was that. In Tahmasb Shah’s time, the discipline of malefactors would have been mitigated with rewards to those who had provided good service, or something else that would have relieved the sorrow we felt over the death and imprisonment of men we all knew. How different things had become.

When the Shah arose, we stood at attention as he walked to the door, followed by the pillars of state and by the guards. After he left, the courtiers who had survived the ordeal began speaking together in quiet but fervent tones. Some wiped their brows, while others muttered prayers of thanks that they had not been taken. I heard Ibrahim Mirza speaking too loudly to one of his friends.

“I would say this is cause for celebration,” he said in an ironic tone, “that is, for those of us who are still breathing. Why not join me for refreshments at my home? I’ve commissioned a new book, and I would like to show you some of the illustrations.”

The prince was beloved among artists and calligraphers for spending so much of his fortune on books. He must have been trembling on his cushion over his support of Haydar, though he was making light of it now. Why, I wondered, had the Shah spared him?

His friend didn’t have the heart to celebrate. “Maybe later,” he said. “Right now, I am going to the mosque to give thanks to God.”

Balamani turned to me and said, “It could have been worse.”

“How?”

“Isma‘il had to show the stone in his fist. If he hadn’t punished
his enemies, the moment the meeting ended, groups of courtiers would have started plotting to bring him down. Now they will think twice about the consequences.”

“But why Kholafa? Isn’t it excessive to kill your ally because he didn’t care for his new posting?”

“Vagh-vagh,”
said Balamani, imitating an angry dog. “All that was just an excuse. Kholafa was responsible for making him shah. No ruler wishes to be so obligated to a mere man.”

His words were like a dagger in my heart. I suspected that a shah like Isma‘il would wish to be obligated to a woman even less.

When I entered Pari’s quarters, she was seated with a pen in her hand and a letter on her lap, which she set aside.

“You look as if you have seen a jinni,” she said. “What happened?”

“The Shah has shown his wrath by ordering the executions of Kholafa and Hossein Beyg,” I replied in a rush, “and has imprisoned Sadr al-din Khan and other supporters of Haydar.”

“Voy!” Pari replied. “That is much too harsh!”

“Esteemed princess, he has also demanded that the courtiers refrain from attending meetings with the royal women.”

“For what reason?”

“He said it was an insult to the honor of the Safavis.”

“Of course he would,” Pari replied angrily. “It is the easiest thing to say because no courtier can protest such an accusation. What he can’t say is that his sister is better at governing than he is. I can’t remain silent when those men are about to be executed, especially Kholafa. I will go plead with him immediately.”

Pari picked up her pen and wrote a letter to Sultanam demanding Isma‘il’s ear. It said, in part:

Now that you are queen mother of Iran because of my key

I beg your help in unlocking your son’s clemency.

Throw open the doors to his generosity

And remember: One day, you might need aid from me.

Sultanam replied with a message telling her to come to her quarters in the late afternoon, when she had tea with her son. When
we arrived, we were shown into a small guest room with fine carpets. Sultanam and Isma‘il sat very close to one another, drinking tea spiced with cardamom and eating sugar crystals brightened with saffron. With her broad frame and wedge of curly white hair, Sultanam looked twice as big as Isma‘il, who was still thin despite the richness of the palace diet. Pari saluted Isma‘il as the lord of the universe, thanked him for inviting her into his presence, and inquired after his health. The formalities done, Isma‘il did not delay.

“I know why you are here,” he said. “The answer is no—no more morning meetings.”

This shah, I thought, did not understand the first thing about diplomacy.

“Light of the universe, that is not my purpose,” Pari said. “I come to you with great humility to ask a favor.”

“What is it?”

“I have heard of your decision to execute Kholafa Rumlu and Hossein Beyg. As your sister and as a member of the royal family with years of experience at court, I beg you to show them mercy.”

“Hossein is a traitor, and Kholafa is an ungrateful wretch. They don’t deserve mercy.”

“Perhaps not, but the question is how the noblemen will view their executions,” Pari said. “If you kill Kholafa, they will wonder why a man of wisdom and high standing, who did everything to bring you to power, has been sacrificed. Being fearful of the same fate will make them dangerous. If you kill Hossein Beyg, they will understand why, but show clemency and they will see you as merciful.”

“Why do you care? What are these men to you?”

“They are nothing to me, but it is a matter of justice. Kholafa was your biggest ally. I think we owe him thanks for his support.”

“And Hossein Beyg?”

“The loyalty of the Ostajlu is worth a great deal.”

“Even though he was a traitor?”

“He wasn’t a traitor; he simply didn’t select the winning side.”

Isma‘il turned to Sultanam. “Mother, what do you think?”

Pari looked at her expectantly; she had often been successful
in begging Tahmasb Shah for clemency and had no doubt saved Isma‘il himself.

“I think your sister is right about Kholafa,” Sultanam said. “Why destroy a brilliant strategist?”

“To demonstrate that no disobedience will be tolerated is valuable.”

“But it wasn’t disobedience; it was merely disagreement,” Pari interjected.

“What is the difference?”

Was the Shah incapable of seeing the distinction?

Pari looked bewildered. “Surely you will permit your subjects to disagree at times?”

“Of course,” he said. “I am listening to you right now, aren’t I? But Hossein Beyg is a lost cause. By opposing my accession, he will always be a rallying point for the dissatisfied. As for Kholafa, his execution sets an important example to the others about the behavior I expect. By dying, he will serve me better than by living.”

“But, brother of mine—”

“I have made my decision.”

“I beg you to reconsider. When our father was alive, his brother rebelled against him several times, but it wasn’t until Alqas joined forces with the Ottoman army that he had him captured and executed. Surely your noblemen deserve mercy.”

“I am not Tahmasb,” Isma‘il said, “and I intend to be quite a different shah than he was.”

Pari looked exasperated. “But if not for his clemency, you yourself would not be alive!”

Isma‘il’s face flushed with anger. “I am alive because it was God’s will that I should become shah.”

No one could disagree with that.

“Kholafa isn’t the only person at court who needs to be disciplined,” he continued. “Some wish to usurp my power, but they won’t succeed.”

Pari remained calm at the insinuation. “I offer my opinion with the sole goal of strengthening your rule, brother of mine.”

Isma‘il snorted. “Next time, you should wait to ask if I desire your opinion.”

Pari drew back, offended, and turned to Sultanam for reinforcement.

“You must heed the words of my son,” Sultanam said quietly.