Equal of the Sun (45 page)

“My loyal servant,” she said, “the physician has just issued his report on the cause of death. It suggests several possibilities: Either the Shah ate too much opium, consumed so much food that it cut off his ability to breathe, or he was poisoned.”

“Do you think our efforts produced the intended result?”

“We will never know for certain.”

“Is that a comfort to you, Princess?”

She thought for a moment. “I suppose it is. I had to force every nerve in my being to hew to this task. Nothing could have been more unnatural to me.”

“Only a lord of orders like yourself would have dared to be so bold.”

Pari smiled. “If not for you, this terrible task could have foundered. I am pleased I decided to promote you to be my vizier. I wasn’t certain you were ready, but you have earned your promotion in seventy-seven different ways.”

“I thank you, Princess.”

“In gratitude for our good fortune, I have manumitted a dozen of my slaves, all of whom have chosen to remain in my service. They will be given employment for as long as they wish to stay with me. I have also promised to arrange for the adoptions of any girl orphans presented to me from the city of Qazveen. Finally, I have sworn to go on a pilgrimage to Mashhad and to endow a new seminary there.”

“Your munificence makes your name shine bright!”

“But now we have much to face in the days ahead. I refer to the future of this country.”

“What do you anticipate?”

“Iran needs a just leader,” she said. “The remaining princes are too young and inexperienced to rule. The only suitable person is me, even though no woman can rule officially.”

“True. What do you desire now?”

“I wish to be made regent to Isma‘il’s son Shoja. I will rule in his name until he is old enough to rule for himself. When I am finished with his education, he will be a leader of excellent character.”

I was awestruck. “That means you would essentially serve as shah until he is of age.”

“Yes! At last, I will claim my rightful sphere. I will rule this country with a loving hand and bring justice back to those who have lost it.”

I was filled with pride at the sight of her in her dark robe, her intelligence bursting from her pearly brow, the very pinnacle of learning and grace produced by three thousand years of Iranian civilization. No one would be a better ruler! She had proved herself once, and now she would finally receive the opportunity to show all she could do. My heart soared with joy for her.

“May God shower His blessings on you!”

“As my devoted servant, your position will become more exalted,” she added. “I will provide a good title for you when I organize the men of the Shah’s inner circle.”

“Princess, it is my life’s greatest honor to continue to serve you.”

I had good reason for hope. I would finally be able to bring Jalileh to Qazveen and to provide her with a sumptuous dowry. If she married one day and had children, their laughter would echo all through the house. At last, I would be part of a family again.

A messenger knocked at the door and announced Shamkhal Cherkes. It had been months since we had seen him. I stood up before he entered and positioned myself in my usual place near the door. There were more lines on his face and more gray hair in his beard than I remembered; it looked as if his service to Isma‘il had been hard on him. He sat on a cushion across from Pari, his powerful body tense.

“Princess, I came as soon as I could to offer my condolences about your brother Isma‘il,” he said. “Not to mention all the other princes who died during his reign.”

“Thank you,” Pari replied, then lapsed into silence.

“May I speak with you in private?”

“My servant Javaher is like one of my own limbs.”

My heart bloomed under the sun of her words.

“Of course,” he said, not bothering to glance at me, so great was his desire to please her. “I came to tell you how much I admire your courage.”

“No doubt it comes from our family,” Pari said, returning the compliment, but with only the thinnest of politeness.

“Really, I mean it.”

There was an awkward silence, which Pari refused to fill.

“I have come to ask whether, in this difficult moment, there is any service I can provide for you.” There was a pleading look in his eyes.

“No, thank you.”

Shamkhal adjusted his large white turban awkwardly. Pari didn’t bother to offer tea or sweetmeats or other comforts.

“It is difficult to explain how trying it has been to live under the constant threat that the Shah might decide to kill me.”

“You, too?” asked Pari sarcastically.

“I deeply regret not helping you more,” Shamkhal continued. “We were all paralyzed by fear, as if caught in a fog through which we could not see. You alone weren’t afraid.”

“I
was
afraid.”

“But you didn’t permit your fear to stop you from taking care of the problem.”

“Uncle, whatever do you mean?” she parried, wisely refusing to admit to anything. “My poor brother died from an opium overdose and extreme indigestion, by God’s will. The important question at the moment is what will happen next.”

“That is why I am here. I want to assist you.”

He was too vital an ally to dismiss outright, yet how could she trust him? Her eyes were full of reproach.

“I haven’t always done what you wanted,” he said, “but have always kept you in my heart.”

“Indeed? What I am to do with someone who promises loyalty to me, then gives it to someone else?”

“What else could I have done? I couldn’t say no to the Shah’s promotions without offending, and I couldn’t countermand his orders without getting in trouble.”

“Did you advocate for me?”

“I tried, but he wouldn’t budge. I suspect that someone powerful has been speaking out against you, Pari.”

“Mirza Shokhrollah?”

“I don’t know. At one point, Isma‘il mentioned a reason for his animosity. He said that you had thrown your support behind Mahmood Mirza before he was crowned.”

“You know I never did.”

She spoke the truth.

“I wonder if that rumor originated with Mirza Salman,” he continued.

Pari looked unconvinced.

“His promotion to such a high post was a surprise. What did he do to earn it?”

“He is good at his job,” she said. “He is also fiercely loyal. He even came to visit me after the Shah had prohibited it.”

Shamkhal looked abashed. “Pari
jan
—my life, listen to me. We are family. I will always advocate for you, unless the Shah orders otherwise. At least I am willing to admit to the truth of things, unlike others who walk a tightrope of loyalties, hoping that neither side tugs too hard.”

“I require more than such a tentative vow. Say or do what you must regarding the next shah, but I don’t want your help unless you swear yourself to me.”

“I understand. What do you wish to do now that the Shah is dead?”

“I want to be Shoja’s regent, with your advocacy.”

“How bold you are! No woman is like you, and no man, either. With deep humility, I swear my allegiance to you.”

To my surprise, he bowed and bent to kiss her feet as if she were shah. Then he looked up in the hope of receiving her acceptance of his pledge.

“All right, then. I will think about it.”

“You will think about it?”

“That is all.”

“But, Princess—”

Shamkhal looked as if he might burst out of his robe to convince her of his goodwill.

“That is all that is possible at the moment.”

I was glad that she disciplined him. How could she trust him otherwise?

A messenger knocked at the door and announced Mirza Salman. “Here, now, is the grand vizier. Let’s hear his news.”

In her birooni, Pari seated herself on one side of the lattice with her uncle while I joined Mirza Salman on the other side. He was still wearing the same robe as the day before. Judging by the darkness of his upper lids, he hadn’t slept.

“Salaam aleikum, Grand Vizier. I am here with Shamkhal Cherkes,” Pari said through the lattice.

“Salaam. I wish to report to you on the emergency meeting that I called to determine the future of our country. Alas, the amirs almost came to blows.”

“How unusual,” she said archly. “Over what?”

“Each group wants influence. I implored them to withdraw their swords until a new shah is named.”

“Thank you, Grand Vizier. As always, you are as effective as a sharpened blade. I wish to congratulate you on your recent promotion.”

“It is an honor, but one that didn’t last long. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your brother.”

“And please accept mine in return. Some things . . . can’t be helped.”

His eyes were untroubled; he was one of those courtiers who float over every wave.

“Nothing has been settled yet. The amirs have inquired as to your wishes.”

“Why didn’t they come to my quarters?”

“Having been prohibited from seeing you by the Shah, they felt honor-bound not to flout his command. As I promised you earlier today, I proposed that you should be regent to Isma‘il’s son.”

“And?”

“The men didn’t like the idea.”

“Why not?”

“They were adamant that Isma‘il’s son shouldn’t rule. One of them stood up and recited a section of the
Shahnameh
.”

“Which one?”

“It went like this:

    
“My noble lords, no man has ever seen

    
A king as wicked as this king has been:

    
He hoarded all he’d stolen from the poor,

    
His reign was murder, rapine, grief, and war.

    
No one has heard of any former reign

    
That was so evil, or that caused so much pain.

    
We do not want his seed here on the throne

    
And from his dust we turn to God alone.”

“Indeed? They fear baby Shoja?”

Her tone was barbed, implying that the men did not like the idea of her ruling so unencumbered.

“They suggested that the natural leader of Iran is your late father’s son, Mohammad Khodabandeh, who is after all the eldest.”

“But he is blind! Why did that disqualify him only a year ago, but not now?”

“For one thing, his mother Sultanam is qizilbash, and the qizilbash like to support their own. Also, he has four young sons who could succeed him, which gives them comfort. When his name was mentioned, the unanimous refrain of ‘Allah! Allah! Allah!’ was spoken and everyone swore to support him.”

“What role shall I have then?”

“You will be his chief advisor, since he cannot rule on his own.”

“Mirza Salman!” exclaimed Pari. “Tell the truth: The men feel
that Mohammad Khodabandeh will be easier to influence, isn’t that so? Everyone knows he has no interest in being ruler. The amirs will be able to get him to agree to whatever they propose.”

“No one said that,” Mirza Salman replied.

“But that is the reason, no doubt.”

“I can’t report on words that weren’t spoken.”

“Regardless, it is your duty to anticipate what the amirs are thinking and to be strong in the face of their demands.”

“I will, I promise. And I assure you that I fought fiercely for you and did as much as a lone voice could do. But now the men are waiting for a word from you. They won’t inform Mohammad Khodabandeh until you agree. They recognize all you have done.”

There was a long silence; Pari wasn’t pleased and neither was I. Shamkhal’s deep voice boomed from the back of the other side of the lattice.

“You are the grand vizier. Why can’t you bend them to your will?”

Mirza Salman rolled forward on the balls of his feet as if to make himself taller.

“You don’t know how hard I tried.”

“But you haven’t been successful.”

“That is a strange thing for you to say.”

“What is your meaning?”

“My meaning is that no one has been more loyal to the princess than myself.”

“You should have done more.”

“If any man believes he can do better, he is welcome to try.”

Shamkhal was in no position to force the qizilbash to do anything. His bluster was an attempt to win Pari’s love.

“Why are you trying so hard to convince her that Mohammad Khodabandeh is a good choice?” Shamkhal asked. “Is it because his wife’s a Tajik, like you?”

Mirza Salman looked offended, but his words were calm. “My concern is for the safety of the realm. We need to decide on the succession quickly to prevent invasions and to avoid another spate of lawlessness.”

“I agree,” said Pari.

“By the way,” Mirza Salman added, “I also argued that we shouldn’t waste any further efforts trying to determine if Isma‘il Shah, may his soul be at peace, was poisoned.”

“Why not?” Pari asked in a sharp tone.

“I argued that he is in God’s hands, and it is our job to think of the future.”

“They should be grateful that Isma‘il’s death has shielded the surviving princes from his sword—not to mention themselves,” the princess said.

Mirza Salman’s forehead creased a hundred times. “True. One of the men admitted that he had been ordered by the Shah only a few days ago to execute Mohammad Khodabandeh and his boys.”

Pari drew in her breath so sharply we could hear it on our side of the lattice. “All of them?”

“Yes. He delayed as much as he could because he was so loath to carry out his task. By the grace of God, he didn’t have to do so.”

“How narrowly we have escaped a terrible fate! My dynasty would have crumbled.”

“I reminded them of that.”

So Pari had changed the course of history once again. For that matter, so had I. Was this what my stars had meant? Who, then, was destined to be the greatest Safavi leader? Could it be Mohammad Khodabandeh?

“Why didn’t Isma‘il’s nobles bother to do anything about the injustice he imposed on those around him?”

“They had sworn their loyalty to him.”

“I see,” she said. “So I am correct that the amirs did nothing.”