Wild Jasmine (6 page)

“Yes,” he agreed. “I have seen it. Her fierce Tatar ancestry shows in that look.” Then he looked deep into his first wife’s eyes and told her, “You are a good mother, Rugaiya Begum. Yasaman is fortunate to have your love, to be in your care.”

“She is the child of my heart, my dear lord. I thank God each day that you have entrusted me with her care.”

“I am of a mind to rest comfortably this night,” Akbar answered her. “May I stay in your bed, my dearest Rugaiya?”

“No comely maiden, my lord?” she gently mocked him.

“Sometimes old friends are the best,” he replied, smiling at her and touching her soft cheek with gentle fingers.

“Do you not mean old wives?” she teased him back.

“No,” he said quietly. “You are my friend, Rugaiya Begum. I have thirty-nine wives, of which you are the first; but I have few true friends upon whom I can count. You are amongst those few.”

“We are fortunate to have each other, are we not?” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed, and rising, he led her from the dining room, back up the staircase to her chamber.

Chapter 2

T
he fisherman, casting his nets in the still, dark waters of the lake, peered curiously at the palace of the Grand Mughal’s daughter. He was quite near to it, perhaps closer than he should have been, but the fish were running into the shore tonight. Besides, Yasaman Kama Begum did not mind. Had she not personally given him permission to fish these waters by her home? He was the envy of all the men in the village, he thought, pushing his chest out with his pride; but had he not saved the princess’s cat from a watery death? A young creature of obviously little sense, it had unwisely leapt from the marble terrace in pursuit of a noisy, arrogant duck. He chuckled with the memory.

He had seen the cat, an elegant beastie with long silvery-white fur, stalking the duck from the terrace top. The fisherman had assumed it was merely a feline exercise until the cat, perhaps taunted to rashness by the squawking duck, had leapt out high over the water, landing with a resounding splash and a howl of surprise which was half muffled by the water in its mouth. The duck, protesting this invasion of its territory, lifted itself off the lake with an indignant flap and flew away.

Almost immediately a chattering monkey had appeared upon the terrace wall, to be followed by a young girl who shrieked her distress. The fisherman, who had daughters of his own, realized that this was a beloved pet. Diving into the calm waters of the lake, he hauled the cat out and dumped it in his boat, which was little more than a hollowed-out log. The cat, in its terror, scratched him badly. Without thinking, the fisherman cursed loudly, likening the cat’s mother to the bottom of a cesspit.

“Mama Begum says that no one should use such language,” the girl said, but then she giggled.

The fisherman was astounded to be addressed by the cat’s mistress. He did not need to be told who she was. She was the Grand Mughal’s youngest and, so it was said, most beloved
daughter. He dared not speak again, and climbing back into his boat, he cast his eyes down.

“If you will row but a bit closer,” Yasaman Kama Begum said, “you can, I believe, hand Fou-Fou up to me.”

The fisherman looked up and gaped at her foolishly.

“The cat, good sir,” the princess gently explained.

“The cat,” he repeated, and then looked down into the bottom of his vessel where the stupid creature crouched, eyeing him balefully and growling low.
Yes, the cat!
The fisherman realized that in being where he should not be, the sooner he departed, the less likely it was that questions would be asked of him. Stooping quickly, he reached for the beast which, with an angry hiss, struck out at him with a claw. Startled, the fisherman drew back.

“Bad Fou-Fou!” the young girl scolded. “This man saved your foolish life and but wishes to return you to me.”

The cat’s ears perked at the sound of its mistress’s voice, and looking up, it meowed piteously. The fisherman quickly lifted the diverted animal from the boat’s bottom and handed it to the princess.

“Oh, thank you, good sir,” she said to him with a winning smile. “You must be rewarded for your bravery. My father would not have it otherwise. What is your name?”

Allah help me! the fisherman thought. I will surely be punished now for fishing so close to the royal palace, but there was no help for it. “My name is Ali, great lady,” he said, bowing awkwardly, painfully conscious of his bare feet and dirty loincloth.

“You should not have been fishing so near to my palace, should you, Ali?” the princess said wisely. “Had you not, however, I should have lost my dear Fou-Fou. He was given to me by my brother Salim, who will one day be Grand Mughal. Fou-Fou is a most important cat, and you are responsible for saving her life.” She smiled at him, showing perfect little white teeth. “Do you come so close because the fishing is good here, Ali?”

He nodded, afraid. She knew he should not have been there. He would certainly be punished.

“Then tomorrow, Adali, who is the high steward of my household, shall go to the village and present your headman with my written permission for you to fish in the waters near my palace. Do you have sons, Ali?”

“Two, great lady,” he answered her, his heart hammering with excitement.

“And sons-in-law?” she further queried.

“Three,” he said, suddenly realizing that what was said about this royal princess was absolutely true. She was the most beautiful female ever begat.

Yasaman Kama Begum nodded thoughtfully, and then said, “You may bring two of these men with you if you choose, Ali the fisherman. More would be an intrusion,
and
none may come without you. This privilege will span your lifetime only. This is my reward to you for saving my pet.”

“Thank you, great lady! Thank you!” His head was swimming with delight. Fishing rights by the princess’s palace, among the richest fishing grounds on the lake! He was going to be a wealthy man! “Thank you! Thank you!” he babbled. He wanted to row quickly home to tell his wife and family of his good fortune, but he would not. He had fishing to attend to.

“It is I who should thank you, Ali the fisherman.” She smiled again. “Fou-Fou thanks you too,” she assured him.

He would always remember her smile, Ali thought as he recalled that afternoon three years before, when his kismet had placed him in the wrong place at the right time. He had indeed grown wealthy by her kindness; but his family had many needs that seemed to grow with his fortune. Only he could fish this spot, with two of his offspring or his sons-in-law. So it was necessary to continue laboring. Now his youngest daughter was getting married, and there was a great deal his wife insisted she must have. The fisherman was just as glad to have an excuse to get away from his house and all the chattering women. His happiness had always been here on the lake.

He gazed at the nearby palace, which in the twilight seemed to float upon the waters of the lake. There were lanterns decorating the terrace tonight, and he could hear the sounds of flutes and drums. Candles fixed into little rounds of wood had been lit and set afloat in the lake. It was most magical and a perfect way to celebrate the princess’s birthday. He knew it was her birthday because she had spoken to him when she saw him just a few days ago.

“I will be thirteen,” she had said. “My father and brother are coming to see me. I shall be given my weight in precious jewels, Ali. I have been every year since my birth.”

“You must be very rich, great lady,” he had observed.

“I suppose I am,” she replied modestly.

The fisherman smiled to himself. She was a most charming young girl, and he would always bless her for his good fortune. He hoped her kismet would be a happy one, but then why wouldn’t it be? She was a princess. Ali cast his nets gracefully and gazed toward the terrace where two figures now stood intertwined. One of them was Yasaman Kama Begum, the other a man. The fisherman discreetly turned his back upon them. He was curious, but then it was not his business.

“Why does that fisherman come so close to your palace?” Salim demanded of his sister.

She peered through the fast-darkening evening and then answered him, “It is Ali; the man who saved Fou-Fou three years ago. You know I gave him fishing rights.”

“What I know is that you have grown more fair, if that is possible,” the prince replied. He drew her tightly against him and was excited to feel the soft flesh of her young breasts give against his chest.

“Mama Begum is going to speak to Father while he is here about the candidates for my hand in marriage,” she told him, looking up into his face, her dark lashes fluttering just slightly.

“You are too young for marriage!” he growled in an angry voice.

“I am not,” she replied calmly. “I bleed each month like all women of childbearing age. I am ready. You were not much older than I am now when you first wed.”

“You know nothing of men, sweet sister,” he murmured, and his hand caressed her silky head. “Besides, I will not let you go, Yasaman. I want you by me when I come into my inheritance. Remember how we spoke on it when you were little?”

“So you admit I am no longer a child,” she teased him.

“I admit nothing! Sweet sister, do you not remember the kings and queens of ancient Egypt?” He bent his head and gently kissed her brow.

“The ones who wed each other in order to keep their bloodline pure? Aye, brother, I remember, but do you not recall our grandmother says that such a thing is unclean?” His arms about her were both exciting and frightening, she decided. Salim, twenty-one years her senior, seemed so sophisticated and worldly.

“She is a querulous old woman! What does she know of life, my lotus blossom?” He pressed his lips to her temple once again.
Allah! How he wanted her!
It was madness, he knew, but for several years now he had lusted after his half sister
with a passion that frightened even him. He seemed to have no control over it, and it had only grown worse as Yasaman had matured and grown more beautiful.

He had three wives. Man Bai, Amara, and the elegant Nur Jahan. He loved them. Yet still he wanted Yasaman. The thought of another man’s lingham piercing her sweet yoni was more than he could bear. He felt his own member hardening at the thought.
Yasaman!
The mere thought of her consumed him with a raging, burning passion.

“Am I to be a spinster then, like our poor sister, Aram-Banu?” Yasaman demanded, shifting nervously at the unfamiliar pressure against her leg.

“Aram-Banu is a child,” he told her.

“Aram-Banu is older than I am, Salim!” she retorted spiritedly.

“In years, aye, sweet sister, but Aram-Banu has the mind of a child. She is too simpleminded to be given to any man for a wife, else Father would have married her off to his advantage long ago.” Reaching out, he cupped her face in his hand. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you, little monkey. Tell Father you will accept no husband now, and stay with me.” He smiled down at her. “You know that I adore you, Yasaman.” He ran his thumb along her full lips. She opened those lips and took his thumb in her mouth, sucking teasingly upon it for a moment. He believed he would lose control entirely as thoughts of her mouth upon a more intimate part of him filled his head. Yet practical instinct told him she was still half a child and had no real knowledge of her effect upon him.

“There you two are!” Rugaiya Begum had come upon them, although they had not heard her approach. “Yasaman, run along and change your garments. Your father’s messenger has just arrived to say that Akbar is only an hour away.”

The girl pulled easily from her brother’s grasp and, without so much as a backward glance, hurried off. The prince and the older woman stared at each other a long, hard moment.

Then Rugaiya Begum said, “Your father and I are going to choose suitors for Yasaman while he is here. It is time we began to consider an advantageous marriage for her.”

“Under the law, she cannot marry until she is fourteen,” Salim replied. “I think it is much too soon to betroth her.”

“Your father made the laws, and he can amend them, Salim. I cannot protect Yasaman the way a husband can.” Rugaiya Begum answered him.

“Does she need protection, lady? Who would harm the Grand Mughal’s daughter?”

She knew!
The bitch had a sharp eye and a keener judgment of his character than any other. Whenever he had gotten in his father’s bad graces over the years, he could always rely upon the ladies of his father’s zenana to aid him. All but Rugaiya Begum. She loved him for his mother’s sake, but unlike the others, even his grandmother, she was not fooled by him.

“You will want to change your clothes, Salim, or perhaps you would prefer to leave,” she said, ignoring his question. Then she turned away, hurrying back into the house.

Rugaiya Begum went to her daughter’s apartments, where Yasaman was bathing in a marble pool of perfumed water with the aid of her two body servants, Rohana and Toramalli. Looking about her, Rugaiya Begum sighed. The child was still such an innocent. Fou-Fou, the long-haired white cat Yasaman so doted upon, lay sprawled indolently upon a silken couch. Baba, the monkey, had perched himself upon the rolled arm of the couch and was eating a piece of fruit which was dripping juice all over the silk fabric. The parrot, Hiraman, strutted fretfully about the pool muttering, “Water! Water!” beneath its breath and watching Yasaman nervously.