The Moghul

thought when he saw her was that this birth must be male. Merciful Allah, make this a son.
    Mumtaz's gleaming black hair had been tightly braided, and she wore a shawl and trousers of gold-threaded silk. She had a pronounced fondness for gold and silk: few other luxuries were to be found in the army camps that had been her home for most of their marriage. Mumtaz's features were delicate, with high Persian cheeks, and she was well over thirty—the age at which most Muslim women ceased to interest their mates. But she had found ways to remain the center of Jadar's life, if not dominate it.
    The flash of her eyes told Jadar she was in an extreme temper.
    "Pigeons arrived just after you left. The report from Agra is astonishing."
    "What 'report' do you mean? Do you and your women receive my dispatches now?"

"Which are rarely worth the bother. No, I receive my own. From Father." Mumtaz was the daughter of Nadir Sharif, prime minister of the Moghul empire and brother of Queen Janahara. "I had the sense to leave him pigeons for here at Ujjain. And also for Burhanpur . . . which may prove to be vital for you, assuming that city is not overrun by Deccanis by the time you reach it."
    "What message did Nadir Sharif ever send that wasn't dictated by our noble queen?"
    "You're a fool not to trust him. But you'd do well to begin. And soon." Mumtaz's eyes snapped momentary fire, matching the hard red jewel on her forehead, and she eased herself slowly onto a well-traveled velvet bolster to lighten the weight of the child. "I think you'll discover your many friends may be difficult to find if we ever return to the capital."
    "Come to the point. I want to see into their tent. They killed well today." Jadar was always amused by Mumtaz's temper. He had long ago despaired of receiving proper respect from her. She defied him exactly the way Janahara defied the Moghul. And he delighted in it. Perhaps all Persian wives were incorrigible. Perhaps it was a racial trait.
    "Very well. You should be pleased to know that His Majesty has already forgotten you exist. He has agreed to the queen's outrageous scheme. An affront to sense, but it will be the end of you nonetheless."
    "Agreed to what?"
    "The very marriage I warned you about, but you wouldn't listen. You were too clever. Yes, you were brilliant. You sent the wrong brother away from Agra. You sent Khusrav, the competent one. You should have sent Allaudin."
    "I don't believe it."
    "I do. And I told you it would happen. The queen has foisted her scrawny offspring, the simpering Princess Layla, onto Allaudin. But it's the perfect match. The Moghul’s youngest son, the notorious 'good-for-nothing,' betrothed to that fumbling little sparrow. Both weak and useless."
    "What could Allaudin possibly do? Even Arangbar realizes he's incompetent."
    "But Arangbar will soon be dead. So what he knows won't matter. It's perfect for the queen. She'll rule them both. In the meantime, she'll make sure you're nowhere near Agra. Your next appointment will probably be the Punjab, or perhaps the Himalayas. Where you can chase yak with your leopards." Mumtaz could scarcely contain her anger and frustration. "The time will come, and soon, when the Moghul will chance his twenty glasses of wine and his twelve grains of opium one night too many. And the next day, while you're somewhere sporting with your chitahs , she'll summon her lackey general Inayat Latif and his Bengal mansabdars to Agra. And declare Allaudin the next Moghul."
    Jadar was stunned. Allaudin was incapable of anything, except bowing to the queen's orders like a hand puppet. Once Moghul, he certainly could not rule. She would rule for him. Or probably eliminate him entirely after a few months.
    So Janahara had finally made her move. To challenge Prince Jadar, the son who had earned the throne, for his rightful place. The battle had been joined.
    "So what do you propose to do? She waited just long enough to trap you in the Deccan." Mumtaz's fury was turning to despair. "If you go back now, you'll be accused of abandoning Burhanpur. If you march on south, you'll be unable to return for months. And by that time Allaudin will be married. Father said she has convinced the Moghul to give him a personal mansab rank of eight thousand zat and a horse rank of four thousand suwar . Allaudin, who scarcely knows a bow from a wine bowl, will now have his own cavalry."
    Jadar was looking at her, but he no longer heard.
    This changes everything. There'll be no