The Moghul

call it by the Persian name zenana , but it's still the same. It's really a city of women. All cities must have guards. But we each received a salary and were like government officials, with our own servants. We each had our own apartment, immense and decorated with paintings and bubbling fountains at the door. Except there were no doors, since we were always supposed to be open to receive His Majesty."
    "Wasn't there anything about it you didn't like?" He examined her skeptically. "It seems to me I could list a few drawbacks."
    "A few things. I didn't like the intrigues. All the women scheming how to lure His Majesty to their apartment, and giving him aphrodisiacs to try to prolong his time there. The beautiful ones were constantly afraid of being poisoned, or spied on by the older women and the female slaves. And some of the women were always trying to bribe eunuchs to bring in young men disguised as serving-women." She took the stem of a flower and began to weave it between his toes. "But there are always intrigues anywhere. It's the price we pay for life."
    "You've never told me how you came to be in the zenana in the first place. Were you bought, the way women are in the Levant?"
    Kali burst into laughter. " Feringhis can be such simpletons sometimes. What wonderful legends must be told in this place called Europe." Then she sobered. "I was there because my mother was very clever. The zenana is powerful, and she did everything she could to get me there. She knew if His Majesty liked me, there could be a good post for my father. She planned it for years. And when I finally reached fifteen she took me to the annual mina bazaar that Arangbar always holds on the Persian New Year, just like his father Akman did."
    "What's that?"
    "It's a mock 'bazaar' held on the grounds of the palace, and only women can go. Anyone who wants to be seen by His Majesty sets up a stall, made of silk and gauze, and pretends to sell handiwork, things like lace and perfume. But no woman can get in who isn't beautiful."
    "Was that where the Moghul first saw you?"
    "Of course. Arangbar came to visit all the stalls, riding around on a litter that some Tartar women from the zenana carried, surrounded by his eunuchs. He would pretend to bargain for the handiwork, calling the women pretty thieves, but he was really inspecting them, and the daughters they'd brought. I was there with my mother, and I wore a thin silk blouse because my breasts were lovely." She paused and looked at him hopefully, brushing a red-tipped finger across one nipple. "Don't you think they still are? A little?"
    "Everything about you is beautiful." It was all too true. As he looked at her, he told himself he much preferred her now to how she must have looked at fifteen.
    "Well, I suppose Arangbar must have thought so too, because the next day he sent a broker to pay my mother to let me come to the zenana ."
    Hawksworth paused, then forced nonchalance into his voice. "Did Shirin, or her mother, do the same?"
    "Of course not." Kali seemed appalled at the absurdity of the idea. "She's Persian. Her father was already some kind of official. He was far too dignified to allow his women to go to the mina bazaar. The Moghul must have seen her somewhere else. But if he wanted her, her father could not refuse."
    "What eventually happened to you . . . and to her?"
    "She became his favorite." Kali took out her betel leaf and tossed it aside. "That's always very dangerous. She was in great trouble after the queen came to Agra."
    "I've heard something about that." He found himself wanting to hear a lot more about it, but he held back. "And what happened to you after you entered the zenana ?"
    "His Majesty only came to me once, as was his duty." She laughed but there was no mirth in her voice. "Remember I was only fifteen then. I knew nothing about lovemaking, though I tried very hard to please him. But by that time he was already entranced with Shirin. He began to call for her almost every afternoon."
    "So what did you do after that?"
    "I began to make love to the other women there. I suppose it sounds strange to you, but I found I actually enjoyed other women's bodies very much."
    "Weren't you ever lonely?"
    "A little. But I'm lonely here sometimes too." She paused and looked away. "A courtesan is always lonely. No man will ever truly love her. He'll listen to her sing to him and joke with him, but his heart will never be hers, regardless of all the sweet promises he'll think to make