Now was not the time to take the young woman to task. No, not now.
Thinking hard, Nur plucked the message from Tara’s unresisting hand.
She did not have to unfold the paper to review its contents: Shaista Khan had declared for Dara. Delayed by the death of one messenger and the failure of another to find suitable transport, the missive had been dated the very same day Asaf Khan passed to his reward. Nur’s informant was unable to discover what the exact terms were that had secured her nephew’s service, but had said a pair of up-timers had been presented to Shaista and Asaf shortly before her brother’s death and those same men had been summoned to audience with Shaista immediately after Asaf’s death.
This information, combined with Tara’s news about the breakdown in relations between Aurangzeb and his European supporters, was worrisome.
The supplies Aurangzeb had been able to secure at Gwalior would only stretch so far. It occurred to Nur that Aurangzeb might be counting on taking Red Fort quickly enough to use the vast stores of the palace to supply his army, but it seemed a risky proposition. What if Dara decided to torch Red Fort rather than allow it to fall into Aurangzeb’s hands?
No, she reflected, Aurangzeb must be convinced to give the Europeans another chance. But from Tara’s reaction to the news, the priest might get his comeuppance if he had made a public outburst that could not be ignored, forcing Aurangzeb’s hand.
If only there was a way to silence the priest. Carvalho was Aurangzeb’s man through and through, and the Englishman, Methwold, was an eminently reasonable man.
“Does the priest have any known faults beyond an inability to control his tongue?” Nur asked, hoping for something she could use to have the man killed without the death seeming an obvious result of some courtier currying favor with Aurangzeb. Not that such gossip would be terribly difficult to overcome, but Aurangzeb had yet to endorse any murder, and Nur was certain she did not want to be the first to test the young man’s forgiveness for unsolicited acts that reflected poorly on him.
Tara thought a moment before replying, “None that are known to me. He drinks, of course. But not to excess. He did arrive in camp with a massive black eye. Neither Methwold nor Carvalho are with him.”
“That is to be expected. They are overseeing the arrival of the bulk of Aurangzeb’s artillery train.”
“You are correct, mistress. However, I am told by reliable sources that Carvalho is only a few days away. Given that there are no major obstacles to the transport of his guns…”
“It follows that he could have made the trip had he wished to,” Nur finished her advisor’s thought.
“Exactly so, mistress.”
“Do we know if any messages arrived from Carvalho to Aurangzeb?” she asked.
“Only his usual daily progress report, and it caused no undue stir that I am aware of.”
Nur nodded, turning her thoughts to what, exactly, Aurangzeb knew about Shaista Khan’s declaration.
The Sultan Al’Azam had made no announcement condemning his cousin nor had he dispatched any of his army to deal with the threat. From previous experience with the young man’s deep thinking and devious turn of mind, she considered it likely that Aurangzeb planned to deal with the most immediate threat as quickly as possible and then turn his attentions to the more distant, lesser one. And regardless of whether he knew or not, she also knew from previous experience that he would not appreciate any delay from her in conveying news that might affect him.
“We shall go early, and hope the Sultan Al’Azam will see us privately.”
Nodding, Tara snapped her fingers.
The servants summoned by the sound bore one of the robes of honor Aurangzeb had given Nur and veil of translucent silk that was set off her eyes.
Tara’s fits of temper frequently disappointed Nur, but she had to admit that supervising—and vetting—household staff was one of the young woman’s exceptional strengths, especially when it came to the body slaves and those responsible for her mistress’s appearance.
Nur supposed that, being raised from the position of harem guard, Tara knew the value of preparation and proper equipment for battle. Armed with this knowledge, she rarely missed a beat when it came to ensuring Nur’s servants and slaves had appropriate garb prepared for any foreseeable need.
So it was that it required mere moments before Nur emerged from her tent armed and armored for her own kind of war.
Red Tent, personal quarters of the Sultan Al’Azam
“You wished to see me before the public audience?” Aurangzeb said. His body slaves were dressing his slim frame with robes of state that, while a sober dark green in color, were trimmed and accented with thousands of peridots.
“I did, Sultan Al’Azam,” Nur said, careful to keep out the hint of a mothering tone that threatened to creep into her voice on seeing him so thin. While she approved of the boy’s fashion sense, she felt he should eat more. No man of her family had denied himself food the way Aurangzeb did.
“Regarding?” Aurangzeb asked, checking his image in the massive mirror some courtier had given him.
“I’m told the priest continues his complaints?”
“He does,” Aurangzeb said. “I have agreed to let him speak one last time today.”
“May I ask why?” Nur said, disquiet rippling through her at the emperor’s choice of words.
“I have been more than patient with the fool but I can countenance no more of his complaints. My umara will begin to think
