Red Tent
“I have heard much of your complaints, priest. What I have not heard are cries from those of my peoples you claim clamor for the opportunity to practice your faith.”
De Jesus opened his mouth to reply but Aurangzeb spoke over him: “Wait! Is that…?” The Sultan Al’Azam placed a hand next to his ear as if listening intently.
The court held its collective breath. Nur, watching from behind the jali, smiled, her misgivings slowly easing.
After a moment Aurangzeb dropped his hand and shook his head. “No, it is but the taunts of my enemies, not the cries of the peoples of my dominion. I have been listening, and yet no one has come forth begging for you and your priestly brothers to show them how to give their souls to the man in Rome who claims to sit at the right hand of God!”
The court stirred, umara growing restless and murmuring angrily amongst themselves.
Seeming to ignore them, Aurangzeb leaned forward, placing one elbow on a knee. “But then, you come from Goa, where I hear they are now burning some loyal subjects, saying they are not Christian enough. Is it any wonder you have no idea what it is that the peoples of India desire?”
“They—” De Jesus began.
“The question,” Aurangzeb interrupted, “was rhetorical. The many peoples of India have their own religions and do not need priests deciding their faith, whatever it may be, is false or insufficient to meet some artificial standard set by the Pope in Rome.”
Nur’s spies had sent word of the burnings. It had started as something to do with New Christians being hidden Jews, but the local population was now suffering the burnings as well. She hadn’t thought to use the knowledge to discredit the priest, though she heartily approved of Aurangzeb’s choice of tactics. If the Christians would burn those newly converted in the Estado, would they not seek to do the same within the empire?
The Sultan Al’Azam leaned back and gestured with both hands at the gathered court. “Just look about you, priest. Muslim, Hindu, Jew, and Zoroastrian. You can find these faiths and more here at my court. None are punished or preferred over another. None are burned at the stake for not being faithful enough. No, whatever the faiths practiced by those taking shelter in the shadow of my power, they themselves will choose those articles of faith and worship as their religion dictates.”
“Then our agreement is ended,” De Jesus said when at last Aurangzeb allowed him to get a word in. That he did not immediately point out that nonbelievers were taxed under Muslim law proved De Jesus was not entirely an idiot.
“Only because you wish it so, priest. I sit here on the eve of victory, but your naked ambition and religious bigotry could not suffer waiting but a few more days. Young as I am, be glad my advisors implored me to delay rewarding you for your service so we might better assess your character and intent. Now, your complaints and bitter attacks upon me have grown to the point I must remove you and all your goods from our camp. Go tell your master the archbishop I hold him responsible for sending a creature such as you to treat with me, who only wished peace and beneficial relations between our peoples.”
De Jesus bowed stiffly and began to retreat. Nur could not tell if it was fear or anger that caused the slight tremors in the priest’s hands.
“I have not given you leave to depart, priest.” The words, calmly and evenly delivered, were more frightening than a barked rebuke would have been from such a young man.
“May I leave, Sultan Al’Azam?” De Jesus grated through clenched teeth.
The priest’s tone was unacceptable. Nur looked at Aurangzeb along with most of the court.
Unlike the rest of the court, she knew Aurangzeb did not want to make a bitter enemy of Goa, something that must surely happen if Aurangzeb made a martyr of De Jesus. The Portuguese still controlled too much of the sea trade, and could easily make the sea route for the pilgrimage to Mecca nearly impossible for his Muslim subjects, which would only play into the hands of the Persians, who controlled much of the land route.
“You may leave, priest. Your horses, goods, and chattel will remain with the camp, a fine for your miserable manners and insolent words. Walk home. None will help you. None of my subjects will harm you. Get out of my sight.”
The court heaved a collective sigh. Not born of fatigue, but with the contentment one felt when long-held expectations are finally met.
The priest fled in the wake of the Sultan Al’Azam’s dismissal.
Nur made a mental note to have the man watched as he made the long trek to the coast. Some courtier might seek concessions from the Portuguese by helping the priest, and Aurangzeb would want to know the names of such opportunists.
Sudden movement from the Sultan Al’Azam drew everyone’s gaze from the priest’s retreating back. Aurangzeb had stood to face his court, eyes glittering in the lamplight. It seemed, even from beyond the shelter of the jali, that the Sultan Al’Azam stared into each and every soul present. Those small hairs on the back of her neck rose to stand on end under that forceful regard.
He let the silence stretch.
“Tomorrow. After morning prayers. We shall storm Red Fort and cast down the pretender.”
He drew the sword from his hip and, raising his voice only slightly to make them lean in to listen, continued, “God willing, those who have indulged his poor, weak character and led him astray from all that is good will fall under our righteous swords, their remains trampled under foot!”
The varied bellows, shouts, cries,
