Not for the first time, Jahanara was reminded of what an asset Nur Jahan could be to a ruler who listened to her. No woman in the history of the Mughal empire had ever wielded as much power as she had, in her prime. The last of Jahangir’s wives had been a co-emperor in all but name. She’d often held court with him jointly, and when he was ill she’d hold court on her own. Coinage had even been struck in her name—which had never been done before or since in Mughal history. A very scandalous situation! But what Nur had demonstrated was that scandal was not all-powerful, not when the person who generated the scandal had enough power of his own—or her own.
“Did he threaten you in any way?” Jahanara asked.
Nur shook her head. “No. He said nothing about me. I would have been surprised if he had, given that he agreed to meet with me as your emissary. If I had come on my own…or been brought to him…”
Her lips twitched. “He would have said nothing to me. Made no threats. Just ordered my execution. I probably would not have been brought into his presence at all.”
Jahanara nodded. That spoke to an impressive degree of self-control on their younger brother’s part. That was dangerous, in the long run. But for now, it meant that they could be reasonably certain Aurangzeb would accept the new situation. For…
Dara seemed to be reading her thoughts. He turned to look at her. “Perhaps a year, you think?”
“Probably longer—but almost certainly a full year. It will take Aurangzeb at least that long to restore his authority over his supporters and assemble enough resources in men and materiel to resume the civil war.”
On an impulse, she looked at Nur Jahan and asked, “Do you agree?”
“Yes.” Nur squared her shoulders a bit. “There is one other thing. Aurangzeb has a request.”
“Which is?”
“He says we have a soldier of his here. A European—Portuguese—whom he employed with his artillery. He was badly injured in the battle. He requests if the man is still alive and able to travel that we send him back to Europe. He has done Aurangzeb good service and is owed that much.”
Jahanara almost blurted out he is owed that much by you—certainly not us! But she left the words unspoken. This was not a time for pettiness.
“And how is this to be paid for?” she asked.
“If the man—his name is Carvalho—is alive and able to travel, Aurangzeb will send over his belongings. There is more than enough there to cover the cost.”
Jahanara glanced at Dara. He nodded his acquiescence.
“I will find out if the man survived,” she said. “If he has, we will do as our brother wishes. Is there anything further?”
Nur shook her head. “No.”
“Not true!” said Dara. “There is still the matter of what is to be done with you.”
Nur’s jaws tightened a little. “I did as you bade me.”
“Yes, you did. But that still leaves the issue of what we are to do with you. You are dangerous, Nur Jahan. I do not trust you at all.”
Dara shook his head firmly. “I will not send you back to Lahore, to your own estates. Who knows what mischief you will get into up there?” He gestured toward Nadira. “And I do not want you anywhere near my wife and child. That leaves only one option.”
Now he turned and looked at Jahanara. “She is going on Hajj. Very soon. You will go with her.”
“I have already been on Hajj,” Nur pointed out. “Twice.”
Dara shrugged. “So? The Prophet set no limit on the number of times someone may make the pilgrimage.” His jaws tightened a little. “I will brook no argument on this matter. The one person in the world whom I trust to keep you under control is my sister Jahanara.”
Jahanara was doing her best not to let her dismay show on her face. Her great dismay. How was she to hide her conditions from Nur Jahan over the coming months, if they were in such close proximity? But she could think of no response to her brother’s argument.
In the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Smidha making a small gesture. Glancing over, she saw that her advisor was fluttering her fingers slightly. The meaning was clear enough: Say nothing. We can deal with this.
How? she wondered. But she kept silent.
Mission House
Agra
“Absolutely not!” Gervais proclaimed. “You are not getting out of my sight until the two of you are properly wedded.” His stern almost-glare shifted back and forth between his daughter and Bertram.
Monique threw up her hands. “And how are we to do that, Papa? In case you hadn’t noticed, there are no Christian clergy in Agra.”
“Probably none in Surat either, by now,” said Bertram. “We could find some in Goa, of course, but…” He made a face. “That would present us with another set of problems. Probably big problems.”
“Such as arrest,” muttered Monique. “Auto-da-fé.”
“The solution’s simple,” said Rodney. Everyone seated at the meeting table turned to look at him.
“Rune Strand,” he said. “Remember him? As captain of the Lønsom Vind, he has the authority to marry them.”
John frowned. “Does he, though? Yeah, in our day and age he would have, but does that custom apply in this one?”
* * *
As it happened, Priscilla knew the answer to that question. She’d run across it once in her voluminous and somewhat scattershot reading. The answer was:
No, captains in the seventeenth century did not have the authority to conduct marriages—any more than they did up-time. The whole thing was a myth promulgated by romance authors.
But she saw no reason to clean up waters that her husband had sufficiently muddied for their immediate purposes. They could deal with it one way or another once they got to Surat.
Harem quarters
Red Fort
“But what will we do, Smidha? We can’t keep my condition hidden from Nur Jahan for almost
