Salim smiled encouragement at Firoz. Appointed just a short time before Salim had arrived at court, the portly umara was a perpetual favorite not only of Jahanara and Nadira, but also of Dara. The potbellied diwan had managed to impress Salim with constant good humor and a strong work ethic, qualities which were often in short supply in the harem. The eunuch was also among the most intelligent people Salim had ever met, let alone had the pleasure of working alongside.
The two servants of the emperor greeted each other warmly and with what Salim hoped was a mutual respect.
“Forgive the intrusion, Wazir, but the Sultan Al’Azam requires your presence in the harem,” Firoz Khan said.
“Very good,” Salim answered, rising to his feet and gesturing for Firoz to accompany him. Something in the eunuch’s round, sweat-dampened face caused his instinct for trouble to itch.
“What is it, Firoz?” he asked in a quiet voice as they set out.
“He is most wroth.”
“And well he might be! To have today’s news so public was annoying, to say the least.”
“It is not simply that…”
“Then what troubles you, Firoz?”
“I am uncertain…” Again the diwan let his statement end unfinished.
“Be assured that anything you choose to tell me will be held in strictest confidence,” Salim said, projecting as much reassurance as he could.
“His relations with Begum Sahib have been strained of late. He has been in a mood…” Firoz lapsed into silence as they entered one of the heavily guarded checkpoints securing the harem from the outside world.
“What mood is it, friend?” Salim prompted as they left the immediate vicinity of the guards and started across the garden courtyard.
Firoz did not immediately reply, waiting until they were near enough the burbling waters of a fountain to cover his reply from casual listeners. “It seems this…mood…has affected his relations with Nadira Begum as well. To the point the royal apartments have not been loud with cries of pleasure in some days.”
Salim glanced away, uncomfortable with that particular bit of knowledge. His gaze fell on a group of veiled women of the harem some distance away. One woman, possibly Roshanara Begum, was supervising a game or lesson of some sort.
“I understand, friend diwan,” he murmured, looking back at Firoz. “Is there anything I might do in order to help you rectify the situation?”
The elephant bugled once again, this time answered by the bull challenger brought to the field.
The diwan’s wide brow creased in worry. “That is just it, dear Salim: I had hoped you might be able to advise me. I am at my wit’s end, and the doctors have enough to do without my asking stupid questions about the moods of the Sultan Al’Azam.”
Salim considered that a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think they will think your questions stupid. Like ours, the up-timer medical practitioners seem to take an interest in all aspects of the body and how it might affect the mood.”
“They do?” Firoz looked skeptical.
“Well, they are not concerned with the spirit, at least as we define it, but they are concerned with the mind and how it might affect recovery, even in the case of injuries not involving the brain. So it stands to reason…”
“Good. I will consult with them.” The worry-knot between Firoz’s brows eased. He waved Salim to proceed him across the threshold into the royal apartments.
“Happy to be of even so small a service, my friend.”
Firoz smiled. “I regret that I cannot reciprocate with help timely enough to save you from the Sultan Al’Azam’s current mood, however.”
“Your warning is all a man could ask, Firoz.”
“Still, if I could stand between you and his anger, I would gladly do so. Even though he would make even my steely heart flutter with trepidation.”
“Such a warrior,” Salim said with a smile.
“Indeed I am,” Firoz said, pausing to take a warrior’s stance that looked slightly absurd from the soft little palace eunuch. “I will shield you, if I can.”
“And if you are overmastered, then I shall be a warrior myself, and weather his anger with whatever might I can muster.”
“Surely my stout defense will render any such attempts superfluous.”
Salim grinned. Reflecting that the bantering friendship they’d enjoyed almost from their very first meeting must have seemed unlikely to any outside observer.
A battle-hardened adventurer and a slippered palace servant enjoying each other’s company? Pah!
He was still smiling when Firoz led them through the royal apartments and out onto the balcony overlooking the fighting grounds.
Harem precincts
“What are you smiling about, Salim?” Dara asked as Salim and Firoz approached the slightly raised dais the emperor sat upon to watch the fights.
“Sultan Al’Azam?” Salim asked, stopped in his tracks by the emperor’s tone. He glanced about, relieved there were only four slaves in earshot of the conversation, though all of them were visibly tense.
Dara’s expression was stone. “You smiled. I ask what it is you are smiling about.”
Salim bowed, deeply. “Sultan Al’Azam, I smile because I am happy in your service.”
“You are, are you?”
“Indeed I am, Sultan Al’Azam.”
“Sultan Al’Az—” Firoz began, attempting to deflect the emperor’s wrath.
“When I want you to speak, eunuch, I will command it,” Dara said, glaring at Firoz.
Firoz prostrated himself. “Forgive me, Sultan Al’Azam,” he mumbled.
Dara ignored Firoz to focus his anger on Salim. “So, what is it about serving me that pleases you?”
Reeling a bit from the sudden vehemence of Dara’s attack, Salim struggled to find words that would not make him sound like a sycophant. “I have found many challenges in your service, Sultan Al’Azam.”
“Such as dishonoring my sister? Mocking my hospitality?” the emperor barked.
“Your s—” Salim began.
“Yes, my sister: Begum Sahib. No doubt you found it a grand
