Wild Jasmine (31 page)

“I do not understand you,” the Mughal said. “I myself requested that the Jesuits send me a priest for Yasaman’s household.”

“Indeed you did, gracious lord. In due time I was sent to you, a priest—
but not a member of the order of the Jesuits
. I was very surprised, although at the same time most grateful, that you never questioned the Church’s decision. The Jesuits are a powerful order and very jealous of their foothold here in India. I have had to walk carefully and defer to them at every turn lest they grow too curious themselves as to why I, and not one of their own, was sent to your daughter’s household. It was not an easy task that I was set when I was sent forth to India.”

The Mughal stared hard at the pleasant-faced priest as the import of his words penetrated his brain. “
Who are you?
” he finally asked quietly. “And how did you come to be here?”

“I was sent at your request, which was forwarded by the Jesuits to Paris. There, Bearach O’Dowd, a priest high in the Jesuit order, came into the picture. He heard of your desire and communicated with his childhood friend, an Irish bishop, who communicated with his sister. The result was that I, and not a Jesuit, was sent to India. You have met this Irish bishop yourself, but once. He is Michael O’Malley. His sister is Yasaman Kama Begum’s other grandmother, Lady de Marisco. I, gracious lord, am their nephew, the youngest son of Sine O’Malley Butler.

“When Father O’Dowd told my uncle Michael that a priest was required for the princess’s household, Lady de Marisco insisted that I be sent. In that way my aunt was always able to have firsthand accounts of her grandchild. Although she understood your reasons for not allowing the princess to come to England with her mother, she grieved for the grandchild lost to her. My aunt is a woman of strong values, gracious lord, and for her, family is everything.”

“If she knew of Yasaman’s progress through communication with you, Father Cullen, then why was she always pestering me with her letters?” the Mughal asked curiously.

“It was my aunt’s way of personally letting you know that she cared what happened to her granddaughter,” the priest answered.

Akbar sighed. “I think I should be angry that Lady de Marisco’s reach is so long. She must be a very powerful woman. Why did you not tell me until now, Father Cullen, that you are related by blood to my daughter? Perhaps you feared that I would send you away?”

“There was always that possibility, gracious lord. I was not sent here to spy, but rather to watch over my young relative. If you knew my aunt, you would understand, but I would not have you gain an incorrect picture of her. She is wealthy through her own efforts, proud, stubborn, and determined. She is the strongest woman I have ever known, and possibly the most noble.”

“Will she really welcome my daughter into her family?” Akbar asked Father Cullen. “And what of Yasaman’s mother, Candra? I cannot remember her other name. She has always been Candra in my heart and mind,” the emperor told the priest.

“The princess’s mother is called Velvet, and she is my cousin. I do not really know her except by reputation. I will take the princess to her grandmother, my aunt, in England. Velvet lives far to the north of her mother in another country called Scotland, although now that Scotland has inherited England’s throne, the two lands will certainly be joined, I am certain.”

“Has she other children, my daughter’s mother?” He had never before wanted to know such a thing, for the memories had been too painful. Now, however, it was different. His life was coming to an end, and the one thing that had bound him to Candra, their daughter, must leave him to go to England.

“She has borne her husband five sons,” Cullen Butler said.

“Five sons!” Akbar marveled. “What are their ages, Father?”

“The eldest is twelve, I believe, and the youngest five,” the priest told the Mughal. “There is also a stepdaughter from another alliance Velvet’s husband had. The girl is just a little older than the princess and will surely be a good sister to her.

“Lady de Marisco will, I think, want to keep the princess with her, however, gracious lord. As a beautiful and wealthy young widow, Yasaman will have a better opportunity to contract a fine marriage from her grandmother’s house than she would have if she went to her mother in Scotland. There is no court in Scotland any longer.”

Akbar nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I want my Yasaman to remarry and to be happy, Father. The love of a good man will help her to find contentment in her new life. Children too.” He sighed deeply. “Ahh, I shall never see the grandchildren my daughter gives me! I shall never be able to dandle them upon my knee, or take them tiger hunting in my howdah as I did Yasaman when she was just a small baby. How Candra scolded me over it, Father Cullen. I wonder if she ever forgave me for refusing to allow Yasaman to go with her. Now I must send our daughter to her for protection. I can only pray that she will love and welcome her as I would were our positions reversed.”

“The princess will be safe with her mother’s family, gracious lord, I swear it!” Cullen Butler told the Mughal sincerely.

“My daughter will not arrive in England a pauper,” Akbar said. “Your aunt’s ships put into Cambay once yearly, in midsummer. Yasaman will travel to England on one and her fortune will accompany her. There will be gold, jewels, spices, and silks. She will live out her days like the queen she was born to be. Our preparations, however, must remain a secret. Only Yasaman, her mother, Adali, you, and I can know what we are planning. If Prince Salim learns of Yasaman’s departure, he will stop her. I cannot prevent it. He is too strong for me now, and I am dying.”

“Can you live long enough to see to your daughter’s going, gracious lord?” the priest asked frankly. “It is a journey of several weeks to the coast. Such a large caravan will certainly attract attention.”

“You have a factor in Cambay, do you not?” Akbar queried.

“Aye. He is one of our own people.” A smile touched the corners of Cullen Butler’s lips. “By coincidence, he is one of
the princess’s cousins, Alain O’Flaherty, the third son of Lady de Marisco’s eldest child, Ewan O’Flaherty. He has been in charge of our establishment in Cambay for five years now, gracious lord.”

Akbar could not help but chuckle. “Your aunt is a
very
wise woman, Father. This grandson, I assume, is a younger son, and she has given him a chance to make his own fortune by coming to India.”

“Exactly, gracious lord! Family can usually be trusted, and in this case, young Alain was a good choice,” the priest said. “He knows nothing, of course, about Yasaman, but I will explain everything to him when we reach Cambay. Our timing is most crucial. We must sail for England before the end of August, or we will lose the trade winds. The voyage, my lord, is some five to six months, but going overland would be far more dangerous, and take us close to two years.”

“Send a messenger to him this very day, Father. I will provide you with one of my own people for the journey. Simply say that there will be shipments from Agra coming to him over the next few weeks that are to go to England. Tell him you will be coming to visit him midsummer and will then explain further. That should be soon enough. My daughter will need time to regain her strength, to try and recover from the shock of her husband’s murder and the loss of their child.”

“How will you keep her safe from your son, gracious lord?”

“Yasaman will remain in her mother’s care. Salim cannot predict the term of a woman’s grief. My daughter’s grief will be very, very great. Jamal’s body must be buried immediately according to his Muslim faith, but I will have his heart removed from his body to be buried in Kashmir. When it is time for Yasaman to journey to the coast, we will use a small ruse to cover her departure. Another caravan, this one carrying the heart of Jamal Khan, will depart for Kashmir. It will appear that the grieving young widow is with it. Salim dare not object to a wife accompanying her husband’s heart to its burial ground. He will feel secure in knowing where she is and that he can get to her at any time.”

The priest nodded. “You plan as skillfully as does my aunt,” he said with a smile.

The emperor chuckled. “How I should like to know that woman!” he said. “Tell me, Father. Is she beautiful? Candra was beautiful.”

“I only saw my cousin Velvet when she was a child, but my
aunt Skye is probably the most beautiful woman I have ever known. None of her daughters had the same beauty. Strangely, it is your daughter who reminds me most of my aunt in her youth, although the princess does not really look like her. My aunt has fair white skin, and dark, dark hair, and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are blue-green in color. She will be sixty-five this year, gracious lord, but the last time I saw her, those wonderful eyes had not dimmed in color.”

“Are her eyes then like my daughter’s?” the emperor asked. “I have always wondered where Yasaman got her eye color. Her mother’s were an emerald-green of incredible clarity.”

“No, gracious lord. The princess’s eyes are the blue of a Persian turquoise. My aunt’s are more like the blue-green waters off the coast of Kerry, a province of my native Ireland,” Cullen Butler replied. “My mother and her elder sisters were always jealous of my aunt’s great beauty. My aunt is the youngest of the sisters. Yet it was she who defied all tradition and went out into the world to conquer it. She succeeded, too, much to their chagrin,” the priest finished with a chuckle.

“Tell me of my daughter’s grandfather. I remember that Candra adored her father,” Akbar said.

“Adam de Marisco is my aunt’s sixth husband. She outlived the other five. His mother was French, his father English. The de Mariscos are a very ancient family. Adam is brave, and clever and witty, gracious lord. He is a large, fierce-looking man with the heart of a lion and the soul of a lamb. He totally understands my aunt, allowing her to do exactly as she pleases, for he knows that she is not a foolish woman. He will be absolutely delighted to have Yasaman in his house, and will undoubtedly spoil her every bit as much as I am told he spoiled her mother.”

The emperor smiled. “I send her to good people, do I not, Father Cullen?”

“You do, gracious lord. Her English family will love and cherish the princess. They defend their own. They will allow no harm to come to her. Once she has gotten over losing everything she has ever known, she will be happy with them. It will not be easy, gracious lord, but the princess is a strong woman, as her mother was strong; as Rugaiya Begum, the mother who raised her, is strong; as both her grandmothers, Mariam Makani of sainted memory, and my aunt Skye, are strong. Your daughter springs from a race of fierce women, gracious lord. Trust me. She will survive.”

* * *

The priest’s words sustained Akbar in the days that followed. They were turbulent days. Yasaman, after her first outburst of grief, mourned her husband and child with hard, cold eyes. She would allow no one to speak of the tragedy, shutting herself away from her family to weep bitter tears in the lonely hours of the night, when there were none to hear or see her deep sorrow.

Yusef Khan had been devastated by Jamal Khan’s death, and even more so by the knowledge that his youngest son had died at the hands of his elder brothers. Akbar kept Salim’s part in the murder to himself. Salim was his undisputed heir and needed no more enemies than he already had. Yusef Khan resigned his position in the emperor’s service in order to return to Kashmir to oversee his remaining family, which included the wives and children that his older sons had left.

“I applaud your swift justice, gracious lord,” he told Akbar, “even if it meant the loss of all my sons. I will see my grandsons learn their loyalty to you and to your chosen descendants.”

Akbar nodded sadly, reluctantly allowing him to go, but it was better this way. He knew that all of Yasaman’s ties to Kashmir had to be severed.

Word reached the emperor in Agra that his youngest son, Daniyal, had died in Burhanpur on March 11, 1605, the very day that he had held his fiftieth-year celebration Darbar. Daniyal’s father-in-law, under Akbar’s orders, had attempted to wean the young man from his weakness for wine, but one of his servants had brought the forbidden beverage into the prince’s chamber, hidden in the barrel of his favorite gun. The wine mixed with the gunpowder residue, and the rust of the iron interior of the weapon poisoned the prince as soon as he drank, killing him.

The family mourned Daniyal, who had been a charming man, and Salim became even more careful of his health than before. Both his brothers had died of an excess of wine. It was a warning he took most seriously, particularly as he saw that the news of Daniyal’s death, coming as it did on top of Jamal Khan’s death, took a great toll on Akbar. The Mughal seemed to shrink and grow more feeble before their very eyes. His mother and Rugaiya Begum, as well as the other wives, were visibly worried; but Salim, though filled with sorrow on one hand, secretly rejoiced. Soon his father would be dead. He
would rule, and Yasaman would be his to possess forever without interference.

He had not seen her in several weeks now, for she had, it seemed, been with child when Jamal Khan had met his most unfortunate death. Yasaman had miscarried of her infant and was slow to recover her strength, or so Rugaiya Begum claimed. He had not considered the possibility that she might be pregnant when he had ordered her husband’s death, but it was better the child was lost. He wanted no loving reminders of the Kashmiri prince who had captured his sister’s heart. Eventually she would forget Jamal Khan, Salim thought, because there would not be room in her heart for anyone but himself.

As spring moved toward summer, the prince learned that his sister would accompany her husband’s heart home to Kashmir. Good! he thought. That will put an end to it once and for all. She will be where I can get to her when I want her.

His sister’s departure was to be the morning after the Holi festival, and Salim intended to visit her the night of the festival. Though a Hindu fete, Holi was celebrated by everyone in India, for it was such a happy time. It fell on the day of the summer equinox, and the barriers between men and women, as well as between castes, magically disappeared. The legends concerning Holi were ancient. It seemed originally to have been a fertility rite.