Equal of the Sun A Novel

CHAPTER 8



A STAR PLUMMETS





When Faranak heard that her son had unseated Zahhak, I am certain she threw herself down in prayer and thanked God for his blessings. No doubt she opened her home to the less fortunate and offered a feast to them every day for a week.

If I had been present at the festivities, I would have called the crowd to attention and said this: “Kind Khanoom, there is more to this story than you in your modesty have revealed. If you had not been clever enough to find the cowherd and his glorious cow, Fereydoon would have perished before he started to walk. If you had not taken him to India to be trained by a sage, he would have failed to learn wisdom. If you had not demanded justice for the murder of his father, he would not have burned for revenge. If you had not prevented him from attacking Zahhak before he was ready, he would have been killed. If you had neglected to share your kind heart with him, he would never have learned mercy. Praise, oh praise for Faranak the wise!”





Word was sent to Mohammad Khodabandeh in Shiraz that he had been chosen as the new shah. Like Isma‘il, he didn’t believe it at first. He had been under house arrest for so many months, it was no surprise he thought it was a trick to test his loyalty to his brother. At first, he ordered that the envoy be executed to avoid the plot he was certain was being laid for him, but the envoy saved himself by suggesting that he merely be imprisoned for a few days until the truth about Isma‘il’s death could be verified. Eventually, when the evidence was overwhelming, the envoy was released and Mohammad agreed to come to Qazveen and take up his new post.

At the palace, no serious attempt was made to discover who had poisoned Isma‘il. After the physician’s final report deemed the cause of death unclear, Mirza Salman had worked hard to convince the amirs that running the country was more important than chasing a plot that may not have existed. Since it was uncertain what had killed the Shah, he argued, it was senseless to seek reprisal. They had enough to do.

Naturally, I was relieved when it became clear that no one would be punished, yet surprised the men relinquished their duties so easily. They seemed to me to be the worst kind of cowards: cringing under their leader’s demands, mouthing the right words to win his approbation, hating him in their hearts, yet doing nothing to stop his evil deeds while he was alive—nothing. These were the nobles of our land, the men whose presence had filled me with adulation when I was a child. Now I knew that despite all their gold and titles and weapons, they quaked with fear. Brave men were rare indeed.

After three days of mourning, the noblemen were summoned to the princess’s house for their first meeting with her. On the appointed day, her servants set up the blue velvet curtain that would conceal her from the men at her home. Pari secreted herself behind the curtain, and we tested whether I could hear her voice from every corner of the room, just as we had long ago. But this time, she delighted me by reciting a section from the Shahnameh about how the great hero Rostam had tamed his ferocious steed, who became his most loyal companion. From every point I listened, her voice was loud and strong.

Soon after the cannon boomed, everyone sat down to their first meal of the day, as it was still Ramazan. Hands reached eagerly for drinks, and once the first wave of thirst was satisfied, we settled down to enjoy bread, cheese, nuts, and fruit. I was still chewing my food in the company of Pari’s other eunuchs when Shamkhal Cherkes arrived. I leapt to my feet to attend to the princess.

After greeting Pari, Shamkhal said, “I came early to ask if you wish me to be your representative to the men, as before.”

The princess thought about it for a moment and then said, “Thank you, Uncle, but you won’t be needed.”

Shamkhal looked as if he wished he could fold into his own large body. In that moment, the cowardice shown by Pari’s own kin struck me with full force. Court life had made them fearful and changeable. Even as they swore loyalty, they were peering over their shoulder to see who could boost them higher.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“I have been on my own all this time, haven’t I?”

He looked chastened. “If I may assist you, I will do so gladly.”

“Perhaps another time.”

I had never seen her look more like a princess than at that moment.

“Actually,” she added all of a sudden, “I have already asked Javaher to lead the meeting.”

She hadn’t asked, but I was pleased by the faith she showed in me. Of course I wanted to represent her to the nobles.

Before the men began to arrive, Pari seated herself behind the curtain. I was gratified to see a dozen of the leading noblemen and palace officials, notably Amir Khan Mowsellu, Pir Mohammad Khan, Anwar Agha, Khalil Khan—who had been Pari’s guardian when she was a child—Morshad Khan, Mirza Salman, and several others take their places according to rank. They were as quiet and respectful as if meeting with the Shah. How different from when the princess had called them to order before Isma‘il had arrived!

Standing on the platform in front of her curtain, I looked out with confidence on the sober nobles, their silk robes impeccable, red batons erect in the qizilbash’s turbans. “Prepare to pay heed to the princess, lion of the Safavis, lord of orders,” I instructed them in a firm voice.

The men heeded me in a way they had never done before, my changed status reflected in their very posture. When they were so still that we could hear the footsteps of someone walking through the square, the princess began to speak from behind the curtain in a low, melodious voice.

“My good noblemen,” she said, “welcome. Once again in little more than a year, we face the necessity of keeping the country intact until our new shah arrives to claim his throne. My goal is to deliver to him a functioning government and a capital city where law prevails. All of you will be asked to assist me in avoiding the problems we had last time.”

“It is our duty, princess,” Mirza Salman replied, speaking for the men.

“Our shah-to-be will arrive soon. First he will travel to Qom to pay his respects to his mother and to thank God for the safety of his sons, except for the much-lamented Sultan Hassan Mirza. Then he will enter the palace according to his astrologers’ recommendations for an auspicious arrival. If everything is to be ready, we have much work ahead of us.”

“Mark well the words of royalty,” said Shamkhal Cherkes proudly, even though Mirza Salman now outranked him and should have been the one to speak.

“Anwar Agha will be in charge of organizing the coronation ceremonies within the palace,” Pari continued. “He and I will be consulting daily, and he will inform you of your responsibilities in this matter.”

“When shall we go to Qom to pay our respects to our new shah?” asked Mirza Salman.

“Not until the palace is completely in order,” Pari replied. “No one has permission to leave his post unless it is given directly by me. Is that understood by everyone?”

“We shall obey,” the men replied.

“Good. That said, let me remind you that the principal duty of a leader is to provide justice. Remember Nizam al-Mulk’s story of the poor widow and Anushirvan the just? One of Anushirvan’s nobles expropriated the land of the widow because he wanted to expand his estate. After the woman complained to Anushirvan and he verified her story, the nobleman was skinned and stuffed. All of his property was bequeathed to the woman, but even more important, Anushirvan’s subjects learned he would be uncompromising about enforcing justice. That is the kind of court we will aspire to in the future.”

The noblemen looked at each other, wondering, it seemed, what exactly Pari was going to hold them responsible for. But then she added sugar to the stew.

“Accordingly, my first act as the new shah’s representative will be to restore justice. Many noblemen have been sent to the palace prison because they fell out of favor. I hereby order that those men be released to their families.”

A great shout of approval burst out from the men. “May God be praised!” said Khalil Khan.

“Are you including those who supported Haydar?” asked Pir Mohammad Khan.

“I am. Sadr al-din Khan Ostajlu will be one of the first to be set free.”

“May God rain his blessings on you!” he replied. “How sweet is this day.”

“Before celebrating, I need to hear from all of you about the problems in the realm. Mirza Salman, you may speak first.”

He cleared his throat. “Many provincial governorships still remain empty, threatening our stability. They include the posts vacated by the tragic demise of the princes.”

“The delays have been inexcusable,” Pari replied. “You and your men may develop a list of recommendations in consultation with me. I will present the list to the new shah and urge a quick decision, especially where our borders are most vulnerable.”

“Chashm,” said Mirza Salman.

I could already see some of the men looking hopeful; they would be sure to petition her for their sons and retainers to be granted those posts. For Pari, it would be an excellent opportunity to put her own men in powerful positions, men who would then owe allegiance to her.

Morshad Khan, the noble in charge of the palace guard, asked to be recognized next.

“I am concerned about the treasury. Isma‘il’s men are still on guard, but with a change of shah at hand, they may not be trustworthy. In addition, if our enemies hear the news and suspect we’re vulnerable, they could attack.”

The treasury was located in a low, fortified building near Forty Columns Hall. It was hidden behind thick walls and guarded by soldiers. Very few people were permitted to enter, and every entry was recorded in a book.

Pari’s answer was immediate. “Shamkhal Cherkes, organize a retinue of Circassian guards and make sure they don’t stint in their duty to protect the treasury day and night.”

“Chashm,” he replied, smiling broadly now that he had been honored with such an important task.

“Princess, wouldn’t it be better if the guard consisted of several groups, including the qizilbash?” Mirza Salman asked.

“Don’t you trust us?” Shamkhal shot back.

“That is not the point. A mixed group will require everyone to take responsibility for protecting the country’s wealth.”

“Answer my question!” commanded Shamkhal.

“It is not a real question,” said Mirza Salman, holding his ground. “Moreover, it seems to me it would be easy to prove which one of us is the most loyal.”

“Are you threatening me?” Shamkhal’s eyes bulged with his overeagerness to do something.

“I am merely stating a fact.”

Two weeks before they had barely been speaking to Pari, and now they were ready to come to blows to prove themselves!

“Stop this unseemly sparring,” Pari commanded from behind the curtain. “Mirza Salman has a point. I will ask the Takkalu to join the Circassians in guarding the treasury.”

The Takkalu had become her allies, ever since the Ostajlu had returned to Isma‘il’s favor.

“That would be the only fair thing to do,” said Mirza Salman.

Shamkhal looked enraged; he had lost almost every battle so far. Mirza Salman smiled at him, taunting him. All of a sudden, I remembered how hard Mirza Salman had worked to take Mirza Shokhrollah down. It had started just like this, with a sneer at a meeting.

“The princess has closed discussion on this issue,” I told the assembly in a firm voice. “We will proceed to the next topic.”

“What about our revenues? Are we receiving the monies owed from the provinces?” Pari asked.

“We have a shortfall from the southwest,” replied the eunuch Farhad Agha, whom Isma‘il had put in charge of treasury revenues.

“Why?”

Khalil Khan asked to be recognized. He had a formidable nose and was known for playing backgammon with masterly deception. He would appear to lose for a long time into the game, then score point after point until his enemy was crushed.

“There has been an earthquake in my province, and many harvesters have been killed. We need time to recover.”

“It is granted,” Pari replied, “but I will expect a thorough report on the status of the harvest in the next month.”

Hameed Khan, a young nobleman, asked to be recognized next. “I wish to report a success. After Badi al-Zaman died in Sistan, we endured a full-scale rebellion in my province, but the conspirators have been unmasked and vanquished, and now our border is safe and strong. I thank the esteemed princess for understanding the severity of the danger we faced before anyone else did.”

“That is what a leader is for,” Pari replied.

“We honor you for it. You have been a lion where others might quake.”

“After this meeting, everyone should contact their retainers and ask if there are any threats of revolt or invasion in their provinces. Report to me as soon as you receive an answer. Don’t forget that our enemies will soon learn about the Shah’s death and will be eager to take advantage.”

“Chashm,” the men replied.

“I continue to be concerned about affairs in Van. Rumors abound that the Ottoman governor there, Khosro Pasha, is poised to attack us. Ali Khan Shamlu, I want you to lead an army to Khui to show our strength and discourage his plans. Nothing is more important than preserving my father’s hard-won peace with the Ottomans.”

“Al-lah! Al-lah! Al-lah!” chanted the men, and Ali Khan looked pleased that he would finally get to carry out the mission that Pari had assigned before Isma‘il had stopped him.

“Are there any other concerns?”

Khalil Khan stood up. “There have been rumors of irregularities at the palace,” he said, wagging his finger at the curtain. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“State your business,” I demanded.

“Some have gone so far as to claim that the Shah was murdered,” he charged.

Since Khalil had been Pari’s guardian long ago, which usually resulted in a lifelong bond, I wondered why he had decided to challenge her so publicly.

“The physician’s report was inconclusive,” I reminded him.

“It is my duty to let the princess know about rumors that a murder plot was hatched in the harem.”

I stiffened and frowned at him.

“That is preposterous,” said Shamkhal, leaping to his feet. “What are you implying?”

From behind her curtain, Pari said, “Curious rumors are always circulating among you men about the royal harem. You seem to imagine it as an opium den full of connivers, but it is more like an army regiment organized by rank and task. How could you know what goes on in the harem? Have you ever been inside?”

“Of course not,” said Khalil Khan.

“Then I think you are best off leaving such concerns to me.”

The men laughed, and Khalil Khan’s face reddened. “Now wait a minute. If Isma‘il Shah was murdered, what is to prevent the same thing from happening to the next one? We would all be fools not to fear a murderer on the loose.”

Some of the men actually looked disquieted. Amir Khan’s mouth pulled down into a frown. God be praised, they were afraid of her!

“It is difficult to imagine things will worsen, after all that has happened in recent months,” Pari replied. “Still, I give you my word that as long as you obey orders, I will stand by you. As you know, I never abandoned you. Even when I was forbidden to participate in palace affairs, I argued for clemency for the condemned at great cost to myself.”

“She speaks the truth,” said Shamkhal.

“In exchange, I ask for your loyalty now as I assume my new role as Mohammad Khodabandeh’s chief advisor. Men, what is your verdict?”

“Make all your voices heard,” I instructed the nobles.

“Hail to the best graybeard a country could have!” shouted Pir Mohammad Khan, whose enthusiasm no doubt reflected the news about his imprisoned relative.

“Al-lah! Al-lah!” yelled Shamkhal, starting up the chant.

The rest of the men joined in the roar. “Al-lah! Al-lah! Al-lah!”

The sound echoed the joyous pumping of my heart. I rushed behind the curtain to find Pari already on her feet. She looked, all of a sudden, exactly like her father, tall and slender in a saffron robe. She was neither smiling nor cowed, but completely at ease with being in charge. Though the men would never admit it, her bravery had tamed them. It seemed to me that the royal farr had penetrated her so completely that it illuminated her from within. Some would say it was in her blood, but I knew she had earned every glimmer of it, and my heart swelled with pride.



Organizing the upcoming coronation occupied everyone for the next few days, including the lowliest errand boy. The noblemen arrived to receive their orders early in the morning, eager to show their loyalty. Everyone took a long rest in the afternoon. After breaking the fast at night, Pari and I continued working on the essential tasks of running the palace. Then she and I often consulted until shortly before dawn, when we would take a break to eat another meal. Pari was finally being permitted to do the work she had trained for at her father’s side, and she glowed with satisfaction. Even her mother remarked that she seemed as radiant as a new bride, and she no longer bothered her about getting married.

As for me, I had become a man of significance. When the nobles assembled in her waiting room, they arrived early to get my ear. They told me their problems, begging for my intercession. I did what I could to help those who seemed honest and who could aid the princess.

On the last day of Ramazan, the Day of Feasting, we were all in the mood for a grand celebration. Excessive indulgence was forbidden because the Shah had died so recently, but Pari prepared a respectful celebration for her ladies and her eunuchs to mark the end of the fasting month. A woman schooled in religion recited to us, reminding us that the Qur’an was revealed to the Prophet Mohammad, peace be upon him, during Ramazan. I prayed fiercely, asking for forgiveness for my recent deeds and hoping they would be judged justified in the eyes of God.

Right after the new moon was sighted, we were served a festive meal beyond our imaginings. There were haunches of roast lamb, long skewers of kabob, rice studded with herbs, beans, or dried fruits, and countless stews. I started with one of my favorite dishes of lamb stewed with parsley, fenugreek, coriander, and green onion, flavored with the small tart lemons that gave the dish its special bite. I ate it with a cooling serving of yogurt mixed with cucumber and mint, enjoying the way the flavors married each other on my tongue. The errand boys, who were especially attentive to me now that I was Pari’s closest confidant, came by repeatedly offering me drinks and hot bread, and to satisfy them, I accepted their offerings. Massoud Ali sat with me for a few moments until the lure of games called him into Pari’s courtyard, where the other boys were lighting fireworks and shouting with excitement. I went outside and watched the children play for a while.

“Oy, defective!” I heard all of a sudden. “Are you man enough to play a game of backgammon with me?”

It was Ardalan taunting Massoud Ali. I squelched the urge I felt to jump up and defend him. I had worked for months to strengthen him in body and mind, and now I must let him test his own resolve.

The taunts continued. Massoud Ali’s small fists tensed at his sides. “You talk big, but you are nothing but a coward!” he yelled back.

Ardalan’s face reddened. Massoud Ali charged toward him and poked him in the sternum with the knuckles of his left hand.

“Are you man enough to lose?”

“What?”

“Well, are you?” Massoud Ali demanded, bristling like a cornered cat.

Ardalan stepped back and raised his open hands. “Of course. Let’s set up the board.”

I made sure that Massoud Ali saw my proud smile. Then I left the boys to their game and returned inside.

It was time for the poetry recitation. The princess had found a blind man who used to perform for her father, and since he could not see, there was no problem admitting him into the ladies’ quarters. Once we had all eaten our fill, she asked him to recite for us from the Shahnameh. As he tuned his six-stringed tar, Pari turned to me. “Tonight my dear father is much on my mind,” she said. “So much has happened in the year and a half since he died.”

“You speak the truth. It is as if we have lived two lifetimes in that short period. How proud he would be to see how well you rule!”

Her smile reflected something more noble than pride; it was the certainty of how well she now fulfilled her role. “Yet my plans are different from his,” she said. “He gave up the arts of the book and most kinds of poetry because he wished to be pious. I want to bring all those things back and make this court the paragon of its age. We will hire artists, calligraphers, gilders, painters, and poets, and we will create competitions and prizes to encourage talent both old and new. Men’s hearts will soar again from contact with the joy of poetry and the beauty of art. Instead of simply honoring masters of the past, we will create the lights of the future. Javaher, I want you to help me achieve this dream.”

After all we had endured, to be able to create a court celebrating beauty, learning, and dignity! How glorious!

Pari smiled and I felt her radiance, strong and true, as the reciter began. The birooni became quiet and we listened to his melodious voice bringing to life Ferdowsi’s words. Although written five hundred years before our time, they still stirred my blood with the desire to fulfill Pari’s dreams.

Noble and valiant warriors, see that you

Act righteously in everything you do—

If you would have God turn your present night

To dawn and victory with His glorious might

See that in darkness when trumpets sound

You leap into the saddle from the ground

And ride as if the sun itself arose

At midnight to do battle with our foes.

Don’t dream of rest until the battle’s done

Rest is for when our victory is won.

I looked at Pari, who was listening to the reciter as if he were the only person in the room, and I imagined her as Fereydoon liberating the people from an evil force. I thought it was no accident that Ferdowsi’s greatest tale made heroes of three different types of people: a mother, a blacksmith, and a noble. Without all of them working together, how would victory ever have been achieved?

The end of the month of fasting was always a time of high spirits and generosity. I took the opportunity to ask Pari if I could send for Jalileh, and she graciously granted her permission for her arrival after the New Year holiday, when new recruits to the harem would begin receiving their training. By then I would also have received a substantial portion of my increased salary. Since the New Year was more than three months away and the succession of the new shah could disrupt all promises, I decided not to share the specifics of the news with Jalileh until it was a certainty. She had been so disappointed by the last delay that I did not want to bruise her again. Instead I wrote to say that things were settling down at the palace and that I was hopeful for a resolution in the spring.



Right after Ramazan, Mohammad Khodabandeh sent a group of his men to ready the palace for himself and his family. They met with Anwar Agha, who permitted the eunuchs among them to examine the buildings on the harem grounds, scrutinizing the residence for sharp corners, unexpected flights of stairs, or open balconies that could prove dangerous to a blind man. The eunuchs suggested modifications after consulting with the palace architects.

The next time that Mohammad Khodabandeh’s retainers came to the palace, they arrived in a much bigger group that included soldiers. Pari and I were told that they had been sent to check on the status of the modifications to the palace. Late that afternoon, however, Anwar Agha sent a message to the princess that there was conflict brewing at the treasury, and she dispatched a message to her uncle and sent me to the birooni to determine what was happening.

As I wrapped myself in a warm robe and rushed toward Forty Columns Hall, I remembered the soldiers tearing the hearts out of the rosebushes when Haydar was killed and hoped I wasn’t about to witness another clash. It was a cold, wet day, and the trees I passed looked burdened with snow. In front of the treasury, Shamkhal’s Circassian soldiers stood guard along with the Takkalu, as I had expected. They stamped their feet and shuffled from side to side to stay warm. But there was also another group of armed men facing them.

“The shah-to-be commands it,” their leader was saying, his breath visible in the air. I recognized him as one of the Ostajlu.

“My orders are to stay here,” replied the head of the Circassian guard.

The men glared at each other, their hands on their weapons.

“Salaam aleikum, my good soldiers,” I said in my most commanding voice. “Shamkhal Cherkes is on his way. You must respect the palace grounds until then. Have you already forgotten what happened the last time a group of soldiers brought their squabbles here?”

I gestured meaningfully in the direction of the prison. That quieted them for a moment, and they agreed to wait for Shamkhal. I ran back to tell Pari the news. She and her uncle were meeting with Mirza Salman.

“Princess, I beg you to change your mind,” I heard Mirza Salman say from his side of the lattice.

“What is your reasoning?”

“The first thing the new shah will want to know is whether you are bowing to his wishes.”

“But his idea is terrible.”

“I think that disobeying will bring even worse results.”

“Don’t you see this as the tribal conflict it is? The Ostajlu are trying to dominate the court again. We can’t permit that.”

“But the Shah can favor whomever he likes.”

“Do you obey an order even when it is stupid?”

Shamkhal guffawed loudly. “Obviously he does.”

“What idiot said that?” asked Mirza Salman.

“It is Shamkhal, and you are the idiot now.”

I wished Shamkhal and Pari would be more diplomatic. Mirza Salman had become too powerful to offend.

“Your question brings to mind one of the stories in the Shahnameh about the ruler Kavus,” he replied in a neutral tone. “Do you remember how he decided to invent a flying machine and tried to soar in it like a bird? His men thought it was a stupid idea, but they assisted the king until Kavus injured himself in the failed invention. The lesson of that story, I think, is that when you are in service, you must stand by your leader’s decisions, even if they are wrong.”

“So I should put our country’s finances at risk and allow the tribes to clash just to show Mohammad that I am at his service?”

“Yes, princess. That is my opinion.”

Pari turned to me to ask what I thought. “He is right,” I whispered. “Let us make sure the new shah loves and trusts you before opposing him.”

Pari’s face darkened. “Mohammad is too weak to oppose anything,” she whispered back.

“What about his wife?”

“She is only a woman,” she said, which made her uncle laugh.

In a louder voice, she said to Mirza Salman, “I am grateful for your counsel, but for the good of the country, I can’t agree. Mohammad’s men will be sent away.”

There was a long silence on the other side of the lattice while Pari waited, pulling impatiently at a loose thread on her sash.

“Esteemed princess, I implore you not to countermand his orders. Don’t get shunted aside like the last time,” Mirza Salman said.

“But I am right about this!” Pari replied, her voice rising in frustration. “If the Ostajlu succeed, they will feel entitled to concessions. Moreover, how do I know they can be trusted as guards? I refuse to risk my country’s wealth.”

“Princess, what if the treasury is placed under the control of all three tribes—the Circassians, the Takkalu, and the Ostajlu?”

I thought this was a good solution. Pari could claim to have obeyed the order while still retaining a lot of control. “It is an excellent idea!” I whispered.

She ignored me. To Mirza Salman, she said, “They will squabble among themselves.”

“Your refusal could expose the palace to an internal war,” Mirza Salman argued.

“My answer is no.”

“How, then, do you plan to pacify the men?” he asked.

“I will take care of it,” said Shamkhal. “There are some things a Tajik administrator just can’t do.”

The insult was as harsh as the taste of metal.

“Uncle!” Pari exclaimed. “Tajik and Turk commingle in the blood of the Safavis, as you know! How can one live without the other?”

Since I had the veins of both, I had to agree.

“And what of the Circassians?” Mirza Salman charged, but wisely didn’t say more. All of us knew that the Circassians and the Georgians, being newcomers to the court compared to the qizilbash, were trying to force their way into better positions.

“What of them? We are as fierce as anyone,” Shamkhal said.

“We are all Iranians,” Pari pointed out.

“If only the tribes saw it that way. Everyone is working for the advantage of his own group: Ostajlu for Ostajlu, Circassian for Circassian. Must it always be so?” Mirza Salman asked.

In other words, would Pari take her uncle’s side against him from now on?

“No,” she replied. “But my decision about the treasury stands.”

There was a long, aggrieved pause. “For God’s sake, princess! It is a mistake,” he said.

“I agree with Mirza Salman,” I insisted in a whisper, although it felt peculiar to do so, given that he had failed to tell me how well he knew the accountant who murdered my father.

Pari’s eyes shot flames of disapproval at me. “Shamkhal, go quell the men,” she ordered. “Mirza Salman, you are dismissed.”

Had she learned nothing from her experience with Isma‘il? Why must she insist on maintaining control when it might cause her to lose her battle of influence over the new shah? I could only hope that Mohammad was as willing to be swayed as she seemed to think.

“Javaher, I told you long ago that I won’t always agree with your advice,” she said when we were alone.

“Yet I must give it. I fear you are being swayed by your desire to rule.”

“You are quite wrong: My decision is entirely strategic. Mohammad must understand that he cannot wrest anything away from me. I will not repeat the mistakes I made when I trusted Isma‘il to reward my efforts. I failed to maintain any leverage, which made it easy to shunt me aside. This time, I will meet power with power of my own, and the fiercest lion will win.”

Her eyes blazed as if she was ready to fight then and there. I stared at her, awestruck.

“I am risking everything with this strategy,” she continued, “but I am doing it for Iran. Think of the people who will suffer if the Ottomans or the Uzbeks invade! Think of how our land will be bloodied by our own soldiers if there is another civil war! I must act for Iranians who can’t act for themselves. Royal blood flows in my veins, and this is my duty, whether I live or die.”

Her impassioned words sounded like a battle cry. I was silent for a moment, contemplating the weightiness of her declaration.

“Do you mean to rebel?” I asked quietly.

“If I must.”

I stepped back in surprise.

Her eyes sought mine and held them. “If it comes to that, I will need your help more than ever.”

Was this what loyalty required? Had my father felt similar doubts about his leader?

Of course he had.



That evening, Balamani told me that Anwar had witnessed Mirza Salman and Shamkhal Cherkes arguing in front of the treasury. Mirza Salman urged the Circassian and Takkalu guards to obey Mohammad’s orders by disbanding, while at the same time, Shamkhal threatened the Ostajlu with reprisals if they didn’t disperse. When Mirza Salman wouldn’t back down, mighty Shamkhal drew his sword and brandished it.

“You may be the grand vizier,” he shouted, “but you are still a weakling!”

Mirza Salman flushed to the top of his forehead and stormed away, his face as red as if he had a sunburn. What a humiliation for someone who fancied himself in the role of a soldier!

After that, Shamkhal threatened the Ostajlu until they backed down. The Ostajlu didn’t like it, but Shamkhal was a powerful nobleman, with the intimidating girth of a bear. The only other choice would have been to fight him, the Circassians, and the Takkalu, which they decided wasn’t worth the likelihood of relinquishing all the pleasures of this earth.

When Pari heard about Mirza Salman’s behavior, she was greatly displeased that he had inflamed the situation rather than obeying her orders. She called him in to explain himself, and I joined him on the visitor’s side of the lattice, the better to watch him.

“I am sorry, princess. I was deeply afraid that Mohammad might consider your opposition an act of treason,” he said. “I was trying to protect you from being branded disobedient.”

“How dare you suggest treason?” asked Pari, her voice shaking with fury.

“Princess,” said Mirza Salman, with desperation in his voice, “I feel it is my duty to warn you of consequences, however unpleasant.”

“Don’t you understand? Nothing is treasonous unless it is treason against me!”

It was tantamount to declaring herself shah. Mirza Salman looked as astounded as I felt. No matter how angry, she couldn’t make such claims without the risk of being declared a traitor.

“Princess, all is being done as you ordered. The treasury is being guarded as you wish. The royal armies have been sent to the northwest to protect our borders. The palace runs according to your desires. And yet—a new shah will take over very soon.”

“Leave me to manage that.”

“The situation is very delicate.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, my lieutenant.”

There was a long silence, during which Mirza Salman paced around the small room. “Princess, may I speak? There is something else that concerns me greatly.”

“Well?”

“It is your uncle. Will he ever be reined in?”

“He was protecting my desires. I don’t approve of his behavior toward you, but neither do I condone yours toward me. You were disobedient.”

“Rose of the Safavis,” said the grand vizier, “I expect that family ties will always bind you two together. But how do I stand now in your eyes? Will you advocate for me with the new shah?”

In other words, would she recommend that he be retained as the grand vizier? Most servants wouldn’t have dared ask so directly. I sensed so much urgency in the question that I left the room abruptly to tell Pari I thought she should hear him out.

When I arrived on her side of the lattice, the princess still sounded angry. “There is always a place for obedient servants,” she was saying. “Are you such a servant?”

“I do my best,” Mirza Salman replied. “Right now, it is difficult to avoid being caught between your desires and those of the shah-to-be.”

“Princess—” I whispered, but she held up her hand to silence me.

“I should like you to prove your loyalty to me in coming weeks.”

“God willing, I shall.”

“Do that, then. You may go now, and return when you have found a way to show the depth of your obedience.”

Her tone was quite cold.

“Princess,” I said after he had left, “let’s not make the mistake that your brother did by refusing to show favor to his best servants. Let Mirza Salman know that you still value him and give him a reason for hope.”

Pari’s fury evaporated so quickly I realized that she had been playing a role. “Don’t worry, I will. Mirza Salman must not think, just because he is grand vizier, that he can take his position for granted or that he can tell me what to do. When he disobeys, he must be chastised, otherwise he will do it again. I am testing him right now to see whether he will be a faithful servant, and whether he has the ferocity of character to stand with us to the end.”



Shortly after the incident at the treasury, Mohammad Khodabandeh and his family arrived at the holy city of Qom. They lodged at the home of his mother, Sultanam, who had moved there because she could no longer bear court intrigue, and they paid their respects to God at the local mosques. The noblemen at court began to agitate to be allowed to visit him in Qom, hoping to begin the process of winning his favor, but Pari insisted that they remain at the palace to finish their duties. They chafed under her rules, but so great was her power that most obeyed.

Mirza Salman was an exception. He called on her and asked her permission to pay his respects to Mohammad, arguing that he thought it would be wise if he explained the incident at the treasury as well as her decision to send armed men to shore up the country against Ottoman invasion.

Pari and I heard him out on her side of the lattice.

“Princess, I wish to smooth the way for your first meeting with the Shah. I will ensure that there are no malicious tongues sowing seeds of conflict between you and your brother. You asked me to prove my loyalty to you. I will do so.”

“What is the hurry?”

“I am a cautious man. When the Shah arrives, he will be overwhelmed with visitors and it will be difficult to make an impression on him. I wish to tell him of all your successes, starting with how you helped Isma‘il to power and ending with your efforts to put the palace in good order before Mohammad’s own arrival. I believe I can convince him how much he needs you.”

“Is that the sum of what you plan to do?”

“No,” he said. “Naturally, I wish to be retained as grand vizier. If he agrees, I will continue to be of service to him and to you.”

Pari whispered to me, “At least he admits to his own desires.”

Shamkhal had been terrorizing Mirza Salman whenever he saw him around the palace. He would draw his dagger and slit the tip of his finger to show how sharp the weapon was or make gruesome comments about enemies left on the battlefield as fodder for vultures. He kept threatening Mirza Salman as if to make up for the fact that his own position at the palace was now inferior to the grand vizier’s. Mirza Salman wanted to leave, I suspected, because he felt threatened. I was of two minds about whether he should be let go.

“Mirza Salman, you have my permission to leave under two conditions. You won’t announce your departure, and you will write to me shortly after you meet with my brother to let me know his views of my actions. You are being granted an exception because of my faith in you.”

“Thank you, esteemed princess. I am honored by your confidence in me.”

“What are you planning to say about the treasury?”

“That you had the best interests of the country at heart.”

As I showed him out, a brief smile brightened his features. He looked like a man who had gotten something he wanted very badly.



Pari and her uncle Shamkhal had become close again and strategized together every day, although they often disagreed. Despite Shamkhal’s role in Mirza Salman’s departure, he thought Pari had made a grave mistake by letting the grand vizier go to Qom. During one of the times that they sat closeted together in her private rooms, Shamkhal argued that Mirza Salman would be free to say whatever he wished about her to Mohammad.

“Advancing his own position is his greatest skill. Look how he rid himself of Mirza Shokhrollah.”

“Uncle, do you have evidence of his disloyalty?”

Shamkhal equivocated, his eyes flicking around the room. “Why not wait until the Shah arrives and explain your decisions to him yourself? No one can do so better than you.”

Pari paused to think for a moment. “I don’t oppose Mirza Salman advancing himself. If he convinces Mohammad to retain him as grand vizier, that will serve my interests. The three of us will be an excellent team. Mirza Salman and I will strategize, and the Shah will tell the nobles what to do.”

“You don’t know him the way I do, from all the times we served Isma‘il together.”

“What exactly do you know?”

“He is not trustworthy.”

“What is the evidence?”

“His behavior. I have seen him flatter a courtier one day as if he were his best friend, then scheme to bring him down the next. By God above, child, why don’t you heed my words?” Shamkhal sounded exasperated.

The princess gave him a cold stare. “I think it is time for me to follow my own counsel,” she replied.

The big man wilted under her gaze, her royal farr too bright for him to withstand. I decided to visit Fereshteh. Perhaps one of her clients would have heard something about Mirza Salman’s true intentions.

I walked to her house one morning feeling heavy in my heart for a reason I didn’t understand. It was the middle of winter, and the city looked cold and frozen in the early light. I counted the months since Khadijeh’s death and realized that the better part of a year had passed. My single-minded pursuit of the shah had allowed me to squelch my grief. Now that the terror of Isma‘il was finally gone, my grief for Khadijeh surged afresh. I didn’t know where she had been buried—no doubt in an unmarked grave—so I couldn’t vent my sorrows there. Fereshteh had had sorrows enough of her own to be able to understand.

When I arrived, Fereshteh’s maid showed me directly into her private room. Today it smelled of frankincense, and there were bowls filled with red apples, whole walnuts, and dates. I removed my shoes, leaned against a silk cushion, drank tea with cardamom, and felt myself beginning to relax. The lady painted on the wall still sported with her amorous lover, and I tried not to think of Khadijeh.

When Fereshteh came in, I caught my breath. Her eyebrows looked like brown velvet, and her eyes were as huge in her face as a doe’s. Her cheeks and lips shone red, and her skin was as unblemished as ivory silk. Her long, thick black hair hung unbound over her turquoise robe. How lovely she was!

“Salaam aleikum, Javaher. Your presence brings happiness.”

“And yours, too. Fereshteh, you were good enough to invite me to visit you again. I have come because I need your counsel.”

“I am always happy to help an old friend.”

I folded my legs under my robe. “As you know, the new shah will arrive soon. In the meantime, I need some information about the man who hopes to be his grand vizier.”

“He too has been one of my clients,” she said.

“Mirza Salman?”

Her wry smile said it all.

I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been. “Have you learned anything about his views of Pari?”

“No. What do you wish to know?”

“If he is loyal.”

“And if he isn’t?”

“Pari could be in grave trouble with the new shah.”

She paused for a moment. “Given the rumors about Isma‘il’s death, wouldn’t Mohammad be afraid she might try to poison him? As a blind man, he is especially vulnerable.”

“It is possible. That is part of the reason I need to know if Mirza Salman will speak well of her.”

“I will let you know if I learn anything.”

“When will you see him again?”

“Not until he returns from his voyage.”

“I see.”

Mirza Salman had been instructed not to discuss his trip, but he had already told Fereshteh.

There was a silence, during which I realized that I needed to talk about something else. Since I had first found Fereshteh, I had been remembering our times together and I realized that I had loved her. I had not understood this at the time: I was too young and too full of myself. She was a prostitute, and I had thought she wasn’t worthy of my love.

Fereshteh’s eyes didn’t leave my face. “My friend, you look sad.”

“Lately, I have been thinking about when we were young,” I said, “and what it was like to be in each other’s arms. I don’t know what you felt for me, but I have come to realize how much I wish I had been able to save you from the streets.”

Her eyes were skeptical. “Really?”

“At the very least, I wish I could have told you that I longed to save you—because I did.”

“You were confused,” she said. “Although you were passionate in my arms, when our lovemaking was done, I could feel your heart turning away from the very idea that you might love a woman of low standing.”

She had understood me correctly, and I was mortified.

“I was still a nobleman’s son,” I replied. “I thought such liaisons were beneath me. I expected to marry a pretty, sheltered girl who would serve me all of my days. What an irony that I became a servant of women.”

She smiled. “And I became a servant of men. I would have preferred that my body remain my own territory, but I haven’t been so fortunate.”

Neither had I.

“Do you blame me?”

She sighed. “I wish you had been courageous enough to admit that you cared for me and wanted to help me.”

She was right; back then, I had not had the wideness of heart to admit to loving her or to acknowledge the severity of her suffering. I had assumed, with childish disgust, that a woman in her position was forever tainted by what she had done. But look what I had done to myself! At least she had not lost her ability to bear a child.

“I apologize from the depths of my heart,” I said. “I failed you because I was a child of privilege, but I no longer feel as I did. I understand now that life requires sacrifices, many of which are bitter.”

Fereshteh’s eyes were sympathetic, reminding me of how she had comforted me in my struggles when I was young.

“Your own sacrifices have changed you,” she replied. “The bird of your understanding has spread its wings, and now it flies free.”

Something in my heart lifted at her kind words.

“Perhaps we won’t always be caged,” she added. “I shall escape as soon as I can, and you will do the same.”

“Insh’Allah. If Pari succeeds with her plan, I will be closer to realizing my independence. If she falls from grace, I will, too. That would ruin all my plans.”

“What plans?”

I told her about Jalileh and my worries about her future, which was so dependent on mine. By the time I had finished, my voice was thick.

“Poor child. Why didn’t you tell me about her earlier? There is a small chance I can help. Before Mirza Salman left, I gave him the name of a lady of high price to visit in Qom. I will send a messenger and ask her to tell me if she learns anything useful.”

“I would be very grateful,” I replied. “Would silver help?”

“She will help as a favor. I have a web of such friends in all the major towns.”

When I returned to Pari’s side, I told her about our conversation and suggested that she dispatch a gift to Fereshteh. The princess sent a pair of pearl and filigree earrings beautiful enough to loosen any tongue.



A few days later, Mohammad and his entourage traveled from Qom until they were only a few farsakhs from Qazveen. They set up a camp while awaiting the astrologers’ determination of an auspicious day to enter the city. Looloo had recently been rehired by the court on my recommendation. I hoped he would be consulted.

Mohammad summoned Pari to his camp to pay her respects. I helped organize her entourage including her ladies, her eunuchs, and Shamkhal’s soldiers. Pari and I agreed that it was essential to demonstrate her strength through the size and grandeur of her guard.

On the day of our departure, everyone expected that the princess would be riding in a gold-domed palanquin, but I had sent it on its way earlier, and it was awaiting her outside the city. Pari wished to exercise her horsemanship. It was against the rules for her to ride unaccompanied by an entourage, but we had achieved it with a bit of subterfuge.

Soon after the city gates opened, the princess and I emerged in the small park near the Promenade of the Royal Stallions, met the horses that awaited us, and rode out together in the chill air. She was mounted on her favorite Arabian mare, Asal, so named because she was the color of forest honey. She wore a long, fur-lined gray robe, with slits designed for riding, plus thick woolen trousers, leather boots, a fur hat into which she had put all her hair, and a gray woolen cloth wound around her face for warmth that covered everything but her eyes. A little boy, seeing her pass, exclaimed to his mother, “I want to be just like him!”

We proceeded at a dignified pace toward the Tehran Gate. Its large central archway was flanked by two smaller ones so that traffic could proceed in both directions. The white, yellow, and black tile patterns on the gate made me think of butterflies and filled me with the optimism that accompanies a much-anticipated journey.

Not far behind us were Pari’s eunuchs and errand boys, led by her still-retired vizier Majeed, as well as chests containing her clothing, personal necessities, and the gifts she would present to her brother. Behind them rode a large contingent of Circassian and Takkalu soldiers organized by her uncle, as well as servants bearing the necessities for setting up camp.

As we rode through the gate, the princess looked back toward the long procession that would accompany her and said, “May God be praised. Isn’t it a fine sight?”

“It is, indeed!”

The procession would be slow and stately because of the amount of baggage it carried. As soon as we left the gate, she said, “Let’s go!”

Pari spurred her horse and rode off into the distance, following the spine of the snow-covered mountains. The glorious land around us was wide open, and the frozen road was empty. I tried to keep up with Pari, my breath steaming around me, but couldn’t. As her horse sped farther away, I admired her grace as a rider: I had had few opportunities to witness it. She rode as if sitting on air. After a while, she began to disappear into the landscape, and it seemed to me that she might never come back. If only there were somewhere for her to go! Her responsibilities inside the palace consumed her every breath. No wonder she thrilled at the sight of open country.

After a long gallop, Pari turned around and returned to me, and then we rode together.

“How good it feels to be unencumbered!” Her skin was flushed with the joy of the gallop.

“You look happy, princess. It is a pleasure to see.”

“A new shah and a new era are at hand. This time, everything will be different.”

“Insh’Allah.”

We rode together until we reached a river near the mountains, where I had sent the gold palanquin earlier that day with Azar Khatoon inside. When we arrived, Azar spread out a warm blanket and Pari threw herself down in front of the river near a crackling fire. She untwisted the cloth that covered her face, shed her big warm robe, and sat for a moment in the free, open air. More color flooded her cheeks, and her brow looked relaxed for the first time in months.

“Bah, bah!” Pari exclaimed. “Who needs more joy than this? I wish I could live like this every day of my life.”

Azar Khatoon shelled some walnuts and handed them to us. We ate them contentedly, watching the birds overhead, while Azar poured steaming cups of tea. I stretched out my legs. Soon, very soon, I would be with my sister again, and I would show her all the things I loved about Qazveen. On our free days, I would take her for walks in the countryside and bring a picnic of her favorite foods. How glad I would be to know her at last!

A thick cloud of dust in the distance stirred me out of my happy thoughts. “Princess,” I cautioned, “I see your guard approaching.”

“So soon?”

With a sigh, Pari picked herself up and reluctantly concealed herself in the gold palanquin.

When her men arrived, Pari’s palanquin was placed at the head of the procession, and we continued on our way. We proceeded very slowly now that her bearers had to go on foot. I walked alongside the palanquin. It was a clear, cold day, and the frozen ground crunched under my feet. We passed fields that would be alive with wheat and barley in summer. Shepherds tending to their flocks greeted us and asked us if they could offer us milk. We thanked them and continued to the camp.

In the distance, I saw a cluster of large black tents, and before long, the individual soldiers guarding them. When we reached the entrance to the camp, Pari’s palanquin was greeted graciously by one of Mohammad Khodabandeh’s eunuchs, while his groomsmen took charge of our horses. Pari and Azar were escorted to the tent that would be theirs in the women’s section of the camp, and I followed closely behind.

The tent was made of a thick, coarse fabric to protect inhabitants from winter winds. When the eunuch lifted the flap of the tent and we stepped inside, Azar gasped with delight. The interior had been furnished with ruby-red rugs and cushions, which made it seem warm. The walls were hung with crimson satin embroidered with whirling flowers and other twirling forms dancing within them. Soft cushions were arranged into seating areas and a bedroll was placed behind a long embroidered cloth. Wooden trunks had been brought in for Pari’s clothing and cosmetics.

We were admiring the tent when another eunuch arrived promptly with steaming vessels of tea and pastries. We refreshed ourselves, then unpacked Pari’s things. By the time everything was set up, it was the hour for the evening meal, which was brought to the princess by Mohammad Khodabandeh’s servants. They spread out a clean cotton cloth and served a large platter of roast lamb on hot bread, which soaked up all the meat juices, as well as yogurt and greens. I left Pari and her ladies to their meal and walked to a tent used by Mohammad’s eunuchs. Before I entered the tent, I heard some of them talking.

“Have you seen that woman’s retinue? It is as if she thinks she is shah!”

“With an armed guard like that, he will have to think twice about offending her.”

I chuckled. When I walked in, I was welcomed like an old friend. Together we supped and conversed and celebrated late into the night.



The next morning, Pari was summoned to meet the shah-to-be. A eunuch led us to his tent, which, for his safety, was not identified in any way from the outside. Inside, though, it was even more opulent than Pari’s. The carpets on the floor were deep indigo wool with white silk patterns that sparkled like stars in a twilight sky. There were porcelain vessels for water and wine that had been transported all that way, despite their value, and porcelain cups and serving platters. Fruit and sweets and nuts were piled high on engraved silver trays.

Mohammad Khodabandeh was seated on cushions, his wife, Khayr al-Nisa Beygom, on his right side. His dark eyes were blank, and he sat with his head thrust forward as if to better position his ears for listening. He wore a brown robe, a gray sash, and a white turban, subdued attire that made him look like a man of God. Next to him, his wife glittered like a peacock. Her pink robe seemed bright over a green tunic, which matched a triangular headdress made of pink and green silks. She wore gold bangles on both wrists, rings on every finger but her thumbs, a chain of pearls on her forehead, and large pearl and ruby earrings. Her full lips glowed red from madder, as did her cheeks. While her husband gave the impression of being thoughtful and retiring, she threw off sparks like the jewels she wore. Her eyes swept across us and around the room with frequency, as if to make up for the fact that her husband could see nothing.

“Welcome, sister. Your arrival brings us happiness,” Mohammad said to Pari.

“Yes, welcome,” added his wife in a voice that was high, nasal, and loud. “I have rarely had the pleasure of seeing you, but all of us have heard your father’s praise of you as a paragon among women.”

Pari dropped gracefully onto a cushion facing them, while I remained standing near the door. “I am unworthy of your generous words, but I thank you for your kindness. How are you? How are your children?”

“All are well, except, of course, for my husband’s son Sultan Hassan Mirza, whose loss we still mourn,” she replied.

“The loss of a child is worse than anything that can be described,” Mohammad said. “Truly it was as if the light of my eyes had been extinguished.”

“May God comfort you in your sorrow. What a terrible affliction you have endured.”

“Your losses have been equally great,” he said.

“I hope that God has granted you good health during this difficult time.”

“Since we last saw you, my husband’s eyesight has worsened,” Khayr al-Nisa replied. “It is a calamity for a man so gifted at reading and writing poetry.”

“It is the will of God,” he interjected, sounding resigned. “Now I compose my verses in my head, and my scribes write them on paper. By then I have committed my poetry to memory anyway.”

“Shall we exchange verses?” Pari asked. “It would be a joy to hear your words.”

“We will organize that when we are settled in the capital.”

Mohammad Khodabandeh ordered some refreshments, including tea and rice pudding made with saffron and cinnamon, which warmed us on that cold day. I was very pleased with how the visit was proceeding so far, yet I was on my guard, since nothing of substance had been discussed yet. After the refreshments, the talk finally turned to the business of the palace.

“Sister, we have heard much about the goings-on at court. You must tell us everything.”

“Of course,” Pari replied. “I have worked closely with Mirza Salman these past weeks. I gave him leave to report to you, but haven’t heard from him since then. Has he told you all that has happened?”

There was a moment’s pause before either of them answered.

“He told us everything,” Khayr al-Nisa Beygom said in a flat tone.

“Did he tell you about why we sent the army to Khui? Did he explain about the treasury guard?”

“Yes, everything,” Mohammad Khodabandeh said, echoing his wife.

Their responses were odd. I had expected them to praise her for her excellent service.

“It has been my duty to serve you,” Pari said, filling the empty space. “After you are crowned, I will spend day and night by your side implementing your commands.”

She sounded just right: confident, yet humble.

Mohammad Khodabandeh sighed. “You should know the truth: I am not a man who has ever aspired to be shah, and I doubt I will change my ways.”

Pari smiled in anticipation of fulfilling her new role. “Put your mind at rest,” she replied. “The men are used to me now, and they will do what I command. I will make sure your orders are carried out.”

Khayr al-Nisa Beygom’s eyebrows shot up. “That won’t be necessary.”

Pari looked surprised. “I mean no offense, but the palace is a complicated world. Someone without intimate knowledge of it will find it difficult to gain obedience.”

“We are glad you have such knowledge,” said Mohammad Khodabandeh. “After you tell us all that we need to know, daily affairs will be handled by my wife.”

“By your wife?”

“That is correct.”

Pari’s lips drew down. “I really don’t understand why the mother of four children would wish to add to her burdens by trying to manage the affairs of state. It is too much for someone who has not been raised with this life, as I have.”

My heart sank at the implied insult.

“Yet that is what I shall do,” said Khayr al-Nisa Beygom haughtily.

“I have spent all my years studying such things, from even before the time I became my father’s advisor when I was fourteen. These matters aren’t trivial.”

“No, they aren’t,” said Mohammad Khodabandeh. “That is why you will train my wife, and she will implement my wishes.”

“Brother, I beg you to consider, given all my learning and experience, that there should be a permanent position for me in your court. Even the nobles have agreed that I am the best choice for this job.”

“If the two of you can find a way to work together, that is fine with me,” Mohammad Khodabandeh said placidly.

The fine embroidered bands at the edges of Pari’s robe trembled. I chafed at the injustice of it.

“The noblemen are nothing to be trifled with. If they suspect hesitation, they will take advantage. A weak person will be crushed. It is not just for myself but for your own protection that I make this demand to be your chief advisor. I have, after all, risked my life for you.”

She meant by removing Isma‘il, but of course she couldn’t say that.

“What do you mean, risked your life?” Khayr al-Nisa Beygom asked.

“Living under such a murderous rule, we didn’t know whether we would remain in possession of our lives. If not for Isma‘il’s death, and if not for the fact that the nobleman assigned to kill your family found excuses to delay his visit to Shiraz, you would be a childless widow now—or worse.”

“That is certainly true, but what did you have to do with that? I thought Isma‘il’s doctor said he died of too much opium and too much food, which twisted his organs into a fatal knot.”

Khayr al-Nisa Beygom looked triumphant, which made me uneasy.

“I meant that I did all I could to persuade him and those around him to call off the murders,” Pari said, “including those of your children.”

“The fact is, God didn’t decree such a fate, so it didn’t happen,” Mohammad Khodabandeh replied. “Why fight about such things? The hour is getting late and my books are calling. I will leave the two of you to work things out.”

By God above! It was even worse than I had feared: He wouldn’t even stay long enough to keep his wife in check.

Khayr al-Nisa’s smile was like ice. “Yes, indeed. We will work things out. You may begin by kissing my feet to show your fealty.”

It was such an insult to make this demand of a Safavi princess that I had trouble masking my shock.

Pari stood up, her chin high in the air. “You are asking a woman of royal blood to kiss the feet of a child of the provinces?”

“I am asking you to acknowledge she who is first among women.”

“If you knew court protocol, you would understand that my status is higher than yours.”

Khayr al-Nisa Beygom batted at the air as if waving away a fly. “Not for long.”

“Now, Pari,” said her brother in a mild tone. “You must respect my wife at all times.”

“I have respect for sensible people,” Pari said angrily. “If you insist on toying with matters of governance, you could lose not just the court but the country. Let me remind you of what we face. In the north, the east, and the southeast, the people have sickened of our rule and rebelled. In the northeast and northwest, we face invasions by the Ottomans and the Uzbeks. Our land is ringed with troubles. Our people are threatened with suffering. Remember, without justice there is no prosperity and no country. Take heed!”

Mohammad Khodabandeh sighed. “We will see what needs to be done after the coronation. Thank you, sister, for coming to visit us.”

“It is my duty,” she replied, “as it is to speak unpleasant truths when necessary.”

Khayr al-Nisa’s pretty red lips puffed out as if she had eaten something sour, an expression that her husband could not see. I was proud of Pari for having spoken the truth, yet concerned about what her sharp words boded for her future.

“Don’t worry, Javaher,” she said as we left them and began walking back to her tent. “I will find ways to master her. She is no match for me.”

Her breath steamed in the cold air. Rather than looking daunted, her eyes sparkled as if she was excited by the prospect of a new battle. Conflict always spurred her to fight harder, but was it the best strategy?

“I think you should visit your brother in private, drop to the ground and swear your loyalty, and prove it every day until he trusts you with his very soul.”

“And if he still denies me my right to rule?”

“Then accept your fate as God-given.”

She laughed. “Javaher, you have the perfect servant’s heart, but I don’t. If that happens, my uncle and I will be ready to take over.”

“Take over? If Mohammad learns what you are planning, he will surely destroy you! No shah can permit rebellion within his own palace.”

“Not necessarily. If he understands our strength, he may be more willing to make concessions, like the ones he has already made to the Ostajlu.”

“It is a dangerous strategy,” I said. “Why not compromise instead?”

“I have come to despise that word,” she said. “I am nearly thirty years old and have never been able to rule, even though I am more knowledgeable than most about Islamic law, the mathematical and physical sciences, the customs of the court, the rules of poetry, and the art of governing. Even my dear father, may God bless his soul, had eccentricities that led to poor decisions I had to accept. Now, at last, the noblemen have recognized that I have earned the right to rule, and I won’t let Mohammad or his wife spoil my plans.”

I stared at her in awe and terror, remembering Balamani’s words in the hammam. I had thought of the decision to remove Isma‘il as a one-time necessity, while by contrast, it had emboldened Pari to demand her entitlement to rule. Deep inside her beat the vigorous heart of a shah.

“I suspect you find me intransigent,” she said as we arrived at her tent, “but I have earned the right to be that way. Are you with me, Javaher?”

She gazed at me as if to pierce through my secrets.

“I swore to be your faithful servant always,” I replied, but for the first time, I wasn’t sure I meant it.



While we were at the camp, messengers arrived from the palace with letters for the princess as well as one for me. The letter was from my mother’s cousin. It was brief and cutting, like a hot knife:



Greetings and I pray that this letter finds you well. Thank you for continuing to send the money for your sister’s upkeep, although it is difficult for us to make do, given how much she imposes on our slim budget every day. We regret that due to financial problems of our own, we cannot wait for you to fulfill your promises any longer. Thanks be to God, we have found a solution. A man in our neighborhood has his eye on her. He is older, to be sure, but he is willing to take her without a dowry. Trust me, speedy acceptance is a good idea. Men with means don’t choose impoverished wives very often, and we must take care of this problem before Jalileh is pickled. We imagine you will be overjoyed at this news. All we need is your permission and we will proceed with the marriage. If we do not hear from you soon, we will assume that you have given your assent, and we will proceed.

I felt hot with shame at the tone of the letter. Even less did I like the one I received an hour later.



Salaam Javaher jan. I have paid one of the scribes in the market to write you this letter so that no one learns about it. Our mother’s cousin has just introduced me to the man she wishes me to marry. He is an old fellow with only four teeth who has already outlived two wives and whose children are older than I am. When I met him for the first time, he chastised me for not serving his tea as dark as he liked it, as if I ought to know. I think his mind is addled by memories of his dead wives. I suspect he wants a servant, not a wife. I know that I have been nothing but a burden to you, but have mercy on me, I beg you. Save me from his flaccid hands.

My heart burned in my chest. What kind of man could I claim to be if I could not rescue my sister from a life that would make her young eyes dim with grief? I wrote back to my mother’s cousin and promised to send money as soon as I could, explaining that I had been promoted to an exalted position and that rivers of silver would be forthcoming. I reminded them that palace servants were paid a lump sum twice a year, and that the next payment was due in a month. In addition, I forbade the marriage, swearing that I would provide a rich reward for all their services as long as they did not give my sister away.

When there was a lull in our business, I explained to Pari that my mother’s cousin was threatening to marry off Jalileh and I needed a large advance on my salary so that I could pay them back for her upkeep and bring her to Qazveen as soon as possible.

“Of course I will assist you,” she replied. “We will discuss the specifics when we have returned to the palace.”

I clapped my hand to my chest and bowed to express my gratitude, and her eyes told me that she understood.



The camp astrologers were busy making forecasts to determine whether it was an auspicious time for Mohammad and his wife to enter the city, at which point we would accompany them as they rode into town. In the meantime, I received a messenger from Fereshteh, who had been sent by Massoud Ali to find us at the camp. The messenger told me that Fereshteh had such urgent information for me that I shouldn’t delay even a moment to receive it. I rushed to the princess’s tent to tell her the news.

“I have been summoned by Fereshteh. I suspect she has vital information about Mirza Salman.”

Pari smiled. “Ah, Javaher, you are a master of unlocking secrets. I hate to send you away from my side.”

“I promise to return as soon as I can.”

“Fereshteh has been very helpful. Commend her for me, will you?”

“I will.”

“You shall ride Asal,” she said, and instructed her eunuch groom to make the mare ready.

“Thank you, princess, but an ordinary horse will do.”

I had already donned my heavy cotton riding trousers, my thick wool vest, and a warm robe, and had wrapped a wool cloth around my neck and face.

Pari smiled. “But you are no ordinary eunuch. You are a jewel, like your name. I know that well. You will shine always, even after I am gone.”

I was taken aback. Her bright eyes, smooth olive skin, and gleaming black hair made her look immortal, yet her words sent a shiver through me.

“If that is so,” I said, with the expected reversal of flattery, “it is only because I reflect the sparkle of the greater jewel that I serve. But, Princess, your words worry me.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I am prepared for whatever lies ahead. The only judge of me, flaws and all, is almighty God.”

“Is there any human who isn’t flawed?” I asked, and Pari gave me a wry smile.



The ride to Fereshteh’s house took much of the morning. The roads were frozen, and Asal was skittish. I tried to strategize about the future, but I had to coax along the horse, and my enthusiasm was dampened by the weather and by feelings of gloom. Wet, sticky flakes of snow blanketed the fields and my outer robe. By the time I rode into Qazveen, even the street vendors had deserted their usual posts.

I handed Asal to Fereshteh’s manservant, who promised to have the horse fed and groomed at the royal stables. Fereshteh’s house was pleasantly warm. She wore a green robe that reminded me of a field of grass, and the pale tunic underneath was as softly lit as the bellies of clouds at sunset. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face.

“Come in, Javaher. I see from your wet clothes that you have had a cold, hard ride. Would you like refreshment?”

“Yes, please.”

I removed my boots while Fereshteh called to her servant to bring sour cherry sharbat and tea. I remained standing, eager to hear her news.

“Mirza Salman visited my friend in Qom the day before yesterday,” she said. “The news is so dreadful I had to tell you in person, to avoid any possibility of being betrayed.”

Dread coursed through me. “What happened?”

“Mirza Salman was preening like a peacock. He told my friend that although the royals think they’re superior, they can be brought down as easily as anyone else.”

“Okh, okh!” I said, my stomach burning.

“My friend plied him with bang, and when he had nearly lost his senses, she coaxed the details out of him. He told her that he had visited Mohammad and his wife, asking if they wished to be made aware of the happenings at court. Then, under the guise of being an honest servant, he argued that the person they should fear the most was Pari Khan Khanoom. He terrified them by hinting that she had been responsible for Isma‘il’s death, despite the safeguards over his person, and suggested that if left unchecked, she might put an end to them as well.”

“What a traitor! I presume they will retain him as grand vizier?”

“That is correct.”

“Shamkhal Cherkes was right about him after all.”

To my surprise, Fereshteh winced as if in pain, and her hands clenched at her sides. “Javaher, I have more news, and it is even worse.”

I braced myself. “Mirza Salman told my friend that Shamkhal has been executed at the request of the Shah.”

By God above! It was as if the stars in the sky had been extinguished all at once, except for the star I cared about the most.

I strode to the door and shoved my feet into my riding boots. “Thank you, Fereshteh, for everything. The princess asked me to express her gratitude as well.”

“May God keep you and your commander safe,” she replied.

I rushed to the royal stables to get a fresh horse and rode it through the Tehran Gate in the direction of the camp. As soon as I left the city, I spurred my horse faster and faster until we were both heaving with effort. What would we do now? Shamkhal was dead. How would Pari bear it?

Looking back on Mirza Salman’s actions at court, his tendency toward treachery seemed evident. He had taken two men down in order to advance himself; then he had done the same to us. I cursed myself for not understanding him sooner.

When I approached the camp, I thought I must have lost my way. Only a few tent stakes remained in the sky, like a body reduced to bones. Large trunks had been packed, awaiting the donkeys that would haul them. An errand boy told me the astrologers’ readings that morning had been so favorable that Mohammad had thought it foolish to delay. He and his wife and Pari had ridden back to town on a road that was slower than the one I had taken but easier on caravans. After their arrival at the city gates, they planned to ride ceremonially through town. Pari would be taken to her home in her palanquin, and the new shah and his wife would be housed with Mirza Salman’s family until the right moment came for entering the palace.

Mirza Salman again!

I turned my weary beast around and headed back for the city, this time on the road that led to the Shah’s Gardens Gate. The day was growing grayer, and it started to snow again. My horse’s breath steamed in the cold air. High above, a flock of ugly crows blackened the sky. I spurred my horse faster, trying to catch up to the royal procession. After a while, I could see the gate in the distance, a mere speck at first. The royal party was nowhere in sight.

When I arrived, the gatekeeper told me the royal procession had already gone through. I urged my horse, who was now wet, in the direction of Pari’s house. Many people thronged the streets, having been alerted that their new Shah had entered Qazveen. It was difficult to get through the crowd. Finally, though, I came upon the end of the procession and saw the gold-domed palanquins. I suspected that the one in front must house the Shah’s wife, and the one behind was probably Pari’s. I thanked God that she had almost reached her house. Turning down a side street, I galloped ahead.

When I emerged, the lead palanquin was no longer in sight. Pari’s had gone through the Ali Qapu portal into the palace and had halted near her house, but she hadn’t been carried through her front gate. The bearers must be waiting for something.

Her palanquin was borne by soldiers. At their head I recognized Khalil Khan, Pari’s former guardian. Behind them were all of Pari’s supporters, notably the Circassian guard. I resolved to open her gate myself and speed her return home. Dismounting from my horse, I knocked loudly, and when the gate opened, I handed the reins to a servant.

“Make ready for your princess,” I said.

I approached Pari’s palanquin and identified myself. “Lieutenant of my life, I bring world-shattering news!” I whispered.

The brown velvet brocade curtains stirred slightly, and Azar Khatoon slid out, fully covered by her chador.

“Jump in.”

I hoisted myself into the palanquin, and the men who were holding it cursed out loud when they felt the extra weight. Pari was sitting cross-legged in the small domed space, framed by a canopy of saffron-colored velvet.

The palanquin was small enough that my knees almost touched Pari’s. Her face was so close to mine that I would only have had to lean forward to touch her lips. My heart beat faster, no doubt from my hard ride.

“Princess—” I began, still panting. Pari’s furrowed forehead, which fate had distinguished with so many rich stories, told me she could see how bad the news was.

“Tell me now.”

“Mirza Salman has convinced Mohammad and his wife that you are a murderer. But that is not the worst of it: Shamkhal has been assassinated.”

Pari reached out for my arm. I felt the warmth of her grip penetrate the sleeve of my robe, and wished that I could put my arms around her and comfort her against my chest like a child.

“The dirt of the universe is on my head!” she exclaimed.

All of a sudden, the palanquin jerked abruptly and we started off, but the bearers seemed to be heading away from her home.

“Where are we going?” I shouted. When there was no reply, I opened the curtains and confirmed that we were traveling away from Pari’s house. Deh! I called out for help from the Circassian guard. They surrounded the palanquin, shouting at Khalil Khan’s men, who held us on their shoulders, and began to struggle for control of it. Pari and I slid around inside, bumping into each other as we were tossed back and forth. For a moment I felt her shoulder against my chest and smelled the fierce piney perfume in her hair.

“May God protect us,” Pari said.

At last the palanquin stopped jolting and jerking. From outside came the voice of a Circassian soldier. “Princess, you are safe now. We have you and we are taking you home!”

The Circassians must have managed to wrest the palanquin away from Khalil Khan’s men. I put my head outside the curtain again. Khalil Khan, who was still mounted on his horse, addressed the Circassian guard, who protected us now.

“Listen, soldiers. I am acting under orders of the new Shah himself. Oppose me only if you wish to explain yourself to him.”

The Circassians hesitated, not knowing what to do. A chill froze my blood as I closed the curtains. “Lieutenant of my life, say something to your men so they defend you!”

Her dark eyes looked as if all the light in them had been extinguished. “No.”

“What?”

“Tell them to go home. Otherwise, many will be killed in vain.”

We could not give up the fight, not after we had endured so much. I stared at her.

The palanquin shifted and jerked again; there were shouts and sounds of struggle, and we were thrown around inside until Khalil Khan’s men reclaimed us. The men began arguing over who had the right to the princess.

Had the sun emerged from behind the clouds, or was it Pari’s royal farr that seemed to illuminate the inside of the tent? She put her hand over mine before I could speak.

“Javaher, our game is finished. Hush and listen:

“Weave not, like spiders, nets from grief’s saliva

In which the woof and warp are both decaying

But give the grief to Him, Who granted it,

And do not talk about it anymore.

When you are silent, His speech is your speech,

When you don’t weave, the weaver will be He.”

I recognized the poem from Maulana Rumi and felt touched to the depths of my heart when I realized that Pari was committing both of us to God’s care.

“I will never abandon you. You are the star that I follow always.”

Pari’s eyes misted. “Yes,” she said softly, “you alone of all my servants have truly loved me.”

“With all my heart.”

The palanquin jerked again, and clarity returned to Pari’s eyes. “Open the curtains for a moment and tell me what you see.”

I parted the velvet curtains and put my head out. Suddenly I felt Pari’s strong hands pressing against my back. I slid out feet first, bumped into one of Khalil Khan’s soldiers, and landed in the street. Pari had tricked me; now I had no choice but to obey.

“What does she say?” asked the captain of the Circassians, a burly man with bright blue eyes.

Out of loyalty to her, I forced myself to say the most difficult words I had ever spoken. “The princess orders you to disassemble so you come to no harm. Go home now and await further orders.”

“But she is being taken away,” he protested. “We won’t leave unless we hear the command from her lips.”

He didn’t know yet that Shamkhal Cherkes was dead. If he had heard, he would not have dared to be so bold.

“How lucky you would be if she graced you with her speech! But it is not for you to demand it.”

The velvet curtains of the palanquin stirred. The men took note, knowing a royal hand had touched them.

“Hear the words of your princess,” commanded Pari from inside.

The men stood still, their faces transfixed. It was so rare for a princess to address a crowd of ordinary men that it was like hearing a voice from heaven.

“I thank you for your excellent service. You are dismissed to your wives and children, and that is an order. May God bless you with good luck!”

The men’s eyes softened, as if they had received a blessing from a saint. “We obey you with gratitude!” replied the Circassian captain.

Without further protest, his men left the palanquin in the care of Khalil Khan’s soldiers, who held it gingerly, wondering what to do now that they, too, had heard the princess’s deep, lovely voice.

“March,” shouted Khalil Khan. “Hurry! Hurry!”

“No!” I yelled, not caring that I was risking my life. “You may not cart away a princess of Safavi blood!”

Khalil Khan’s small eyes narrowed, and his lips curled with scorn. “How dare you challenge me, you gelding! Get out of my way before I strike you down.”

I drew my dagger and rushed at his chest. The fear that entered his eyes only encouraged me to attack. From close up, his skin looked white with panic. When I was near enough to smell the fenugreek on his breath, I raised my dagger in the air, feeling the muscles of my neck stiffening. I am certain I snarled, anticipating the pleasure of feeling the dagger plunge into his undefended skin. When I saw him raise a long sword to defend himself, I blocked the maneuver and broke his nose with the heel of my hand. Water sprang into his eyes, and his sword arm grew limp. But then the side of my head seemed to slam into something hard, and the dagger slipped from my hand.

Everything around me went black and quiet. I must have remained that way for several minutes. When I awoke, the captain of the Circassians and a few of his men were standing around me, dabbing my face with a cloth and holding a vial of rose water under my nose. The strong scent revived me.

“Good work,” the captain said, chuckling. “Not one of us will ever forget the fear in Khalil Khan’s eyes. It isn’t often that a nobleman gets humiliated like that. He wanted to kill you, but when he saw that we were ready to fight, he gave up.”

I put my hand on the place under my turban that ached. It came back covered with blood. White spots danced in my vision.

“What happened?”

“One of his soldiers flattened you with the side of his sword. I imagine your head is burning like an oven.”

The square was quiet now except for a few onlookers. I had been down for longer than I realized.

“Where are they?”

“Khalil Khan gave them orders to go to his house. They marched the palanquin down the Promenade of the Royal Stallions.”

He handed me my dagger, which I slipped back into its sheath. “May your hands never ache, Captain.”

I got up and ran toward the Ali Qapu gate in the direction of Khalil Khan’s house.

“Agha, wait! Are you sure you are well?” I heard behind me as I left, but I did not stop. My head was pounding as if I were banging it against a wall with each step. Warm blood trickled into my ear.

When I arrived at Khalil Khan’s, some of Pari’s supporters were still milling around his door demanding that the light of the Safavis be released. Khalil emerged from behind the gate holding a bloodied cloth over his nose and yelled at them to disperse, threatening that he would take a sword to them otherwise. Then he slammed the heavy wooden door in our faces.

In despair, I called out to a boy in the street and told him to go to the palace and tell Daka Cherkes Khanoom about her daughter’s whereabouts. Placing a small coin in his hand, I promised to double his money when he delivered a reply.

I walked around the perimeter walls of the grand home and tried to find another way in; there must be an entrance for the servants. Before long, I saw a young maid laden with cloth bags full of fruit stop in front of a small door that probably led to the kitchen.

“Excuse me, kind Khanoom, do you work for Khalil Khan?”

“I do.”

“A great lady has been taken inside the house, and I would give much to see her. A small fortune, in fact.”

She looked carefully at my expensive riding attire to gauge what I might be worth.

“How much?”

I showed her a heavy silver coin. It was probably the most money she had ever seen, and she dropped her bags and reached for the coin with both hands. I eluded her grasp.

“If you want me to sneak you into the house, forget it. They would have my head.”

“Then how about if you tell her I am here and bring me a message from her. My name is Javaher.”

She reached out for the money again.

“It is yours as soon as you bring me news from the lady.”

After she went in, I crossed the street and stood in an alley where I could see the kitchen door but not be easily observed. The day grew colder, and my head pounded. I found one of Pari’s handkerchiefs in my robe and stuffed it into my turban to absorb the blood.

I waited a long time before the door opened and the maid came out and looked around for me, her face covered now with a picheh. I stepped out of the alley and called softly, “Over here.”

She approached and lifted her picheh. Her dark eyes were as troubled as a river whose muddy bottom had been stirred up by a stick.

“It wasn’t worth the silver you promised. Never would I wish to see such a sight again.”

I felt my heart clutch in my chest so tightly I could not breathe.

“What sight?”

“That great lady in her bed.” She turned away as if to banish the thought. I grabbed her arm, too tightly perhaps, and said, “Tell me.”

She shook off my hand.

“The other servants told me that a group of soldiers had brought a lady into the courtyard in a palanquin. When Khalil Khan ordered her to come out, she cursed him and refused. He reached inside, took hold of her legs most disgracefully, and pulled her out. Her curses filled the air. Two of his men grabbed her body and forced her inside the house. She was yelling all the while, but soon after they closed the door behind them, the house grew deadly silent. No one wished to know what was happening. After only a few minutes, the soldiers departed. Khalil Khan gave orders that no one should enter that room, and no one dared. By the time I returned from shopping, the house was as quiet as the grave. After the master retired for his afternoon rest, I slipped inside.”

Here she paused and put her hand against the mud wall to steady herself.

“Is she alive?” I asked, feeling the breath freeze in my throat.

“No,” she replied. “Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. Her neck was bruised and bloodied, and the cord they had used to strangle her was still wrapped around it as if she were nothing more than chattel. Her forehead was creased with agony and her teeth were bared, as if she wished to maul those who had murdered her.”

“Say no more,” I said. “No more.”

“I wish you had never asked me to look. What I saw will haunt me until the end of my days. No amount of money could be worth such a sight.”

Nonetheless she stretched out her hand. I steadied myself against the wall and fished out the coin.

“You have received the better deal,” she said, turning to go. “May God be with you.”

My heart felt as if it had turned to shards of ice. I grabbed at the wall behind me for support, but it crumbled in my hands. I drew the dirt on my fingers over my face and head as if it were the dirt of my grave. Pari dead? It could not be. It could not be!

Racked with sorrow, I stumbled through the streets, drawing stares.

“Agha!” an older man called as I passed. “What pains you? Are you all right?”

I don’t know how long I walked, or where. All I know is that I ended up at a tavern in a low part of town, which stank of men’s feet. I sat on a cushion covered with a tattered, stained cotton cloth. A few men welcomed me as their new drinking companion. I called for spirits, and after a few glasses of a foul cinnamon-flavored concoction, I switched to bang. It was very strong. Whatever was put before me, I drank, and then I consumed some more.

Before long, I lay on the floor of the tavern and began speaking to the angel who was ministering to me. She appeared in a blaze of light, her long hair like a comet whose tail turned into sparks. As I spoke, she hovered over me, her eyes filled with compassion. I told her the story of my life, starting with how my father had been killed and how I had been chopped at the middle. Then I described Pari and our times together.

“I don’t have royal blood,” I told her, “but we two could have been twins. It was as if we swam in the same fluids in our mother’s womb, so that some of my maleness became hers and some of her femaleness mine. That made us strange in the eyes of the world, which does not care for in-between beings. We have both taken blows because of it. She was protean, as am I. She was fierce and affectionate and smart and unpredictable. That is why I loved her . . . that is why!”

I told the angel what had happened in the streets. When I reached the part about Khalil Khan, I could barely speak. “She pushed me out of the palanquin. She wouldn’t let me try to save her!”

The angel hovered over me, and I felt wrapped in a heavenly embrace. “My child,” she said, “don’t you see? She pushed you out so that you wouldn’t come to harm. She loved you, too.”

God be praised! Pari loved me, too. Tears flowed from my eyes. I pulled out a handkerchief to wipe them away. Its perfume bore the pungent scent of pine—her scent, which I would smell no more. I wept so loudly that the tavern grew silent for a moment and my fellow drinkers clustered around to ask about my sorrows. I told them I had lost a treasured woman, and then they all wept with me, for who hadn’t? Mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters—we had all lost someone dear.

Early in the morning I awoke on the tattered cushions, my head burning. My hair was matted with blood. All the other men were gone, and my money purse was gone, too. I lay there for a moment, wondering if I could arise without pitching over, and then I remembered the furtive maid and her account of what had happened to Pari. Oh my esteemed lieutenant! Oh my battered heart!

I arose unsteadily, found my feet, and walked back to the palace in the cold. My turban had been stolen along with my warm outer robe, but the men had not wished me to freeze to death, as they had left me my shoes. The snow was thick and white on the ground. I hurried through the frozen streets. When I arrived at my room, I opened the door and was surprised to see that although Balamani was gone, a tiny figure was huddled on my bed. It was Massoud Ali. He woke up, rushed toward me, threw his arms around me, and howled, his tiny face collapsing with grief. I deeply regretted not having been there to comfort him.

“My child, my child!” I said. “Don’t swallow so much sorrow.”

“What will become of us?” he asked between sobs. “Where will we go?”

I did not have an answer.

“Who will take us into their service now?”

“Her mother,” I replied promptly, trying to comfort him.

His sobs became huge.

“She has been killed as well.”

I felt as if I had been stabbed with a sword. No wonder the boy messenger had never returned.

“May God protect us. An old woman!”

Massoud Ali sobbed harder all of a sudden. “And a little child has been killed, too!”

“Who?”

“Shoja.”

By God above, they had not even spared an infant. Poor Mahasti! Pari had offered to send her child away from the palace to protect him, but Mahasti had refused.

“Don’t worry,” I said. I wanted to sound calm and to reassure the poor child, who was quaking with fear. “We will find a new protector, I promise you.”

“The princess was kind to me,” he said, still weeping. “Who will be kind to me now?”

“I will,” I replied. “I promise to be kind to you always. Now come sleep, and we will sort all of this out later.”

I led him to my bedroll, tucked him in, and held his small hand until he fell asleep. As I sat listening to Massoud Ali breathe, his mouth slightly open, his cheeks salted white from his tears, I knew that he had reason to be scared. We had been the closest servants of a princess who had fallen into the deepest disgrace. Would the new shah look upon us as traitors? We could not know. Our survival depended on being thought humble and powerless, but what if Mohammad and his wife judged us otherwise?

My father’s death came to my mind as freshly as if it had just happened. I had become, once again, the closest servant of someone whose star had plummeted into the sea. My heart was torn anew, and I wept as if I were a young man again facing the rest of my life all alone.