Equal of the Sun (31 page)

“Princess, how do you expect to get out?”

“Follow me.”

We walked through the harem gardens so quickly that the air around Pari seemed to move out of her way. I followed her to a remote corner of the grounds, which were surrounded by smooth walls too high for anyone to climb. To my surprise, she disappeared into thick hedges. Beyond them lay an old pavilion that might have once been used for outdoor picnics, but was now crumbling and surrounded by weeds. Pari stepped into a room inside the pavilion, whose flooring consisted of green and yellow glazed tiles, some of
which were chipped. Bending down in the middle of the floor, Pari pushed aside a large, heavy tile, panting with effort. A wide opening led down into a passageway.

“Ajab!”
I said. So that was how she and Maryam had managed to visit the gypsies. Nothing about the princess could be predicted.

We walked down an incline into the dank passageway, and I pulled the tile into place above us. We continued in the dark until we reached a tall wooden door, which Pari unlocked with a key the size of my hand.

“I don’t have a lamp,” she said, “but I know the way without fail. Hold the end of my kerchief so you don’t get lost.”

Pari locked the door behind us. The tunnel was as cold and silent as the grave.

“You must never speak of this,” she said.

“I promise,” I replied, delighted that she trusted me enough to reveal her secret exit.

We walked for a long time before arriving at a second door. Pari unlocked it and we entered another passageway, stepped up on a landing, and kept shuffling in the dirt until we emerged into another crumbling building in a copse of trees in one of the rarely used parks near the Promenade of the Royal Stallions.

I wrapped myself in the picheh and the chador, holding the black cloth under my chin. It was possible to see through the loose weave of the face veil, but I felt blinded. As we traversed the park, I tried to mimic Pari’s graceful gait.

“You walk like a man,” she complained. “Take tiny steps, not wide strides. Move like the shadow of a cloud.”

I pressed my legs together and minced my steps, the way I saw women do.

We walked briskly down a side street to the neighborhood where Shamkhal lived. Men leered at us and uttered coarse suggestions that made me feel strangely dirty. Was this what it was like to be a woman, always on display? I missed my usual comfortable anonymity.

Pari announced us to Shamkhal’s servants as his sisters, refusing to remove her face covering before being shown into her uncle’s presence.

Shamkhal was drinking his afternoon tea. He looked at the shapes in front of him with surprise, until Pari began speaking and it seemed that he recognized her voice. Then he told his servants to leave and stay away until he called for them. As soon as the door closed behind him, Pari lifted her picheh, and I threw off my wraps altogether.

“By God above!” Shamkhal said, his normally florid face whitening. “How did you get permission to leave the palace?” He rushed to the door to make sure that it was bolted tight, but even with the door firmly closed, his eyes darted around.

“Has someone smacked you in the head? Imagine how you would be punished if Isma‘il found out.”

“I had to come.”

“What risks you take!”

Pari sat down while I stood at the back of the room. “I am here because of the princes who have been killed,” she said in a strangled voice.

“I am deeply sorry.”

“I didn’t come for condolences. I came to ask when the men of the Safavi court are going to halt this slaughter.”

Shamkhal stepped back. “How can we do anything? The murders are by direct order of your brother, the light of the universe.”

“Uncle, please omit the palace formalities. The Shah has destroyed half of the dynasty. Are the nobles going to do anything about it?”

“What can we do?”

“Disordered shahs can justifiably be removed.”

“But this one isn’t insane, sick, or blind. We don’t have a valid reason.”

“Isn’t injustice a reason?”

“There is no injustice when it comes from the Shah!”

“That is palace garbage,” Pari said. “Don’t the nobles care about what is happening?”

“Of course they care. No one is happy about this state of affairs.”

“Have you asked the qizilbash nobles to help?”

“No, because they have been sent to kill the Sufis.”

“Why? They don’t deserve it.”

“I know.”

“Are the nobles men or not?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Isma‘il’s spies are everywhere. No one can breathe without him hearing the sound.”

“By God above! I am an unarmed woman begging for help, and no one will do the right thing?”

“What is the right thing?”

“When a leader at other courts has been found to be of unsound mind, their nobles ask his eldest female relatives for permission to unseat him. If permission is given, they remove him. I suppose their men are braver than ours.”

He looked as uncomfortable as if she had held a hot poker near his eyes. “I wish I could help.”

“Aren’t you and the other men afraid that he won’t stop at killing his own flesh and blood?”

“Of course. Every man is hoping that by showing fealty, he will remain unscathed. Any sign of disloyalty is so rapidly punished that we don’t even dare to think disloyal thoughts.”

“My father was right to imprison him,” she said. “I wish I had taken heed. He understood things about Isma‘il that none of us knew.”

“True.”

“Can you at least protect Sultanam’s grandchildren?”

“Not if the Shah wishes them dead.”

“Shamkhal! What has become of you?”

“I survive as well as I can. That is all a man can do under these circumstances.”

“It is an ugly way to live.”

His broad face seemed to swell with anger. “You think so? It is much less ugly than other possibilities.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning at least I advise Isma‘il on a daily basis, arguing for clemency and mercy. I attempt to influence his decisions by pointing out examples of goodness. What do you do?”

“He hasn’t given me a chance to do anything.”

“My point exactly. You treated him with disdain. You defied his orders. You didn’t take the time to become a trusted servant. As a result, you have had no influence at all.”

Pari’s face flushed dark. “I deserved better.”

“Why?”

“Because of all I know. Because of who my father was. Because I am better at governing than he is.”

“All of that is true, but it doesn’t help us now. I begged you to bow before him and show your humility. But you wouldn’t make compromises, so you have been rendered impotent.”

“At least I am not a coward. I stand tall for what I believe.”

“Those are very fine words,” he said. “They will probably sound even better when you turn them into poetry. But what good are words? Now when you are needed the most, you can’t even get an appointment to see your own brother.”

“I’m glad that I don’t bow my head before his ridiculous orders, like you do. How many men will you stand by and see murdered?”

“As many as is necessary, while I influence him as much as I can and adjust when I can’t.”

“What if you awake to find his men hovering above you with a cord in their hands to strangle you?”

“I will have done my duty as well as I could.”

Pari was so exasperated she hit both sides of her head with her hands. “It is like trying to get a rat to stop feeding at the latrines!”

“You are the shit-eater!” Shamkhal bellowed, his voice so loud I felt it in my teeth. “What if you try to remove him and awake to see those same men waiting for you?”

“At least I will die knowing I have done what I could to oppose him.”

Pari stood up abruptly and wrapped the chador over her body.

“Daughter of my sister, wait a minute. Everyone would be grateful if you were able to tame him.”

“How can I do that now?” she replied. “All of you men were happy to allow him to shut me out of palace affairs. How quick you were to do so!”

“It was a direct order.”

“But if you had argued against it, I might have retained some influence. Maybe I am impotent, but you helped Isma‘il put me in that position. Now how is anyone to stop him?”

Despite his big black beard and broad shoulders, Shamkhal looked helpless for a moment.

“I don’t know. We will have to wait until the qizilbash come back from chasing the Sufis to see if they will help.”

“But their absence is making it possible for the princes to be exterminated!”

Shamkhal opened his palms to heaven as if to say the matter was in God’s hands.

Pari’s lips turned down with disgust as she flipped the picheh over her face. “And they say that women are cowards!” she exclaimed as she clutched her chador under her chin and strode toward the door. Her uncle didn’t plead with her to stay. Clumsily, I covered my face and body.

Outside, the princess could not contain herself.

“Oh great God above,” she prayed as we walked down the street, “look kindly on your child, I beg you. Advise me on the correct course of action, for I am lost. These times are as dark as times have ever been. Gazzali has written that without justice there is nothing—no loyalty, no citizenry, no prosperity, and finally, no country. We are at risk of losing everything. Oh Lord, show your servant a ray of light in her darkest moment!”

I echoed her prayer as we entered the park, descended into the passageway, and walked quickly in the cold. I felt relieved not to be on the street, where there was a possibility of being discovered. We emerged into the crumbling pavilion without incident, flung off our wraps, and walked back to her home through the harem gardens. In her rooms, the princess sat down, looking shaken. Her own uncle! It was the worst blow of all.

“Who can we turn to now? Mirza Salman?”

Her smile was ragged and defeated. “He is a man of the pen of second rank. The qizilbash won’t listen to him.”

Pari’s eyes looked unveiled for the first time in months. What I saw reminded me of the despair of a prisoner being led to execution.
Her hands lay palm up in her lap, small, tender things, the henna designs now faded. She looked down at them for a moment.

“I am frightened,” she whispered.

I was thunderstruck by the rawness of her admission. Deep in my heart, it stirred a desire to sacrifice myself for her. I had fight enough for three men, and I vowed to do all I could to keep her safe from harm.

CHAPTER 6

THE CALL TO BATTLE

Kaveh received word that his eighteenth and last son had been called to present himself to Zahhak and his snakes. Upon hearing the news, he abandoned his forge and marched to the palace, the thick muscles of his forearms clenching with rage. So great was his anger that he rushed past the guards and interrupted Zahhak while he was holding court.

“Illustrious King,” he roared, his eyes flashing like the sparks from his forge, “you rule over seven realms and a treasury bursting with gold. Why must you rob me of my only wealth? If you are as just as you claim, you will leave my last son alone rather than perpetrating such evil.”

Zahhak tasted metal on his tongue. How could he defend his own actions? He longed to make himself look clean in the eyes of the world.

“I will release your son,” he replied, issuing the order. “Now you must sign this proclamation attesting to the justice of my reign. Is that easy enough?”

When Kaveh read the proclamation and saw the names of all the nobles there, his cheeks turned purple, his eyes bulged, and the muscles in his neck throbbed.

“What a pack of cowards you all are!” he shouted at the nobles. “How can you put your names to such lies and still call yourselves men?”

With a great roar, he ripped the document to bits and stomped on it, while the nobles gaped at him as if he were a mad dog. Then he stormed out of the palace in a rage. At the town’s central square, he tore off his blacksmith’s apron and raised it high in the air on the point of a spear so that people could see it far and wide. They flooded in from everywhere and rallied around his cause.

“Justice!” they cried. “Justice!”