This Heart of Mine (48 page)

“I am Adali,” he said in careful French. “I have been assigned to serve you, princess.”

“I am not a princess,” said Velvet.

“You must be,” said the smiling eunuch, “for I could only serve a princess.”

“I am Velvet Gordon, the Countess of BrocCairn, Adali.”

“I do not know what a
comtesse
is,” he returned, “but I do know what a princess is, and you are as beautiful as any princess I have ever seen. You must therefore be a princess.”

Velvet laughed. She liked this fat little man with his snapping, merry brown eyes. “And how many princesses have you seen in your life, Adali?”

“Well,” he considered, “there is the Amber Princess who is the emperor’s favorite wife. Then there is the Princess of Khandesh, the Princess of Bikaner, the Princess of Jaisalmer, the Princess of Puragadh, to mention but a few of the lord Akbar’s other wives. It seems that every time a king makes a treaty of peace with another king there is a nubile princess involved in the transaction! Now why was I not born a king also?” He gave a watery chuckle that was so infectious in its mirth that Velvet laughed again.

She settled herself in the middle of the pillows upon the bed and looked at Adali. “Your French is terrible!” she scolded him. “Where on earth did you ever learn it? I am going to have to teach you to speak properly, Adali.”

“Oh, yes, princess! I should very much like to learn whatever you can teach me. My father was a simple sailor from
Brittany who married my mother, who is a Muslim, and settled in the city of Cambay. They own a small shop on the waterfront where they repair sails. It is from my father and his sailor friends that I learned to speak the tongue of the Franks. They are simple men, princess.”

For a moment Velvet felt ashamed at having teased him. She was fortunate that Adali spoke French at all. “Forgive me, Adali,” she said humbly. “I have been unkind, and the truth is that I am very grateful you can speak to me.”

“It is nothing, princess,” he answered her graciously. “I am your slave, and you may do with me as you will.” Her honest apology had won him, and he would serve her with loyalty always.

Velvet found his words rather startling. She had never owned a slave before. To cover her confusion she said, “Sit down and answer the many questions that I have, Adali. What is this place, this Fatehpur-Sikri? It seems a city, and yet it does not.”

A smile split his round face. “When the rains stop I shall show you Fatehpur-Sikri,” he said, “for it is indeed a city. It was built by the lord Akbar, and for over ten years it was his capital. He abandoned it five years ago in favor of Lahore to the north. Many say it was because Sheikh Salim, the holy man who lives here and who predicted the birth of the lord Akbar’s three sons, disliked the bustle and noise of the capital. It disturbed his meditations, they say.

“That, however, is not so. The lord Akbar abandoned Fatehpur-Sikri because of a water shortage. We are on the edge of the great Indian desert here, and as there are not enough natural springs to supply a city we have to depend upon reservoirs and catch basins. And it does not rain enough here except in this the monsoon season. There isn’t really enough water to supply the city, to keep the gardens, and to supply the fountains. That is why the lord Akbar left Fatehpur-Sikri. Still, it is his favorite place, and occasionally he cannot resist returning. The last time was over three years ago.”

“So that is why it seems deserted,” said Velvet.

Adali nodded. “There is no longer a large population here,” he replied.

“Does the lord Akbar’s whole court travel with him like our English queen’s does?”

Adali chuckled. “Sometimes and sometimes not. This is one of those times when the lord Akbar wished to be by himself for a short while.” The eunuch grew somber and lowered his voice. “It has not been a good year for my master. His eldest
son, Prince Salim, is now twenty and chafes against his father’s control. His two half brothers are nineteen and seventeen. They are the princes Murad and Daniyal. They, too, resent their father, but they resent each other as well. The two younger sons have too great an addiction for sweet wines, and it is said that Prince Salim is an opium-eater as well. None of them are really like their father. He loves them, but I think they sadden him.

“He is a great king, the lord Akbar. Under him almost all of India is now united. The laws, the judgments, and the taxes are finally fair. The roads are safe to travel. He loves and encourages musicians and artisans. He is a man of great intellect and curiosity. He built a house here in Fatehpur-Sikri and then invited priests of all religions, including the Christians, to come here and discourse with him and with each other. He holds no prejudices like our past rulers. He even lifted the special tax from the Rajputs! He is a wonderful and good man, but he has not been well, and so he has come to Fatehpur-Sikri once again to regain his strength.”

“Tell me of his wife,” said Velvet innocently, forgetting the eunuch’s reference to Akbar’s many princesses.

“Wives
, princess! The lord Akbar has thirty-nine wives at last count, and several hundred concubines. In all, the zenana of my master contains close to five thousand women, including female relatives, slaves, and others!” He chuckled. “Wife! Ha! Ha!” Then he turned serious. “You, my princess, I suspect, shall be the lord Akbar’s new favorite. You do not look like our women, but you are very, very beautiful. He cannot fail to love you.”

Velvet looked positively shocked.
“I was
a married woman, Adali,” she said seriously. “I am only here because the Portuguese kidnapped me!”

Before the eunuch could reply, the door to the chamber opened and Akbar entered the room. Adali threw himself to the floor in a gesture of total and complete obeisance. “Rise, Adali,” said the emperor, “and fetch us refreshment.”

The slave scrambled to his feet and scampered out the door. Then to Velvet’s surprise the emperor settled himself upon the bed facing her. He studied her carefully for a long moment, bringing a deep blush to her cheeks.

“I do not mean to embarrass you,” he apologized, “but you are incredibly fair. Never have I seen such exquisite beauty in any woman, and I have certainly seen many beauties in my lifetime. I have never, however, seen eyes like emeralds or hair the rich reddish color of newly turned earth.”

“Most of the women in my land have fair skin, sire,” Velvet replied, “and many, though not all, have light-colored eyes. My mother’s eyes are the blue of the sea.”

“And your mother, does she have hair the color of yours?”

“Oh, no, sire. My parents both have dark hair. I have inherited my hair color from my
grandmère
, the Comtesse de Saville.”

He smiled at her. “Tell me about your homeland, your England.”

“It is a cool, green land of hills, orchards, and fields, lakes and rivers, and a great city called London. The queen is most wonderful, and the wisest and bravest of rulers. All the kings of Europe stand in awe of her.”

“Not the Portuguese.” Akbar chuckled.

“The Portuguese!” Velvet sniffed, outraged. “Lackeys of Philip of Spain who would usurp our queen’s rightful place. A place even her sister, Queen Mary, who was King Philip’s wife would not deny.”

He was enchanted; enchanted by her obvious intelligence, her quick speech, and the way her straight, little nose wrinkled in scornful distaste of the Portuguese. He wanted to know more about her; a great deal more. “You love your England, I can see. Tell me then how it is you came to India.”

Adali reentered the room, bringing with him wine and cakes, which he placed on a small footed tray by the bed. Then he tactfully departed.

Velvet’s face had grown sad. Where could she begin? she wondered. She took a deep breath. “The queen very much wants to trade with India, sire. When the Newbery-Hawkins expedition did not return after a reasonable time, Her Majesty asked my mother if she would send some of her vessels to Cambay. My mother, who in her youth amassed a great trading empire, and my father mounted an expedition and set sail. As they neared the end of their journey they were blown off course in a brief but fierce storm and, losing their rudder, were forced to land at Bombay. There the Portuguese took them and my older brother into custody, and were my family not members of the holy mother church, they would surely have been killed. Instead, the Portuguese demanded a heavy ransom, which my mother and father agreed to pay. My brother sailed back to England to raise the ransom, and when he returned here I came with him.”

“Why?” demanded the emperor. “Was such a trip not dangerous for you?”

“Sire, my husband had just died, and I could not bear to
stay at court with all its reminders of my Alex.” A single, bright tear slipped down her face, and without realizing the intimacy of the act he reached out and brushed it from her cheek.

“Don’t weep,” he said quietly.

“It was a useless death, sire. My husband was killed in a duel of honor that neither he nor his opponent wished to fight. He came from a country to our north, Scotland. We had only been married a few months and had no children. Because of me his line has died, and I must live with that the rest of my life!” Her beautiful eyes brimmed with tears, and, unable to contain himself, Akbar reached out and took her hand in an attempt to soothe her.

“It was not the will of God, else your husband would have left you with a child in your womb,” he comforted her.

Velvet was too overwrought and ashamed to admit to him why she had not conceived, and so, regaining control of her emotions, she continued her tale. “We did not follow the route the Portuguese usually take in their sea travel to India,” she said. “My mother’s ships are protected in their southern travel by the Dey of Algiers, and so we were able to hug the coast of Africa without fear. It cuts a month off the voyage, you know. We were a fleet of several ships, and we sailed under most favorable conditions. The storms we encountered were mild, and we reached Bombay easily.

“Murrough, my brother, is a very clever man, and he had our fleet wait just over the horizon while we entered Bombay on the flagship to be certain that Mother and Father had not been harmed and were alive before we handed over all that gold to the Portuguese.”

“Do you know how much gold?” asked the emperor casually.

“It was, my brother told me, two hundred and fifty thousand coins’ worth of pure gold. It was distributed among the fleet so unless you had all the ships, you didn’t have all the gold.” Velvet smiled a small smile. “Murrough is very clever,” she said. “He is very like our mother in that.”

“What happened when you got to Bombay?” asked Akbar.

Velvet shivered despite the heat. “Before we even docked,” she said, “we could see a small group of Portuguese soldiers upon the docks …”

Her eyes clouded with the memory. The day had been incredibly hot, and the bright sun mirrored the heat of the busy harbor. The noise and the smells were varied and overwhelming
as virtually naked, sweating men secured the heavy lines from the ship to the pier.

“You’re to stay in the cabin,” Murrough had warned her. “I’ll not have the Portuguese seeing you. There aren’t too many European women here. I want to make sure Mother and Adam are safe before I signal the others to come ashore.”

“We’ll die of the heat in here,” Velvet protested. “Why can’t I go with you? I want to see Mother and Father!”

“There will be some hard bargaining first, poppet, and Adam would have my hide if I put you in any danger. I want you and Pansy safe.”

“Very well.” She sighed. “If we must stay here, then we must. Get the chess set out again, Pansy, and we’ll play a game while we wait.”

“Yes, m’lady,” replied Pansy. “Would it be safe for us to open the bow windows, Master Murrough? Perhaps there might be a breeze. Lord almighty, I’ve never felt such heat before. I feel positively weak in me knees.”

“Aye,” Murrough agreed with her. “ ’Tis debilitating, lass, and that’s a truth. Open the windows, and it will help, I promise. Now that we’re landed you can drink all the water you want, too.” He smiled at both women as they reluctantly settled themselves, and then hurried from the cabin. When he was gone, Velvet rose and crossed quickly to slip out after him. Once on deck, she hid behind a barrel that gave her a good vantage point.

The ship had been made firmly secure and the gangway lowered so that the severely correct Jesuit priest might board.

“You have returned quickly, Captain O’Flaherty,” said Esteban Ruy Ourique, the governor’s personal advisor, as he gained the deck.

“Where are my mother and her husband?” demanded Murrough. “That was part of the bargain, that they would be awaiting me on the docks of this pesthole so that I might be certain that they were alive and safe. I do not see them anywhere.”

“There has been some difficulty,” began the Jesuit smoothly, “but did I not personally give you the church’s word that no harm would come to them, Captain?”

“Then where are they, Father Ourique?” Murrough’s gaze swept the pier and as it did something suddenly struck him. When he had sailed for England his mother’s damaged vessel had been moored at this very dock. Now it was nowhere to be seen. In a flash he knew what had happened. They had
escaped! His mother and Adam had seen some opportunity and had seized it! “They are gone!” he said triumphantly.

“Yes,” the priest returned. “Three months ago.” There was a small smile upon his thin lips. “Your mother is a formidable woman, Captain. As you know, we imprisoned the bulk of her crew, leaving only a small force aboard to repair the ship. Nonetheless, she somehow managed to gain freedom for her entire crew, overpower those soldiers guarding her vessel, and escape to the open sea. His Excellency, the governor, is most unhappy.”

“I’ve not a doubt he is,” said Murrough, a huge grin splitting his face.

“There is much, however, to be said for your honor, Captain, in returning here to pay the ransom nonetheless,” murmured Father Ourique.

“Ah, now, Padre,” said Murrough, “I see no reason to pay for something you don’t have.” He was immensely tickled that his mother had scored such a coup over the Portuguese. This would make grand telling back in England, and if he could return with the entire ransom intact, there might even be a knighthood in it for him. Sir Murrough O’Flaherty! Aye, his Joan would like that!