Prince Jadar passed the signal to the waiting guards as he
strode briskly down the stone-floored hallway and they nodded
imperceptibly in acknowledgment. There was no sound in the torch-lit
corridor save the pad of his leather-soled riding slippers.
It was the beginning of the third _pahar_, midday, and he had come
directly from the hunt when the runner brought word that Mumtaz had
entered labor. It would have been unseemly to have gone to her side, so
he had spoken briefly with the _dai_, midwife. He had overruled the
Hindu woman's suggestion that Mumtaz be made to give birth squatting by
a bed, so that a broom could be pressed against her abdomen as the
midwife rubbed her back. It was, he knew, the barbarous practice of
unbelievers, and he cursed himself for taking on the woman in the first
place. It had been a symbolic gesture for the Hindu troops, to quell
concern that all the important details attending the birth would be
Muslim. Jadar had insisted that Mumtaz be moved to a velvet mat on the
floor of her room and carefully positioned with her head north and her
feet south. In case she should die in childbirth--and he fervently
prayed she would not--this was the position in which she would be
buried, her face directed toward Mecca. He had ordered all cannon of
the fort primed with powder, to be fired in the traditional Muslim
salute if a male child was the issue.
Preparations also were underway for the naming ceremony. He had prayed
for many days that this time a son would be named. There were two
daughters already, and yet another would merely mean one more
intriguing woman to be locked away forever, for he knew he could never
allow a daughter to marry. The complications of yet another aspiring
family in the palace circle were inconceivable. The scheming Persian
Shi'ites, like the queen and her family, who had descended on Agra
would like nothing better than another opportunity to use marriage to
dilute the influence of Sunni Muslims at court.
Allah, this time it has to be a son. Hasn't everything possible been
done? And if Akman was right, that a change of residence during the
term ensures a male heir, then I'll have a son twelve times over from
this birthing. She's been in a dozen cities. And camps. I even tested
the augury of the Hindus and had a household snake killed and tossed in
the air by one of their Brahmin unbelievers, to see how it would land.
And it landed on its back, which they say augurs a boy. Also, the milk
squeezed from her breasts three days ago was thin, which the Hindus
believe foretells a son.
Still, the omens have been mixed. _The eclipse_. Why did it come a day
earlier than the Hindu astrologers had predicted? Now I realize it was
exactly seven days before the birth. No one can recall when they failed
to compute an eclipse correctly.
What did it mean? That my line will die out? Or that a son will be born
here who will one day overshadow me?
Who can know the future? What Allah wills must be.
And, he told himself, the meeting set for the third _pahar_ must still
take place, regardless of the birth. Unless he did what he had planned,
the birth would be meaningless. All the years of planning now could be
forfeited in this single campaign.
If I fail now, what will happen to the legacy of Akman, his great work
to unify India? Will India return to warring fiefdoms, neighbor pitted
against neighbor, or fall to the Shi'ites? The very air around me hints
of treachery.
With that thought he momentarily inspected the placement of his
personal crest on the thick wooden door of the fortress reception hall
and pushed it wide. A phalanx of guards trailed behind him into the
room, which he had claimed as his command post for the duration of his
stay in Burhanpur. The immense central carpet had been freshly
garlanded around the edges with flowers.
The fortress, the only secure post remaining in the city, had been
commandeered by Jadar and his hand-picked guard. His officers had taken
accommodations in the town, and the troops had erected an enormous tent
complex along the road leading into the city from the north. Their
women now swarmed over the bazaar, accumulating stores for the march
south. Bullock carts of fresh produce glutted the roads leading into
the city, for word had reached the surrounding villages that Burhanpur
was host to the retinue of the prince and his soldiers from the north--
buyers accustomed to high northern prices. The villagers also knew from
long experience that a wise man would strip his fields and gardens and
orchards now and sell, before an army on the march simply took what it
wanted.
Rumors had already reached the city that the army of Malik Ambar,
Abyssinian leader of the Deccanis, was marching north toward Burhanpur
with eighty thousand infantry and horsemen. An advance contingent was
already encamped no more than ten _kos_ south of the city.