She lifted herself out of the water and, holding her wrap against her,
brought the basket. It was filled with fruits and melons.
"They're not from Samarkand or Kabul, like you've probably grown
accustomed to at the palace in Agra. But I think you'll like them
anyway." She squinted across the square, in the direction of the
mosque. "I love Samad dearly. He did all of this for me. But he refuses
to listen to anything I say." She handed him an apple, then reached and
took some grapes. "You know, I think he secretly wants to die a martyr.
Like a lover eager to die for his or her beloved. He wants to die for
his wild freedom, for what he thinks is beautiful. Perhaps to be
remembered as one who never bowed to anyone. I wish I had his
strength."
"Where's he now?"
"You won't see him any more. But he's still here. He'll have food sent
to us. He loves me like a daughter, and he's happy when I am. And he
knows now you make me happy. But you mustn't see him here again, even
know that he's here. It would be too dangerous for you. Perhaps
someday, if we're all still alive."
He took her face in his hands and held it up to him. "You have as much
strength as anyone, including Samad. And I want to get you away from
here before your strength makes you do something foolish. I love you
more than my own life."
"And I love you. Like I've never loved anyone."
"Not even the Great Moghul? When you were in his _zenana_?"
She laughed. "You know that was very different. I was scarcely more
than a girl then. I didn't know anything."
"You learned a few things somewhere." He remembered the night past,
still astonished. The way she had . . .
"In the _zenana _you learn everything about lovemaking. But nothing
about love." She rose and took his hand. Together they walked to the
open portico of the palace. Around them the red pavilions were empty in
the early sunshine. The morning was still, save for the cries of the
green parrots who scurried across eaves and peered down impassively
from weathered red railings and banisters. His gaze followed the wide
arches, then turned to her dark shining hair. He reached out and
stroked it.
"Tell me more about it. How did you learn Turki?"
"In the _zenana_. We had to learn it, even though Arangbar speaks
perfect Persian." She turned to him. "And how did you learn to
understand it?"
"In a Turkish prison." He laughed. "It seems about the same to me. I
had to learn it too."
"Will you tell me about it? Why were you in prison?"
"Like you, I had no choice. The Turks took a ship I was commanding, in
the Mediterranean."
"Tell me what happened."
He stopped and looked at her. "All right. We'll trade. You tell me all
about you and I'll tell you everything about me. We'll leave out
nothing. Agreed?" She reached and kissed him. "Will you begin first?"