Ships from the West

'He will accept, of course. But I find myself worrying all the same. Perhaps we sent out the embassy too soon. I am not convinced that he will see past the unseemly haste of the thing. Corfe is as cold and murderous as a winter wolf, but there is a stiff propriety about him. These Ramusians - well, they are not Ramusian any longer, I suppose, but our brothers-in-faith after all - they see marriage in a different light to the rest of us. The Prophet, may God be good to him, never said that a man should have one spouse only, and for a monarch, well . . . How can a man maintain his dignity with just the one wife? How can he be wholly sure of a son to follow him? Toru

'No, unseemly haste or not, Toru

Akran bowed, straightening with the aid of his staff and stifling a groan. 'And what of this other union, sire? The Prince Nasir is impatient to know more of his intended bride.'

Aurungzeb's grin faded into the bristling darkness of his beard. He levered himself into a sitting position, helped by the nude girl beside him, and while she leant against his back to keep him upright, he stroked his bearded chin with one plump, hairy hand, the rings upon it sparkling like a brilliant, tiny constellation.

'Ah, yes. The girl. A good match, a balancing of the scales.' He lowered his voice and peered into the grey mist of the surrounding gauze. 'They say she is a witch, you know. Like her mother.'

'It may be court gossip sire, no more.'

'It matters not; that shall be Nasir's problem, not mine.' He boomed with sudden laughter, shaking the slim, straining shoulders of the girl who was supporting him.

"The Prince has expressed a wish to see this girl before he marries her. He is in fact relaying through me a request to go to Toru

Aurungzeb frowned. 'He will hold his tongue and do as he is told. What does it matter to him how this girl looks? He will plough her furrow and plant in her a son, and then for recreation he shall have a garden of concubines. The young! They hatch such absurd ideas.'

'He also would like to visit Toru

'What? Spit it forth.'

'He wants to see something of his mother's homeland.' Aurungzeb's eyebrows shot up his face like two caterpillars on strings. 'Does something ail the boy?' Akran coughed delicately. 'I believe the Queen has been telling him stories about the history of her people. I beg your pardon, my Sultan. I mean the people she once belonged to.'

'I know what you mean,' Aurungzeb growled. 'And I was aware of it. She has been filling his head with tall tales of John Mogen and Kaile Orma

With a titanic heave, the Sultan hauled himself off the bed. He struggled through the flimsy veil that surrounded it, and sashed close his silk dressing gown. Barefoot, he padded over to a small gilt table that glittered in the light of the overhead lamps. His soles slapped loudly on the marble floor, for he was an immense man with a pendulous paunch. He gently lifted the brindled length of his beard out of the bosom of his robe and poured himself a goblet of sharp-smelling amber liquid from a silver jug.

He sipped at it, his face changing. There was no trace of joviality left in it now. His eyes were two black stones.

'What do we know of the current situation at Gaderion?' he snapped.

'There has been fighting in the open country between the two defensive lines, sire, and the Toru

Aurungzeb grunted. 'He will be wanting troops, under the terms of the treaty. I suppose I shall have to give him some. We are allies, after all, and with these marriages . . .' He broke off, chin sunk in his chest.

'There are times, Akran, when I wonder if it is all but a dream. Everything that has happened since Armagedir. Here are we, two countries whose faith is the same in all but name, who are about to be joined by the closest of dynastic ties - so close that, if they take, then these two Royal lines will become virtually one. And yet twenty years ago we were each striving for the a

He mused some more.

‘I tell you what: Nasir shall indeed go to Toru

'He is young, sire . . .'

'Bah, at his age I had already fought in half a dozen battles. The younger generation has no idea—' Here Aurungzeb halted, interrupted by the boom of the chamber doors as they were rolled back by a pair of bald-pated eunuchs.

Through the ornate doorway strode a tall woman in cobalt blue silk. A veil covered her face, but above it two grey eyes flashed from under stibium-darkened brows. Her sandal-clad feet clapped on the marble. Behind her a gaggle of veiled women huddled nervously, and dropped to their knees as the Sultan's baleful glare swept over them. In the four-poster, the slim girl pulled the sheets over her head.

'My Queen—' Aurungzeb began with a voice like thunder, but the woman cut him short.

'What is this I hear about a marriage between Aria and the Toru

The vizier backed away discreetly and signalled for the eunuchs to close the doors again. They did so, the sonorous boom passing u

'Your presence in the harem is both awkward and insult­ing,' Aurungzeb bellowed. 'A Merduk queen—'

'It is true?'

Something went out of Aurungzeb, some kind of self-righteous outrage. He turned away and studied his forgotten wine goblet as if reluctant to meet the fire of her eyes. 'Yes, it is true. There have been negotiations, and both parties are in favour of the match. I take it you have some objection.'

To his surprise she did not speak. He turned back to her enquiringly and found that she was standing rigid as wood, her hands clasped together, and the beautiful eyes alight above the veil with tears that would not fall.

'Ahara?' he asked, startled.

She lowered her head. 'Who thought up this match? The man's wife is not yet dead.'

'Actually it was she who suggested it, through our regular diplomatic couriers. She is dying, it seems, and wishes her husband's line to be secured. Toru