Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,17
contemplated his good fortune.
“Good courtiers, I ask you again: May I have your support?” Haydar sounded more confident than before.
How dismaying that even rich men can be swayed by trinkets!
“You have mine,” said Hossein Beyg, the leader of the Ostajlu. He was joined by a chorus of voices, although most of the men did not identify themselves. Everyone knew the risks of supporting the wrong side.
A messenger entered the room and spoke in secret to Saleem, who interrupted the proceedings to make an announcement: “My good men, because of the events of this day, I have been informed by the chief of the royal bodyguard that the guards stationed outside the palace gates have refused to disperse until the succession has been resolved. No one will be permitted to enter or to exit the grounds.”
Haydar stepped back onto the platform and glanced around him like an onager facing a circle of hunters. His left eye began blinking so uncontrollably I had to look away. After listening to more high-pitched murmuring, he demanded, “Open the gates!”
“I don’t have the authority to tell the military men what to do,” Saleem replied. “It is the privilege of the Shah.”
He looked surprised by the words that had just issued from his mouth. Hadn’t Haydar declared himself our leader?
Balamani leaned close. “It is Thursday, which means it is the Takkalu tribe’s turn to guard the Ali Qapu gate. Is Haydar’s head stuffed with rice instead of brains?”
The Takkalu had had a rivalry with the Ostajlu for decades.
Haydar looked pained and said quietly, “I am the rightful shah, and in this time of darkness, I call on God’s protection as his shadow on earth. This meeting is dismissed.”
He stepped off the platform and left the room, escorted by guards and eunuchs. Saleem Khan called an end to the assembly, and then the nobles began clustering together to rally for or against Haydar’s candidacy.
“Do you think he can succeed?” I whispered to Balamani.
He opened his palms and shrugged. “Whatever happens, they might as well lay out the skewers!” he said, looking at the angry noblemen who surrounded us. “Some of these men will choose the wrong candidate and get turned into kabob.”
I grimaced at his awful prediction. Our eyes met, then flicked away. Neither of us had seen such peril in all our years of service.
I rushed back to Pari’s quarters, eager to discover whether she would support Haydar’s bold move. Pari entered some time later, her cheeks as flushed as a dancer after a performance, her black hair poking out of her kerchief at odd angles.
“What happened?”
“Haydar and his mother summoned me and demanded my support. When I demurred, Haydar threatened to imprison me. I bent low, kissed his feet, and pretended to recognize him as the rightful shah. Only then did he let me go.”
Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath, as if she had just understood the extent of the peril she had escaped.
“Lord of orders, who will receive your support?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I paused to strategize. “If Haydar has many armed followers outside the palace, he may prevail.”
“Go to town and bring me news.”
“How will I get out with all the palace gates blocked by the Takkalu?”
“Majeed will give the head guards some money. They know I am not Haydar’s ally.”
I exited through one of the palace’s side gates—the guard waved me through—and walked toward the main bazaar. On such a warm, sunny day, mothers should have been bargaining for goods and children chirping with pleasure about being outside. But the streets were deserted. When I arrived at the main entrance of the bazaar, its huge wooden doors were bolted shut. By God above! Never in my lifetime had the bazaar been closed on a Thursday.
I rushed to an old, abandoned minaret and climbed its slippery stairs. From the opening once used for the call to prayer, the whole city glittered in the sunlight, its mud brick homes interspersed with mosques, bazaars, and parks. The walled palace grounds dominated the city, resembling a huge garden carpet divided into orchards whose trees and flowers competed for beauty. The northern palace gate was heavily guarded. My eye was drawn to the Ali Qapu’s yellow and white tiled walls at the southern entrance, where hundreds of Takkalu soldiers of the royal bodyguard, along with their allies, stood in formation, their swords, daggers, and bows and arrows at the ready.
Where were Haydar’s supporters? Why had they not come out for their new shah? I went