Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,20

by a circle of hunters.

“Remove your pichehs!” bellowed Shamkhal.

A woman wrapped in a black chador protected the others by spreading out her arms and corralling them behind her, causing the one in pink shoes to stumble.

“It is not your place to demand such a thing!” the woman in the black chador replied bravely.

“If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear,” replied Kholafa. He tore off the woman’s chador, picheh, and the kerchief covering her head, and she screamed as her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and onto her breast. It was Awva, one of the ladies in charge of the kitchens. I gasped, horrified to witness such a transgression.

Another of the women came forward, volunteering herself, and the captain uncloaked her. She, too, cried out as the men stared at her naked face and unusual red hair, feasting on the spectacle of her. I didn’t recognize her.

“Who are you?” demanded Shamkhal.

“We serve the ladies of the royal court,” replied Awva haughtily, refusing to identify herself any further.

She and her friend crushed the third woman between them while facing out toward the soldiers, locking their arms backward around each other’s midsections to protect her. I thought about standing up to defend her, but a suspicion had entered my mind, and I decided against taking action.

“You will throw dishonor on the Safavi house if you insist on revealing her,” cried Awva. “The penalty will be your lives!”

Kholafa waved his hand as if to give up. “Let them go,” he said scornfully. “They are only women.”

“Let her prove it then!” shouted Shamkhal, his eyes fiery.

“You have lost your senses. Do you want to get us killed?” Kholafa replied.

I heard clubs striking wood and realized that Haydar’s men were challenging the barricades and the guards at the checkpoint from the birooni. By God above! We could all be killed in a matter of minutes.

The women began trying to break their way out of the circle of horses by ducking in between the restive mounts. The men closed ranks to trap them, and then Shamkhal grabbed the woman’s chador and picheh and ripped them from her body.

“Spare me!” she screamed in a strangled voice. When Kholafa tore off the kerchief covering her short hair, my suspicions were confirmed: It was Haydar. He put his hands out to protect himself, and his left eye twitched as if he were in his death throes.

From behind the checkpoint, Haydar’s men shouted out a chorus of comfort. “Haydar, we’re here to protect you! Help is at hand!”

Haydar turned toward their voices and shouted out, “Hurry!” as he flung himself toward an opening in the circle of horses. Shamkhal and Kholafa jumped off their mounts, pushed away the ladies, and lunged for him. Haydar lost his footing and dropped to the ground with a loud thump. The pink shoes flew off his feet, and his legs sprawled as the men struggled to pin down his arms.

There was a roar in the distance as the first of Haydar’s supporters breached the gate into the harem. I recognized the soldier with the thick red scar. He uttered a battle cry so fierce it curdled my blood, and he thrust his sword at me as he thundered past. I avoided being skewered only by falling facedown in the dirt.

“We have no choice. Finish him!” I heard Shamkhal say. When I looked up, he had succeeded in pinning Haydar’s arms behind his back. Kholafa drew his sword and thrust it twice into Haydar’s abdomen. A wet red stain sprang to life on his gray robe. As it spread across his belly, Haydar grimaced and clutched his middle. His groans were thick with blood.

Awva and the other lady began screaming in horror, folding in half at the waist and hitting their knees and temples with their hands. Their cries were more awful than anything I had ever heard.

Shamkhal’s soldiers hoisted Haydar’s body onto their shoulders and began marching toward the checkpoint leading to the birooni. By then more of Haydar’s supporters had breached the harem, including Hossein Beyg Ostajlu. He stared at the broken body in the bloodied gray robe.

“Alas! Our shining hope has been cruelly destroyed! May you and your families be cursed until the end of their line!” he shouted, along with a string of profanities. He and his soldiers skirmished briefly with Shamkhal’s men, but what use is a group of supporters without their shah? Before long, the men behind Hossein Beyg spurred their horses toward the birooni, fearful