The vizier rode down the hill alone. A gentle breeze played with the shah’s coat. As soon as the vizier reached the army, one of the French officers shouted, ‘Ready!’
The soldiers raised their new rifles and steadied them against their shoulders. The shah searched for the vizier’s face through his binoculars and saw his smile.
‘Fire!’ shouted the vizier, sitting astride his horse and pointing into the distance. Shots were fired. The shah’s horse whinnied and reared up. The shah struck him lightly on the flank and urged him to calm down.
At the vizier’s signal a group of sergeants sped to the cannons and turned the barrels to the horizon.
‘Fire!’ shouted the vizier once more.
Seven successive shots were fired. The shah had to pull firmly on the reins to keep his horse under control. Then he went down the hill to join the troops.
The French officers saluted and were ordered to begin the parade. The columns of soldiers marched past the shah, who kept touching his hand to his hat. He was clearly impressed. The vizier had done good work, but the shah refused to compliment him.
‘Has the entire army been reformed this way?’ he asked.
‘No, not the whole army, Your Majesty! We’re not quite ready yet. It will be a while before we’ve reached that point.’
The impressive parade made the shah think of the discipline of the Russian troops during the last war, when he had fought side by side with his father. Clearly the vizier had enormous influence over the army. He seemed more like the commander-in-chief than the shah himself. A plan began to ripen in his mind. With these armed forces he would be able to free Herat from the hands of the British and the Afghans.
The vizier had the officers step forward and he gave a short speech in French, describing the activities they had completed. Then he introduced them to the shah one by one. The shah put his hand in his coat pocket and handed each officer a large gold coin on which his own image was depicted.
16. The Russians Seek Contact
The British spies were busier than ever gathering information on the Persian cooperation with the French and the Russians. There wasn’t a single influential aristocrat who hadn’t been bribed by the British. And anyone with a bit of political ambition knew he wouldn’t be able to achieve anything without British support. Over the past fifty years England had also forged ties with the imams in the mosques and with tribal leaders in every corner of the country. Very little escaped the British.
The vizier also had his own information network. He knew, for example, that Mahdolia was planning a secret chat with the shah within the confines of the harem. He suspected that the meeting had to do with a sensitive issue. The informant who had passed that message on to the vizier was an old woman whose job it was to remove unwanted hair from the faces of the women of the harem by using a fine thread. She had seen the shah’s mother, fully veiled like one of the women of the harem, go into a room in the back of the building. The woman had hidden behind a cupboard to see what would happen next. Quite unexpectedly the shah came into the room. The old woman was so shocked she couldn’t remember what had been said. The vizier had to find out for himself, and he didn’t do that until it was too late – for him and for the country. Otherwise he would have learned that the conversation had unfolded like this:
‘What did you want to tell me?’ the shah asked his mother.
‘The Russian embassy has a message for you.’
‘From whom?’ asked the shah.
‘No names were named, but it’s probably from the tsar.’
‘What do they want to talk about?’
‘The content of the message is still unknown.’
‘Who is going to bring the message?’ he asked.
‘If the shah agrees, a highly placed Russian politician disguised as a merchant will come to Tehran with a group of tradesmen. He will want to speak to the shah on behalf of the tsar. Under no circumstances must the British get wind of this.’
‘What’s it all about?’ the shah asked again.
‘I have my suspicions, but it’s better to be patient and to hear the message from them first-hand,’ said Mahdolia.
‘Where can we receive them?’ asked the shah.
‘The best place for the meeting is the country house of Sheikh Aqasi. He is the most trustworthy person we know. I think we can gather in his albaloo garden. If the shah takes his harem along it will be seen as an ordinary outing.’
The shah was silent. The idea appealed to him.
‘May I arrange the meeting?’ asked Mahdolia.
‘Fine,’ said the shah.
Mahdolia took the shah’s hand and pressed it to her breast.
When Mahdolia was gone the shah walked back to the hall of mirrors and called for a hookah. He sat down amongst his cushions, and as he smoked he thought about what had happened.
His mother never let herself be used as a messenger unless it was a matter of the utmost importance. The shah decided to wait and not to inform the vizier.
17. The Albaloo Garden
An albaloo is a cherry, but it is somewhat redder, more delicate and more flavourful than other cherry varieties. The tastiest albaloos in the world can be found in the outdoor gardens of Tehran near the Alborz Mountains. In other cities the albaloos ripen in late June, but the cherries of Tehran are not fully developed until late summer and early autumn. There nature takes her time to make something outstanding.
Albaloos were very popular among the young lovers of Persia. The girls and young women would hang albaloos over their ears and the young men would long to pluck them. The albaloo was the shah’s favourite fruit. Everyone near him knew this, and the rich merchants in the bazaar, who had large albaloo gardens at their country houses, were aware of it as well. They sometimes invited the shah and his harem to spend a day among the cherries. Like the aristocratic families they had built castles in the surrounding villages where they would spend the summer. These were outposts of paradise, constructed according to the conventions of Persian landscape architecture.
Sheikh Aqasi had one of the finest gardens in Tehran. He had made all the necessary preparations for the secret meeting to be held there between the shah and the Russians.
The evening before the meeting the shah lay in bed. He missed Sharmin. Only much later did the cat finally come into the bedroom, rush onto the bed and lie down. The shah felt her restlessness.
‘Where were you, Sharmin?’
The cat crept up to her master. As he stroked her head he felt a piece of paper hanging from a cord round her neck.
‘What’s this?’
In the candlelight he saw that it was indeed a slip of paper. Two words were written on it that were barely legible: ‘Beware! Tomorrow!’
What could this mean? Who would write such a thing? What should he beware of? Was it a warning, a threat or a joke? Who dared to use his cat as a messenger? He put the slip of paper in his coat on the coat rack and went back to bed.
‘Sharmin, who did this? A friend? An enemy?’ he asked. ‘Was it one of the women in the harem? Someone who is jealous of you because you sleep with me every night? Could it be that Foruq wants to take revenge on me because I no longer want to share my bed with her? Perhaps I will never find out. But whoever it was, I will see that she is thrown from the roof.
‘We are surrounded by enemies,’ he went on. ‘We are not safe. The piece of paper round your neck is proof. There is nothing to be done. A king is always in danger. He will never sleep peacefully.’
The shah woke early. His breakfast was waiting for him. A servant brought the cat’s breakfast in on a large silver tray. It was fresh milk in a little porcelain bowl, roast mutton on a gilt-edged plate, a few small pieces of fresh bread spread with butter and a dish of water.
The shah looked to see whether his cat was eating her breakfast, and at the same time he kept his eye on the servant. Someone in the palace must have hung that piece of paper round the cat’s neck.
After breakfast
the chamberlain brought in comfortable clothing that he had selected with great care. The chamberlain did not know about the secret appointment with the Russians. ‘No, it has to be more formal,’ said the shah.
‘But if the shah intends to partake of albaloos later on, perhaps it’s better …’ suggested the man cautiously.
‘Formal clothing,’ said the shah firmly without looking at him.
A short while later the chamberlain returned with a suit. He showed it to the shah with some hesitation.
‘That’s good,’ said the shah.
He held the suit in front of him, looked in the mirror and said, ‘This is excellent. We’re going to get dressed.’
Meanwhile Sheikh Aqasi’s country house had been made ready for the arrival of the shah and the women of his harem. It was quite warm in Tehran, but at the foot of the Alborz Mountains the temperature was pleasant. In Sheikh Aqasi’s garden the branches of the albaloo trees were drooping under the weight of the ripe, red, full fruit, which gave off a delightful fragrance. As a child the shah had taken great pleasure in plucking albaloos. He never used his hands, but would stand under the hanging branches and pluck them with his lips.
Sheikh Aqasi knew how to please the shah. He had asked the old baker from the bazaar to make the albaloos even more delicious by adding sugar and fragrant ingredients. Sheikh Aqasi had ordered large carpets to be rolled out in the garden and the couches to be covered with colourful cushions so the shah and his harem would feel completely at home.
The shah was on his way. Behind him rode seventy-five women from the harem who had been selected especially for this outing. The women were veiled and covered in niqabs, and each of them wore a pair of binoculars round her neck, a gift of the English consul in Tabriz to the wives of the crown prince (as the shah was at the time).
The binoculars had been packed in a wooden box and inscribed with the English text, ‘From the princesses of the British royal house to the princesses of Persia. Warm greetings.’ It was the text more than the binoculars that had so delighted the shah. When he went out with his wives he had them bring their binoculars so they would have something to keep them occupied along the way.
The women who were selected to travel with the shah always had the time of their lives. These were their happiest moments, away from the seclusion of the harem. The father of the shah had never bothered to take his wives anywhere, for it required a great deal of organisation.
The shah rode in front. Remarkably he had left Sharmin at home. The women noticed he was peevish and kept their distance to avoid any angry outbursts.
‘Something is bothering him,’ whispered the women.
‘Perhaps he misses his favourite cat.’
‘Why did he leave her at home?’
‘She probably doesn’t feel very well,’ said one of the women with a laugh.
‘She gets a lot of fatty meat.’
‘If she were sick, His Majesty would never go anywhere. She’s not sick. I saw her on the roof this morning. She enjoys being with the wild cats when he’s gone.’
‘So it’s something else,’ whispered another woman.
‘Didn’t you notice? The shah has brought along a lot of extra balls for his cannon.’
The women held up their binoculars to look at the cannon.
‘He’s taking us to the front,’ one of them giggled.
Once outside Tehran, when there was little chance that they would be meeting any strange men, the women took off their niqabs and enjoyed the warm wind blowing around their heads. This was how they rode to Sheikh Aqasi’s country house. They all knew him. And because they didn’t like the queen mother, they didn’t like the sheikh either.
‘She’s got something going with him.’
‘He’s always with her.’
‘She seems to need a great deal of his advice,’ someone said with a wink.
‘Come, advise me,’ said another, imitating the queen mother. ‘Come, read me my future, show me the stars.’
Sheikh Aqasi stood at the gate to welcome the shah. He was wearing a long, light summer coat, and his beard, which went all the way down to his chest, was neatly combed. He rushed up to the shah, who was still seated on his horse, and pressed a kiss against his right boot of light brown leather. The shah got down from his horse and the sheikh took the reins.
The women of the harem had put their niqabs back on and were waiting for a sign from the shah.
‘The Russians will arrive in the afternoon,’ said Sheikh Aqasi. ‘Your Majesty has plenty of time to rest with his harem in the garden. The weather is splendid and everything is ready for you and your company. If Your Majesty agrees I will escort you to the garden.’
The shah nodded and motioned to his wives to dismount.
Sheikh Aqasi opened the great gate of his country house and said, ‘Please come in and bless your subject’s garden.’
The shah was impressed. The trees groaned under the weight of the glorious red albaloos, and the branches were bent over so far that if the shah raised himself up on his toes he could, with a little effort, pluck the albaloos with his mouth. The ground was covered with elegant carpets, and beneath the trees lay large colourful cushions and small rugs. Big parasols cast shadows across long tables that were covered with a vast array of dishes, fruit juices, fresh vegetables and other delicacies. An unusually delightful fragrance filled the air.
‘It is good,’ said the shah to Sheikh Aqasi.
‘Your subject grants Your Majesty his rest,’ responded Sheikh Aqasi. ‘The harem may make themselves completely at home. There are no strangers here, and later I will go inside. Should you require anything I will see to your needs without delay.’ He bowed and retreated into the building.
As soon as he left the women began walking round the garden, full of amazement. They did not touch the fruits or foods until the shah gave them permission to have something to eat or drink. But the shah’s thoughts were with the Russians and he forgot the women. One of them ventured to draw the shah’s attention to the magnificent albaloos.
The shah looked at the waiting women and the albaloos. He put his hands behind his back and stood beneath the branches, searching for the largest one. It hung defiantly high. Standing on tiptoe he tried to reach it with his mouth but was unsuccessful. On the second try his lips touched the fruit. The women encouraged him light-heartedly. He tried once more and stretched himself out to his full length. You could see his legs tremble with the strain. The fat red albaloo was almost in his mouth when his tall hat fell to the ground.
The women clapped their hands over their mouths to suppress their cries of alarm. This was a highly unusual occurrence. No one was ever to see the shah without his hat. The women immediately averted their eyes, but in that flash they had seen that the shah had become a little bald and a little grey. He put his hat back on and cast an angry glance at the women. The festive mood had been spoilt. Still hanging high in the tree was the fat treacherous albaloo. The shah plucked it roughly with his hand and played with it for a moment between his fingers. Would he crush it and throw it to the ground, or pop it in his mouth? He popped it in his mouth and bit down. The taste alleviated everything.
‘Wicked! Extraordinary!’ exclaimed the shah.
The baker had done his work with consummate skill. There was no stopping the shah now. Forgetting the purpose of his visit he ate so much in so short a time that his stomach began to ache and he had to lie down on the couches.
‘Bring me hot tea with rock candy,’ he groaned.
Indeed that was the only effective remedy for stomach ache caused by eating too many albaloos. Once he had drunk the sweet tea and his stomach began to feel better, he looked up from his couch at the women plucking albaloos.
‘No, not by hand. Pluck them with your mouth,’ he kept shouting.
The women put their hands behind their backs and stood under the branches. The shah laughed at the sight of their lips, which the oozing juice of the albaloos had stained a deep red. I
t aroused him. He called one of the women over and sucked on her lips. He plucked a couple of cherries, squeezed them and let the red juice flow over the women’s faces, necks and breasts. They enjoyed all the attention. It was one of the rare moments when they actually loved the shah. Now he belonged to all of them, and he kissed all the lips that came near.
Back in the palace they would talk about what they had experienced and how much they had enjoyed it. It would provoke jealousy among those who had not been kissed or touched by the shah in years. Discord lay in wait, ready to pounce.
The shah drank a few more glasses of tea and stretched out on one of the couches. He closed his eyes to take a nap.
Silence descended on the garden. The women sat on the big garden benches smoking hookahs. The shah slept restlessly, tossing and turning. Then all at once he stood up, left the women and withdrew into the building where he was to receive the Russian delegation.
‘Does the shah wish to rest any more?’ asked Sheikh Aqasi, and he accompanied him to a special room.
The shah picked up a book that was lying on a table, sat down in a chair, put his feet up on another chair and began leafing through the book.
‘Does Your Majesty require anything else, perhaps?’
The shah said no, after which the sheikh gently closed the door.
Within the hour the sheikh returned, tapped gently on the door and brought in a cup of tea, with the shah’s approval. The sheikh then led him to another part of the building where he was to receive the Russian guests unobserved. They could arrive any minute now, but apparently they had been delayed.
The shah waited in this guest room and Sheikh Aqasi waited at the back door, but there was no sign of the Russians. The shah looked out through a slit in the curtains at the fields along which the delegation would have to pass. For a meeting at this level an unreported delay was unusual. The shah paced up and down the room and took another peek outside. Sheikh Aqasi stood rigid at the door, as if he had turned to stone. He dared not approach the shah.
The King Page 8