The King

23. A Secret Message

Mahdolia was back. After a day of rest she received the shah in her palace. She wanted to keep their conversation beyond the knowledge of the vizier. The Russians had expressed negative opinions about him.

‘Mother, how was your journey? How did they receive you?’

‘Far beyond my expectations. I was accepted with open arms — just like a blood relation — by the tsar’s wife, his mother, his sisters and his daughters. The atmosphere was one of trust. The tsar said he knew we had nothing to do with the attack on the embassy.’

‘You make us happy, Mother,’ said the shah.

‘The visit to Moscow was another unforgettable experience. The majestic churches and the impressive historic buildings all underscore human mortality. Everything, from the streets and bridges to the theatres, is so completely different from what we have in Tehran. There were a few times that I found myself silently weeping in the streets of Moscow.’

‘Why, Mother?’

‘For you, my son. It wasn’t until I reached the palace of the tsar that I realised the kind of misery in which my son, the shah of Persia, is living. That was when I became fully aware of what history has done to us, and especially to you. Once we had magnificent cities and palaces that made Moscow look like a simple village. Now my son has become the king of a land of ruins.’

The shah offered her a handkerchief.

‘But in the presence of the tsar I behaved as if I were the mother of the mightiest shah in the world.’

‘We are grateful to you for that,’ said the shah. ‘What did you discuss with the Russians?’

‘Sheikh Aqasi has all the documents. Tomorrow he is coming to hand everything over to you. It all comes down to the following: the Russians are prepared to withdraw from the occupied regions of Azerbaijan, but under certain conditions.’

‘I’m listening,’ said the shah guardedly.

‘They want access to the Persian part of the Caspian Sea, so they can freely sail there.’

‘That’s impossible,’ answered the shah. ‘We ourselves have no ships. Must we fully surrender our northern waters to the Russians? Must we stand aside and admire the Russian warships? No, never.’

‘Son, if we have no ships, what do we need that sea for?’

‘Mother!’

‘Listen. The Russians are prepared to withdraw, but in exchange they want us to give up our authority over the islands in the Caspian Sea and the steppe above Afghanistan for a period of fifty years. We wouldn’t be giving anything away; only lending.’

‘I beg your pardon, Mother, but this is utter madness!’

‘Madness? Of what use to us is that wild, uninhabited steppe above Afghanistan? Even the Mongolian donkeys detest it. And then that handful of islands. Has one single Persian even set foot on them since the creation of the world?’

‘What do the Russians want with them, then? They’ll be colonising our land. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

‘Why? I’m doing everything I can to keep our land intact,’ said Mahdolia defensively. ‘I know what our tribe has sacrificed to serve this people. I have seen the bodies of so many of our brave men who were killed in the wars or murdered by the spies of foreign powers. You act as if I were betraying our nation. I want to protect you. I’m tired. I think you should go. Tomorrow I’ll share the tsar’s most important message with you,’ said the queen mother, and she stood up.

‘No. Sit down, Mother.’

‘Only if you sit down too, and stop speaking to me from such a great height, like your father.’

The shah sat down beside her.

‘You know the Russians want access to the Indian Ocean?’ she continued.

‘Let them dream. We’re not giving them our land.’

‘The tsar has made the following proposal: if the shah wants to free Herat from the hands of the British he can count on us.’

A light flickered in the shah’s eyes. ‘How do they think they’re going to do that?’

‘If we agree to their plans, they will withdraw from the occupied regions. The tsar will then provide us with cannons and rifles. If the shah requests it the Russian officers will assist our warlords and fight alongside them in our army uniforms.’

‘Did the tsar really propose this?’ asked the shah.

‘He promised me this personally and no one else knows about it, not even Sheikh Aqasi. Listen, my son, if you can give our beloved Herat back to the nation you will go down in history as a hero.’

‘But the Russians cannot be trusted,’ said the shah.

‘Son, what have we got to lose?’

‘The vizier will never agree to it.’

‘You are the shah. And by the way the tsar hasn’t got a single good thing to say about the vizier.’

‘What did he say?’

‘The tsar told me in confidence that according to the report of the Russian embassy, a possible takeover by the vizier should be taken into account.’

The shah sank in his chair.

‘But don’t worry,’ said Mahdolia. ‘The Russians have agreed that if your throne is in danger they will step in and take action.’

The shah stood up, took his mother’s hand, kissed it and left her alone.

On his way to his palace he wondered when he ought to inform the vizier of the tsar’s proposal. While the shah saw the possibility of recapturing Herat just within reach, the vizier was concentrating on domestic concerns.

The shah decided to wait for a suitable moment.