The Towers of Samarcand

CHAPTER THIRTY

QARABAGH, SUMMER 1402

It was early evening in the valleys of the Qarabagh and the army was still waiting to move.

Inside Tamerlane’s tent, the eagle no longer watched the leopard and the leopard had forgotten its bone. Both of them stared at the man on the bed, the man whose body, yellow in the candlelight, was a mass of suppurating sores and leech-bruises and whose shallow breathing had the rattle of death about it.

Tamerlane was propped up on piled cushions and his eyes were open. He was looking at his grandson, Pir Mohammed, and his heavy lids were blinking from the sting of sweat in his eyes. It was early evening and the tent was suffocatingly hot. On the ground next to the bed were the feathers of different birds and Pir Mohammed was studying them.

‘Grandfather, the shaman has been,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Shulen told us not to put our trust in him. She said …’

Tamerlane slowly raised his hand. ‘I know what she said.’ He closed his eyes. ‘What harm can it do now, Grandson? I am nearly dead.’

Miran Shah had come to the tent earlier in the day, pushing his way through the guards to stare in horror at what the Lord of the Celestial Conjunction had become. The shaman had entered the tent behind him, a withered, filthy Mongol in a coat of feathers, and Miran Shah had turned to him. ‘Bleed him,’ he’d whispered. ‘Bleed him a lot.’

Now bled, Tamerlane looked weaker than his grandson had yet seen him and could not be far from the end.

‘It is for my sins,’ he breathed, his eyes screwed shut against the memory of them. ‘It is for my sins that they have taken her.’

Pir Mohammed knew whom he meant. ‘She will return,’ he said quietly.

But Tamerlane was shaking his head slowly, the hollows of his cheeks dark pools below ridges shining with fever. ‘It is for my sins.’

The entrance to the ger creaked open and Pir Mohammed turned. His mother was closing the door behind her. She came over to the bed and stood beside her son. Tamerlane’s eyes had closed again and he seemed to be sleeping. Pir Mohammed turned to his mother. ‘Still no word from the Varangians. We don’t even know if they found her.’

Neither of them saw that his eyes had opened again. The old man’s brow was furrowed and, with a supreme effort, he raised his head. ‘So she doesn’t come, after all,’ he whispered. ‘I am truly cursed.’

Tamerlane closed his eyes and whatever fight had kept him alive thus far seemed to leave him like the blood that had been leeched from his veins. With a deep, cracked sigh, his head sank back into the cushions.

There was conversation outside the ger and an order barked. Pir Mohammed looked up. ‘It’s Miran Shah. I will go to him.’ He rose.

But as the door of the ger opened and the fire in the braziers flared in the draught, it was not his uncle that filled the entrance. It was Luke and beside him was Shulen and she carried the skull of a horse.

‘Who let in the shaman?’ she asked, throwing the skull to the ground and then her cloak on to the end of the bed. ‘And who made this tent so hot?’

Pir Mohammed came forward. ‘Temur Gurgan is dying.’

‘And you thought a shaman might save him?’ Shulen walked over to the bedside. Tamerlane’s eyes were still closed and she placed a hand on his forehead. She knelt and put her ear to his chest and a hand to his wrist. She examined the pustulating boils on his chest and arms, each in turn, oblivious to their stench.

Eventually she straightened. ‘I don’t know if I can save him,’ she said. ‘The illness is far advanced. I’ll do what I can.’

A hand from the bed suddenly grasped her wrist. Tamerlane’s eyes were open and they were pleading. ‘Save me, Shulen,’ he whispered.

Very slowly, one by one, Shulen prised the fingers from her skin. There were red marks where they had sunk into her flesh. She placed his arm gently by his side.

Luke came to the bedside. He knelt beside her and leant close to Tamerlane’s ear. ‘We have done you some favour, lord,’ he said. ‘All this time, we have done you favour. Now it is time for you to do us favour.’

Tamerlane closed his eyes again. His breathing was laboured, quickening. ‘What do you want?’ he rasped.

Luke glanced at Shulen. His hands were shaking below the bed and he clenched them into stillness. ‘I want this: if she cures you, we march to Bayezid and when we’ve destroyed him, you free us Varangians from our oath and let us go home. And Shulen wants this: to marry Mohammed Sultan, your heir.’ Luke heard Khan-zada gasp behind him. He fixed his eyes on the dying man. Temur’s breathing was the ebb and flow of tide on shingle. His eyes were dulling. ‘All you have to do is nod your head to say that you agree.’

Tamerlane did nothing for a long time, his pale lips pressed together with concentration. Then he let out a long sigh and, almost imperceptibly, nodded.

Shulen stood up. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then let’s begin.’

*

Much later, when Tamerlane had swallowed a draught and was sleeping without fever and his breathing had the rhythm of a man who might live again, Khan-zada spoke to Shulen. They were alone in the tent with him. ‘You poisoned him.’

It was night and the tent was cooler, only the flames from the braziers lighting the faces of the two women. Shulen was grinding something in a mortar and paused for no more than an instant before continuing. She didn’t answer.

Khan-zada took the girl’s wrist in her hand, forcing her to turn. ‘You poisoned him and then left the camp, knowing when you had to return to give him the antidote. You told the Varangians where to find you.’ Khan-zada gripped her wrist tighter. ‘Why do you want to marry my son? You don’t love him, you love another.’

Then Shulen turned away. ‘It is my destiny,’ she said softly.

‘It is not your destiny,’ hissed the Princess, squeezing the wrist again. ‘Your destiny was to bring Temur to fight Bayezid. This you have done. With poison. You could have killed him!’

The eagle moved on its perch, its claws raking the wood as it lifted its wings, the feathers sighing as they settled. It was staring at them, two unblinking beads of quivering light.

Shulen looked back at the woman. ‘Why am I not allowed to find happiness as you did, Khan-zada?’ she asked quietly. ‘You came down from your father Husayn in Urganch, riding a white camel, so they say. Flowers and carpets were laid down before you on your way to meet Jahangir. You didn’t know of love then and you couldn’t have known that you would love him. But you learnt to.’ She paused. ‘Why am I so different?’

‘Because you love another.’

‘No, I loved another, which is why I know what it is to love.’ She glanced over at the sleeping mass that was Tamerlane. She lowered her voice. ‘Now I love your son.’

Khan-zada began to say something but stopped herself. She shook her head and sighed.

Shulen turned to her. ‘I will marry him,’ she said softly.

Then Khan-zada seemed to crumble. Her shoulders sank and she put her palms to her cheeks and closed her eyes. Her hands were trembling. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t.’

‘But Temur has agreed to it,’ said Shulen calmly, frowning. ‘Why can’t I?’

The two women stared at each other. Then, little by little, the alchemy of souls that had begun in a tower high up in the castle of Alamut finally worked its indefinable magic. A knowledge passed from woman to woman, from mother to daughter. Khan-zada released her arm and looked away.

‘So we’re the same,’ Shulen whispered, already feeling the tears in her eyes. ‘We both loved another before.’ She paused and looked down at the pestle in her hand. ‘You are my mother and Mohammed Sultan is my brother.’

The Princess nodded.

Shulen closed her eyes, letting the meaning seep in. ‘Which is why I am here,’ she said softly. ‘Of course.’

There was silence again between them.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because you might have told Mohammed Sultan.’ Khan-zada took her daughter’s wrist again. ‘And you cannot ever tell him,’ she whispered. ‘Swear to me that you never will. It would kill him.’

Shulen had turned and walked back to a low divan where she sat. ‘My brother …’ she whispered. Then she looked up. ‘But how can I tell him that we cannot marry?’

Khan-zada came to sit beside her. ‘You won’t have to. Temur will send him ahead to prepare for the attack on Bayezid. He will be away for months. By the time he returns, we will have found a reason for breaking the arrangement.’

Tears now flooded Shulen’s cheeks. She leant forward and they fell into her hands. Then she stopped and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She rose. ‘You must make Temur send him away immediately. I cannot lie to him.’