The King Read online

  Finally the shah turned to him. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not that I know of. Everything was meticulously arranged with your mother.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ve lost their way?’ said the shah.

  ‘The Russian ambassador himself stopped in yesterday to go over the route,’ he answered.

  With his hands behind his back the shah returned to the guest room. Soon Sheikh Aqasi came to bring him another glass of tea.

  ‘How much more tea do we have to drink?’ said the shah, and waved him away with his hand.

  The sheikh withdrew, afraid the shah was about to fly into a rage. His nerves were stretched to the limit.

  The shah could take it no longer. He bounded down the hall and cast his eyes on the women resting in the shadow of the trees. Then he thrust his hand into his coat pocket and felt a scrap of paper. He had forgotten it, the paper hanging round his cat’s neck. ‘Beware! Tomorrow!’

  He was stunned. Could this warning have to do with the failure of the Russians to appear? He turned back to the guest room, pulled the curtain aside and grabbed his binoculars. There was no one to be seen. A serene silence reigned.

  Suddenly he heard a shot in the distance. Could he be mistaken? Had Sheikh Aqasi heard it too? He opened the window and strained his ears. Then he heard another shot, far in the distance.

  ‘Sheikh Aqasi!’ he cried.

  The sheikh was at his side immediately.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The shots. We heard two shots.’

  Sheikh Aqasi, clearly shaken, went over to the window. Another shot was heard.

  The shah didn’t hesitate. ‘Get ready!’ he ordered his wives. ‘Back to the palace!’ Chaos ensued. The women put on their niqabs and hastened to their horses. Surrounded by his regular guards the shah raced back to Tehran. The other guards escorted his wives to the palace by way of a shortcut. After a ride of unprecedented speed the shah and his guards reached the city. He noticed the agitation immediately. Everyone was indoors, looking out at the empty streets from behind closed windows.

  The shah was told that there had been shooting and that a few people had been killed, but no one knew exactly what was going on. He wanted to ride to the centre of the city, but the guards held him back and brought him to the palace despite his protestations. There he summoned the head of the guards and had him call for the vizier. The messenger returned and reported that the vizier had gone to the bazaar square, where a serious incident had taken place that required the vizier’s personal attention. He was not able to come to the palace.

  ‘What kind of serious incident?’ cried the shah.

  ‘I don’t have the exact details,’ answered the messenger, ‘but I heard that many have been killed.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘More than twenty, maybe thirty.’

  ‘Thirty killed? Who fired the shots? Who died?’

  ‘What I am telling you is based on rumour,’ said the man cautiously.

  ‘Tell us the rumours then!’ cried the shah in a rage.

  ‘According to the rumours more than twenty Russians were killed.’

  ‘What? Russians? What makes you think they were Russians?’

  ‘I’m only passing on the rumours,’ repeated the messenger.

  ‘Go then, and come back quickly with the facts,’ ordered the shah.

  No one in the palace knew what had happened on the bazaar square. And if anyone did know he didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of the shah’s explosive fury.

  If the rumour was true and the incident had something to do with the Russians, then the special Russian envoy himself could be dead. Russia would hold the shah responsible for this attack. He didn’t know what to do next. He was prepared to crawl to the temple of the holy Abdoldawood on his knees to rectify the situation.

  The messenger was probably too terrified to return. Doubtless the matter was a complicated one or the vizier would have come to him immediately to fill him in. There was no question of his mother having anything to do with this plot. His appointment with the Russians had been violently sabotaged. The shah, his mother and the Russians had walked into a trap. What if the Russian envoy indeed had been killed? What was he to do?

  His mother’s palace was a hotbed of spies, a pit of old, black, poisonous snakes, crawling with the imams’ accomplices and British informers. Stupid. How stupid he had been. He was angry with himself and furious with his mother.

  ‘Witch, vixen!’ he cried aloud.

  Hearing a horse in the courtyard, he looked outside and saw the messenger. The shah pulled himself together. He walked to the middle of the hall and waited until the chamberlain had admitted the messenger and no one else.

  ‘Report!’ he said impatiently.

  ‘I have seen the following with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears: thirty-four Russians have perished, thirty-one of them staff members from the Russian residence and three Russian businessmen.’

  The shah heard no more. The messenger saw him go pale and begin to totter. The man was about to call the chamberlain.

  ‘Continue reporting!’ cried the shah.

  ‘It is said that last night three Persian women spent the night in the Russian residence. Haj Mirza Masih, the ayatollah of Tehran, got wind of this report. He announced it during Friday prayers and has called for a jihad. An angry mob led by a young imam went today to the Russian residence. The Russians bolted the gate of the embassy and drew the curtains closed. Stones were thrown, and the windows and doors of the Russian buildings were destroyed. The young imam climbed over the embassy fences and the people followed him. Just then shots were fired from an unknown location. Although the imam was hit in the back, the people cried that the shot had been fired from the Russian residence. They pulled down the fences and stormed the embassy garden. One Russian merchant threw gold coins into the raging throng to play for time so the people inside could flee through the back door. But the people forced their way into the residence and the Russians began shooting into the air in response. This inflamed the crowd even more and everything got out of hand. Five men were killed on our side and thirty-four on the Russian side. The tarts managed to escape.’

  ‘Barbarians, they’re all barbarians,’ cried the shah. He was seething.

  The terrified messenger remained standing until the chamberlain came to fetch him.

  ‘Women are witches! All of them! From queen to tart!’ cried the shah as he thundered through the palace corridors.

  18. Fear

  Late that evening the vizier came to see the shah. He found him sitting in his chair with the cat in his lap. As soon as the vizier entered the room the cat jumped down, went up to him and brushed against his leg. The vizier was tired and shaken. He reached down and stroked the cat. ‘How are you, Sharmin?’ he said.

  The vizier came from a family whose men had often been through trying times like these. The incident at the Russian embassy would have serious consequences.

  ‘With His Majesty’s permission I would like to speak with him privately in his conference room.’

  The shah stood up and the vizier followed him. They locked the door and sat down at the conference room table.

  ‘We’ve walked into a British trap,’ said the vizier, coming straight to the point.

  The shah suspected that the vizier was aware of his secret appointment with the Russians.

  ‘We won’t solve anything by blaming each other. It only makes matters worse,’ continued the vizier. ‘A lackey from the British embassy went straight to the ayatollah and told him about the presence of the Persian women at the Russian residence. This ayatollah maintains good contacts with the British, who have him on their payroll. He took immediate action. Tomorrow the report of the thirty-four Russian corpses will reach Moscow. The British wanted to show the Russians in a bad light, but they never could have imagined that their scheme would end in this disaster. They’re celebrating at the British reside
nce right now, you can be sure of it. They took a chance and won.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked the shah.

  ‘Now the shah has nowhere to turn,’ said the vizier. ‘But there’s one question that puzzles me: what was the appointment with the envoy all about?’

  The shah stared in bewilderment and said, ‘We don’t know. And the man is dead.’

  The vizier could see that the shah was hiding something. He had a feeling it had to do with Herat. He wanted to keep asking questions, but the shah was clearly in a muddle. It was not the right moment to continue the conversation.

  ‘It is better that Your Majesty go to bed. We do not know what tomorrow will bring,’ he said.

  The vizier left. Once he was alone the shah was overcome with a sense of the vizier’s growing power and of his own powerlessness. Fear had the upper hand. He knew that many ayatollahs and princes were being paid by England, but he had never expected that the British would manipulate an ayatollah in order to carry out their plans. The vizier hadn’t said it in so many words, but he had let the shah see how he was being used. What did the vizier mean when he said he had nowhere to turn?

  ‘Sharmin!’ called the shah.

  The cat did not come.

  The shah was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. His head wouldn’t stop churning. In the hall’s gloom he looked into the mirror and raised a threatening index finger: ‘Tomorrow we will teach that ayatollah a lesson. He will hang. But what about the thirty-four corpses?’

  Suddenly the light of a torch was reflected in the mirror. The shah spun round and walked to the window. It was peaceful in the courtyard, but at the gate there were more guards than usual. He watched as two of them rolled a cannon to the gate. He also saw a few guards on top of the wall, their weapons poised. His glance fell on the stable, where a number of horses had been readied. Then he walked to his study, which afforded a better view of the gate. His heart began beating faster when he saw the shadow of the vizier’s tall hat out on the wall. Something touched his foot and he jumped, but it was only Sharmin.

  ‘You startled us. Where were you? Come, we’ve got to go away. We cannot stay here tonight,’ he said, picking her up from the floor. ‘I believe the vizier has imprisoned us. But maybe not. Maybe he is doing all this to protect us.’

  He went to the bedroom, put Sharmin on the bed and turned all the locks. He opened his closet door, unlocked the secret hatch of the hidden tunnel leading to the treasury, and set out his boots and gun in readiness.

  Ever since Sheikh Aqasi had led him to the treasury by way of this hatch, the shah could often be found there. And when the vizier had reduced the allowance for the shah, his mother and the royal relatives by half, and had imposed restrictions on the expenses for the harem, the shah had come to the cellar regularly to load up on gold coins. He had them melted down and made into new coins to cover his considerable expenses. The shah had already emptied several sacks of Indian gold.

  He had also had the jewel-encrusted bed of the old Indian kings made up for himself, should he ever have to stay in the cellar for prolonged periods. Every time he came to the treasury he brought non-perishable food with him.

  He checked the door and the windows of his bedroom once more and went to bed.

  ‘As soon as you hear footsteps in the hall of mirrors you must wake us up, Sharmin. Then we will flee together.’

  And with that the shah laid his tired head on the pillow and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  19. The Ayatollah Who Committed Treason

  That night the shah dreamt that he and his cat had fled to the mountains by way of the secret tunnel and found refuge in a small cave, from which he had a view of the palace. He followed every move by means of his binoculars. The vizier entered the palace with a procession of officers. He was wearing his tall hat, but when he came back out he was wearing the shah’s golden crown.

  In reality nothing happened that night. The shah and the cat slept better than they had during all the other nights put together. That was because of the draught of air that came pouring in from the cellar through the hatch, which made the shah and the cat creep down under the covers. The next morning the shah was awakened by Sharmin. He got out of bed, looked out the window and saw that the flags were flying at half mast.

  ‘We overslept,’ said the shah to the cat, who sat beside the door waiting to go out.

  A knock was heard.

  ‘Who’s there?’ said the shah sleepily.

  ‘Your Majesty? …’ It was the voice of the chamberlain. He sounded worried.

  ‘We’re coming,’ said the shah.

  He knew what he had to do.

  Soon the shah appeared in the hall of mirrors in his military uniform. Although the traces of deep sleep were still visible on his face, he walked with his back straight and showed that he was ready to deal with the important matters of the day.

  The shah had made up his mind. He must not appear weak right now, certainly not in the presence of the vizier. He was the shah and he did not have to wait for anyone. The vizier had often led him to believe that times were changing, that a king could no longer act on his own volition and that a ministerial council was needed. What this actually meant, however, was that the vizier wanted to rob him of his power. He had become a king who rubber-stamped the decisions of his vizier, a king whose only purpose was to sign and seal documents. But not any more.

  This is why he had put on his military uniform. And although he always took enormous pleasure in eating breakfast, today none of the dishes interested him. With an empty stomach he shouted, ‘Bring me the chief of police.’

  The chamberlain obeyed without delay.

  It wasn’t long before the shah heard the rapid footsteps of the police chief on the stairs. As soon as the man entered the hall he saluted the shah, his left hand on his sword, and stood at rigid attention.

  ‘You are the chief of the city’s police force?’ asked the shah threateningly.

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ replied the man with a quavering voice.

  ‘And thirty-four Russians were killed on your watch?’

  The trembling man was silent and let his head drop to his chest.

  ‘Loosen your sword and place it on the floor,’ commanded the shah.

  With shaking hands the soldier laid his sword on the floor at his feet.

  ‘Take off your uniform,’ continued the shah.

  The man thought he may have misunderstood the order.

  ‘Take everything off. You’re not a soldier, you’re a failure!’ cried the shah.

  With a pale face the man took off his uniform and remained standing in his underclothes.

  ‘Now get out of my sight before I have you killed!’ screamed the shah.

  The man rushed out. The chamberlain took away the man’s clothing and sword.

  ‘Bring me the messenger!’ cried the shah.

  When the messenger arrived the shah gave him this order: ‘Go to Shaban and whisper the following in his ear. “Take a group of your men to the home of Ayatollah Mirza Masih. Wrap his turban round his neck, drag him to the square in front of the Russian embassy and punish him in public. His humiliation must be so painful that Moscow hears about it tomorrow.”’

  Shaban was a criminal who sometimes carried out dangerous orders for the shah. He was known as Shaban Bimokh, a man without brains. He was the head of a group of violent men who did anything for money. After receiving the messenger’s order Shaban acted immediately.

  His men went to the ayatollah’s house and smashed down the gate with a heavy beam. Shaban stood at the gate while his men took the aged ayatollah by surprise. They found him in his long white nightshirt, standing next to the outdoor pool. The ayatollah tried to escape through the roof, but one of the men ran after him and grabbed him by the leg before he could get there. The ayatollah’s turban fell from his head and rolled down the stairs. Someone picked it up, twisted it round the ayatollah’s neck and pulled him outside.

  The powerle
ss ayatollah stumbled and cried aloud, ‘Allah al-aman, al-aman: Allah protect me, protect me!’

  Shaban’s men ignored his supplications and dragged him to the square in front of the Russian embassy. The people in the street couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  To keep an eye on all of this the shah had sent Sheikh Aqasi to the square in front of the embassy with this message: See to it that the ayatollah is punished so severely that his howling is heard in Moscow.

  The sheikh positioned himself inconspicuously but made sure he had a good view from where he was standing.

  News of the ayatollah reached the bazaar and the merchants were overcome by what they heard. It was an unforgivable insult to Islam to treat an ayatollah this way. They left their shops and made their way to the Russian embassy. Shaban’s men had pushed the ayatollah onto his back with his feet fastened between two beams, and they were beating the bare soles of his feet with switches.

  ‘La ellaha ella allah!’ the aged ayatollah wailed.

  A few of the merchants recognised Sheikh Aqasi in the crowd, and they asked him to help. But he told them this was a direct order from the shah, that he was only supervising the proceedings and that he was not to become involved any further.

  A group of people tried to free the ayatollah, but Shaban’s men responded by shooting. They made it quite clear that anyone who took a step forward would be punished on the spot.

  The merchants from the bazaar rode to the palace by coach to speak with the vizier, but he was not there. He had a secret meeting with the warlords in the war room of the barracks outside the city.

  The merchants returned to the embassy having achieved nothing. They begged Sheikh Aqasi for help once again.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ said Sheikh Aqasi.

  He walked up to Shaban and spoke with him.