Companions of Paradise by Thalassa Ali

doing him no good. “Speak of that day, my boy,” Safiya Sultana ordered. “Tell me your story.”
    He sighed raggedly. “The Hazuri Bagh, where the battle took place,” he began, describing from habit a place that Safiya, a lady in purdah , had never seen, “is the rectangular walled garden lying between the entrance to the Badshahi Mosque and the main, Alamgiri Gate to the Citadel. It is a small garden, only about a hundred paces broad and fifty paces deep, filled with old trees and ruins, with a pavilion at its center. With its high, surrounding walls, it is a dangerous place for a battle.
    “We knew the four assassins would arrive early, and hide in the garden, and so we went there the night before Sher Singh began his attack on the Citadel. At first light, as the fighting began, we paired off and began to search for them. Within an hour, three of the four were dead, killed by Zulmai, Habibullah, and Yusuf.
    “I saw the battle with my own eyes,” he added. “Sher Singh's cannon fired first, splintering the huge wooden doors of the Alamgiri Gate. Then his best Nihang soldiers tried to storm through, but the Rani's guns had been set up just inside the gate. When they fired, hundreds of Sher Singh's soldiers were killed instantly.” He shuddered. “There were great billows of smoke. The timbers of the gate caught fire. Severed limbs and heads flew into the air and fell to the ground. It was deafening and horrible.
    “Sher Singh fought on that morning, but he had lost control of his assault. When the defenders began to fire down into the garden from the surrounding wall, Sher's troops realized they were trapped. They panicked and ran, climbing over each other to get out through the side gate of the Bagh.”
    He fell silent.
    Only two things disturbed Safiya Sultana's customary stout calm: lack of food and lack of sleep. Although she would never admit it, the difficult work of nursing Hassan had nearly exhausted her strength.
    “Go on,” she urged, “tell the rest of it.”
    “We were now desperate to find the fourth sniper. Sher Singh had kept out of sight until then, but we knew he would want to see the disaster at first hand. At the exact moment that he appeared under the arches of the garden's pavilion, Yusuf and I found the last assassin. He was crouched behind a tree, a child too young to wear a turban, his musket pointed straight at Sher Singh.”
    He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his bed. “We both raised our weapons, but Yusuf, may Allah bless him, must have wanted me to have the glory of saving Sher Singh's life. He held his fire and told me to shoot.”
    “And then?”
    “I could not do it, Bhaji. The child was dressed in rotting rags. He was shivering with cold. I wondered what he had been offered to do this terrible thing. He was in my sights, an easy shot, but I was powerless to pull the trigger. I could not breathe. Yusuf repeated his order to shoot, but I could not move even one of my fingers.
    “In the end, Yusuf killed the boy, but not before he got off a wild shot that wounded someone near Sher Singh. When the guards looked to see where the ball had come from, they must have seen us, not the dead child. Yusuf shouted, but it was too late. They all fired at once. I was knocked to the ground. From where I lay, I could see only Yusuf's foot, but even then I knew he was dead. Zulmai and Habibullah came running, and pulled me to safety. If they had not done so, a second volley from the guards would have killed me.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “If I had been less of a coward, Yusuf would still be alive.”
    Safiya held out a hand. “There is no point in—”
    “I am not a hero,” he interrupted, “whatever they say in the bazaar. Of the four of us, I alone did nothing to stop the assassination. My only contribution was to get poor Yusuf killed.”
    “I did not know you could shoot,” Safiya remarked, to divert him. “I thought you were all brocades and