Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War (54 page)

‘Don’t hold back, Bayzid Khan.’ Humayun smiled. ‘You have taught me well. There’s a bag of coin in it for you if you can overcome me within ten minutes. Now let’s get on with it.’

The two men circled each other, waiting to see who made the first move. It was Humayun who darted forward to seize Bayzid Khan’s arm and try to throw him. However, Bayzid Khan twisted himself from Humayun’s grip and in turn grabbed Humayun’s shoulders to pull him off balance. Humayun resisted and the two men struggled, arms on each other’s shoulders, testing their strength. Then Bayzid Khan tripped Humayun with a swift kick of his foot to the back of Humayun’s knee. Humayun fell and Bayzid Khan launched himself to pinion him against the mat on the floor and end the contest.

But Humayun was too quick and rolled away. As Bayzid Khan landed on the mat, Humayun leaped on him and putting his knee in his back pulled both his arms out behind him. Hard as Bayzid Khan struggled he could not free himself. ‘Enough, Majesty. You have got the better of me for the second time.’

‘The first, I think. I strongly suspected that previously you let me win, but not on this occasion.’

‘Perhaps, Majesty.’

Humayun returned to his robing room and washed himself clean of the mixture of sweat and oil coating his body in the large copper bath of warm, camphor-scented water that his servants had prepared during the contest. As he dried himself with a rough cotton towel and dusted himself with sandalwood-scented chalk powder, he looked at his naked body in a nearby burnished mirror. His muscles were more toned and prominent than a month ago. His looks belied his forty-six years, he thought, and smiled with satisfaction. The exercise seemed to be helping him focus his mind and think more clearly. Certainly too he was making love more frequently.

With the help of his attendants, Humayun quickly dressed, ready to meet his counsellors. Minutes later, wearing a gold-belted navy tunic and a cream turban with a long peacock’s feather at its peak, he entered the council chamber.

‘What is the latest news from Hindustan, Ahmed Khan? Didn’t another caravan come in this morning?’

‘Yes, Majesty. It brought confirmation of what is for us good news. There can be no doubt that Islam Shah is dead. What is more, a rich merchant in today’s caravan says that fighting has broken out among three contenders for the throne in and around Delhi.With no proper authority dacoits have been robbing with impunity, invading the homes of the wealthy by night, stealing, raping and killing. The merchant concealed some of his treasure and packed the rest and brought his family on the arduous journey north to your realm to be safe until he sees what happens in Hindustan. Other members of the caravan substantiated his news with many circumstantial details of the chaos. One reported that when robbers could not remove valuable rings from the arthritic fingers of a rich old woman, they simply hacked off her fingers and left her to bleed to death.’

‘The fighting and lawlessness will give us the opportunity we have looked for to regain the throne and to bring back justice and order to the citizens of our rightful kingdom. What do we know about these three other contenders?’

‘One is Adil Shah, the brother of Islam Shah’s favourite wife – the mother of his only son, a boy of five years of age. Adil Shah is said to have been so drunk with ambition that oblivious of the ties of blood he entered the
haram
and cut the child’s throat in front of his mother with as little concern as a butcher slaughtering a beast for the table. Then he had himself proclaimed emperor.’

Humayun blanched. Not even Kamran had stooped so low. ‘And the other two?’

‘The most powerful is a cousin of Islam Shah who has had himself proclaimed emperor as Sekunder Shar. He’s already defeated Adil Shah once but failed to follow up his victory because of the activities of the third pretender, Tartar Khan, the head of the old Lodi clan we supplanted and who fought against us with the Sultan of Gujarat.’

‘We need to obtain as much information as we can about each of them – who their friends and enemies are, their personal strengths and vices, how many men, how much money they have.’

‘We will question the recently arrived travellers further. And of course send out more spies and scouts.’

‘We will resume our discussion tomorrow to plan our campaign in detail. Now is the time for our evening meal.’ Humayun turned to leave the audience chamber. However, as he did so, Ahmed Khan approached him and handed him a small square of paper.

‘One of the travellers brought this sealed message which he told our guards was for your eyes only. He said that a member of his family – a sailor who had just returned from Arabia and heard that he was travelling to Kabul – had asked him to bring it to you. It is probably nothing, Majesty, but I thought I should leave it to you to open.’

‘Thank you, Ahmed Khan. I will read it shortly.’

A quarter of an hour later, Humayun entered the women’s quarters and made his way to Hamida’s apartments. Looking up, she said, ‘I hear there is good news from Hindustan . . . ’

Humayun smiled, but the smile and his eyes were clouded by a look of melancholy.‘The news from Hindustan is indeed good, but I’ve received other, sadder news today. It’s about Askari. As you know, I’ve long feared that some accident had befallen him since I’d had no news of him after the message eighteen months ago that he had taken ship from Cambay for the holy lands around Mecca.Today I received confirmation of his fate . . . ’

Humayun pulled from his pocket the paper which Ahmed Khan had handed him. It had many creases and folds. ‘It is from Mohamed Azruddin – the commander of the escort I provided for my brother. It tells briefly how the voyage from Cambay was going well with favourable winds when about twenty miles from the port of Salala on the Arab coast a fleet of three fast pirate vessels overhauled their ship. Askari led the fight against the pirates as they boarded but was overwhelmed and killed, sword in hand. Many others died with him. Mohamed Azruddin was badly wounded and captured with the remainder of the escort and the coin they were carrying. On his recovery he was sold in the great slave market of Muscat to work in the quarries outside the town. He escaped his captors six months ago and his first action was to send this message to me in advance of his return.’

‘May God forgive Askari for his misdeeds and may his soul rest in Paradise,’ said Hamida. After a few moments she continued, ‘Nevertheless, this definite news of his death frees you from any fear that he might have disappeared on purpose to plot in exile against you.’

‘True, but he was never so committed an adversary as Kamran and often, I think, acted only from loyalty to his brother and mother. I believed him when, before he left on the
haj
, he said he’d renounced all thoughts of rebellion. His death makes me more conscious that I am the only one left to fulfil the destiny my father saw for his family.’

‘For a long time you have been the only one of his sons to be true to his memory.’

‘But I have lost much of his empire and failed to recover it, never mind to expand his dominions. I have let myself and you, as well as my father, down. My intentions have been good but I’ve not been single-minded enough to carry them through.’

‘That is changing. Since Askari’s departure for the
haj
and that of Kamran too, I have seen a real determination within you. You no longer allow your mind to be distracted by pleasure or idle musing. You’ve always wanted to recover what is yours, but now you give time and concentration to achieving it.’

‘I hope so. I’ve used bitter memories of how I lost my throne, of your face in our bleakest moment when Akbar was taken from us, of how we passed, frozen and half-starving, into Persia as suppliants to the shah, to act as goads to focus all my energies on recovering Hindustan.’

‘You are succeeding. I know you don’t think just one step ahead but about how to plan the whole journey.’

‘I pray that it will take me back to my throne.’

‘Make sure it does, for our son’s sake.’

Humayun had never seen Hamida look so determined. He would not fail her.

In November 1554, Humayun stood straight-backed, a fur-lined robe pulled tight around him against the autumn cold, on the walls of Kabul with the twelve-year-old Akbar at his side as his newly recruited armies marched before him.

‘Our emissaries have done well.They have brought in men from all over our own lands. Those pale-skinned men over there are from Ghazni. The ones with the dark turbans and face cloths are from the mountains north of Kandahar. Our vassals in Badakhshan and the lands of the Tajiks have sent soldiers.They are always amongst the bravest and best fighters, and well equipped too. Look how fine their horses are.’

‘But who are those men over there under the yellow flag, Father?’

‘They are from Ferghana – the land of your grandfather’s birth. Hearing rumours of the death of Islam Shah they had started unbidden on the road to Kabul to offer their services to me, knowing I would be sure to attack Hindustan . . . ’ Here Humayun stopped for a moment, his voice choking with emotion, and then continued, ‘I will lead them to victory just as your grandfather did. But see that group of mounted archers? They are from around Samarkand and Bokhara and have fashioned themselves the flag of our great ancestor Timur – see it fluttering now with its orange tiger . . . ’

‘How many men do we have?’

‘Twelve thousand.’

‘That’s less than when my grandfather invaded Hindustan.’

‘True, but we’ve more cannon, more muskets and additional recruits are joining every day. We have messages that many of Islam Shah’s vassals will defect to us once we reach their territories in Hindustan.’

‘How can you be sure?’

Humayun smiled wryly. ‘Just as when their fathers deserted me so many years ago, they believe they know who the victor will be.’

‘So their belief in our success will ensure it happens?’

‘Yes – to have the confidence of those around you in your success takes you a great way to victory. Once it abates it is difficult to restore. That is one lesson I have learned. This time we must ensure it does not. Each victory we win will add to the tide of confidence washing away any remaining strength our opponents have.’

‘I understand, Father.’

Looking at his son, Humayun realised that Akbar probably did. He had changed a lot in the past year. He was mature for his age, not only in his muscular physique and stature but also in his power of analysis and in a growing astuteness in his judgement of others. Humayun recalled his discussion with Hamida the previous night when he had told her that he intended to take Akbar with him when he set out on his invasion of Hindustan in a few days. He had reminded her that Babur had only been Akbar’s age when he became king. To take Akbar with him would inspire confidence in the future of the dynasty, he had told her. It would show that, should he himself fall, unlike Islam Shah he would have a worthy successor.

Humayun had expected Hamida to resist, mindful of the danger to which Akbar would be exposed, but although tears had wetted her cheeks at first, she had choked them back. ‘It is right that he should go, I know. It is difficult for a mother to see her son ride to war but he will soon be a man. I must remind myself I was only two years older when I left my family to share your life and the many dangers that accompanied it – a thing I have never regretted.’

As she spoke, Humayun had realised why, despite the many other women he had known, Hamida was the one true love of his life. He had embraced her and together they had made love long and tenderly.

Humayun forced himself back to the present. It was time to tell his son of his decision. ‘Akbar, would you wish to accompany me as I go to recover our inheritance?’

Without a moment’s hesitation, Akbar answered simply, ‘Yes, Father.’

‘Aren’t you afraid?’

‘A little bit, but somehow I know inside myself it is right. It’s my destiny . . . Besides,’ and a youthful grin lit up his face, ‘it will be a great adventure and no adventure is without danger – that I already know. I will make you and my mother proud of me.’

‘I know you will.’

By now, musketeers were marching below in disciplined ranks, some on horseback with their long weapons tied to their saddles, others on foot with them over their shoulders.

‘How will the men on foot keep up, Father?’

‘They will be able to march as fast as the oxen who pull the cannon. Besides, we’ll gather more horses as we advance. We’ll use rafts on rivers such as the Kabul to speed us on our way and to carry the heavy baggage and cannon. Those on foot can ride on them too. I’ve already given instructions for rafts to be built for the Kabul river with special mountings constructed for the oars and for the steering rudders.’

Two nights later, Humayun lay with his arm across Hamida’s smooth, naked body. They had just made love and Humayun felt that never before had the act made them so truly one. Perhaps it was because of the knowledge they shared that Humayun and Akbar were to set off on their campaign the next morning.