The hot, still air, already heavy with the moisture that in a week or so would begin to pour from the skies, was oppressive. Beneath his chain mail and fine-woven cotton tunic, sweat trickled down Humayun’s back. His face too was beaded with it. Impatiently he wiped it away with a face cloth only to feel the salty drops immediately re-form. The drumming of his bay horse’s hooves as he galloped back towards Agra, bodyguards ahead and a detachment of cavalry including his loyal orange-clad Rajputs behind him, seemed to pound out a bitter message. Defeat and failure. Defeat and failure. The words echoed around his head but even so he could scarcely believe what had happened.
The troops he had hoped to reassemble had melted away. Some had returned to their own provinces but more had deserted to Sher Shah’s advancing armies. That they should believe the son of a low horse trader could overthrow the Moghuls. . the enormity hurt more than a physical wound, but even worse was the thought that, for all his courage in battle, he had allowed it to happen.
Where was his good fortune now? At Panipat, Hindustan had dropped like a ripe, juicy pomegranate into the Moghuls’ outstretched hands. The ease with which he had defeated Bahadur Shah and the Lodi pretenders had made him think his dynasty invincible. Perhaps he hadn’t understood the nature of his new empire — that rebellion was endemic. However many insurrections he quashed, however many rebels’ heads he struck off, there would always be more. Inspired by Sher Shah’s success, enemies were now menacing him from the west and south as well as from the east.
In his frustration, Humayun slapped his gauntleted hand so hard against the pommel of his saddle that his startled horse skittered sideways, tossing its head and snorting, almost unseating him. Gripping hard with his knees he managed to steady it, then relaxing the reins leaned forward and patted its sweating neck to reassure it. Anyway, with luck he and his advance party should be in Agra before nightfall. Though it would be another week, maybe longer, until the rest of his army — the artillery wagons, baggage carts and thousands of pack beasts — reached the city, he would have a little time to consider his next move. According to his scouts, Sher Shah had halted his advance, at least for the moment, not moving far beyond Kanauj. Perhaps he too was taking stock. .
In fact it wasn’t till after midnight that Humayun’s exhausted horse carried him through the dark streets of Agra, along the banks of the Jumna and up into the fort. The kettledrums above the gatehouse boomed out into the night as, by the orange light of torches flickering in sconces high on the walls, he rode up the steep ramp into the courtyard. A groom rushed to take the reins as Humayun lowered his weary body from the saddle.
‘Majesty.’ A dark-robed figure moved forward. As it came closer, Humayun recognised his grandfather, Baisanghar. Normally so strong, even forceful, his face looked haggard, for once showing every one of his seventy-two years and it told Humayun immediately that something unforeseen and unwelcome had occured.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘Your mother is ill. For the past six weeks she has complained of a pain in her breast so sharp that only opium can bring her relief. The hakims say they can do nothing for her. I wanted to send messengers to you but she insisted I should not distract you from your campaign. . yet I know she longs to see you. It’s all that has kept her alive. .’
‘I will go to her.’ Hurrying across the stone flagstones towards his mother’s apartments, Humayun no longer saw the red sandstone fortress around him. Instead, he was a boy again in Kabul — galloping his pony through the grassy meadows, firing arrows from the saddle at the straw targets Baisanghar had set up and already rehearsing wildly inflated stories of his skill and daring with which to impress Maham.
As he entered his mother’s sickroom, the soothing smell of frankincense filled his nostrils. It came from four tall incense burners set up around her couch in which the golden crystals of resin were smouldering. Maham looked very small beneath the green coverlet, the skin on her face paper thin, but her large, dark eyes still had their beauty and they warmed as they rested on her son. Humayun bent and kissed her forehead. ‘Forgive me — I come to you with the sweat and dust of the journey still upon me.’
‘My beautiful warrior. . Your father was so proud of you. . he always said you were the most worthy of all his sons, the most fit to rule. . Among his last words to me were, “Maham, although I have other sons, I love none as I love your Humayun. He will achieve his heart’s desire. None can equal him.”’ She touched his cheek with her dry hand. ‘How is it with you, my son, my emperor? Have you defeated our enemies?’
So they had kept the news of his reverses from her, Humayun thought with relief. ‘Yes, Mother, all is well. Sleep now. I will come to you in the morning and we will talk again.’ But Maham’s eyes were already closing and Humayun doubted she’d heard him.
Khanzada was waiting for him in the antechamber. She looked drawn — Humayun guessed she had spent many hours by Maham’s bedside — but her face lit at the sight of him. ‘I gave thanks when I heard you had reached Agra in safety,’ she said as he kissed her cheek.
‘I must speak with the hakims. . ’
‘They have done what they can. We even sent messengers to consult Abdul-Malik, knowing how his skill saved your father when he was poisoned. Though he is old and half blind, his mind is still clear. But when told of the symptoms he said nothing could be done except to ease Maham’s pain.’ Khanzada paused. ‘She was waiting for one thing only — to see you again, Humayun. Now she will die happy. . ’
Humayun looked down at Timur’s ring on his battle-scarred hand. ‘I lied to her just now. . I told her I had conquered our enemies. But as she looks down on me from Paradise I will make her proud — I swear it. . ’ Without warning, he felt tears running down his cheeks.
Two days later, Humayun was one of the four men carrying the sandalwood coffin containing his mother’s body, washed in camphor water and wrapped in soft woollen blankets, down to the Jumna where a boat was waiting. A bright, flower-filled garden — one of several planted by his father Babur on the far bank of the river and now coming to maturity — would be her resting place. Humayun glanced at Baisanghar, walking beside him. Despite his age he had insisted on accompanying his daughter on her final journey. How stooped and frail he looked — no longer the warrior who had hazarded his life to help Babur capture Samarkand.
An even deeper melancholy took hold of Humayun — not only grief at Maham’s death but a sense that many of the certainties of his youth were crumbling. All his life he’d been a pampered prince, brought up to expect great things as of right, confident of his place in the world. Never before had he felt so insignificant, so vulnerable to the buffeting of others’ actions. Never before had he felt it so difficult to control his destiny.
As he and the other coffin bearers reached the riverbank, Humayun raised his face to the heavy grey skies. Without warning, the rain began to fall, at first in large, fat drops but soon in a ceaseless sheet that drenched his dark mourning robes. Perhaps the rain was a sign, sent to cleanse him of his doubts, to tell him that though some things must end, there could always be a fresh beginning for a leader who never despaired in the face of grief or adversity but kept his belief in himself and in his ultimate triumph.
Humayun looked around at his counsellors, like him dressed in the mourning that custom demanded they wear for forty days. Maham had been dead for only fourteen of those days but if the alarming reports reaching him were accurate, little time was left for observing the courtesies to the dead.
‘You’re certain, Ahmed Khan. .?’
‘Yes, Majesty’, responded his travel-stained chief scout.‘Sher Shah is advancing fast with an army at least three hundred thousand strong. I saw the vanguard with my own eyes just five days’ ride east from here.’
‘This matches other reports that have been coming in, Majesty,’ said Kasim. ‘Despite the start of the rains, Sher Shah is making good progress.’
At least Sher Shah hadn’t caught up with his retreating army, Humayun thought. The main force had reached Agra safely nearly a week ago though many had deserted along the road. ‘So he means to attack us here in Agra. . How many troops do we have left?’ Humayun turned to Zahid Beg, the tall, thin officer he had made his commander-of-horse in place of Baba Yasaval.
‘Around eighty thousand including the returning forces from Kanauj, Majesty, but the number diminishes every day. . ’
Raising his head, Humayun looked down the length of his audience chamber to the courtyard beyond. The rain had ceased temporarily and in the shafts of sunlight the red sandstone glowed.This fortress had been the Moghuls’ greatest stronghold ever since they had swept down to conquer Hindustan. Last night before retiring into the pleasures of the haram he had stood on the battlements with his astrologer, Sharaf, and together they had gazed into the night sky. But Sharaf had been unable to find any messages written there — or in his charts and tables.Was the silence of the stars God’s way of showing him that he and he alone must find a way of saving his dynasty. .?
‘Ahmed Khan’s news confirms what I had already feared. We have no choice but to retreat from Agra,’ Humayun said at last. There was an audible gasp.
‘Abandon Agra, Majesty?’ Kasim looked shocked.
‘Yes. That is the only way.’
‘But where will we go?’
‘Northwest, to Lahore. That will buy us time and I will be able to summon more troops from Kabul — the clans there will welcome a chance for some plunder. . ’
A long silence followed, then Baisanghar spoke. ‘Many years ago when I was still young and with Babur in Samarkand, we faced an enemy — Shaibani Khan and his numberless Uzbeks whom we knew we could not defeat. The only alternative to retreat was the death of thousands of our people. Babur, with the courage and foresight that made him so great, understood that. Though it grieved his warrior soul to yield Timur’s city to the barbarian Uzbeks, he knew he must. . Just as we must leave Agra. . ’
Humayun looked down. Baisanghar’s words were the truth. But what he hadn’t said was that, as part of the bargain, Shaibani Khan had demanded Khanzada as a wife and Babur had been forced to yield her up. For ten years she had endured life in the haram of a man with a visceral hatred of Timur’s descendants who had enjoyed trying to break her spirit. He had failed.Whatever happened, he, Humayun, would make sure that no such fate overtook her again.
‘We are retreating, not running away. Though we will ride out tomorrow morning at dawn, everything must be done in an orderly fashion. . Kasim, assemble the officers of the imperial household and ensure that they and their servants carry out my commands swiftly and without question. The contents of the royal treasuries in Agra must be transferred into strongboxes. Anything else of great value must also be packed to go with us — I will leave Sher Shah nothing that will help him. Zahid Beg, prepare our troops. Tell them that we are riding to Lahore to join our forces coming from Kabul. And make sure all our muskets and all the ammunition are securely loaded on to bullock carts and the cannon made ready for travel. Say nothing, do nothing to suggest defeat or flight or that we are in any way afraid of Sher Shah.’
Humayun paused and looked around. ‘And you, Ahmed Khan, choose your fastest and best young riders to carry letters to my half-brothers with orders to leave sufficient troops to hold their provinces but to join me with the rest at Lahore. I myself will write the letters and mark them with the imperial seal so my brothers are in no doubt it is the emperor who commands them. Now hurry, there is little time. . ’
Humayun neither slept nor visited the haram that night — there was too much to attend to. In any case the hours of darkness were punctuated by the frequent arrival of scouts bringing fresh and ever more disquieting news of the progress of Sher Shah’s advance troops. If they maintained their present pace, their vanguard could reach Agra in as little as three or four days’ time, Humayun calculated.
Even before the sky was lightening to the east, the first detachments of Humayun’s army, pennants streaming in the warm breeze, were moving out, their task to secure the route ahead. Once word spread that he was leaving Agra, the populace might become restive and dacoits might take the chance for some mischief. The task of Humayun’s vanguard — in their burnished steel breastplates and mounted on fresh horses from the imperial stables — was to impress them with a show of power. And he was still powerful, Humayun told himself. He still had nearly eighty thousand men under arms — far more than he and his father had had at Panipat.
Looking down from his apartments into the courtyard below, he saw the royal women and their attendants preparing to climb into the carts and litters that had been prepared for them. They would travel in the heart of the column, with guards positioned around them in a protective cordon, and to the front and rear would be further lines of specially assigned cavalry. But Humayun had ordered that Khanzada and his half-sister Gulbadan should ride close to him on one of the imperial elephants. Salima, still his favourite concubine, would follow behind on another.
Behind the women would come the baggage wagons with all the equipment for the imperial camp — the tents and mobile bathhouses, the cooking pots and other utensils necessary for the four-hundred-mile journey northwest. And, of course, the imperial treasure in the huge iron-bound travelling chests whose intricate locks required four separate silver keys — each in the keeping of a different official — and a fifth golden key that was hanging from a chain around Humayun’s neck. Humayun was glad that before first marching out to face Sher Shah he had had the foresight to order his treasure in Delhi to be sent to Agra for safe keeping. With his own money and gems and what he had captured from Bahadur Shah, he should have more than enough funds to recruit and equip a new army to match Sher Shah’s.
At the very end of the line would come further ranks of cavalry and foot soldiers, including some of his best archers, so skilled they could fire forty arrows a minute. And strung out all around the column and out of sight for much of the time would be Ahmed Khan’s scouts, ever watchful for trouble.
Two hours later, mounted on the long-legged, muscular bay stallion that had carried him so swiftly back to his capital after the disaster at Kanauj, Humayun himself rode slowly down the ramp of the Agra fort. Beneath his jewelled helmet, his eyes looked straight ahead. This was no time for backward glances or nostalgic thoughts. This was only a temporary setback and soon — very soon, if God so willed — he would return to claim what was his. Yet there was still one thing he must do before departing. Riding down to the riverbank, he dismounted and boarded the small boat waiting to carry him across the Jumna to Maham’s grave. Arrived at the simple white marble slab, he knelt and kissed it. ‘Sher Shah is a man of our own faith,’ he whispered. ‘He will not violate your grave and one day I will return to you. Forgive me, Mother, that I cannot observe the forty days of mourning, but the fate of our dynasty is in the balance and I must strain every nerve and sinew to defend it. . ’
The rains that had fallen almost daily since they had left Agra seemed to be easing and — just as Humayun had hoped — though Sher Shah had seized Agra, he had not pursued him further. According to Humayun’s spies, the khutba had been read in Sher Shah’s name in the mosque of the Agra fort, proclaiming him once more Padishah of Hindustan, and he was now holding court in the pillared audience chamber. Well, let the usurper enjoy his moment of glory — it would be brief.
He and his column were making good progress, Humayun reflected — usually twelve or thirteen miles a day, perhaps more, as they travelled northwest over the flat, featureless terrain. If they could continue at this pace they should reach Lahore within a month. So far they had suffered no serious attacks. As the Moghul column passed by villages, the people seemed afraid to come close, watching the passing ranks of soldiers and wagons from the safety of the sodden fields or peeping from their thatched, mud-brick houses.All that moved were hollow-ribbed dogs and scrawny, yellow-feathered chickens.
There had been only one attack on his column. One evening in a rapidly falling dusk made darker by a veil of drizzle, a band of dacoits had fallen on a baggage cart carrying spare tents and cooking equipment that had become bogged down and separated from the main column. It had been some hours before its absence had been spotted and Ahmed Khan sent scouts to search for it. They had found the drivers’ sodden bodies lying with arrows in their backs and the wagon gone. But even in the darkness, the thieves and the stolen wagon had not been hard to track. By the time the first fires of the day were flickering into life, Ahmed Khan’s men had brought the dacoits, trussed like fowl for market, into the camp. Humayun had immediately ordered their heads to be cut off and cemented into a pyramid of stones as a sign that he would permit no lawlessness among his subjects.
Neither would he tolerate it amongst his troops. Though not of his blood, these Hindustanis were his people — his subjects — and he would not have it said that he allowed his men to pillage them at will. He’d given strict orders that there was to be no looting and had already had six soldiers flogged, spread-eagled across wooden frames in front of their comrades, for stealing a sheep and a seventh executed for raping a village girl.
All the same, as he passed the village temples with their carved stone bulls garlanded with marigolds, and their statues of bizarre gods — some multi-armed, some part man, part elephant — he couldn’t help wondering whether he’d ever understand fully the land to which fate and a hunger for empire had brought the Moghuls. His own god was single, indivisible and all-powerful and it was sacrilege to attempt to create his image. The Hindu gods seemed legion and in their voluptuous bodies and sinuous limbs more suggestive of earthly delight than eternal salvation.
Sometimes as he rode, Humayun discussed his thoughts with Khanzada and Gulbadan, speaking with them through the pale pink silk that covered their swaying howdah, fastened with gold chains to the back of one of his best elephants. The practical Khanzada didn’t share his curiosity about the religious practices of his Hindu subjects — why they venerated stone yoni and lingams — representations of the female and male sexual organs — why their priests daubed their foreheads with ashes and why they wore a long cotton thread suspended over their right shoulder.
Yet Gulbadan seemed not only fascinated by these infidel practices but also knowledgeable about them. Of course, Humayun reminded himself, she’d been just a very young child when brought from Kabul to Babur’s capital of Agra. She’d grown up in Hindustan and had few if any memories of the Moghuls’ mountainous homelands beyond the Khyber Pass. Among her nurses would have been Hindustani women — ayahs they called them — who would have explained their religious rituals to her. When times were calmer, he might do well to spend time with Gulbadan, to try to understand more about his subjects.
Humayun’s column continued to pass on through a seemingly quiescent land until Lahore at last rose before them. Though the city had no surrounding walls to protect it, the ancient royal palace, built centuries ago by Hindu rulers in the heart of the city, looked solid and strong as Humayun dismounted in front of it. Still better was the news that his half-brothers had already arrived and were awaiting him within. In his darker moments he’d wondered whether they would obey his order but they had. . even Kamran.
He was surprised how eager he felt to be with them.What would they be like now? He’d not seen any of them since that bleak time after Babur’s death when they had plotted against him. Now, more than ever, he was glad he’d been merciful to them — not only because with his dying breaths Babur had asked him to show them compassion but because he needed his half-brothers and they surely needed him. Sher Shah was a threat to them all as Moghul princes. If Babur’s sons could unite, they could drive Sher Shah back into the festering marshes of Bengal whence he’d come. But more than that, it might also be an opportunity for them to start again, re-forging the bonds not only of blood but of affection that should never have been broken. Was it foolish to hope that they also might wish to heal the wounds of the past?
As soon as it was growing light next morning, Humayun summoned his half-brothers to his apartments. Kasim, Zahid Beg and a weary-looking Baisanghar were present as Kamran, Askari and Hindal entered and Humayun embraced them one by one, appraising each with a frank curiosity that matched their own as they stared back at him. When he’d last seen them over six years ago, Askari and Hindal had been youths and Kamran, just five months younger than himself, little more. Now they were all men.
Kamran’s eyes — that vivid green just like their father’s — flickered above a nose that was still hawk-like, indeed even more so. It had clearly been broken — perhaps in a fall from his horse or in a skirmish — and the hakims had failed to set it properly. That was not the only change — Kamran had broadened out. His sinewy shoulders and thick biceps bulged beneath his yellow tunic. Askari had altered less. Though his face looked longer and narrower than Humayun remembered and he now wore a clipped black beard, he was still slight. He was also at least half a head shorter than Humayun or Kamran. As for Hindal, Humayun would not have recognised him at all. Dildar’s son — Gulbadan’s brother — had grown so much. Taller than any of his brothers by at least four inches and thickly muscled, he looked far older than his eighteen years, an impression reinforced by a scar across his right eyebrow beneath his unruly brown hair and by his deep, resonating voice as he greeted Humayun.
Politenesses over, Humayun motioned his half-brothers to sit in a semicircle around him with Kasim, Baisanghar and Zahid Beg and got immediately to the point. ‘I am glad to see you. It has been a long time since we were all together. You know why I summoned you here. This is a council of war and the fate of every one of us — of our entire dynasty — rests on the results. In the past we have had our differences but we are all four the sons of Babur. Timur’s blood runs in all our veins and we must unite against the danger that presses in around us. As you know, Sher Shah at the head of three hundred thousand men has occupied Agra, our capital. . ’
‘It is regrettable that your campaigns against him did not prosper,’ Kamran said quietly. ‘It seems that for once your stars misled you.’
Humayun flushed, his hopes of harmony shattering as Kamran spoke. ‘I shed my own blood fighting Sher Shah’s armies and many good men died — men like Baba Yasaval. Had you sent the help I requested, I could have defeated Sher Shah, and those brave warriors who fell around me might still be living. . ’
‘I offered to come at the head of all my troops but you declined. . ’
‘Because I did not wish to see your province left undefended.’
‘But I warned you against riding so far east to confront Sher Shah — I advised you to prepare for a long siege in either Agra or Delhi. Secure within the walls and well stocked with provisions, you could have bled Sher Shah dry and used some of your other forces to attack him from the rear. But as always you did not heed my advice. . ’ Kamran persisted with what seemed to Humayun a half-sneer on his face.
‘And as always your loyalty to me is dubious. . like sand in the hourglass it is already trickling away. . I see it in your treacherous eyes. . ’ Humayun was on his feet. In their boyhood he had always been the better fighter and wrestler. He’d thrashed Kamran a thousand times and would do so again. . Kamran too had leaped up, his hand reaching for the jewelled dagger in his dark purple sash.
‘Majesties. . ’ Baisanghar’s calm voice brought both of them to their senses. Humayun felt shame that he had allowed Kamran to provoke him. They were not boys sparring in Kabul but Moghul princes facing a deadly and common danger. Kamran too seemed to have regretted his reaction. His hand moved away from his sash and, eyes lowered, he sat down again. Askari and Hindal were also looking down, as if making clear that they wanted no part in this spat between Babur’s two eldest sons.
‘As always, Baisanghar, you are the voice of reason.’ Humayun too seated himself again.‘What is past is past.What matters is the future. Our father struggled nearly his whole life — from the time he was twelve years old — to found an empire. God guided him to new lands, far from our ancestral home, and it is our sacred trust not to lose what he fought for. That is why I summoned you here — so that we four could decide how to fulfil that trust. . And because our greatest strength, our greatest safety, lies in unity.’
His half-brothers nodded and Humayun began to breathe more easily. ‘Zahid Beg, outline our military thinking to my brothers. I would welcome their opinion.’
As Humayun sat back against a large brocade cushion, his master-of-horse began to summarise the strategy that Humayun with his advice and that of Baisanghar had drawn up.
‘Majesties,’ Zahid Beg began, bony face grave, ‘we cannot know Sher Shah’s intentions but at present he seems occupied in consolidating his position — he has brought his armies a long way westward from Bengal so he needs to secure more supplies. Also, he risks rebellion to his rear from the lawless tribes who inhabit the swamps of the Ganges Delta. That means that we have at least a little time before he feels secure enough to pursue us here from Agra. . if indeed he means to, and that is not certain. We must use that time to recruit. We’ve already sent to the governor of Kabul for reinforcements. Once they arrive, our position will be immeasurably stronger and our options greater.’
‘Can we pay these recruits?’ Askari asked, his small black eyes intent. ‘Or do we expect them to fight for us on the promise of booty alone?’
‘We have funds — from the imperial treasuries at Agra but also Delhi,’ Kasim replied.
‘And till they arrive. .?’ asked Kamran.
‘We will use the time to provision and reinforce Lahore,’ said Humayun. ‘It is unfortunate the city is unwalled, but we are protected to the north by the Ravi river and can dig defensive trenches and position our cannon and musketeers to west, south and east. The palace itself is strongly built. We could defend it for some time while awaiting fresh forces.’
Kamran’s green eyes flickered but he said no more.
‘How many troops have you brought with you, Majesties?’ Kasim opened the mulberry-wood covers of the book in which for as long as Humayun could remember his vizier had kept notes of important matters. Unstoppering the little jade ink-bottle hanging from a chain around his neck and dipping in his quill, Kasim waited.
‘I have brought five thousand horsemen, including one thousand mounted archers,’ said Askari, ‘and also five hundred spare horses.’
‘My force numbers about three thousand cavalry and five hundred foot soldiers,’ said Hindal. ‘All good men.’
They all looked at Kamran. ‘I came with only two thousand cavalry. After all, you warned me some weeks ago against leaving my province undefended in case of attack. . ’ His tone was almost too much for Humayun — Kamran’s province was the largest and richest of all and the farthest from Sher Shah’s armies and he could easily have spared many more than two thousand without placing it in jeopardy, but Humayun forced himself to swallow his anger. For a moment the only sound was the scratching of Kasim’s pen, then the vizier looked up. ‘So, Majesties, with the addition of these extra men, that brings our strength up to around ninety thousand.’
‘We must do everything we can to keep them here — I don’t want them disappearing home. . ’ Humayun said.
‘The way to avoid that is by promising them action and booty soon. Given that the women and the treasure are safe here in Lahore, we should march out now against Sher Shah — surprise him. . ’ Kamran replied.
‘Yes,’ agreed Askari eagerly, ‘Kamran is right. Wouldn’t that be best?’
‘It would be reckless,’ Humayun replied. ‘You forget how vastly he outnumbers us. To stand any chance of a decisive victory we would need to take our artillery. That would not only slow us down but give time for news of our approach to reach him. I do not understand you, Kamran.You criticised me for riding to confront Sher Shah instead of allowing him to besiege me in Agra or Delhi but now when I suggest fortifying Lahore against him, you urge me to ride to battle against him. . ’
‘The circumstances are different. But plainly you don’t want our views. You just want to tell us yours,’ Kamran said with a sulky expression. ‘I have nothing further to suggest.’
Catching his grandfather’s warning look, Humayun this time resisted the temptation to let Kamran provoke him. Instead, he turned to Askari and Hindal. ‘Kamran is mistaken. I do want to know your thoughts.’ They remained silent, perhaps inhibited by the tension between their elder brothers. Regret mingled with frustration seeped through Humayun. It shouldn’t be like this. He was ready to forget the past but it didn’t seem his half-brothers, his flesh and blood, were as willing.
However, after a moment, Hindal spoke. ‘Zahid Beg spoke of options once the reinforcements from Kabul reach us. What are they?’
Humayun answered. ‘I am expecting at least fifty thousand men. I have sent orders that if we are already under siege here in Lahore, they are to attack the rear of the besieging force. But if they reach us before Sher Shah has advanced far from Agra — as I hope — we will have sufficient men to be able to attack Sher Shah’s advancing army on the flanks. He will have the advantage of numbers but we will have those of speed and horsemanship that have always served us well against our enemies. So you see, Kamran, I am ready to take the initiative against Sher Shah — only we can’t do it yet. . ’
Kamran shrugged and silence fell again. Humayun rose. ‘Let’s talk again when we’ve more news of Sher Shah’s intentions and of the progress of our reinforcements from Kabul. But tonight let’s feast — it is a long time since we were all together. We must show the world that despite present adversities Babur’s sons are united.’
Hurrying down the corridor leading to his apartments, Humayun passed the doors leading to the women’s quarters. Somewhere within would be Gulrukh whom he had been told had travelled to Lahore with Kamran. Predictably it was with her elder, more ambitious son that she had chosen to live after he himself had banished her from his court. Would she be seeking to influence her sons and if so, how? It would be a good opportunity. Humayun wondered whether he had been wise to bring his half-brothers together again. Maybe it was foolish to think there could ever be real trust, real unity between the four of them — ambition, rivalry, would always get in the way. And could he blame them? In their place wouldn’t he feel resentment against the brother who had inherited everything? He would have to have all of them — and Kamran in particular — closely watched and at any sign of disloyalty he would act. With enemies at the gates he could not tolerate an enemy within.
Suddenly Humayun decided to visit Salima. Her warm, fervent embraces would banish troubled thoughts as he lost himself in physical pleasure. He smiled and quickened his pace.
‘Majesty, Sher Shah’s vanguard is on the move from Agra towards Lahore.’ Jauhar’s voice cut into Humayun’s disturbed dreams. He struggled to wakefulness to see Jauhar’s anxious face lit by the flickering light of the candle he was holding in his right hand. ‘Ahmed Khan begs to see you at once. He would not even wait for first light. One of his scouts is with him. He has been on the road these past six days and just returned.’
Humayun sat up, splashed his face with water from a brass bowl on a wooden stand by his bed and wrapped a green silk robe around him. A few minutes later, Ahmed Khan and a sweat-soaked scout swaying with fatigue were before him.
‘You are certain Sher Shah is on the move?’
‘Yes, Majesty. Hear what my scout says.’
The scout stepped closer. ‘I would stake my life on it. I waited until from what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears I was absolutely sure and then I rode for Lahore, pausing only to change horses along the road.’
‘How many men?’
‘It’s hard to estimate but by the great dust they were raising on the road, many thousands of cavalry, Majesty.’
‘And Sher Shah himself?’
‘Still in Agra according to what I heard. But soon he will ride out too, I am sure of it. Before I left, I saw a great baggage train being assembled on the riverbanks beneath the Agra fort — pack mules, oxen and camels without number and hundreds of elephants. Sher Shah’s own tents with their purple awnings were being loaded on to carts.’ The scout’s drawn, filthy face relaxed visibly now his task was accomplished.
As soon as he was alone, Humayun sat cross-legged at his low table. Any further discussions with his brothers would be fruitless. Over the past few days, Askari and Hindal had had little constructive to suggest, preferring to listen to their elder brothers spar. Kamran had continued to argue for confronting Sher Shah and Humayun to insist that without many more men such a strategy would fail, reminding Kamran he’d already fought and lost two great battles against Sher Shah. Since then his enemy had grown stronger while he had grown weaker. This was not the time to seek another head-on confrontation.
And all the while, something he had once read in his father’s memoirs had kept returning to Humayun’s mind. If you cannot defeat your enemy by force of arms, do not despair. Find other ways. A sharp, well-oiled double-bladed axe is a fine weapon but so is a finely honed mind that can find a subtler path to victory. .
After thinking for a while, Humayun began to write. ‘Sher Shah, you seek to take Hindustan from me though it is mine by virtue of my blood descent from Timur. Meet me in single combat and let us settle this dispute for ever. But if you will not fight me, let us at least agree a truce to prevent further bloodshed while we seek other ways to settle our differences.’
Taking a stick of dark red sealing wax, Humayun stuck the end into the flame of a candle and watched the wax soften, then begin to drip ruby droplets like beads of blood. Taking the stick out of the flame, he held it over the bottom of the letter, until a small wax pool had collected. Then, turning his right hand over, he pressed Timur’s gold ring hard into the wax to leave a perfect impression of a snarling tiger.
An hour later, Humayun watched two of Ahmed Khan’s men gallop out of Lahore to seek out Sher Shah and deliver his letter. Sher Shah would never agree to personal combat — only a fool would accept such a challenge — but the idea of a truce might tempt him. Stories — admittedly not much more than rumours — brought by travelling merchants suggested discord between some of Sher Shah’s commanders. If there was even a speck of truth in them, Sher Shah might welcome a pause to help him re-establish his authority. If so, it would buy Humayun a little more time. There was still no sign of the troops he had summoned from Kabul and probably wouldn’t be for at least several more weeks. Every day he could delay Sher Shah would help. .
Seven days later — an ominous sign of how close Sher Shah now was to Lahore — Humayun had his answer. It was Kasim who brought it to him in his apartments. Strangely there were two letters — one in Sher Shah’s bold, ungraceful hand and bearing his seal and the other rolled up in a piece of bamboo that — according to what the scouts had told Kasim — Sher Shah had insisted must also be delivered to Humayun.
Humayun read Sher Shah’s letter first. I have conquered Hindustan. Why should I fight you for what is already mine? I will leave you Kabul — go there. But there was more: Why expect to keep an empire when you cannot even command your own family’s loyalty? Your brother Kamran is willing to betray you. But I want nothing to do with any of you Moghuls except to see your heads roll in the dust where they belong. I have written to your brother rejecting his offer — just as I reject yours — and telling him I would inform you of his treachery.
Humayun took the bamboo tube and pulled from it a piece of yellow parchment. Unrolling it, he immediately recognised Kamran’s spiky writing. It was his letter to Sher Shah. ‘“My brother denied me my birthright,”’ he read aloud in a voice trembling with anger. ‘“If you, Sher Shah, will leave me the Punjab and the Moghul lands to the north including Kabul to rule as my own, I will deliver Humayun to you or — if you prefer — slay him with my own hand, I swear it.”’
Kasim picked up Kamran’s letter from the floor where Humayun had let it fall and reread it, face creasing in shock as he took in Kamran’s arrogant, murderous words. Humayun himself strode to the doors and flinging them open shouted, ‘Guards, bring my brother Kamran to me immediately. If he resists, overpower and bind him.’ He had suspected his brothers might intrigue against him but never that one of them would be so lost to what he owed to the dynasty to offer to betray him to an outsider. Humayun paced his chamber, watched by a silent and anxious Kasim, until at last one of the guards returned.
‘Majesty, we cannot find him.We went first to his apartments but he was not there. Then we searched the rest of the fort — we even sent into the women’s apartments to see whether he might be with his mother, Her Highness Gulrukh, but she was not there either. . ’
Humayun and Kasim exchanged glances. ‘Send me the officer in charge of guarding the main gate — quickly, man!’
A few minutes later a nervous-looking officer was ushered before Humayun.
‘Have you seen any of my brothers today?’
‘Yes, Majesty. This morning Prince Kamran and Prince Askari went out riding. They have not yet returned. . ’
‘And their mother Gulrukh and her women?’
‘They too left the palace in a litter. The begam said she wished to call on her cousin, the wife of the chief treasurer of Lahore, in her palace in the north of the city.’
Humayun swore. Doubtless she was already with her sons and their troops and they were all hurrying to get beyond his reach. The temptation to ride in pursuit was almost overwhelming but that was exactly what Sher Shah would hope he would do. His enemy had played his hand well, on the one hand giving Humayun evidence of his brother’s duplicity and on the other giving Kamran reason to fly. But he would not fall into the trap so artfully set for him by neglecting Sher Shah’s threat and immediately pursuing Kamran and Askari to pit brother against brother in battle.
Revenge must wait.