towards his tent from all directions, were looking to him for orders.
His poppy-induced languor vanished. ‘Abandon the tents and the heavy baggage. Get the horses and the men to higher ground.’ Through the rain — falling so heavily that it stung — he could just make out the low hills to their rear. ‘Carry with you as many of the muskets and as much of the gunpowder as you can. Leave the cannon — the water cannot move them. Untether the pack-animals. They must fend for themselves, as must all in the camp. . There is little time.’
Babur shouted through the teeming rain to his attendants to bring his horse and Baburi’s. Together they rode through the rising waters, encouraging men to save what they could, but then — when the water was almost up to stirrup level — they made for the hills. Their frightened horses, half swimming, struggled at first. Bending low over their necks, Babur and Baburi whispered encouragement into their ears. Detritus from the camp floated all around them — cooking pots, riding boots, drowned chickens and sheep. When they finally reached the higher ground, Babur found many of his horsemen already gathered there. Some had managed to bring others to safety with them — women and children, sodden and miserable, were among those sheltering beneath the trees.
About dawn, the rain stopped and a few hours later the floodwaters were receding. Closing his eyes, Babur gave thanks. At least nearly all of the army seemed to have survived. As soon as the waters had subsided they would return to the camp and retrieve everything they had abandoned — the cannon, their chain-mail, armour, weapons, tents and whatever provisions were still fit to eat. Then they would round up the pack-beasts. He would take no more opium till Hindustan was his.
The whine of a mosquito landing on the back of his sunburned neck distracted Babur and he slapped it, leaving a smear of dark-red blood — his own. But it was others’ blood that was about to flow. He had no need of his court astrologer to tell him that. First Firoz Khan’s, and then anyone else’s who opposed him on the road to Delhi. Nobody would stand in his way.
Chapter 22
Babur’s men had erected his large, scarlet command tent at the very centre of the camp they had pitched two days previously at the small village of Panipat on the plains north-west of Delhi. The tent gave little respite from the intense dry heat of an April afternoon to Babur and his military council gathered around him. When the side flaps were down the atmosphere soon grew stifling. When they were pulled back and secured with leather thongs, the omnipresent wind blew in gritty dust that clogged noses and stung eyes. The windbreaks of thick brown cloth erected some yards from the tent had improved things only a little.
Babur sat on his gilded throne with his back to the breeze, drinking a sherbet made from local limes mixed with water and some of the last of the carefully preserved ice they had brought down from the mountains. Baburi, squatting on his haunches by Babur’s left side, was doing likewise, lowering the thin yellow cotton cloth he had tied over the lower part of his face to protect against the dust each time he took a sip.
Just a month after his eighteenth birthday Humayun was seated on a stool to his father’s right. He was wearing a deep green tunic woven from the thinnest cotton loosely belted over baggy trousers of the same material. Like several other commanders, he was being cooled by a great peacock feather fan wielded dextrously above his head by servants stripped to the waist but still perspiring copiously with the effort.
‘What do our scouts tell us about the movement of Sultan Ibrahim’s troops, Baburi?’
‘They’re still moving towards us but taking their time about it. They break camp only every other day and even then they only travel five or six miles before making camp again, partly because of the size of their baggage train but also, I think, because they’ve no great appetite for an early engagement. They’d rather leave us to eat up our supplies or — in our impatience — make an unwise attack of our own.’
‘No chance of that, I hope. We must tempt them to attack us so that we can make the most of our cannon and muskets, firing from defensive positions and thus reducing the effect of their greater numbers. While we’re on the subject, what are the latest estimates of their strength?’ Babur put down his sherbet.
‘About a hundred thousand — two-thirds cavalry, the rest foot-soldiers. The latter probably with plenty of eagerness for plunder but little for battle. And then, of course, there are the war elephants. Our spies say there are around a thousand, nearly all in good condition, well trained and armoured. They’re a real worry. Even if we sit on the defensive we’ll need to blunt their charge before they get into our lines. Otherwise, if they do get in amongst us, we’ll find it difficult to keep our men disciplined. Most have scarcely seen an elephant, never mind fought one-’
‘The cannon will help,’ interrupted Humayun.
‘Yes, but we’ll need to protect them too if they’re to be reloaded and get off enough shots to make a difference. We musn’t let them be overrun after firing just a couple of rounds.’
‘ We could position them at the centre of our formation, just as this tent is at the centre of the camp for protection,’ Humayun said.
‘But they’ll need a clear field of fire. .’ Baburi went on.
‘Let me speak.’ Babur motioned both Humayun and Baburi to be silent. ‘Baburi, do you remember what that old woman — Rehana — told us all those years ago, when we were not much older than Humayun is now, about Timur’s strategy when he took Delhi? Last night I was thinking about our battle plan and what my great ancestor might have done when I remembered Rehana — and that I had had the good sense to have her account transcribed and still had it in the chest where I keep important royal papers and my diary. .
‘When I read it I found it provided the main elements of a battle plan against the elephants. Timur had trenches dug and used the earth to build ramparts in front of his lines. Then he ordered tethered bullocks to be roped together as a further line of protection. I thought we, too, should dig trenches and throw up earth barricades — but instead of tying bullocks together, we should link our baggage wagons by knotting their traces to each other, leaving gaps at intervals through which our cannon — placed as you suggested, Humayun, at our centre — can fire and our cavalry make sorties when necessary. We could station the musketeers and some of our best mounted archers to protect the gaps between the wagons with crossfire.’
Nods of agreement followed, but Baburi asked, ‘That begs the question of how you’ll make sure they actually attack us, rather than try to force us into retreat by cutting off our supplies.’
‘Once we’ve prepared our positions, if they don’t attack after a few days we’ll attempt to provoke them. We’ll make a flanking movement apparently aimed at their camp and its treasure or — better still — launch a limited attack and then feign retreat. We’ll make them think they’ve bested us and that an easy victory will be theirs if only they follow through. .’
Over the next few days, Babur’s soldiers worked from the cool hours of dawn through the hottest part of the day, when the horizon shimmered in a heat haze, and on to dusk, digging the hard, dry ground to scrape out trenches and throw up earth barricades. It was slow, exhausting work. Many collapsed from the effect of the sun, all too many falling into a delirium — eyes rolling, tongues lolling — from which they were never to rise.
To hearten the men, Babur and Humayun each took a spade and laboured with them, filling buckets with earth and carrying them two at a time suspended from wooden shoulder yokes to the top of the ramparts. After three days the barricades were of sufficient height. Behind them, the wagons had been linked together and bullocks had drawn the cannon into carefully measured positions in the gaps between them. Supplies of the heavy stone cannon balls had been piled next to each and the Turkish gunners were drilling their men in the loading process. The noise of the armourers’ hammers and the clamour of numerous voices — excited and apprehensive — echoed around the camp.
As Babur rode by on his tour of inspection, Baburi at his side, the voices hushed for a moment and the soldiers stood still, bowing their heads. Baburi leaned across to Babur. ‘The latest reports still show the forces of Delhi disinclined to attack although they are now only three miles off.’
‘But at least — if our informers are right — there’s dissent and desertion in their camp, with complaints that Ibrahim is miserly in paying his troops and even more parsimonious with promises of future reward. A divided house is easier to conquer than a united one and — equally important — easier to provoke to rash action.’
‘True.’
