Brothers at War

some of Sultan Ibrahim’s customs but build on them to create new spectacles. . new magnificence. .

Humayun put his hand on Khanzada’s shoulder. ‘Again you have shown me what I should do. .’

Humayun looked at his reflection in the burnished mirror held up by Jauhar. His robes were of pale blue brocade encrusted with gold embroidery and gems glittered on his fingers and around his neck. He smiled, pleased with the image he presented, encased in his finery. In fact, the only pieces of jewellery that mattered to him were the Koh-i-Nur diamond, his Mountain of Light, that mounted in gold was pinned to his breast, and — even more so — Timur’s gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. The ring was Humayun’s talisman — its virile, elemental strength a constant reminder of how much he had to live up to, how much he had yet to accomplish. .

Humayun signalled that he was ready to proceed to the great audience chamber of the Agra fort. To the blast of two long-stemmed bronze trumpets and cries of ‘Padishah salamat’, ‘All hail the emperor’, he entered the many-pillared durbar hall where his leading subjects — his officers of state, his commanders, his courtiers and the Hindustani rajas who had acknowledged his supremacy — were waiting. As they prostrated themselves, touching their foreheads to the ground, they looked in their bright robes like a field of flowers tossed down by a sharp gust of wind.

‘You may rise.’

The scent of rosewater, cascading down a tiered fountain at the far end of the hall into a marble pool carved into the shape of a lotus leaf, mingled with the spicy incense smoking in four tall golden burners shaped like slender-legged cranes with rubies for eyes. Beneath Humayun’s feet, the carpets of red and blue spread over the stone floor felt thick and soft as he advanced slowly towards the green velvet, gold-fringed canopy erected over a raised platform on which stood giant golden scales — two great saucers, their edges set with lozenges of pale pink quartz rimmed by pearls, suspended by gold chains from a stout wooden frame.

Directly in front of the scales was the largesse to be weighed against him — carved ivory boxes of unset gemstones, gilded wooden trunks filled with silver and gold coins that had each taken eight men to carry into the chamber, bales of pashmina goat’s wool so soft and supple a length six feet wide could pass through a tiny golden ring, rolls of silks in rainbow colours and brass trays piled with spices.

Humayun surveyed his audience, grouped around the front and sides of the dais, among them his grandfather Baisanghar and his white-bearded vizier Kasim. The two elderly men were watching him approvingly and for a moment Humayun thought of Babur whose early reign they had also guided. . but this was not a moment for grief and regrets but for pomp and ceremony. He had an imperial pronouncement to deliver.

‘Nine years ago I fought by my father’s side at the battle of Panipat. God granted us a great victory and a new realm. It was also God’s will that my father did not live long to enjoy what he had won. This is the third anniversary of the reading of the khutba proclaiming me Moghul emperor of Hindustan. My empire is still young but it will grow. . indeed it will become great, surpassing that of the Persian shah or the Ottoman sultan. The Moghuls’ magnificence will blaze like the noonday sun, blinding those who dare gaze into its heart. Already, I have shown my power to defeat those who threaten our borders. Bahadur Shah and the Lodi pretender Tartar Khan skulk in the mountains and their once great wealth now fills my treasuries. But you who are loyal to me and to my house, you will share in the glory and the riches, starting today.’ Humayun nodded. ‘Kasim, let us proceed.’

Just as they had carefully rehearsed, Kasim gestured to the trumpeters who delivered a further long blast that reverberated around the chamber. Humayun approached the scales. Stepping on to one of the golden saucers, he felt it dip to the floor beneath his weight. At a clap of Kasim’s hands, attendants began to pile box after box of gems on to the other saucer until slowly, to the sonorous beating of drums, Humayun began to rise off the floor. When, finally, the scales were in equilibrium, the trumpets sounded once more.

Opening a book bound in red leather, Kasim began to read. ‘His Imperial Highness, Humayun, has in his infinite generosity decreed that these gems be shared among his courtiers and loyal subjects who are listed here.’ Slowly, portentously, he intoned name after name. Humayun saw the smiles of gratification — greed even.

And so it went on. Next Humayun was weighed against the bags of gold and silver to be distributed as a further reward to his commanders and then against the silks, brocades and spices to be sent to leading officials and subjects in other cities and provinces. Finally he ordered grain and loaves to be distributed among the poor as a reminder that the emperor thought not just of his rich and important subjects but of all his people.

By the time it was all over and the roars of thanks and acclamation had died down, Humayun’s head was aching. Court ceremonial — the messages it conveyed — was essential to the dynasty. He understood that now, and that he must find further ways to awe his people, but he was relieved to return to his own apartments and throw off his heavy robes. As his attendants dressed him in a simple tunic and trousers and Jauhar locked away his jewels, he felt a need to be alone, to have time to think. He’d go out for a ride along the banks of the Jumna where the air would be cooler than the stifling atmosphere here in the fort. Perhaps on his return he would visit the sweet-scented haram and one of his beautiful young concubines who inhabited it.

‘Majesty, Her Highness Gulrukh begs a word with you.’ A soft, oddly accented voice interrupted his thoughts.Turning, Humayun saw a dark-eyed young man with luxuriant black hair curling down to his shoulders. Humayun did not recall seeing him before. He looked no more than about twenty and was slender and supple. His arms — left bare by his embroidered scarlet waistcoat — were smoothly muscled.

‘What is your name?’

‘Mehmed, Majesty.’

‘And you serve my stepmother?’

Mehmed’s amber eyes flickered. ‘Yes, Majesty.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘The Ottoman court in Istanbul. I came to Agra with my master, a spice merchant, but when he departed I remained to seek my fortune here. I have been lucky enough to find favour with Her Majesty.’

What did Gulrukh want? She seldom troubled him. Indeed, since the death of his father and his half-brothers’ conspiracy he’d barely seen her. Never before had she asked him to go to her. Unsettled by her request, Humayun reluctantly decided to postpone his ride. It would appear courteous to go to her straight away, and the sooner he went, the sooner he’d find out what it was about. ‘Very well; take me to your mistress.’

Humayun followed Mehmed out of his chamber, across a courtyard and up a flight of stairs that led to the suites of rooms overlooking a flower-filled garden where the senior royal women — except for Khanzada who preferred to live in another part of the fort — had their apartments. As befitted her status as Babur’s second wife and mother of two of his sons, Kamran and Askari, Gulrukh’s apartments were grand. As they reached the silver- inlaid mulberry wood doors outside them, attendants swung them open and Humayun entered.

‘You are kind to come so quickly,’ said Gulrukh in her rich, warm voice — easily the most attractive thing about her — as she came towards him. ‘I did not expect such an honour.’ Two years older than his own mother, Gulrukh was in her early forties but her sleek plumpness made her look younger. Kamran — sinewy as a mountain cat with slit-like green eyes — had inherited his looks from Babur, not from her, Humayun thought. But Gulrukh’s small black eyes — fixed intently on his face — were just like Askari’s.

‘Please — won’t you rest?’ She gestured towards a red silk bolster and Humayun sat back against it.

‘I’ve never spoken of it to you because I was ashamed, but my sons’ folly in plotting against you caused me much distress. Your father — may his soul rest in peace in Paradise — chose you as his heir and it was not for anyone to challenge. Believe me — I knew nothing of their rash and childish scheming. When I heard what they had done I was terrified. I thought you’d have them executed. I was about to come to you to plead for their lives. But then I heard of your generosity — how you had raised them up and forgiven them and appointed them to govern wealthy provinces. . I have long wished to have this conversation with you because I wished to thank you as a mother. I chose today because it is the third anniversary of the start of your reign. I thought it auspicious and also I wanted to congratulate you. You have been emperor only a short while but already you’ve achieved much.’

‘I trust my brothers have learned their lesson and that they are finding fulfilment. .’ Humayun shifted uneasily against the bolster, embarrassed and anxious to be gone. But, as he suspected, Gulrukh had more to say. She moved closer, her hennaed fingers clasped over her breast.

‘I have a favour to ask of you though I hardly dare. .’

Was she going to ask him to recall Kamran and Askari to court? Humayun felt a flash of irritation as he waited for her to go on.

‘If you grant my wish it will give me much pleasure.’ Gulrukh was seemingly undisturbed by his silence. ‘To