That evening, as a hazy, pink dusk was falling, drums began to beat softly. Humayun and Hindal followed the attendants sent by Mirza Husain into the palace’s central wing and up a long, shallow staircase strewn with jasmine petals and lit by wicks burning in
As Humayun and his brother entered, musicians struck up. A smiling Mirza Husain advanced towards his cousins. Hanging necklaces of frangipani blossoms around their necks after the Hindustani custom, he led them to the places of honour on the dais. Once they were comfortably seated, he clapped his hands and a succession of bearers entered through a side entrance, each carrying a golden dish upon his shoulder piled with food — pomfret fish steamed in banana leaves or simmered in creamy coconut sauce, sides of roast deer, haunches of spiced lamb, aubergines delicately smoked and pureed, fluffy rice cooked with split peas and hot bread stuffed with sultanas and dried apricots.
‘Eat, Majesty, eat, and you, Prince Hindal. Eat, my cousins, you are my honoured guests. See, the food is good. . Tell me what dishes tempt you and I myself will be your food taster. You have no reason to fear while under my roof. .’
‘I thank you, cousin. And I have no fear.’ To secure his cousin’s help, Humayun knew he must indeed demonstrate trust. Without hesitating, he took a piece of hot bread and wrapping it around a chunk of fish began to eat. ‘The food is indeed good.’
Later, as Humayun lay against his cushions, Mirza Husain clapped his hands and three girls entered the room through a side entrance and bowed low before him, eyes downcast. Then, simultaneously striking their tambourines with their palms and stamping their feet on the floor causing the bronze bells around their ankles to clash, they began to dance. One was tall and slender, the other two shorter and more voluptuous. Their short, tight bodices left their midriffs bare. The swell of their hips and buttocks was emphasised by the diaphanous pale pink silk of their voluminous trousers, which fastened round their waists with gold cord that ended in pearl tassels.Watching the girls whirl before him, for a moment Humayun imagined he was back in the Agra fort, his empire intact and nothing to concern him but the quest for yet greater glory and which concubine to choose for his night’s pleasure.
At a wave of Mirza Husain’s bejewelled hand, the girls ran off. Attendants cleared the dishes and others brought new ones — platters of ripe fruits stuffed with marzipan, delicate almonds covered in silver leaf. But something else was shining amongst them. Looking more closely, Humayun saw that the sweetmeats rested on a bed of gems — rubies, carnelians, emeralds, turquoises, pearls of many shapes and hues and glowing golden cat’s- eyes.
‘These are my gift to you, cousin.’ Mirza Husain selected a ruby and held it out to Humayun. ‘See the quality of this gem.’
Humayun took the stone from him and examined it. ‘You are gracious and generous.’
‘I have sent other gifts to your commanders — jewelled scimitars, daggers, bridles and gilded quivers, paltry compared with the glories of the Moghul court of which I have heard so much, I know, but none the less acceptable, I hope. And now, I have another favour to ask. Will you permit me to present my youngest daughter to you?’
‘Of course.’
Mirza Husain whispered something to an attendant. A few minutes later, a short, slight young woman appeared in the great doorway through which two hours earlier Humayun and Hindal had entered. Head erect, she walked slowly towards the dais. Humayun saw dark eyes and a wide-cheekboned, almost feline face. Reaching the dais, she knelt before it, eyes to the ground.
‘This is Khanam.’
At Mirza Husain’s words, Khanam raised her head and looked straight into Humayun’s eyes.
‘My daughter is a skilled musician. Will you allow her to play for you?’
‘Of course. It would be a pleasure to hear her.’
At a signal from her father, Khanam stepped back a few paces and taking a round-bellied, long-necked stringed instrument from an attendant sat down on a wooden stool another brought for her. Mirza Husain had not exaggerated his daughter’s talent. As she plucked the strings, haunting, soaring notes filled the chamber. Closing his eyes for a moment, Humayun saw his mother Maham, head bent over the lute that had once belonged to his great-grandmother Esan Dawlat, who had preserved it throughout his family’s dangerous, often desperate days in search of a throne.
‘Khanam’s a beauty, isn’t she? The pick of all my daughters. Her mother was Persian.’ Mirza Husain’s voice cut into his thoughts.
‘Your daughter is very beautiful,’ Humayun replied dutifully though for his taste she was a little too thin and certainly nothing to compare with Salima’s voluptuous charms. Her death — the cruel and sudden extinction of so much beauty and vitality — still haunted him. It seemed a symbol of how much he had lost these past months.
Mirza Husain bent nearer, reducing his voice to a whisper that only Humayun could hear. ‘And she is ripe for marriage. I am wealthy. Her dowry will be considerable. . almost imperial. . ’ He smiled, the implication of his words unmistakable.
Humayun looked at Khanam, long hair reddened with henna falling round her as she continued to play. Why not? he thought. Babur had made several dynastic marriages to secure his position.Though Khanam didn’t stir him particularly, her looks were well enough. She shared his blood and her father would be a useful friend in the struggle against Sher Shah.Why not form an alliance to be consummated one day in the marriage bed? It seemed that for once Kasim’s information had been wrong — Mirza Husain was willing to help him. But of one thing Humayun was certain. Before he could think of taking a wife he must defeat his enemies and be sure of his throne. The time had come for plain speaking.
‘Mirza Husain, I would be glad one day to consider Khanam as a wife. She is a fine-looking, accomplished young woman. First, though, my thoughts must be on war and the recovery of my lost lands, not on marriage, and I want your help.You have been generous with your hospitality and your gifts but I need your armies. Let us proclaim our alliance to the world.’
Humayun sat back against the cushions, expecting Mirza Husain’s gratitude, even joy. The prospect of marriage with the Moghul emperor was beyond anything the sultan could have hoped for his daughter. But he saw that his host’s smile was no longer so good-natured.The curve of his lips seemed to harden and his eyes to grow cold. ‘Khanam, enough! Leave us now.’ His tone was sharp.
Khanam looked up in surprise and at once stopped playing. Rising, with a swish of her long, dark blue robes she hurried from the chamber.
‘Cousin, let us understand one another.’ Mirza Husain spoke quietly. ‘I did not invite you here. You came. I received you out of duty. Sher Shah is in Lahore, barely six hundred miles away — perhaps nearer for all we know — with armies far outnumbering yours and mine combined. For the present I dare not antagonise him. I can give you money and I will willingly give you my daughter if you will promise to protect and honour her but no more than that. Take Khanam with my blessing, as my gift to absolve me with honour of further obligations to you in your present troubles, but leave my lands before you bring disaster upon me and my people.’
Mirza Husain’s voice had risen so all could hear and Humayun saw Hindal looking at him with astonishment. Hot anger flooded through him. Kasim had been right after all. ‘Mirza Husain, the blood of Timur — of the
Mirza Husain flushed.The taunt had bitten home, Humayun saw with satisfaction. No man liked to hear such words — even less to hear them under his own roof.
‘Your ambition is dangerous,’ said Mirza Husain. ‘Accept your setback. Leave Hindustan. Go back to Kabul, to your homelands there. They are a sufficient kingdom. You cannot flourish where you do not belong.’
‘You forget yourself. My father conquered Hindustan and founded an empire which he bequeathed to me. I do belong there.You should not be trying to buy me off with a bag of gold and your daughter. . Instead, you and I should be planning how to recapture my lands. Immediately we have won our first victories, others will rally once more to my banner. Yet you refuse to recognise this. You have grown so fat on trade you seem to have forgotten our warrior code and the obligations and ambitions it carries with it. . ’
In his anger, Humayun had forgotten that others as well as his brother were close by. Several of Mirza Husain’s nobles were seated round low tables beneath the dais and suddenly he became aware of the silence that
