father’s love and trust in bestowing my inheritance on me but now, as a father myself, I promise you I will recapture and enlarge my empire so that I leave a worthy legacy to our son.’
Hamida nodded but said nothing. But there was something he had to talk to her about — something important for Akbar’s future. He must tell her that soon another woman would feed her son. They must appoint a wet-nurse. It was the most important position that could be given to a woman at the Moghul court. She became his ‘milk-mother’, establishing a bond that would endure her whole life through. Any son of her own automatically became the prince’s
‘Hamida, there is something we must decide. In these difficult times, I have few ways to reward my commanders but I do have one thing to give. As is the Timurid way, we must choose a wet-nurse for Akbar, a woman who is worthy and whom we can trust but also a woman whose husband deserves my favour and will consider himself honoured by our choice.’
Hamida raised her head and looked at him. She had not been brought up as a member of the royal house, of course. She could not know all the old royal customs. Though noblewomen often employed nurses to suckle their children, they were only servants who could easily be dispensed with and had no lasting role in the child’s life. He was asking something very different of Hamida — to share her child with another woman.
For a while she was silent, then she spoke. ‘Don’t look so anxious. I’ve known about the custom for a long time — Khanzada told me. I think she wanted to help prepare me, not just for becoming a mother but for being the mother of a future emperor. At first I was upset. But since Khanzada’s death, I’ve reflected on her words — that by choosing the right wet-nurse I would not be giving up my child but helping to protect him. Though it still makes me sad, I can see that she was right. . Let us be practical. Whom should we choose? There are so few women with us now, even fewer with babies.’
‘Zahid Beg’s wife is too old to have milk in her breasts or I would have chosen her in recognition of his loyalty and bravery. But there is another commander I would like to reward — Nadim Khwaja, a chieftain from near Kandahar whose wife is with him. Shortly after we fled from Marwar she bore him a son.’
‘I know her, of course. A tall, handsome woman called Maham Anga. Her son’s name is Adham Khan.’
‘You would accept Maham Anga? If there is another you would prefer. . ’
‘I am content. Maham Anga is strong and healthy, as well as honest and full of good common sense. Her son is a sturdy vigorous baby. She is the one I would have chosen.’ Gently detaching Akbar from one breast, Hamida moved him across to the other. How beautiful she looked, Humayun thought, despite all the recent hardships and the ordeal of childbirth. And though still so young, nearly twenty years his junior, how strong. It must be hard for her to think of Akbar in another woman’s arms yet she hid her pain as courageously as a warrior concealed his fear. He had chosen her out of love but even here in this remote, mud-walled oasis, far from home and safety, she had the bearing of an empress. Approaching the divan, he bent and kissed Hamida’s lips and then the downy crown of his son’s head.
‘What came of your meeting with the rana? Do you believe we are safe here?’ Hamida asked.
‘I think so. Though the rana is himself a Rajput, there seems no love lost between him and Maldeo. Last year, Maldeo’s men raided caravans from Umarkot as they crossed the Rajasthani desert. As the merchants were formally under the rana’s protection he took it as a great insult. Of course, Maldeo is far too powerful for the rana to think of revenge, but he has no wish for any dealings with him. He will not betray us to Maldeo, I am certain of it, though we cannot linger here too long. Inaccessible though Umarkot is, we will eventually be pursued here. As soon as we can — as soon as you are strong enough — we will leave.’
‘But where to?’
‘The only direction it makes sense to go is northwest to Kabul. Until I have retaken it and punished Kamran and Askari for their treachery I have no chance of dislodging Sher Shah from Hindustan. . ’ Humayun hesitated. ‘It will be a hard, dangerous journey. Should I find some safe place to leave you and Akbar until it is safe for you to join me. .?’
‘No. You already know I can endure harsh conditions as long as we are together. I told you I’d learned much from Khanzada. She would never have agreed to be left behind and neither will I. . ’
The walls of dusty Umarkot faded into the pale apricot haze as Humayun led his men once more out into the desert a week later. Their destination was the fortress of Bhakkar, an outpost belonging to his cousin Mirza Husain, the ruler of Sind, two hundred miles away on the northern borders of Sind on the banks of the Indus. Since the two of them had parted on ostensibly cordial terms Humayun hoped to find temporary shelter there. And at Bhakkar, remote though it was, he might also finally learn what had been happening in the outside world.
Knowing that each mile was taking them further from the risk of being overtaken, Humayun pushed the pace. Every morning the column set out as the first rays of the sun seeped over the horizon and, apart from a brief break at midday to rest the animals and to eat a simple meal of bread, dried meat and a few raisins, did not halt until dusk. Within just two weeks, they were entering a land of villages and fields so startlingly fresh and green after their long desert journey that it was obvious the Indus could not be far. Soon Bhakkar’s sturdy sandstone walls rose before them while westward, across the Indus, Humayun saw distant purple shadows — the mountains of Baluchistan. They were so like the mountains of Kabul, he felt his heart contract.
‘Jauhar, ride to Bhakkar.Ask entry in the name of Humayun, Moghul Emperor of Hindustan and blood-kin of Mirza Husain of Sind.’
An hour later Humayun led his column into the fortress where the officer in command was waiting to receive him. ‘Greetings, Majesty, on behalf of my master you are welcome. My name is Sayyid Ali.’ As the commander touched his hand to his breast, Humayun saw that he was quite elderly with thin grey hair and a white scar on his left temple.
That night, Humayun sat with Kasim and Zahid Beg by Sayyid Ali’s side around a brazier of smouldering applewood whose warmth was just enough to take the chill off the air rising from the river. ‘I have had little news since a messenger brought word that Kabul had fallen to my half-brothers, Kamran and Askari. Can you tell me any more?’
Sayyid Ali cast him what seemed a slightly puzzled look. ‘Indeed, Majesty, there is much more that you should know, even if the knowledge will displease you. Travellers from Kandahar who passed by on their way downriver told us that your half-brother Hindal had seized their city.’
Humayun stood up so abruptly that the wooden stool he’d been sitting on tipped over, falling against the brazier. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I heard that it fell to him without a struggle. The governor believed he was still your ally and admitted him and his forces.’
So that was what Hindal had been doing. Not heading for Kabul and an alliance with Kamran and Askari as Humayun had suspected but veering westward to set up his own kingdom in Kandahar. Humayun stared into the glowing embers of the fire as he remembered the last time he’d seen Hindal, blood-spattered and spitting defiance because Humayun wanted Hamida and would not be denied.
‘So Hindal rules in Kandahar. . ’ he said at last.
‘No, Majesty.’
‘But you said. . ’
‘Something else happened, Majesty. Learning that Hindal was in Kandahar, your half-brother Kamran ordered him to acknowledge him as his overlord and to hold Kandahar only as his governor. When he refused, Kamran and Askari rode there with a large army, captured the city and took Hindal prisoner. No one knows what happened to him. . ’
Humayun’s heart was beating very fast. Kamran and Askari were so much nearer than he’d believed. . Kandahar was no more than three hundred miles away, far closer than Kabul. Perhaps fate had guided him to Bhakkar. Though he had so few men — barely two hundred — they were from the Moghul clans, his most trusted warriors — his
