He’s already defeated Adil Shah once but failed to follow up his victory because of the activities of the third pretender, Tartar Khan, the head of the old Lodi clan we supplanted and who fought against us with the Sultan of Gujarat.’
‘We need to obtain as much information as we can about each of them — who their friends and enemies are, their personal strengths and vices, how many men, how much money they have.’
‘We will question the recently arrived travellers further. And of course send out more spies and scouts.’
‘We will resume our discussion tomorrow to plan our campaign in detail. Now is the time for our evening meal.’ Humayun turned to leave the audience chamber. However, as he did so, Ahmed Khan approached him and handed him a small square of paper.
‘One of the travellers brought this sealed message which he told our guards was for your eyes only. He said that a member of his family — a sailor who had just returned from Arabia and heard that he was travelling to Kabul — had asked him to bring it to you. It is probably nothing, Majesty, but I thought I should leave it to you to open.’
‘Thank you, Ahmed Khan. I will read it shortly.’
A quarter of an hour later, Humayun entered the women’s quarters and made his way to Hamida’s apartments. Looking up, she said, ‘I hear there is good news from Hindustan. . ’
Humayun smiled, but the smile and his eyes were clouded by a look of melancholy.‘The news from Hindustan is indeed good, but I’ve received other, sadder news today. It’s about Askari. As you know, I’ve long feared that some accident had befallen him since I’d had no news of him after the message eighteen months ago that he had taken ship from Cambay for the holy lands around Mecca.Today I received confirmation of his fate. . ’
Humayun pulled from his pocket the paper which Ahmed Khan had handed him. It had many creases and folds. ‘It is from Mohamed Azruddin — the commander of the escort I provided for my brother. It tells briefly how the voyage from Cambay was going well with favourable winds when about twenty miles from the port of Salala on the Arab coast a fleet of three fast pirate vessels overhauled their ship. Askari led the fight against the pirates as they boarded but was overwhelmed and killed, sword in hand. Many others died with him. Mohamed Azruddin was badly wounded and captured with the remainder of the escort and the coin they were carrying. On his recovery he was sold in the great slave market of Muscat to work in the quarries outside the town. He escaped his captors six months ago and his first action was to send this message to me in advance of his return.’
‘May God forgive Askari for his misdeeds and may his soul rest in Paradise,’ said Hamida. After a few moments she continued, ‘Nevertheless, this definite news of his death frees you from any fear that he might have disappeared on purpose to plot in exile against you.’
‘True, but he was never so committed an adversary as Kamran and often, I think, acted only from loyalty to his brother and mother. I believed him when, before he left on the
‘For a long time you have been the only one of his sons to be true to his memory.’
‘But I have lost much of his empire and failed to recover it, never mind to expand his dominions. I have let myself and you, as well as my father, down. My intentions have been good but I’ve not been single-minded enough to carry them through.’
‘That is changing. Since Askari’s departure for the
‘I hope so. I’ve used bitter memories of how I lost my throne, of your face in our bleakest moment when Akbar was taken from us, of how we passed, frozen and half-starving, into Persia as suppliants to the shah, to act as goads to focus all my energies on recovering Hindustan.’
‘You are succeeding. I know you don’t think just one step ahead but about how to plan the whole journey.’
‘I pray that it will take me back to my throne.’
‘Make sure it does, for our son’s sake.’
Humayun had never seen Hamida look so determined. He would not fail her.
In November 1554, Humayun stood straight-backed, a fur-lined robe pulled tight around him against the autumn cold, on the walls of Kabul with the twelve-year-old Akbar at his side as his newly recruited armies marched before him.
‘Our emissaries have done well.They have brought in men from all over our own lands. Those pale-skinned men over there are from Ghazni. The ones with the dark turbans and face cloths are from the mountains north of Kandahar. Our vassals in Badakhshan and the lands of the Tajiks have sent soldiers.They are always amongst the bravest and best fighters, and well equipped too. Look how fine their horses are.’
‘But who are those men over there under the yellow flag, Father?’
‘They are from Ferghana — the land of your grandfather’s birth. Hearing rumours of the death of Islam Shah they had started unbidden on the road to Kabul to offer their services to me, knowing I would be sure to attack Hindustan. . ’ Here Humayun stopped for a moment, his voice choking with emotion, and then continued, ‘I will lead them to victory just as your grandfather did. But see that group of mounted archers? They are from around Samarkand and Bokhara and have fashioned themselves the flag of our great ancestor Timur — see it fluttering now with its orange tiger. . ’
‘How many men do we have?’
‘Twelve thousand.’
‘That’s less than when my grandfather invaded Hindustan.’
‘True, but we’ve more cannon, more muskets and additional recruits are joining every day. We have messages that many of Islam Shah’s vassals will defect to us once we reach their territories in Hindustan.’
‘How can you be sure?’
Humayun smiled wryly. ‘Just as when their fathers deserted me so many years ago, they believe they know who the victor will be.’
‘So their belief in our success will ensure it happens?’
‘Yes — to have the confidence of those around you in your success takes you a great way to victory. Once it abates it is difficult to restore. That is one lesson I have learned. This time we must ensure it does not. Each victory we win will add to the tide of confidence washing away any remaining strength our opponents have.’
‘I understand, Father.’
Looking at his son, Humayun realised that Akbar probably did. He had changed a lot in the past year. He was mature for his age, not only in his muscular physique and stature but also in his power of analysis and in a growing astuteness in his judgement of others. Humayun recalled his discussion with Hamida the previous night when he had told her that he intended to take Akbar with him when he set out on his invasion of Hindustan in a few days. He had reminded her that Babur had only been Akbar’s age when he became king. To take Akbar with him would inspire confidence in the future of the dynasty, he had told her. It would show that, should he himself fall, unlike Islam Shah he would have a worthy successor.
Humayun had expected Hamida to resist, mindful of the danger to which Akbar would be exposed, but although tears had wetted her cheeks at first, she had choked them back. ‘It is right that he should go, I know. It is difficult for a mother to see her son ride to war but he will soon be a man. I must remind myself I was only two years older when I left my family to share your life and the many dangers that accompanied it — a thing I have never regretted.’
As she spoke, Humayun had realised why, despite the many other women he had known, Hamida was the one true love of his life. He had embraced her and together they had made love long and tenderly.
Humayun forced himself back to the present. It was time to tell his son of his decision. ‘Akbar, would you wish to accompany me as I go to recover our inheritance?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, Akbar answered simply, ‘Yes, Father.’
‘Aren’t you afraid?’
‘A little bit, but somehow I know inside myself it is right. It’s my destiny. . Besides,’ and a youthful grin lit up his face, ‘it will be a great adventure and no adventure is without danger — that I already know. I will make you and
