Brothers at War

hooves threw up large amounts of mud and water which splattered those following. After they had ridden for no more than two or three minutes, Ahmed Khan reined in his horse by a small cluster of boulders on a low rise and Humayun rode up to him.

‘Majesty,’ Ahmed Khan spoke softly, ‘these rocks are the last important marker. From here, the walls of Sekunder Shah’s camp are about six hundred yards directly in front of us.’

‘Summon up the pairs of men with ladders.’

As they rode up, the rough ladders slung between their horses by leather thongs, the rain slackened and almost as if by a miracle the moon appeared, pale and watery, through a gap in the scudding clouds. In the few moments before it disappeared again, Humayun glimpsed the walls of Sekunder Shah’s camp.They were as Ahmed Khan had described, about eight feet high and made of earth, some of which appeared to have slipped down in places, making those sections more like steep hillocks.

There was no sign of sentries as moments later the men rode up to the walls and, dismounting quickly, positioned the ladders and scrambled up them on to the walls. There they began pushing the mud down, some kicking at it with their feet, others using spades they had carried strapped across their backs. Soon, about thirty feet of the wall had been reduced to no more than a low mound and Bairam Khan, followed by his qorchi, was leading his horsemen quietly into the camp. The rain was falling more heavily again and still there were no signs of alarm as Humayun himself and his bodyguard crossed the remains of the wall.

Suddenly, however, a startled cry rang out from somewhere in front of Humayun. ‘The enemy!’ Another fainter shout came from along the mud walls, then the much louder blare of a trumpet from the same direction. Perhaps the dozing personnel of a guardhouse had woken to the peril that was flowing all around them and were giving the alarm. There were answering trumpet blasts from towards the centre of the camp.

Now that surprise had been lost, Humayun realised that he and his men needed to advance as quickly as possible to destroy their enemy before they had time to arm and to form up. As he rode over towards Bairam Khan to give him the order to ride for the centre of the camp, a straggling volley of arrows fell, slanting down among the raindrops from the direction of the guard post. One implanted itself in Humayun’s saddle. Another struck Bairam Khan’s breastplate and bounced harmlessly off but a third caught Bairam Khan’s qorchi in the thigh. The youth clutched at his leg and as the blood began to run through his fingers stifled a cry.

‘Bind his wound tightly,’ shouted Humayun. ‘Get him back to our camp to the hakims. He’s young and has been brave. He deserves to live.’ One of Humayun’s own bodyguards rushed to comply.

Another volley of arrows fell but they were few in number and the only casualty was a cavalryman’s bay horse which slipped to the ground, two black-flighted arrows protruding from its neck. Its rider, a squat Tajik, jumped clear as it fell but slipped as he landed heavily in the mud, lying winded for a moment before scrambling to his feet.

‘Bairam Khan, send forty men to locate the position those arrows came from and destroy the enemy archers. The rest of you, charge with me to victory.’

As Bairam Khan quickly detached the men to deal with the guard post, Humayun drew Alamgir. Holding the sword straight out in front of him, and with his bodyguard around him and Mustapha Ergun and his Turkish mercenaries close behind, he kicked his black stallion into as near a gallop as it could come to in the mud, riding deeper into the camp. By now there was a slight lightening of the sky on the eastern horizon, the precursor of dawn, but Humayun could still see little through the rain as he rode, head low over his horse’s neck. Then, after a minute or so, he managed to distinguish the dark shapes of close-packed lines of tents ahead and at the same time heard the cries of Sekunder Shah’s men as they emerged from them, pulling their weapons from their scabbards.

‘Push the tents over to trap the enemy beneath. Ride down any who are already outside.’ Following his own orders, Humayun leaned down from the saddle and slashed hard at the guy ropes of a large tent, which crumpled to the ground. Then he cut at a shadowy figure who, after emerging from a second tent, was raising his double bow. Humayun felt Alamgir slice deep into the unprotected flesh of the man’s chest before biting into his ribs. The archer twisted and fell beneath the hooves of one of Humayun’s advancing cavalrymen, who was in turn thrown.

All around other of Humayun’s soldiers were jumping from the saddle the better to collapse the tents and to come to close quarters with their enemy. Soon Humayun could make out men rolling in the mud, fighting and stabbing at each other. He recognised one of his warriors, a curly-bearded, muscular Badakhshani who was sitting, smiling broadly, on an opponent’s shoulders pulling his head back by the hair. As Humayun watched, he thrust the man’s head forward again down into a quagmire of mud and water. He held it there for a couple of minutes before throwing the lifeless body aside.

Another of his men had run to a line of tethered cavalry horses and was slashing at their leg ropes. As he cut their tethers, he whacked each horse on the rump to send it galloping away into the gloom. Good, thought Humayun, it could only add to the panic and confusion among his awakening enemies. Yet another of his soldiers had grabbed a lance from a rack outside one collapsed tent and was stabbing at two figures struggling beneath its folds. Soon the squirming bodies were still and dark stains were spreading into the tent’s material.

‘Come,’ Humayun shouted to Mustapha Ergun, ‘it’s getting lighter. Now we can see more, let us try to find Sekunder Shah’s personal quarters. You too, Bairam Khan, follow me with your men.’

Soon, by the swiftly rising light, Humayun distinguished on a low rise about half a mile away a collection of large tents erected in a hollow rectangle with a big flag hanging wet and limp from a pole outside a single vast tent — surely Sekunder Shah’s own — at its centre. As Humayun rode closer, he saw a number of men milling around the tents. Some already had their breastplates and helmets on, others were throwing saddles on their horses, clambering unprotected into them and forming up ready to defend themselves.

Moments later, Humayun heard a crackle of musket fire from beneath the awning of one of the tents — at least some of Sekunder Shah’s men had kept their powder dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Mustapha Ergun’s Turks slide silently from his saddle with a bullet wound in his temple. His frightened horse swerved into the path of Humayun’s own mount. Humayun hastily pulled on the reins of his horse but the frightened animal reared up. It took all Humayun’s skill to retain his seat as his mount, dropping back on to its four legs, skittered sideways, further disrupting the progress of his other cavalry. They in turn, seeing Humayun’s difficulty, almost instinctively began to rein in, presenting an attractive target to Sekunder Shah’s men. A flight of arrows rose from another of the tents, which were now becoming veiled in white smoke from the muskets. Several more of Humayun’s men were hit. One dropped his sword and, falling headlong into the mud, lay still. Others remained in the saddle but slowly dropped back from their comrades to tend their wounds.

Almost simultaneously, from Humayun’s flank came two louder explosions. Turning his head towards the sound, Humayun realised that Sekunder Shah’s artillerymen had got two of his larger cannon into action from where they had been dug in, protected from the wet by a rough, timber-planked roof. Each cannon ball found a mark. One hit a black horse in the belly, causing it to collapse. It tried to stagger to its feet, its intestines protruding from the gaping wound, before subsiding back into the mud neighing piteously. The second cannon ball carried away the front leg of another horse which buckled and fell, pitching its rider — another of Mustapha Ergun’s men — over its head.

It had all happened very quickly and as Humayun regained full control of his dancing horse a sudden thought chilled him. He might be being drawn into a carefully prepared trap. Sekunder Shah’s men might even now be circling round to block the route behind them. Surely the prize of the throne of Hindustan would not be ripped from his grasp once more? No, it could not be. . He must not falter in his moment of destiny, not let doubt stand in the way of overcoming this momentary disorder.

‘Come on, regroup! We mustn’t lose impetus,’ he yelled. Waving Alamgir he turned directly towards the tents from which the musket men had fired and kicked his horse forward as fast as it would go in the glossy deep mud. He was immediately followed by his bodyguard. Another few musket shots rang out and another rider fell but then Humayun was among the enemy musketeers who were now trying to flee, throwing aside their long weapons and supporting tripods. Humayun cut one down with a slash from Alamgir but then he and his men were in turn charged by some of the riders he had seen mounting up previously. A stout officer on a brown horse with a diamond blaze on its face made directly for Humayun, his lance held in his left hand aimed at Humayun’s chest.

Humayun twisted his horse’s head and the lance struck a glancing blow against his breastplate, knocking him slightly off balance so that his own sword slash also missed. Both men wheeled their horses round tightly and the