Ruler of the World

Chapter 5

Milk and Blood

On a humid May afternoon, Akbar slept, head cushioned by Mayala’s soft, voluptuously rounded stomach, as a peacock-feather punkah pulled on a long rope by an attendant in an adjacent room stirred the hot air above them. They had just enjoyed a particularly exhausting and innovative bout of love-making and Akbar should have been dreaming of pleasurable things. Instead strange images filled his mind, causing him to stir and even cry out. Feeling a hand on his forehead he sat up with a start, but it was only Mayala trying to soothe him. It had been like this ever since the two young women’s bodies had been found, though that was eight weeks ago now. Every day, despite himself, he was growing more preoccupied, more watchful, every instinct sensing a threat that seemed all the more dangerous because he didn’t know when or from where it would come.

Akbar sat up and pushed back his black hair from his hot forehead. He felt Mayala kneel up behind him, pressing her naked breasts against his back and putting her arms round his neck. She was murmuring in his ear, something about a new position — the Coupling of the Lion — that might please him, but tempting as it was he gently disengaged himself and stood up. He had summoned his counsellors and courtiers to meet later that afternoon and before then he needed to think.

Since Bairam Khan’s exile and death he had had no khan-i-khanan, no commander- in-chief. Even though he felt confident in his own judgement, it was time to select one and also to consider some other court appointments so that he could shed some of his more mundane responsibilities. At some point he must also appoint a vizier — a post it had not been necessary to fill while Bairam Khan was alive — but there was no particular hurry for that. Better to observe his counsellors carefully before making such an important decision. A corrupt or self-seeking vizier would be worse than no vizier at all. But he needed a new chief quartermaster urgently. The present one had, as a very young man, served Akbar’s grandfather Babur. He was now so old he could scarcely stand and continually addressed Akbar as ‘Babur’, while mumbling wonderingly about how much he seemed to have changed. Akbar had also decided to revive the old Moghul post of master-of-horse to oversee the purchase of large numbers of horses for the campaigns of conquest he was planning.

He knew he must choose with care. Each of those posts conferred privileges and prestige on the holder, and all would be coveted. He had no doubt whom he wished to make khan-i-khanan. Ahmed Khan had demonstrated unflinching loyalty to the dynasty from the early days of Humayun’s reign. He was also a shrewd military tactician. He had served Akbar’s father through all his dangerous years of flight and exile and ridden at his shoulder from Kabul on the reconquest of Hindustan, as well as fighting with Akbar against Hemu. The choice of Ahmed Khan as khan-i-khanan might disappoint some of Akbar’s generals but none could call Ahmed Khan unworthy.

But the post of chief quartermaster was problematic. The man he chose would be responsible for all the supplying of the Moghul army — from the corn to feed the horses to the gunpowder and cannon balls to feed the artillery. No other post except that of comptroller of the household, held by Humayun’s one time qorchi and companion Jauhar in return for his years of selfless service, offered so many opportunities for corruption. When he had consulted his mother Hamida, she had suggested Atga Khan, an officer from Kabul who had escorted her to Delhi when Humayun had summoned her to join him in Hindustan. ‘He is a wise and honourable man whose two daughters are in my service. He protected me on the long journey and will I am sure protect your interests as your quartermaster,’ she had said, smooth brow knitted in thought. Following further enquiries — as discreet as he could make them — Akbar had decided to follow his mother’s advice. It would please her, he knew.

As for his master-of-horse, Akbar had consulted no one but decided after much reflection to appoint his milk-brother. Adham Khan was an expert judge of horseflesh and it would be a way of demonstrating to all the court his confidence in his milk-brother despite the rumours that had inevitably bubbled up. Akbar knew from his qorchi that his questioning of Adham Khan about the deaths of the two young women was no secret.

Two hours later, to the customary blast of trumpets, Akbar entered his durbar hall through the arched door to the left of his throne — his gleaming golden throne forged from the molten gold of Hemu’s treasuries that he had now set up in its permanent place. He had already vowed to himself to ornament it further with gems captured in future wars as a visible symbol of his greatness and success. Seating himself on the green velvet cushion, he signalled to his assembled councillors and courtiers to sit.

Before speaking, Akbar glanced up at the small grille high in the wall behind which he was sure Hamida would be sitting in the little gallery where women could watch and listen unseen. He thought he caught a glimpse of her. ‘I summoned you here today because I have decided to make certain appointments. Ahmed Khan, Atga Khan and you, my milk-brother Adham Khan, approach.’ As soon as all three men were before him, Akbar continued, ‘Ahmed Khan, in recognition of your many years of service first to my father and now to me, I hereby appoint you my commander-in-chief, my khani-khanan.’

Ahmed Khan’s smile above his long, wispy beard showed his pleasure. ‘Majesty, I will serve you to the utmost of my ability.’

‘I know you will. You will also retain responsibility for intelligence gathering and remain the emperor’s eyes and ears.’ At a signal from Akbar, attendants stepped forward to present Ahmed Khan with a green brocade robe of honour, the yak’s-tail standard — an emblem of authority since the days of Genghis Khan — and a jewelled sword.

Next, Akbar turned to his milk-brother. ‘Adham Khan. You have been my friend and companion since our boyhood. Now I wish to confer on you a position you richly merit and will discharge with honour.’ Adham Khan’s hazel eyes were shining. If he’d ever wondered about his milk-brother’s ambition, Akbar thought to himself, he had his answer now. Not that ambition itself was a crime. Indeed, it was the very foundation stone of the Moghul empire.

‘Step forward, my milk-brother, and let me embrace you as my new master-of-horse.’ Akbar rose, and stepping down from the carved marble dais on which his throne stood he put his arms round Adham Khan’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. But if he’d expected gratitude he was disappointed.

‘Your master-of-horse?’ As he spoke Adham Khan glanced for a second up at the grille in the wall. Was Maham Anga also there?

‘Yes, my master-of-horse,’ repeated Akbar, his smile hardening as he took in Adham Khan’s angry and bewildered expression. What had his milk-brother been expecting?

As if suddenly aware of Akbar’s scrutiny, Adham Khan seemed to pull himself together. ‘Thank you, Majesty,’ he said quietly. He acknowledged the traditional gift of jewelled bridle and saddle held out to him on velvet cushions by two attendants and stepped back, eyes on the floor.

Akbar returned to his throne. ‘And you, Atga Khan. In recognition of your many services I hereby appoint you my chief quartermaster.’

Atga Khan, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thin white scar running from his right eyebrow to his left cheekbone — a legacy of an ambush by Pashai tribesmen in the Khyber Pass many years ago — put his hand on his breast and bowed low. ‘Thank you, Majesty. It is a very great honour.’ When he too had been presented with a ceremonial robe and the insignia of his office — a jade seal on a thick gold chain — Akbar rose and left the durbar hall.

With his bodyguards preceding him two abreast he had nearly reached the doors to his apartments when Adham Khan darted out from a side corridor. He was breathing heavily — no doubt the result of having run from the durbar hall to intercept Akbar. Even though they could see who it was, Akbar’s bodyguards at once crossed spears to stop Adham Khan coming any nearer. Their orders were to prevent anybody from getting close to the emperor without permission, and the penalty for negligence was death.

‘It’s all right.’ Akbar nodded to the guards, who lowered their spears. ‘What is it, Adham Khan?’

‘You have humiliated me in front of all the court.’ His milk-brother was so angry that Akbar could see a vein beating in his right temple.

‘Humiliated you? Be careful what you say,’ Akbar replied in a low voice, but Adham Khan seemed in no mood