He had only time to look at himself briefly in the mirror and adjust the knotting of his green silk sash before the trumpets sounded. Heart thumping, he made his way towards the doors which two tall green-turbaned guards threw open for him. As he entered, he saw his father seated on his high-backed gilded throne, surrounded by his courtiers. He was dressed completely in scarlet brocade, save for his white sash and his white ceremonial turban with its two peacock’s feathers held in place by four large rubies. His grandfather’s sword Alamgir was at his side, and as Salim came nearer he saw that his father was wearing their ancestor Timur’s ring with its snarling tiger.
When Salim was within a few feet of his father and preparing to make his low obeisance, Akbar suddenly rose and stepped down from his throne to embrace him. After some moments, he released him and turned to his courtiers.
‘I call upon you to witness that my beloved elder son and I are reconciled. All our past disagreements are forgotten. See, I present him with this my ceremonial turban as a token of our reunion. Henceforth whoever acts against one of us will need to fear both.’ As he spoke, Akbar removed his turban and placed it on his son’s head.
Tears welled in Salim’s eyes. ‘I promise to honour you in all ways and to be loyal in my obedience to your every command.’
However, a quarter of an hour later, as Salim left the audience chamber, some of the euphoria had already begun to dissipate within him. Had his father’s embrace been any more than an empty piece of theatre? Could he recall any warmth in Akbar’s tone of voice or facial expression as he had gone on to recount the initial duties, none of great significance, which Salim would be required to perform on his behalf? Would it all really be so simple?
Chapter 28
‘Ride hard, Khusrau. You can beat him,’ Salim shouted across the parade ground below the Agra fort. His eldest son, mounted on an agile black pony, was swerving the animal in and out of a series of spears thrust into the hard ground. He was just behind another young man on a roan horse racing through a parallel set of spears to his left. Both were well clear of a third youth on Khusrau’s right, who had already failed to negotiate one pair of spears and had to wheel his pony to try again. Khusrau had just succeeded in getting his pony’s neck ahead when a minute later he crossed the finishing line, head bent low and dust billowing in his wake.
How his son had changed over the two years that Salim had spent at Allahabad and elsewhere, away from Akbar’s court. When he had left, Khusrau had still been a boy. Now he was a young man of seventeen. Salim regretted more than ever that he had departed in such total secrecy that he had not felt able to take even Khusrau or Parvez with him without risking jeopardising his plans. It had been even less possible to contemplate taking young Khurram, now nearly thirteen. Since his birth he had spent most of his days with his grandfather and usually slept in Akbar’s apartments at night. Even now they were standing together ten yards away. Both were vigorously applauding Khusrau, who had dismounted and was striding lithe and full of youthful strength towards Akbar who was holding a riding crop with a jewel-encrusted handle ready to present to his eldest grandson as his prize for his victory.
What a picture of familial harmony it looked, thought Salim. He had been absent from the family group for too long. Walking quickly, he reached his father and his two sons just as Khusrau took the riding crop from Akbar’s outstretched hands. ‘Well done, Khusrau. You have the same skill as a horseman that I had in my youth,’ Akbar was saying. Then, after what Salim thought was a meaningful glance at him, he continued, ‘I pray that you retain it, together with those other fine attributes that your tutors tell me you possess. Never let them be fuddled by debilitating addictions or lusts as other members of our family have.’
‘I assure you I will not,’ replied Khusrau, looking directly at his grandfather. Salim realised he had neither possessed nor received any encouragement from Akbar to develop such outward assurance and confidence when he was Khusrau’s age.
‘You did indeed ride well, Khusrau. I too congratulate you,’ Salim spoke for the first time.
‘Thank you, Father. It is a skill I’ve much improved in the time you’ve been away.’
‘Khusrau and Khurram, would you like to accompany me to view my war elephants?’ asked Akbar. ‘I’ve some fine beasts and I know you, Khusrau, have been building up an excellent stable of your own of young elephants collected from across the empire. Perhaps you’ll learn something from the training methods my
Both Salim’s sons nodded enthusiastically and followed their grandfather, who had already turned on his heel and was heading for the stables. Resisting the childish temptation to shout that he had better beasts than any of them, Salim watched three of his four closest male relations walk away from him. His father, he was almost sure, had deliberately excluded him. But had his sons, and in particular Khusrau, realised what Akbar was about and colluded with him?
‘What? Are you sure you are correct about what you overheard?’ Salim almost shouted at Suleiman Beg in his apartments two months later.
‘Yes. I’d just finished bathing in one of the
Salim’s face stiffened with anger but he said nothing as Suleiman Beg continued. ‘The first spoke again. “True. In any case, Salim will seek to install his own favourites in positions of power. He is bound to prefer those who followed him in his traitorous rebellion to those of us who remained faithful to his father. We may be lucky if we escape the fate of Abul Fazl.” Then some more officers entered and the two speakers broke off their conversation to talk of other matters. But I am certain I’ve given you the gist of their words.’
Salim still did not speak for some moments as he tried, not entirely successfully, to compose his emotions. Among his worst fears while he was at Allahabad had been that his father might promote one of his grandsons as his successor rather than himself, but such thoughts had centred around Khurram, so clearly Akbar’s favourite, and he had been able to dismiss them on the grounds of Khurram’s youth. Khusrau might now be a different proposition. He was older and, since his return, Salim himself had noticed that his eldest son was gathering a band of confederates around him only a little older than himself. Finally he asked, ‘Is this the first time you’ve heard traitorous idiots speak about such a prospect?’
‘In such direct terms, yes.’ Suleiman Beg looked uneasy as he continued, ‘But I’ve heard others express doubts about their own fate should you succeed. It’s only natural that they should worry about the length and depth of your rift with your father and the newness of its healing. It’s only a short step from that to thinking about alternatives.’
‘I will not allow this,’ Salim yelled, rage welling within him as he seized a jewelled dish from the low table beside him and threw it hard against the wall, dislodging some turquoise and ruby stones and denting the dish itself.
‘Calm down,’ said Suleiman Beg. ‘You can’t stop people talking or thinking about what’s best for them. It’s human nature. You need to exert influence yourself. Convince more people of your own virtues and suitability to rule.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Salim, his anger subsiding a little. ‘But how, after the time I’ve spent away?’
‘Try to show you will let bygones be.’
‘Maybe one way might be by offering some of the sons of my father’s advisers appointments among my own counsellors.’
‘Wouldn’t that run the risk of introducing spies and discord amongst us?’
