Habash Khan laughed. Aurangzeb smiled as well, though not from humor so much as pleasure at commanding such fine warriors. The Habshi clan leader and Maratha chieftain had become fast friends in the last few months, much to Aurangzeb’s delight. Having two excellent light cavalry commanders was a gift from God. Having two such men who worked well together without direct supervision was surely a sign that God’s hand rested upon His chosen.
“We could let your brother try…” Shahaji said with a glance at Aurangzeb, hopeful light in his eyes.
“He would only send us directly at them like a hammer to an anvil,” Habash Khan said, pointing to the far shore. “To weaken Shehzada Aurangzeb at little cost to himself or his favorites.”
“Messenger for my brother,” Aurangzeb called, pretending he hadn’t heard the former slave speaking the absolute truth.
“And once we take this ford, we still have to take Burhanpur and that stone bitch Asirgarh…” Habash Khan said, the doleful words spoiled by a predatory gleam in his eye. The sack of a city meant danger, yes, but also a great deal of loot. Besides, he knew that light cavalry like his sowar were rarely called on for direct assaults, especially not with heavy infantry made up of bang-addled Rajputs and the like around to do the work.
“One river, city, or fort at a time, my friend. Eventually Shehzada Aurangzeb will bring all to heel, never fear,” Shahaji said.
A man in embroidered green robes rode up, slid from the saddle and into a smooth, courtly bow.
Aurangzeb waved him permission to stand, some part of his mind not occupied with the tactical problem in front of him reflecting that when he was Sultan Al’Azam, he’d do away with the requirement that imperial messengers dismount to receive orders. Such was a waste of time. He filed the thought away with the thousand other things he planned upon once he’d ascended the throne and focused all his attention on the problem at hand.
“With my usual compliments to the Sultan Al’Azam, if you please,” he said, after a moment spent putting the finishing touches on his plan of battle: calculating the route of march, the time his forces would require to get into position, and just how long Shuja could be made to wait without issuing direct orders Aurangzeb knew would make pointless sacrifices of his best fighters.
The imperial messenger merely nodded and waited for his next command.
“I am sending my fastest cavalry downriver to cross while I form up my foot, heavy cavalry, and artillery to assault the crossing. I welcome reinforcement, provisions, and prayers at the Sultan Al’Azam’s pleasure. You are dismissed.”
The messenger bowed again and, with a prideful display, leapt back into the saddle and sped away.
“Now, what are we really going to do?” Shahaji asked.
Aurangzeb looked at the men. “What I told my brother that we would…” He paused a moment, watching them. When their stares turned concerned, he went on. “…with a few slight adjustments I hope will be effective.”
“So long as it does not involve those damnable camels…” Shahaji said.
“So sorry to disappoint, but it does.”
“Getting them to cross water is not for the faint of heart, Shehzada. And they’re so slow…” Shahaji’s tone was only half-joking.
“No, but you will want them, regardless, when it comes time to complete my orders.” He waved a hand, and glanced at Kumar, one of the experienced messengers who’d been with him on the campaign south.
“You will cross at the first ford to our west, about five kos, if memory serves.” He looked at the sun. “You should arrive near dusk. I want you across tonight. It’s a quarter moon, but that’s a risk we must take. The ford will, no doubt, be defended, but I cannot imagine they have the men necessary for more than a picket force intended to report any crossing. Ride them down, if you can. If you cannot, hound the pickets right back to their masters but don’t allow yourselves to get sucked into any engagement short of this ford unless you are certain of victory.”
“And the blasted camels?”
“They’ll be following on at their best speed. You will wait for them to come up in support…they should come in just before dawn, I should think. I will commence an artillery barrage to distract them”—he considered a moment, then continued—“as it comes time for asir prayer.” If having a reputation as an overly pious zealot could be used against him, he would, in turn, use it to his advantage.
He turned to Kumar. “Kumar. Message to Ali and his zamburakchi: he is to follow Shahaji and Habash Khan’s forces west and cross the Tapti at the first ford upon arrival. He is to support the cavalry in their action, concentrating fire on the enemy artillery first, infantry second, and cavalry last. Shahaji is in command, this time.” The Maratha chieftain was more cautious than the Habshi, and would take to heart the idea that they were not to even try and overcome stiff resistance once across the river.
Seeing Aurangzeb had finished, Komar repeated his orders, verbatim. After permission was given, the young sowar shot off back down the line of march to the zamburakchi contingent.
Aurangzeb watched him go and, turning to the men still with him, said playfully, “What, you are still here? I believe I gave you your orders. Change mounts if you must and be on your way.”
Both his umara whooped, clapped heels to horses, and rode to join their respective sowar.
When he was sure no one else could see him, Aurangzeb smiled at their antics. Both men were at least a decade older than he was, but often behaved as if they barely had thirty years between them. He wished, on occasion, that God’s plan would have allowed for him to act his age.
He took his prayer beads to hand, praying for forgiveness of his momentary weakness as he rode the short way to the command group.
South shore of
