A lower, duller rumble than the explosion echoed across to him, drawing his eyes to the wall adjacent to the gate as it slowly slumped into ruin in a cloud of dust and smoke.
Within moments, men and horses rushed to exploit the breach, war-shouts of his heavy infantry thin with distance.
Sited on the edge of the city right beside the Tapti, the fortress-palace did not boast particularly daunting defenses, as shown by the quick collapse of the wall. But any siege action slowed their advance and not only gave Dara more time to gather his army at Agra, but also allowed the already strong garrison of Rajputs at Asirgarh to ready their defenses and lay in additional supplies.
And, unlike the fortress falling before his men, Asirgarh’s defenses were among the most formidable in the empire, and garrisoned with men who, thanks to Shuja’s obstinance, would know Shuja’s army did not offer reasonable terms. Built atop a natural outcrop of sheer, heavy stone, Asirgarh was going to require time, treasure, and men that would be better spent in the final conflict with Dara, not in overcoming underlings who could be dealt with through fair offers of honors, position, and wealth. If Father had not died, the lines separating each of his sons’ supporters would have been far better defined. Years of service, honors given, grudges settled and unsettled—all would have served to firm each camp in its allegiances. As it was, there was little to no history of leadership for each prince. Dara’s already sparse military reputation—partially a result of Father never allowing him out of his sight for long—would not withstand another loss like the one the Sikhs had dealt him. That, and the fact that Aurangzeb was the most recent son to reach adulthood had left Shuja in possession of the longest record of commanding armies, though he’d done little enough with the opportunity.
Tired of running over the same ground, Aurangzeb’s hands found his prayer beads automatically. Starting silent prayers to their clicking, that part of his spirit not occupied with prayer sought answers to when, exactly, He would reveal the time and place when Shuja was to be displaced in accordance with his plan.
Shuja’s camp, north of Burhanpur
The fighters circled one another as first Shuja and then his most vocal sycophants called odds or accepted bets supporting their favorites. They had until the fighters clinched to place their bets, and the two men were showing their experience by letting the purses build. One or the other would be paid far more the longer and more intense the betting became.
Aurangzeb sat rather more quietly, watching the sport while thinking of other things. Shuja’s man, a thick-necked, bullish fellow with the hands of a strangler, feinted several times, grinning and spitting threats under his breath. The other fighter was more reserved, conserving energy, guard up and ready to receive the first real attack with his own. It occurred to Aurangzeb that the pair made for a fair representation of the two armies in the coming conflict.
Shuja was bound to be extravagant, and make threats. Dara, however, looked to be content to sit behind the walls of Red Fort and build the weapons his pet up-timers had provided. The weapons would likely prove effective, just as the up-timer medicine had been effective in preserving Dara’s life beyond its natural end. It remained to be seen if their tricks would prove as important as the ground Dara chose to fight on. Aurangzeb believed Gwalior Fort a stronger military position from which to oppose Shuja’s forces, but the political value of Agra was greater.
The heavy thud of the fighters making contact was audible over the calls of audience. Wine sloshed from Shuja’s cup as he sprang to his feet, spattering Aurangzeb’s sleeve as the fighters closed to the clinch.
Leaning slightly away from the probable spill radius of his brother’s goblet, Aurangzeb carefully took no notice of any disapproving faces in the crowd. If anyone else thought ill of Shuja drinking to excess, Aurangzeb had spies who would report precisely which of the gathered umara expressed that dislike, just as Shuja had set watchers to observe who might express even passing approval of Aurangzeb.
The fighters grunted, hands sliding, weight shifting as each sought an advantage.
Again it struck Aurangzeb how similar the combat was to the larger conflict. Each brother had his spies, soldiers and supporters, each sought to use those tools at their disposal to break the other’s grip on the Peacock Throne.
Of course, tools such as the army surrounding them could only be directed by one mind, one strong hand, and Aurangzeb had yet to see the opportunity that God would surely place before him. He knew such an opportunity was coming, as his every prayer and meditation had consistently given him to believe that His will was to see Aurangzeb made emperor.
The stolid fighter tried to slide under the guard of Shuja’s man and grasp a leg. He was rewarded with an elbow to the cheek that split the skin and rocked him, blinking, onto his heels.
Aurangzeb deciphered God’s message: such would be his fate if he were to take action before the moment He designated. Not wishing to give his watchers any sign what he was thinking, Aurangzeb checked a nod and resolved to pray on it at the next opportunity.
Shuja’s man followed up on his advantage, grabbing the other man by his arm and pulling it into a lock that made his opponent gasp. His supporters groaned, though Aurangzeb believed the noise had more to do with fear of losing massive
