Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War

by Alex Rutherford

  ‘Hamida,’ he whispered, ‘Hamida . . . I have something for you – a gift . . . ’

  As her eyes opened and she saw Akbar, joy such as he had never witnessed before lit up her face. But as Humayun placed him in her arms, Akbar awoke. Looking up at Hamida, he released a bewildered yell and began struggling to get free. Maham Anga darted forward, and as soon as he saw her Akbar’s distress vanished. Smilingly he stretched out his chubby arms to his wet-nurse.

  All around him, Humayun’s officers were reclining against the great bolsters carefully arranged around his scarlet command tent, amid the debris of the celebration feast. Earlier that afternoon he had called an assembly of all his men and announced the rescue of Akbar.

  ‘My loyal men – I present to you my son, the symbol of our future, safely returned to me . . . ’ Standing on a makeshift wooden dais in the centre of his camp, Humayun had lifted Akbar high above his head. A great cheer accompanied by the clashing of swords on shields had thundered around him. Akbar had still been blinking in surprise at the uproar as Humayun had handed him back to Maham Anga, but he hadn’t cried. It was a good omen. Humayun had raised his hands to call for calm.

  ‘It is time to return to Kabul to finish what we started and eject the impostor who hides behind innocent children. Our cause is just and God is with us. Tonight we feast but our feasting will be nothing compared to our celebrations once Kabul is ours. Tomorrow at dawn we ride for the city.’

  The cooks had laboured hard on their preparations, spitting and roasting meat over great fires whose smoke billowed into the sky. Now that his son was safe, Humayun didn’t care from how many miles his camp was visible.

  Some of his commanders were starting to sing – heroic songs of deeds on the battlefield, bawdy songs of even greater feats in the haram. Looking around he saw Zahid Beg swaying back and forth, skull-like face glowing with the effects of the strong red wine of Ghazni for which the kingdom of Kabul was famous and which his own father Babur had enjoyed so much. Even Kasim, normally so quiet and reticent, was joining in the singing from the corner of the tent where he had found a comfortable place to rest his old bones.

  Humayun had lost no time in telling his inner circle, his ichkis, that the abandonment of the siege had been only a ruse. Most had looked genuinely astonished. Only Bairam Khan had shown little surprise and his intense indigo eyes had seemed knowing as gravely he had congratulated Humayun on the return of his son, making Humayun doubly certain he had known all along. More than ever he was glad to have the Persian at his side.

  Humayun glanced at Hindal sitting close beside him. Unlike the rest of the revellers, he had said little and looked withdrawn and uncomfortable to be seated with Humayun and his officers. Since their return to the camp the previous evening, Humayun had seen little of his half-brother. Instead, in his relief to be reunited with his son, he’d spent most of his time with Hamida and Akbar. To Hamida’s sorrow, their son was still clinging to Maham Anga. Every time Hamida tried to pick him up, he struggled and screamed. But that would pass, Humayun had comforted Hamida, who was torn between relief and exultation at her son’s safe return, wonderment at how much he had grown and grief that in the months they had been apart she had become a stranger to him. At least his vigorous wriggling showed that despite his traumatic experiences he was in robust good health, Hamida had said, smiling through her tears.Then she had added,‘Thank Hindal for me, won’t you.’

  Looking again at Hindal’s half-averted face, Humayun guessed this might be a harder task than she had realised.

  ‘Hindal . . . ’ He waited until he had his half-brother’s full attention then continued, lowering his voice so that they would not be overheard. ‘I know what you did was not for me, but for Hamida. She asked me to thank you.’

  ‘Tell her there is no need. It was a matter of family honour . . .’

  ‘You may not wish to hear this, but I too will be for ever in your debt. Your reasons for your actions don’t absolve me of my obligation to you.’

  Hindal gave a slight shrug but said nothing.

  ‘Tell me, did your plan go as you expected? Hamida too is anxious to know what happened . . . ’

  For the first time a faint smile lightened Hindal’s face. ‘It went better than I’d dared to hope. Several days after my scouts reported your withdrawal from Kabul, I rode down from the mountains with my men and sent messengers to the citadel to tell Kamran I was ready to pledge my support to him as the true head of our family. As I’d thought, conceited and arrogant as he is and already euphoric at your departure, he ordered me to be admitted. He even threw a feast in celebration and gave me gifts . . . ’

  ‘He really had no suspicions?’

  ‘None. Believing he had defeated you, his confidence blinded him. Even before I’d arrived, he’d ordered the gates of both the town and the citadel to be kept open once more in the hours of daylight. I’d only been there about a week when he began to speak about going south on a hunting expedition in search of wolves and the great-horned sheep forced down from the mountains by hunger and the winter cold. I encouraged him – even offered to go with him. But, as I suspected and hoped he would, he ordered me to stay behind. He’d already found tasks for me like drilling some of his guards. He joked that he’d be leaving plenty of loyal officers behind just in case I’d any thoughts of grabbing Kabul for myself.

  ‘After Kamran left, I just carried out my orders, careful to do nothing to excite comment. I also wanted to be sure that he had really gone for a few days.Then, towards late afternoon on the fourth day – with no sign of Kamran returning that night – I made my move. D’you remember from our boyhood that small courtyard over on the eastern side of the citadel with along one side of it a series of vaulted rooms where grain and wine were stored?’

  Humayun nodded. Suddenly, the dusty little courtyard with its row of storerooms that he and his brothers had enjoyed exploring, trying to drive their dagger tips into the casks so they could taste the wine, was so vivid in his mind he could almost smell the mingled aromas of wine and grain.

  ‘Well, I had found out that Kamran had modified some of those storerooms to make apartments where Akbar, together with Maham Anga and her son, was being held under guard. I made my way there quietly with four of my most loyal men. When we reached the courtyard, my men concealed themselves behind some large grain storage jars. Through the spy-hole that had been made in the door, I told the two guards on duty inside that as the boy’s uncle, I wished to visit him. Recognising me, they opened the door.As I engaged them in conversation, my men rushed out, overcame them, then bound and gagged them.

  ‘My greatest difficulty was with Maham Anga – she tried to draw a dagger on me and started screaming. I easily took the weapon from her – it was only later that she told me it was poisoned – but it was far harder to quieten her shrieks. I had to place my hand over her mouth and tell her again and again that I meant Akbar no harm . . . that I had come with your knowledge and approval to rescue them all.

  ‘Finally she calmed down, but they were anxious minutes. Though we were in a remote part of the citadel, I knew that at any moment we might easily be discovered. Luckily, no one came, but by now time was running out – I knew that in another half-hour, the gates of the citadel would be closed for the night. We had to get out quickly and in a way that would not attract attention. I’d noticed that towards dusk many of the traders who came each day to transact business in the citadel – there was much reprovisioning to be done now the siege was over – usually left to return to the city. I’d therefore ordered my men to bring robes and turbans so that all of us – including Maham Anga – could disguise ourselves as merchants. We had also brought thick sheepskins in which to wrap the boys to conceal them and a phial of rosewater mixed with opium to make them drowsy so they didn’t cry out. I ordered Maham Anga to give a little to each child. When she hesitated, I drank some myself to prove to her it wasn’t poison.

  ‘The opium did its work quickly and the children were
docile as we wrapped the sheepskins around them. Then, leaving the guards securely locked in the storeroom to conceal Akbar’s disappearance for as long as possible, and after quickly pulling on our traders’ garb, we hurried through the citadel towards the gates to join the throng of people and beasts pouring down the ramp. No one challenged us. We made our way with the rest towards the town where, just outside the gates, more of my men were waiting with my horse and mules for the rest of the group. I hoped using mules would add to the impression that we were merchants not warriors. As darkness fell, we mounted up and headed north at first to conceal our true direction, just in case we were followed or spotted as we left the city. After riding through the freezing cold of the night, towards dawn we circled round to the east and with the sun rising in our faces began our journey to find you.’

  As Hindal had been telling his story, his eyes had shone with an almost boyish excitement and exhilaration at succeeding in a difficult and dangerous task. Now that he had finished, Humayun felt a new and profound respect for his youngest half-brother – for his resourcefulness and coolness, his meticulous planning. Above all, what impressed him was how completely Hindal understood Kamran, exploiting his vanity to slip in under his defences. Hadn’t Babur always cautioned them, even as boys, to know their enemy? Hindal had plainly listened, but how well had he himself really understood the need to empathise with others – not just enemies but friends – even family? Had he always striven enough to understand Hindal and to see things from his perspective?

  For a brief time the two of them had become close. Perhaps they might yet be so again . . . The red wine he had drunk made his next words easier to say. ‘Hindal, you spoke just now of our boyhood in Kabul. We share so much, you and I, not just our blood and our heritage but so much of our past. My mother loved you as her own. Of all my half-brothers, you are the one I feel closest to and would wish to make my friend. I know that unwittingly – selfishly even – I injured you. For that I am truly sorry and ask your forgiveness . . . ’ ‘Humayun . . . ’

  But determined not to let Hindal speak until he had finished, Humayun pressed on. ‘Can’t we put our past troubles behind us? Be my ally again and ride by my side to capture Kabul. The future holds so much for us if we are ready to seize it – one day Hindustan will be Moghul again and I will give you a position of power and honour there, I swear it. Hindal . . . won’t you forgive me? Won’t you share that destiny with me?’

  But Hindal was shaking his dark head. ‘I told you at our last meeting that we would never be reconciled and it was the truth. I’ve done what I promised and that’s an end of it. Your camp is no home to me. I’ve only lingered this long to make certain that I hadn’t been followed and brought Kamran down on you – and of course to have some time with my sister Gulbadan.’

  ‘Must it be like this?’

  ‘You still don’t understand me, do you? Like your mother you are greedy for what you want and do not like to be denied. She took me from my own mother with no concern for anyone’s happiness but her own. Now you want me to forget what’s passed between us – your unthinking arrogance and utter selfishness – and to play your loyal and loving brother again. I can’t do it. It would be a lie and I have too much self-respect.’

  ‘Hindal . . . ’

  ‘No, Humayun. You have your wife and your son. Soon perhaps you will have a throne again. Isn’t that enough to satisfy you? Tomorrow at first light I will ride from here in search of the remainder of my men, whom I ordered to leave Kabul before Kamran returned. Once I find them, we will go once more into the mountains. I don’t know when – or in what circumstances – you and I will meet again. Perhaps never . . . ’

  Hindal paused. It seemed to Humayun that there was something more he wished to say but after a few moments his half-brother rose and without looking back made his way through the feasters and out through the tent flaps into the night.

  Chapter 20

  Kabul

  ‘Majesty, they’ve poisoned the wells.’ It was one of Ahmed Khan’s scouts, the coat of his chestnut mare steaming in the cold as he rode across the snowy ground up to where Humayun was standing on the crest of a ridge looking towards Kabul. Although the snow was not yet melting, there’d been no fresh falls. That was one reason why he and his men had made such swift progress as they retraced their steps westward. Another was a renewed energy and sense of purpose. He sensed it in his men and felt it deep within himself.

  ‘Tell me more,’ he said.

  ‘We found dead and dying wild animals around the streams and wells nearest the citadel walls. The gates of the city and the citadel are closed against us and the walls of both are thick with defenders. They shot down one of our men who ventured too close.’

  ‘Test some of the wells and springs further away. Feed the water to some of those flea-bitten pariah dogs that scavenge around the edges of our camp. Until we find good water we can drink snow melted over our fires.’

  By eight o’clock that evening, Humayun’s camp again spilled over the plains below Kabul and hundreds of camp fires glowed in the darkness as his men prepared their evening meal. Kamran’s troops had not done their work thoroughly. Humayun’s men had found supplies of untainted water only a mile from the walls of Kabul. Standing outside his command tent Humayun could see pinpricks of light high on the battlements of the citadel.Was Kamran perhaps up there, watching and speculating, just as he was? And if so, what was going through his mind at the sight of Humayun’s army once more before the gates of Kabul? How would Kamran feel to have been deceived as he had so often deceived others? Having lost his hostage, how did he think he could overcome the avenging Humayun? Was he ruing his arrogant self-confidence in unthinkingly accepting Hindal as a suppliant ally, believing that his natural superiority meant it must be preordained to be so?

  Humayun suddenly grimaced. Had he himself been so different from Kamran in expecting, as of right, Hindal’s unquestioning loyalty in the past? Perhaps not. He hoped that Kamran was sweating with worry and fear, but this was no time for playing out personal games of revenge. All that mattered was the quickest path to victory and that would not be easy.The citadel was strong and well supplied. Kamran and his men would defend it stoutly, knowing that they could expect little mercy.

  In need of her calm comfort and pragmatic commonsense, he wished he had Hamida at his side. However, he knew he had been right to decide that, together with Akbar, Gulbadan and the other women, she should follow behind the main force, heavily protected by a well-armed escort, and then halt at a safe distance from Kabul. He would not risk his wife or his son again. But as soon as the city was his own once more, he could quickly call for her. At last, after so much hardship and heartache she would know the trappings of a queen and soon, he vowed to himself, the glories of being an empress.

  A sudden violent explosion just behind him deafened Humayun and a blast of hot air threw him to the ground, hitting his head a glancing blow on a rock as he fell. His eyes and mouth were full of dirt and snow but he eventually managed to reopen his eyes. Slowly he realised that he was surrounded by shards of bronze while what looked like slivers of fresh meat were dotted over the snowy ground. A kite landed and started pecking at one with its curved beak. The silence in his head made the scene even more nightmarish and Humayun put his hands to his ears. As he did so, blood trickled down the fingers of his right hand from a wound to his right temple.

  Suddenly there was a crackling in his ears – his hearing was returning . . . He could make out what sounded like frantic cheering from the defenders on the wall of the citadel, together with shouts of mockery. Still dazed and struggling to reassemble his scrambled thoughts, Humayun hauled himself to his feet and looked around. Slowly, he understood what had happened. One of his largest cannon had exploded. It was lying on its side with one of its gunners trapped by the legs beneath it, twisting and screaming in pain. The remains of at least two other men were scattered around, a severed leg here, an arm there, a bloody torso next to the
cannon and only a yard from Humayun’s foot a singed and mutilated head, its little remaining hair blowing in the breeze. The barrel of the cannon must have cracked, Humayun realised. It had been in daily use since his men had renewed their siege of the city and the citadel three weeks ago. As before, he had made the citadel his main target and his troops had hauled their cannon back to their previous positions, protected by the rocky outcrop where the road to the citadel curved round.

  ‘Majesty, are you all right?’ Jauhar appeared, streaked with pale dust and looking more ghost than man.

  ‘Just a graze to my head.’ As he spoke, a wave of nausea passed over Humayun and Jauhar caught him as he staggered.

  ‘We will get you to the hakim, Majesty.’ Jauhar half carried him to where some horses were tethered. As he rode slowly back to the camp with Jauhar holding the reins of his horse as well as his own, the thoughts within Humayun’s pounding head were bleak. Even without this latest setback, the truth was that the siege was making little progress. Although the aim of his gunners, sweating in the freezing cold in their leather jerkins as they rammed powder and shot down the bronze barrels of their cannon and placed their glowing tapers to the touch-holes, was good and nearly every shot raised billowing clouds of dust and shards of mud and stone from their main target – the gatehouse and the repaired and reinforced walls around it – they had not yet succeeded in making a breach. Humayun had tried ordering two teams of gunners to fire to the left of the gate to test the strength of the walls there, but the difficult angle meant the only way to fire accurately at that stretch was to move the cannon out from behind the outcrop where an archer or musketeer up on the battlements could easily pick off his gunners. Several had been lost that way and men with their skills were difficult to replace. His supplies of powder too were limited.