Brothers at War

Chapter 6

An hour after dawn, Humayun made his way from his private chambers out through the courtyards of the red sandstone Agra fort with their marble pools and splashing fountains, through the high gateway and on to the parade ground where his army was drawn up. He was dressed for war with an etched silver breastplate set with rubies on his chest over a coat of silver chain mail. His father Babur’s eagle-hilted sword, Alamgir, was in its sapphire-encrusted scabbard at his side. On his head was a domed helmet, again decorated with rubies and with a tall peacock feather set in gold waving from its peak.

As he emerged from the iron-studded gate and progressed towards the stand at the centre of the parade ground where his imperial elephant — the usual conveyance for emperors and generals on ceremonial journeys — was waiting, he saw that the vanguard of his troops had already raised so much pink-grey dust as they marched out that the sun was only a pale, beige disc, all the intensity of its glare lost. The large grey elephant was on its knees with its great gilded redcanopied howdah securely positioned on its back and its two drivers or mahouts standing by its head. His senior officers were grouped in order of rank on either side of the elephant. After accepting low bows of greetings from each of his commanders Humayun paused to address them.

‘Bear this message to your men from me. Our cause is just. We go to recover what is ours from this ill-bred, upstart usurper. How can anyone who has seen our army doubt that it is the greatest in history and invincible? Bid the men be of good cheer. Victory and its comrades, fame and reward, will accompany us.’

The officers bowed once more and placing one foot on the crouching elephant’s knee Humayun climbed into the howdah and sat on a small gilded throne. He was followed immediately by two of his bodyguards and by Jauhar. At a sign from Humayun to the mahouts they too mounted and, positioning themselves one behind the other on the elephant’s neck, whispered instructions into its large ears. The obedient great beast rose slowly and gently to its feet and Humayun gave orders for the trumpets to sound the signal for his elephant and those bearing his generals to move off. As they advanced to take their place in the column they passed the artillery — large cannon with bronze barrels nearly twenty feet long mounted on four wheels, some pulled by teams of up to fifty oxen, others by six or eight elephants. Smaller cannon were on carts also drawn by oxen.

Next Humayun moved along the serried ranks of his cavalry — first the mounted warriors from his father’s homelands, Tajiks, Badakhshanis, men from the Kyrgyz mountains and Ferghana Valley, as well as those of Afghanistan. Theirs were the strongest horses, still bred from those they had brought from the steppes. Theirs too, he believed, was the strongest loyalty to the Moghul dynasty. After them he saw the orange garb of some of his Rajput vassals. Eager as all Rajputs were said to be for battle, these imposing, black-bearded men beat their swords on their small, round, studded shields in martial greeting as Humayun passed.

As he saluted each contingent in turn, Humayun reflected that victory would indeed surely be his. He had a quarter of a million soldiers — far more than Sher Shah. He had at least ten times more cannon and — as he had proved during his campaign in Gujarat — he himself was an able general blessed by fortune. Therefore he had granted the request from his aunt Khanzada to accompany the army on the march and to bring with her his bright-eyed, quick-witted half-sister Gulbadan. Amid such a protecting host they would face no more danger than at Agra, which he was leaving in the loyal and capable hands of Kasim and his grandfather Baisanghar. He would be glad of his aunt’s experienced advice but also of her support should he ever feel the temptation to lose himself in opium once more. She would not permit it.

He had also allowed himself the luxury of taking with him Salima and three of his other favourite concubines. His renunciation of wine and opium had only served to increase his appetite for the soft, sensual pleasures of the haram. The three young women he had chosen — Melita of the flexible, wanton body from Gujarat, the voluptuous full-lipped, full-breasted Mehrunissa from Lahore and witty, puckish and inventive Meera from Agra itself — were each, like Salima with her supple body, soft mouth and agile tongue, in their different ways experts in the arts of love. What relaxation amid the stress of preparation for battle they would bring him, what pleasures in his victory. The women would ride in curtained howdahs on sedate elephants and be guarded by the most trusted of his bodyguards.

Just after the time of the midday meal six weeks later, Humayun’s chief scout Ahmed Khan approached his scarlet command tent, erected as usual in the very centre of the camp. Here Humayun was relaxing on a gold brocade mattress topped with maroon cushions, a cooling sherbet in his hands as he listened to the soft cadences of Jauhar’s flute. As Ahmed Khan entered, Humayun signalled to Jauhar to cease playing.

‘What is it, Ahmed Khan?’

‘Majesty, despite exploring for fifty miles around our camp we were unable to detect any sign of Sher Shah’s armies. However, we came upon a small landowner in his mud fortress about forty-five or so miles to the southeast of here. He claimed to be a vassal of Sher Shah but one who feared that his master had overreached himself in rebelling against you. He had not therefore hurried to join Sher Shah’s army. He told us that to his knowledge Sher Shah was at least another fifty miles away beyond the point at Allahbad where the Jumna and the Ganges meet. He said he would be happy to accompany us here to tell you what he knew. We took him at his word and brought him, blindfolded of course to prevent his seeing anything of the direction of our camp or the strength of our army. We arrived just an hour ago and I have arranged that he should be given food while I discovered whether you wished to speak to him.’

‘You’ve done well. Bring him to me in half an hour.’

Exactly thirty minutes later, Ahmed Khan — well aware of Humayun’s penchant for precision — was back. Behind him, between two well-armed guards, was a short, slightly stout, dark-skinned man of about forty, dressed all in dark green with a turban of the same colour. Unprompted, he bowed low before Humayun.

‘Who are you?’

‘Tariq Khan, takhaldar of Ferozepur.’

‘And you’re a vassal of Sher Shah?’

‘Yes — and he has always been a good master to me. . but above all I am a loyal subject of yourself, my ultimate overlord, Majesty. Sher Shah has been foolish to rebel.’

‘Insolent and disrespectful, insulting the rightful order, you mean to say. . But what do you know of his whereabouts and intentions?’

‘His armies did not pass directly through my own territories but they did traverse those of my cousin twenty miles to the north of mine. He said Sher Shah’s army was small — no more than eighty thousand men. My cousin paid his respects to him in his camp. He told me Sher Shah seemed shocked that he had provoked you to action with such a vast army. He told my cousin he would not fight if he could negotiate a peace with you under which he retained his lands as your vassal once more.’

‘Did your cousin learn anything of his future movements?’

‘One of Sher Shah’s scouts indiscreetly told my cousin’s vizier that they were heading for the low-lying jungles and marshes of Bengal where — if they had to fight — they might be better able to withstand your might.’

‘Before I discuss what you have said with my council, have you anything else to add?’

‘Only that should Your Majesty wish to test Sher Shah’s resolution by offers of peace, I am prepared to accompany any emissary you send and undertake to bring him safely to Sher Shah’s camp and into his presence.’

‘I will consider this. Now, Ahmed Khan, blindfold him once more and keep him in close but comfortable confinement in your headquarters. Jauhar, summon my council to meet me here an hour before sunset. In the meantime ask Salima to join me.’ In the heat his lust rose quickly, Humayun thought, and twice as often as in the cool. She would know how to slake it and clear his mind to concentrate on the discussions ahead.

Salima, as always, did her work well. When his council assembled, Humayun felt relaxed, almost ready to purr like some great tiger, as he addressed his advisers. ‘You have heard about Tariq Khan and his reports that Sher Shah is headed deep into the jungles of Bengal to avoid confronting us and that — regretting his presumption — he may be amenable to negotiations for peace. What do you think?’

‘There’s no question we have the stronger army. Let us simply find and destroy him,’ said Baba Yasaval, his lock of grey hair swinging from his shaved head as he looked around at his fellow commanders.

‘But wait,’ said Humayun’s cousin Suleiman Mirza. ‘If we have the stronger army and we trust in our men’s loyalty, what do we lose by delaying long enough to send an ambassador? They’ll be back in plenty of time for us — if needed — to advance again before the monsoon arrives in two months.’

‘It’s still better to crush him now.’ BabaYasaval was adamant. ‘Making an example of him will deter other rebels.’

‘But we will lose troops and time we could spend in other campaigns to enlarge our empire. I’ve always hankered to ride south across the Deccan Plateau to the diamond mines of Golconda,’ said Suleiman Mirza.

‘I agree,’ said Yunus Pathan, one of Humayun’s best generals, quietly. ‘Sher Shah is said to be an able administrator and Bengal is a rich, fertile province. If we kill him and his chief courtiers, we will need to spend time setting up new structures and appointing new officials. If we reach an agreement with him from our position of strength we can use him and his administration to raise taxes quickly to pay for our armies and reward our troops, and move on to Golconda.’

Humayun pondered.Yunus Pathan’s words were persuasive. Besides, being magnanimous was the mark of a great ruler. Humayun rose. ‘Suleiman Mirza, go with Tariq Khan and a small escort to locate Sher Shah and offer him peace, provided he comes and makes full obeisance and compensates us richly for our time and expense and above all for the disgraceful insult he has shown us.’

But Sher Shah did not respond immediately. Weeks passed while he procrastinated, sending profuse apologies for delay and repeated requests to be permitted to send messengers to consult allies before finally agreeing to any terms. So it was that in mid-summer 1539, Humayun was sitting after dinner in Khanzada’s tent placed near his own in the very middle of his vast encampment covering more than four square miles near the settlement of Chausa in Bengal. Humayun had had the camp erected on low hillocks overlooking the muddy flood plain of the Ganges delta. Outside, the night was hot and the smoke from the camp fires rose vertically into the still air. Inside the tent, whose sides were down to protect the women from prying eyes, the air was stifling. Despite the best efforts of Khanzada’s attendants to trap them using bowls of sugar water or to crush them with their fly swats, mosquitoes buzzed ceaselessly. Humayun, sweating profusely, occasionally felt their sharp bite on his exposed flesh and slapped futilely at his small attackers.

‘What is it, Humayun? You’ve hardly spoken all through the meal,’ Khanzada asked.

‘I’m worried that Sher Shah is playing me for a fool, that I’ve allowed too much time to pass by. Suleiman Mirza and Tariq Khan assure me that on each visit he has been courteous and humble and seems sincere but I am no longer certain. Was I wrong to trust so entirely in Tariq Khan? What if he was planted by Sher Shah in an effort to gain himself time?’

Khanzada rose and paced for a moment or two, face grave in the golden glow of the wicks burning in their pools of oil in the saucer-shaped brass diyas.

‘I think you’re right to be suspicious. Victory doesn’t always go to the strongest but sometimes to the most wily. You have advanced many miles down the Ganges over these last nine weeks, ready to meet Sher Shah either in battle or in council, but each time he has moved further off, using trifling excuses that he’s exhausted the food in the region or that there’s an epidemic of fever he must avoid.’

‘True. Latest reports are that his main army is still thirty miles away along the Ganges.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Accept no more excuses, set deadlines for Sher Shah and if he doesn’t meet them I’ll attack. But I’m concerned that these jungles and marshes are ill-suited to the easy passage of my cannon and large forces of cavalry.’

‘Then have the courage to retreat to better terrain. Or else consider bypassing Sher Shah’s forces and occupying his cities. .’ A single crash of thunder interrupted Khanzada’s words. It was followed by the rapid pattering of rain on the tent roof.

‘The monsoon can’t have broken — it’s too early.’

‘Nature’s rhythms are not always bounded by man’s calendars.’

‘If it is the monsoon, we must definitely seek out better ground. But it’s late and it’ll be time enough to decide in the morning when we know if the rains are continuing. The camp is too high above the river for there to be any danger of flooding in the meantime.’

Several hours later Humayun was lying asleep on his back, his arms spread wide, his perspiring muscled body naked beneath the thin cotton sheet. He had taken a long time to fall asleep, listening to the rain which seemed to be growing heavier rather than slackening. Now he was dreaming he was back in the Agra fort, moving towards his concubines’ quarters where for some reason he knew they would be bathing beneath rosewater fountains. He felt his body harden with desire and his legs thrashed beneath the thin sheet as in his dreams he quickened his steps, eager to reach his women. Suddenly a female scream penetrated deep into his imaginings.A rising crescendo of male and female voices followed. One cried, ‘To arms! Hurry — no time to put armour on. Reinforce the perimeter.’

Struggling to full consciousness, Humayun realised the voices were real. Raiders must have got as far as the women’s quarters. Tying a robe about him and reaching for his father’s sword, he stumbled from his tent. It was still raining hard and his bare feet slipped in the wet mud. Peering through the heavy, slanting raindrops and desperately trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness, he ran towards Khanzada’s tent.

As he got nearer he made out by the steely flashes of the almost constant sheet lightning a tall, female figure — Khanzada. Her right hand was raised high above her head and in it was a curved sword. As he watched, she brought it down across the face of an assailant who was trying to subdue her. The man fell to the ground where he lay writhing in pain. By the next lightning flash, Humayun saw that his aunt’s sword had slashed open the man’s face all down one side, bloodily exposing his jaw and teeth. He also saw that — unknown to Khanzada — another attacker was behind her. He held not a sword but a large scarf which he was about to throw over her head and to pull tight around her neck. Humayun shouted a warning.

Suddenly realising the danger, Khanzada pulled her arm back and elbowed the man in the throat but he did not fall and continued to try to tighten the cloth. By now Humayun was near enough to launch himself upon her assailant and, grappling with him, to force him to the ground. For a moment they struggled in the glossy, oozing mud, each grasping for advantage. Then Humayun succeeded in pushing his right thumb into his opponent’s left eye and pressing hard he felt the eyeball burst liquidly beneath the force. The man instinctively relaxed his grip as the pain ran through him, and Humayun took Alamgir and thrust it deep into his opponent’s groin, leaving the man screaming and bleeding into the muddy puddle in which he lay dying.

Although the noises of battle still reached Humayun’s ears from around the distant perimeter of his camp, by now his bodyguards seemed to have subdued the rest of the men who had attacked the women’s quarters. There had only been about twenty or so. All had worn dark clothing and seemed to have penetrated the heart of the camp by stealth while a stronger force assaulted the periphery. Only one remained alive.

Running over to him where he was held, arms pinioned and on his knees, by two guards, Humayun, face contorted with rage, grabbed the man by the throat, hauled him to his feet and pushing his own face into his screamed, ‘Why did you do this? No honourable enemy attacks women. Their lives should be protected by all, whatever the circumstances. Our religion demands it, as do all the moral decencies. You will die anyway but if you speak it will be quick — if you do not it will be long and lingering and so exquisitely painful you will beg for the death that is so slow in coming.’

‘We did not intend to kill the women but to kidnap them, particularly your aunt. Tariq Khan told us she was with you and the story of her capture by Shaibani Khan is well known to all. Sher Shah said if we took her you might be prepared to come to terms to spare her a second ordeal.’

So Tariq Khan had indeed betrayed him. In his anger and dismay at his own stupidity, Humayun tightened his fingers around the prisoner’s throat and placing his thumbs on his Adam’s apple twisted his neck until he heard a crack and the death rattle bubble through the man’s throat. Throwing the body aside, he ran — bare feet again slipping in the mud — back to Khanzada. She was standing sword still in hand looking surprisingly composed while the rain streamed down her face and reduced her long greying hair, unbound for sleep, to a series of rats’ tails.

‘I am sorry not to have protected you better — are you injured?’

‘Not at all. I think I have proved I too am of Timur’s blood, like you and my brother Babur.When the attack came, I felt anger and outrage, not fear. I knew I must protect Gulbadan and your young concubines. I told them to collapse the tent poles and to remain hidden in the material until they were sure the danger had passed. Look over there. They’re just emerging.’

Sure enough Humayun could see through the pouring rain Salima crawling from beneath the vast, enveloping folds of the tent, followed by young Gulbadan and the other women. Humayun embraced Khanzada and as he did so he realised that, now the immediate danger was over and the hot blood of battle was ebbing from her, she was beginning to shake.

‘Send Ahmed Khan to me, Jauhar, and find out if we can still launch boats on the Ganges. If so, have several prepared as fast as the sailors can so that my aunt, sister and concubines can be rowed upriver to safety. Make sure an escort is readied too. Go now.’

Almost immediately Jauhar had left, Ahmed Khan ran up.

‘How is our perimeter withstanding these attacks?’ asked Humayun.

‘Well, Majesty. After their fierce initial assault in which they made severe inroads, the enemy seemed to hold back for a while as if waiting for something.’

‘To learn the success of their raid on the women’s tents. .’ muttered Humayun. ‘They won’t keep back for long. But it might give us enough time to prop up our defences.’

‘Majesty. The passage upriver is clear. We’ve boats ready and a double crew of rowers for each,’ the breathless returning Jauhar broke in. ‘A strong detachment of cavalry is mounted and ready to ride along the north bank to accompany them.’

Humayun turned to Khanzada. ‘Aunt, you must go now. I trust in you to protect yourself and the other women. I appoint you to command the boats. Jauhar, tell the soldiers and sailors that however strange they find it to obey a woman’s commands, they must do so or face my wrath.’

‘They will have no need of Jauhar’s words,’ said Khanzada’s determined voice. ‘They will obey Babur’s sister. We will meet again when you have your victory. Bring me the head of that slippery-tongued traitor Tariq Khan, and Sher Shah bound to serve as my latrine cleaner.’ With that she turned and swiftly picked her way over the mud to Gulbadan and the other women, then led them towards the riverbank, soon disappearing into the rain and gloom.

How brave she was, Humayun thought. How strong the blood of Timur ran in her slight and no longer youthful body. He had been foolish, oh so foolish, to trust in Tariq Khan and to believe in Sher Shah’s crafty delaying answers. Why hadn’t he questioned their motives more rigorously? Had he been too content to relax into the pleasures of the haram? Now he must redeem his lapses of mental concentration by his physical courage and use it to inspire his men to victory.

‘Ahmed Khan, get further reports from our defences. Jauhar, bring me my armour, then saddle my horse.’

In the quarter of an hour it took Humayun to ready himself fully for battle, it had begun to grow light. Several of his commanders, led by Baba Yasaval, had joined him. ‘The situation is serious, Majesty. Sher Shah is attacking with renewed force. We cannot move the cannon into firing positions. Look over there.’ Following the direction of his officer’s pointing arm, Humayun saw a number of his artillerymen lashing a double team of oxen yoked to one of his largest bronze guns in an attempt to turn it to face the enemy threat. But however hard they were hit, however much they were cajoled, the great beasts stumbled and slipped in the mud, sinking ever deeper into the quagmire. When the men added their own weight to that of the animals, they too could make no impression, some simply falling full length in the churned brown mud.

‘Majesty, it’s the same with all the guns,’ said Baba Yasaval.

‘I believe you. Besides, the downpour is such it’ll be difficult for either the gunners or the musketeers to keep the gunpowder dry or light their fuses. We must rely on our bravery in close combat with the old weapons of cold steel. We still have many more men than our enemies. Get the officers to marshal them in the best defensive positions they can improvise. Use the wagons and tents as barricades. .’ Humayun paused and then — still conscious of the perilous position of his aunt and the other women and that it was his complacency and naive gullibility that had exposed them to danger — commanded, ‘Send another strong detachment of cavalry — ten thousand men including half my own bodyguard — back along the riverbank to add to the protection of the royal women.’

‘But we need them here, Majesty.’

‘Don’t question my orders. It’s a matter of honour to save them.’

Baba Yasaval did not argue further but despatched a messenger with the instruction.

‘Now, Baba Yasaval, where will my presence help the most?’

‘Over there to the northwest, Majesty. Enemy cavalry broke through our pickets and attacked our infantry while they were still in their tents and killed many before they could defend themselves. Some ran away. Only by rushing reinforcements of Badahkshanis and Tajiks into position have we been able to hold the line, and even then only some distance back from our original perimeter.’

‘To the northwest then.’ Humayun mounted his black stallion and, with the half of his bodyguard that he had not sent to protect the women around him, made his way over to the northwest defences as fast as he could. In the muddy conditions the horses sometimes sank up to their hocks. When one rider tried to push his mount too hard, it stumbled and fell, fracturing a hind leg which had stuck in the mud.

Approaching the area of his camp which had become the front lines, Humayun saw that his commanders had got howdahs on to a dozen war elephants and brought them forward. Protected by the canopies of the howdahs from the seemingly unceasing rain, some of his musketeers had actually succeeded in priming and firing their long-barrelled weapons and bringing down into the mud a few of Sher Shah’s attackers. Taking a little heart from their success, small bands of his infantry were firing volleys of arrows from the cover of overturned baggage wagons and forcing Sher Shah’s men, in turn, to shelter behind five of Humayun’s large cannon which they had overrun in their first assault.

As he reached the forward position, Humayun shouted to his men. ‘Thank you, my brave soldiers one and all. You’ve blunted the enemy’s attack. Now it is time to recover our great cannon. To allow Sher Shah’s rabble to carry them off would be a dishonour. I will lead you. Elephant drivers advance. Musketeers, shoot down more of those insolent rebels for me.’

Humayun waited impatiently for the elephants to begin to move forward. Eventually they did so, lurching through the mud and making the howdahs on their backs sway so much that it was difficult for the musketeers to steady their weapons to shoot accurately. Humayun waved his horsemen forward too. As they approached the captured cannon, Humayun saw a group of Sher Shah’s gunners run from the shelter of one of the largest bronze cannons towards a beige-coloured tent belonging to Humayun’s infantry that had apparently remained standing after his men had retreated. Suddenly these gunners pulled away the front of the tent to reveal a sixth captured cannon that they had somehow managed to drag inside the tent and to get dry enough to fire. Immediately an artilleryman, who had been hidden within the tent, applied a light to the fuse.

With a loud bang and lots of billowing white smoke, the ball flew from the cannon’s mouth, hitting the foremost of Humayun’s advancing elephants squarely in its great domed forehead. Mortally wounded, the elephant at once fell sideways, dislodging its howdah and throwing the musketeers, arms and legs flailing, to the ground.The elephant behind panicked and ran forward, squashing one of the fallen musketeers into the mud beneath its feet. As he struggled to regain control of his charge, which had its head back and grey trunk raised and was trumpeting in fear, one of this elephant’s two drivers also tumbled from its neck but the other held on and seemed to be succeeding in restraining his mount.

However, by now all Humayun’s attention was on the cannon which had fired the shot.The gunners were frantically trying to reload it. They had taken a linen bag of powder from the metal chest which had kept it dry and succeeded in ramming it down the cannon barrel. Two of them were struggling to lift a metal cannon ball, ready to roll it down the barrel after the powder, when Humayun reached them. Bending low from the saddle of his black horse, Humayun’s first stroke with Alamgir almost severed the arm of one of the men lifting the ball. He fell to the ground together with the cannon ball, blood spurting from his wound. Humayun cut at the face of the other man but the gunner got his arm up to protect it. Nevertheless, his arm was badly gashed and, turning, he began to run. He had got no more than a couple of paces before Humayun’s sword caught him in the flesh at the back of his neck, above his chain mail and below his domed steel helmet, and he too crumpled to the ground. By this time Humayun’s bodyguard had killed or put to flight the remainder of the enemy gunners and his musketeers were dismounting from the elephants.

‘Good work. Order the remaining infantry to advance to protect the cannon. Our success will give them renewed confidence. I must return to the centre of the camp.’

With that, Humayun turned his horse, which was already blowing hard from its charge through the clinging mud, towards his scarlet command tent.Visibility had much improved as the rain, which had slackened during his attack on the guns, had by now almost ceased. From the centre he would be able to direct a further strengthening of his position, Humayun thought.

However, he had covered scarcely half the distance to his tent when Jauhar galloped up. ‘Majesty,’ he gasped, ‘Baba Yasaval asked me to beg your presence on the far southwestern perimeter. A large force of Sher Shah’s cavalry is attacking along the bank of the Ganges. They have already broken through our front lines and the vanguard are deep among our makeshift secondary defences.’

Immediately Humayun pulled the head of his black horse round and the willing beast, responding to his urging, began to pick up pace towards the west past the neat lines of tents hastily abandoned by Humayun’s men as they had rushed earlier to repel the unexpected attackers. He was followed by Jauhar and his bodyguards.

Very soon Humayun could hear increasing cries and sounds of battle and then, breasting a low rise, he looked down on the wide, muddy banks of the Ganges and a scene of chaos. Several bands of Sher Shah’s cavalry had breached his front line and his own cavalry were trying to encircle them or drive them back. Other mounted officers, waving their swords, were encouraging groups of his infantry forward to fill gaps in the defences but they seemed to be having only limited success. Indeed some of the infantrymen were fleeing towards the rear, throwing down the small round shields and the long spears with which they were armed.

Most ominously of all, only a mile or so from his wavering defences another large force of Sher Shah’s cavalry was forming up to launch a further attack. At their centre was a knot of bright flags and pennants and to Humayun it seemed obvious that Sher Shah was there, ready to lead this charge in person finally to overwhelm his enemies.

‘We’ve only got a short time to prepare to confront them, Jauhar. Where are Baba Yasaval and my other commanders?’

‘When I left to find you, Majesty, Baba Yasaval was a little further along this rise with some of his junior officers. But he told me the situation was so perilous that he could not wait for your arrival but would straightaway lead an attack on some of the enemy cavalry that had already broken through. Isn’t that his yellow flag at the head of those riders over there, driving that group of our enemy before them?’

‘You have good eyes, Jauhar. Get a message to him to bring as many men as he can detach to meet me by that cluster of grey tents over there. Send further messengers to summon any other officers who can break off from the action to lead their men there too. We’ll meet Sher Shah’s advance head on. The ground around those tents looks firm enough for us to be able to get up enough speed to do them some damage with the weight of our initial charge.’

Only ten minutes later Humayun had a number of his officers around him. He was saddened how many including Baba Yasaval — who was helmetless and had a bloody, yellow cloth wound around his head — were wounded, and even more how many were missing. ‘Where is Suleiman Mirza?’

‘Dead, Majesty, killed by a spear thrust as he attempted to fight off cavalry.’

‘And Ahmed Khan?’

‘Badly wounded. In the very first minutes of Sher Shah’s attack while he was inspecting the pickets two arrows hit him in the thigh. Some of his men found him weak from loss of blood and got him over to the opposite side of the Ganges along with other wounded. They’re being cared for by the men you stationed there.’

‘We must manage without these brave officers, trusting in our own courage and in our destiny.’

Looking round, Humayun saw that his commanders had assembled a sizeable force, perhaps as many as five thousand riders, to confront Sher Shah’s next attack which, from the increasing movement amongst his opponents’ ranks, would not be long delayed.

‘As soon as Sher Shah’s lines advance, so too do we. Make for the centre where I believe he will ride himself. If we can kill or capture him, his men will become demoralised. Despite our losses the day will be ours. .’

Moments later, Sher Shah put his cavalry into motion, galloping increasingly quickly towards Humayun’s defences. Humayun took Alamgir from its jewelled scabbard and waving it above his head yelled, ‘Charge! Let it be a matter of honour to die rather than to retreat.’

Soon his whole force was galloping as fast as the mud and puddles would allow. Humayun’s tall black horse, despite its previous efforts, kept him at the head of his troops, closing fast with his opponents who were themselves racing forward, weapons extended, shouting ‘Tiger, Tiger’ in celebration of their leader, Sher Shah.

All his thoughts now concentrated on the coming fight, Humayun bent low over his stallion’s neck and kept its head aimed at the very centre of Sher Shah’s galloping ranks where he saw a black-bearded man in bright steel armour on a white horse shouting encouragement to those around him as he rode. It could only be Sher Shah himself. Humayun pulled on his reins once more to bring him directly into Sher Shah’s path. Within seconds the two lines clashed. Humayun slashed at Sher Shah with Alamgir but the sword slid harmlessly off his steel breastplate and in a moment the press of forces had separated them.

Suddenly, Humayun thought he saw the traitorous Tariq Khan mounted on a brown horse and wearing his familiar dark green beneath his armour. Humayun urged his own mount towards him. Although hampered by the disorganised mass of wheeling, rearing and snorting horses with their riders slashing and striking at each other, Humayun reached the green-clad man. It was indeed Tariq Khan.

‘Tariq Khan, your life is forfeit. Face me and die like a man, not the slippery snake you are.’ With that, Humayun struck at Tariq Khan but his opponent quickly got his shield up and deflected the blow and at the same time swung wildly at Humayun with his double-headed steel battleaxe. Humayun leaned back in his saddle and the axe only hissed through empty air but Humayun thrust Alamgir deep into Tariq Khan’s unprotected armpit, exposed as he made his axe-sweep. With a cry of pain Tariq Khan dropped the axe and, as blood poured from his armpit staining his dark green clothing, he seemed to lose control of his brown horse which carried him off into the melee. Moments later, Humayun saw him fall, sliding backwards from the saddle of his rearing mount to be trampled into the muddy ground beneath the hooves of other horses. So perish all traitors, thought Humayun.

Looking round, he realised most of his bodyguards had lost touch with him, but shouting hoarsely to the few who remained to follow he turned his own black horse, now covered with white, frothing sweat, towards where he calculated Sher Shah’s charge might have taken him. As he pushed forward, a riderless horse, blood streaming from a deep sword slash to the rump, crashed into the right flank of his own, knocking it off course and for a moment painfully trapping Humayun’s mail-clad thigh against his saddle. Then, neighing shrilly, it careered away, veering straight across the path of one of Humayun’s remaining bodyguards. The bodyguard’s horse stumbled and fell, throwing its young rider over its neck on to the ground. He lost his domed helmet on impact, rolled over two or three times and then lay still.

Regaining control of his horse once more, Humayun urged it towards where the fight seemed the most intense. Suddenly thunder crashed overhead and immediately rain began to fall again in torrents, heavy drops splashing into puddles and dripping from the rim of Humayun’s helmet before running down into his eyes. He removed his leather gauntlet and raised his right hand to brush the rain away and clear his vision. But his action prevented him from seeing two dark-clad riders dashing towards him until they were almost upon him. When he did, he swerved away from the first but could not prevent the sharp sword of the second slicing into the exposed flesh of his hand and wrist and sliding down into his forearm, pushing back his chain mail and penetrating deeper as it went on. His black horse carried him away from his assailants, who failed to turn quickly enough in the mud to pursue him.

Bright scarlet blood was streaming from Humayun’s wounded right arm and hand and flowing down and through his fingers, coating Timur’s ring. He tried to untie his cream neck cloth with his left hand to use it to staunch the wound but he could not. His numb right fingers could scarcely keep a grip on his reins. He began to feel light-headed and white flashes started to appear before his eyes. Through them he could just about make out that there were none of his men around him. The situation was bad but surely he was not destined to end like this? Defeat was not inevitable. He must get back to his men to rally them. Humayun tugged at the reins with the last of his strength, trying to turn his tired, blowing horse in what his blurring mind imagined was the direction of his remaining men. He kicked the horse’s sides to urge it on, then slumped forward on to its black neck, clinging to its mane with his left hand as the last remnants of his consciousness deserted him.

‘Majesty.’

Humayun’s opening eyes throbbed with bright light and he half closed them again. The glare was the same when he tried again. Slowly he realised he was lying on his back staring up into the midday sun.

‘Majesty.’The same voice came again and a hand tentatively shook his shoulder. He was no longer wearing armour or chain mail. Where had it gone? Was he captured? He turned his clearing head towards the voice and slowly a nut-brown face came into focus, a concerned, anxious expression on its small features.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Nizam. I’m one of the water-carriers in your army.’

‘Where am I?’

‘On the banks of the Ganges, Majesty. I was gathering water from the river in my leather bottles to take to your soldiers when I saw your black horse coming slowly towards me from the direction of the battle a mile or so from here, with yourself slumped over its neck. When it got nearer the horse’s knees buckled and it collapsed. As it did so, you slid to the ground.’

‘Where is the horse now? Where are my men?’

‘The horse is over there. It is dead, Majesty, from exhaustion I think, even though it had many small wounds and a larger one to its rump.’

Feeling a little stronger, Humayun raised himself on his left elbow and there indeed was his black stallion no more than twenty paces away lying neck outstretched, tongue lolling. Clusters of green-black flies were already forming around its mouth and nostrils and on its many wounds.

‘And my men?’

‘Mostly they retreated east down the riverbank closely followed by Sher Shah’s force who struck many from their saddles. Some crossed the river where it is low, about a quarter of a mile from here, to the opposite bank where some of your troops still are.’

‘Was I not pursued?’

‘No. And it’s difficult to see this particular place because of the banks and mud spits, so no one has come since. Do you wish to drink, Majesty?’

‘Please.’ Instinctively Humayun tried to extend his right arm for the bottle. It was stiff and numb. Remembrance of the fight and his wound came back to him. His arm felt bandaged. Looking at it he realised that it was — with the same cream neck cloth he had himself failed to untie, and there seemed to be something like a flat pebble bound against the worst of his wound.

‘Help me to drink.’

Nizam took the stopper from one of his large water bottles, which seemed from its size and shape to have been made from the skin of an entire small goat. Supporting Humayun’s head, Nizam poured a little into his mouth. Humayun drank quickly, then asked for more. With each gulp he felt life returning to him.

‘Did you bind the wound?’

‘Yes, Majesty. I have often watched the hakims at work after battles and one told me that a small flat stone was good to keep pressure on a cut to stop the loss of lifeblood.’

‘It clearly worked. You’ve done well. How did you know I was your emperor?’

‘By your tiger ring and your jewelled sword. I’ve often been told of them in the camp.’

Humayun was fully conscious now and sitting up realised that he did have both the ring and his father’s sword Alamgir, which either he or Nizam had put back into its scabbard.

The midday sun was beating down, causing the wet ground to steam in an eerie semblance of morning mist. Scrutinising his saviour, Humayun saw that Nizam, who was wearing only a rough black cotton tunic, was small, skinny and mud-streaked — probably no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. Nevertheless, he could easily have stripped Humayun of his possessions and run but instead he had loyally stayed with him. Humayun realised that — although defeated as he surely had been — he still deserved his birth name of ‘Fortunate’ bestowed on him by his father Babur. One defeat was of little matter. Babur had suffered many setbacks. ‘It is how you deal with them,’ he remembered Babur saying. Then Humayun’s head swam again. Pulling himself back to the present, he knew that his first task must be to rejoin his army.

‘Where are the nearest of my soldiers, Nizam?’

‘As I told you, those on this side of the river have mostly retreated far off. But there remain many on the opposite shore — see.’ Nizam pointed across the steaming, muddy banks and over the main branch of the Ganges. There Humayun made out a large group of horsemen.

‘Are you sure they’re mine?’

‘Yes, Majesty. The detachment over there has been joined by many from this side.’

Nizam must be right, thought Humayun. He had been wise to take the precaution of stationing a force on the opposite bank to prevent Sher Shah from bypassing his army, crossing the river and attacking him from the rear.

‘I must join them.’ As he spoke, Humayun scrambled to his feet but his legs shook under him and he again felt dizzy.

‘Lean on me, Majesty.’

Humayun gratefully put his left arm on Nizam’s bony shoulder. ‘Help me down to the river so that I can swim across.’

‘But you are too weak. You will drown.’

‘I must make the attempt. It would be a great dishonour to be captured.’

Nizam’s eyes glanced around and alighted on his two large goatskin water bottles and he looked up into Humayun’s face. ‘Can you stand for a minute alone, Majesty? I think I have the answer.’

Receiving a nod from Humayun, he ran over to the bottles and pulling out the rough stoppers emptied them. Then, to Humayun’s surprise, he took the larger of them, placed the filling hole to his lips and began to blow, dark eyes bulging and thin cheeks puffing out with effort. After some moments, Humayun saw the skin begin to inflate and soon it became taut and full of air. Nizam inserted the stopper and brought it over to Humayun. Then he swiftly blew up the second and, tapping it playfully, smiled. ‘That should do. We must hurry, Majesty. Soon Sher Shah’s men will be dispersing to look for booty on the corpses of their enemies. I’ve hidden your armour so that it won’t catch the light, but they’re bound to inspect the whole shore.’

‘I know, but first help me to my brave horse. I must check he is dead or else put him out of his misery. He has served me well.’ An inspection quickly satisfied Humayun that the black stallion was indeed dead. Then, leaning on Nizam’s shoulder, he slowly picked his way across the hillocks and flats towards the river. He fell at least twice but on each occasion Nizam — already burdened by the inflated water bottles — hauled him to his feet. After ten minutes’ struggle, the pair reached the Ganges. Nizam passed the water bottles to Humayun.

‘Thank you, Nizam. Now be gone and save yourself.’

‘No, Majesty, I will accompany you or else you will drown.’

‘Help me off with my boots then,’ said Humayun, half sitting, half collapsing on to the bank. Soon Nizam had tugged the heavy boots off and, being all the time barefoot himself, helped Humayun into the water.

‘Swim with your legs and your good arm, Majesty. Try to keep one bottle under your right arm and the second beneath your chin. I will help direct you.’

Slowly they succeeded in reaching what to Humayun seemed the middle of the river. His right arm was stinging intensely from contact with the water but the pain had cleared his mind. He mustn’t die — it wasn’t his destiny — and he kicked harder with his feet. Nizam had clearly been brought up on the water and was pushing and pulling at Humayun to keep him headed for the far shore. A few minutes later, they were only five yards from the south bank when Nizam suddenly became frantic, legs thrashing at the water and arms pulling at Humayun. ‘It’s a crocodile, Majesty — he must have scented your blood. I saw the snout not far off. Hurry!’

Humayun took another two strokes and, as he put his feet down, soft mud oozed beneath his toes. Summoning his last reserves of strength he staggered, dripping and breathless, from the water, Nizam at his side.

‘We must get further up the bank, Majesty.’

With Nizam’s help Humayun stumbled another ten yards. From this place of relative safety, he looked back to see the crocodile’s amber eyes and snout breaking the surface near the shore. As he watched, the reptile turned and slunk sinuously away into deeper water. Perhaps it had been too small to finish him off but he was glad not to have to find out.

‘Majesty, I will find some of your officers, tell them of your plight and ask them to send people to bring you back to your army. Then I must swim back across the river — I need to find my father. He is one of the cooks in your field kitchens and I haven’t seen him since Sher Shah’s first attack.’

‘But you did not mention him till now?’

‘I knew it was my duty to help you.’

‘You must return to me so I can reward your bravery and your loyalty.’

‘No, Majesty — I must find my father,’ Nizam replied, his small face set.

A strange thought came into Humayun’s head. Impulsively he blurted it out. ‘You have been a prince among water-carriers. When I am back in my capital, come to me and you shall sit on my throne and be a true king, giving orders for an hour or two. Whatever you command shall be done.’

Nizam looked puzzled then smiled hesitantly and stammered, ‘Yes, Majesty,’ before turning and running swiftly over the undulating muddy banks of the Ganges in the direction of Humayun’s remaining forces.