Brothers at War

Chapter 11

Four hours after Humayun had led his column out through the gatehouse on which the green Moghul banners no longer fluttered, the fortress palace of Sarkar finally faded from view. As he rode slowly northeastwards, Humayun was locked in his thoughts. Though Mirza Husain’s hospitality had remained ostentatiously lavish, there had been no point staying any longer in Sind. With so few men to back him, Humayun had no power to coerce Mirza Husain to help him and every day that passed had seemed a humiliation to him.

It felt good to be on the move again and at least he had exacted a high price from Mirza Husain for the four cannon he had decided to leave behind in case they slowed his progress. Eager to be rid of his unwanted guest, the sultan had paid handsomely. He had also given Humayun grain and other supplies to feed his men and fresh pack animals to carry them. If all went well, in two months’ time Humayun would be entering the desert kingdom of Marwar whose Rajput ruler, Raja Maldeo, seemed more ready to assist him than his cousin. The raja’s ambassador, a tall, thin man in brightly coloured robes with his long hair bound in the Rajput fashion, had reached Sarkar two weeks before. He had spoken eloquently to Humayun of Raja Maldeo’s contempt for Sher Shah and his enmity towards him.

‘The interloper Sher Shah has demanded the raja’s allegiance in his fight against the Moghuls. He has insulted my master’s honour by daring to threaten the kingdom of Marwar if he refuses to join him. But my master will never unite with a mongrel dog from the marshes of Bengal. Instead, he extends his hand to you, Majesty. He invites you to Marwar as his honoured guest so that you and he may discuss how to combine against the interloper. With your approval he will also summon other Rajput rulers who, like him, have been affronted by Sher Shah’s impudence.’

The screeching of a flock of green parakeets flying low overhead recalled Humayun to the present. He glanced at Hindal, riding by his side on the long-necked, powerfully built chestnut stallion he had purchased from an Arab horse-dealer in Sind.

‘In another ten miles we’ll make camp for the night,’ Humayun said.

‘We should. The women will be tired. . ’

‘I’ll order some sheep to be killed and roasted. Tonight you and I and the women of our households will feast in my tent together with our chief commanders and courtiers. And I will have tables set up outside for our soldiers. It will raise the spirits of us all. . ’

‘Do you really think the Raja of Marwar will help us?’

‘Why not? I often heard our father speak of Rajput pride. If Maldeo truly believes Sher Shah has insulted him, he’ll not rest until he has avenged the slight and what better way than to ride at our side with his Rajput warriors to destroy Sher Shah? Of course the raja will expect favours in return but the courage of the Rajputs is legendary. Maldeo will be a worthy ally and when I sit on my throne in Agra once more I will reward him.’

‘You still have faith in our dynasty and its destiny, after all that has happened. .?’

‘Yes. Even in my bleakest moments when I think of all the blood that has been shed and of Kamran’s and Askari’s treachery, I don’t doubt it. I believe that fate summoned the Moghuls to Hindustan. Don’t you feel it too?’

Hindal, though, said nothing.

‘Our father endured many setbacks and he never gave up,’ Humayun persisted. ‘If you doubt me, read his diaries or talk to our aunt. Khanzada is growing old but our father’s passion, the passion of our ancestors, lives on undimmed in her. She was the one who tore me from my opium dreams and made me see that a sense of greatness isn’t enough — that we must be prepared to fight and struggle and sweat blood for what is ours.’

‘Ours?’

‘Of course. Though our father named me emperor, we are all Babur’s sons, all part of the Moghul destiny — you, me and even Kamran and Askari. We bear the same responsibilities. Our dynasty is young, the roots barely finding a purchase in this alien soil, but we can — we will — be great so long as we do not lose our self-belief or tear our dynasty apart by fighting one another.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Sometimes, though, it all seems such a burden that I wish I were back in Kabul, that our father had never heard of Hindustan. . ’ The expression in Hindal’s tawny eyes was unconvinced and his tall, thick-set body seemed to slump despondently in the saddle.

Humayun reached out and touched his brother’s muscular shoulder. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly, ‘but it was not our choice to be born who we are.’

Three hours later, the camp fires were being lit in the lee of a low, stony hill that Ahmed Khan — riding ahead with his scouts — had found. Humayun’s large scarlet tent was pitched in the centre with Hindal’s next to it. Fifty yards away were tents for Khanzada and Gulbadan and their attendants and for the small group of women in Hindal’s entourage, all enclosed by baggage wagons drawn up around them in a protective circle with their traces knotted.

Men squatted on the ground, slapping a mixture of flour and water into flat loaves to bake on hot clay tiles in the fire. Soon the aroma of lamb was mingling with the smell of wood smoke as the cooks’ boys slowly rotated the sharpened stakes on which chunks of new-slain sheep, salted and rubbed with herbs, had been spitted. The fires hissed as the fat ran into the leaping flames. Humayun’s stomach growled as, inside his tent, he drew off his gauntlets and Jauhar unclipped his sword belt.

‘Jauhar, this is the first feast I’ve held since we left Lahore. Though it will be poor compared with the celebrations I once held in my palaces, we must put on a good display. All must eat and drink their fill. . For those eating in my tent, have the silver and gold dishes unpacked. . and I wish you to play your flute for us. It is a long time since I have heard you.’

Later that night, dressed in a dark green tunic over buckskin trousers and jewelled dagger tucked into his yellow sash, Humayun looked around him with satisfaction. To his left, Hindal and the senior officers were sitting in a semicircle on the ground, laughing and talking. Zahid Beg was gnawing on a lamb bone. Despite his leanness, he could easily out-eat any of Humayun’s other commanders and took pride in his gigantic appetite. Humayun smiled to see him discard the bone and hack off a fresh hunk of roasted flesh with his dagger.

On the far side of the tent, encircled by high screens that concealed them from view, a small group of women including Khanzada and Gulbadan were seated. Their conversation sounded decorously muted and their laughter was more restrained than the men’s but almost as frequent. Humayun hoped they had everything they wanted and decided to see for himself. Looking round the edge of the screen he saw Gulbadan talking to a young woman seated close beside her, feet gracefully curled beneath her. The woman’s face was in shadow but as she leaned forward to take a sweetmeat from a dish, candlelight illuminated her features.

Humayun felt a tightening in his stomach as he took in the graceful set of her small head on her long slender neck, the pale oval of her face, the shining dark hair pulled back and secured with jewelled combs and the luminous eyes which, suddenly aware of his scrutiny, she turned towards him. Her gaze was open and appraising — no trace of nervousness that she was looking at the emperor — and it sent an almost visceral shock through him. As Humayun continued to stare, the young woman dropped her gaze and turned back to Gulbadan. Her profile — they were sharing some joke by the way she was smiling — showed a small nose and delicate chin. Then, leaning back, she was once more lost to the shadows.

Humayun returned to his place with the men, his polite interest in the women’s well-being completely forgotten. As the feast continued he found it hard to concentrate, so haunted was he by that glimpse of an unknown face. He tapped his brother on the shoulder.

‘Hindal, there’s a young woman sitting by your sister whom I don’t recognise — take a look and tell me if you know her.’ Hindal rose, went across to the screen and peered round. Then slowly he returned to Humayun’s side.

‘Well?’

It seemed to Humayun that Hindal hesitated before answering. ‘Her name is Hamida. She’s the daughter of my vizier, Shaikh Ali Akbar. . ’

‘How old is she?’

‘About fourteen or fifteen. . ’

‘To which of the clans does Shaikh Ali Akbar belong?’

‘His family is of Persian descent but were long settled in Samarkand until, in our father’s time, the Uzbeks drove them out. Shaikh Ali Akbar fled as a young man and eventually found his way to my province of Alwar. I made him my chief counsellor there.’

‘Is he a good counsellor?’

‘Yes. And something more than that, perhaps. The blood of a famous mystic runs in his veins — Ahmad of Jam, who had the ability to foretell events. In his lifetime he was known as Zinda-fil, “the Terrible Elephant”, because of his powers.’

‘Tomorrow morning before we march send Shaikh Ali Akbar to me. I wish to talk to him.’

Humayun barely slept that night. Though in Sarkar he had told Mirza Husain he would not take a wife until he had won back his throne, he knew in his very soul that he must marry Hamida. There was no thought, no logic to it, just an overwhelming attraction. A feeling which, despite his many previous lovers, he had never experienced with such overpowering intensity before, not even when he had chosen Salima. It was not simply the desire to possess Hamida physically — though that was certainly a part of it. Instinctively he sensed within her a beauty of mind, a strength of spirit radiating out towards him. He knew that not only would she make him happy but that with her by his side he would also be a better ruler, more able to achieve his ambitions. However hard he tried to dismiss such thoughts as irrational and better fitted to a blushing adolescent, they returned with renewed vigour. Was this what the poets described as falling in love?

Even before it was light, Humayun washed, dressed and then, dismissing his attendants, waited impatiently. At last his men began to stir, kicking the smouldering embers of last night’s fires into new life and starting to pack up their tents and possessions ready for the day’s ride.Then he heard footsteps outside his tent and Jauhar held back the flap as Shaikh Ali Akbar ducked inside.

‘Majesty, you wished to see me.’ Shaikh Ali Akbar was tall and, like his daughter, fine-boned. He made graceful obeisance to Humayun and waited.

‘I saw your daughter, Hamida, at the feast last night. I want to make her my wife. She will be my empress and the mother of emperors. . ’ Humayun burst out.

Shaikh Ali Akbar looked astonished.

‘Well, Shaikh Ali Akbar?’ Humayun persisted impatiently.

‘She is so young. . ’

‘Many are married at her age. I will treat her with great honour, I promise you. . ’

‘But my family is not worthy. . ’

‘You are nobles of Samarkand. . Why object if I wish to raise your daughter further as my father did my own mother? Her father — my grandfather Baisanghar — was a nobleman of Samarkand like yourself.’

Shaikh Ali Akbar said nothing. Puzzled, Humayun stepped closer. From the man’s troubled face something was wrong. ‘What is it? Most fathers would rejoice.’

‘It is a great, an unimaginable honour, Majesty. But I believe. . no, I know. . that your half-brother Prince Hindal cares for Hamida. He has known her since she was a child. I serve him and it would be disloyal of me to give her to another, even you, Majesty, without telling you this.’

‘Are they yet betrothed?’

‘No, Majesty.’

‘And Hamida. What are her wishes?’

‘I do not know, Majesty. I’ve never spoken to her of such things and I have no wife who could have done so. . Hamida’s mother died of a fever soon after she was born.’

‘You have been honest. I respect that but I repeat that I wish to wed your daughter. Give me your answer within a week from now. And Shaikh Ali. . my brother told me that the blood of a great seer who could foretell events runs through your veins. . If you, like him, have the power to see into the future, use it. You will see that greatness — and happiness — await your daughter if you will give her to me.’

‘Majesty.’ But Shaikh Ali Akbar’s face still looked anxious and unhappy as he turned to leave. Shafts of sunlight came pouring into the tent, dazzling Humayun for a moment, as Shaikh Ali Akbar pushed the entrance flap aside and vanished.

That day, needing space to think, Humayun decided to leave the main column and gallop alone. As the rhythmic thud of his horse’s hooves filled his ears, he was still trying to come to terms with these feelings so unexpected, so overpowering, so sudden. No other woman had roused such sensations in him. Something darker was also lurking in his heart — guilt that he wanted to take a woman loved by his half-brother. But he could not get Hamida’s exquisite face, her shining personality, out of his mind. He would make her his empress however much he bruised Hindal’s feelings.

That evening, Humayun was splashing his face with cold water brought to him in a brass ewer by Jauhar when he heard raised voices outside his tent. Then Hindal burst in, still in his riding clothes, soiled and dusty after the day’s journey.

‘Is it true?’ Hindal’s voice was quiet but his eyes were burning.

‘Is what true?’ Humayun gestured to Jauhar to withdraw.

‘Shaikh Ali Akbar tells me you wish to marry Hamida.’

‘Yes. I want her for my wife.’

‘She. . she is the daughter of my vizier. I watched her grow up. . My claim to her is stronger than yours. . ’ Hindal seemed almost hysterical.

‘I did not want to cause you pain, but it will pass. You will find another woman to please you. . ’

‘These last few months I thought we had come to understand one another. I trusted you. I gave you my support when — like Kamran and Askari — I could have sought my fortune elsewhere and perhaps fared better.What reward have I had for following you? Nothing! We fled Lahore with our tails between our legs. In Sind we fared little better — fed like little lapdogs by Mirza Husain until we took ourselves off. Still I remained loyal and worked to keep my force of men together in the hopes that soon you and I would be fighting shoulder to shoulder against Sher Shah. Instead, like a thief in the night, without a moment’s thought, you have decided to abuse your position as head of our family to steal the woman I love. . ’

‘Believe me, I didn’t know that you cared for her until I spoke to her father.’

‘But it didn’t stop you when you found out, did it?’ Hindal came closer. ‘Kamran and Askari were right.You are the self-appointed centre of your own universe. For years you ignored us, leaving us to fester in our provinces while you played the great emperor. It was only because you needed us against Sher Shah that you began to speak of fraternal duty, of bonding together against a common enemy.’

Hindal’s voice was rising to a shout and he was shaking with pent-up fury. Instinctively, Humayun glanced to the chest on which a few minutes earlier Jauhar had placed Alamgir in its jewelled scabbard. He still had his dagger and could feel its hard metal hilt pressing against his ribs beneath his sash.

‘Be careful what you say, brother. . ’

‘Half-brother only.’

‘You forget why I sent you and the others away. You plotted against me. I could have had you executed. . I gave you back your life.’

‘I was just a youth, easily led. If you’d shown any interest in me it would never have happened. But all you ever wanted to do was stare at the stars. . You still have no desire to know what I’m really like, what my hopes and aspirations are. You just want my unquestioning loyalty and obedience so you can realise your own ambitions. . ’

Humayun had never seen or heard his half-brother so animated. He was breathing heavily. His face was flushed, his nostrils were dilated and a vein throbbed at his temple.

‘We must not quarrel over this, Hindal. Believe me, this isn’t just some whim or momentary lust for a new woman. I didn’t plan it — it happened. When I saw her at the feast I knew. . ’

But Hindal didn’t seem to be listening. Without warning he launched himself at Humayun who, taken off guard, didn’t move quickly enough. Hindal’s powerful hands grabbed him by the shoulders and the next thing Humayun knew, he was crashing into a tall iron incense burner.

Hearing the noise, Humayun’s guards rushed into the tent. ‘No!’ he shouted, waving them back. Hindal was closing in on him again and Humayun felt his half-brother’s leather-booted foot slam into his ribs, knocking the breath from him. But from the days of his youth Humayun had been a good wrestler — quick and strong — and the skills hadn’t deserted him. Instinctively he grabbed at Hindal’s foot as his brother tried to kick him again and twisted it sharply. Thrown off balance, Hindal’s heavy body tumbled sideways and he hit his head on the edge of the metal-bound chest where Humayun kept his most valued possessions — the Koh-i-Nur and his father’s diaries.

With blood trickling from his temple and looking dazed, Hindal hauled himself to his feet. Before he could steady himself, Humayun ducked forward, pitting his speed and momentum against Hindal’s bulk. Hooking his right foot behind Hindal’s left leg, he succeeded in pushing him backwards, falling with him and landing on top. He seized Hindal’s head with both hands, raised it up then brought it smashing down on the ground. Hindal writhed beneath him, trying to dislodge him, but Humayun’s fingers were pressing on his windpipe. Hindal’s breath was coming in great, rasping sobs as he thrashed wildly, almost sending Humayun flying. However, gripping as hard as he could with his thighs, Humayun stayed uppermost and pressed harder on his brother’s throat.

He felt Hindal slacken beneath him and looked down at his face — it might be a trick, one that he’d used many times himself in wrestling contests — but Hindal’s eyes were closed and his face was purpling. Humayun relaxed his grip and rose cautiously from his brother’s prone body, eyes never for an instant leaving him.

Hindal was taking great gulping mouthfuls of air as he struggled to breathe and his hands were clutching at his neck which Humayun could see was already darkening with bruises. After a few moments, he got shakily to his feet, looking like a great bear that had just been worsted in a fight. The cut on his temple was bleeding even more profusely, so that blood was dripping on to the front of his tunic. But the eyes he turned on Humayun were clear, bright and defiant.

‘Take her then. You are the emperor as you never tire of reminding me. But do not expect to see me again. Our alliance is over. Tonight I will take my men and ride from here.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt you. You forced me to. Don’t act rashly. . I never schemed to take Hamida from you. . but when I saw her I knew it was meant to be. . ’

A sneer spread across Hindal’s bleeding face. ‘Meant to be. .? You still don’t understand the minds of men, do you, not even your own brother’s. You inhabit a different world in which you confuse fate or destiny with your own desires and much good may it do you. Goodbye, brother.’ Drawing himself up, Hindal spat slowly and deliberately on the carpet, sending a gob of bloody saliva to land just in front of Humayun’s right boot. Then, without a backward glance, he walked slowly and painfully but straight-backed towards the entrance of the tent, looking to neither right nor left as Humayun’s bodyguards parted to let him pass.

For a moment Humayun was tempted to go after him, but what would be the point? After what had been said, there could be no going back. ‘Jauhar,’ he called. As soon as Jauhar was by his side, Humayun lowered his voice so they would not be overheard. ‘Send my bodyguards immediately to the tents of my brother’s women.They are to find Hamida, daughter of Shaikh Ali Akbar, my brother’s vizier, and escort her into the care of my aunt. Hurry, and let me know as soon as my orders have been carried out. . ’

Half an hour later, Jauhar returned to report that Hamida had been taken to Khanzada. Outside, Humayun could hear men shouting and running about, oxen bellowing, the jingling of bridles and the neighing of horses. Peering out through the tent flaps he saw by the orange light burning in the braziers that Hindal’s men were striking camp. His half-brother’s tent had already been collapsed and was being loaded on to a cart. As he continued to watch, Humayun made out a familiar figure hurrying towards his tent through the press.

‘Humayun, what have you done?. . Have you lost your mind?’ Khanzada shouted even before she was inside Humayun’s tent. ‘How can you hope to succeed if Hindal leaves? And all because of a woman you caught a fleeting glimpse of, a woman you’ve never even spoken to and whom without telling me you’ve consigned into my care.’ He had seen his aunt angry many times before but never with such a look of outraged bafflement in her eyes. ‘Forget this madness. Go to Hindal now, before it is too late, and tell him you will give up the girl.’

‘I can’t, Aunt. It’s as if I had no choice. . ’

‘Rubbish!’ Coming closer, she stared into his eyes. ‘Are you taking opium again? Having hallucinations? Is that what is making you act so crazily? I saw Hindal’s bruised and bleeding face. . is that the behaviour of an emperor, to pound your brother into submission and drive him from your camp?’

‘He attacked me. . ’

‘That’s not the point. He was loyal to you at a time when few others are, when our dynasty’s fate in Hindustan has never been more uncertain. Your latest madness has left us in desperate straits — how many men do you have left of those who rode with you from Lahore? Eight or nine thousand only. I know because Kasim told me. If Hindal goes, how many will you have then? Five or six thousand at most. And how many of them will stay when they begin to doubt your judgement? Soon you’ll barely have enough to defend us from brigands and dacoits, let alone get back your throne. And all through unbridled, heedless, selfish desire. . ’

‘No.The moment I saw Hamida, I felt something different from mere physical desire, something I’d never experienced. . I knew love had overwhelmed me and that I wanted her as my wife. I had not thought such things possible but it happened. I promise I’m not fuddled with wine and opium. My mind is clear and I know that what I am doing is right. Aunt. . ’ he laid a hand gently on her shoulder, ‘trust me and help me in this. . I beg you. . ’

‘I can’t. I’m getting old, Humayun. I’ve seen too much, suffered too much, to have any energy left. Ever since Babur died I’ve tried to help you as I promised him I would. You have shown you are a fearless fighter but you have so much to learn about being a king and I wonder whether you ever will. You are different from your father. Babur always used his head. His marriages — even to your mother whom he loved — were considered acts. He didn’t behave like a selfish boy who must always indulge his lusts and desires without a thought for the consequences. First opium. Now this.’

‘But Aunt, as I keep trying to tell you, my feelings for Hamida go far beyond simple desire. . ’ ‘And what about Hamida’s feelings, left here without her father? You know of course that Shaikh Ali Akbar is going with Hindal? He has just been to bid his daughter goodbye.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Gulbadan is trying to soothe Hamida but she is distraught. Truth be told, Gulbadan is distressed too, though she has chosen to stay with me rather than go with her brother.’

‘I never meant that. . I. . ’

‘No more, Humayun.’

Khanzada turned and left the tent. Humayun waited, hoping she might relent and come back but she didn’t. He sat down and for a while just stared into the dancing amber flame of an oil lamp. Was his aunt right as she so often was? Certainly, he had been impulsive — reckless even — and he had hurt Hamida. He had also broken the fragile bonds that had been forming between himself and Hindal.

‘Majesty.’ It was Jauhar and in his hand was a piece of paper which he held out to Humayun. ‘Shaikh Ali Akbar asked me to give you this.’

You are the emperor, Humayun read, if you ask me for my daughter I cannot refuse. I leave her with a heavy heart but I must go with your brother to whom, long ago, I swore to be loyal. Treat Hamida well. I have no power to protect her and must trust you to do so as you have pledged. Shaikh Ali Akbar.

A fierce happiness filled Humayun, overriding any lurking feelings of doubt or of guilt about his behaviour towards Hindal. ‘I will protect her with my life, Shaikh Ali Akbar. I will make her happy.You have no cause to fear,’ he whispered to himself.

Next day, riding at the head of his depleted column across a pale landscape baked hard by the sun, Humayun still felt suffused with joy. If only the price had not been his rift with Hindal. An hour ago his heart had quickened at the sight of dust rising from the road ahead. Seized by hope that Hindal had changed his mind and was coming back, he’d despatched scouts to investigate but they’d found only a group of silk merchants with their mules. By now Hindal was probably some miles to the northwest of Humayun’s column.According to Kasim, who had spoken briefly to one of Hindal’s commanders, his half-brother planned to cross the Indus and head north.

Was Hindal intending to seek out Kamran and Askari? With all three of his half-brothers allied against him once more, his own situation would be perilous. Hindal knew exactly where Humayun was taking his army and what his strategy was. Such information would be useful to Kamran and Askari — and of course to Sher Shah. Humayun rode on oblivious of the bleached landscape as he brooded on this fresh twist in his fortunes. His disappointment that Hindal had not returned was not simply that he had lost an ally and gained an enemy but that over the last months he had grown closer to his youngest half-brother and had valued his companionship.

That night as the camp was being set up and the cooking fires lit, he looked longingly to where the women’s tents were being pitched. What was Hamida doing and what was in her mind? Desire to see her again mingled with guilt at the distress he had caused her and he hesitated, uncertain as a youth about what he should do. Then it came to him. Summoning Jauhar, he ordered him to ask Khanzada to come to him. As the minutes passed, Humayun waited anxiously. He would not be surprised if his aunt refused to see him, but when Jauhar finally returned Khanzada was with him.

‘Well, nephew, I understand you wish to see me.’

‘Thank you, Aunt. . ’ Humayun hesitated, seeking the right words. ‘Last night we parted in anger. There was much justice in what you said. Though I cannot undo what has happened — and if I speak honestly I would not wish to even if I could — I’ve reflected upon your words. All my life you have stood by me, helped me. Do not desert me now.’

Khanzada’s expression remained stern and she said nothing but a softening in her raisin eyes gave him courage to go on.

‘Tell Hamida that I’m sorry for my thoughtlessness, that I never meant to cause her pain.’ He stepped a little closer. ‘Talk to her of me. Tell her I acted only out of love. Plead my cause. . She will listen to you. And tell her that after the evening meal I will visit you all — but only if she is willing.’

Two hours later, Humayun followed some of Khanzada’s attendants as they guided him with lighted torches through the camp to the women’s quarters. Ducking inside Khanzada’s tent, he saw his aunt and Gulbadan seated in the centre on low stools in a pool of soft orange light shed by oil lamps and wicks burning in diyas. They rose to greet him, and as he came towards them a veiled figure — he knew it was Hamida — moved out of the shadows to stand at Khanzada’s side. Unbidden, Hamida dropped the veil covering the lower part of her face and stood before him. He hadn’t realised how tall Hamida was — at least three or four inches taller than either Khanzada or Gulbadan. She was also slender, standing there in her dark blue robes, belted with a silver chain set with turquoises.

‘Hamida.Thank you for receiving me here.You know why I’ve come. I want you for my wife. . ’

Hamida said nothing but continued to look directly at him, her black, long-lashed eyes reddened with tears, and it was Humayun who lowered his gaze first.

‘What is your answer to me?’

‘My father told me I must obey. . ’

‘I don’t want an unwilling bride. . What is in your own heart?’

‘I don’t know. I cannot answer you. Only yesterday I parted from my father. I may never see him again. . ’

‘It was your father’s choice to go with my brother. Shaikh Ali Akbar is a good man, loyal and honest, and I have no quarrel with him. I will do everything in my power to make sure that one day — God willing — you are reunited with him. And I also promise that I will be a good husband to you. I will love and honour you. And though at present my fortunes are low, my ambitions are high and one day you will be a great empress. . I swear it on my life.’

Hamida drew herself up but did not reply. She was still so young, Humayun thought. She was grieving at her sudden separation from her father and the loss of much of what was familiar. ‘A lot has happened,’ he said softly, ‘and you are tired. I will leave you now but think over what I have said.’

‘I will think about it.’ Hamida was still scrutinising him intently as if trying to divine something. Humayun felt he was being tested and for the first time his confidence wavered. He realised that he had come to her tonight sure of success, believing any woman would be dazzled to be chosen by him as his wife.

In the event, Humayun had to curb his impatience and wait for longer than he’d expected. He found it hard to stop himself from visiting Khanzada’s tent each night to see Hamida but he forced himself not to. He had promised her time to consider and must abide by his promise. Nearly a month passed before finally, on a humid evening with fireflies shining like jewels in the darkness around the encampment, Khanzada at last brought him news.

‘Humayun, Hamida has agreed. She will become your wife whenever you wish it.’

A tremendous happiness overwhelmed him and he embraced his aunt. ‘What did you say finally to convince her?’

‘The same I’ve been telling her ever since I took her into my care — that she must marry someone and who better than a king — indeed an emperor? I reminded her that many girls of good family are married off to old men but that you are a handsome warrior in his prime with a certain reputation among the women. . ’ Khanzada’s eyes twinkled.

‘You are certain she is willing?’

‘Yes. What counted most with her was my promise that you truly love her.’

‘I do.’

‘I know. I’ve seen it in your face every time you spoke of her, otherwise I would never have been your ally in this.’

‘What about Hindal? Does she ever mention him?’

‘No. He may have loved her but I don’t think she was aware of it. If you can find your way into her heart, you’ll find no rival there. . ’

‘Thank you, Aunt. As ever, you have been my benefactress.’

‘And as ever, I wish you happiness, Humayun.’

‘Wait — I wish you to take Hamida a present from me.’ Going to his iron-bound chest he took out a piece of flowered silk and unwrapping it extracted the double-stranded necklace of fiery rubies and uncut dark green emeralds set in gold that had been among the treasures he had seized in Gujarat. The gems glinted richly in the candlelight and would well become Hamida’s dark-eyed beauty. ‘You once told me to keep this to give to my wife. . that moment has come. . ’

The next morning, Humayun cancelled the day’s march and summoned his astrologer Sharaf to his tent. Together they studied the sky charts, trying to work out from the positions of the planets the most auspicious day for the wedding. It was soon, Sharaf said, putting down his astrolabe — just three weeks away. That decided Humayun. He would halt his advance into Rajasthan until after the wedding so that there would be time to prepare. Though he was landless and throneless, his union with Hamida must not be a mean affair. They were not humble camp followers to be wedded and bedded in between marches but an emperor and his empress.

Hamida was sitting motionless beneath layers of shimmering golden gauze, the veils held in place by a chaplet of pearls interwoven with yellow cat’s-eyes symbolising Ferghana and emeralds for Samarkand that Gulbadan had fashioned for her. As the mullahs finished intoning their prayers, Humayun took Hamida’s hennaed hand in his and felt a responsive tremor. As his vizier Kasim led the cries of ‘Hail Padishah’, Humayun and Hamida rose and he led her from the wedding tent to his own where the marriage feast was spread.

The guests were few — Kasim, Zahid Beg, Ahmed Khan and some other officers and Khanzada, Gulbadan and their women. If he’d still been emperor in Agra, there would have been thousands of guests.Trays of wedding gifts — rare spices, silks and jewels — would have been spread before him. In the courtyard would have been living gifts — bejewelled elephants with gilded tusks and strings of high-spirited, high-stepping horses. Obsequious rajas would have queued to make obeisance and when night fell soft music would have risen over the scented courtyards and brilliant fireworks would have turned the dark sky back to day.

But glancing at Hamida, seated beside him on a red velvet cushion and all but one of her veils thrown back so that he could see her perfect features — the soft curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her robe — Humayun felt close to true happiness. He had made love to many women, taking pleasure in his prowess as a lover, but the emotions welling inside him were new to him. Not even for Salima had he ever felt such tenderness.

As the feast ended, the dishes were cleared and all but their personal attendants left, Humayun felt shy as a boy about to know a woman for the first time. While his own servants undressed him and wrapped a silk robe around him, Hamida’s women led her into the bridal bedchamber created by scarlet leather-covered wooden screens interlaced with hide thongs that stretched across the far end of the tent. Humayun paused then ducked beneath the stiff brocade hung over the gap between two of the screens.

Hamida was not yet ready. He found himself half averting his gaze as her smiling women undressed her, combed the long, shining fall of dark hair and then laid her beneath a thin coverlet on the rosewater-scented bed. As the women withdrew, he could hear their soft laughter. He felt awkward, confused. He had been so determined to have Hamida, so certain that this was the woman with whom his future must be linked, but she was virtually a stranger. They’d never even been alone together. The few words they’d exchanged had always been in the presence of others. Unbidden, the thought returned that she’d accepted him only because she’d felt she had no choice. It made him nervous of approaching her.

‘Humayun. . ’ Hamida’s soft voice at last broke the silence. Turning, he saw she had raised herself on her left elbow and was half sitting up. Her right hand was extended towards him. Slowly he came nearer and kneeling by the bed took her hand and touched the fingers to his lips. As she raised the coverlet, he rose and slipped in beside her. Her body felt warm, and slowly, almost reverently, he touched her face then entwined his hands in the spilled mass of her hair. Her eyes, looking up at him, were wide but trusting. Gently pulling her closer, he began to explore her slender body from the delicacy of her small shoulders to the satin curve of her hips. Caressing her breasts with his tongue he felt the hardening of her small, pink nipples and her response gave him courage. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on Hamida’s body as his hands gently probed her. Her eyes were closed but her lips were parted and from them came a gasp.

Containing his own impatience, Humayun waited until he judged she was ready then, carefully easing himself on top, began gently to enter her. As he thrust harder he felt the tightness in her yielding and glanced anxiously down but saw pleasure not pain in her half-closed eyes. As he pushed deeper a passionate tenderness for this woman, a desire to protect her at all costs, filled his soul. She was his now and would be as long as they both lived.

They woke, bodies intertwined, as in the half-light of the tent their attendants came to rouse them, bringing ewers of warmed water. It was Hamida who waved them away but once they were alone again, she sat silent and still.

‘What is it, Hamida? Have I offended you. .?’

She looked at him a little shyly and shook her head.

‘What then?’

‘These past days I was afraid. . ’

‘Of what?’

‘That you wanted me for your wife shocked me. I feared I might displease you. . disappoint you. But last night your tenderness, the joy you brought me, soothed away my anxieties. . ’ She was looking at him now with shining eyes. He began to speak but she placed a fingertip on his mouth. ‘You know that a seer’s blood runs in my veins. But there is something you don’t know. Sometimes, I too have the gift to see into the future. Last night, I dreamed that very soon I will conceive a child. . a son. Do not ask me how I know, only believe me that it is so.’

Humayun took her in his arms again. ‘I will rebuild the Moghul empire and we will be great, you and I and our son,’ he whispered as slowly, tenderly he began to make love to her again.