Brothers at War

Chapter 3

‘Jauhar, bring me some of that lime juice and water — what do the Hindus call it? Nimbu pani? It’s refreshing in this heat.’ Humayun was standing in his large scarlet command tent in the middle of his fortified encampment outside the fortress of Champnir. Through the raised flaps, he could see its massive stone bulk at one end of a two-mile-long rocky outcrop which rose above the scrubby jungle trees whose leaves were turning brown and gold as the summer heat dried them.

Humayun had joined the siege six weeks ago. As he had first discussed with his council, his officers had fortified their own position with barricades and cannon on both sides so that they could not only beat off any sorties by the besieged but also repulse the relieving force they had been so certain would arrive. It hadn’t yet and scouts still reported no sign of its approach. Bahadur Shah was said to be in the highlands on the southern border of his lands. Perhaps he trusted in the strength of the fortress and its garrison as sufficient to see off Humayun and his army.

If so, he’d been right so far, Humayun mused. He and his commanders had tried everything but without success. Their cannon had pounded the thick stone walls, but many of the artillerymen had been picked off from the fortress’s battlements as they struggled to man the guns. Even on the one occasion when the gunners had succeeded in breaching a small portion of the walls, the Gujaratis had shot down Humayun’s men with their muskets as they tried to scramble through and over the rubble. Those who had survived to struggle back had reported there was an inner wall from the protection of which the Gujaratis had been able to fire their bullets and arrows to repulse them. At other times, the Gujarati cannon, well protected by stone embrasures, had been able to break up frontal attacks even before the Moghuls could get close enough to the walls to place their scaling ladders.

Blackened and bloated bodies of dead Moghul warriors littered the ground before the fortress walls giving off the sickly-sweet smell of putrescence and attracting clouds of purply-black flies which had multiplied and now clustered throughout his camp. So many men had been killed in trying to rescue wounded comrades or to recover the bodies of the dead that Humayun had had to forbid such attempts except under cover of night and even then there had been more casualties.

Jauhar’s reappearance with his drink broke into Humayun’s thoughts. As he drank the cooling liquid he looked out once more and saw that dark clouds were piling the afternoon sky. They would get darker and even more numerous as the monsoon approached.The rains would provide the defenders with water and make Humayun’s attacks even more difficult. They might even bring disease to his camp.

‘Jauhar, when do the local people say the rains come hereabout?’

‘Mid-July, Majesty.’

Humayun stood, his mind made up. ‘We must complete our business here before then. Our frontal attacks are not working. We need to find an alternative and soon. I will go out with the leaders of our scouts tomorrow to see if we can identify any weaknesses in their defences the Gujaratis may have overlooked.’

Humayun was sweating profusely beneath his chain mail as he rode along the southern side of the rocky outcrop on whose eastern tip the seemingly impregnable fort of Champnir stood. Added to his physical discomfort was a feeling of acute frustration. He and his scouts had already spent five hot hours in a fruitless reconnaissance of the northern side and were already over halfway down the southern. Every time he or a scout had thought they had spotted a vulnerable point where his men might make an ascent it had ended in an overhang impassable to climbing soldiers. Once a scout had got three-quarters of the way up a cleft in the rock wall before he fell backwards, arms flailing, when a single musket shot cracked out, revealing that there was indeed a defensive post concealed in one of the folds of the cliff.

‘Jauhar, give me some water,’ Humayun said, wiping his sweating face with a cotton cloth. ‘Quickly boy,’ he snapped as Jauhar fumbled at his saddlebag.

‘Sorry, Majesty, the ties are entangled.’

‘As quick as you can then,’ Humayun said more softly, conscious that his anger was inspired not by the boy’s ineptitude but his own frustration at failing to locate an attack route. ‘We’ll dismount and rest for a little under the shade of those trees over there on that small hill.’

Wearily Humayun turned his horse towards the copse five hundred yards away. But as he rode up the gentle slope and dismounted, he realised that the higher elevation and a new direction of view gave a completely different perspective. He was able to see that above the trees was a deep cleft in the rock which seemed to run all the way to the top. Perhaps a waterfall ran down it in the monsoon but at the moment it looked dry. Thirst and frustration forgotten, Humayun called his chief scout Ahmed Khan to him.

‘Do you see that fissure over there? What d’you think? Could it be passable?’

‘I’m not sure, Majesty, but it looks promising. I will go and investigate.’

‘Before you go make sure that the rest of our men are under cover of the trees. We don’t want them spotted. . and good luck.’

‘Thank you, Majesty.’ Ahmed Khan took a pair of leather boots from his saddlebag. Their thick soles had extra leather bands sewn across them for better grip. Pulling them on, he set off the half-mile or so to the cliff. After five or ten minutes he was lost to view in the scrubby bush and straggling trees. Then Humayun made out a figure climbing the cliff. Sometimes it disappeared but reappearing seemed to make good progress.Then it went out of sight entirely for a while. When Humayun next saw the scout he was much lower down. Humayun paced to and fro, waiting for his return, fearing that the last few yards had proved impassable but hoping they had not. Half an hour later Ahmed Khan was back on the tree-covered hill. His hands were grazed in places and the knees of his baggy pants were torn. By the uneven way he was walking his left boot seemed to have lost some of its leather banding but he was smiling broadly.

‘There appear to be no defenders. It’s not too difficult to get within forty feet of the top but those last few feet are very awkward with very few footholds. For a mountain man like me it should be possible to get up one of the narrow clefts, putting feet against one side and back against the other. But it would be impossible for many, particularly when encumbered by weapons. However’ — and here he smiled again — ‘the rock is fissured and soft enough for those going first to drive metal spikes into the cliff to make a kind of ladder for the less skilled to climb.’

‘I give thanks to God and to you for your bravery and skill. We will return tomorrow night with five hundred picked men. While our main forces make a frontal attack to occupy the defenders, we’ll make the climb and get into the fortress from the rear.’

Under the pale light of the moon, Humayun with Ahmed Khan at his side climbed up through the scrubby trees towards the fissure. The loose, smooth stones and pebbles beneath their feet confirmed that this was the dry bed of a stream and that a waterfall from above did indeed feed it during the rains.

Impatient as always to be in the thick of the battle, Humayun had disregarded the advice of Baba Yasaval that he should stay at the centre where he could better direct the action, and decided to accompany Ahmed Khan and ten of the best climbers among his bodyguard on the mission to drive the spikes into the rock. He knew he was as agile as any of them and that by going among the first party he would encourage the remainder of his five hundred men. The knowledge that their emperor had already made the climb himself meant that in honour they could not fail to follow.

All was going well. They had tethered their horses a considerable way off and taken advantage of every scrap of cover and every occasion the scudding clouds had concealed the moon to get to this point undetected.Just in front, through the overhanging branches, Humayun saw the head of the streambed and the dark cliff rising above it. He motioned Ahmed Khan and the ten men who would climb with them to gather round him.

‘My destiny and that of the empire as well as all our lives are at stake in this attempt. There are great risks but also great rewards if we succeed, as, God willing, we will. Now, check that you have your bags with your equipment safely secured and any weapon you wish to carry well tucked in. We want nothing dropped to reveal our position or to harm those following behind.’

Humayun had left his sword Alamgir with Jauhar, who was to follow among the remainder of the force. He had dressed simply in dark clothes like the rest of his men but tied to a leather thong around his neck was Timur’s ring. Just before he began the ascent he took it out and kissed it. Then they were off, Ahmed Khan in front searching for the hand — and footholds he had used the previous day and signalling to Humayun, close behind now, to follow. Although occasionally they dislodged a few small stones, sending them tumbling down to the ground below, Humayun hoped any sounds they were making would be masked by the booms that were now resounding from his camp as his cannon heralded the frontal attack that was to serve as a distraction.

Within twenty minutes, the two men were at the base of the final fissure. Looking upwards Humayun realised how difficult it would be to climb. The rock seemed worn smooth by the initial rush of the waterfall and the cleft was just too wide to brace the back comfortably against one side while climbing up the other with the feet. The spikes that Ahmed Khan — resting on a ledge that could only be two feet wide — was pulling from the satchel slung across his body and pushing into the dark sash around his waist would be essential. Humayun began to unpack his own hammer.

‘Majesty, the first ten feet looked the smoothest yesterday. I will brace myself in the cleft and you must climb over me using my limbs as steps to get into a position to drive in the first spikes.’

Humayun nodded and Ahmed Khan crammed himself into the rocky fissure. Humayun then put a foot on Ahmed Khan’s tensed thigh and pushed himself up until he could perch on Ahmed Khan’s shoulders. Reaching up above his head, he felt along the surface of the rock until he detected a small crack. Pulling his hammer and a foot-long spike from his belt, he drove the spike into the rock, each clang of the hammer seeming to the anxious, sweating Humayun to echo alarmingly around the fissure. However, there was no movement from above and soon the spike was in. Humayun tugged at it and finding it firm used it to move up half off Ahmed Khan’s shoulders to locate a place for the next spike.

Again it went in well and, supporting himself mostly on the spikes and partly by bracing his back to the rock, Humayun climbed up, finding another foothold. And so it went on as, sweating and breathing hard, the two men made it to about ten feet from the top where to their consternation a rocky outcrop seemed to bar their way. However, tugging at Humayun’s clothes in a way he would never normally have done, Ahmed Khan gestured through the gloom to a thick length of jungle creeper hanging over the lip and dangling down about six feet to their right.

‘Majesty, I think I can reach it and use it to climb the final distance, hitting in spikes as I go, but I must be the one to make the attempt as I am lighter than you and — pardon me, Majesty — to do so I must use you as my ladder.’

Humayun nodded and gripping the last spikes tilted his body to the right. Soon he felt Ahmed Khan’s foot on his left shoulder, then it slipped painfully against his neck and suddenly it was gone. Ahmed Khan was swinging from the creeper, thumping spikes in to provide a route round the overhang to the top. Then he was up, waving down to Humayun to follow, which he did, resisting the temptation to close his eyes as he manoeuvred out and around the overhang. Then he too was on top. Panting so heavily that he could scarcely speak, Humayun whispered, ‘Thank you, Ahmed Khan. I will remember your courage.’

In half an hour enough men had climbed up, driving in more spikes and using ropes to rig makeshift ladders to make it easier for those following to form an advance party to move towards the fort. Humayun addressed the first hundred or so gathered around him. ‘Remember we must make no noise and therefore rely on our old silent weapons — the bow and arrow and the sword — and on our bare hands to kill any enemy we find. Once inside, I will instruct the four of you who carry trumpets and drums to make the pre-agreed signals to alert our forces attacking from the front that we are inside so they can redouble their efforts. Now let us move forward.’

Advancing through the bushes, the men crept more than half a mile before the vegetation thinned out and allowed them to make out about a thousand yards in front of them the rear wall of the fortress — much lower than those at the front and sides and with no sign of guards. Crouching and taking advantage of the cover of the few remaining bushes and the darkness as some large clouds drifted over the moon, the men ran across the intervening ground to squash themselves against the walls, any sound they made more than blotted out by the noises of battle coming from the front of the fort. Some of the men had brought ropes with them and, at an order from Humayun, Ahmed Khan seized one and began to climb up the wall at a corner where it turned almost at right angles to follow the contours of the land. Within seconds, he had scrambled to the top using the same techniques as he had in the fissure and thrown down his rope for others to follow. Soon several other men had climbed up and more ropes were hanging down.

Humayun himself was quickly on the smooth battlements, peering along them to see whether there was a guardhouse. Yes, there was one — about a hundred yards away. Suddenly its door opened and six men appeared with torches — presumably a skeleton guard left behind while the others rushed to bolster the troops on the front wall which judging from the noise and commotion was now under full assault. The guards moved towards the wall to look down and, as they did so, Humayun ordered his men carrying bows to shoot as fast as they could before the guards could raise the alarm. Almost immediately there was a hiss of arrows and the six men were hit, two falling headfirst from the walls they were looking over and another drumming his legs on the stone battlements in his death throes. The other three were at once still.

Humayun led the charge towards the guardhouse. As he reached it, another Gujarati who had been hiding inside sprinted out, making for a covered staircase only ten yards away leading to the courtyard below. He was too near it for there to be time to loose off arrows before he disappeared beneath its protective roof. Humayun ran after him, arms and legs pumping, and reached the top of the staircase to see that the guard had descended most of its twenty or so stone steps. Without pausing to think, Humayun leaped from the top step on to the guard, knocking him down to the bottom. Both men were winded but the guard was the first to his feet and attempted to run on. Humayun scrambled after him and catching him by the ankle brought him to the ground once more. Summoning all his skill as a wrestler to pin the wildly struggling man beneath him, Humayun succeeded in closing his fingers round his neck and started to squeeze the life out of him until he heard the man’s breath rattle in his throat and threw the limp body aside. Humayun’s men were surrounding him again.

‘We now have at least four hundred men,’ Ahmed Khan gasped. ‘What next?’

‘Get as far to the front of the fort as we can before we are detected.’

Ahead, the men could see the flashes of the cannon and hear their boom and the crack of muskets as well as all the cries and screams of battle. Smoke was drifting across the courtyard, in particular through a large gateway in the opposite wall. This must mean that the gate gave directly on to the main part of the fort where the defenders were concentrated, Humayun thought. ‘Get our men to the gate, half on each side, and then we’ll sound our drums and trumpets to alert our fellows attacking the front wall before we charge into the enemy’s rear,’ he ordered. The command was quickly passed on and at Humayun’s signal his men rushed to the gateway. Peering round the corner of the gate, Humayun could see through the billowing smoke cannon positions on the front wall and also defenders firing and pouring burning pitch and oil on to his own men attacking below.

‘Trumpeters and drummers, give the signal and keep on doing so. The rest of you, follow me!’ As the instruments sounded out, Humayun rushed through the gateway. Once through, the first volley from his archers took many of the Gujaratis in the back, the whole crew of one cannon falling together. Turning in surprise and confusion, some tried to fight back. Others seemed to lose heart and ran into the shelter of the buildings.

‘Make for the main gatehouse. Kill the defenders and open the gates to our troops.’

Humayun’s men rushed to obey, one of his trumpeters at their head, still sounding his call. However, from behind a pile of his dead comrades, a Gujarati fired an arrow which caught the trumpeter in the throat, and as he fell his last breath bubbling with blood produced a weird scream from his instrument. Nevertheless, Humayun, with Ahmed Khan and at least fifty men at his side, were in the gatehouse killing or putting to flight its defenders. Soon they were winching open the gates. Once they were even a quarter open, the Moghuls began to pour through. Seeing them do so, most of the remaining defenders threw down their arms but a few took refuge in an inner keep and maintained steady fire on Humayun’s men, several of whom fell, mortally wounded.

‘Get our men under cover.We need not risk more casualties. The fort is ours. Bring me the most senior of the Gujaratis we’ve captured.’

Soon, a tall, balding officer with blood running from sword-slash wounds to his arms and legs was dragged before Humayun and pushed to his knees. ‘I am not a barbarian,’ Humayun told him. ‘I will not spill blood unnecessarily. You will go to those in the keep and tell them resistance is useless. If they surrender now I swear on the Holy Book that I will spare their lives. If they resist, all will die, including those I have already captured.’

Humayun saw the fear and alarm in the man’s eyes. He believed him and should convince his fellows.

‘Now go. You have ten minutes in which to bring an answer.’

Humayun ordered his men to hold their fire while the officer limped over to the keep. Recognising him, the defenders swung open the heavy metal-studded oak door and he disappeared inside. After five minutes he re-emerged and crossed to Humayun’s troops. ‘They will surrender provided they can leave with their personal weapons.’

‘Agreed,’ said Humayun and immediately a great surge of relief travelled through him. He had been victorious in his first campaign as emperor. ‘We have won a great victory.Take care of our wounded. Then start the search for the treasure vaults.’

‘We still can’t find the entrance to the vaults, Majesty,’ one of his officers told Humayun thirty-six hours later. ‘May we put some of the captured Gujaratis who remain to the torture?’

‘No. I promised on the Holy Book they could depart unharmed and under safe conduct. We need to secure the treasure — but there are other means to get information from people than torture. Tell Baba Yasaval to throw a feast for the most senior of the captured Gujaratis on the pretext of honouring their bravery. Then when many toasts have been drunk and the alcohol has loosened their lips, bring the conversation round to the subject of treasure and see what you get from them that way.’

Towards midnight that same day, Baba Yasaval staggered up to the door of the apartments temporarily occupied by Humayun. Even though his gait was unsteady and his eyes were unfocused, a broad smile creased his face. ‘May I speak to His Majesty?’

A few moments later, he was admitted to Humayun’s presence. ‘I’m sure I know the answer, Majesty. I’ve spent much of the night dining and carousing under the stars in the courtyard with the Gujarati officers. As he drank deeply of the rich red wine of Ghazni, one of them — Alum Khan by name — relaxed and became ever more garrulous, confiding titbits of gossip about the Gujarati royal family and his fellow officers. When I thought the moment right, I slipped in a question about the treasure. Startled, he did not betray the location in words but I noticed his eyes flash across to one of the marble pools and he became flustered.

‘Instinctively I knew that the pool had something to do with it so I questioned him further about it. You know — how long it had been there, its depth, its construction, how often it was drained and refilled. With each question he became ever more agitated as he stammered unconvincing and contradictory answers. I am sure the entrance to the vaults is concealed beneath that pool.’ Baba Yasaval stopped, seemingly exhausted by the effort of forcing himself to speak so coherently after his drinking.

‘You’ve done well.We’ll drain the pool and excavate beneath it as soon as it is light. Now go and lie down before you fall down.’

Early the next morning, amid the raucous cawing of green parrots from the jungle surrounding the fortress, Humayun, with a somewhat pale and bedraggled Baba Yasaval at his side, watched as a team of labourers naked but for their white loincloths formed a chain to empty the pool with their leather buckets. Then, clambering down, they began to prise up one by one the marble slabs forming its lining before heaving them on to the poolside where others took them and piled them carefully in the courtyard.

As the first slabs were moved there was, to Baba Yasaval’s obvious consternation, nothing to see beneath them but reddish sandy earth. Then, as Humayun paced impatiently along the poolside, Baba Yasaval shouted, ‘Look, Majesty! Those four slabs towards the centre have indentations and chips around their sides. They’ve been lifted before.’

‘You’re right,’ Humayun replied. ‘Remove them.’

As soon as the crowbars were inserted the slabs came up quickly and as the sweating labourers lifted them, Humayun saw part of a wooden trap door emerge beneath them.

‘That’s it! Your instincts were right, Baba Yasaval, I’m sure. What a reward I will give you to compensate for that sore head.’

Jumping down on to the pool bottom, Humayun himself tugged at the trap door. It came up easily to reveal several shallow steps leading to a low, iron-studded door secured with a large metal lock. ‘Give me a crowbar,’ he ordered. Taking it, he pushed its tip into the lock and using all his force levered it apart. Swinging the door open, he bent his head and entered. In the half-light he caught the glint of gold. As his eyes adjusted he saw that the floor was piled with thick gold ingots and open chests of what looked like gems. There seemed to be several other chambers radiating off the first. Humayun shouted for torches and as servants brought them he saw that the chests indeed contained sapphires, rubies, emeralds and other glittering stones and that there was more booty in the other chambers including silver dishes and drinking vessels and ornately decorated weapons and armour. He would have more than enough to reward his faithful and brave warriors.

‘Remove all the gold, jewels and other valuables. Have them guarded well and their number recorded. Tonight we will feast and share our spoils.’

In the late afternoon, servants and soldiers alike worked hard. Their first task was to construct a low wooden platform in the centre of the courtyard from which Humayun could address his troops and distribute their share of the booty which was piled under guard at the back of the dais. Then they rigged additional awnings around the courtyard using all the fabrics they could find, whether wool, cotton or mere jute, whether bright reds or purples or duller duns and greens, whether elaborately patterned or plain. Beneath them they improvised low wooden tables and around them scattered all the cushions, blankets and mattresses they could find for the banqueters to recline upon. They fashioned rough stands for torches and placed them where they were least likely to get knocked over as the revelries got wilder as they inevitably would.

As they were completing their work, their appetites were whetted by the smell of cooking wafting from the nearby field kitchens. Sheep were roasting on spits, men were stirring spices into bubbling vats of vegetables, more skilled cooks were combining sugar, yoghurt, rosewater and spices in smaller copper pots to make sweetmeats. Probably more important to the mind of many of the soldiers who, in common with Humayun and most of his courtiers, were good Muslims but could not convince themselves that the consumption of alcohol was entirely sinful, all the supplies of drink from the fortress and Humayun’s own baggage train — including the red wine of Ghazni that had been the downfall of Alum Khan — were being assembled in whatever containers were available.

An hour after sunset, when the bats were swooping through the warm, velvet darkness and the noise of insects was at its height, two of Humayun’s trumpeters put their lips to their six-foot-long brass instruments. Then, as their reverberations stilled the voices of officers and common soldiers alike, Humayun appeared from the main door of the fortress clad in a tunic and trousers of gold-coloured material over which he was wearing a coat of gold chain mail found in the treasure chambers. To the continuing sound of the trumpets and the heavy beat of the large military drums from the battlements above, Humayun advanced through the ranks of his soldiers to the low dais and slowly mounted it, followed by his most senior officers, and stood before the assembled treasure. Motioning the trumpeters and drummers to be silent he addressed his men.

‘Tonight we celebrate the successful end to our campaign in Gujarat. Everywhere we have defeated those of our enemies brave enough to face us. Sultan Bahadur Shah has not even dared to do so, hiding in the most remote corners of his realm like the cowardly rat he is.Yet we have conquered his lands and behind me you see all the piles of his treasure we have made our own. First let us give thanks to God for our victory.’

‘Allah akbar, God is great,’ came the instant response from the ranks.

‘Before we feast let me share some of this treasure with you. Each senior officer has been ordered to bring his shield to this assembly. Shortly you will see why. It is not for fear of sudden attack — our enemies are well scattered and demoralised — but to carry off rewards for himself and his men. Officers, advance with your shields. First you, Baba Yasaval.’

The shaven-headed Baba Yasaval walked forward and bowed low before Humayun.

‘Take your shield from your back and place it upside down on the ground.’

Baba Yasaval did so.

‘Servants. Pile it with gold and silver bars and top it with jewels.’The servants brought forward the precious metals and gems, glinting and glittering in the torchlight, and heaped them on the shield. ‘Now carry it away, Baba Yasaval, with my heartfelt thanks, and if you’re still too weak from drinking get your men to help!’

The burden would have been far too great for any man, young or old, hungover or not, and a smiling Baba Yasaval bowed his head, his hand on his heart, and motioned to his men to assist. As together they bore their treasure off, Humayun signalled to the next officer, a tall pale Afghani, to mount the stage and the process was repeated. All the time the cries of ‘Glory to Humayun, our emperor, our padishah’ increased. As he acknowledged the acclaim, both hands held high above his head, Humayun smiled. He had been successful in his first campaign as emperor. Like his father before him, he had brought himself and his men glory and booty. Life was good — long might it continue so.