Ruler of the World

Chapter 27

‘I now know my father will never give me any post of real responsibility even though, like my grandfather and my great-grandfather before him, he was emperor when he was half my age.’ Pulling the ornamental dagger that hung at his waist from its scabbard, Salim stabbed at the pink silk brocade cover of the divan on which he was lounging in the late afternoon heat in the fortress-palace at Lahore. The blade had been blunted, but even so the dagger cut through the delicate cloth and penetrated the cotton padding. ‘I’ve waited and waited and to what point? Absolutely none! No command, no governorship, no prospect of anything. Rarely even a kind word. What am I to do?’ he demanded of Suleiman Beg, who was lying propped on one arm on an adjacent couch, a glass of mango juice in his other hand. ‘I’m not sure,’ said Suleiman Beg thoughtfully. Then, taking another sip of juice, he continued, ‘But in matters of succession I’ve often heard it said that time and patience are the key.’

‘Although he’s in his late fifties, my father’s health has never been better if that’s what you mean. I’m not even sure he’s mortal — the way he guards his power and gives no thought to his successor makes me think he at least does not recognise his mortality. Age just seems to confirm him in his belief that he alone knows best.’ Salim struck at the divan again, this time more violently, raising dust as he did so.

‘But if there is no immediate prospect of your father taking his place in Paradise, you cannot say the same of your half-brothers — your rivals for the succession. They’ve both given in entirely to alcohol, haven’t they? If they continue to behave as they do, they cannot be long for the world, even if they have the constitutions of oxen.’

Salim smiled to himself as he recalled Daniyal’s and Murad’s behaviour ten days before. Akbar had summoned all three of his sons without prior warning to the vast dusty parade ground in front of the palace just after dawn, while the white mist still cloaked the Ravi river and only the earliest of Lahore’s cocks had roused themselves to crow. Luckily the previous evening had been one of those during which Salim had steeled himself to follow the hakim’s advice to avoid the lure of opium and alcohol. Instead he had gone to the haram. Though his longing for Mehrunissa had never left him, he had determinedly pushed her from his mind. For the first time for some while he had spent the night with Jodh Bai. She had teasingly complimented him on his renewed virility as they lay together, naked and sweat-soaked, after their second bout of love-making. Salim had had to admit to himself that abstinence from alcohol and opium increased his sexual appetites. Pondering the point had rekindled his vigour, leading him to make love to Jodh Bai for a third time. Therefore he had been relaxed and sober, if tired and bleary-eyed, when he emerged on to the parade ground to answer his father’s dawn summons.

As soon as they had appeared, it had been obvious that neither Murad nor Daniyal had been as abstemious as he had the previous evening. As Murad had come through the tall stone gateway on to the parade ground, one of his attendants had still been attempting to tie his sash. Murad, square jaw jutting, had brushed him aside, swearing for all to hear that he had no need of such fussing attentions while roughly knotting the sash himself. When Daniyal had entered, he had done so with the slow, exaggeratedly steady gait of the drunk trying to suggest he was anything but. He had kept his head unnaturally still and his bloodshot eyes fixed firmly in front of him as he approached his father, but he had still stumbled as he took the last few steps and tried to bend into the required low bow.

Akbar had then ordered all three of his sons to mount their horses, held ready by waiting grooms, and lead some of their bodyguards in attempting to spear watermelons from the saddle with their lances. As he tried to mount, Murad’s badly tied sash had come loose and he had stumbled over the trailing cloth, entirely unable to prevent himself sprawling face down in the dust. When he had been helped up and on to his mount and had eventually set it into motion, he had galloped only a hundred yards before slipping once more from the saddle on to the ground.

Daniyal had done rather better, succeeding in mounting and getting his horse to gallop without difficulty. But then, as he attempted to bend to spear the melon, he too had fallen. Staggering to his feet, he had vomited copiously through the gloved hand with which he had tried to stem the noisome stream.

Salim meanwhile had succeeded in spearing the watermelon. His father’s response had been not praise but to say, ‘I see that you for once have not been drinking, Salim. Remember this will not be the last time I will put you through such a test. You are dismissed.’ As Salim left the parade ground he had heard his father order his half-brothers back to their quarters and then command some of his most trusted bodyguards to make sure that the two did not leave their rooms for fourteen days and that no one took alcohol in to them. At the end of that time they were to be kept under close observation to ensure that they remained abstemious.

‘Surely when their spell in confinement ends in a few days, they’ll have sobered up, won’t they, Suleiman Beg?’

‘I doubt it. I’ve heard that some of their companions have managed to smuggle liquor in to them. Rumour has it Murad’s fat steward wound some cow’s intestines filled with spirits around him beneath his voluminous garments to do it, and that Daniyal bribed one of the guards to bring him the stuff in the blocked-off barrel of his musket.’

‘The latter can’t be true. My father would have a guard executed under the elephant’s foot for such blatant disobedience.’

‘It’s surprising what risks men will take for money, but perhaps it’s only a story. All I can say is that everyone is gossiping about it.’

‘Maybe you’re right and they’ve not real rivals as my father’s heir, but that does not mean I have any prospect of achieving the power that is my due at this stage in my life. There is much that I could achieve for our dynasty if only my father would give me a chance.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, ridding him of some of his fawning and corrupt advisers — Abul Fazl for a start.’

‘But you know your father wouldn’t countenance their dismissal. At the very least, you would have had to prove yourself as a good governor somewhere before criticising his own advisers and administration.’

‘How can I do that when my father will give me no position of trust?’ Salim thudded his dagger into the divan once more, eyes blazing. ‘Sometimes I think I have no alternative but to take over the government of a province without my father’s permission to demonstrate my worth!’

‘But that would be rebellion.’

‘Call it what you will — I might say I was using my initiative.’

‘You are serious, aren’t you?’ said Suleiman Beg quietly.

‘Yes,’ said Salim, looking directly at his friend. ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about for months in the dark hours of the night as I’ve fought to curb my own craving for drink. Don’t look so shocked — I have many friends among the young middle-ranking commanders in our armies in the east. They too resent the dead hands of their older superiors on their shoulders — they too want power and responsibility.’

‘It’s true. I have heard such mutterings of discontent,’ said Suleiman Beg. ‘There would also be the inducements of promotion and reward. .’

‘I see that you are beginning to believe that it might be possible. Would you be prepared to join me?’

‘You should know I would. We have shared so much. I owe my loyalty to you before any other.’ Then after some moments’ reflection, now looking as serious and intent as Salim, Suleiman Beg added, ‘What’s more you might well succeed in winning your father’s attention and respect. If you act, what will your first steps be?’

‘To sound out some of those young officers in the eastern army. I cannot travel there without my father’s sanction, but you could. .’

‘I will go — I still have some relations in the administration in Bengal and no one will suspect if I visit them.’

‘Thank you for your trust and loyalty.’ Much to his surprise, as he spoke Salim heard a new-found authority in his tone — not unlike his father’s. Now he had determined on action, at least the uncertainty of waiting would be ended. Whatever the outcome he would never need to reproach himself with a lack of the courage to act.

As Salim looked out three months later from beneath the awning of his large tent at the centre of his camp, the sun was setting over the Chambal river. Flocks of waterfowl — dark silhouettes against the pale orange sunset — were swooping down to roost among the reeds and rushes fringing the riverbank. Under the pretext of an extended tiger hunting expedition he had left his father’s court six weeks previously. For the last few days he had been anxiously scanning the landscape for approaching groups of horsemen, hoping for the return of Suleiman Beg from his clandestine mission to the east but a part of him fearing that any riders who appeared might be Abul Fazl’s men coming to arrest him having discovered his plotting.

Just after noon that day, a group of horsemen had appeared. As they drew closer, emerging from the shimmering heat haze, he had seen there were too few to be an arresting party. To Salim’s great relief, it had been Suleiman Beg. However, he had been so exhausted by long days in the saddle that after reassuring Salim in the broadest terms of his mission’s success he had requested permission to sleep. The two had agreed to discuss the results in more detail as they ate together that night. Behind him in the tent Salim could hear his attendants beginning to make preparations for the meal.

Shading his eyes against the setting sun, he saw Suleiman Beg making his way towards him and stepped forward to greet him. The two men embraced and then, arms round each other’s shoulders, ducked beneath the tent’s fringed green awning and entered.

Here, a low table surrounded by silk-covered bolsters and cushions was spread with an array of foods — chicken and lamb cooked in the tandoor, stew made in the Kashmiri way with dried fruits, mild spices and yoghourt stirred into the sauce, hotter vegetable dishes made according to Gujarati recipes and fish from the Chambal. As they began to eat, dipping into the stews with pieces of nan bread, Salim dismissed the servants and spoke.

‘Tell me about your discussions. How many officers can we count on in the eastern provinces?’

‘Perhaps two hundred. Each new recruit suggested others who might be sympathetic to our cause. They are mostly as we expected — young men like ourselves, eager for responsibility as well as for the rewards I promised them on your behalf. But there are also some older ones disappointed by their lack of advancement or critical of the tolerance your father shows towards former enemies and those of other religions.’

‘How many men do they command in total?’

‘Around thirty thousand.’

‘That should be enough to demonstrate to my father that I must be taken seriously and given more power.’

‘Many were convinced to join us because this is your motivation, not full-scale rebellion and the usurpation of your father’s throne. It reassured them that at some stage you would negotiate.’

‘Then they must continue to believe so.’

‘What do you mean? That is your intention, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. . yes, I suppose it is. Although sometimes I indulge myself by thinking that if all went very well I might force my father’s abdication now rather than wait for his death.’

‘Guard against such thoughts. Your father’s forces are powerful. We will have enough men to show your mettle and your worthiness for a greater role in government affairs, but never enough to succeed in a full revolt. If you tried to do so, some of our existing supporters would fall away.’

‘My father is loved by the people, I know. It sometimes seems to me that he understands them better and cares more about their happiness than he does for many of those closer to him. I will doubtless negotiate. I was only suggesting we should not rule anything out while we see how the situation develops.’

‘When should we take the next step? We shouldn’t wait long. Abul Fazl’s spies are everywhere. He has subtle ways of coaxing secrets from men and changing their loyalties.’

‘Allow me to worry about Abul Fazl. He is only human, after all. But we won’t delay. I’ve already sent messages to people I know to be loyal to me in Agra and Lahore to join me here within a month. When you’re rested and we’ve discussed our plans in more detail you should return east and collect our forces there. Once I have assembled my own men, I’ll ride with them to meet you at Allahabad. Its position at the junction of the Jumna and the Ganges will mean my father will be unable to ignore us if we make that our base.’

Salim held up his hand to halt his column. The messenger he had sent to Nasser Hamid, commander of the garrison of Allahabad, now only four miles away, its domes and towers clearly visible, was galloping back towards them. As the young man reined in there was a broad smile on his face. ‘Highness, Nasser Hamid has thrown open the town to you. He bids you welcome.’

Salim’s shoulders dropped and he began to relax for the first time in weeks. Nasser Hamid was a friend from his youth and in secret correspondence had promised to yield Allahabad to Salim. Nevertheless, as he had ridden towards the city that morning, Salim had felt apprehensive. Everything seemed to be going almost too well. Since parting from Suleiman Beg he had succeeded in winning young officers from both Lahore and Agra to his cause. Just seven weeks ago, scarcely pausing in a conversation with Abul Fazl, Akbar had nodded his assent to his eldest son’s request to leave the court and Lahore on another hunting expedition. The next day Salim had ridden out with a band of his followers on his mission to demand his father’s attention and to prove his worth, as he put it to himself, although he knew others would simply call it rebellion.

As he rode he wondered whether and in what circumstances he would see Akbar again. Of more concern than the impact of his action on his father had been the fact that he could bring neither his wives nor his children with him. He felt far from close enough to any of his wives to take them into his confidence — besides, the haram was notorious for its loose talk. His young sons spent so much of their time with their grandfather that their departure with him would be too unusual to pass without notice. Perhaps his greatest sorrow, though, was that he had been unable to say anything to his grandmother who had worked so hard for his recall from Kabul. He knew how much it would hurt her that he was challenging his father and in such a way. She loved them both and would fear for them both, dreading their confrontation turning into all-out war. At present, however, there was no sign of that. His scouts had reported no traces of pursuit, and when a division of his father’s horsemen on a routine patrol had approached, both their commander and Salim had sheered away, making sure they gave each other a wide berth. As he had ridden day after day with his growing army, Salim had begun to enjoy command and the freedom he felt from interference by his father or anyone else. He knew this would not last for ever and he would need all his abilities to secure the best outcome for himself and also, he reminded himself, for the dynasty.

Suleiman Beg had sent messengers that he and the contingent from Bengal would reach Allahabad in a fortnight. He would be glad to see his milk-brother, not just for the strong body of men he was bringing but also for his friendship, his calm, considered advice and his absolute loyalty. But for the moment he must ensure he made a good entrance into Allahabad to impress its citizens and to reinforce the confidence of his own men.

‘Unfurl our banners,’ he commanded, sitting straighter in the saddle. ‘Order the mounted trumpeters to the front together with the elephants carrying the kettledrums and their drummers. Have our men close ranks, then sound the trumpets, beat the drums, and let us advance into Allahabad.’

‘Highness, an envoy has arrived from Bir Singh, the Bundela Raja of Orchha,’ announced an attendant as, three months later, Salim and Suleiman Beg were standing on the tall crenellated walls of the fort at Allahabad watching Salim’s cavalry drilling on the parade ground below. Nearby on the banks of the Jumna were the long, straight lines of tents which housed the fifty thousand men who by now had gathered to his banner, more than half as many again as he had originally anticipated.

‘I will see him at once. Bring him to me here on the walls.’

Five minutes later a tall, thin man with large gold hoops in both ears climbed the stone staircase up to the battlements. His clothes were travel-stained, and in one hand he was carrying a jute sack around which several black flies were buzzing. When he was within a dozen feet of Salim the man placed the sack on the floor and prostrated himself.

‘What news has the raja for me?’

Quickly regaining his feet, the envoy grinned, exposing uneven white teeth beneath his bushy dark moustache. ‘News that will gladden your heart, Highness.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Bir Singh has fulfilled your wishes.’ While he spoke, the man lifted the sack once more and unpicked the series of tight knots in the cord holding it together. As he opened its folds, a sweet, sickly smell filled the still air. Then he reached inside and pulled out by the hair a decaying human head. Despite the bloated putrescent flesh, the purple splitting lips and the dry clotted blood, Salim immediately recognised the fleshy cheeks and long nose of Abul Fazl. A pale and shocked Suleiman Beg was gazing at the head, clutching his stomach as if about to vomit.

But a composed and unsurprised Salim simply said, ‘The raja has done well to follow my orders. Both he and you shall have your promised rewards doubled.’ Then he turned towards Suleiman Beg. ‘I did not tell you in advance of my plans, Suleiman Beg, for your own protection so you would not be implicated if I was betrayed. Abul Fazl’s death was necessary. He was my enemy.’ He turned back to the envoy. ‘Tell me how Abul Fazl perished.’

‘When you alerted the raja that you expected Abul Fazl to travel through his territory while returning north to Agra from an inspection of the imperial armies fighting on the borders of the Deccan, he had the only two roads that he could use to traverse our mountainous lands carefully watched. About a month ago, he heard that Abul Fazl was approaching the westernmost one with an escort of about fifty men. Our forces — I was among them — ambushed his party as he ascended a steep and narrow pass late one afternoon. Our musketeers, hidden among boulders above the road, shot down many of Abul Fazl’s bodyguards before they could even draw their weapons. However, Abul Fazl and about a dozen of his men succeeded in dismounting unhurt and took refuge in some rocks and bushes close to the road. From that cover they kept up accurate fire on any of our soldiers who approached, wounding several. Among them was one of my own brothers, who was hit in the mouth by a bullet which carried away most of his teeth and part of his jawbone. He still lives, unable to speak or to eat properly, but for his sake I pray that his death is not much longer delayed.’

After pausing, sad-eyed for a moment, the envoy continued, ‘When the raja saw that Abul Fazl was completely surrounded, he sent a messenger under a flag of truce with a promise that if Abul Fazl surrendered he would spare his few surviving men. A few minutes later, Abul Fazl emerged from the scrub and throwing down his sword calmly approached the raja. His face was expressionless as he spoke. “I will not run from an unwashed, flea-ridden hill chieftain such as you. Do with me what you will but remember whom I serve.”

‘Enraged by his contemptuous words, the raja ran forward, drawing his serrated dagger from the scabbard at his side as he did so. He seized Abul Fazl, who did not resist, by the throat and sawed through his fat neck with his dagger. I have seen many men killed but I have never seen so much blood flow from a man as came from Abul Fazl. Then the raja had all of Abul Fazl’s bodyguard who were still alive killed, whether wounded or not, and ordered all the bodies to be buried deep enough to be unreachable by the digging of even the most persistent of wild dogs.’

‘Why didn’t he keep his promise to spare the bodyguards?’ asked Suleiman Beg.

‘He could not afford to do so for fear they took word of his deed to the emperor. He knew that Akbar’s love for Abul Fazl would mean that his vengeance on his killer, if known, would be harsh.’

‘It was necessary, Suleiman Beg,’ said Salim. ‘To achieve great ends we must sometimes use harsh means — may the souls of the brave bodyguards rest in Paradise. Their only sin was to serve an evil man. Abul Fazl was constantly poisoning my father’s mind against me, whispering to him of my drunkenness and my ambition, advising him to appoint his own creatures — not me or my friends — to positions of trust. Even my grandmother told me to beware of him — that he was no friend of mine. I hated him. His sneering complacent smile’ — Salim’s voice was rising — ‘his scarcely concealed contempt. . there were so many times I wanted to push back down his throat the patronising, hypocritical words he spoke to me before my father.’

Rage at the recollection of Abul Fazl’s behaviour coursed through Salim. Suddenly he grabbed the head and in one movement kicked it over the battlements. A piece of decaying flesh flew from it as his foot struck it and the head landed with a dull thud in the rubbish-filled dry moat below. ‘Good riddance to a bad man! Let the dogs gnaw out that lying flattering tongue of his and the crows peck at those fawning inquisitive eyes.’

That evening Salim and Suleiman Beg were relaxing in Salim’s private apartments in the fort. Although his abstinence from opium was now complete Salim had taken to drinking wine once more. It tasted good and he had convinced himself that he was now strong enough to be its master rather than it being his. Just after an attendant had departed after bringing them another bottle, Suleiman Beg asked, ‘Don’t you fear your father’s retribution for Abul Fazl’s death? Why did you provoke him so, knowing as you must that he could crush our forces if he wished to?’

‘I realise his armies are strong and loyal but he has not moved against us in the months we have been here. He has preferred to ignore my rebellion beyond issuing proclamations dismissing me as a foolish ungrateful child and threatening confiscation of the property of any who join me. Instead, he has concentrated his main armies in the Deccan to quell the rebellions on the borders of the empire. I don’t expect him to change his mind and attack us now.’

‘Why? Abul Fazl was his friend as well as his counsellor.’

‘And I am his son. He knows he must think about the future of our dynasty. When Murad died — almost a year ago now — and with his grandsons still too young, he must have recognised that if it was to survive he has only drunken Daniyal or myself to choose from for his heir. He may have his doubts about me, but he must know he has little real choice about his successor. Now I’ve demonstrated to him by the death of Abul Fazl that I can act decisively and be as ruthless with my implacable enemies as he was with Hemu, Adham Khan and other traitors, he will be unable to continue to ignore me, I agree. Instead of feeling he must divert his armies from his unfinished southern campaign, I expect him to seek to conciliate me.’

‘I pray for all our sakes that you’ve read your father aright.’

‘Your grandmother’s caravan is no more than two miles away,’ one of Salim’s qorchis announced. Ever since her steward, the stout middle-aged Badakhshani who a few years ago had replaced the white-haired old man Salim had known all his life, had ridden through the gateway into the fortress of Allahabad the day before, Salim had been nervously awaiting Hamida’s arrival. After a few hours’ broken sleep, he had been pacing his apartments since dawn, steeling himself not to call for spirits or opium to calm his racing mind. He would be glad to see his grandmother, which he hadn’t done since he departed from his father’s court many months ago at the beginning of his bid to establish his own authority. Despite his marriages and his love for his mercurial, strong-minded mother, Hamida remained the woman he felt the greatest affection for. He had always been able to rely on her calm sympathy and sound common sense, knowing that she was motivated only by love and affection for him. However, would she understand why he had felt compelled to raise troops against his father? Had his father sent her to him? Had she come on her own initiative? Surely she must bring a message from Akbar, but what would it be? He felt much more uncertain of his father’s reaction than he had claimed to Suleiman Beg when first hearing of Abul Fazl’s death. Soon he would find out for sure.

‘Thank you. I’ll come to the courtyard immediately to welcome her to Allahabad myself.’

Salim had only been standing for a few minutes beneath the green awning in the sunlit courtyard, which had been strewn with fragrant rose petals on his orders, when he saw through the open metal-bound gates the leading outriders of his grandmother’s procession approach. Then, to the blaring of trumpets and the beating of kettledrums from the gatehouse, the large elephant bearing Hamida slowly entered, the fringes of its long embroidered surcoat — its jhool — brushing through the rose petals. The interior of the gilded and jewelled howdah was carefully screened from sun and prying eyes by thin cream gauze curtains.

As soon as the mahout had brought the elephant gently down on to its knees, Salim ordered all the male attendants and guards to depart. Then he walked slowly towards the howdah, mounted the small portable platform that had been placed next to it to assist its elderly occupant to descend and opened the gauze curtains. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside, he made out the familiar figure of his grandmother. Although she was now in her seventies, she was sitting as straight-backed as he remembered. Opposite her, head bowed respectfully, was one of her favourite attendants, Zubaida, his old nursemaid whom he had rescued from the ravine in Kashmir. Salim leaned forward and kissed Hamida on the forehead.

‘You are most welcome to my fortress in Allahabad, Grandmother,’ he said, realising as he spoke how awkward, formal and even assertive he sounded.

‘I’m pleased to be here. You’ve been away from your proper place at the heart of our family for far too long.’ Then, perhaps seeing the hardening expression on Salim’s face and anticipating a tirade of exculpation, Hamida continued, ‘We’ll talk about that later. Now help me and Zubaida to descend.’

Towards dusk that evening, Salim walked slowly over to the women’s section of the fortress where he had had the best rooms — those on the highest storey overlooking the Ganges — prepared for his grandmother’s use. Claiming that she was tired after the journey and needed to wash and refresh herself and then to rest, Hamida had insisted they should not meet again until the heat of the day was dying. This had left Salim yet more time to brood on what message his grandmother might have and to try to interpret the few words they had exchanged. He had even wondered whether Hamida had brought Zubaida, now at least eighty, bent and totally white-haired, with her to remind him both of his childhood and of the times in Kashmir when he was closest to Akbar. Eventually he had abandoned such speculations as futile and filled the time first by practising swordplay with Suleiman Beg and then by luxuriating in the fort’s bathhouse.

Entering the cool dark staircase leading to the top floor of the women’s quarters, Salim increased his pace, once more eager to see his grandmother and hear any message she brought. As he parted the silken hangings leading into her room he saw that Hamida, neatly but not ostentatiously dressed in purple silk, was sitting on a low chair while Zubaida put the finishing touches to her still thick hair by inserting clasps set with amethysts. Seeing her grandson, Hamida asked Zubaida to leave, which she did, bowing to Salim as she went.

‘Sit down on that stool, Salim, where I can see you,’ said Hamida. He did so despite the pulsing tension within him which meant that he would have been far happier being free to roam the apartment. Without any more preliminaries Hamida began, her voice as soft and authoritative as he remembered.

‘For the sake of the dynasty there must be no more posturing and parading of armies. You and your father must be reconciled and join together in defeating our real enemies and expanding our empire.’

‘I have never intended to harm the family. I respect our lineage and the deeds of our ancestors too much. I want the empire to prosper and grow, but my father refuses to understand my desire to assist him by sharing in the imperial duties. Instead he misinterprets my actions as threats to his authority.’

‘Easy enough for him to do so when you have had his chief counsellor and one of his best friends murdered.’

‘I. .’

‘Don’t deny it, Salim. Honesty has always been something we’ve shared.’

‘Abul Fazl saw me as a threat to his influence and powers of patronage. I have long since despised his smooth hypocrisy and scarcely concealed corruption. His death can mark a new beginning in how the court is run.’

‘And indeed perhaps in your relationship with your father. But have you got the insight to put yourself in your father’s place and appreciate how much Abul Fazl’s death hurt him? I think not, given all that’s passed between you, so I will tell you. Imagine how you would feel if your father had Suleiman Beg murdered. After the treachery of his own milk-brother and milk-mother your father never trusted anyone fully again. I even think that their betrayal may lie behind his refusal to delegate real power to you and your half-brothers. However, over time he did begin to rely on Abul Fazl. Think then how he felt when he learned of his murder on the orders of someone else he should have been able to trust — yourself.

‘Your father heard the news when he was visiting the imperial pigeon cotes, testing the speed and homing ability of some of his favourite birds. He almost collapsed and had to be helped weeping to his apartments where he remained alone for two days, refusing to see anyone or eat anything. When he emerged, red-eyed, dishevelled and unshaven, he ordered a week’s court mourning for Abul Fazl. Then he went straight to reproach your mother with giving birth to such an undutiful son. She simply told him that she was glad you had a mind of your own to stand up to him.’

Salim smiled as he pictured the meeting between the two.

‘Your father’s grief is not a cause for amusement,’ Hamida continued sternly. ‘When I visited him, he broke down into tears again. He said, “I know Salim was behind this. What have I — his father — done to deserve such treatment from him? My people and my courtiers love me and respect me. Why cannot my eldest son do the same?” I tried to explain that you were still young and as such more alive to your ambitions and your need for experience than to the feelings of others. But I told him that even so, he had been harder and less sensitive and forgiving in his handling of you than of some of his nobles. I reminded him his own father had died before there could be any conflict of ambitions and that in the early years of his rule he had been impatient and resentful of all restraint and advice. He acknowledged this only grudgingly at first. However, after more discussions over the succeeding days, in which I appealed to him to show to you the magnanimity and wisdom he is renowned for across the empire, he agreed to my coming here to see if you could be reconciled.’

‘I am truly glad you did, but is it really in my father’s character to allow me the power I crave? Isn’t he more like the male tiger who consumes his own young if they should seem to threaten his authority?’

‘And what about you, Salim? Can’t you admit that you have been foolish and headstrong at times? You were the one to behave like a young male animal when you made love to his concubine Anarkali.’

‘I was thoughtless. . I had no concern for the consequences of my lust, only for the lust itself. I admit I was wrong. . I cost Anarkali her life, and yes, on that occasion I strained my father’s patience.’

‘That is an understatement. Your father is a great man, as powerful a warrior as his ancestors Timur and Genghis Khan and a more tolerant, wiser ruler than either. I know that the parents and the children of great men often view them differently from others. However, you showed him no respect as a parent, as a man or as an emperor. You undermined the dignity that is so important to his position. A less forgiving man — one less understanding of his son’s youthful lust — would have had you executed like Anarkali.’

‘I know that, and I am grateful. But many other times my father has slighted me and caused me to lose face before the whole court by his dismissive treatment of me.’

‘You brought him pain through your inability to control your other appetites — not just your lust. Like your half-brothers you’ve staggered around the court helplessly drunk or glassy-faced with opium. Your father is a proud man and very conscious of his imperial dignity. He feels your behaviour has humiliated him as well as you in the eyes of the court.’

‘But I’ve attempted to reform my habits, unlike Daniyal — or Murad when he was alive.’

‘And your father gives you credit for it.’

‘Does he? And what about Abul Fazl?’

‘He thinks you tried to punish him by killing his best friend but he insists he will set the ties of blood above those of friendship — and I believe he will try. Indeed, he knows he must do so. With Murad dead and Daniyal still soaked in alcohol, you and in due course your sons must be the future of the dynasty.’

A wave of relief swept through Salim. He had been right in his analysis of his father. ‘So he recognises that he needs me?’

‘Yes, and you should recognise that you need him more. He could crush your little rebellion if he wanted to. Even if he simply publicly disowned and disinherited you, you would find it difficult to retain your authority or your followers. You do understand that, don’t you?’

Salim said nothing. His grandmother was right. His own position was not as strong as he liked to pretend. His plan to force his father’s hand to give him power was going nowhere. The treasury of Allahabad was emptying fast. He would need to find more money soon if his forces were not to begin to melt away. He was isolated from the court and the nobles there, many of whom he would have to win over if he were to succeed his father. He wished to see his sons, who would have heard only their grandfather’s views about his rebellion. Most important, he knew that latterly at least there had been faults on both sides in his arguments with his father. But it hurt his pride to admit it. Finally he simply said, ‘Yes.’

‘And you agree to be reconciled?’

‘Yes. . provided that I am not humiliated in the process.’

‘You will not be. I give you my word. Your father has agreed to allow me the responsibility of organising the ceremony before the court.’

‘Then I am content.’

‘When the trumpets sound you will enter the durbar hall through the right-hand door,’ said Hamida. Salim had accompanied her back from Allahabad to within a day’s ride from Agra, which his father had recently restored as his capital. Then he had encamped while Hamida had gone on alone to the Agra fort to tell Akbar of his son’s agreement to their reconciliation and to put in hand the detailed arrangements for the ceremony.

‘And you are sure that everyone will act according to your guidance?’

‘Yes. Just as I am sure that you will. Now ready yourself. I must take my place behind the jali screen.’ With a final reassuring smile and a pat on his shoulder, Hamida left the room. He had only time to look at himself briefly in the mirror and adjust the knotting of his green silk sash before the trumpets sounded. Heart thumping, he made his way towards the doors which two tall green-turbaned guards threw open for him. As he entered, he saw his father seated on his high-backed gilded throne, surrounded by his courtiers. He was dressed completely in scarlet brocade, save for his white sash and his white ceremonial turban with its two peacock’s feathers held in place by four large rubies. His grandfather’s sword Alamgir was at his side, and as Salim came nearer he saw that his father was wearing their ancestor Timur’s ring with its snarling tiger.

When Salim was within a few feet of his father and preparing to make his low obeisance, Akbar suddenly rose and stepped down from his throne to embrace him. After some moments, he released him and turned to his courtiers.

‘I call upon you to witness that my beloved elder son and I are reconciled. All our past disagreements are forgotten. See, I present him with this my ceremonial turban as a token of our reunion. Henceforth whoever acts against one of us will need to fear both.’ As he spoke, Akbar removed his turban and placed it on his son’s head.

Tears welled in Salim’s eyes. ‘I promise to honour you in all ways and to be loyal in my obedience to your every command.’

However, a quarter of an hour later, as Salim left the audience chamber, some of the euphoria had already begun to dissipate within him. Had his father’s embrace been any more than an empty piece of theatre? Could he recall any warmth in Akbar’s tone of voice or facial expression as he had gone on to recount the initial duties, none of great significance, which Salim would be required to perform on his behalf? Would it all really be so simple?