The Serpent's tooth

Chapter 17

Nicholas Ballantyne turned restlessly on the straw mattress on which he had been trying to snatch a few hours’ sleep and slapped at one of the many mosquitoes whining around him. In just three days the Juno would sail from Surat for Bristol, her hold packed with calicos, silks and indigo to add to the fat profits of the English East India Company. He would also be aboard. He’d negotiated a good price for his passage with the Juno’s burly red-faced captain but there was little pleasure in the prospect of the long and hazardous voyage round the Cape of Good Hope and a return to the country which, the more he’d thought about it, was scarcely any longer home.

Abandoning thoughts of sleep as pointless, Nicholas got up. Though dawn was barely an hour away heat still radiated from the mud-brick walls of the small, bare ground floor room of the inn and his near-naked body felt damp with perspiration. Going out into the courtyard he drew a bucket of water from the well and poured it over himself. Then, shaking himself like a dog, he went to sit beneath the spreading branches of a neem tree near a string charpoy on which an old man — supposedly the nightwatchman — was fast asleep. At least he need no longer worry about Princess Jahanara. The short letter that had caught up with him the day before had put his mind at rest, extinguishing any guilt he’d felt at fleeing Agra.

Jahanara was strong. She had learned to be, even in childhood when her family had fled from Jahangir. All the same, the thought of her standing accused of imaginary crimes had troubled him deeply, especially if the rumours circulating among the merchants in Surat were true. But could the emperor’s younger sons really be in revolt? Jahanara’s letter had said nothing explicitly, but she had mentioned her relief at being able again to be at her father’s side with Dara, whatever fate held in store for them. Could this be an oblique reference designed not to alarm him on his voyage? Probably not. Far more likely Dara’s brothers were just posturing. In this vast land, despite the imperial trunk roads and teams of post riders, news took time to travel. It often became distorted along the way and there were always credulous fools to be taken in.

Nicholas had risen to go inside when he heard a barrage of crashes and felt the ground shake. After a minute or two the noise began again, and this time didn’t cease. It could only be cannon fire. Was Surat under attack? By the direction of the sound cannon were pounding the city from the landward side. From nearby streets came shouts of alarm. Nicholas hurried back into his room, hastily pulled on his shirt, breeches and boots and ran into the alley outside to find it already full of people — English merchants, some in their night clothes, some clutching their cash boxes; Indian clerks and shopkeepers. They must be making for the protection of the fort. The square, thick-walled tower lay about a quarter of a mile away on the tip of a promontory. The East India Company stored its treasure there in deep underground vaults and it was well fortified and guarded by a regiment of Company soldiers sent out from England. In case of serious trouble the Company also kept several ships well equipped with cannon riding at anchor beneath its walls.

And trouble, it seemed, had definitely arrived … Pressing himself into a doorway to allow the tide of humanity to sweep past, he looked back over their heads towards the city walls and sure enough in the pale light of dawn saw billowing columns of dust and smoke. Suddenly he caught sight of a young merchant he knew slightly, clutching a leather-bound ledger to his chest as he ran towards him. ‘John, what’s happening?’ Nicholas yelled above the confusion. When the young man didn’t appear to hear him Nicholas reached out a muscular arm and yanked him over as he passed. ‘It’s me, Nicholas. Do you know what’s going on? Is it dacoits?’ But even as he posed the question Nicholas knew it couldn’t be. They might lurk outside the city to prey on caravan trains but where would they get large cannon?

‘Someone said Prince Murad has hired Turkish mercenaries to attack Surat.’

‘But he’s the Governor of Gujarat! Why is he assaulting its richest city — the one that pays him most in taxes?’ The young merchant was trying to twist from his grip and Nicholas saw his pale eyes turn towards the stream of people who in their eagerness to get away from the danger and into the fort were now pushing and shoving each other as they ran.

‘Because the prince asked the Company for a huge loan and the local board of directors refused him,’ the young man gasped, feeling Nicholas’s hold on him tighten.

‘So now he’s decided to help himself …’ Nicholas released his grip and the merchant dashed away to be swallowed up in the crowd. Nicholas stayed where he was. Should he too take sanctuary in the fort? He was no longer a Moghul commander with troops to deploy but a foreigner caught in the middle of someone else’s problems on the eve of his return home. His first duty was to himself. Or was it? If Murad had indeed launched an attack on Surat this was anarchy. Shah Jahan would never have sanctioned such a thing, in which case the rumours must be true: the emperor’s sons — or Murad at least — had indeed risen against their father.

Stepping out of the doorway, Nicholas barged his way through the jumbled mass of frightened people and back into the inn from which everyone else seemed to have fled. The string charpoy was empty and the only sign of life was a pale-furred dog that had taken refuge beneath the bed where it lay, head between its front paws, whimpering in fear as the bombardment continued. Running into his room Nicholas grabbed his two saddlebags from beneath the straw mattress. They were not heavy — so much for his many years’ service in Hindustan — but he still owed something to this land and he knew where he must go.

There had been so little time to organise the imperial armies but delay was not an option, Shah Jahan reflected as he prepared to address his council once more. Like him, his counsellors were growing old. Barely a man under fifty. Not for the first time since the crisis had broken three weeks ago he regretted Dara’s lack of military experience. He had wanted to keep his eldest son by his side, content, as in truth Dara had been also, for his younger brothers to go off on campaign, never for a moment thinking it was giving them the chance to develop skills they would one day turn against himself and Dara on the battlefield.

‘My loyal counsellors, the latest reports I have through scouts and post riders are that Shah Shuja’s forces are still advancing westward along the Ganges, making slow but steady progress,’ he began. ‘I have sent orders to those whose lands lie in his path to do all they can to obstruct him and deny him supplies, but I must meet force with force. Therefore I am despatching an army against Shah Shuja. My grandson, Dara’s son Suleiman, will lead it, with you, Raja Jai Singh of Amber, as his adviser. Your force will consist of twenty thousand horsemen and five thousand foot soldiers. You and my grandson will be reinforced as you travel down the Ganges by my Afghan general Dilir Khan and his men.’

‘Is Shah Shuja to be taken alive?’ asked the raja.

‘Yes. I want to avoid shedding my sons’ blood. I wish him brought before me to answer for his crimes.’

‘Is there any news of your other two sons, Majesty?’ asked the Uzbek Khalilullah Khan, whose scarred face testified to his hard and loyal fighting at the side of Aurangzeb against his fellow countrymen in his northern campaign.

‘The information on Murad is still patchy and vague. Some reports state that he has proclaimed himself emperor in Gujarat — that the khutba has been read in his name in the mosques and he has ordered coins to be struck to mark the start of his reign — others that he has murdered his revenue minister — Ali Naqi, a man who was always loyal to me — for protesting against his treasonous acts. They say Murad himself ran him through with a sword. There are also rumours that Murad plans to attack and loot Surat and then, when he has filled his war chest, to march from his capital at Ahmadabad to rendezvous with Aurangzeb as he moves up from the Deccan. Murad has apparently sent his women and children to safety in the fortress of Champanir, which means he anticipates a long campaign.’

‘Surely if Prince Murad has already crowned himself emperor, he intends to fight Prince Aurangzeb, not join forces with him?’ asked Raja Jaswant Singh of Marwar, running a finger along the hilt of the dagger hanging in its jewelled scabbard from a gold chain round his waist.

‘I think not. Our scouts intercepted one of Aurangzeb’s messengers riding north to Ahmadabad. He was carrying a letter bearing Aurangzeb’s seal and addressed to Murad. Listen to what it says.’ Shah Jahan motioned to an attendant to hand him the document. ‘Our scheme for seizing the throne is now under way. Together we will trample the idolaters and infidels who bring shame upon the name of Islam and Moghul alike and enforce the word of the one God in this sinful country. You, my dear brother, have joined me in this great enterprise and I hereby reaffirm my promise to you that when we have prevailed — as we will, for our cause is just — your reward will be the provinces of Punjab, Afghanistan, Kashmir and Sind to govern without let or hindrance as your own, let God be my witness. When we meet, as we are pledged to do before reaching Agra, we will debate further about how we will bring these glorious things to pass and send our enemies to perdition.’ It may be a forgery, intended deliberately to fall into my hands and to mislead me. Aurangzeb is devious enough for that. But I think it’s genuine. Aurangzeb is playing to Murad’s conceit and vanity. He knows that Murad is much closer to Agra than he is and I suspect the reason he is insistent on their joining forces before reaching here is to avoid Murad’s arriving before him and thus seizing some kind of advantage militarily or politically. What Aurangzeb’s intentions are towards Shah Shuja I can only guess. But one thing I’m absolutely certain of — we must prevent either Aurangzeb or Murad from reaching Agra. I therefore intend to despatch another army south under you, Raja Jaswant Singh, to seek them out and confront them, either singly or together. God and right are on our side — not theirs.’

Shah Jahan sat down and for a moment closed his eyes. Dara knew that he was exhausted. Despite his continuing weakness he had sat up through much of the night with himself, Suleiman, Jai Singh, Jaswant Singh and his other commanders, studying maps and discussing logistics — how many troops were ready to move, how long it would take to muster further units, how many cannon he had, how many war elephants there were in the imperial stables and how many more could be provided by his Rajput allies. Only a few weeks ago Shah Jahan had been on his sickbed but now, even if it was draining any reserves of strength remaining in his frail body, his steely determination was inspiring confidence in others. Dara could see it in the counsellors’ faces. He felt it in himself.

He rose to his feet and raised his arms. ‘Long live my father, the emperor. Zinderbad Padishah Shah Jahan!’ As the council’s spirited response echoed around him, his own spirits rose further. As his father had said, their cause was just.

‘Father, Raja Jai Singh is here.’ Dara’s voice broke into Shah Jahan’s slumber. Despite his recovery, he sometimes dozed after his midday meal — itself a much less sumptuous affair than when he had been in his prime. Just some chicken baked in the tandoor and a little saffron rice. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Shah Jahan sat up on the gold brocade couch on which he had been lying, his mind quickly focusing. In recent weeks he’d received few reports of the progress of Suleiman’s army. ‘What’s Jai Singh’s news? Why has he come in person?’

‘I don’t know yet. I’ve not seen him. I was in the haram resting with Nadira when an attendant told me of his arrival. I thought you and I should hear his report together. I’ve sent word that he should join us in your private audience chamber in a quarter of an hour.’

In fact it was only ten minutes before a qorchi announced the ruler of Amber to the imperial father and son. As the raja entered he looked as urbane and well groomed as ever, his luxuriant moustaches faultlessly curled and pomaded, his cream robe spotless. Despite the best efforts of attendants in an adjacent chamber pulling the strings of a great punka of peacock’s feathers so that it swayed back and forth like a giant butterfly’s wing above the emperor’s head, the audience chamber was hot and airless, but Jai Singh wasn’t even perspiring.

Anxious and unable to read from the raja’s face what his news was, Dara in an unaccustomed breach of protocol spoke before his father. ‘Is your news good or bad, Jai Singh?’

Slightly taken aback, the raja responded, ‘A mixture, Highness.’

‘Well then, Dara,’ said Shah Jahan, ‘Jai Singh must let me have his report of events in the order they happened so that I can judge them for myself.’

‘I will, Majesty.’ The raja bowed, recognising in Shah Jahan’s words an implicit rebuke to his over-eager son. ‘We made swift progress in our flotilla of barges down first the Jumna and then the Ganges, pausing only occasionally to exercise the horses and at Allahabad to take on more weapons and stores and to rendezvous with Dilir Khan. It took us less than a month to cover five hundred miles before — acting on information brought to us by a local vassal who had himself rowed from his riverside fort to intercept us — your grandson gave the order to disembark near Varanasi. In doing so, he followed the advice of myself and Dilir Khan, as he did in leaving some of the heavy equipment behind and setting out immediately to intercept Shah Shuja and his men, who the vassal had told us were moving west, parallel to the north bank of the river about twelve miles inland.

‘During the late evening of the next day, some of our scouts returned to camp. They had been sweeping well ahead of our main body when they saw at a distance what looked like campfires burning. Dismounting and creeping closer they found Shah Shuja’s camp quiet and scarcely a sentry posted. Hearing their report, we agreed in a war council to break camp just after midnight and attack Shah Shuja’s army at dawn as they prepared for the day ahead. Mindful of your strictures not to shed the blood of your family, Prince Suleiman ordered us to avoid firing on what looked like command positions and to seek to capture rather than kill Shah Shuja.

‘All went well until we were pushing through some scrubland less than a mile or so from Shah Shuja’s camp. An agonised scream tore the air and our leading scout suddenly pitched from his saddle. His terrified mount galloped back towards us, reins dangling. For a moment we thought an unseen sentry had killed the scout but then, as the horse got closer, we saw great bleeding slashes on its rump as it pushed its way into and through our ranks, unsettling our own horses, followed by a great male tiger. He was the cause of the wounds and the scout’s scream — not an enemy attack. On seeing our numbers the tiger veered away back into the night. However, the hubbub had roused the few sentries Shah Shuja had posted. They began to yell warnings.

‘We immediately dug our heels into our horses’ flanks and charged for the camp, levelling our lances and drawing our swords as we went. We were scarcely a hundred yards away from the nearest tents when a few ragged musket volleys crackled out and one of my qorchis tumbled from his horse. Then we were among the tents, slashing at the guy ropes with our swords to collapse them on to the occupants and thrusting into them with our lances. Soon the fabric of the tents was stained with blood and wounded men were struggling from beneath it to surrender. Within what could have been no more than a quarter of an hour, we had penetrated right into the centre of the camp. Then I saw a large phalanx of horsemen gallop away and disappear into a clump of woodland to the east. I shouted to Prince Suleiman that Shah Shuja must be among them but he replied to let them go … that we could deal with him later. For the moment it was better to concentrate on the rout of the remainder of Shah Shuja’s forces and the seizure of the camp with all the valuable equipment it contained, including the magnificent war elephants he had never been able to deploy.’

‘Was it my son who fled? If not, what happened to him?’

‘I believe it was Shah Shuja, Majesty, but I can’t be sure. The group escaped. We did not capture Shah Shuja anywhere else — nor was he among the dead or wounded,’ Jai Singh added hastily, seeing the look on Shah Jahan’s face.

‘But surely this is all good news? Under your guidance Suleiman has defeated Shah Shuja.’

‘Yes, Majesty, but what happened next is the bad news.’

‘Do you mean Shah Shuja’s forces regrouped and attacked you?’

‘No, Majesty, it’s not that — simply that your grandson insisted that our forces follow the remnants of Shah Shuja’s army, at least half of whom escaped one way or the other and were, we soon discovered, fleeing east towards Patna. Dilir Khan and I argued hard that Shah Shuja was already spent as a contender for your throne and that Aurangzeb and Murad who, as far as we knew, were undefeated, now posed a far greater threat. We wanted to lead our troops, whom we considered the very cream of your army, back west where they were most needed. Prince Suleiman just would not agree and as our commander we had to obey him. The most I could achieve was his permission to return to Agra with my personal retainers and bodyguard to report back to you while Dilir Khan stayed with him as his counsellor.’

‘Have you heard any more from Suleiman’s forces?’

‘Yes, only yesterday. A hard-riding cossid reached me from Dilir Khan. He and Suleiman are a hundred and twenty miles east of Varanasi, pursuing their adversaries into the jungles and marshes of Bengal.’

Shah Jahan frowned. Jai Singh was right: the news was mixed. Shah Shuja had been routed but Suleiman was behaving as if he were on a hunt rather than engaged in a deadly contest. All would be well if Jaswant Singh succeeded in defeating Aurangzeb and Murad, but if not Suleiman’s men would be needed. His reckless pursuit of Shah Shuja must stop. Shah Jahan would send orders at once recalling the prince to Agra.

The spring sunshine — warm but not overly fierce — felt good on his face. Shah Jahan was glad to be on horseback again as he urged his bay stallion into a gallop. It wasn’t long before the red sandstone gateway of Akbar’s great tomb at Sikandra loomed before him. Needing time and solitude to absorb the latest news, he had felt a sudden impulse to visit the final resting place of the grandfather who had taught him so much about the duties of an emperor. What would Akbar have said about the crisis now confronting his favourite grandson? Akbar himself had never faced such peril, perhaps because he had been a better ruler, more assiduous and astute in reading the mood of his empire …

As green-turbaned guards snapped to attention, Shah Jahan dismounted stiffly. Either through age or the aftermath of his illness — probably both — the ride had tested and tired his muscles and bones more than he had anticipated. Throwing his reins to a qorchi, he signalled his escort to remain outside and walked alone through the gateway. As he emerged into the gardens beyond, a monkey, taken by surprise, scampered off screeching and a trio of deer grazing beneath a plane tree raised their heads and looked towards him. But Shah Jahan’s eyes were on his grandfather’s tomb directly ahead at the end of a long raised sandstone path shaded by trees. The tomb was too solid for beauty but its bulk seemed to embody Akbar’s spirit. He had been a big and powerful man, physically and mentally, expanding his empire and placing it on foundations as firm and deep as those that supported his burial place. Slowly, Shah Jahan made his way down the path and reaching the end sat on one of two marble benches facing the tomb. He had come here to think but, exhausted by the ride and the shock of the day’s events, almost immediately his eyes began to close.

Footsteps on the sandstone paving woke him with a start. Standing, he turned to see someone walking quickly towards him but the shadows cast by the trees made it impossible to see who it was. Why had his bodyguards admitted anyone when he’d asked to be left alone? Instinctively his right hand went to the dagger at his belt. ‘Who are you? Who permitted you to intrude on my privacy?’ he called.

The newcomer paused. Shah Jahan saw golden hair — not as bright or as thick as it had once been but unmistakable all the same.

‘Approach.’ He waited as Nicholas Ballantyne came closer.

‘Majesty, forgive me for interrupting you. The captain of your guard knows me. When I told him I had urgent information for you, he allowed me to enter.’

Shah Jahan let his hand drop back to his side. Now that the Englishman was closer he could see that his face was gaunt and there were deep circles beneath his eyes. ‘My daughter wrote to you, I know, expressing my … regret at the … misunderstanding that caused you to leave Agra.’

‘Majesty, that’s not why I’ve ridden so hard to find you. I’ve something to tell you that cannot — must not — wait.’ Nicholas’s words tumbled out.

‘Speak, then.’

‘I was in Surat waiting to embark for England when the forces of your son Murad attacked the city. They smashed through the walls with their cannon and looted the East India Company’s treasury … From what I learned from those I met on the road from Surat, one of Murad’s generals led the assault. The prince himself was already riding south with an even larger force to rendezvous with Prince Aurangzeb … I knew I must bring you this news at once. I …’ Seeing Shah Jahan’s faint, sad smile, Nicholas tailed off.

‘I appreciate your coming, but I already knew about the attack on Surat. Even before the event I heard that Murad planned to seize the city and its treasuries but I had no troops to despatch who could arrive in time …’

‘I’m relieved you know, Majesty. My worry was that I’d be too late.’

‘And what action do you think I’ve taken?’

‘Sent an army to intercept Murad before he and his brother join forces?’

‘Quite right. In fact, I did it before I heard the definitive news about Surat. You look surprised, Nicholas. You don’t believe my rebellious sons’ claims that I’ve become too enfeebled to rule, do you?’

Seeing Nicholas’s hurt expression Shah Jahan softened his tone — after all, the Englishman had had no need to return to Agra rather than take ship for his homeland. ‘Matters have moved more quickly than you realise. You’ve come back to Agra in one of my darkest hours since the death of my empress. You thought you had important news to tell me — for which I thank you. But now let me tell you something … Only a few hours ago I learned that Aurangzeb and Murad had joined forces by the time Raja Jaswant Singh and the strong army I had sent to confront them caught up with them at Dharmat, not far from Ujjain. Jaswant Singh was misinformed — or perhaps deliberately misled — about the strength of his enemies’ artillery and ordered a frontal attack. As his Rajput horsemen galloped into battle over open ground, the rebel cannon cut them down. When the rebels followed their cannonade with a cavalry charge of their own, our troops broke under the impact and scattered, many — Jaswant Singh included — into the Rajasthani desert.’

‘Where are Aurangzeb and Murad now?’

‘I don’t know for certain. If I were them I’d be making for the Chambal river, the last obstacle between them and Agra. Naturally I’ve despatched scouts south to report to me the moment their forces appear.’

‘What will you do then, Majesty?’

‘The only thing I can — send my remaining troops to block their advance. Prince Dara must take the field for the honour and salvation of the empire — for everything my grandfather achieved and now hangs in the balance.’