The Serpent's tooth

Chapter 19

The next morning Nicholas was up before dawn. In truth he had slept little that night. The war council he had attended the previous evening had agreed unanimously that rather than spend another day waiting for their opponents to make a move they should take advantage of their numerical superiority — eighty thousand men compared to their opponents’ fifty thousand — and seize the initiative, attacking with some of their elite cavalry early in the morning. As for Nicholas and his mercenaries, Dara had ordered them to form a reserve just behind his command tent, ready to reinforce any weak points or exploit any breakthroughs. In doing so they were to utilise their military experience and steadiness under fire to the full, bolstering the nervous and restraining the rash.

Nicholas made a quick round of his men, shaking awake any so nerveless as still to be asleep, giving a word of encouragement here, checking the sharpness of a blade there, but above all exhorting everyone to carry as much water as they could. Afterwards he climbed with his morning meal to the top of the hillock around which his men were encamped to survey the opposing battle lines, each stretching more than a mile and a half as they faced each other across the dry plains. While he sipped his clay cup of lassi — a mixture of yogurt and water — ate several round chapattis, delicious when hot from the skillet as these were, and gnawed on a bony hunk of chicken thigh, he looked beyond Dara’s scarlet command tent and his army’s front lines to those of the enemy. He saw that Aurangzeb and Murad’s men were also up and busy. Even at a distance his keen eyesight could make out howdahs being hoisted on to elephants and troops of horsemen preparing to mount in front of the orderly ranks of tents. Suddenly — it could not have been more than an hour after dawn — he heard the crash of artillery and white smoke billowed from the batteries of heavy bronze cannon opposite, drawn up in the centre of the enemy position near a large pavilion which he imagined must be the headquarters of Aurangzeb and Murad. So Dara’s brothers were as unwilling as he was to put off the decisive encounter any longer.

Immediately Dara’s own cannon boomed out their response. Many of their balls fell short as had many of the enemy’s, sending up showers of grit and dust as they bit harmlessly into the dry ground. However, through the ever-increasing smoke Nicholas saw that one of the enemy cannon had been knocked from its limber. Then a loud explosion deafened him for a moment. It came from behind him and to the left where he remembered some of Dara’s powder wagons had been positioned, as the war council had thought, out of enemy cannon range. Either a lucky and record-breaking shot from one of Aurangzeb’s biggest cannon or more likely some carelessness by one of Dara’s own gunners had resulted in the powder in an ammunition wagon’s being detonated. Pray God the damage was not too great.

As if in response to this setback, Nicholas saw one of Dara’s regiments of cavalry begin to deploy from the centre of his lines, passing through regiments of musketeers and foot soldiers and out beyond the advanced pickets into the open ground between the two armies. They were the same Rajputs and Punjabis who had formed the rearguard the day the army had left Agra. Now they would be the first into battle. Soon the regiment were moving into the gallop and charging straight for Aurangzeb and Murad’s cannon. Their green banners were fluttering, their lances were levelled and they were resisting the temptation to bunch close together and thus make themselves more vulnerable to enemy fire. Even at that distance Nicholas could hear the Rajputs shouting their war cry of ‘Ram! Ram! Ram!’ as they rode. When they were around half a mile from them, Aurangzeb and Murad’s cannon fired again. The galloping bay horse of the leading banner-bearer collapsed instantly, catapulting its rider over its head to lie motionless while his banner, its staff trapped beneath his sprawled, lifeless body, still fluttered feebly. More horses and riders fell while other horses swerved away, either injured themselves or because their riders were wounded and losing control of them. Still the remaining horsemen pressed on, pace unslackened and helmeted heads bent low to their horses’ necks.

Musketeers stationed in between Aurangzeb and Murad’s cannon levelled their long-barrelled weapons on tripods to steady their aim and then added the weight of their fire to the cannonade. Their first disciplined volley emptied many more saddles and many more horses tumbled to the dust, rolling over, legs and hooves flailing. But then Dara’s horsemen were up to the cannon, thrusting with their lances, slashing and cutting at the gunners and musketeers with their swords. Soon some of the enemy musketeers were fleeing, abandoning their weapons. To Nicholas’s delight, the imperial troops seemed to be winning. Dara clearly thought so too. Nicholas could see him standing in the howdah of his great war elephant beside his scarlet tent, hands clenched over his head in triumph.

However, only a minute or two later, looking back towards the action around the enemy cannon, Nicholas saw a large body of Aurangzeb and Murad’s horsemen gallop from their position on the left flank of their army to join the battle, and smash into Dara’s cavalry. For some minutes the fighting washed around them like waves round ocean rocks sometimes receding, sometimes engulfing the cannon. Gradually, though, the enemy cavalry were gaining the upper hand as they were joined by more and more reinforcements.

After about twenty minutes Nicholas saw Dara’s banners beginning to turn. Soon it was beyond doubt. Dara’s horsemen, much depleted in numbers, were in retreat, riding hard for their own lines. Even though Murad and Aurangzeb’s cavalrymen did not pursue them, riders continued to fall, pitching from their saddles as they were hit by musket balls. One orange-clad Rajput’s foot caught in his stirrup as he fell and he was dragged along until the leather broke and he rolled over several times before lying still. Elsewhere, a rider bravely turned his grey horse to ride back towards the enemy, zigzagging as he did so to put the opposing musketeers off their aim, before bending to scoop a fallen comrade up behind him. Other unhorsed riders were running or limping back towards their own lines, some throwing off their breastplates and helmets so that they could make better progress.

A riderless and panic-stricken horse — one of many — knocked to the ground a dismounted rider who tried to grab its dangling reins as it galloped past. The man struggled back to his feet and staggered on, now dragging his right leg behind him. Soon nearly all those who were still on horseback regained the comparative safety of their own lines. Among the last to arrive was a banner-bearer whose wounded mount got him to within a hundred yards of safety before collapsing slowly. Sliding from his saddle, its rider, a burly Punjabi, ran the remaining distance still holding on to his heavy banner. Elsewhere syces, grooms, were helping wounded men from their horses, gently placing the most severely injured on makeshift stretchers to be carried to the lines of hakims’ tents.

Earlier that day Nicholas had glanced into one and seen the red-aproned doctors calmly laying out their saws, knives and other instruments while their assistants prepared the cauterising fires. He had quickly looked away, not wishing to dwell on his fate if wounded. Why hadn’t Aurangzeb and Murad followed up the advantage they had gained in repulsing the cavalry charge, he mused, only to be interrupted by a qorchi summoning him to a war council in Dara’s command tent.

Since he was stationed so close to it, Nicholas was among the first to arrive. As he ducked beneath the awning he saw Dara, now clad in his gold breastplate, standing staring towards his brothers’ camp, where labourers were struggling in the growing heat to right some of the cannon overturned in the first attack. Others were unloading more cannon balls and stocks of powder from wagons which teams of oxen were pulling up to the artillery positions. Another small group of soldiers were going among the dead and wounded men and horses sprawled around the guns. Nicholas saw them carry away some of the wounded, presumably those of their own side. Another band were thrusting lances into the hearts of injured horses. Appearing to have completed the grisly task of putting the animals out of their misery, they turned to the remaining bodies, bending over them, perhaps to search for valuables, and then thrusting their lances into their chests. A wounded man, seeing what was happening, suddenly staggered to his feet and began to stumble back towards Dara’s lines. One of the killers sprinted after him, caught him easily, pushed him to the ground then very deliberately spitted him with his lance.

Dara, who had clearly also been watching, cried, ‘How can they be so brutal?’

‘Highness, it is war and war is brutal, particularly civil war. But I have seen men suffer much worse deaths in enemy hands in our northern campaigns,’ Nicholas replied.

‘You have far greater experience of war than I. In truth I have little and want little more. The sooner this battle and this war are over the better.’

By now Dara’s other commanders were assembled around him and he addressed them without any of the normal preliminaries or flowery courtesies of the court. ‘I have seen our enemies kill those of our brave men who were left wounded as our horsemen retreated. I do not intend to give them that opportunity again. We will not retreat again. Our next attack will be in overwhelming force with every soldier we have at our disposal.’

‘That is brave, Highness, but is it wise,’ asked Raja Jai Singh, ‘to commit all our forces to a single attack? Shouldn’t we keep some regiments in reserve to guard against the unforeseen, or any setback?’

‘Holding men back will only make setbacks more likely. I am determined to strike decisively now and end this rebellion today. How long will it take to ready our men?’

‘An hour, perhaps, Highness,’ said the raja, ‘and in that time I recommend that to give the attack the greatest chance of success you begin a cannonade of enemy lines to disrupt their forces and knock out some of their remaining guns.’

‘Give the necessary orders.’

‘Don’t forget, Highness, while we make our own preparations,’ said a voice from the back, ‘we should keep watch for any massing or movement of troops by our enemy or for signs of attempts to outflank us.’

Another wise comment, thought Nicholas. In war as in chess it was not enough to plan your own moves well, you had to watch out for your enemy’s and be flexible in responding to them.

‘Yes, of course. We should advance more pickets and send out scouts to warn us of any manoeuvres on our enemy’s part or of any reinforcements riding to join them. However, it seems to me that, being outnumbered, my brothers are prepared to sit on the defensive. I am not. Let us lose no more time. Make the necessary arrangements for the attack, Jai Singh. I am indebted to you all, my loyal and wise counsellors, and so too will be my father, our rightful emperor. Good luck and may God bless us with victory. The council is dismissed.’

Again Nicholas wondered whether, although Dara had been gracious in his final remarks, he might not have done better to allow a little more time for his officers to ask questions and make suggestions about his simple strategy, as well as to enthuse them more thoroughly with the reasons why victory was important for the empire and of course for them. Having known Dara for over thirty years he was well aware of his warmth, charm and abilities, so clearly displayed in his family and personal life and his relationship with close allies. He just wished he would be less distant and aloof in public discussion with the wider circle of his supporters. Still, with the superior forces at Dara’s disposal, his battle plan should succeed and, God willing, by evening he and his men should be riding victorious for Agra.

An hour and a half later Nicholas, mounted on his chestnut horse, was again on the top of the hillock behind Dara’s command tent. He was now fully dressed for war, sweating beneath steel back- and breastplates, his long sword at his right side and his two bulbous-handled pistols primed and stuck into his blue sash. He watched as drums began to beat and Dara’s troops started to advance along the whole one and a half miles of their front line from Raja Ram Singh Rathor’s Rajputs on the right to Khalilullah Khan’s Uzbeks on the left, moving into the white smoke drifting across the plain between the two armies from the previous exchanges of cannon fire. Despite the amount of powder and shot expended by both sides in the previous eighty minutes, neither seemed to have suffered great damage — the most obvious casualties were three of Aurangzeb and Murad’s elephants, hit as they strained to haul some of their cannon into a more advanced position and now slumped within a few feet of each other like great grey rocks.

More and more of Dara’s men began to move forward. Soon Dara’s own massive war elephant started to advance and as it did so he waved from its jewel-encrusted tower-like howdah to the surrounding troops. The size of his elephant and the construction of the howdah allowed him to see and be seen by many more of his troops than he could have been in any other way.

In obedience to his own orders, which were still to stay where he was with his men till he saw how the battle developed, Nicholas sat tight on the hillock as Dara’s army pushed forward. Sometimes drifting smoke obscured his view, making it difficult for him to judge the progress of the fighting. On the right flank, Raja Ram Singh Rathor’s orange and saffron-clad horsemen were outdistancing the rest of the army, swerving as they did so to attack the enemy’s centre. Through another gap in the smoke Nicholas was able to guess why. Two great elephants with howdahs were moving along the enemy lines, surrounded by a squadron of banner-bearing horsemen. Aurangzeb and Murad were encouraging their own troops to stand firm and Raja Ram Singh Rathor must have determined to win glory for himself and his Rajputs while avenging the defeat of his cousin Jaswant Singh at Dharmat by killing or capturing the two rebellious brothers. His men were clearly suffering casualties as the price for their daring with many falling, brought down by musket balls or fire from the cannon batteries at the centre of the enemy lines.

Raja Ram Singh Rathor, distinguishable by his pure white stallion and the two standard-bearers riding beside him, both still also miraculously unscathed, was the first to smash into the horsemen surrounding the rebellious brothers’ elephants, his much diminished force close behind him.

It was difficult at the distance for Nicholas to make out the details of the action but he saw a Rajput horseman attack one of the two elephants, urging his mount, specially trained and equipped with a face plate as some cavalry horses were, to rear on its hind legs to allow him to strike at the elephants’ mahouts. A bodyguard in the howdah stood and thrust twice with his long lance. Both horse and rider dropped from view.

One of Raja Ram Singh Rathor’s banner-bearers had fallen but the other remained close by his leader’s side as he battered his way towards the other imperial elephant, opponents swerving away from him or faltering beneath his attack. Suddenly, the remaining Rajput banner-bearer pitched forward out of his saddle and became entangled in his orange banner as he hit the ground. Next, the raja’s own white horse reared up. Was he too preparing to attack the elephant’s mahouts? But in a moment the horse toppled backwards, clearly wounded, and the raja, still identifiable by his lemon turban and flowing orange and white robes, slipped from the saddle and ran, drawn sword in hand and almost bent double, towards the elephant. Bravely he tried to duck beneath its belly, perhaps attempting to cut the girths holding the howdah in place. Whatever was his aim he did not succeed in it but fell wounded, and as he tried to rise he was trampled beneath the elephant’s feet.

Undaunted, his men fought on. Through the increasing smoke Nicholas saw they were being joined by the leading horsemen from Dara’s centre, battle-hardened warriors from Oudh, Kashmir and elsewhere. Aurangzeb’s and Murad’s elephants had already turned and with their cavalry escort were heading back through their own lines seeking greater protection. Dara’s cavalry were trying to follow them, slashing and cutting. Although they were making some progress the fighting was clearly hard and hand to hand. Nicholas could see Dara’s towering howdah getting closer to the action. Even though Dara had only begun his main advance less than half an hour ago, to Nicholas the climax of the battle was fast approaching. He and his men must join the conflict, but where? As he scanned the battlefield again, he noticed that on the left Khalilullah Khan and his Uzbeks seemed to be lagging behind and as a consequence a gap was opening between them and the regiment advancing next to them.

Nicholas couldn’t understand why this was happening. Khalilullah Khan had never hung back in the battles in the north. As Nicholas continued to watch the gap began to grow. To his horror Khalilullah Khan and his men were turning away from the battlefield, deserting Dara’s cause. This must have been pre-planned. Khalilullah Khan had been close to Aurangzeb during the campaign against Samarkand and Nicholas had been a little surprised to find him among Dara’s forces. When they had talked briefly Khalilullah Khan had said simply that he owed his loyalty to the crowned emperor whatever his past regard for Aurangzeb’s abilities. He had clearly been dissimulating, biding his time until his defection could be most lethal.

As if to underline that Khalilullah Khan’s desertion was prearranged, Nicholas saw a division of rebel horsemen charge immediately for the gap in Dara’s advance, sweeping along the flank of Khalilullah Khan’s departing forces, clearly aware that they need take no precautions against them. Dara must have seen Khalilullah Khan’s defection because his elephant was turning in that direction, followed by his bodyguard. Nicholas gestured to his men to mount and to move out. He knew now what their duty was — to rally to Dara and help him to plug the breach in his lines.

Within two or three minutes Nicholas was galloping through the thick smoke drifting across the battlefield and stinging his eyes and nostrils. Through the breaks he could see that Dara’s elephant had halted three or four hundred yards ahead. As he drew closer, urging on his horse with hands and heels, he saw why. Dara was climbing down from the howdah. As soon as he was close enough to be heard above the crashes and screams of battle, he shouted to a captain of Dara’s bodyguard, ‘What’s the matter? Why is the prince dismounting? Is the elephant wounded?’

‘No, the elephant is fine. His Highness wishes to change to a horse so he can move more quickly about the field to meet the unexpected threat from Khalilullah Khan’s treachery.’

Within a minute or two, Dara was mounted on a black stallion with a distinctive white blaze on its forehead and galloping towards the crisis on the left flank, followed by his bodyguard and Nicholas and his men and leaving the mahouts to turn the imperial elephant with its empty howdah back towards Dara’s camp.

Soon Dara, Nicholas and their followers were charging a large phalanx of well-equipped rebel riders who were arrowing their way into Dara’s ranks, hacking and thrusting as they rode. Nicholas drew his long double-edged sword and slashed hard at a rebel fighter as their horses passed. The man knocked Nicholas’s blow aside and in the same movement aimed a swing with his scimitar at Nicholas, who in turn swayed back in his saddle to avoid the blade as it carved the air in front of his nose. Almost immediately, the rebel had turned his nimble horse — which was little larger than a pony — and was once more attacking Nicholas, who remained slightly off balance from his first assault.

Seeing this, and eager to finish his opponent, the rider carefully drew his arm back behind his head to deliver a decisive blow with his scimitar using all the power he possessed. His deliberation gave Nicholas just the short pause he needed to recover and to exploit the reach his height and the exceptional length of his sword gave him by thrusting the weapon into the rebel’s unprotected armpit. The man screamed and swerved away, dropping his scimitar. A second rebel thrust at Nicholas with his lance but its tip splintered against Nicholas’s strong steel breastplate and Nicholas succeeded in slashing into the man’s upper arm with a hurried sword stroke. This rebel too sheered off, throwing down his now useless lance as blood from his wound coursed down his arm.

Looking round, Nicholas saw that Dara’s bodyguard and his own mercenaries were steadily pushing back Aurangzeb and Murad’s troops, several of whom lay sprawled dead or wounded, but there had also been casualties among his own men. A Burgundian who had served with him for many years was lying face down in a pool of blood with his brains spilling into his ginger hair from a great gash in his skull. Nicholas was preparing to re-join the fight, determined to avenge the waste of his comrade’s life on those who by rebelling had caused it, when he heard above the general din of battle a drumming of many fast approaching hooves behind him. Turning, he saw a group of horsemen with a green banner galloping wildly for the rear, all clearly Dara’s men. He shouted to the leading riders, ‘Why are you retreating?’ The first few who passed him were too intent on securing their safety even to respond, but one horseman, who appeared little more than a youth, reined in for a moment. ‘Prince Dara is fleeing, so we must too. So should you if you value your life.’

‘But the prince has not fled,’ Nicholas shouted back.

‘You’re wrong. We’ve seen the imperial elephant head for the rear.’

‘But didn’t you see the howdah was empty?’

‘No. But in that case the prince must be dead.’ With that and before Nicholas could utter another word the young man dug his heels into the flanks of his blowing horse and urged it after his quickly disappearing comrades. Nicholas looked round to see where Dara was but he had been carried away from him by the press of the fighting. Even as his eyes searched the heaving, sweating battle line in front of him, he heard more horses galloping behind him. Turning once more he saw the oncoming riders were also from his own side and fleeing headlong.

‘Prince Dara is safe! We are winning the fight!’ he yelled at them as they passed, knowing that even if he could be heard he would be unlikely to be heeded. He was right. The group passed quickly without even a glance in his direction, all except for one green-clad horseman whose mount stumbled over the body of a dead rebel and fell, throwing the man from the saddle to land in a crumpled heap. As he struggled to rise he was knocked down and trampled by the riders following, who in their fear did not even seem to attempt to avoid him.

Dara needed to show himself and soon or it would be too late. The battle would be irretrievably lost and the road to Agra open for Aurangzeb and Murad. As Nicholas scanned the fighting he suddenly saw the black stallion with the white blaze emerge from a melee about two hundred yards away. It was limping and had a great bleeding gash in its rump but no one in its saddle. Dara must have been knocked or fallen from the animal. Nicholas urged his horse towards the place where he had first seen the stallion. Getting closer he saw three of Dara’s green and gold-clad bodyguards, still mounted, trying to protect a recumbent figure in a gold breastplate lying motionless on the ground.

Almost immediately one of the guards dropped from his saddle, hit by a stroke from a black-clad rebel rider. Only a few moments later a second fell forward on to his horse’s neck, clearly wounded. The third fought on against four attackers. Yelling as loudly as he could for all his men to rally to him, Nicholas kicked towards the action, fearing he would be too late. Suddenly he remembered his brace of pistols. Throwing off his heavy gauntlet, he pulled one from his sash. His sweaty hand slipped on the rounded handle but he quickly restored his grip, levelled the weapon and fired. One of the rebels flung up his arms and fell from his horse, hit by what Nicholas knew was a lucky shot at a distance. As he grabbed for his other pistol, the bodyguard knocked another rebel from the saddle with a sword stroke.

Levelling the second pistol, Nicholas fired at one of the two remaining enemy fighters but as he did so his horse skittered and he missed the rider and instead hit his horse in the rump. The rebel lost control as his frightened and wounded animal twisted and reared, running from the battle, but it only covered a short distance before collapsing, trapping the rider beneath it. That only left one man, but as Nicholas closed on him he knocked the remaining bodyguard from his horse with a stroke of his sword. By then Nicholas was up with him. The man thrust hard at Nicholas. Nicholas still had one of his pistols gripped in his hand, and he reversed the weapon and smashed its bulbous handle into the rebel’s mouth. Frothing blood and broken pieces of tooth mingled with the man’s black beard, and before he could recover Nicholas threw aside the pistol, drew his sword and with a reverse stroke slashed into the nape of his adversary’s neck just beneath his helmet, crunching into bone and sinew. The man fell.

As more of Nicholas’s own troops as well as of Dara’s bodyguard arrived Nicholas jumped from his horse and ran across to Dara’s motionless form. Turning the prince on to his back, Nicholas quickly examined his body. There were no obvious wounds beyond a large and swollen bruise on his forehead. Pray God he was merely knocked out. Pulling his water bottle from his belt, Nicholas unstoppered it and tipped some of its contents over the face of Dara who seemed to stir, then carefully poured a little of the liquid into the prince’s mouth. Dara began to cough.

‘He’s alive,’ Nicholas shouted to the men now surrounding him. ‘Whoever’s got the best horse, dismount and we’ll use it for the prince. That rider, double up with someone else. See if any of the three bodyguards have any life left in them. If so, get them on horseback too, even if you have to tie them across your saddles.’

Grabbing the pistol he had discarded, he slipped it back into his sash with the other one and looked round. Everywhere as far as he could see through the drifts of smoke Dara’s men were retreating. That was the polite way of putting it. Most were fleeing for their lives. Nicholas knew that there was no chance to rally them with Dara at best semi-conscious. The prince’s only hope was to reach Agra and the hakims and survive to fight another day.

‘Mount up,’ Nicholas yelled, ‘and head for Agra as quickly as we can.’