The Serpent's tooth

Chapter 20

Alone on the sandstone battlements of the Agra fort Shah Jahan scanned the sun-scorched countryside. The dust cloud rising for the past hours on the horizon confirmed the reports brought by messengers that the two armies had engaged. If only he could be there himself, with the bitter smell of cannon smoke in his nostrils and the energy of battle in his veins. Instead his years and his health had decreed his fate was to wait for news, impotently hoping that it was good. As if his thoughts had conjured them, he began to make out riders approaching on the far side of the Jumna. As they came nearer he saw that some had other soldiers mounted behind them or what looked like badly wounded men slung across their saddles. As they forded the river and approached the fort, their dress told him they were Dara’s troops. The trickle of horsemen quickly became a steady flow. What did it mean? Had they left the battle because they needed the attention of the hakims or were Dara’s men fleeing the field?

A coldness gripped his stomach as he made out the glittering steel breastplates of some of the imperial bodyguard. A group of about two dozen of them was slowly approaching in close formation. Among them he noticed Nicholas Ballantyne but then forgot everything else on seeing Dara at their centre, slumped forward over his saddle pommel, the reins of his horse held by a qorchi riding close beside him. Shah Jahan could wait no longer. Turning away, he hurried along the dusty battlements to a dimly lit seldom-used staircase spiralling straight down to the main courtyard. He had to brush cobwebs from his face as he descended the narrow, sharp-edged steps. He reached the courtyard just as Dara and his escort were emerging from the tall carved gateway. Seeing his father, Dara straightened himself and tried to speak, but then shook his head as if words were too much. His dazed-looking face was heavily bruised and there was congealed blood on his right temple.

The prince dismounted slowly, and as his feet touched the ground he swayed a little. Hurrying forward, Shah Jahan put out an arm to support him. Attendants ran up to assist too but Shah Jahan waved them away. He could help his own son. Conscious of the many eyes upon them in the courtyard and anxious not to reveal his terrible anxiety about both his son and the outcome of the battle, Shah Jahan called to a qorchi to summon his hakim. Then, an arm round Dara’s shoulders, he walked slowly with him across the courtyard towards the broad main staircase leading to the imperial apartments.

As father and son entered, Jahanara, who had been waiting there for news, ran forward. Together she and Shah Jahan lowered Dara on to a stool. Moments later the hakim arrived. He stooped over Dara and stared hard into his eyes, examining his pupils. Then, rinsing a piece of cloth in a basin of warm water, he washed away the dried blood so he could examine his temple. At last he straightened up. ‘The wound is superficial, Majesty. The prince has suffered no lasting injury, though he seems disorientated. What happened to him?’

Nicholas, who had followed them into the room, answered. ‘He was knocked from his horse and fell hard.’

Dara himself nodded and tried to get to his feet but Shah Jahan placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Father … we were betrayed … Khalilullah Khan deserted us at the height of the battle. Our troops began to panic. I dismounted from my war elephant because I wanted to ride among them on horseback and encourage them to fight on but it was a mistake … My men didn’t understand what I was doing. When they saw I was no longer in my howdah they thought I’d been wounded or killed … even that I had fled the fighting. I could hear the panic-stricken cries all around. I tried to show I was still with them but it was too late … they were already fleeing … and then I was felled from my horse. Father, I’ve failed you … Aurangzeb and Murad can’t be far behind. It’s all over.’ Dara put his head in his hands and seemed about to weep.

‘Please leave us,’ Shah Jahan ordered the hakim. ‘You as well,’ he said, turning to the attendants. As soon as the doors closed, Shah Jahan knelt by his son’s side and shook him gently by the shoulders. ‘You haven’t failed me … you could never do that.’ For a moment he enfolded Dara in his arms but then rose and addressed Nicholas, who was standing near the door, unsure whether to go or stay.

‘What is the situation? Is the battle indeed lost as my son believes?’

‘Yes, Majesty, I fear so. It happened as the prince said. When we took him from the field, groups of our fighters were continuing to resist but becoming isolated and, as they were surrounded, being killed by the enemy. Many others were already dead or, I am sad to say, throwing down their weapons and fleeing for their lives. It was becoming a rout … I wish I could give you better news, but you must know the truth.’ Nicholas looked at the floor.

Shah Jahan was silent. For the sake of them all and of the empire he realised he must think calmly and above all appear calm. ‘It’s clear we have little time,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Aurangzeb and Murad won’t delay their advance on Agra for long. The most important thing, Dara, is for you and your family to get away from here … On no account must you be taken prisoner.’

‘No!’ Dara said. ‘Surely enough of our men will have managed to get back to Agra to defend the fort against my brothers. We can hold out until Suleiman and his army arrive from the east …’

‘We’ve still had no news of Suleiman’s whereabouts and I won’t take the risk. If your brothers capture you, their position becomes almost unassailable. I won’t let you be a hostage for the second time in your life …’

‘But I can’t leave you, Father …’

‘I don’t fear Aurangzeb and Murad — my own sons. Anyway, I’m not giving you a choice. As your emperor and your father I’m commanding you to go.’ Shah Jahan turned to Jahanara, standing silent and very still by her brother’s side. ‘Go to Nadira Begum. She is with Roshanara and Gauharara. Tell her what’s happened and to prepare herself to leave Agra immediately. Have Sipihr told to ready himself too.’ As Jahanara hurried from the room, Shah Jahan turned back to his son. ‘Listen to my instructions. Gather as many of your men as you can and ride immediately for Delhi. With Suleiman still absent, the scattering of Jaswant Singh’s army at Ujjain and the defeat you have just suffered we have too few men to defend the Agra region. Our remaining strength — and it is substantial — lies in the north and the northwest. Mobilise them effectively and we will still be victorious. I will give you a letter for the Governor of Delhi ordering him to turn the imperial forces under his command over to you so you can organise the city’s defences against your brothers, who I’m certain won’t be long in following you. I will also instruct him to open the imperial treasuries to you so you can recruit more men to rebuild your army.’

Alarmed by the doubt in his still dazed son’s eyes, Shah Jahan took Dara’s head between his hands and looked into his eyes. ‘Listen to me, Dara. You must leave Agra not only because I say so but because it is your duty to yourself and your family. You were defeated at Samugarh but that was only one battle in this war. You must not lose heart. I suffered setbacks on the battlefield but I never let them crush me. In fact, they only made me more determined that next time I would be the victor. Remember the advantages you still have over your brothers. I have proclaimed you heir to the Moghul throne. That gives you a power and an authority they don’t possess. Use it and you can still prevail.’ He was placing a mighty burden of leadership on his son, Shah Jahan thought, one from which he had shielded him so far, but now there was no choice.

‘Majesty, I will accompany the prince to Delhi if he will permit me,’ said Nicholas.

Dara managed a faint smile. ‘I would be glad of it. You have already saved my life today. Perhaps the time will come when I can repay you … Now I should go to Nadira and help her prepare … she will be very anxious.’

‘I will come with you to the haram.’ Shah Jahan helped Dara to his feet again, then led the way from the apartments. Nicholas heard the customary cries of ‘the emperor approaches’ preceding them and then slowly fade as they went through the series of doors into the haram. But for how much longer would Shah Jahan be emperor, he wondered as he mopped his brow. It seemed unthinkable that such a mighty ruler could be toppled from his throne by a single battle and yet who would ever have thought that Aurangzeb and Murad’s rebellion would get this far?

He was about to leave the imperial apartments as well, to gather the few possessions he would take with him on the ride to Delhi, when to his surprise Jahanara returned. For a few moments they looked at one another in silence. Then Jahanara burst out, ‘Dara tells me that you have offered to go with him … Why are you so generous to us after everything that happened?’

‘It’s not generosity. I belong in Hindustan. I hadn’t realised that until I was about to leave. Your family has done me much kindness despite the event to which you refer …’ Nicholas’s voice trailed off for a moment, but then he continued, ‘It will be an honour to fight for Dara as I once fought for your father.’

‘Then on behalf of my father and Dara I thank you. But I must also ask your forgiveness. My thoughtlessness put you in terrible danger … I’m so sorry … I was only thinking of my own worries, never imagining …’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ he interrupted her gently. ‘You were acting from the best of motives.’

Above her filmy purple veil, Jahanara’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I have no truer friend than you and I know you will help Dara in any way you can. He is the true heir of everything our great-grandfather Akbar strove for — justice for all, regardless of their faith. Aurangzeb would only divide our people, setting Hindus against Muslims. If he ever became emperor, his intolerance would scar this land just as fire once scarred this face of mine.’ With her right hand she slowly lowered her veil to reveal her blemished cheek. For a moment Nicholas stared at the mark, then reached out very gently to touch it, his blue eyes looking deep into hers. But then from outside came a series of shrill trumpet blasts, doubtless rallying Dara’s men ready for departure.

Nicholas’s hand dropped to his side. ‘I must go … but I will do all that I can, I promise you.’ Then without a backward glance he was gone.

Half an hour later, Jahanara watched through a jali screen as a small body of men began issuing from the fort. Somewhere among the riders would be her brother and Nicholas. As the column vanished into the gathering twilight she realised that she and Dara had never said goodbye.

Three days later, Dara, with Nicholas riding at his side, urged his sweat-scummed black horse up a low ridge. As they reached the crest they saw the city of Delhi laid out before them, sun glinting on the white marble domes of mosques visible above the crenellated walls, most of which were shrouded in purple shadow.

‘Delhi at last,’ said Dara. ‘And no sign of any rebel troops blocking our approach.’

‘We have been fortunate again, Highness, as we were when skirting Mathura.’

‘Besides, it would take a strong force to oppose us now on open ground given the numbers of men who have joined us.’

Nicholas nodded. Spread out behind them were nearly ten thousand men who had rallied to Dara’s flag over the past seventy-two hours. Some were elements of the imperial army defeated at Samugarh, others the garrisons of small forts along the road and yet others new recruits under local rulers responding to the urgent summons to arms issued by Shah Jahan.

‘Should we wait to take closer order before making our final approach to the city?’ Nicholas asked.

‘There is no need with no sign of opposition. Let’s hurry. Soon we’ll be relaxing with the governor in his apartments and planning how our joint forces will defeat my brothers,’ said Dara, and with a wave to his bodyguard to follow he kicked his black horse into a canter down the ridge towards the city about five miles away.

How much Dara’s mood had improved, thought Nicholas, as he followed him. The dazed and disconsolate prince had quickly recovered his spirits as forces had joined him, seeming to grow physically as well as mentally, so much straighter was he sitting on his horse.

A quarter of an hour later, shading his eyes against the setting sun, Nicholas peered towards Delhi’s great southern gateway a mile away. The gates themselves were closed, weren’t they …? ‘Highness, the gates are shut.’

‘A wise precaution in these troubled times,’ Dara responded. ‘The scouts I sent to alert the governor to our arrival should return soon. They’ve already been gone longer than I expected.’

Dara was right. Almost at once the gates opened just far enough to allow a small group of horsemen to emerge. A few minutes later the riders — as expected, Dara’s scouts — galloped up, leaving clouds of golden dust hanging in the still evening air behind them.

‘Is the governor preparing apartments to receive me?’ Dara asked, a broad smile on his face.

There was no answering grin from the tall bearded Punjabi who was the leader of the scouts. ‘They will not admit Your Highness,’ he said simply.

‘What do you mean? You must have handed over my father’s letter to the governor …’

‘We did, Highness. The captain of the guard took it to the governor. We were surprised that he did not return for half an hour. When he did, the governor was with him. He told us the letter was a forgery, that you were a renegade and that we were lucky he did not have us executed. Then he handed us this letter.’ The Punjabi produced a folded parchment from his green tunic.

Dara, a look of incredulity on his face, snatched it from the man’s grasp. As he broke the seal and read it, his expression changed to anger. ‘How low will my brothers stoop? Have they no respect either for truth or my father? Read this, Nicholas.’

Prince Dara,

The letter you have sent me is a forgery. I have been forewarned by your brothers that you are attempting to usurp the throne of your father whose mind is declining to such an extent that he is scarcely capable of either ruling or understanding the depths of your treachery against him. They have informed me that as loyal sons — unlike yourself — they are protecting him and have already defeated you once on the field of battle. They warned me that you are capable of any snake-like intrigue to further your impious and unnatural ambitions and to be on my guard against them. I have told them that being a loyal subject I will follow their orders. Therefore be gone. If you approach any nearer the city be in no doubt that my men will fire upon you.

‘How dare my brothers produce such perverted lies — an exact reversal of the truth — and how can the governor be such a fool as to believe them?’

‘Or perhaps pretend to,’ said Nicholas. ‘He is clearly aware of your defeat at Samugarh. Messengers from Aurangzeb or Murad must have alerted him to your likely arrival and I suspect brought him extravagant promises of reward if he adheres to them and forestalls your attempt to revive your fortunes.’

‘I will not be thwarted. The governor will regret his insolence when he grovels before me in the courtyard of his captured citadel. I must call a war council at once to plan our attack.’ Dara spoke with vehemence, jerking so much in his saddle that his black horse began to skitter sideways.

‘Highness, before you summon the council think what is possible or practical. You must give your commanders realistic prospects of success or else those who have recently joined us may equally quickly disappear again. And — if I may speak frankly — it is not realistic for us at present to attempt to besiege Delhi, let alone to contemplate a full frontal attack. We have insufficient men and, because we have had to move so fast, no cannon. Besides, we know Aurangzeb and Murad’s men cannot be far behind us. We’ve been lucky to outstrip them so far. They could easily attack us in the rear while we were assaulting the city, crushing us against these imposing walls.’

The light of hope seemed to die in Dara’s eyes just as the light of day was leaving Delhi, and it was some time before he spoke. ‘You may be right, Nicholas … I may only have one further chance to turn the tide of my fortunes. I cannot afford to be rash, particularly since I have Nadira and Sipihr with me. It is probably better that for the moment I turn away to the northwest where I can reflect with you and my other officers on our next move at more length and in greater security.’

Nicholas reined in his horse beneath the shade of a group of densely leaved mango trees and patted its sweating neck. Dara rode up beside him and they dismounted. In the dappled light filtering through the branches the prince’s face looked drawn. Dara had said little during their ride from Delhi after the war council had, just as Nicholas anticipated, decided to move northwest towards Lahore where they might expect to find some support. However, what had there been to say? Who could have anticipated that the Governor of Delhi in defiance of orders from Shah Jahan himself would have barred the gates of the city? It was a sign of how quickly the balance of power had shifted since Dara’s defeat at Samugarh.

Now what fate awaited Dara? Secure within Delhi’s great Red Fort, Dara would have been in a strong position. He could have used the contents of the treasure vaults to buy further men and support. Instead, what was he — little more than a fugitive? Not for the first time Nicholas thought back to those days when he had accompanied Shah Jahan himself in flight with Mumtaz and their children from Jahangir. But Dara’s circumstances were even more desperate. Shah Jahan had still had some allies. Dara, it seemed, had very few after his defeat in battle and repulse from Delhi. Though he’d sent messengers to nobles whose loyalty he’d thought he could rely on, he’d not received a single firm promise of support — only unctuous excuses and in some cases not even that. Every day the number of his troops lessened as officers and men drifted away on the flimsiest of pretexts — some presumably to offer their services to his brothers, others to return to their estates or villages to wait out the storm that was surely breaking over Hindustan.

‘My wife’s still feeling unwell. You must have heard her coughing in her palanquin. I’ve ordered a tent to be erected for her in the shade. To help her recover we’ll rest here until the heat drops — perhaps even make camp until tomorrow. We should be safe enough concealed among these trees and scrubland.’ Dara opened his water bottle and took a long swallow. ‘Aurangzeb and Murad must know that we headed northwest from Delhi. I don’t understand why our scouts patrolling to our rear have seen no signs of pursuit. Do my brothers think I’m such a spent force they needn’t bother?’

‘Perhaps they’ve decided to consolidate their hold on Delhi and Agra first … There would be logic in it.’

‘I hope so. I need time. Last night, as Nadira tossed and coughed beside me, I lay awake wondering about Suleiman and his army — whether he ever received my father’s orders to return or whether he’s still chasing Shah Shuja. His troops were the pick of the imperial forces and with them I’d have a chance … I also worry what is happening to my father and my sisters in Agra.’

‘The emperor was in no mood to capitulate. He’ll hold out in the fort as long as he can, I’m certain.’

Dara squatted on the ground and picking up a stick traced patterns in the red earth. ‘I wish I had some way of communicating with him — of finding out what he would wish me to do. I can’t wander aimlessly.’

‘Highness, in my country we have a saying: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” We would all want things to be different but we have to accept them as they are. Don’t forget that when his family rebelled against him Babur lived in caves in Ferghana with far fewer men than you have here. You must believe in yourself.’

‘Forgive my weakness. The change in my fortune has been so sudden. As a first step in planning our revival, how many men did we have left at the last count?’

‘Fifteen hundred or thereabouts.’

‘That’s no army … Why are so few willing to follow me? I’m my father’s chosen heir.’

‘In uncertain times like these, many prefer not to take sides if they can avoid it. Giving allegiance is risky until the outcome is certain.’

‘But they have a duty to me. Their honour demands it.’

‘Men often overlook matters of honour when their lives and property are at stake.’ Nicholas saw Dara frown. He hoped he’d reflect on his words. For all his cleverness and scholarship the prince sometimes seemed naive about men’s motives and the real world outside the court … but then how much contact had he actually had with it?

However, Dara’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Then suddenly his face brightened and with an exclamation he tossed the twig aside and got to his feet. ‘I’ve been a fool not to think of it earlier. There is someone whose help I can ask and who I know won’t refuse me.’

‘Who?’

‘A Baluchi leader called Malik Jiwan. A few years ago he ordered the execution of a Moghul tax collector. The governor of the province sent him in chains to Delhi where my father sentenced him to die beneath the elephant’s foot. But Malik Jiwan appealed to me, claiming the tax gatherer had killed a farmer on his estates who had refused his demand for a bribe and had threatened to petition the emperor. Malik Jiwan said the tax gatherer had deserved to die. I believed him and asked my father to stay his execution while I looked into his case. The officials I sent to investigate found his claim was undoubtedly true so I urged my father to pardon him, which he did. He also granted Malik Jiwan in recompense a rich jagir perhaps fifty or sixty miles north of here with a fortress which he has made his home. He should be able to provide me with a sizeable force. We’ll remain here while I send scouts to bring him to me.’

The scouts must have made good progress, Nicholas thought, watching the arrival, just before sunset two days later, of Malik Jiwan with a small escort of blue-turbaned retainers. He was a tall, well-built man in his late forties and his expression as he dismounted from his cream-coated mare and saw Dara was jovial and warm.

‘You are very welcome, Malik Jiwan.’

‘I came as soon as I received you message. You once did me a great service and I’m glad a time has come when I can repay you.’

‘It has. But first I have something to confer on you in recognition of my gratitude.’ Dara clapped his hands and at the signal the unveiled figure of his wife appeared from behind the screen of oiled cloth that separated the two haram tents from the rest of the camp. Nadira, clearly unwell, was carrying a small silver cup and leaning heavily on the arm of an attendant while another attendant followed holding a silver bowl half filled with liquid. Intrigued, Nicholas came a little closer. Even in a rough camp like this, the women stayed hidden away in the haram quarters. In all his years in Hindustan he had never seen a woman of Nadira’s elevated social status — an imperial princess and mother of imperial princes — appear in the open before a complete stranger. Neither had Dara mentioned anything about what seemed like some kind of ceremony to greet the new arrival.

‘My wife, Her Highness Nadira Begam,’ Dara said to the chief, who looked a little taken aback but then bowed low before her.

Standing very erect Nadira spoke, her voice so hoarse that Nicholas strained to catch her words. ‘You are an honoured visitor to our camp. As a Baluchi you may not know the ancient customs of my people. Please let me explain. In this bowl is water in which I have washed my breasts. I offer you a cup to drink in token of my husband’s esteem for you. By drinking this — the symbol of my milk — you become a proxy member of the imperial Moghul family and my husband’s own brother.’ Slowly and gracefully, Nadira dipped the cup into the bowl her servant was holding and offered it to Malik Jiwan. After a moment’s hesitation he took it, sipped from it and with a courteous inclination of his head handed it back. Then he turned to Dara. ‘It is a great honour, Highness. I do not know what to say …’

‘There is no need for you to say anything. You have responded to my call at a time of great need and I have conferred on you the greatest gift I can offer any man — one that creates a lifelong bond. When, with your help, my cause prospers, my father the emperor will heap gold and silver on you, my new brother. Now let us relax together.’ As Nadira returned slowly to her tent, her progress interrupted by a bout of coughing, Dara put his arm round Malik Jiwan and led him to where carpets and cushions had been spread. They were soon deep in conversation.

The next morning, Nicholas woke to the sound of neighing horses and jingling bridles. In a moment he was on his feet, sword in hand, peering through the pale dawn light. He had spent a restless night dreaming the camp was being overrun. Still half asleep, for a moment he’d thought that that was indeed happening. Then in the light of the already smoking cooking fires he saw that Dara’s bodyguard were stowing possessions in their saddlebags and that the grooms were readying their mounts. As he looked round, puzzled, Dara — fully dressed with his riding cloak over his arm — came striding towards him, his face exuding a once more recovered confidence.

‘What’s happening, Highness? Are we striking camp?’

‘No. I am taking Sipihr and my bodyguard and accompanying Malik Jiwan to his fort, where he tells me he has already begun mustering troops. I wish to see with my own eyes what calibre of soldiers they are and how well equipped. He has also suggested that if I and my son appear before them it will encourage others to answer his call. I am leaving you in command of the camp.’

‘But you’ve only got about fifty bodyguards mounted and ready to go with you. Wouldn’t it be better to take your entire force?’ Nicholas looked round, then lowered his voice. ‘What if Malik Jiwan is trying to trick you? Are you so certain he’s to be trusted?’

‘You saw what happened yesterday. I know you’ve lived in Hindustan for many years but perhaps you still don’t understand our ways. The honour you witnessed Nadira confer on Malik Jiwan is a rare one. He is now bound to me by ties that can never be broken.’ Suddenly Dara reached forward and placed his hand on Nicholas’s arm. ‘I don’t mean to give offence. In fact, I have a great service to ask of you. My wife is feeling no better. In fact she is worse, alternately sweating and shivering. I want her to stay here and rest. May I entrust her to your care? Make her safety your first priority. Promise me that you will guard her and her honour well.’

‘I promise.’

Fifteen minutes later, flanked by Sipihr and Malik Jiwan, and followed by his bodyguards and the Baluchi’s escort, Dara trotted out of the camp and was soon lost to view among the deeper shadows of the trees.

‘It’s Her Highness … she has an even higher fever.’ Nicholas, who was squatting on the ground cleaning the barrel of his musket, looked up to find one of Nadira’s attendants — an elderly woman called Selima who had been nursemaid to Sipihr — standing before him. Above her white cotton veil, her old eyes looked anxious.

‘How bad is she?’

‘During the night her cough grew worse and she began thrashing and crying out. Her clothes and even her bedding were wet with sweat. I tried to calm her but it was useless, and in a few more hours she became delirious. She no longer knows me or where she is. She thinks she’s back in the haram in Agra. She keeps asking for things I can’t bring her. I don’t know what to do …’

Nicholas got to his feet. In truth, neither did he. When he’d promised Dara to keep Nadira safe he’d meant protecting her in the event of an attack … not from illness. They had no hakim with them. If she’d been a man he could at least have taken a look at her himself — he’d seen plenty of cases of fever among his soldiers on campaign — but if Nadira’s condition was really so serious, he’d have to try to get help from one of the settlements they’d passed. That would take time and it would also be risky, but he had no choice. In the meantime he must think what else might help. The leaves of the wormwood tree were said to be good for fever — on campaign he’d watched doctors pound the leaves and then pour boiling water over them to make tea. He’d also watched hakims make a paste of neem leaves to smear on the sufferer’s tongue.

‘Go back to your mistress. Give her plenty of water to drink and keep fanning her. I will send men to fetch assistance from one of the villages, also look for herbs that may help.’ Should he send a rider to find Dara, Nicholas wondered as Selima hurried off. But the prince had already been gone for three days and would surely soon be returning. Also, Dara’s description of the location of Malik Jiwan’s fort had been vague. He would be foolish to weaken the camp’s defences by sending out men on what might be a pointless quest. No, it was better to focus his attention on finding a doctor. Putting down his musket he went to look for two scouts — Amul and Raziq — he knew he could trust.

Fours hours later, with the sun beginning to dip in the sky, Nicholas made his way back towards the camp with the long, pointed wormwood leaves he’d finally managed to find piled in the crown of his broad-brimmed hat, which he was carrying carefully in both hands. He’d no idea if wormwood tea really worked but it was worth a try. In his long experience of Hindustan it had often seemed to him that the best hope of fever sufferers was their own constitution. Nadira was still quite young, he reflected hopefully. Her own strength should carry her through. All the same, his spirits rose when, as he passed through the cordon of pickets stationed around the camp’s perimeter, he saw that one of the two scouts, the tall Punjabi, Amul, had returned and was waiting for him outside his tent.

‘So, Amul, you must have had good luck?’ called Nicholas. But as he came closer he saw the Punjabi’s grim expression. ‘What is it? How is Her Highness? Not worse …?’

Amul shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that. But I have something to tell you in private.’

Pulling up the flap of his tent, Nicholas ducked inside and gestured to Amul to follow. With the light fast fading outside, Nicholas lit an oil lamp that sent inky shadows dancing over the tent’s hide walls and ceiling. Then he pulled the flap closed.

‘What is it, Amul?’

‘To avoid being seen, we were keeping among the trees flanking a road that we hoped would lead eventually to a settlement. We’d not been gone from here more than a couple of hours when we spotted a long caravan of horses, mules and camels making its way slowly westward. Knowing that such caravans often have hakims with them, we approached. We’d invented a story that we were on a hunting expedition and that one of our number had fallen ill. But before we could recount it, the elderly cafila bashee, the caravan leader, had a story of his own to tell us. He said that on the previous day his caravan had been passed by a group of soldiers taking two prisoners to Delhi. The soldiers stopped to buy camel meat and milk from the caravan and one of them boasted to the cafila bashee that the prisoners they were escorting were no ordinary men but the son and grandson of the emperor, being sent as a gift by the chieftain Malik Jiwan to Princes Aurangzeb and Murad. The cafila bashee said he saw the two princes with his own eyes, tied to their saddles with their hands bound behind their backs.’

‘Where is Raziq?’

‘Riding on, hoping to catch up with the soldiers and confirm what the cafila bashee said, while I returned to report to you. If we strike camp at once we might be able to overtake the soldiers and free the princes. The cafila bashee said there were only about a hundred of them.’

‘We can’t. I promised the prince I’d take care of his wife. Unless she is any better we must stay here. I cannot divide our small force. Wait here …’ Nicholas ducked out of the tent again. He’d tried to warn Dara … he should have been more forceful. ‘Bring Selima to me,’ he ordered a qorchi and waited impatiently for the old woman to appear. When she did her face was haggard.

‘How is your mistress?’

‘Very bad.’ Selima was unveiled and tears were running down her lined face. ‘She still doesn’t know me, her coughing racks her body, her skin feels as if it was on fire and her pulses are faint and racing.’

Nicholas remembered the wormwood leaves and bending down scooped a fistful from his hat, which he’d left on the ground outside his tent. ‘Make her some tea from these. It might help,’ he said gently But even as he spoke, Selima’s face sagged with disappointment.

‘You have found no hakims?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. If her condition worsens, tell me.’

Selima gave him a look that said as clearly as words, ‘Why should I? What can you do to help?’ and walked stiffly away on ancient legs, the already shrivelling wormwood leaves in her cupped hands. Whatever happened to Nadira, recovery or death, let it be quick, Nicholas found himself praying. Otherwise what choice did he have but for the time being to abandon Dara?

Beneath a cloudless sky of a hard metallic blue Nicholas galloped along the great trunk road leading to Delhi, avoiding the wandering cows, the children playing barefoot in the dust and the peasants trudging to their fields with their tools on their shoulders, as well as the occasional train of ox carts or camels belonging to some merchant. It was the rural India he loved but he had little time to enjoy its eternal charms. The last earth had barely been piled on Nadira’s simple grave and the last prayers recited before he had mounted up six days previously. Though a third scout he’d sent out had managed to locate a hakim, the man had been able to do nothing for Nadira, whose delirium had increased hour after hour and whose lung-bursting coughing and agonised shrieks for Dara had tormented Nicholas as he’d paced helplessly about by the screens surrounding the haram tents. Now she was at peace, and he was free to discover what had happened to Dara and Sipihr. Why had Malik Jiwan betrayed them despite the apparently great honour of the gift of the breast water, however strange that appeared to a European? Had Malik Jiwan seen the gift as disproportionate and desperate, indicating that he should join the winning side? Perhaps seeing the small number of Dara’s followers had played a part too. Or had he already been committed to Aurangzeb and Murad?

Although the collapse of Shah Jahan’s power and with it Dara’s hopes had seemed swift, it was becoming clear that it had been long in the fermenting. By remaining in Agra and keeping Dara at his side, Shah Jahan had gradually lost touch with his provincial commanders and officials, leaving his other sons free to sow sedition, making promises and winning allies as they travelled across their provinces and to and from Agra. Unlike Dara, basking in his father’s favour and taking his succession for granted, his brothers had known that to realise their ambitions they needed to act. Whatever the case, there might be little he could do to help Dara now … As the news of his capture had spread through the camp, even those who had remained loyal to him till now had begun to leave, slipping away quietly in ones and twos at first and then more openly in larger groups. In the end so few had remained that Nicholas had chosen to make his journey to Delhi alone. At least that way he would attract less notice.

As the sandstone walls of the city finally took substance on the horizon, Nicholas reined in, contemplating what might be happening there. Would Aurangzeb and Murad really harm their brother? Before he could discover the truth, he needed to disguise himself further. He’d already exchanged his usual breeches and leather jerkin for loose-fitting dun-coloured cotton pantaloons and a long tunic with a broad purple sash into which he’d tucked his pistols and a dagger. Now he tugged on a round felt cap that Amul had given him, tucking his hair inside, and pulled his dusty cotton neckcloth higher to cover the lower part of his face.

Two hours later, having left his tired horse at a caravanserai just outside the city, Nicholas joined what seemed an unusually large crowd of people passing through the main gate. Both the gatehouse and the adjacent walls were hung with flags of Moghul green silk — in normal times a sign that the emperor was in residence, but who were they honouring today? The emperor’s usurping sons? Several hundred yards beyond the gate Nicholas turned into the broad thoroughfare leading north to Delhi’s new Red Fort. This seemed the direction in which nearly everyone was heading, jostling one another in their haste to get ahead, as if anxious not to miss something. Perhaps today was a festival. Nicholas allowed himself to be carried along with the throng until it finally disgorged into a great paved square in front of the fort, whose massive sandstone walls rose up about two hundred yards away on the opposite side. Peering over a mass of heads, Nicholas saw that a large raised platform of roughly hewn wood had been erected immediately beneath an ornate carved balcony jutting from the wall of the fort — the place where Shah Jahan stood to address his people when he was in the city. Soldiers surrounded the platform.

Nicholas pushed his way forward, trying to get a better view. Above the noise of the crowd he thought he could hear solemn steady drum beats. Others heard them too and he caught fragments of conversation. ‘They’re coming …’ an old man said, craning his skinny neck, ‘it won’t be long now.’ Who was coming? And why? Aurangzeb and Murad, perhaps, making a triumphal tour of the city their troops had occupied? That would explain the flags on the gatehouse. The drumbeats were growing louder and then he saw a column of foot soldiers, long staves in their hands, enter the square from a street to the left of the fort. Wielding their staves, they began forcing a way through the crowds to clear a passage across the square to the platform. They acted so roughly that a few scuffles broke out, but soon they had made a path five or six yards wide and then stationed themselves, arms linked, on either side of it.

People were now looking expectantly towards the entrance to the street from which the soldiers had just emerged, and a great hubbub rose as a squadron of mounted troops riding two abreast entered the square. The two leading riders had drums tied to either side of their saddles and were striking them in turn: first one, then the other, and then both together. The anticipation of whatever was about to happen seemed too much for the crowds. Nicholas found himself being pushed forward again. He heard a scream as someone fell, and was trampled on by those behind as the great wave of people continued to press onwards, unstoppable as the tide.

Then, as suddenly as the rush had started, it ceased. A hush descended, to be followed by a strange sound like a great, collective sigh. Then Nicholas saw the cause … A single elephant was making its way into the square — no gorgeously caparisoned beast from the imperial hati mahal with jewelled headplate and gilded tusks but a broken-down, scarred old animal with a ripped ear led by a shaggy-headed man wearing a simple dhoti. But like everyone else, Nicholas was looking not at the elephant but at the two wretched figures riding in a rough wooden howdah on its back — Dara and Sipihr, dressed in rags, with garlands of what looked like rotting flowers round their necks. Dara was sitting very straight, looking to neither right nor left, but his son was slumped forward. Nicholas gazed in horror and instinctively tried to push forward towards the captives, but people were thirty deep at least ahead of him and a tall, red-turbaned man directly in front turned round and swore into his face. Nicholas ignored the stream of spittle-flecked abuse. All he could think of was that Aurangzeb and Murad were parading their brother and nephew through the streets of Delhi as if they were common criminals. But then Nicholas realised something else. If the traitors had hoped the populace would welcome such a spectacle they had misjudged. Cries of disgust were rising from all around him and some people were picking up stones and lumps of animal dung and hurling them at the soldiers, who stood their ground as the elephant continued its slow progress towards the wooden platform where it finally halted.

At that moment, the drumming ceased and a tall, broad-shouldered figure appeared on the balcony above. Nicholas saw at once that it was Aurangzeb. The shouting ceased as suddenly everyone turned their attention to him. What was he about to do? Make a speech? Denounce Dara? But it seemed that Aurangzeb had no such intention. As he raised a hand, trumpets on the battlements above him sounded three shrill blasts. At the sign, two of the soldiers who had been standing around the platform stepped forward and pulled Dara roughly down from the elephant’s howdah. The crowd gasped as Dara fell to the ground. Nicholas lost sight of him for a moment then saw him as he struggled, hands bound, to his feet. The two soldiers took hold of him again, this time pushing him up the three steps of a wooden ladder on to the platform.

Dara turned to face the crowds as they pressed against the barrier of the soldiers’ staves. At this distance he appeared haggard and his unkempt hair straggled in rat’s tails over his shoulders. Yet there was still pride and defiance in his posture, in the carriage of his head. His brothers had stripped away every external trapping of an imperial prince but they hadn’t managed to rob him of his dignity, thought Nicholas. Slowly Dara turned and looked directly up at Aurangzeb, standing motionless on the balcony above. Nicholas heard Dara call out something but couldn’t catch the words. Aurangzeb, though, clearly had. Immediately he signalled to the two soldiers standing next to Dara, who seized hold of him and, turning him back to face the crowd, pushed him to his knees.

Then a gate in the fort wall to the platform’s right opened and a heavily built man appeared. He was wearing a leather apron that reached almost to the ground and in his hand gleamed a broad-bladed scimitar. Nicholas heard himself shout ‘No! … No!’ As the man mounted the platform, Dara began frantically struggling. Breaking free, he jumped from the platform and ran to the side of the elephant on which Sipihr was still sitting. He tried to reach up to his son but Aurangzeb’s soldiers seized him and threw him back on to the platform where the other two soldiers grabbed hold of him again. They pulled Dara on to his knees, then each took one of his arms and stretched it behind him so that his head was pushed forward. The executioner looked up at Aurangzeb, who gave him a nod. A terrible sound between a gasp and a groan rose from the crowd as the man swung his scimitar high in the air and brought it down in a single sweeping slash. Dara’s body slumped bloodily forward, but his head rolled across the platform and fell to the ground where a soldier quickly retrieved it.

As people shoved and pushed for a better view, Nicholas looked up at the balcony. Aurangzeb had gone. Sipihr was now bent almost double and seemed to be weeping as his elephant was led onward into the fort, carrying him to whatever future his murderous uncles had in store for him.