Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War (22 page)

Politenesses over, Humayun motioned his half-brothers to sit in a semicircle around him with Kasim, Baisanghar and Zahid Beg and got immediately to the point. ‘I am glad to see you. It has been a long time since we were all together. You know why I summoned you here. This is a council of war and the fate of every one of us – of our entire dynasty – rests on the results. In the past we have had our differences but we are all four the sons of Babur. Timur’s blood runs in all our veins and we must unite against the danger that presses in around us. As you know, Sher Shah at the head of three hundred thousand men has occupied Agra, our capital . . . ’

‘It is regrettable that your campaigns against him did not prosper,’ Kamran said quietly. ‘It seems that for once your stars misled you.’

Humayun flushed, his hopes of harmony shattering as Kamran spoke. ‘I shed my own blood fighting Sher Shah’s armies and many good men died – men like Baba Yasaval. Had you sent the help I requested, I could have defeated Sher Shah, and those brave warriors who fell around me might still be living . . . ’

‘I offered to come at the head of all my troops but you declined . . . ’

‘Because I did not wish to see your province left undefended.’

‘But I warned you against riding so far east to confront Sher Shah – I advised you to prepare for a long siege in either Agra or Delhi. Secure within the walls and well stocked with provisions, you could have bled Sher Shah dry and used some of your other forces to attack him from the rear. But as always you did not heed my advice . . . ’ Kamran persisted with what seemed to Humayun a half-sneer on his face.

‘And as always your loyalty to me is dubious . . . like sand in the hourglass it is already trickling away . . . I see it in your treacherous eyes . . . ’ Humayun was on his feet. In their boyhood he had always been the better fighter and wrestler. He’d thrashed Kamran a thousand times and would do so again . . . Kamran too had leaped up, his hand reaching for the jewelled dagger in his dark purple sash.

‘Majesties . . . ’ Baisanghar’s calm voice brought both of them to their senses. Humayun felt shame that he had allowed Kamran to provoke him. They were not boys sparring in Kabul but Moghul princes facing a deadly and common danger. Kamran too seemed to have regretted his reaction. His hand moved away from his sash and, eyes lowered, he sat down again. Askari and Hindal were also looking down, as if making clear that they wanted no part in this spat between Babur’s two eldest sons.

‘As always, Baisanghar, you are the voice of reason.’ Humayun too seated himself again.‘What is past is past.What matters is the future. Our father struggled nearly his whole life – from the time he was twelve years old – to found an empire. God guided him to new lands, far from our ancestral home, and it is our sacred trust not to lose what he fought for. That is why I summoned you here – so that we four could decide how to fulfil that trust . . . And because our greatest strength, our greatest safety, lies in unity.’

His half-brothers nodded and Humayun began to breathe more easily. ‘Zahid Beg, outline our military thinking to my brothers. I would welcome their opinion.’

As Humayun sat back against a large brocade cushion, his master-of-horse began to summarise the strategy that Humayun with his advice and that of Baisanghar had drawn up.

‘Majesties,’ Zahid Beg began, bony face grave, ‘we cannot know Sher Shah’s intentions but at present he seems occupied in consolidating his position – he has brought his armies a long way westward from Bengal so he needs to secure more supplies. Also, he risks rebellion to his rear from the lawless tribes who inhabit the swamps of the Ganges Delta. That means that we have at least a little time before he feels secure enough to pursue us here from Agra . . . if indeed he means to, and that is not certain. We must use that time to recruit. We’ve already sent to the governor of Kabul for reinforcements. Once they arrive, our position will be immeasurably stronger and our options greater.’

‘Can we pay these recruits?’ Askari asked, his small black eyes intent. ‘Or do we expect them to fight for us on the promise of booty alone?’

‘We have funds – from the imperial treasuries at Agra but also Delhi,’ Kasim replied.

‘And till they arrive . . . ?’ asked Kamran.

‘We will use the time to provision and reinforce Lahore,’ said Humayun. ‘It is unfortunate the city is unwalled, but we are protected to the north by the Ravi river and can dig defensive trenches and position our cannon and musketeers to west, south and east. The palace itself is strongly built. We could defend it for some time while awaiting fresh forces.’

Kamran’s green eyes flickered but he said no more.

‘How many troops have you brought with you, Majesties?’ Kasim opened the mulberry-wood covers of the book in which for as long as Humayun could remember his vizier had kept notes of important matters. Unstoppering the little jade ink-bottle hanging from a chain around his neck and dipping in his quill, Kasim waited.

‘I have brought five thousand horsemen, including one thousand mounted archers,’ said Askari, ‘and also five hundred spare horses.’

‘My force numbers about three thousand cavalry and five hundred foot soldiers,’ said Hindal. ‘All good men.’

They all looked at Kamran. ‘I came with only two thousand cavalry. After all, you warned me some weeks ago against leaving my province undefended in case of attack . . . ’ His tone was almost too much for Humayun – Kamran’s province was the largest and richest of all and the farthest from Sher Shah’s armies and he could easily have spared many more than two thousand without placing it in jeopardy, but Humayun forced himself to swallow his anger. For a moment the only sound was the scratching of Kasim’s pen, then the vizier looked up. ‘So, Majesties, with the addition of these extra men, that brings our strength up to around ninety thousand.’

‘We must do everything we can to keep them here – I don’t want them disappearing home . . . ’ Humayun said.

‘The way to avoid that is by promising them action and booty soon. Given that the women and the treasure are safe here in Lahore, we should march out now against Sher Shah – surprise him . . . ’ Kamran replied.

‘Yes,’ agreed Askari eagerly, ‘Kamran is right. Wouldn’t that be best?’

‘It would be reckless,’ Humayun replied. ‘You forget how vastly he outnumbers us. To stand any chance of a decisive victory we would need to take our artillery. That would not only slow us down but give time for news of our approach to reach him. I do not understand you, Kamran.You criticised me for riding to confront Sher Shah instead of allowing him to besiege me in Agra or Delhi but now when I suggest fortifying Lahore against him, you urge me to ride to battle against him . . . ’

‘The circumstances are different. But plainly you don’t want our views. You just want to tell us yours,’ Kamran said with a sulky expression. ‘I have nothing further to suggest.’

Catching his grandfather’s warning look, Humayun this time resisted the temptation to let Kamran provoke him. Instead, he turned to Askari and Hindal. ‘Kamran is mistaken. I do want to know your thoughts.’ They remained silent, perhaps inhibited by the tension between their elder brothers. Regret mingled with frustration seeped through Humayun. It shouldn’t be like this. He was ready to forget the past but it didn’t seem his half-brothers, his flesh and blood, were as willing.

However, after a moment, Hindal spoke. ‘Zahid Beg spoke of options once the reinforcements from Kabul reach us. What are they?’

Humayun answered. ‘I am expecting at least fifty thousand men. I have sent orders that if we are already under siege here in Lahore, they are to attack the rear of the besieging force. But if they reach us before Sher Shah has advanced far from Agra – as I hope – we will have sufficient men to be able to attack Sher Shah’s advancing army on the flanks. He will have the advantage of numbers but we will have those of speed and horsemanship that have always served us well against our enemies. So you see, Kamran, I am ready to take the initiative against Sher Shah – only we can’t do it yet . . . ’

Kamran shrugged and silence fell again. Humayun rose. ‘Let’s talk again when we’ve more news of Sher Shah’s intentions and of the progress of our reinforcements from Kabul. But tonight let’s feast – it is a long time since we were all together. We must show the world that despite present adversities Babur’s sons are united.’

Hurrying down the corridor leading to his apartments, Humayun passed the doors leading to the women’s quarters. Somewhere within would be Gulrukh whom he had been told had travelled to Lahore with Kamran. Predictably it was with her elder, more ambitious son that she had chosen to live after he himself had banished her from his court. Would she be seeking to influence her sons and if so, how? It would be a good opportunity. Humayun wondered whether he had been wise to bring his half-brothers together again. Maybe it was foolish to think there could ever be real trust, real unity between the four of them – ambition, rivalry, would always get in the way. And could he blame them? In their place wouldn’t he feel resentment against the brother who had inherited everything? He would have to have all of them – and Kamran in particular – closely watched and at any sign of disloyalty he would act. With enemies at the gates he could not tolerate an enemy within.

Suddenly Humayun decided to visit Salima. Her warm, fervent embraces would banish troubled thoughts as he lost himself in physical pleasure. He smiled and quickened his pace.

‘Majesty, Sher Shah’s vanguard is on the move from Agra towards Lahore.’ Jauhar’s voice cut into Humayun’s disturbed dreams. He struggled to wakefulness to see Jauhar’s anxious face lit by the flickering light of the candle he was holding in his right hand. ‘Ahmed Khan begs to see you at once. He would not even wait for first light. One of his scouts is with him. He has been on the road these past six days and just returned.’

Humayun sat up, splashed his face with water from a brass bowl on a wooden stand by his bed and wrapped a green silk robe around him. A few minutes later, Ahmed Khan and a sweat-soaked scout swaying with fatigue were before him.

‘You are certain Sher Shah is on the move?’

‘Yes, Majesty. Hear what my scout says.’

The scout stepped closer. ‘I would stake my life on it. I waited until from what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears I was absolutely sure and then I rode for Lahore, pausing only to change horses along the road.’

‘How many men?’

‘It’s hard to estimate but by the great dust they were raising on the road, many thousands of cavalry, Majesty.’

‘And Sher Shah himself?’

‘Still in Agra according to what I heard. But soon he will ride out too, I am sure of it. Before I left, I saw a great baggage train being assembled on the riverbanks beneath the Agra fort – pack mules, oxen and camels without number and hundreds of elephants. Sher Shah’s own tents with their purple awnings were being loaded on to carts.’ The scout’s drawn, filthy face relaxed visibly now his task was accomplished.

As soon as he was alone, Humayun sat cross-legged at his low table. Any further discussions with his brothers would be fruitless. Over the past few days, Askari and Hindal had had little constructive to suggest, preferring to listen to their elder brothers spar. Kamran had continued to argue for confronting Sher Shah and Humayun to insist that without many more men such a strategy would fail, reminding Kamran he’d already fought and lost two great battles against Sher Shah. Since then his enemy had grown stronger while he had grown weaker. This was not the time to seek another head-on confrontation.

And all the while, something he had once read in his father’s memoirs had kept returning to Humayun’s mind.
If you cannot defeat your enemy by force of arms, do not despair. Find other ways. A sharp, well-oiled double-bladed axe is a fine weapon but so is a finely honed mind that can find a subtler path to victory . . .

After thinking for a while, Humayun began to write. ‘Sher Shah, you seek to take Hindustan from me though it is mine by virtue of my blood descent from Timur. Meet me in single combat and let us settle this dispute for ever. But if you will not fight me, let us at least agree a truce to prevent further bloodshed while we seek other ways to settle our differences.’

Taking a stick of dark red sealing wax, Humayun stuck the end into the flame of a candle and watched the wax soften, then begin to drip ruby droplets like beads of blood. Taking the stick out of the flame, he held it over the bottom of the letter, until a small wax pool had collected. Then, turning his right hand over, he pressed Timur’s gold ring hard into the wax to leave a perfect impression of a snarling tiger.

An hour later, Humayun watched two of Ahmed Khan’s men gallop out of Lahore to seek out Sher Shah and deliver his letter. Sher Shah would never agree to personal combat – only a fool would accept such a challenge – but the idea of a truce might tempt him. Stories – admittedly not much more than rumours – brought by travelling merchants suggested discord between some of Sher Shah’s commanders. If there was even a speck of truth in them, Sher Shah might welcome a pause to help him re-establish his authority. If so, it would buy Humayun a little more time. There was still no sign of the troops he had summoned from Kabul and probably wouldn’t be for at least several more weeks. Every day he could delay Sher Shah would help . . .