Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War (42 page)

Sometimes, of course, it took as much fortitude to be patient as to ride into battle. The memory of his infant son on the battlements was all that was preventing Humayun from assaulting the citadel with everything he had. Perhaps Rustum Beg had interpreted his feelings for his son – his unwillingness to call Kamran’s bluff – as weakness. Well, so be it. If he must, he would – just as he had told Rustum Beg – fight on alone.

Through the tent flap that still hung partially open, Humayun saw the wintry light was fading. Soon he would summon his commanders to tell them what had happened. They might be glad to see the Persians gone.The camaraderie that had existed in the early days when Humayun led his forces out of Persia had ebbed as more and more of the clans around Kabul had come to swell his numbers. Only three days ago, Zahid Beg had told him of a violent incident between his men and the Persians. A Tajik chieftain, believing some Persian soldiers had stolen some of his stores, had called them Shiite dogs. In the ensuing brawl, one of the Tajik’s men had been stabbed in the cheek and a Persian badly burned on one side of his body when he was thrown against a brazier of blazing logs. Perhaps it was better that the
Kizilbashi
– the ‘Red-heads’, as Humayun’s men called the Persians for their conical red caps with strips of scarlet cloth hanging down behind to proclaim their Shiite faith – should depart. He himself would immediately renounce his token adherence to the Shia sect. That too would hearten his men.

The sound of voices outside his command tent interrupted Humayun’s thoughts. Then the tent flap was pushed back and Jauhar ducked inside. ‘Majesty, Bairam Khan asks to see you.’

‘Very well.’

As Bairam Khan entered Humayun noticed that the scar on his neck was pink and puckered and still very new-looking. He was a good fighter and a clever tactician. Though Rustum Beg was overall commander of the Persian forces, it had been obvious to Humayun almost from the start that Bairam Khan was their true leader and general. He would be sorry to lose him.

‘What is it, Bairam Khan?’

Bairam Khan hesitated, as if what he wished to say wasn’t easy. Then, fixing his indigo eyes on Humayun’s face, he began. ‘I know what Rustum Beg has told you . . . I am sorry.’

‘No blame attaches to you. What I am sorry for is that I will lose you—’

‘Majesty,’ the usually courteous Bairam Khan broke in, ‘hear me out. When we were attacked in the defile on the way to Kabul, you saved me. Never in all the battles I have fought had I felt death so close . . . in my mind’s eye I already saw my grave dug in that lonely place. But you gave my life back to me. I have come to ask you to let me repay you.’

‘There is no debt, Bairam Khan. I only did what any man on the battlefield would do when he sees a comrade – a friend – in danger.’

‘I do not wish to return to Persia with Rustum Beg but to remain with you and do all in my power to further your cause. Will you take me into your service?’

Humayun rose, and stepping forward gripped Bairam Khan’s arm. ‘There is no man in the entire Persian army I would rather have fighting by my side . . . ’

‘Majesties . . . Majesties . . . wake up.’ Someone was gently shaking his shoulder . . . or was it just a dream? Humayun moved closer to the soft warmth of Hamida’s body lying close beside him. But the shaking grew more insistent. Humayun opened his eyes to see Zainab, an oil lamp in her hand, standing over them. In the flickering light, he saw she looked excited, the birthmark on her face seeming more pronounced than usual.

‘What is it?’ Beside him, Hamida opened sleepy eyes.

‘Half an hour ago a man tried to ride into the camp. When the pickets challenged him, he would not say who he was but asked to be taken to Zahid Beg. After talking to him, Zahid Beg, knowing you were with Her Majesty in the women’s tents, sent for me and asked me to summon you.’

‘Why the urgency? Can’t it wait till sunrise?’

‘Zahid Beg told me nothing . . . only to ask that you come at once . . . ’

‘Very well.’ Humayun rose and wrapping a long, sheepskin-lined coat around him stepped out into the chilling wind. Who could it be? Perhaps Kamran had sent a messenger, though why he should do so by dead of night was a mystery. By the light of a brazier of glowing charcoals, he saw Zahid Beg standing beside a tall, square-shouldered man wearing a dark cloak with the hood pulled forward concealing his face. Could it be an assassin sent by Kamran . . . or even by the Shah of Persia?

‘Is he armed, Zahid Beg?’

‘No, Majesty. He volunteered to let us search him.’

As Humayun drew closer, the man pushed the hood back with a slow, deliberate gesture. Even in the shadowy light from the brazier, Humayun knew at once that it was Hindal, thick-set face now heavily bearded but still unmistakably his half-brother. For a moment, the two of them stared at one another in silence. Despite all that had happened since, memories of Hindal were suddenly vivid again in Humayun’s mind – of Hindal as a baby in Maham’s arms, of how he had taught his younger brother to ride his first pony, of Hindal’s joy when he had shot his first rabbit; then later memories of the look on Hindal’s face at the time of his rebellion, of how he had loyally accompanied Humayun on his first journey as an exile to Mirza Husain and Maldeo; then above all of their last meeting – how they had pounded each other with their fists over Hamida and how, after spitting at Humayun’s feet, a bleeding, bruised but still defiant Hindal had ridden away.

‘Leave us, please, and make sure no one disturbs us.’ Humayun waited until Zahid Beg had disappeared into the darkness, all the while looking hard at Hindal, then asked, ‘Why have you come here? And why alone, placing yourself in my power like this?’

‘For some months – since escaping from Kamran – I have been taking refuge with my remaining loyal friends in the high hills of Jagish, northeast of Kabul. But news travels even to such remote regions. I learned what Kamran had done – how he had exposed Akbar on the battlements of the Kabul citadel as your cannon pounded its walls. His actions shocked me – they defy everything noble in our warrior code and stain our family’s honour.’

‘Fine sentiments, but you still haven’t answered my question. Let us be frank with one another. Why have you come?’

‘To help get Akbar back.’

Humayun was so astonished that for a few moments he could only stare at the massive figure of his half-brother, calmly warming his large hands over the brazier.

‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Hindal filled the silence. ‘You are asking yourself why I should wish to help you. It’s simple. Despite the blood ties that will bind us till death, you and I will never be reconciled. That won’t change. I have come here tonight for Hamida and Hamida alone . . . to help relieve her agony by offering to bring her child back to her . . . She must be suffering . . . ’

Humayun shifted uneasily, uncomfortable about talking to Hindal about Hamida at all and even more so to be talking to him about how he had failed her by being unable to recover her son.

‘If you have truly come with thoughts of easing Hamida’s grief, I am grateful to you.’ He paused again, then made up his mind to swallow his pride. ‘To be honest as I said we should be, she has known no true rest or peace of mind since Akbar was taken . . . But when you speak of help, what do you mean? I have been besieging the citadel for nearly four months with no success. What do you think you can do alone that I can’t with my army?’

‘I can win Kamran’s confidence and get into the citadel. Once inside, I can find a way of rescuing Akbar.’

‘How? Why should Kamran trust you any more than me?’

‘I can do it because I understand him, because I know his weaknesses. He despises you and believes he is the natural head of our family. I will use his conceit, his vanity, to convince him that I have come to my senses and wish to be his ally again . . . to reunite the rest of Babur’s sons behind him against you. But it all depends on creating an illusion . . . ’

‘Go on.’

‘You must raise the siege and make it appear you are leading your forces away from Kabul. That will leave the way clear for me to bring my own men down from the hills and offer Kamran an alliance . . . ’

‘You are suggesting I abandon the siege after so many weeks, just when I might at last be tightening the screw on Kamran?’

‘You must. My plan can’t work if you are still encamped anywhere near Kabul. Kamran must believe you’ve given up.’

‘You ask too much. For all I know you’ve already made your peace with Kamran and he’s sent you here to try and trick me.’

‘I am ready to swear on our father’s memory that this is no subterfuge . . . ’ Hindal’s tawny eyes returned Humayun’s gaze unflinchingly.

‘Very well – assuming I do as you suggest, what happens then?’

‘Kamran will think he’s got the better of you. In his elation he will be all the more ready to accept my story – that since not even you have been able to overcome him, I am ready to acknowledge and serve him as our father’s true heir.’

‘You really think he will believe you?’

‘Don’t underestimate his conceit. After all, why shouldn’t he believe me? Why shouldn’t I wish to exchange the life of a renegade in the hills for a share of the reflected glory of a Moghul prince whose star is rising as yours wanes? And he will be glad of the extra men I can bring him. Then once inside the citadel I will find a way of smuggling Akbar out of Kabul . . . but it will take time. Not only must I win Kamran’s trust but I must also find the right opportunity . . . ’

‘What about Kamran’s mother Gulrukh? She’s as shrewd as – probably shrewder than – her son. If she is with him she won’t be easy to deceive.’

Hindal looked surprised. ‘Gulrukh’s dead.The bullock cart in which she was travelling from Kandahar to Kabul fell into a ravine. I thought you would have heard.’

‘No.’ Humayun digested the news. He could feel little sorrow for the woman who had tempted him with her potions of opium and wine to further her sons’ ambitions. ‘Even so, you would be putting yourself at great risk. Just assuming you succeeded, what would you want from me?’

‘Nothing. You have taken everything I wanted and you cannot give it back . . . ’

For a moment they looked at one another in silence. Now that he was face to face with Hindal again, Humayun realised how much he wanted to say – about his guilt, his regret at having wounded him. But his half-brother wouldn’t believe him and anyway nothing could alter the facts – Humayun loved Hamida with a passion he’d never known for any other woman. If he had his time again, he would be just as ruthless in his determination to have her.

All the time Hindal’s eyes had never left Humayun’s face. ‘Well, what is your answer? I must know before I leave your camp – assuming you are prepared to let me go – and I must be gone before it gets light. There are enough men here who know me and there may be spies among them. If word of my presence reached Kamran any chances of my plan succeeding would be over . . . ’

‘I need time to think. I will ask Zahid Beg to take you to his tent and to stay with you until I come. It is some three hours before dawn.You will have your answer in two.’

After Hindal had gone, Humayun paced up and down, oblivious of the cold. Hindal’s plan was bold and brave but if he agreed to it, he must take so much on trust. How many times had his faith in members of his own family been betrayed since he had become emperor? . . . Yet every inflection of Hindal’s voice, every gesture, had carried conviction. Whatever his own views, he could not take the decision without talking to Hamida, who would be wondering why he had been gone so long.

He was right. When he returned to their tent he found that she had risen and was waiting for him, her dark hair, still dishevelled by sleep, tumbling around her shoulders and her expression anxious. ‘The man who rode into the camp during the night – it was Hindal,’ he said before she could speak.

‘Hindal?’

‘Yes. He offers us his help in rescuing Akbar. If I pretend to raise the siege and march away, he will ride to the citadel and offer Kamran an alliance. Once in Kamran’s confidence he will seek a way of smuggling Akbar out of Kabul.’

‘Could he really bring back our son to us . . . ?’

Humayun could see the hope beginning to take hold of her.‘Well, perhaps . . . but the problem is can we trust Hindal?’

Hamida’s hopeful expression faltered. ‘Hindal took a big risk riding alone into your encampment in the dark. He might have been killed. And it would have taken courage to face you again too.’

‘True, but if he is playing a double game he might have reckoned the possible rewards worth the risk. Though he swears he is not in league with Kamran, this might be a trick either to induce me to abandon the siege or just to enable Hindal and his men to get into Kabul to join Kamran.’ The only sound was of the wind beating against the hide walls of the tent as Humayun and Hamida looked at one another. ‘If I make the wrong decision, Kamran’s position will be strengthened and our chances of defeating him and regaining our son will fade,’ Humayun said at last.