Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War (47 page)

A fierce joy surged through Humayun. At the same time came a thought. Before he did anything else he would ride to the gardens his father had laid out on the hills overlooking Kabul where Babur’s grave lay open to the sun, rain, wind and snow. There, kneeling by the simple marble slab, he would give thanks. Just as Babur had done, he would use Kabul as the stepping stone for his reconquest of Hindustan.

Trumpets sounded as beneath a brilliant blue sky Humayun rode at the head of a picked column of men representing all the clans who had joined in his conquest of Kabul, up past where his cannon had been stationed, past where he had looked up to see to his anguish Akbar exposed as a human shield on the battlements, through the high gate from which the fire-carrying oxen had charged and on into the sunlit courtyard of the citadel itself. As he dismounted from his black horse, an immense pride in what he had achieved since he left Persia washed over him. Most important, of course, he had recovered Akbar, but he had also reasserted his authority over Kamran and Askari and re-occupied the kingdom of Kabul.

Bairam Khan, Nadim Khwaja and others of his generals behind were exultant, waving at the crowds and rejoicing in their victory. But mingling with Humayun’s euphoria were more sombre thoughts. Kneeling at his father’s grave last night he had vowed never again to become a king without a kingdom. Before he could even think of retaking Hindustan, just as Babur had done he must make his rule over Kabul and all its lands unassailable. He must force every chief in the surrounding territories who ruled as his vassal to submit totally to his overlordship. Many of those chiefs had supported Kamran and several had friendships and alliances with him going back to the time when as a youth Kamran had remained in Kabul while Humayun had accompanied Babur on his conquest of Hindustan. They would require careful handling. A simple show of force might obtain their allegiance for a while but what would happen when he advanced on Hindustan? They might well rebel.

First, though, he must deal with the half-brother whom he’d last seen face to face two years ago when he’d woken in his tent in a blizzard to find his knife at his throat. ‘Where is Kamran?’ he demanded of Jauhar, who was as usual at his side.

‘I was told he is being held in the cells beneath the citadel.’

‘Have him brought before me here in the courtyard now.’

‘Yes, Majesty.’

A few minutes later, Humayun saw Kamran emerge through a low door which led up from the cells, blinking at his sudden exposure to sunlight. His legs were tightly shackled and he was followed by two armed guards. However, his hands were free and as he passed three grooms leading some of Humayun’s commanders’ horses back to the stables at the conclusion of the entry parade, he suddenly grabbed a long riding whip from one of them. Before the guards could react, he had placed it round his neck in the same way that the whip was placed round the neck of common criminals condemned to be flogged as they were led to the punishment frame.

Was Kamran suggesting he was submitting himself to whatever punishment he might impose, Humayun wondered? He motioned to his guards to leave the whip where it was and walked towards his half-brother. As he drew closer, he saw that Kamran looked unkempt and the bags beneath his eyes showed exhaustion, but his green eyes themselves looked straight into Humayun’s and betrayed not a hint of submission or repentance, merely arrogance and disdain. There was even a trace of a supercilious smile on his lips.

How can he jest with me? How can he not recognise his guilt for what he has done? How can he not show some signs of remorse for the many lives lost on his account, for all those wasted years when we could have been re-conquering Hindustan, thought Humayun.As he stared at his half-brother the image of Kamran pushing Hamida to the floor as he grabbed Akbar in the tent came unbidden into his mind, quickly followed by that of Akbar exposed on the walls of Kabul as the cannon roared. Suddenly emotion erupted like a volcano within him and he lost all control. He hit Kamran with his clenched fist hard in the mouth, breaking one of his teeth and splitting his lip, yelling ‘That is for Hamida’ as he did so. Next he brought up his knee with all the force he could muster into Kamran’s groin. ‘And that is for Akbar!’ he screamed, eyes bulging. Then he brought both his arms down on Kamran’s neck and Kamran fell to the floor where he lay doubled up, clutching his groin and spitting out bloody bits of tooth but uttering not a single word, not a single groan.

Shaking with fury, Humayun was drawing back his foot, ready to kick his defiant, devious brother hard in the stomach, when a cry of dismay from behind him broke into his rage. He twisted round to see frail old Kasim shuffling towards him as fast as he could propel himself on the two ivory-handled walking sticks that he had long relied on.

‘Majesty, this is not the way. If he must die, let him do so with dignity as befits a descendant of Timur. What would your father think?’

His words felt to Humayun like a bucket of cold water poured over him, cooling his temper. Kasim was right. He stepped back from his half-brother. ‘I forgot myself, Kamran. I lowered myself to your level. I will decide your fate later and not in the heat of my anger. Guards! Pick him up. Take him back to the cells, but do not ill-treat him.’

Humayun surveyed his audience chamber with satisfaction. Hangings of Moghul green shone in the light of hundreds of candles and wicks burning in
diyas
of scented oil. This was truly a victory celebration. It had been such a long time – years – since he had been able to reward his warriors as a Moghul ruler should.The treasuries and armouries of Kabul – though not as full as in his father’s time – had yielded enough jewelled daggers and swords, coats of fine mail, finely chased armour, enamelled and gem-encrusted drinking cups and gold and silver coins to reward all his commanders and officers and their men. That Kamran had been so prudent with Kabul’s wealth had surprised Humayun.

His officers and commanders were eating now – the sweet, juicy flesh of young lambs, chickens roasted in butter, quails and pheasants stewed with dried fruits and served whole, their tail feathers still attached but gilded, and fragrant flat bread still hot from the bricks on which it had been baked. The luxurious abundance – the exquisite dishes on which the food was served – seemed a dream after all the years of danger and hardship, of betrayal and deceit. Humayun’s eyes rested with real affection on the battle-scarred faces of Zahid Beg and Ahmed Khan and on the lined faces of Kasim and Sharaf, who had followed him across blistering deserts and over mountains where the cold was so intense it seemed to freeze a man’s heart. When his warriors had numbered less than two hundred – and what tribal leader here tonight had so few? – these loyal men had stayed with him.

Later, as the final course of the meal – sweetmeats of all descriptions including dried apricots stuffed with walnuts and curd cheese mixed with sultanas and pistachios – was brought in on silver platters, Humayun looked around at his commanders, all enjoying the feast and discussing the future and the prospects for the reconquest of Hindustan. He felt content as he had not done for many years. He had never doubted his courage or skill in combat; nor, he suspected, had his followers. But he knew he had gained other perhaps more important strengths as well. He was becoming ever more confident in his authority as a ruler and a leader and in his ability to inspire loyalty in those such as Bairam Khan who had no pre-existing ties to him.

But what about those who had such ties but had not been loyal, among them the nobles and commanders who had supported Kamran and Askari and, of course, his half-brothers themselves? Humayun’s mood sobered. Over the past sixty hours since he had entered the citadel he had been pondering their fate, especially Kamran’s. He had nearly yielded to a visceral desire to revenge himself on his half-brother with his bare hands for threatening his child.

But as his rage had cooled he had begun to think more calmly. He could never forgive Kamran but did he owe it to the future of his dynasty to try to heal the rifts within it rather than deepening them? His father’s face – so like Kamran’s with those brilliant green eyes – swam before him. Suddenly the contentment and confidence welling through him coalesced to make his decision. Standing up, Humayun called Jauhar to him. ‘Have Kamran and Askari brought before me here, at once, together with those of their leading commanders whom we have also kept prisoner.’

A quarter of an hour later, Jauhar whispered to Humayun that the prisoners were outside the chamber’s thick doors. Humayun rose to his feet and clapped his hands to call for quiet. Almost instantly a hush fell on the room as his officers put down their eating implements and goblets, wiped their mouths, sticky from the sweetmeats, and turned all their attention to their emperor.

‘My loyal commanders, we have celebrated our victory and rightly rejoiced in our success in overcoming our enemies, but our task is only half complete. Now we must look to the future and the reconquest of Hindustan. However, first I must deal with those who, unlike you, showed me no loyalty and neglected the ties of blood and of ancestral obligations. Bring in the prisoners.’

Two attendants pulled open the doors and Kamran walked into the room. His hands were tied but his legs were free. Straight-backed, head high, and bruised, hawk-nosed face emotionless, he walked forward, looking neither to left nor right until the guards escorting him halted him ten feet in front of Humayun. He was followed by Askari, who had been confined in comfortable private quarters since being brought to the citadel but whose hands were now also bound. Even though he must have known he had less to fear than his brother since Humayun had promised him his life, his demeanour was less assured than Kamran’s. He was perspiring a little and looking round and smiling nervously at some of those of Humayun’s men he recognised. Behind him came ten of Kamran and Askari’s senior commanders. Among them were Hassan Khahil, a burly, wild-haired Uzbek, and Shahi Beg, a diminutive but courageous Tajik with a livid white scar on his left cheek. He had been Kamran’s commander in Kabul and was in fact a cousin of Zahid Beg, Humayun’s own general. As Shahi Beg entered, Humayun noticed the two men’s eyes met but then both looked instantly away.

Once the commanders were lined up behind Kamran and Askari, Humayun began addressing his own troops. ‘You see before you the men we have defeated. The men who have shed our blood and killed our friends. Yet the war we have fought was a battle between brothers and relations. I know this only too well, as do many others of you. We have fought those with whom we should have banded together to fight the common enemy who has usurped our lands in Hindustan. Much more – heritage, tradition and ambition – should bind us together than those rivalries and jealousies which have split us apart. Divided among ourselves, we may never reconquer Hindustan. United we should be so powerful we need fear none. The fear would be our enemy’s alone – our conquests and ambitions would be without limit.

‘For that reason I have preferred reconciliation to punishment, however well deserved. I have decided to forgive these my former enemies you see before you, provided they will join us in regaining and expanding our empire in Hindustan.’

With that, Humayun walked over to Askari and drawing a small dagger cut his brother’s bonds and embraced him. As he did so, he felt Askari relax and there were wet tears on his half-brother’s cheek as it brushed against his own. Then he moved towards Kamran and severed his bonds too and embraced him. Kamran’s body felt rigid but he did not pull back. Nor did he resist as Humayun held his and Askari’s arms aloft and yelled to the resounding cheers of all present, ‘Onwards to the reconquest of Hindustan.’

An hour later, Humayun made his way to Hamida’s apartments in the royal women’s quarters. She had arrived with Akbar and Gulbadan the previous evening and in the joy of their reunion they had not spoken of Kamran and his fate. As he entered, he could tell at once from her expression that she knew of his decision.