Read Online Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War by Alex Rutherford - Free Book Online Page B

them whenever you can and when you do you must be like the sun to them, too bright to gaze upon. They must believe in your power to protect them . . . and in your power to punish any who defy you. Remember how our ancestor Timur dazzled his people not only by his conquests but by his magnificence. The palaces and mosques he built in Samarkand, the fabulous wealth he displayed and distributed, were as important as his victories in stamping his footprint for ever upon the earth.’
    Humayun rose and walked slowly over to the casement. The rain was easing and a few pale shafts of sunlight were penetrating the sullen grey sky. His aunt was right – he must not begrudge the time and effort he expended on court politics. He must give his people not only victories but also pageants and spectacles . . . They must see him not as a man but as an image of perfection and power.
    ‘Humayun – look at this . . .’
    Turning, he saw Khanzada undoing two silver clasps on the carved ivory covers of a large book that one of her attendants had brought her. Resting it on a sandalwood stand, she began to turn the pages, frowning as she scanned the lines until, finding what she wanted, she gave a nod of satisfaction.
    ‘While you were away, I ordered some of Sultan Ibrahim’s household documents to be translated into our tongue. To our eyes the court customs of the rulers of Hindustan seem strange – bizarre even – but they deserve careful study. For example, it’s written here that every year, on the anniversary of his accession, Sultan Ibrahim was weighed at a public ceremony and an equivalent weight of silver, food and fine cloth was distributed to his courtiers and the people according to their rank and merit. Why shouldn’t you do something similar? Bind your subjects high and low to you by showing them your wealth and power – and your generosity. See – the ceremony is described in precise detail . . .’
    Coming close to Khanzada, Humayun read over her shoulder. At first, the description of the elaborate ritual of the weighing ceremony made him smile. No wonder the Moghuls had smashed through Sultan Ibrahim’s armies at Panipat if the sultan had indulged in such things. It seemed soft, unmanly, to dish out wealth that had not been earned through hard combat and blood. How much better in the immediate aftermath of victory to pile his warriors’ shields with booty . . .
    His lip curled a little with contempt. The Moghuls hadn’t conquered Hindustan to rule as its past kings had done. But Khanzada’s eyes, fixed intently on his, made him pause and as he did so his certainty wavered. Perhaps his reactions were still those of a nomadic warrior from the Asian steppes . . . But he was in Hindustan now and must learn to change. Khanzada could be right. A king’s power did reside in his ability to awe and reward as well as to conquer on the battlefield. There might indeed be something in these old ceremonies. Perhaps he should adopt some of Sultan Ibrahim’s customs but build on them to create new spectacles . . . new magnificence . . .
    Humayun put his hand on Khanzada’s shoulder. ‘Again you have shown me what I should do . . .’

    Humayun looked at his reflection in the burnished mirror held up by Jauhar. His robes were of pale blue brocade encrusted with gold embroidery and gems glittered on his fingers and around his neck. He smiled, pleased with the image he presented, encased in his finery. In fact, the only pieces of jewellery that mattered to him were the Koh-i-Nur diamond, his Mountain of Light, that mounted in gold was pinned to his breast, and – even more so – Timur’s gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. The ring was Humayun’s talisman – its virile, elemental strength a constant reminder of how much he had to live up to, how much he had yet to accomplish . . .
    Humayun signalled that he was ready to proceed to the great audience chamber of the Agra fort. To the blast of two long-stemmed bronze