Read Online Empire of the Moghul: Ruler of the World by Alex Rutherford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alex Rutherford
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at last.
A month later, Akbar stirred in his sleep and moved a little closer to Mayala, whose warm, naked body was curled against his. Their love-making had been long and vigorous and now, in his semi-consciousness, a deep contentment seeped through him.
‘Majesty . . . Majesty, wake up.’ At the feel of a hand on his shoulder, he opened sleepy eyes to see the dry, wrinkled face of the keeper of the
haram
looking down at him.
‘What is it?’ Akbar looked instinctively for his dagger. Even in the
haram
the emperor must always be prepared for attack.
‘A messenger has come. One of Ahmed Khan’s scouts. He says he has news that will not wait.’
‘Very well.’ Akbar rose, wrapped a robe around him, thrust his feet into pointed red leather slippers and followed the old woman to the doors of the
haram
. Outside, beyond the guards by the entrance, he recognised the scout. He looked dirty and tired but what struck Akbar most was his expression. ‘What is it?’
‘Bad news, Majesty. About four weeks ago, Bairam Khan with ten of his men were attacked while out hunting near his camp on the banks of the Chambal river.’
‘And Bairam Khan?’ The blood was already draining from Akbar’s face. He had guessed the answer.
‘Killed, Majesty, along with all his hunting companions.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes. Others of his party discovered the bodies half hidden among the reeds along the Chambal.’
‘I want to question them. I must know exactly what they found.’
‘They are still on the road to Agra after attending to the funeral rites. I had the news from the post rider they had sent ahead, whom I encountered at a caravanserai in Dholpur. Learning who I was, he told me what had occurred and gave me this letter for you, written by Bairam Khan’s senior officer.’ The scout pulled a folded piece of paper from his dusty green leather satchel.
As Akbar opened it, a second folded note speckled red-brown in one corner fell to the ground. Akbar picked it up, then handed the first letter back to the scout. ‘Read it to me.’
‘“Majesty,”’ the man began, ‘“it grieves me to report that BairamKhan has been murdered. We discovered his body and those of our comrades on the banks of the Chambal river. All had been killed by arrows, many shot in the back. In the case of Bairam Khan – and this is terrible to relate – the head had been hacked off. We found it some yards away at the edge of the water. All the bodies had been stripped of jewels, money and weapons. Though we searched for signs to tell us which way the attackers had gone, we could find none. Perhaps they fled by boat. As proof of what I relate I am sending a paper found on Bairam Khan’s body.”’
Slowly Akbar opened the second letter. He didn’t need anyone to read it to him. He knew what it was – the order written by Maham Anga on his behalf to Bairam Khan to depart on the
haj
. He also knew what the dark brown stain was – Bairam Khan’s blood.
Three hours later, from the balcony of his apartments Akbar watched the first shafts of sunlight warming the battlements of the Agra fort, but he didn’t feel it. Instead he was shivering as if the world around him were coated with ice. He could scarcely believe Bairam Khan was dead. He would make sure the perpetrators were found and punished as savagely as they deserved, but wasn’t he also guilty? If he hadn’t broken with Bairam Khan and sent him away, he would still be alive. And what would his mother say? She had been angrier than he had ever seen her on hearing that he had dismissed his commander-in-chief. How would she react to his murder?
In the courtyard below he heard the timekeeper strike the brass disc that signalled the end of his watch. Soon the sun would be well above the horizon. He must not make the mistake of allowing Hamida to learn the news from anyone else as he had that of Bairam Khan’s dismissal. He must go to her straight away. Splashing himself with water,
A month later, Akbar stirred in his sleep and moved a little closer to Mayala, whose warm, naked body was curled against his. Their love-making had been long and vigorous and now, in his semi-consciousness, a deep contentment seeped through him.
‘Majesty . . . Majesty, wake up.’ At the feel of a hand on his shoulder, he opened sleepy eyes to see the dry, wrinkled face of the keeper of the
haram
looking down at him.
‘What is it?’ Akbar looked instinctively for his dagger. Even in the
haram
the emperor must always be prepared for attack.
‘A messenger has come. One of Ahmed Khan’s scouts. He says he has news that will not wait.’
‘Very well.’ Akbar rose, wrapped a robe around him, thrust his feet into pointed red leather slippers and followed the old woman to the doors of the
haram
. Outside, beyond the guards by the entrance, he recognised the scout. He looked dirty and tired but what struck Akbar most was his expression. ‘What is it?’
‘Bad news, Majesty. About four weeks ago, Bairam Khan with ten of his men were attacked while out hunting near his camp on the banks of the Chambal river.’
‘And Bairam Khan?’ The blood was already draining from Akbar’s face. He had guessed the answer.
‘Killed, Majesty, along with all his hunting companions.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes. Others of his party discovered the bodies half hidden among the reeds along the Chambal.’
‘I want to question them. I must know exactly what they found.’
‘They are still on the road to Agra after attending to the funeral rites. I had the news from the post rider they had sent ahead, whom I encountered at a caravanserai in Dholpur. Learning who I was, he told me what had occurred and gave me this letter for you, written by Bairam Khan’s senior officer.’ The scout pulled a folded piece of paper from his dusty green leather satchel.
As Akbar opened it, a second folded note speckled red-brown in one corner fell to the ground. Akbar picked it up, then handed the first letter back to the scout. ‘Read it to me.’
‘“Majesty,”’ the man began, ‘“it grieves me to report that BairamKhan has been murdered. We discovered his body and those of our comrades on the banks of the Chambal river. All had been killed by arrows, many shot in the back. In the case of Bairam Khan – and this is terrible to relate – the head had been hacked off. We found it some yards away at the edge of the water. All the bodies had been stripped of jewels, money and weapons. Though we searched for signs to tell us which way the attackers had gone, we could find none. Perhaps they fled by boat. As proof of what I relate I am sending a paper found on Bairam Khan’s body.”’
Slowly Akbar opened the second letter. He didn’t need anyone to read it to him. He knew what it was – the order written by Maham Anga on his behalf to Bairam Khan to depart on the
haj
. He also knew what the dark brown stain was – Bairam Khan’s blood.
Three hours later, from the balcony of his apartments Akbar watched the first shafts of sunlight warming the battlements of the Agra fort, but he didn’t feel it. Instead he was shivering as if the world around him were coated with ice. He could scarcely believe Bairam Khan was dead. He would make sure the perpetrators were found and punished as savagely as they deserved, but wasn’t he also guilty? If he hadn’t broken with Bairam Khan and sent him away, he would still be alive. And what would his mother say? She had been angrier than he had ever seen her on hearing that he had dismissed his commander-in-chief. How would she react to his murder?
In the courtyard below he heard the timekeeper strike the brass disc that signalled the end of his watch. Soon the sun would be well above the horizon. He must not make the mistake of allowing Hamida to learn the news from anyone else as he had that of Bairam Khan’s dismissal. He must go to her straight away. Splashing himself with water,
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