Read Online Empire of the Moghul: Ruler of the World by Alex Rutherford - Free Book Online Page B

he dressed quickly without the aid of his attendants whom in his black mood he had ordered not to disturb him and made his way to her apartments. Though it was barely past dawn, Hamida was already awake and he saw at once from her tear-streaked face that he was too late.
    ‘Forgive me, Mother. You were right. I should never have sentBairam Khan away. God has punished me.’ He waited for a torrent of anger to flow from her lips but she stood silent, eyes downcast.
    ‘Bairam Khan was like a member of the family,’ she said at last. ‘His death cuts me to the heart. But I do not blame you for his murder and you should not blame yourself. You wanted to be free of his influence but you never meant him harm, I know that. Akbar . . .’ She drew herself up. ‘Discover everything you can about his murder. Find his killers – common bandits, hired assassins, whoever they are – find them and make them pay in blood for what they have done.’
    ‘I will. I promise.’ Akbar hesitated, half hoping, childlike, that she might embrace him, but her hands remained by her sides. He knew he was dismissed.
    It was some time before he returned to his own quarters. Needing space and fresh air, he climbed to the battlements of the fort. The waters of the Jumna glinted amber in the early morning light but his mind’s eye was filled with very different scenes – himself riding in triumph into Delhi with his father and Bairam Khan; Bairam Khan’s hand resting on his shoulder as they stood by his father’s grave; steel blades flashing as Bairam Khan taught him subtle Persian sword tricks, insisting Akbar try again and again until his technique was perfect; Bairam Khan’s indigo eyes watching approvingly as he practised his musketry. How could he have ignored the bonds of trust between them and acted as he had? He had allowed himself to be influenced against Bairam Khan by Maham Anga because, thoughtlessly, selfishly, impetuously, he had wished to think badly of him because he wanted to rule. It was as simple as that.
    At last, with the sun rising high into a pale blue sky patterned with clouds blowing in from the west, Akbar returned to his rooms. Almost at once he noticed an item he was sure hadn’t been there earlier. Someone had placed what looked like a strip of material on top of the ivory and mother of pearl inlaid box in which Akbar kept some of his jewels. They had also taken the precaution of weighting the strip down with an ivory paperweight carved like a lotus flower. Picking up the material, Akbar saw it was a scrap of pale green silk with several lines of writing upon it. Here and therethe author had allowed a few drops of blue ink to fall. It looked like the work of a child and he was about to toss it aside when some instinct told him not to. Instead, he took the piece of fabric out on to the balcony where the light was better. Why had the author chosen to write on silk not paper? Perhaps to disguise their handwriting, not that it made any difference to him, since he couldn’t read it anyway. The more he looked, the more the thick, inky symbols seemed to dance about. Akbar summoned his
qorchi
.
    ‘What does this say?’
    The young man studied it for a moment then looked up, eyes startled. ‘It’s a warning, Majesty. It says, “Though a river of milk from the same breasts binds you, your milk-brother is not your friend. Ask Adham Khan what he knows about the murder of Bairam Khan.”’
    ‘You are certain that’s what’s written?’ The
qorchi
nodded. ‘Give it back to me.’ Akbar tucked the piece of silk inside his tunic. ‘Say nothing about this to anyone. It is just a piece of malice written by an enemy of Adham Khan.’
    ‘Yes, Majesty.’
    Akbar tried to put the odd message out of his mind, but couldn’t. Whoever had written the warning had not had the courage to accuse Adham Khan openly. Why? Because they feared retribution or because they were trying to make mischief? Poison once poured out was hard to put