Read Online Raiders from the North: Empire of the Moghul by Alex Rutherford - Free Book Online

learns that I, the former king’s nephew, am here he must give way. My right is greater than his, however many fistfuls of golden coins he can shower on those around him.’
    The youthful indignation in Babur’s voice made Wazir Khan smile again. ‘He knows you are coming but has declared he will not yield the throne to a raw stripling. Neither will he give his daughter to Prince Mahmud. He plans a great match for her with another of your cousins – the son of the King of Kabul.’
    ‘We’ll see about that.’ Babur jumped to his feet, so that the sheepskins tumbled around him. ‘Bring my horse. I will ride to my cousin’s camp.’
    Dawn was rising as Babur, wrapped in a thick cloak, galloped towards his cousin’s encampment, his escort close around.
    ‘Halt.’ A soldier’s voice came gruffly out of the pale grey light. ‘Declare yourself.’
    ‘Babur, King of Ferghana, who wishes to greet his cousin, Prince Mahmud of Kunduz.’
    A silence, then a murmuring, then a blazing torch held high, casting haloes of light. Babur shaded his eyes as soldiers encircled his small party. Then he heard a voice he recognised, deeper than he remembered but still brimming with good humour. ‘You are welcome, cousin.’ Mahmud, unruly black hair flowing over his shoulders and a falcon on his gloved wrist, strode towards him and threw his other arm round Babur’s shoulders. ‘You have interrupted my plans for an early hawking expedition but I’m still pleased to see you. Come.’ He gestured towards a large square tent.
    Rich carpets covered the earth and brocade hangings concealed the hide walls and ceiling. Mahmud hooded his falcon and returned it to its golden perch, then flung himself on to a pile of plump velvet cushions. Babur did likewise. ‘I was sad to learn of your father’s death. He was a good man and a good warrior. May peace be with him. We of course observed mourning for him in Kunduz.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Babur bowed his head.
    ‘And now my little cousin is a king.’
    ‘As you will be one day.’
    Mahmud smiled. ‘True.’
    ‘But today your thoughts lie in a different direction?’
    Mahmud’s smile broadened to a grin. ‘You should see her, Babur. Skin like silk, slender as a willow wand and nearly as tall as I am. I will have her, I have sworn to, and I will not break my word.’
    ‘Where did you meet?’
    ‘Don’t worry – I didn’t disguise myself as a woman and slip into the grand vizier’s harem. It happened last year while she was accompanying her father on an embassy from Samarkand to Kunduz. Brigands attacked their party soon after they had crossed our northern borders. I and my troops had been sent to meet them. We were close when the attack occurred. We heard the clamour and rode to their rescue. That was when I saw her – she came out from behind the rock where she had been hiding, her veil and half her clothes torn off . . .’ Mahmud paused, clearly remembering the pleasurable sight.
    ‘The grand vizier should have been grateful to you.’
    ‘He was – but Kunduz is not as rich as Kabul.’ Mahmud shrugged. ‘And you, cousin, what brings you here?’
    ‘Beware the man who has no ambition.’ His father’s words flickered unbidden through Babur’s mind. But wasn’t it also right to be wary of the man who did? Had Mahmud really come to Samarkand at such a time merely for the sake of a girl, however desirable?
    Babur decided to be frank. ‘The King of Samarkand, though my father’s brother, was no friend to Ferghana and meant to rob me of my throne. But as he lay dying, he ordered his men to bring me this.’ Babur held out his hand. Timur’s ring, cleansed now of blood, was on his index finger. It was a little too big, but he had secured it witha twist of red silk. The metal gleamed in the light from a brazier of burning charcoal and he heard Mahmud’s sharp intake of breath.
    ‘You believe you are Timur’s heir?’
    ‘His blood runs in my veins. I will have his