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

House of Timur can stand alone. The Uzbeks will pick us off one by one, like a fox biting the heads off chickens,’ Tambal continued.
    ‘Of course we need allies but let us seek them as free men, not like fearful slaves craving a good master,’ Babur insisted.
    ‘The slave may live longer than the free man. And when the time is right he can make his bid for freedom. If we accept your uncle’s protection we can piss on the Uzbeks. When Shaibani’s head is lopped from his shoulders and stuffed with straw as an ornament for the harem, that will be the time for us to think once more of Ferghana’s independence.’
    A murmur of agreement spread round the chamber and now, finally, Tambal looked into Babur’s face. His expression was grave but the slight curve of his lips betrayed satisfaction that his words had struck home.
    Babur suddenly rose, glad of the little step beneath his throne that gave his youthful frame extra height. ‘Enough! We will turn back my uncle’s men and then, from a position of strength, I – not you – will decide who will be Ferghana’s ally.’
    In turn the chieftains leaped to their feet – it was unthinkable to remain seated once their king was standing, whatever thoughts they might be harbouring. Even a warrior strong enough to rip off another’s arm was steeped in court etiquette.
    ‘We ride in four days’ time. I order you to be here with all your men. Tell them to be ready for battle.’ Instinctively, Babur turned and strode from the chamber followed by his vizier and Wazir Khan.
    ‘You did well, Majesty, to allow no further debate,’ Wazir Khan said, as soon as the door had closed behind them.
    ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait four days to see who answers my call. Perhaps some of them are already sending messengers to my uncle in Samarkand. He can give them richer rewards than I.’ Babur felt weary and his head ached.
    ‘They will come, Majesty.’ Kasim’s quiet voice surprised Babur. The vizier seldom spoke unless spoken to first. ‘The
khutba
was readin your name just four weeks ago – it would dishonour your chiefs among their people to fail you so soon and without allowing you to prove yourself in battle. And now, Majesty, if you have no orders for me, I will return to my duties.’ He hurried off down the passageway.
    ‘I hope he’s right,’ Babur muttered, and then, in a sudden, furious gesture, kicked the wall with his foot, not once but twice, to release his pent-up emotions. When he saw Wazir Khan’s surprise he allowed himself a brief smile and, for a moment, the blackness lifted from him.

    As Babur approached the women’s quarters, servants rushed ahead to announce the king’s approach. How different it was from the days when, as a carefree boy, he had run down these corridors and burst in on his mother causing her to scold, then caress him. Now there was so much ceremony. As he entered the honeycomb of rooms he caught the flash of a dark eye and the gleam of a golden bangle on smooth, slender ankles, and breathed in the musky scent of sandalwood. He had not yet been with a woman but, young as he still was, the women were already competing to catch his eye – even Farida, the young widow of Qambar-Ali, taken into the harem by his mother out of compassion. Though she was still in mourning, he had seen her watching him. And others had put themselves in his path, their eyes bold and inviting.
    His mother was lying where he had left her, but at least she was sleeping now. His sister Khanzada was sitting hunched up, knees under her chin, in a corner of the room and playing idly with her pet mongoose, pulling gently with her hennaed hands on the golden chain attached to the turquoise-studded collar around its neck. At the sight of her brother she jumped up. ‘Well?’ she asked eagerly, but in a low voice so she did not wake Kutlugh Nigar.
    ‘We will see. I’ve given orders to march in four days. How’s mother?’
    Khanzada frowned. ‘She won’t