Free Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War by Alex Rutherford Page B

the third anniversary of the start of your reign. I thought it auspicious and also I wanted to congratulate you. You have been emperor only a short while but already you’ve achieved much.’
    ‘I trust my brothers have learned their lesson and that they are finding fulfilment . . .’ Humayun shifted uneasily against the bolster, embarrassed and anxious to be gone. But, as he suspected, Gulrukh had more to say. She moved closer, her hennaed fingers clasped over her breast.
    ‘I have a favour to ask of you though I hardly dare . . .’
    Was she going to ask him to recall Kamran and Askari to court? Humayun felt a flash of irritation as he waited for her to go on.
    ‘If you grant my wish it will give me much pleasure.’ Gulrukh was seemingly undisturbed by his silence. ‘To celebrate your victory over Gujarat, I wish to hold a feast for you. Your mother and aunt and the other royal women will also be my guests. Let me do this for you and I will know that you have truly forgiven my sons and that harmony has returned to Babur’s family.’
    Humayun felt himself relax. So that was all she wanted – no tearful pleading about her sons returning to Agra . . . just a celebration. He bowed his head, signifying his acceptance of Gulrukh’s request, and after a final exchange of graceful courtesies left her.
    Abandoning thoughts of his ride, he decided instead to visit his mother. As he made for Maham’s apartments, he passed what had been Dildar’s rooms. He had been very young – only ten or eleven – when Babur had given Hindal to Maham. All he remembered was his mother calling to him to look at the baby she was holding in her arms. ‘See, you have a new brother,’ she had said. Puzzled, Humayun had stared down at the bawling infant that he knew was not his mother’s but another woman’s . . .
    At the time he’d dismissed it from his mind. Growing up in Kabul, learning to fight with a sword and fire off thirty arrows a minute and play polo had been what mattered. Only later had he come to realise that giving Hindal to Maham had been one of the few acts of weakness of his father’s life – albeit done out of love.
    What good had it done? It had soothed Maham’s grief but it had nourished discord within the family. In the early years she had jealously guarded Hindal, keeping him away from Dildar. But as Hindal had grown older and learned who his true mother was, inevitably he had turned from Maham. Perhaps that was why, young as he was, Hindal had joined Kamran and Askari’s plot against him. Perhaps it was his revenge for that day when he had been torn from Dildar’s arms.
    What of Dildar herself? What would have been in her mind all those years? At least she had had Gulbadan to console her . . . But when she was born, had Dildar feared that Maham would try to take her also? Humayun shook himself. He would never know. Dildar was dead now. Maham never spoke of these things and he was reluctant even to ask Khanzada.The world of women could be a dark and difficult place. In comparison the world of men with all its battles and conflicts, where disputes could be settled with fists or the slash of a blade, seemed cleaner and easier.

    Beneath an almost golden moon, the courtyard which Gulrukh had chosen for her party was lit by the soft radiance of hundreds of wicks burning in pools of scented oil in copper bowls or diyas . Against one wall of the courtyard was a large tent – conical in shape like those of the Moghuls’ homelands. But instead of the sturdy sticks locked together to withstand the shrieking winter winds and covered in thick felt, Humayun could see that the framework was of slender silver rods covered with flowered silk. The silk was caught back on each side by pearl-sewn ribbons so the entrance was half open to the warm night air.
    Two of Gulrukh’s women led him to the tent where she was waiting, wearing a robe of dark purple and a shawl of the same colour, shot through with silver thread, that