‘You are kind to come so quickly,’ said Gulrukh in her rich, warm voice — easily the most attractive thing about her — as she came towards him. ‘I did not expect such an honour.’ Two years older than his own mother, Gulrukh was in her early forties but her sleek plumpness made her look younger. Kamran — sinewy as a mountain cat with slit-like green eyes — had inherited his looks from Babur, not from her, Humayun thought. But Gulrukh’s small black eyes — fixed intently on his face — were just like Askari’s.
‘Please — won’t you rest?’ She gestured towards a red silk bolster and Humayun sat back against it.
‘I’ve never spoken of it to you because I was ashamed, but my sons’ folly in plotting against you caused me much distress. Your father — may his soul rest in peace in Paradise — chose you as his heir and it was not for anyone to challenge. Believe me — I knew nothing of their rash and childish scheming. When I heard what they had done I was terrified. I thought you’d have them executed. I was about to come to you to plead for their lives. But then I heard of your generosity — how you had raised them up and forgiven them and appointed them to govern wealthy provinces. . I have long wished to have this conversation with you because I wished to thank you as a mother. I chose today because it is 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 covered her head and shoulders. But her young attendants were dressed in semi-transparent muslins. As they moved in the flickering light, Humayun caught the curve of slender waists, firm breasts and voluptuously rounded hips and buttocks. Jewels flashed in their navels and their dark hair was interwoven with white jasmine flowers in the Hindustani fashion.
‘Please. .’ Gulrukh indicated a low, velvet-covered chair. As Humayun took his place, one of her women knelt before him with an enamelled golden ewer of cool, sandalwood-scented water while another brought a cotton cloth. Humayun held out his hands and the first attendant let the water flow over them. Slowly, caressingly, the second dried them.
Puzzled, Humayun looked around for his mother and Khanzada and the other royal women, but apart from Gulrukh and her servants, they seemed to be alone.
‘I thought a smaller, less formal celebration might be more to your taste,’ Gulrukh said. ‘I am your only hostess but hope you will pardon my deficiencies.’
Humayun sat up a little straighter in his chair, eyes watchful. What was Gulrukh doing? As she must know, he’d accepted her invitation only out of courtesy — nothing more — yet she seemed to be trying to turn the occasion into something intimate. For a moment he feared she might be trying to seduce him, either herself or through her attendants.
‘I have prepared a surprise for you.’
Humayun looked around, half expecting to hear the clash of cymbals and bells and see the usual line of undulating dancing girls or tumbling jugglers, acrobats and fire-eaters that were the staples of court entertainment. Instead, a willowy form emerged from the shadows to his right. As the figure came towards him, Humayun recognised the pale face of Mehmed. The Turk knelt before Humayun and held out a goblet of what looked like red wine.
‘What is it?’ Humayun ignored Mehmed and turned to Gulrukh.
‘A special blend of heady opium from south of Kabul and the red wine of Ghazni, mixed by my own hand to a recipe handed down within my family. Sometimes — when he was weary — I made it for your father. He said that it transported him. .’
As Humayun gazed at the dark, almost purple liquid, a series of images flashed through his mind — of Babur, high with joy after victory on the battlefield and calling for opium to take him to yet further heights. . He’d seen the ecstasy on his father’s face, heard his delighted murmurings. Of course, he was no stranger to opium himself. It had numbed his grief at his father’s death. Later, he’d discovered the sensual languor that a few pellets dissolved in rosewater could induce and that heightened the pleasures of love-making. But seldom had he been as completely transported as Babur had seemed to be.