‘You couldn’t even wait to tell him on his return from Delhi, which wouldn’t have been long. Worse, you didn’t have the courage to tell me but went off hunting and left me to find out from a letter from Bairam Khan himself!’
Akbar flushed at the truth of her words. Immediately after affixing his seal to the letter and despatching his messenger to Delhi he had set off on a four-day tiger-hunting expedition. If he was honest, his decision had had far more to do with his reluctance to face his mother than any desire for the thrill of the sport. He had been intending to tell her immediately on his return. . had even practised the words in his head. But it seemed he had miscalculated the speed with which a messenger could travel between Agra and Delhi. Hamida had been waiting for him in his apartments.
‘What did Bairam Khan write?’
‘That without warning or explanation you had ordered him on the haj and that he regretted he had been unable to say farewell in person. I immediately wrote urging him to return to court. My messenger reached him while he was still only a few days’ ride beyond Delhi. This was his reply, listen.’ Voice shaking with emotion, she read: ‘“You are very gracious, Majesty, to ask me to return but I cannot. Your son, the emperor, has seen fit to order me on the haj. Just as I was ever loyal to your husband, who saved my life in battle, so I must be to your son. May God bless your house and may it rise to yet greater glory in Hindustan.” Bairam Khan was the best friend, the best adviser you had, Akbar. Instead of being grateful, you have rejected and insulted him, unceremoniously dismissing him as if he were a negligent groom.’
‘I will always be grateful to him, but he doesn’t understand that I am ready to rule — and nor do you. When he returns he will see how well I have succeeded and I will give him an honourable place at my court.’ Akbar spoke firmly, even though his own doubts — unexpressed to anyone — about the dimissal of Bairam Khan and the way he had done it were welling inside him, however much he tried to ignore them. Had he been wrong? Perhaps for the first time in his life he began to query one of his decisions as his mother continued to rebuke him.
‘You have so much to learn. What makes you think a proud man like Bairam Khan would risk further humiliation at your hands? He will not return to us, and that will be your loss.’
But even while Hamida was still speaking, Akbar saw Maham Anga’s face before him. She was one of his most trusted confidants, and she had agreed with Bairam Khan’s dismissal. . He must not allow his mother to weaken his resolve. If he recalled Bairam Khan he would find it even more difficult ever to assume imperial power. Besides, vacillating and showing weakness was not the way to impress — or to control — his nobles.
He looked away. Hamida hesitated a moment. ‘You fool,’ she whispered at last.
A month later, Akbar stirred in his sleep and moved a little closer to Mayala, whose warm, naked body was curled against his. Their love-making had been long and vigorous and now, in his semi-consciousness, a deep contentment seeped through him.
‘Majesty. . Majesty, wake up.’ At the feel of a hand on his shoulder, he opened sleepy eyes to see the dry, wrinkled face of the keeper of the haram looking down at him.
‘What is it?’ Akbar looked instinctively for his dagger. Even in the haram the emperor must always be prepared for attack.
‘A messenger has come. One of Ahmed Khan’s scouts. He says he has news that will not wait.’
‘Very well.’ Akbar rose, wrapped a robe around him, thrust his feet into pointed red leather slippers and followed the old woman to the doors of the haram. Outside, beyond the guards by the entrance, he recognised the scout. He looked dirty and tired but what struck Akbar most was his expression. ‘What is it?’
‘Bad news, Majesty. About four weeks ago, Bairam Khan with ten of his men were attacked while out hunting near his camp on the banks of the Chambal river.’
‘And Bairam Khan?’ The blood was already draining from Akbar’s face. He had guessed the answer.
‘Killed, Majesty, along with all his hunting companions.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes. Others of his party discovered the bodies half hidden among the reeds along the Chambal.’
‘I want to question them. I must know exactly what they found.’
‘They are still on the road to Agra after attending to the funeral rites. I had the news from the post rider they had sent ahead, whom I encountered at a caravanserai in Dholpur. Learning who I was, he told me what had occurred and gave me this letter for you, written by Bairam Khan’s senior officer.’ The scout pulled a folded piece of paper from his dusty green leather satchel.
As Akbar opened it, a second folded note speckled red-brown in one corner fell to the ground. Akbar picked it up, then handed the first letter back to the scout. ‘Read it to me.’
‘“Majesty,”’ the man began, ‘“it grieves me to report that Bairam Khan has been murdered. We discovered his body and those of our comrades on the banks of the Chambal river. All had been killed by arrows, many shot in the back. In the case of Bairam Khan — and this is terrible to relate — the head had been hacked off. We found it some yards away at the edge of the water. All the bodies had been stripped of jewels, money and weapons. Though we searched for signs to tell us which way the attackers had gone, we could find none. Perhaps they fled by boat. As proof of what I relate I am sending a paper found on Bairam Khan’s body.”’
Slowly Akbar opened the second letter. He didn’t need anyone to read it to him. He knew what it was — the order written by Maham Anga on his behalf to Bairam Khan to depart on the haj. He also knew what the dark brown stain was — Bairam Khan’s blood.
Three hours later, from the balcony of his apartments Akbar watched the first shafts of sunlight warming the battlements of the Agra fort, but he didn’t feel it. Instead he was shivering as if the world around him were coated with ice. He could scarcely believe Bairam Khan was dead. He would make sure the perpetrators were found and punished as savagely as they deserved, but wasn’t he also guilty? If he hadn’t broken with Bairam Khan and sent him away, he would still be alive. And what would his mother say? She had been angrier than he had ever seen her on hearing that he had dismissed his commander-in-chief. How would she react to his murder?
In the courtyard below he heard the timekeeper strike the brass disc that signalled the end of his watch. Soon the sun would be well above the horizon. He must not make the mistake of allowing Hamida to learn the news from anyone else as he had that of Bairam Khan’s dismissal. He must go to her straight away. Splashing himself with water, 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 sent Bairam 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.