‘Maham Anga, all my life you have been as a mother to me. What I have to say isn’t easy, so let me be direct. An hour ago your son murdered my chief quartermaster, Atga Khan, then burst armed into the haram intending to kill me also.’
‘No.’ She spoke so softly that the one word was almost inaudible. Blindly she reached out to catch at something to support her, but her flailing hand caught against a dish of marzipan sweetmeats and sent it crashing to the floor.
‘There is more. Adham Khan challenged me to combat. I defeated him in a fair fight and then I ordered his immediate death — the death of a traitor.’
Maham Anga was shaking her head slowly from side to side and making a pitiful sound between a whimper and a wail. ‘Tell me he isn’t dead,’ she sobbed at last.
Akbar came closer. ‘I had no choice. I had him flung headlong from the walls. Not only did I have the evidence of my own eyes but he boasted to me of his other crimes — the girls destined for my haram whom he seized from spite and jealousy and then had killed. Even worse, he taunted me that he was the author of Bairam Khan’s death. Such arrogance and ambition could not go unpunished. . what else could I do but have him executed?’
‘No!’ This time the word was a shriek. ‘I gave you my milk when you were a baby. I risked my life to protect you when your uncle ordered you to be exposed to cannon and musket fire on the walls of Kabul. And you betray me by slaughtering my only son — your own milk-brother! I have nourished a viper at my bosom, a devil.’ Maham Anga fell to the floor, clawing hysterically first at the rich red rug, then at Akbar, ripping at his calves with her nails and drawing blood as red as the carpet.
‘Guards!’ Akbar could not bear to lay hands on her himself. ‘Be gentle with her. She is hysterical with shock and grief.’ Two of his men pulled Maham Anga away from him. In a moment she broke free but made no further attempt to attack him. Instead, she just knelt there, rocking back and forth, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
‘Maham Anga, I must ask you this. Did you know anything of what your son had done — of his plans to kill me?’
She looked up at him through her tangled hair. ‘No.’
‘And when you advised me to send Bairam Khan on pilgrimage, was that because you and Adham Khan were jealous of his influence on me and at court?’ This time Maham Anga was silent. ‘I insist you answer, and honestly. This is probably the last time you and I will ever meet.’
‘I thought that with Bairam Khan gone, you would look to others for advice.’
‘Like you and your son?’
‘Yes. My son felt neglected by you and I agreed with him.’
‘And did you agree to Bairam Khan’s murder so you could be sure your rival was never coming back?’ Despite his feelings for Maham Anga, Akbar felt his anger welling up again. It would be best for them all to bring this interview to a swift close.
At the bitter edge to Akbar’s voice, his milk-mother flinched. ‘I never intended Bairam Khan’s death. . and I’m sure my son was not responsible, whatever he may have boasted to you.’
Nothing so blind as a mother’s love, Akbar thought.
‘I always loved you, Akbar,’ Maham Anga said dully, as if reading his mind.
‘Yes, but you loved your own son far more. Maham Anga, this is what will happen. Tomorrow, you will be taken from here to the fort in Delhi where you will live the rest of your days in seclusion. I will give you money to build a mausoleum for your son. But you will have no further contact with me or any of my family.’
As he turned and walked slowly from her apartments, he heard Maham Anga break into fresh wails. From what he could make out from her disjointed words they were not simply of grief — she was calling down God’s curse on him and God’s blessing on her dead son. With those anguished, vengeful cries echoing around him, Akbar made for his own mother’s chambers as if he were sleep-walking. Gulbadan was with Hamida and he could tell from their faces that they already knew what had happened.
Hamida took him in her arms and clung to him. ‘I thank God you are safe. I heard what that alachi, that devil, tried to do. .’
‘You know that he is dead? I had him thrown off the battlements. And I am exiling Maham Anga from the court.’
‘She too deserves death. As your milk-mother she has betrayed a sacred trust.’ Hamida’s tone was harsh.
‘No. Her son’s execution is punishment enough. And how can I forget that when I was a child she risked her life to save mine?’
‘I think you are right to spare Maham Anga,’ Gulbadan said quietly. ‘You have dealt decisively with the real threat and do not need to revenge yourself upon a woman. When the mother of a defeated Hindustani ruler tried to poison your grandfather, he spared her life and won much respect for it.’ She turned to Hamida. ‘I understand what you must be feeling, but when the anger, the shock, begin to pass you will see that I am right.’
‘Perhaps,’ Hamida answered in a low voice. ‘But, Gulbadan, you know as well as I do the consequences of being too merciful. Again and again, my husband, your brother, forgave those he should have executed and we all suffered as a result.’
‘Humayun did what he believed was right and was surely a greater man for it.’
Akbar was barely listening to the two women. The knowledge of Adham Khan’s treachery couldn’t at a stroke obliterate the affection — love even — he had felt for his milk-brother, whose mangled, bloodied body was now being washed for burial. Perhaps if he had understood him better he might have been able to prevent this terrible sequence of events. Was there a way he could have satisfied Adham Khan’s ambitions? Or would his milk-brother’s jealousy always have been a danger? In which case he had been naive not to be aware of it. .
Suddenly he realised his mother and aunt had stopped talking and that both were looking at him. ‘I should have seen what was coming,’ he said. ‘I should not have taken Maham Anga’s advice about Bairam Khan on trust but asked myself what her motive was. When Shayzada named Adham Khan as her sisters’ abductor I should have questioned him more rigorously. I was even warned that he was responsible for the death of Bairam Khan — someone who knew left a scribbled message in my apartments.’
‘I know. It was my steward. He just told me. Though elderly, Rafiq hears and sees much that goes on though people do not realise it. He overheard Adham Khan gloating about Bairam Khan’s death and guessed he was responsible. Though he had no proof, he wanted to put you on your guard. He saw his chance to enter your apartments and leave a message scrawled on a piece of fabric he ripped from his sleeve because he could find no paper. . He said he dared not sign it. Akbar, he is afraid you will punish him for not having the courage to tell you his suspicions to your face.’
‘No. I am doubly in his debt. Just now when I was unarmed in the haram he gave me a sword. Tell him I am grateful and will reward his loyalty. The fault for what happened is all mine. Despite Rafiq’s warning I didn’t press Adham Khan. I have been a fool. .’ Akbar brushed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand as he continued, ‘I loved Adham Khan and Maham Anga and I believed they returned my affection. Now I must learn to question and doubt the motives of all around me — even those closest to me. I must accept that the role of an emperor is a lonely one, and a ruler must never give his entire trust. .’
‘If you have learned that sad truth, then perhaps the events of this day have had a purpose,’ said Hamida, face grave. ‘When you look back many years from now, you will realise that this was when you left your youth behind and truly became a man and an emperor. Whatever our position in the world, life holds many bitter things. You tasted some today. I pray you emerge the stronger.’
Part II