‘Hamida.Thank you for receiving me here.You know why I’ve come. I want you for my wife. . ’
Hamida said nothing but continued to look directly at him, her black, long-lashed eyes reddened with tears, and it was Humayun who lowered his gaze first.
‘What is your answer to me?’
‘My father told me I must obey. . ’
‘I don’t want an unwilling bride. . What is in your own heart?’
‘I don’t know. I cannot answer you. Only yesterday I parted from my father. I may never see him again. . ’
‘It was your father’s choice to go with my brother. Shaikh Ali Akbar is a good man, loyal and honest, and I have no quarrel with him. I will do everything in my power to make sure that one day — God willing — you are reunited with him. And I also promise that I will be a good husband to you. I will love and honour you. And though at present my fortunes are low, my ambitions are high and one day you will be a great empress. . I swear it on my life.’
Hamida drew herself up but did not reply. She was still so young, Humayun thought. She was grieving at her sudden separation from her father and the loss of much of what was familiar. ‘A lot has happened,’ he said softly, ‘and you are tired. I will leave you now but think over what I have said.’
‘I will think about it.’ Hamida was still scrutinising him intently as if trying to divine something. Humayun felt he was being tested and for the first time his confidence wavered. He realised that he had come to her tonight sure of success, believing any woman would be dazzled to be chosen by him as his wife.
In the event, Humayun had to curb his impatience and wait for longer than he’d expected. He found it hard to stop himself from visiting Khanzada’s tent each night to see Hamida but he forced himself not to. He had promised her time to consider and must abide by his promise. Nearly a month passed before finally, on a humid evening with fireflies shining like jewels in the darkness around the encampment, Khanzada at last brought him news.
‘Humayun, Hamida has agreed. She will become your wife whenever you wish it.’
A tremendous happiness overwhelmed him and he embraced his aunt. ‘What did you say finally to convince her?’
‘The same I’ve been telling her ever since I took her into my care — that she must marry someone and who better than a king — indeed an emperor? I reminded her that many girls of good family are married off to old men but that you are a handsome warrior in his prime with a certain reputation among the women. . ’ Khanzada’s eyes twinkled.
‘You are certain she is willing?’
‘Yes. What counted most with her was my promise that you truly love her.’
‘I do.’
‘I know. I’ve seen it in your face every time you spoke of her, otherwise I would never have been your ally in this.’
‘What about Hindal? Does she ever mention him?’
‘No. He may have loved her but I don’t think she was aware of it. If you can find your way into her heart, you’ll find no rival there. . ’
‘Thank you, Aunt. As ever, you have been my benefactress.’
‘And as ever, I wish you happiness, Humayun.’
‘Wait — I wish you to take Hamida a present from me.’ Going to his iron-bound chest he took out a piece of flowered silk and unwrapping it extracted the double-stranded necklace of fiery rubies and uncut dark green emeralds set in gold that had been among the treasures he had seized in Gujarat. The gems glinted richly in the candlelight and would well become Hamida’s dark-eyed beauty. ‘You once told me to keep this to give to my wife. . that moment has come. . ’
The next morning, Humayun cancelled the day’s march and summoned his astrologer Sharaf to his tent. Together they studied the sky charts, trying to work out from the positions of the planets the most auspicious day for the wedding. It was soon, Sharaf said, putting down his astrolabe — just three weeks away. That decided Humayun. He would halt his advance into Rajasthan until after the wedding so that there would be time to prepare. Though he was landless and throneless, his union with Hamida must not be a mean affair. They were not humble camp followers to be wedded and bedded in between marches but an emperor and his empress.
Hamida was sitting motionless beneath layers of shimmering golden gauze, the veils held in place by a chaplet of pearls interwoven with yellow cat’s-eyes symbolising Ferghana and emeralds for Samarkand that Gulbadan had fashioned for her. As the mullahs finished intoning their prayers, Humayun took Hamida’s hennaed hand in his and felt a responsive tremor. As his vizier Kasim led the cries of ‘Hail Padishah’, Humayun and Hamida rose and he led her from the wedding tent to his own where the marriage feast was spread.
The guests were few — Kasim, Zahid Beg, Ahmed Khan and some other officers and Khanzada, Gulbadan and their women. If he’d still been emperor in Agra, there would have been thousands of guests.Trays of wedding gifts — rare spices, silks and jewels — would have been spread before him. In the courtyard would have been living gifts — bejewelled elephants with gilded tusks and strings of high-spirited, high-stepping horses. Obsequious rajas would have queued to make obeisance and when night fell soft music would have risen over the scented courtyards and brilliant fireworks would have turned the dark sky back to day.
But glancing at Hamida, seated beside him on a red velvet cushion and all but one of her veils thrown back so that he could see her perfect features — the soft curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her robe — Humayun felt close to true happiness. He had made love to many women, taking pleasure in his prowess as a lover, but the emotions welling inside him were new to him. Not even for Salima had he ever felt such tenderness.
As the feast ended, the dishes were cleared and all but their personal attendants left, Humayun felt shy as a boy about to know a woman for the first time. While his own servants undressed him and wrapped a silk robe around him, Hamida’s women led her into the bridal bedchamber created by scarlet leather-covered wooden screens interlaced with hide thongs that stretched across the far end of the tent. Humayun paused then ducked beneath the stiff brocade hung over the gap between two of the screens.
Hamida was not yet ready. He found himself half averting his gaze as her smiling women undressed her, combed the long, shining fall of dark hair and then laid her beneath a thin coverlet on the rosewater-scented bed. As the women withdrew, he could hear their soft laughter. He felt awkward, confused. He had been so determined to have Hamida, so certain that this was the woman with whom his future must be linked, but she was virtually a stranger. They’d never even been alone together. The few words they’d exchanged had always been in the presence of others. Unbidden, the thought returned that she’d accepted him only because she’d felt she had no choice. It made him nervous of approaching her.
‘Humayun. . ’ Hamida’s soft voice at last broke the silence. Turning, he saw she had raised herself on her left elbow and was half sitting up. Her right hand was extended towards him. Slowly he came nearer and kneeling by the bed took her hand and touched the fingers to his lips. As she raised the coverlet, he rose and slipped in beside her. Her body felt warm, and slowly, almost reverently, he touched her face then entwined his hands in the spilled mass of her hair. Her eyes, looking up at him, were wide but trusting. Gently pulling her closer, he began to explore her slender body from the delicacy of her small shoulders to the satin curve of her hips. Caressing her breasts with his tongue he felt the hardening of her small, pink nipples and her response gave him courage. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on Hamida’s body as his hands gently probed her. Her eyes were closed but her lips were parted and from them came a gasp.