Containing his own impatience, Humayun waited until he judged she was ready then, carefully easing himself on top, began gently to enter her. As he thrust harder he felt the tightness in her yielding and glanced anxiously down but saw pleasure not pain in her half-closed eyes. As he pushed deeper a passionate tenderness for this woman, a desire to protect her at all costs, filled his soul. She was his now and would be as long as they both lived.
They woke, bodies intertwined, as in the half-light of the tent their attendants came to rouse them, bringing ewers of warmed water. It was Hamida who waved them away but once they were alone again, she sat silent and still.
‘What is it, Hamida? Have I offended you. .?’
She looked at him a little shyly and shook her head.
‘What then?’
‘These past days I was afraid. . ’
‘Of what?’
‘That you wanted me for your wife shocked me. I feared I might displease you. . disappoint you. But last night your tenderness, the joy you brought me, soothed away my anxieties. . ’ She was looking at him now with shining eyes. He began to speak but she placed a fingertip on his mouth. ‘You know that a seer’s blood runs in my veins. But there is something you don’t know. Sometimes, I too have the gift to see into the future. Last night, I dreamed that very soon I will conceive a child. . a son. Do not ask me how I know, only believe me that it is so.’
Humayun took her in his arms again. ‘I will rebuild the Moghul empire and we will be great, you and I and our son,’ he whispered as slowly, tenderly he began to make love to her again.
Chapter 12
‘Majesty, my scouts have seized a lone traveller in the bazaar of a small mud-walled town a few miles to the south. Clearly a stranger from his dress and his accent, he had been asking the stallholders and anyone else who would listen whether you and your column had passed this way. I had him brought straight to me in case he was a spy,’ said Ahmed Khan.
‘If he is a spy, he’s not a very good one. He wasn’t apparently making much attempt to keep his mission secret.’
Ahmed Khan did not share Humayun’s smile. ‘He claims to have come from Kabul, Majesty, and says he must see you. If his purpose is genuine, I fear from his face he has no good news to relate.’
‘Fetch him here at once.’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
A shadow of foreboding crept over Humayun. A few minutes later, through the neat rows of tents, he saw Ahmed Khan returning and, behind him, two of his scouts escorting a tall young man. As they drew nearer, Humayun saw how travel-stained the new arrival’s clothes were. He was gaunt and the purple shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.
‘Majesty.’ He prostrated himself on the ground in the formal salute of the korunush.
‘Rise. Who are you and what is it you wish to tell me?’
The newcomer got slowly to his feet. ‘I am Darya, the son of Nasir, one of the commanders of your garrison in Kabul.’
Humayun remembered Nasir — a tough old Tajik chieftain who had served him loyally for many years. He had been well known in the camp for his voracious sexual appetite and for the number of children he had had by his four wives — eighteen sons and sixteen daughters — and many others by his numerous concubines. Humayun had not seen Nasir for many years and the only children of his he had met had been just that.
‘So that I may know you are who you claim to be, tell me how many children your father has.’
Darya smiled a slightly melancholy smile. ‘No one knows, but he had thirty-four of us by his first four wives and after one of them — not my mother, I give thanks — died last year, he married a fifth who bore him a thirty-fifth. However, as a token of my identity I have here in a pouch beneath my garments the wolf-tooth necklace my father wore.’ He made to delve beneath his dusty garments.
‘No need. I believe you are Nasir’s son. What is the news from Kabul? Speak. . ’
‘Bad, Majesty, the worst I could bring. Soon after your grandfather reached Kabul he had a sudden seizure. He lost much of the power of speech and could scarcely use his limbs. He appeared to be slowly regaining his strength but. . ’
‘What happened?’ Humayun broke in, though in his heart he knew.
‘He died in his sleep, Majesty, nearly four months ago. His attendants found him in the morning, a peaceful expression on his face.’
Humayun looked down, trying to take in that Baisanghar had gone.
‘There is more, Majesty. . Your half-brothers Kamran and Askari, who had established themselves in Peshawar at the foot of the Khyber Pass, learned of your grandfather’s illness and hoped to take advantage of it.They brought troops up through the pass to Kabul. By the time they reached it your grandfather was dead. Without warning, they attacked the citadel and despite all my father and others could do quickly overran it.’
For a moment Humayun forgot his grief for Baisanghar. ‘Kabul has fallen to Kamran and Askari?’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
‘Impossible! How could my half-brothers have raised an army sufficient for such a task so quickly?’
‘They had gold, Majesty, from raiding the caravans. We heard that they captured a group of wealthy Persian merchants and used their gold to bribe some of the mountain clans. Pashais, Barakis and Hazaras and members of other lawless breeds came in great numbers to fight for them. But in the event there was little fighting in Kabul. Your half-brothers bribed one of our captains to open the gates of the citadel to them.’
Though the camp was bathed in sunlight, the world seemed suddenly dark and chill to Humayun.
‘My father. . ’ Darya’s voice shook a little, ‘my father was hit between the shoulder blades by a Pashai battleaxe as he tried to run up from the gate to warn the defenders that we had been betrayed and that the enemy had gained entrance. He managed to crawl into a doorway where I found him. His last words to me were that I must escape from Kabul. . that I must take his necklace to establish my identity and find you and tell you what had happened and. . that he was sorry. . he had done his best to defend Kabul but he had failed you. I sought you first at Sarkar but you had already left. Since then I have been searching for you. I thought I would be too late, that you would have already heard. . ’ ‘No, I knew nothing of this.’ Humayun struggled to compose himself. ‘Your father did not fail me — he gave his life for me and I will not forget it. You have made an epic journey. Now you must rest but we will talk more later. I must learn as much as possible about what has happened.’
As Ahmed Khan’s men led Darya away, Humayun gestured to Jauhar that he wished to be alone and entered his tent. As he splashed his face with water he scarcely felt the cold drops trickle down his face. Conflicting emotions — some personal, some political, but none pleasant — jostled in his mind. Initially simple grief, the knowledge that he would never see his grandfather again, was uppermost. Humayun closed his eyes as he recalled his father’s vivid stories of Baisanghar in his youth, of how as a young cavalry captain he had brought Babur Timur’s ring, still crusted with the blood of its previous wearer; how Baisanghar had sacrificed his right hand out of loyalty to Babur and opened the gates of Samarkand to him. Humayun’s mother Maham too had had her own fund of stories of her father — less violent but even more fond. Now Baisanghar was dead without ever knowing that Humayun had married. But at least he had died before Kamran and Askari had attacked Kabul.