Raiders from the North: Empire of the Moghul Read Online Free PDF Page B

bird’s spread wings formed the hand-hold and the head, with its glittering ruby eyes, protruded over the top of the hilt, glaring defiance at any would-be attacker. His father had shown it to Babur several times but had never permitted him to hold it. ‘It feels good to have it in my hands for the first time.’ He gripped the hilt and made a few tentative passes through the air.
    ‘It was one of your father’s greatest treasures. They say that the rubies were once Timur’s and that he brought them back from Delhi. It is yours as Ferghana’s new king.’ Kutlugh Nigar knelt to fasten the jewelled scabbard at his waist, adjusting the steel chain on which it hung.
    ‘Where’s my grandmother?’ There was no sign of Esan Dawlat and Babur would have been glad of her strength at such a moment.He would also have liked her to see him – to tell him he looked every inch a king.
    ‘She is praying. She says she will greet you when you are ruler of Ferghana.’
    A servant entered and knelt. ‘Wazir Khan begs leave to enter, Mistress.’
    Kutlugh Nigar nodded. She and Khanzada had barely pulled their gauze veils over the lower half of their faces before he was in the room. Babur noticed that, for once, he did not prostrate himself – the business in hand was too urgent for such niceties. The tall soldier’s gaze swept over Babur in his robes of state and he nodded his approval. ‘Majesties, the mullah is ready and my men are prepared. But, even as we speak, Qambar-Ali is preparing to address the mourners at the funeral feast. He will tell them that the kingdom is in peril and that the prince is too young to rule. He will urge that another prince of the House of Timur be appointed regent. Last night one of my patrols intercepted a treasonous message he sent to the Khan of Moghulistan, offering him the throne, and I have other evidence of the vizier’s murderous deceit.’
    ‘But we have time?’ Kutlugh Nigar gripped Wazir Khan’s arm tightly in a breach of the harem protocol.
    ‘We have time, but the prince must come with me now, before Qambar-Ali suspects what we are about. He believes that the prince has returned to the harem to grieve with you.’ He turned to Babur. ‘Majesty, you must cover yourself.’ He held out his dark, duststained riding cloak to Babur who hastily threw it around himself, his mother’s deft fingers helping to fasten the metal clasps and pull the hood over the coronation cap with its waving plume.
    Hand on his sword, Wazir Khan gestured to Babur to follow him out into the corridor. As he brushed past her, Khanzada touched her fingers to Babur’s cheek. His sister’s eyes above her veil were wide with apprehension.
    Babur felt a mixture of exhilaration and nervousness. His life depended on what happened this evening. The vizier’s guile was not to be underestimated. Wazir Khan, seeming to sense his anxiety, stopped for a second. ‘Courage, Majesty, all will be well.’
    ‘Courage.’ Babur repeated the word to himself and ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword.
    They walked swiftly through dark corridors and up winding, sharp-edged stairs, the light from oil lamps in niches casting grotesque shadows. The mosque was in the most ancient part of the fortress, hewn on the orders of Babur’s ancestors from the rock of the cliff behind. The solid cave-like chambers would last for ever – unlike the fragile mud-baked battlements that had collapsed and carried his father to Paradise.
    All was quiet as he followed Wazir Khan into the open and across a small courtyard to the entrance to the mosque. The rain had stopped and the moon was rising between the clouds. By its cool, inconsistent light Babur could make out six of Wazir Khan’s guards stationed outside. Silently they saluted their commander.
    Signing to Babur to wait, Wazir Khan stepped through the pointed archway with its verses from the Koran carved above it. A few moments later he reappeared. ‘Majesty,’ he called softly,