Alex Rutherford - Ruler of the World

Heedless of protocol, Bairam Khan spoke before Akbar. ‘Has Tardi Beg let us down?’

‘Indeed he has not,’ said the officer indignantly. ‘His banner still flutters at the heart of the fight. However, though Hemu’s forces appeared to us to be evenly distributed across his advancing battle line, they were not. Most of his best battle-inured war elephants were concentrated on the flank opposite Tardi Beg, and as the lines neared each other they rushed forward and smashed into Tardi Beg’s men. The bullets of our musketeers seemed to bounce off the elephants’ steel head armour. The initial charge of the elephants was followed by a rush of cavalry, many of them waving the banners of the old Lodi sultans. When I last glimpsed Tardi Beg, he had cut his way into them at the head of his bodyguard. Although hard-pressed, they were holding their own. But elsewhere on the right our horsemen are falling back, some even abandoning their comrades, throwing down their weapons and galloping for the rear. Others, despite being more resolute, are being surrounded and killed.’

Anxiety gripped Akbar as again, standing in his stirrups, he looked in the direction of the right flank. His cavalry were indeed beginning to scatter. ‘Bairam Khan, we must act quickly. Should I ride with reinforcements?’

‘No. That would only cost many lives — perhaps even your own — and gain little. We must draw Hemu’s men on to our centre, which remains strong and can be reinforced from the left.’

‘Can we make a strong point here, around these cannon?’ Akbar asked, brain racing.

‘Indeed, Majesty. I will send orders to the officers of the foot archers to gather their men within the cannon circle.’ He turned to an officer at his side. ‘Drag as many baggage wagons as you can between the cannon and overturn them to provide protection. Order the soldiers from our vanguard to fall back on us here and summon as many from the left flank as can be spared.’

Desperate to think of anything that would help rescue the situation, Akbar had another idea. ‘Bairam Khan, should we order the survivors on the right flank to retreat on us here too? If they give the impression of panic Hemu might pursue them too eagerly and expose himself to our counter-attack.’

Bairam Khan thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘You have learned your military lessons well. We still have more than enough elephants and horsemen unengaged in our rear to hit Hemu and his attackers hard in the flank. Adham Khan, take a dozen men and ride to tell any officers you can find on the right flank to fall back on us here in pretended panic.’

Adham Khan wheeled his horse and pulling a band of mounted men around him disappeared into the melee.

Ten minutes later, Akbar, still seated on his black horse at the centre of his circle of cannon, saw some of his horsemen riding towards him. At the head was Adham Khan. As if in panic, he threw down a green Moghul banner he had got from somewhere and bending low over his horse’s neck, kicked it into a wild gallop. The other riders straggled out behind him. Then Akbar heard musket shots and saw some of the horsemen fall. To his relief, Adham Khan was not among them. Above the musket smoke and the gritty dust that was drifting over the battlefield, he saw the howdahs of some of Hemu’s war elephants approaching, swaying violently as their mahouts , sitting behind their ears, urged their mounts into an ungainly but swift trot in pursuit of Akbar’s fleeing men.

‘Order the artillerymen to fire when they are ready,’ Akbar heard Bairam Khan shout. ‘Musketeers, try to knock some of those drivers from their perches. Archers, ready your bows to fire in unison when I give the order.’

At each of the cannon which could be brought to fire towards the attackers, gunners put lighted tapers to the firing holes. Six loud explosions followed, half deafening Akbar and more acrid white smoke filled his nose and obscured his vision. When it had cleared a little, he saw that five of Hemu’s elephants had been hit. The first was trumpeting piteously and trying to stand on three legs, its fourth leg just a bloody stump below the knee. Three others lay still on the ground. One in its death throes had rolled on to the howdah on its back and seemed to have crushed the occupants.

The fifth elephant had a gash in its belly from which its blue-grey intestines were protruding. As Akbar watched, its howdah fell from its back, spilling one man on to the ground but the howdah itself remained attached by some leather straps to the elephant. Still containing at least three half-conscious archers, it was dragged along behind the beast as it ran away. The elephant in its panic crossed the path of some of its fellows who were loping to the attack. One of them — a large beast with long, pointed, curved scimitars on its tusks — crashed into the wounded elephant’s side, impaling it on its scimitars before both animals fell. The elephant next to them stumbled over the trailing howdah, crushing any remaining life out of the occupants before also collapsing head first to the ground, shedding its own howdah and precipitating its mahout over its head as it did so. More of Hemu’s elephants began to slow in their charge, struggling to avoid their fallen brothers.

‘Archers, fire!’ Bairam Khan yelled above the noise of battle. Almost immediately arrows began to rain on to Hemu’s troops. Akbar saw several men tumble, arms flailing, from the howdahs. One arrow caught an elephant in an unprotected part of its lower face just beneath its eye and it lurched across the path of its fellow, further disrupting the attack. Then thick smoke from the second round of cannon shots obscured everything once more and the sound of their discharge rendered Akbar wholly deaf for some moments. He could see Bairam Khan’s mouth moving, shouting orders, but could not hear them. However, when the acrid smoke cleared he saw what the orders must have been. His archers were firing one last volley and his own war elephants and horsemen were riding to attack Hemu’s increasingly disorganised forces in the flank. He watched some green-turbaned musketeers fire from the canopied howdah on one of his own elephants and the mahout fall from the neck of one of Hemu’s beasts to land, arms outspread, in the dust. The man twitched convulsively for a moment, clawing at the ground, and then lay still.

Elsewhere, Akbar saw a Moghul horseman, armed only with a lance, bravely charge one of Hemu’s largest war elephants head on, ignoring the already bloodied scimitars on its tusks. Tugging on the reins with one hand so that his horse swerved aside at the last moment, with his other hand he thrust the lance deep between the elephant’s jaws as it raised its trunk to trumpet in anger. Red blood gushing from its mouth, the beast turned and ran towards the rear.

Akbar was now bursting to join the fight and to exceed the exploits of Adham Khan, whom he could still see slashing with his sword in the middle of the action. ‘Bairam Khan, shouldn’t we lead our men into the battle?’

‘No, you must curb your impatience. A good general, and even more a good emperor, must know when to head the charge and when, like now, to wait behind to see its effect and direct its follow-up. Battles are won by the brain as well as the sword that your milk-brother Adham Khan is wielding so mightily. See how Hemu’s army is falling into confusion. Their attack has lost all impetus.’

‘How can we exploit our advantage and destroy Hemu’s forces?’ asked Akbar, his own mind still devoid of any idea other than to charge directly into the fray.

‘We should order our left wing to move across our front and encircle as many of our opponents as they can. They haven’t seen much fighting as yet and should be fresh and eager. If we keep cool heads, with their help we will win a great victory where minutes ago we might have lost all. It’s often so in battle.’