Alex Rutherford - Ruler of the World

‘Surely when their spell in confinement ends in a few days, they’ll have sobered up, won’t they, Suleiman Beg?’

‘I doubt it. I’ve heard that some of their companions have managed to smuggle liquor in to them. Rumour has it Murad’s fat steward wound some cow’s intestines filled with spirits around him beneath his voluminous garments to do it, and that Daniyal bribed one of the guards to bring him the stuff in the blocked-off barrel of his musket.’

‘The latter can’t be true. My father would have a guard executed under the elephant’s foot for such blatant disobedience.’

‘It’s surprising what risks men will take for money, but perhaps it’s only a story. All I can say is that everyone is gossiping about it.’

‘Maybe you’re right and they’ve not real rivals as my father’s heir, but that does not mean I have any prospect of achieving the power that is my due at this stage in my life. There is much that I could achieve for our dynasty if only my father would give me a chance.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, ridding him of some of his fawning and corrupt advisers — Abul Fazl for a start.’

‘But you know your father wouldn’t countenance their dismissal. At the very least, you would have had to prove yourself as a good governor somewhere before criticising his own advisers and administration.’

‘How can I do that when my father will give me no position of trust?’ Salim thudded his dagger into the divan once more, eyes blazing. ‘Sometimes I think I have no alternative but to take over the government of a province without my father’s permission to demonstrate my worth!’

‘But that would be rebellion.’

‘Call it what you will — I might say I was using my initiative.’

‘You are serious, aren’t you?’ said Suleiman Beg quietly.

‘Yes,’ said Salim, looking directly at his friend. ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about for months in the dark hours of the night as I’ve fought to curb my own craving for drink. Don’t look so shocked — I have many friends among the young middle-ranking commanders in our armies in the east. They too resent the dead hands of their older superiors on their shoulders — they too want power and responsibility.’

‘It’s true. I have heard such mutterings of discontent,’ said Suleiman Beg. ‘There would also be the inducements of promotion and reward. .’

‘I see that you are beginning to believe that it might be possible. Would you be prepared to join me?’

‘You should know I would. We have shared so much. I owe my loyalty to you before any other.’ Then after some moments’ reflection, now looking as serious and intent as Salim, Suleiman Beg added, ‘What’s more you might well succeed in winning your father’s attention and respect. If you act, what will your first steps be?’

‘To sound out some of those young officers in the eastern army. I cannot travel there without my father’s sanction, but you could. .’

‘I will go — I still have some relations in the administration in Bengal and no one will suspect if I visit them.’

‘Thank you for your trust and loyalty.’ Much to his surprise, as he spoke Salim heard a new-found authority in his tone — not unlike his father’s. Now he had determined on action, at least the uncertainty of waiting would be ended. Whatever the outcome he would never need to reproach himself with a lack of the courage to act.

As Salim looked out three months later from beneath the awning of his large tent at the centre of his camp, the sun was setting over the Chambal river. Flocks of waterfowl — dark silhouettes against the pale orange sunset — were swooping down to roost among the reeds and rushes fringing the riverbank. Under the pretext of an extended tiger hunting expedition he had left his father’s court six weeks previously. For the last few days he had been anxiously scanning the landscape for approaching groups of horsemen, hoping for the return of Suleiman Beg from his clandestine mission to the east but a part of him fearing that any riders who appeared might be Abul Fazl’s men coming to arrest him having discovered his plotting.

Just after noon that day, a group of horsemen had appeared. As they drew closer, emerging from the shimmering heat haze, he had seen there were too few to be an arresting party. To Salim’s great relief, it had been Suleiman Beg. However, he had been so exhausted by long days in the saddle that after reassuring Salim in the broadest terms of his mission’s success he had requested permission to sleep. The two had agreed to discuss the results in more detail as they ate together that night. Behind him in the tent Salim could hear his attendants beginning to make preparations for the meal.

Shading his eyes against the setting sun, he saw Suleiman Beg making his way towards him and stepped forward to greet him. The two men embraced and then, arms round each other’s shoulders, ducked beneath the tent’s fringed green awning and entered.

Here, a low table surrounded by silk-covered bolsters and cushions was spread with an array of foods — chicken and lamb cooked in the tandoor, stew made in the Kashmiri way with dried fruits, mild spices and yoghourt stirred into the sauce, hotter vegetable dishes made according to Gujarati recipes and fish from the Chambal. As they began to eat, dipping into the stews with pieces of nan bread, Salim dismissed the servants and spoke.

‘Tell me about your discussions. How many officers can we count on in the eastern provinces?’

‘Perhaps two hundred. Each new recruit suggested others who might be sympathetic to our cause. They are mostly as we expected — young men like ourselves, eager for responsibility as well as for the rewards I promised them on your behalf. But there are also some older ones disappointed by their lack of advancement or critical of the tolerance your father shows towards former enemies and those of other religions.’

‘How many men do they command in total?’

‘Around thirty thousand.’

‘That should be enough to demonstrate to my father that I must be taken seriously and given more power.’

‘Many were convinced to join us because this is your motivation, not full-scale rebellion and the usurpation of your father’s throne. It reassured them that at some stage you would negotiate.’

‘Then they must continue to believe so.’

‘What do you mean? That is your intention, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. . yes, I suppose it is. Although sometimes I indulge myself by thinking that if all went very well I might force my father’s abdication now rather than wait for his death.’

‘Guard against such thoughts. Your father’s forces are powerful. We will have enough men to show your mettle and your worthiness for a greater role in government affairs, but never enough to succeed in a full revolt. If you tried to do so, some of our existing supporters would fall away.’

‘My father is loved by the people, I know. It sometimes seems to me that he understands them better and cares more about their happiness than he does for many of those closer to him. I will doubtless negotiate. I was only suggesting we should not rule anything out while we see how the situation develops.’

‘When should we take the next step? We shouldn’t wait long. Abul Fazl’s spies are everywhere. He has subtle ways of coaxing secrets from men and changing their loyalties.’

‘Allow me to worry about Abul Fazl. He is only human, after all. But we won’t delay. I’ve already sent messages to people I know to be loyal to me in Agra and Lahore to join me here within a month. When you’re rested and we’ve discussed our plans in more detail you should return east and collect our forces there. Once I have assembled my own men, I’ll ride with them to meet you at Allahabad. Its position at the junction of the Jumna and the Ganges will mean my father will be unable to ignore us if we make that our base.’