Alex Rutherford - Ruler of the World

‘What happened was an accident.’ Khusrau’s face was flushed and his eyes avoided Salim’s.

‘You know that’s not true. Since your elephant fled the arena, in the name of my dead driver I claim the victory.’

‘There was no victor. It was a draw. Grandfather. .’ Khusrau turned to appeal to Akbar but the emperor wasn’t attending to them. He was on his feet, supported by an attendant on either side, and peering intently over the edge of the balcony. Wondering what was claiming his father’s attention, Salim stepped forward as well. The crowds below were milling around, craning to watch what remained of Suraj being gathered from the ground and carried away on a rough stretcher to await his Rajput funeral rites. But then Salim heard angry shouting and saw that scuffles were breaking out between his men and Khusrau’s. As he watched, one of Khusrau’s attendants pulled a dagger from his belt and slashed one of his own retainers across the face with it. Immediately more men piled into the fray on both sides, fists and weapons flying. Nearby, another group of his followers were struggling with some of Khusrau’s men in the shallows of the river, throwing punches and attempting to push each other’s heads beneath the water.

‘Salim. Khusrau. How dare your men brawl like this in front of me! Have you no authority over them? You should both be ashamed.’ Akbar was shaking with fury. ‘Khurram, it seems that you are the only one I can trust. Go to the captain of the guard and order him to stop this outrage at once. Any man who drew a weapon on another is to be arrested and flogged.’

‘Yes, Grandfather,’ said Khurram, running to obey.

‘As for you, Salim and Khusrau, go. The sight of you wearies me.’ Akbar sat down again and passed a hand over his eyes.

Khusrau hurried away but Salim hesitated. He wanted to justify himself but there was no point. Whatever he said or did would only confirm his father’s opinion of him. With a backward glance at Akbar, who gave him no encouragement to remain, Salim walked slowly from the balcony. At least Khusrau had incurred an equal share of Akbar’s displeasure, he consoled himself, but then another thought struck him. What was it that Akbar had said to Khurram? ‘You are the only one I can trust. .’

Perhaps those words carried a deeper meaning than either he or Khusrau realised. What would Akbar say to the boy about the day’s events when they were alone? That the naked rivalry between Salim and Khusrau showed that neither was fit to rule?

‘My qorchi woke me with the news that my father has been taken ill. What is wrong?’ Salim asked early one morning in October 1605.

‘His Majesty was seized with violent stomach cramps about three hours ago and then began vomiting,’ said Akbar’s chief hakim , an elderly, dignified-looking man dressed almost entirely in grey named Ahmed Malik. Lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder at the guards on duty outside Akbar’s bedchamber, the doctor added, ‘My first thought was that he had been poisoned.’

‘Poisoned? That’s impossible. Everything my father eats is tasted three times and each dish sealed by the mir bahawal , the master of the kitchen, and escorted to his table by guards. . even the Ganges water he is so fond of is checked again and again.’

‘Ways can always be found. Remember how your great-grandfather nearly died at the hands of a poisoner here in Agra. It was my grandfather Abdul-Malik who treated him. But I now believe my suspicions were groundless. I ordered some of the vomit to be fed at once to pariah dogs but not one has shown any ill effects. Also, your father’s symptoms are not developing as they would if he had been poisoned.’

‘What is it then? The same stomach illness that afflicted him a few months ago?’

‘Very probably, though I can’t be sure yet. Whatever the malady is, it is racking your father with great virulence. My colleagues and I are doing everything we can to discover the cause, I promise you, Highness.’

‘I am sure you are. May I see the emperor?’

‘He is in great pain and has asked not to be disturbed.’

‘Can’t you relieve his suffering?’

‘Of course. I offered him opium but he refused it. He says there are important issues he must decide and that to do so he must keep his mind absolutely clear, even if it costs him pain.’

Salim’s eyes widened as he took in the significance of the doctor’s words. There was only one reason why Akbar would have said such a thing — the choice of successor. He must think he was dying. .

‘ Hakim , I know how much faith my father has in you. Save him.’

‘I will do my best, Highness, but I must be honest. He is weaker than I have ever seen him. His pulse is faint and ragged, and I suspect he has been suffering far longer and far more than he admits from his stomach problems. Only the severity of tonight’s attack induced him to summon me.’

‘ Hakim . .’ Salim began; then, hearing footsteps, broke off. Khusrau was running down the corridor towards them.

‘I have just heard the news. How is my grandfather?’ Khusrau’s flushed face looked to Salim’s cynical eyes more excited than anxious.

‘He is gravely ill,’ he replied shortly. ‘Ahmed Malik will tell you the details. But don’t let your questions detain him too long from your grandfather’s bedside.’

He walked slowly away down the dimly lit corridor as he tried to collect his thoughts. A few torches still burned in their sconces but as he looked through an open casement a pale band of light on the horizon showed dawn was near. Turning a corner, he saw Suleiman Beg waiting for him.

‘Well?’ his milk-brother asked.

Salim slowly shook his head. ‘I think the hakim believes my father is dying, though he didn’t use those words. So, I think, does my father. But it seems incredible. I’ve thought about his death so many times — of what it would mean for my future. But I never believed the moment would come, never mind considered how I’d feel.’

Suleiman Beg stepped closer and put his hands on Salim’s shoulders. ‘You must push your feelings aside, complex as I’m sure they must be. News of the emperor’s illness is already spreading and Khusrau’s men are swaggering about the Agra fort as if they already own it. The talk everywhere is about who the emperor will name as his heir.’

‘That’s for my father to decide.’

‘Of course. But none of us can predict what’s going to happen. Forgive me, but the emperor might die before he has a chance to choose a successor. . and even if he nominates you, Khusrau’s men may rise in rebellion. You must prepare. The stronger you are, the quicker you can strike if you have to.’

‘You’re a good friend to me and are right as always, Suleiman Beg. What do you suggest I do?’

‘Let me summon those commanders we know to be loyal to you to the capital with their troops.’

‘Very well. But tell them to come quietly, without ostentation. I must do nothing to provoke suspicion or indeed cause anxiety to my father.’

Akbar’s face looked wan and his hands lay claw-like on the green silk coverlet as his attendants gently set down the chair on which they had carried him from his apartments to his private audience chamber. It was two days since he had fallen ill again and the hakims had still been unable to prevent him from passing and vomiting blood, although there had been some reduction in its frequency, probably because he had taken no nourishment. No wonder his skin looked almost transparent. It was hard to believe the frail old man before them had once run jubilantly round the battlements of the Agra fort, a youth clutched beneath each muscular arm.