Raiders from the North: Empire of the Moghul by Alex Rutherford Page B

isn’t large enough. And the city doesn’t appear to be under attack or even siege, which it would surely be if Shaibani Khan were here.’
    ‘Then who?’
    ‘I don’t know. But it isn’t safe to go forward. We must retreat down this hill, make camp in its lee, where we cannot be seen, and wait for our main force to catch up tomorrow.’
    Wazir Khan read the bleak disappointment on Babur’s face. ‘This is Qolba Hill, a place of dreams and hopes. Five years ago I was with your father, here, on this very spot, with the armies of Ferghana behind us. Like you, Majesty, he gazed on Samarkand and what he saw made him catch his breath with ambition and desire.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘The king, your uncle, was away fighting rebellious tribes to the west. It was the perfect time to attack, but God was not with us. That very night your father, who had ridden so hard that one of his best horses collapsed under him, was stricken by such a deep fever that the doctors feared for his life. We had no choice but to turn back. Your father took it hard but it was his fate.’
    ‘Why did my uncle and my father hate each other so much? They were brothers.’
    ‘Only half-brothers, born of different women, and rivals from the moment they were old enough to realise that each coveted the same thing – Timur’s city. Your uncle Ahmed was the older by four years. He seized Samarkand and spent the rest of his life taunting your father. Yet your father had something he did not. In spite of all his women and all the potions he swallowed or rubbed into his groin, your uncle could not father a son to succeed him. And that, more than anything, he could not forgive. That was why he planned to take Ferghana from you and leave you nothing – perhaps not even your life.’
    In his mind’s eye Babur saw his distraught mother sobbing in anguish at the news of his uncle’s advance. She had understood the depths of his enmity. But in his dying moments his uncle had relented and sent Babur Timur’s ring. Surely that was a sign? He was meant to rule Samarkand and not, like his father, live out a life blighted by disappointment.
    ‘Come, Majesty.’
    Babur fought the impulse to gallop wildly on and confront these interlopers who thought they could snatch away his dreams. Sadly he turned his horse and followed Wazir Khan slowly back down through the tussocky grass of Qolba Hill.
    Soon the tents were pitched but there was no hot food in case smoke rising from the cooking fires alerted those on the plains beyond. Despite their weight, Babur shivered beneath layers of pungent-smelling sheepskins as the temperature dropped. Finally he drifted off to sleep only to be shaken awake what seemed like just a few minutes later. ‘Majesty, I have news.’ Wazir Khan was kneeling at his side. His face was relaxed. There was even a twist of a smile. ‘It seems we have interrupted an affair of the heart.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Five days ago your cousin Mahmud, son of the King of Kunduz, arrived here. His goal was not to take the city but a girl. With Samarkand in confusion he planned to steal into the city and find her. She is the daughter of the grand vizier.’
    ‘What stopped him?’ Babur could hardly believe his ears. The last time he had seen Mahmud, the son of his mother’s favourite sister and three years older than him, he had been a clumsy, cheerfulboy with angry spots on his hairless chin and a passion for pranks that often got him into trouble. Babur had followed worshipfully where he led. The idea of a lovelorn Mahmud sighing his heart out for a girl was ridiculous.
    Wazir Khan’s face assumed its usual grave expression. ‘Your cousin found the city gates barred. The grand vizier is claiming the throne of Samarkand – the city and all its territories.’
    ‘What gives him that right?’
    ‘Nothing. He has no blood descent from Timur. But he is powerful. He controls the treasury and can bribe anyone he wishes.’
    ‘But when he