'I'm relieved you know, Majesty. My worry was that I'd be too late.'

'And what action do you think I've taken?'

'Sent an army to intercept Murad before he and his brother join forces?'

'Quite right. In fact, I did it before I heard the definitive news about Surat. You look surprised, Nicholas. You don't believe my rebellious sons' claims that I've become too enfeebled to rule, do you?'

Seeing Nicholas's hurt expression Shah Jahan softened his tone after all, the Englishman had had no need to return to Agra rather than take ship for his homeland. 'Matters have moved more quickly than you realise. You've come back to Agra in one of my darkest hours since the death of my empress. You thought you had important news to tell me for which I thank you. But now let me tell you something ... Only a few hours ago I learned that Aurangzeb and Murad had joined forces by the time Raja Jaswant Singh and the strong army I had sent to confront them caught up with them at Dharmat, not far from Ujjain. Jaswant Singh was misinformed or perhaps deliberately misled about the strength of his enemies' artillery and ordered a frontal attack. As his Rajput hors.e.m.e.n galloped into battle over open ground, the rebel cannon cut them down. When the rebels followed their cannonade with a cavalry charge of their own, our troops broke under the impact and scattered, many Jaswant Singh included into the Rajasthani desert.'

'Where are Aurangzeb and Murad now?'

'I don't know for certain. If I were them I'd be making for the Chambal river, the last obstacle between them and Agra. Naturally I've despatched scouts south to report to me the moment their forces appear.'

'What will you do then, Majesty?'

'The only thing I can send my remaining troops to block their advance. Prince Dara must take the field for the honour and salvation of the empire for everything my grandfather achieved and now hangs in the balance.'

Chapter 18.

Nicholas sat relaxed on his chestnut horse atop a low hill rising from the plain about four miles southwest of Agra. Looking back in the soft early morning light he could still see the familiar outline of the Taj Mahal on the horizon. To him, the dome was a teardrop. The coa.r.s.er minds among his mercenaries, of whom at his own request he had once more taken command, insisted it was nothing but a woman's breast and its gold finial a fine pert nipple. In the pre-dawn hours Dara had despatched Nicholas and his five hundred men disease, wounds and desertions had much reduced their number since the beginning of the northern campaign to check the early stages of his route before he himself led the main body of his army out towards the Chambal river.

As, flaming torches in their hands, they had made their way down the steep ramp, through the towering gateway and out across the plain they had come upon nothing to concern them militarily. Nicholas had relished what to him was the wonderful and unique scent of Hindustan the mixture of the smells of earth, night-flowering plants such as the champa, dung cooking fires and spices, as the country dwellers began to awake and prepare for the new day. He had heard nothing beyond the jingling of the harnesses of his men's horses, the occasional wild screech of a peac.o.c.k and the nocturnal howl of some wakeful village hound swiftly taken up by its newly roused fellows.

Now, though, the peace was being broken literally and metaphorically. Dara and his main army were beginning their march to face his brothers Aurangzeb and Murad in battle in person. Civil war was under way, with all its bitterness and divisions within families, high and low. He had seen enough of it during his early days in Hindustan as Shah Jahan fought for the throne to know its b.l.o.o.d.y perils and consequences. Later, letters from his older brother at home on the family estates in the west of England had told him of the civil war raging in his own country of the execution of the king and the establishment of a people's parliament. Its puritanical leader insisted on the following of a fundamentalist faith as strict and austere as any prescribed by Aurangzeb and his mullahs, banning even harmless festivities such as dancing around the maypole and the theatre.

Almost instinctively Nicholas put his hand to one of the two pistols in his sash. They had arrived in a tightly bound parcel accompanying his brother's last letter. Such weapons were rarely seen in Hindustan. They should however prove useful in the fighting to come, even if he was unlikely to have the necessary time in the press of battle to reload them. He must make each of their single shots count, something his initial attempts had shown was difficult to achieve at much more than fifteen yards.

An ear-splitting blast jolted Nicholas from his reverie. It came from a long-stemmed trumpet held by an outrider of the vanguard as it approached.

The vanguard, all mounted on matching black horses and wearing tunics and turbans of Moghul green, were advancing thirty abreast. The front two ranks were made up of trumpeters interspersed with drummers who beat out a steady tattoo on the drums mounted on each side of the saddles of their horses who were so well trained as to appear oblivious of the noise. Behind the musicians the next ranks were of straight-backed cavalrymen. Except for those one in every six, Nicholas guessed who gripped the wooden staves of green banners blowing gently in the breeze, they held erect long lances with green pennants. Beyond them came further lines of hors.e.m.e.n, the pennants at their lance tips seeming to roll like the waves of a gentle sea swell or a ripple of wind through an autumn cornfield as their riders bobbed in their saddles.

After some minutes through the golden dust haze Nicholas saw a phalanx of war elephants approaching, each with a great howdah and a coat of overlapping steel plate armour. The individual plates were small to allow the elephants to move freely. Nicholas couldn't help remembering how he had once tried to count the number in each coat, getting to over three thousand before giving up. As well as their war coats, every elephant had an outsize cutla.s.s securely tied to each tusk. The tusks themselves were painted blood red and some filed to a sharp point to inflict the maximum damage at close quarters. From about a third of the howdahs poked the barrels of gajnals, the small cannon so effective in a war of movement because the elephants could transport them relatively quickly into the thick of the action.

In the middle of the elephant phalanx was a formation of the largest beasts, their tusks painted not red but gold, keeping pace with each other as they walked forward to maintain the shape of a square. From the howdah at each corner of the square flew vast green banners much bigger than those carried by the hors.e.m.e.n, six feet high and perhaps twenty feet long and embroidered in gold with the names of the emperor and Dara Shukoh. At the centre of the square plodded the largest elephant of them all, the jewels in its tower-like howdah glittering and glinting in the rising sun. As the elephant slowly drew closer Nicholas made out ever more clearly the figure of Dara sitting in the centre of the howdah clad in a gold breastplate like his revered great-grandfather the emperor Akbar, two dark-bearded bodyguards with drawn swords squatting behind him. As the column pa.s.sed Nicholas Dara raised a hand in his direction but Nicholas couldn't be sure whether he recognised him or was simply doing as a good general should acknowledging any body of his troops he met along the way.

Half an hour later the army's cannon were pa.s.sing Nicholas, who had been ordered to join the rearguard with his men. The air was becoming hot as the morning drew on and the ever-increasing dust was clogging his nose and mouth. However, taking a quick swig from his leather water bottle before drawing his blue face cloth tighter, he couldn't help being impressed by the magnificence of the artillery as he watched the largest of the cannon rumble past. How long their bra.s.s barrels, engraved with serpents and mystical birds, were some nearly twenty feet. How many oxen were required to pull the great eight-wheeled limbers? He counted thirty straining to pull one of the weapons, urged on by white-loinclothed drivers running barefoot on skinny legs from one animal to another, cracking their long whips and tugging at the rope halters of recalcitrant beasts whose outraged bellowing he could sometimes hear over the general hubbub of the march.

Even more than the war elephants, the cannon nearly a hundred and fifty years after their introduction into Hindustan by Dara's ancestor Babur were at the heart of any modern army, being as well suited to disrupting a charge of hors.e.m.e.n or war elephants as to blasting and battering down the walls and gates of a resisting city. The makers of gunpowder often Turkish mercenaries were producing better powder mixtures all the time to give the weapons longer range and greater reliability. If only, thought Nicholas, the forge masters could make these great weapons lighter and thus more manoeuvrable and swifter to deploy.

After the cannon came wooden ox carts, some with tightly roped-down oiled covers the powder wagons and some with the cannon b.a.l.l.s of stone or iron stacked in them. Behind them, mostly mounted but some on foot, were the musketeers, long weapons and ram rods either tied to their saddles or slung across their backs, together with their powder horns and pouches containing the b.a.l.l.s for the muskets. Their weapons were mostly matchlocks, more reliable in Hindustani conditions than the newer flintlocks which were p.r.o.ne to failure to fire through dust or damp. Marching with the musketeers were armourers whose task it was to fashion new musket b.a.l.l.s when required by pouring liquid lead into the moulds they carried.

Nicholas was growing ever more hot and tired and anxious to be on the move as the archers marched past. Although fewer in number than on previous campaigns their double bows and quiverfuls of feathered arrows still had the advantage of speed of fire over muskets, even if they were less deadly. Last before the rearguard came the infantry. Hardly any had footwear. Most wore only a loincloth and a simple turban to protect against the sun. A few carried swords. Many had simple spears. But some carried as weapons only the tools such as scythes and hoes which they had used to work the fields from which they had recently and hastily been plucked by their landlords to replace the more experienced men who had gone with Suleiman to confront Shah Shuja.

Nicholas had never found such raw infantry of great use in battle. They were either quick to panic and flee or easy for the enemy to cut down if they did resist. Perhaps their greatest function was by their very number to overawe civilian populations or other inexperienced armies. It took nearly another half-hour for their stumbling, already disorganised ma.s.s to pa.s.s. Then, with a great sigh of relief, he saw the mounted rearguard appear a mixture of Rajputs in pale yellow or orange robes mounted on p.r.i.c.k-eared Mewari horses and heavily bearded and more bulky-bodied Punjabis on larger beasts, slower but of greater endurance.

With a joyful wave of his hand Nicholas gestured to his men, now all sweating like himself in the hot June sun, perspiration running in rivulets down their faces and coursing down their spines beneath their hot heavy backplates, to join their comrades. As he did so, he gave grateful thanks that he did not have to await the baggage train with its mixture of heavily loaded spitting camels, braying mules and protruding-ribbed donkeys to lumber past, still less the great body of camp followers who as far as he could see through the choking dust were straggling almost back to the gates of Agra. Still, the army needed the entertainment and pleasures the cooks, acrobats, nautch girls and snake charmers provided to while away the empty hours that were such a feature of campaign life, as well as to soothe worries and anxieties as battle approached. May this campaign be a short one and Dara triumphant, he thought, as he kicked his horse forward and the willing chestnut, as glad as Nicholas to be on the move once more, cantered down the small hill to join Dara's vast army.

Two Sarus cranes rose slowly from the banks of the Chambal and flew along the river searching for fish, their large red heads and grey and white plumage reflected in the Chambal's glistening pewter waters. As Nicholas watched, seated on the stump of a decayed tree and grateful that the afternoon heat was slowly dying, the long, slim snout of a ghariyal snapped out of the water, also intent on an evening meal. The ghariyal was a crocodile unlike any other Nicholas had seen. Local people had a.s.sured him that it was harmless and ate only fish, while warning him that more familiar flesh-hungry crocodiles also lurked in the shallows and that on no account, however hot or tempted, should he swim in the river.

Hearing a noise behind him, Nicholas glanced round. It wasn't a crocodile fish-eating or otherwise but two or three of his fellow officers heading for Dara's command tent and a meeting to which he had also been summoned. Reminded of the time, Nicholas stood up, brushed down his clothes and also began to walk towards the tent. As he did so he wondered what the council was to be about. The army had arrived at the Chambal that morning after five days' hot, slow and dusty journey. He presumed the discussion would concern the crossing of the river to confront Aurangzeb and Murad whether the Chambal was slow and shallow enough to ford safely or whether they needed to consume time in building a bridge of boats.

Five minutes into the meeting, standing in the second row of the sixty commanders cl.u.s.tering around the low divan on which Dara was seated beneath his tent's awning, Nicholas found out that he was wrong. Gesturing to a travel-grimed figure standing beside the divan, Dara said, 'Ravi k.u.mar here has just returned from a two-day scouting mission southwards along the Chambal. Ravi, tell me again what you saw there for the benefit of my officers.'

Ravi k.u.mar nodded. 'Last evening I encountered Aurangzeb and Murad's army fording the river twenty or so miles downstream. Much of the vanguard was already across, but the rest of the army were lighting cooking fires, seemingly prepared to spend the night on the far side.'

As the scout had spoken his first words a gasp of surprise had run round the a.s.sembled officers. Now one, a tall, clipped-bearded man Nicholas recognised as Raja Ram Singh Rathor, the ruler of a small state near Gwalior with a high reputation for both bravery and military sagacity, spoke. 'They've moved far faster than we'd thought, Highness. Do they have all their equipment with them?'

Dara motioned to Ravi k.u.mar to answer.

'I couldn't stay too long or get too close but I think they had the leading elements of their baggage train with them. Further wagons seemed to be arriving all the time and a dust cloud on the horizon suggested many more men and much equipment were yet to come. My guess is that it will take all of tomorrow for them to complete the crossing and re-form on the near bank.'

'Thank you, Ravi k.u.mar,' said Dara. He turned to his commanders. 'Can we break camp and reach them before they have finished crossing?'

After a brief pause Raja Ram Singh Rathor spoke once more, 'No, Highness. Not if we wish to have our heavy guns and war elephants with us as I think we must. Until now we've only made eight or so miles a day. Even if we pushed our animals harder I can't see the full strength of the army being able to reach the crossing in less than two days. By then Aurangzeb and Murad will be on the march to Agra and we'll be hard pressed to catch them.'

'I feared as much,' said Dara. 'In the short time since Ravi and the other scouts returned I've been looking at maps and talking to some junior officers whose homes are along the Chambal. Even though our enemies have crossed the river, we are considerably to the north of them and much nearer to Agra than they are. However quickly they move, it seems to me if we break camp before dawn and head due west from here we should be able to cut them off and position ourselves across their path on advantageous ground. What do you think?'

'What sort of country do we have to traverse?' asked another voice. Nicholas couldn't see the speaker.

'I'm told it's mostly flat with few obstructions, although in places there is some deepish sand which may slow the heavy equipment a little. Still, we should have plenty of time for our march.'

The voice spoke again, 'Thank you, Highness. In that case there should be no problems. The men and animals are not so exhausted that they will not find sufficient refreshment in a truncated night's rest.' His words were convoluted but their meaning clear and they were greeted by general shouts of agreement and nodding of turbaned heads from some other officers.

'We're decided then,' said Dara. 'I leave it to you, my trusted commanders, to make the necessary preparations. Make sure the men get an extra ration of food. It will hearten them. Tell them that I will reward them well, as I will you, when victory is ours.' With that, Dara rose and walked slowly back into the interior of his tent.

As he too turned away to make his way in the evening sunlight back to his own quarters, Nicholas couldn't help wondering whether, generous as were Dara's words about food and rewards for the troops and welcome as was his confidence in his officers, the prince shouldn't himself be taking a more central role. Not least, it would give him a chance to get to know some of his commanders better, particularly some of the va.s.sal rulers who had only arrived at Agra at his father's summons just before the army left the city and had had little chance to meet Dara. To have full loyalty to a leader particularly a prospective emperor fighting a civil war a subordinate needed to know him and his virtues in addition to obtaining a general warm feeling about his own future prospects. From his own experience of the two northern campaigns Nicholas knew that neither Aurangzeb nor even Murad would have been so casual, but then they lacked Dara's obvious charisma and their campaigns had ended in ignominious defeat. G.o.d willing they would suffer that fate again.

The Frenchman collapsed slowly from his saddle to hit the sandy ground with a gentle thud. Quickly Nicholas jumped from his own horse and ran over to him. Yet another casualty from the heat, he was sure. Reaching the man's crumpled form he heaved him over on to his back and with the help of some other of his comrades quickly unbuckled the man's heavy steel breastplate and lifted it from his chest. It was hot to the touch from the blistering sun. The Frenchman's hands were twitching. His face was reddish-purple and his pale green eyes were rolling in his head as Nicholas unhooked his own water bottle from his belt, unstoppered it and tried to tip some of the warm liquid into the man's mouth. A little went between his cracked lips and half-clenched teeth. Most trickled down his stubbly chin and neck.

The man began to cough and Nicholas poured a little more water. 'Get a dhooli a litter to carry him back to the camp, but before you do put some damp cloths on his forehead,' he ordered. The man might still survive. He hoped he would. The Frenchman was a stern fighter who had come to Hindustan from Bordeaux with a French trading party which he had quit for reasons he had never quite made clear but others said were connected to a missing ruby the size of a duck egg. If he did live, he would be luckier than many others, thought Nicholas, taking a swig himself from his water bottle. Three others of his men had collapsed two dying on the spot and he had seen several lifeless bodies carried away from the neighbouring regiment of infantry, arms dangling over the edges of simple stretchers fashioned from dead branches and palm leaves.

Just as they had planned, after three days' gruelling march Dara's forces had succeeded in blocking Aurangzeb and Murad's army's route to Agra, siting their camp on some low-lying hills hillocks, really which straddled the great trunk road to Agra about ten miles from the city at a place Nicholas had been told was called Samugarh. When they had realised that their initial plan to march north had been thwarted Aurangzeb and Murad had turned west amid great clouds of dust, attempting to outflank Dara's vast army. In response he had countermarched his forces, shadowing his brothers and occasionally sending out small raiding parties to s.n.a.t.c.h prisoners or probe the strength of pickets. He and his officers had learned little in the process other than that his enemies seemed determined, p.r.o.ne neither to panic nor to surrender.

After two days of such manoeuvring back and forth on the plains around Samugarh, this morning, 7 June, the two armies had deployed in full battle formation, Dara retaining his slight initial advantage of the somewhat higher ground. As the airless morning had drawn on and the heat increased, none of the three brothers had appeared to wish to push for a decisive engagement. Nicholas had even wondered whether there might be a chance for negotiations, though this seemed unlikely. All that had happened for the past five hours was that both sides had stood still or sat on horseback in the broiling sun, which was now at its midday zenith. Both men and horses were falling victim to the heat. Flocks of bald-headed scrawny vultures were already perching on the bodies of some of the dead animals, pecking at eyes and bellies now spilling out skeins of bluish intestines, unwanted portents to the men of their own potential fate in battle when it was finally joined.

Glancing round, Nicholas saw that there was still little movement in the ranks of either army other than young water-bearers running with their gourds and bottles to attempt to slake the thirst of the soldiers although there were not enough of them nor enough water to prevent more men collapsing from the heat. In the next two hours Nicholas lost two further men, including one a ginger-haired Scot named Alex Graham who had soldiered with him since his first northern campaign with Murad and had begged him to take the five silver coins in the pouch at his waist and get them back to his family in the Scottish highlands. Nicholas had a.s.sured him he would, while realising how difficult it would be even if he himself survived, with civil unrest in Britain as well as Hindustan.

As he pondered this question he saw sudden movement in the ranks of the army opposite. Were they going to attack at last? Nicholas shouted to his men to prepare for action, glad that the waiting might be over nothing could be worse than standing in this awful heat. A few minutes later he realised that there would be no battle that day. The enemy appeared to be retreating back to their camp, which was about a mile behind their current position. Soon the order came from Dara through one of his qorchis to return to their own camp on the hillocks. At least he would live another day, thought Nicholas as he turned his horse and gestured to his men to follow.

Chapter 19.

The next morning Nicholas was up before dawn. In truth he had slept little that night. The war council he had attended the previous evening had agreed unanimously that rather than spend another day waiting for their opponents to make a move they should take advantage of their numerical superiority eighty thousand men compared to their opponents' fifty thousand and seize the initiative, attacking with some of their elite cavalry early in the morning. As for Nicholas and his mercenaries, Dara had ordered them to form a reserve just behind his command tent, ready to reinforce any weak points or exploit any breakthroughs. In doing so they were to utilise their military experience and steadiness under fire to the full, bolstering the nervous and restraining the rash.

Nicholas made a quick round of his men, shaking awake any so nerveless as still to be asleep, giving a word of encouragement here, checking the sharpness of a blade there, but above all exhorting everyone to carry as much water as they could. Afterwards he climbed with his morning meal to the top of the hillock around which his men were encamped to survey the opposing battle lines, each stretching more than a mile and a half as they faced each other across the dry plains. While he sipped his clay cup of la.s.si a mixture of yogurt and water ate several round chapattis, delicious when hot from the skillet as these were, and gnawed on a bony hunk of chicken thigh, he looked beyond Dara's scarlet command tent and his army's front lines to those of the enemy. He saw that Aurangzeb and Murad's men were also up and busy. Even at a distance his keen eyesight could make out howdahs being hoisted on to elephants and troops of hors.e.m.e.n preparing to mount in front of the orderly ranks of tents. Suddenly it could not have been more than an hour after dawn he heard the crash of artillery and white smoke billowed from the batteries of heavy bronze cannon opposite, drawn up in the centre of the enemy position near a large pavilion which he imagined must be the headquarters of Aurangzeb and Murad. So Dara's brothers were as unwilling as he was to put off the decisive encounter any longer.

Immediately Dara's own cannon boomed out their response. Many of their b.a.l.l.s fell short as had many of the enemy's, sending up showers of grit and dust as they bit harmlessly into the dry ground. However, through the ever-increasing smoke Nicholas saw that one of the enemy cannon had been knocked from its limber. Then a loud explosion deafened him for a moment. It came from behind him and to the left where he remembered some of Dara's powder wagons had been positioned, as the war council had thought, out of enemy cannon range. Either a lucky and record-breaking shot from one of Aurangzeb's biggest cannon or more likely some carelessness by one of Dara's own gunners had resulted in the powder in an ammunition wagon's being detonated. Pray G.o.d the damage was not too great.

As if in response to this setback, Nicholas saw one of Dara's regiments of cavalry begin to deploy from the centre of his lines, pa.s.sing through regiments of musketeers and foot soldiers and out beyond the advanced pickets into the open ground between the two armies. They were the same Rajputs and Punjabis who had formed the rearguard the day the army had left Agra. Now they would be the first into battle. Soon the regiment were moving into the gallop and charging straight for Aurangzeb and Murad's cannon. Their green banners were fluttering, their lances were levelled and they were resisting the temptation to bunch close together and thus make themselves more vulnerable to enemy fire. Even at that distance Nicholas could hear the Rajputs shouting their war cry of 'Ram! Ram! Ram!' as they rode. When they were around half a mile from them, Aurangzeb and Murad's cannon fired again. The galloping bay horse of the leading banner-bearer collapsed instantly, catapulting its rider over its head to lie motionless while his banner, its staff trapped beneath his sprawled, lifeless body, still fluttered feebly. More horses and riders fell while other horses swerved away, either injured themselves or because their riders were wounded and losing control of them. Still the remaining hors.e.m.e.n pressed on, pace unslackened and helmeted heads bent low to their horses' necks.

Musketeers stationed in between Aurangzeb and Murad's cannon levelled their long-barrelled weapons on tripods to steady their aim and then added the weight of their fire to the cannonade. Their first disciplined volley emptied many more saddles and many more horses tumbled to the dust, rolling over, legs and hooves flailing. But then Dara's hors.e.m.e.n were up to the cannon, thrusting with their lances, slashing and cutting at the gunners and musketeers with their swords. Soon some of the enemy musketeers were fleeing, abandoning their weapons. To Nicholas's delight, the imperial troops seemed to be winning. Dara clearly thought so too. Nicholas could see him standing in the howdah of his great war elephant beside his scarlet tent, hands clenched over his head in triumph.

However, only a minute or two later, looking back towards the action around the enemy cannon, Nicholas saw a large body of Aurangzeb and Murad's hors.e.m.e.n gallop from their position on the left flank of their army to join the battle, and smash into Dara's cavalry. For some minutes the fighting washed around them like waves round ocean rocks sometimes receding, sometimes engulfing the cannon. Gradually, though, the enemy cavalry were gaining the upper hand as they were joined by more and more reinforcements.

After about twenty minutes Nicholas saw Dara's banners beginning to turn. Soon it was beyond doubt. Dara's hors.e.m.e.n, much depleted in numbers, were in retreat, riding hard for their own lines. Even though Murad and Aurangzeb's cavalrymen did not pursue them, riders continued to fall, pitching from their saddles as they were hit by musket b.a.l.l.s. One orange-clad Rajput's foot caught in his stirrup as he fell and he was dragged along until the leather broke and he rolled over several times before lying still. Elsewhere, a rider bravely turned his grey horse to ride back towards the enemy, zigzagging as he did so to put the opposing musketeers off their aim, before bending to scoop a fallen comrade up behind him. Other unhorsed riders were running or limping back towards their own lines, some throwing off their breastplates and helmets so that they could make better progress.

A riderless and panic-stricken horse one of many knocked to the ground a dismounted rider who tried to grab its dangling reins as it galloped past. The man struggled back to his feet and staggered on, now dragging his right leg behind him. Soon nearly all those who were still on horseback regained the comparative safety of their own lines. Among the last to arrive was a banner-bearer whose wounded mount got him to within a hundred yards of safety before collapsing slowly. Sliding from his saddle, its rider, a burly Punjabi, ran the remaining distance still holding on to his heavy banner. Elsewhere syces, grooms, were helping wounded men from their horses, gently placing the most severely injured on makeshift stretchers to be carried to the lines of hakims' tents.

Earlier that day Nicholas had glanced into one and seen the red-ap.r.o.ned doctors calmly laying out their saws, knives and other instruments while their a.s.sistants prepared the cauterising fires. He had quickly looked away, not wishing to dwell on his fate if wounded. Why hadn't Aurangzeb and Murad followed up the advantage they had gained in repulsing the cavalry charge, he mused, only to be interrupted by a qorchi summoning him to a war council in Dara's command tent.

Since he was stationed so close to it, Nicholas was among the first to arrive. As he ducked beneath the awning he saw Dara, now clad in his gold breastplate, standing staring towards his brothers' camp, where labourers were struggling in the growing heat to right some of the cannon overturned in the first attack. Others were unloading more cannon b.a.l.l.s and stocks of powder from wagons which teams of oxen were pulling up to the artillery positions. Another small group of soldiers were going among the dead and wounded men and horses sprawled around the guns. Nicholas saw them carry away some of the wounded, presumably those of their own side. Another band were thrusting lances into the hearts of injured horses. Appearing to have completed the grisly task of putting the animals out of their misery, they turned to the remaining bodies, bending over them, perhaps to search for valuables, and then thrusting their lances into their chests. A wounded man, seeing what was happening, suddenly staggered to his feet and began to stumble back towards Dara's lines. One of the killers sprinted after him, caught him easily, pushed him to the ground then very deliberately spitted him with his lance.

Dara, who had clearly also been watching, cried, 'How can they be so brutal?'

'Highness, it is war and war is brutal, particularly civil war. But I have seen men suffer much worse deaths in enemy hands in our northern campaigns,' Nicholas replied.

'You have far greater experience of war than I. In truth I have little and want little more. The sooner this battle and this war are over the better.'

By now Dara's other commanders were a.s.sembled around him and he addressed them without any of the normal preliminaries or flowery courtesies of the court. 'I have seen our enemies kill those of our brave men who were left wounded as our hors.e.m.e.n retreated. I do not intend to give them that opportunity again. We will not retreat again. Our next attack will be in overwhelming force with every soldier we have at our disposal.'

'That is brave, Highness, but is it wise,' asked Raja Jai Singh, 'to commit all our forces to a single attack? Shouldn't we keep some regiments in reserve to guard against the unforeseen, or any setback?'

'Holding men back will only make setbacks more likely. I am determined to strike decisively now and end this rebellion today. How long will it take to ready our men?'

'An hour, perhaps, Highness,' said the raja, 'and in that time I recommend that to give the attack the greatest chance of success you begin a cannonade of enemy lines to disrupt their forces and knock out some of their remaining guns.'

'Give the necessary orders.'

'Don't forget, Highness, while we make our own preparations,' said a voice from the back, 'we should keep watch for any ma.s.sing or movement of troops by our enemy or for signs of attempts to outflank us.'

Another wise comment, thought Nicholas. In war as in chess it was not enough to plan your own moves well, you had to watch out for your enemy's and be flexible in responding to them.

'Yes, of course. We should advance more pickets and send out scouts to warn us of any manoeuvres on our enemy's part or of any reinforcements riding to join them. However, it seems to me that, being outnumbered, my brothers are prepared to sit on the defensive. I am not. Let us lose no more time. Make the necessary arrangements for the attack, Jai Singh. I am indebted to you all, my loyal and wise counsellors, and so too will be my father, our rightful emperor. Good luck and may G.o.d bless us with victory. The council is dismissed.'

Again Nicholas wondered whether, although Dara had been gracious in his final remarks, he might not have done better to allow a little more time for his officers to ask questions and make suggestions about his simple strategy, as well as to enthuse them more thoroughly with the reasons why victory was important for the empire and of course for them. Having known Dara for over thirty years he was well aware of his warmth, charm and abilities, so clearly displayed in his family and personal life and his relationship with close allies. He just wished he would be less distant and aloof in public discussion with the wider circle of his supporters. Still, with the superior forces at Dara's disposal, his battle plan should succeed and, G.o.d willing, by evening he and his men should be riding victorious for Agra.

An hour and a half later Nicholas, mounted on his chestnut horse, was again on the top of the hillock behind Dara's command tent. He was now fully dressed for war, sweating beneath steel back- and breastplates, his long sword at his right side and his two bulbous-handled pistols primed and stuck into his blue sash. He watched as drums began to beat and Dara's troops started to advance along the whole one and a half miles of their front line from Raja Ram Singh Rathor's Rajputs on the right to Khalilullah Khan's Uzbeks on the left, moving into the white smoke drifting across the plain between the two armies from the previous exchanges of cannon fire. Despite the amount of powder and shot expended by both sides in the previous eighty minutes, neither seemed to have suffered great damage the most obvious casualties were three of Aurangzeb and Murad's elephants, hit as they strained to haul some of their cannon into a more advanced position and now slumped within a few feet of each other like great grey rocks.

More and more of Dara's men began to move forward. Soon Dara's own ma.s.sive war elephant started to advance and as it did so he waved from its jewel-encrusted tower-like howdah to the surrounding troops. The size of his elephant and the construction of the howdah allowed him to see and be seen by many more of his troops than he could have been in any other way.

In obedience to his own orders, which were still to stay where he was with his men till he saw how the battle developed, Nicholas sat tight on the hillock as Dara's army pushed forward. Sometimes drifting smoke obscured his view, making it difficult for him to judge the progress of the fighting. On the right flank, Raja Ram Singh Rathor's orange and saffron-clad hors.e.m.e.n were outdistancing the rest of the army, swerving as they did so to attack the enemy's centre. Through another gap in the smoke Nicholas was able to guess why. Two great elephants with howdahs were moving along the enemy lines, surrounded by a squadron of banner-bearing hors.e.m.e.n. Aurangzeb and Murad were encouraging their own troops to stand firm and Raja Ram Singh Rathor must have determined to win glory for himself and his Rajputs while avenging the defeat of his cousin Jaswant Singh at Dharmat by killing or capturing the two rebellious brothers. His men were clearly suffering casualties as the price for their daring with many falling, brought down by musket b.a.l.l.s or fire from the cannon batteries at the centre of the enemy lines.

Raja Ram Singh Rathor, distinguishable by his pure white stallion and the two standard-bearers riding beside him, both still also miraculously unscathed, was the first to smash into the hors.e.m.e.n surrounding the rebellious brothers' elephants, his much diminished force close behind him.

It was difficult at the distance for Nicholas to make out the details of the action but he saw a Rajput horseman attack one of the two elephants, urging his mount, specially trained and equipped with a face plate as some cavalry horses were, to rear on its hind legs to allow him to strike at the elephants' mahouts. A bodyguard in the howdah stood and thrust twice with his long lance. Both horse and rider dropped from view.

One of Raja Ram Singh Rathor's banner-bearers had fallen but the other remained close by his leader's side as he battered his way towards the other imperial elephant, opponents swerving away from him or faltering beneath his attack. Suddenly, the remaining Rajput banner-bearer pitched forward out of his saddle and became entangled in his orange banner as he hit the ground. Next, the raja's own white horse reared up. Was he too preparing to attack the elephant's mahouts? But in a moment the horse toppled backwards, clearly wounded, and the raja, still identifiable by his lemon turban and flowing orange and white robes, slipped from the saddle and ran, drawn sword in hand and almost bent double, towards the elephant. Bravely he tried to duck beneath its belly, perhaps attempting to cut the girths holding the howdah in place. Whatever was his aim he did not succeed in it but fell wounded, and as he tried to rise he was trampled beneath the elephant's feet.

Undaunted, his men fought on. Through the increasing smoke Nicholas saw they were being joined by the leading hors.e.m.e.n from Dara's centre, battle-hardened warriors from Oudh, Kashmir and elsewhere. Aurangzeb's and Murad's elephants had already turned and with their cavalry escort were heading back through their own lines seeking greater protection. Dara's cavalry were trying to follow them, slashing and cutting. Although they were making some progress the fighting was clearly hard and hand to hand. Nicholas could see Dara's towering howdah getting closer to the action. Even though Dara had only begun his main advance less than half an hour ago, to Nicholas the climax of the battle was fast approaching. He and his men must join the conflict, but where? As he scanned the battlefield again, he noticed that on the left Khalilullah Khan and his Uzbeks seemed to be lagging behind and as a consequence a gap was opening between them and the regiment advancing next to them.

Nicholas couldn't understand why this was happening. Khalilullah Khan had never hung back in the battles in the north. As Nicholas continued to watch the gap began to grow. To his horror Khalilullah Khan and his men were turning away from the battlefield, deserting Dara's cause. This must have been pre-planned. Khalilullah Khan had been close to Aurangzeb during the campaign against Samarkand and Nicholas had been a little surprised to find him among Dara's forces. When they had talked briefly Khalilullah Khan had said simply that he owed his loyalty to the crowned emperor whatever his past regard for Aurangzeb's abilities. He had clearly been dissimulating, biding his time until his defection could be most lethal.

As if to underline that Khalilullah Khan's desertion was prearranged, Nicholas saw a division of rebel hors.e.m.e.n charge immediately for the gap in Dara's advance, sweeping along the flank of Khalilullah Khan's departing forces, clearly aware that they need take no precautions against them. Dara must have seen Khalilullah Khan's defection because his elephant was turning in that direction, followed by his bodyguard. Nicholas gestured to his men to mount and to move out. He knew now what their duty was to rally to Dara and help him to plug the breach in his lines.

Within two or three minutes Nicholas was galloping through the thick smoke drifting across the battlefield and stinging his eyes and nostrils. Through the breaks he could see that Dara's elephant had halted three or four hundred yards ahead. As he drew closer, urging on his horse with hands and heels, he saw why. Dara was climbing down from the howdah. As soon as he was close enough to be heard above the crashes and screams of battle, he shouted to a captain of Dara's bodyguard, 'What's the matter? Why is the prince dismounting? Is the elephant wounded?'

'No, the elephant is fine. His Highness wishes to change to a horse so he can move more quickly about the field to meet the unexpected threat from Khalilullah Khan's treachery.'

Within a minute or two, Dara was mounted on a black stallion with a distinctive white blaze on its forehead and galloping towards the crisis on the left flank, followed by his bodyguard and Nicholas and his men and leaving the mahouts to turn the imperial elephant with its empty howdah back towards Dara's camp.

Soon Dara, Nicholas and their followers were charging a large phalanx of well-equipped rebel riders who were arrowing their way into Dara's ranks, hacking and thrusting as they rode. Nicholas drew his long double-edged sword and slashed hard at a rebel fighter as their horses pa.s.sed. The man knocked Nicholas's blow aside and in the same movement aimed a swing with his scimitar at Nicholas, who in turn swayed back in his saddle to avoid the blade as it carved the air in front of his nose. Almost immediately, the rebel had turned his nimble horse which was little larger than a pony and was once more attacking Nicholas, who remained slightly off balance from his first a.s.sault.

Seeing this, and eager to finish his opponent, the rider carefully drew his arm back behind his head to deliver a decisive blow with his scimitar using all the power he possessed. His deliberation gave Nicholas just the short pause he needed to recover and to exploit the reach his height and the exceptional length of his sword gave him by thrusting the weapon into the rebel's unprotected armpit. The man screamed and swerved away, dropping his scimitar. A second rebel thrust at Nicholas with his lance but its tip splintered against Nicholas's strong steel breastplate and Nicholas succeeded in slashing into the man's upper arm with a hurried sword stroke. This rebel too sheered off, throwing down his now useless lance as blood from his wound coursed down his arm.

Looking round, Nicholas saw that Dara's bodyguard and his own mercenaries were steadily pushing back Aurangzeb and Murad's troops, several of whom lay sprawled dead or wounded, but there had also been casualties among his own men. A Burgundian who had served with him for many years was lying face down in a pool of blood with his brains spilling into his ginger hair from a great gash in his skull. Nicholas was preparing to re-join the fight, determined to avenge the waste of his comrade's life on those who by rebelling had caused it, when he heard above the general din of battle a drumming of many fast approaching hooves behind him. Turning, he saw a group of hors.e.m.e.n with a green banner galloping wildly for the rear, all clearly Dara's men. He shouted to the leading riders, 'Why are you retreating?' The first few who pa.s.sed him were too intent on securing their safety even to respond, but one horseman, who appeared little more than a youth, reined in for a moment. 'Prince Dara is fleeing, so we must too. So should you if you value your life.'

'But the prince has not fled,' Nicholas shouted back.

'You're wrong. We've seen the imperial elephant head for the rear.'

'But didn't you see the howdah was empty?'

'No. But in that case the prince must be dead.' With that and before Nicholas could utter another word the young man dug his heels into the flanks of his blowing horse and urged it after his quickly disappearing comrades. Nicholas looked round to see where Dara was but he had been carried away from him by the press of the fighting. Even as his eyes searched the heaving, sweating battle line in front of him, he heard more horses galloping behind him. Turning once more he saw the oncoming riders were also from his own side and fleeing headlong.

'Prince Dara is safe! We are winning the fight!' he yelled at them as they pa.s.sed, knowing that even if he could be heard he would be unlikely to be heeded. He was right. The group pa.s.sed quickly without even a glance in his direction, all except for one green-clad horseman whose mount stumbled over the body of a dead rebel and fell, throwing the man from the saddle to land in a crumpled heap. As he struggled to rise he was knocked down and trampled by the riders following, who in their fear did not even seem to attempt to avoid him.

Dara needed to show himself and soon or it would be too late. The battle would be irretrievably lost and the road to Agra open for Aurangzeb and Murad. As Nicholas scanned the fighting he suddenly saw the black stallion with the white blaze emerge from a melee about two hundred yards away. It was limping and had a great bleeding gash in its rump but no one in its saddle. Dara must have been knocked or fallen from the animal. Nicholas urged his horse towards the place where he had first seen the stallion. Getting closer he saw three of Dara's green and gold-clad bodyguards, still mounted, trying to protect a rec.u.mbent figure in a gold breastplate lying motionless on the ground.

Almost immediately one of the guards dropped from his saddle, hit by a stroke from a black-clad rebel rider. Only a few moments later a second fell forward on to his horse's neck, clearly wounded. The third fought on against four attackers. Yelling as loudly as he could for all his men to rally to him, Nicholas kicked towards the action, fearing he would be too late. Suddenly he remembered his brace of pistols. Throwing off his heavy gauntlet, he pulled one from his sash. His sweaty hand slipped on the rounded handle but he quickly restored his grip, levelled the weapon and fired. One of the rebels flung up his arms and fell from his horse, hit by what Nicholas knew was a lucky shot at a distance. As he grabbed for his other pistol, the bodyguard knocked another rebel from the saddle with a sword stroke.

Levelling the second pistol, Nicholas fired at one of the two remaining enemy fighters but as he did so his horse skittered and he missed the rider and instead hit his horse in the rump. The rebel lost control as his frightened and wounded animal twisted and reared, running from the battle, but it only covered a short distance before collapsing, trapping the rider beneath it. That only left one man, but as Nicholas closed on him he knocked the remaining bodyguard from his horse with a stroke of his sword. By then Nicholas was up with him. The man thrust hard at Nicholas. Nicholas still had one of his pistols gripped in his hand, and he reversed the weapon and smashed its bulbous handle into the rebel's mouth. Frothing blood and broken pieces of tooth mingled with the man's black beard, and before he could recover Nicholas threw aside the pistol, drew his sword and with a reverse stroke slashed into the nape of his adversary's neck just beneath his helmet, crunching into bone and sinew. The man fell.

As more of Nicholas's own troops as well as of Dara's bodyguard arrived Nicholas jumped from his horse and ran across to Dara's motionless form. Turning the prince on to his back, Nicholas quickly examined his body. There were no obvious wounds beyond a large and swollen bruise on his forehead. Pray G.o.d he was merely knocked out. Pulling his water bottle from his belt, Nicholas unstoppered it and tipped some of its contents over the face of Dara who seemed to stir, then carefully poured a little of the liquid into the prince's mouth. Dara began to cough.