King Errant Part 43

"I do, sire!" said one Asas, the heaviest drinker in the camp, and Babar turned on him a face radiant with friendly thanks.

"That makes it less hard," he said joyously. "Thou hast more to renounce than I!"

"And I also, Most-Clement!" put in a soft grave voice. "I follow fair where Babar goes." It was Tardi-Beg, quaint, frolicsome soul, on whom the Emperor vented much of his boyish fun, and who was satisfied with one kindly glance of perfect sympathy.

"And I!"--"And I!"--"And I!" came here, there, everywhere.

Then followed a memorable, an almost unbelievable scene. From the tent behind Babar came slaves bearing great trays of silver and gold goblets, ewers, measures; strong men bearing casks and skins of wine, a smith or two with his anvil.

"Break up the gold and silver and give it to the poor, and pour the wine back to the storehouse of G.o.d!" came Babar's voice. "Where it falls shall be built a well whence travellers may quench their thirst."

For a minute or two the army watched the hammers falling, watched the red wine sinking into the sand; then it caught fire at the sight and men crowded round in hundreds to cast their wine-cups on to the pile and take the oath of abstinence. But the Emperor himself stood silent.

He was thinking how glad Maham would be; Maham who had so often striven to wean him from his sin.

But after the stir and excitement of the morning, the evening closed in dark and gloomy. A few spots of rain fell, and Babar, made restless probably by the lack of his usual stimulant, decided on moving forwards to meet the enemy. Anything seemed better than inaction. This was done; but even the bustle of marching failed to rouse the men's spirits. The warnings of the old astrologer returned in greater force, a general consternation and alarm prevailed amongst great and small.

Something more must be done; so once again Babar called a grand parade; but this time he held the Holy Koran in his right hand. It was many days now since wine had crossed his lips; he had felt no desire to drink, no temptation to break his oath, and yet that abstinence had told upon him physically. He was more high-strung than ever; more exalted. And so he struck even a higher note.

"How much better is it to die with honour than to live with infamy,"

he cried. "Lo! The Most-High is merciful to us. If we fall, we die the death of martyrs since we fight the Pagan. If we live, we live the victorious avengers of the Faith. Let us then swear on G.o.d's holy word that none of us will turn his face from Death or Victory till his soul is separated from his body. 'With fame, even if I die, I am content.

Fame shall be mine! though my body be Death's.'"

The Persian verse came to him unsought, echo from his far youthful days when Firdusis' Shah-namah had been the delight of his boyhood.

But it came to him G.o.dsent. Familiar to almost all, it, and this declaration of Holy War stirred the whole army to its heart. The effect was instantly visible; far and near men plucked up courage.

None too soon. That very evening a patrol brought in the news that the enemy was within touch.

All was bustle, for Babar was too experienced a general to engage an overwhelming foe without having some entrenched position upon which to fall back.

A day or two was occupied in throwing up earthworks a mile or two ahead, so it was not till the 16th of March, 1527, that the guns and the troops moved on to take up their position, Babar himself galloping along the line, animating the various divisions, giving to each special instructions how to act; giving almost to every man orders how he was to behave, in what manner he was to engage.

It was the last opportunity he was to have of bringing the personal equation to bear upon his force, since ere they had settled into camp, the great moment, awaited for six long weeks was on them. Without loss of time the Emperor sent every man to his post, the lines of chained guns and waggons was linked up, the reserves withdrawn from the front--their great strength was ever a special feature of Babar's generals.h.i.+p--and there was nothing more to be done save await the onset.

Humayon commanded the right. Mahdi Kwaja, Ma'asuma's husband, the left, Babar reserving the centre for himself. Once again, his plan was to force in the enemy's wings and so create confusion. But ere this could be done, his own wings had to withstand attack.

At half-past nine in the morning, a furious charge of the flower of Rajput chivalry almost shook Humayon's force. His father was on the watch, however; reserves came up speedily, and Mustapha's guns from the right centre were brought into action. Despite their deadly fire, fresh and fresh bodies of the enemy poured on undauntedly, and Babar saw his reserves dwindling; for the attack had been equally fierce on the left. Now, therefore, was the moment of effort. Now something must be done or nothing. The battle had raged for hours; now it must be decided one way or the other.

"Flanking columns right and left, wheel and charge!" came the order.

"Guns in the centre advance! Cavalry charge to right and left of matchlock men! Wings to follow suit if they can! Now then!

Master-Gunner Ali-Kool! let us see if thou canst whip Mustapha!"

"The Most-Clement _shall_ see!" yelled the old man; and, uncovered by the charging cavalry the big guns with their huge stone b.a.l.l.s began on their task. The battle was now universal and the unexpected movements, made all at the same moment, had the desired effect upon the enemy.

His centre was thrown into slight confusion.

Babar set his teeth. "Reserves to the flanking columns! And steady, steady, in front!--no rus.h.i.+ng--close in--close in."

But this was no battle of an hour or two as at Paniput.

Step by step the gallant Rajputs disputed the way of that steady boring. They made repeated and desperate attacks on the Emperor's centre in the hopes of recovering the day: but all were received bravely, steadily, without one waver. How could there be one with that marvellous general behind, sitting his horse like an oriental Napoleon, cool, collected, unarmed, ready of resource, of reserve?

By this time one of the flanking columns had got round to the enemy's rear; the Rajputs were forced into their centre. Briefly, Babar had won the battle on his own settled lines. By sunset, the brave defeated, still numerous, had nothing left to them, but to cut their way as best they could through those encircling, suffocating arms and so effect what retreat they could.

But the victory was final, it was complete. When the moon rose that night it shone upon mult.i.tudes of gallant dead. Rana Sanka had himself escaped, though severely wounded; but never again was he or any other of his family to take the field against the Moghul power. They had learnt to fear the Northmen.

The enemy being thus defeated, parties were sent after the fugitives to prevent their reforming. Babar felt, vaguely, that he was guilty of neglect in not going himself, but he was thoroughly spent and weary of bloodshed. He had gained his point; he had proved himself the better man of the two, and for the present that was enough for him. So, after riding a few miles in pursuit, he turned to reach his own camp about bedtime prayers.

At the door of his tent a dim figure showed, and profuse gratulations on victory rose out of the darkness in a well-remembered and bombastic voice.

It was Mahomed Shereef the astrologer. This was too much! Babar, wearied as he was, poured forth a perfect torrent of abuse. No word was too bad for the miserable fool. But when he had thus relieved his heart, he suddenly began to laugh.

"Lo!" he said, "thou art heathenishly inclined, perverse, extremely self-conceited and an insufferable evil-speaker. Yet art thou also an old servant. Therefore, see here!--the Treasurer shall give thee a whole lakh of rupees, so that thou go to the devil out of my dominions. Never, my friend, let me see thy ill-omened face again!

All's well that ends well."

Indeed as Babar laid his head on the pillow that night as undoubted master of India, his one regret was that he could not have had a personal tussle with his brave and honourable adversary.

He had been worth beating.

And he had been beaten--effectually.

CHAPTER VI

Distraught am I, since that I gave up wine, Confused, to nothing doth my soul incline Regret did once my penitence beget; Now penitence induces worse regret.

_Babar_.

Babar wrote these verses from a full heart; for he found much difficulty in reconciling himself to the desert of abstinence.

And it was a desert indeed! After the storm of war had come peace--at least comparative peace--and a flat calm was never to his taste even in youth. And here it was aggravated almost beyond bearing by a thousand-and-one minor troubles. To begin with, ere he had commenced the Holy War against that honourable Pagan, Rana Sanka, he had told his soldiers that if successful, as many of them as wanted it should have leave to return home. And this promise had to be fulfilled. Then Humayon's division had consisted almost entirely of levies from Badakhshan where the young Prince had been governor, and these were seized with a great longing for home. As Kabul was imperfectly defended, it seemed best therefore to send both the division and its leader back; indeed Humayon himself needed a rest. He had worked magnificently and now a young wife was awaiting his return; so, in G.o.d's name let him go. And little Ma'asuma should have her husband back also; a good sort, though he need not have shown his discomfort quite so openly. Still, let him go also, to return when the approaching hot weather was past, as governor of Etawah.

Then Tardi-Beg! Babar's heart sank as he thought of life without the man who for years and years had been more of a charge than a help in manners mundane; but in all things super-mundane what a joy!

Thoughtless, profuse, a lover of the gla.s.s, how often had he not turned a frown to a laugh--a merry, innocent laugh? Truly, ever since he, Babar, had come across him, an irresponsible lovable _darvish_, and had prevailed upon him to give up religion in favour of fighting, he had been a perpetual stand-by to that side of Babar's nature which was not even perceived by the ma.s.s of his _entourage_. And now to have none ready with quip and crank that held just the salt of life wherewith it must be salted!

Yet Tardi-Beg must go too. That renunciation of his had re-aroused religion in his heart, and it must be allowed free course. He also would see the gardens of Kabul, would feel its fresh breezes, drink its ice-cold water.... Truly! if one did not drink wine, the water should at least be cold!

Babar gulped down a tepid draught disgustedly, and worked away at the verses he meant to send by his friend to those other friends who had deserted him last year. They were in Turkhi and ran as follows:

"Oh, ye! who left us alone to die 'Neath the sultry heat of an Indian sky, Who s.h.i.+rked the labour of life to fly Back to its comfort, its jollity, Lo! you have had your recompense fair, Of joy and delight your proper share.

But we have struggled to hold our own, Have tilled and laboured without a moan, And G.o.d's great mercy a way has shown To patient content as the seed was sown, You in Life's garden G.o.d's harvest missed.

I gather it here in _Hesht-Bis.h.i.+st_."

_Hesht-Bis.h.i.+st_ or the Eighth-Paradise being the name of his favourite garden in Agra.