Empire of the Moghul: The Serpent's Tooth
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Authors: Alex Rutherford
Tags: #Historical, #Fiction
Copyright © 2013 Alex Rutherford
The right of Alex Rutherford to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2013
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 8329 0
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
Table of Contents
Alex Rutherford lives in London.
Raiders from the North
,
Brothers at War
,
Ruler of the World
and
The Tainted Throne
were the first four novels in the
Empire of the Moghul
series; this is the fifth.
Empire of the Moghul: Raiders from the North
Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War
Empire of the Moghul: Ruler of the World
Empire of the Moghul: The Tainted Throne
‘A totally absorbing narrative filled with authentic historical characters and sweeping action set in an age of horrifying but magnificent savagery. The writing is as compelling as the events described and kept me eagerly leaping from one page to the next’ Wilbur Smith
‘[Joins] the ranks of Conn Iggulden and Simon Scarrow … Breathtaking stuff’ Manda Scott, author of
Boudica
‘Alex Rutherford has set the bar high’
Daily Mail
‘If you’re looking for adventure this summer, head straight to your nearest book store … because the mighty Moghul is on the rampage … Alex Rutherford’s action-packed series about the emperors who had total power over a sixth of the world’s people [is] thrilling … packed with the stuff of legend – bloody battles, brutal killings and treachery – this is a turbulent and timeless story told with gripping reality and epic scope’
Lancashire Evening Post
The new Moghul Emperor Shah Jahan reigns over a colossally wealthy empire of 100 million souls. Yet to gain his throne he has followed the savage ‘throne or coffin’ traditions of his ancestors – descendants of Genghis Khan and Tamburlaine. Ever since the Moghuls took India, brother has fought brother and sons their fathers for the prize and Shah Jahan has been no exception.
As his reign dawns, now is the time for Shah Jahan to secure his throne by crushing his enemies. Instead, devastated by the death of his beautiful wife Mumtaz, he becomes obsessed with building an epic monument to their perfect love – the Taj Mahal. His overwhelming grief isolates him from his sons and he does not see the rivalries, indeed hatreds, building between them. When he falls ill, civil war breaks out – ruthless, murderous and uncontrollable and the foundations of the empire itself shake.
‘A thousand times good night!’
Romeo and Juliet
, Act 2, Scene 2
Chapter 1
Agra Fort, northwestern India, 1628
T
he glint of the sunlight on the dagger’s serrated blade caught Shah Jahan’s eye at the last moment. As he flung up his right arm to protect his neck, he felt the blade slice into the muscle just below his elbow. Blood immediately began to drip down on to his silver throne. Launching himself with such force that the throne went crashing backwards, he seized the arm of his assailant before he could strike again. Using all his strength he threw the man, who was only slight, on to the marble dais on which his throne had stood. As his attacker hit the marble with a crash, the impact knocked his purple turban from his head and loosened his grip on his dagger. Twisting his assailant’s hand back so hard that he heard the crunch as the wrist broke, Shah Jahan wrenched the weapon from his grasp and dropped with both knees and all his weight on to his would-be assassin’s chest. Immediately his green-clad bodyguards were around him, but he knew that they would have been too late to save him.
As he got to his feet again the soles of Shah Jahan’s sandals crunched on rubies and turquoises dislodged from the silver throne by its fall. He looked hard at his attacker, whom his guards had first dragged roughly to his feet and then, after pulling his arms out tight behind him, kicked to his knees. Shah Jahan half recognised his assailant who was dressed in court garb and appeared no more than a youth.
‘Who are you? Why did you attack your emperor?’
At first the young man did not respond, then a black-bearded bodyguard kicked him hard in his kidneys, twice. ‘Ismail Khan, nephew of Jani. She died because you killed her husband, your own half-brother Khusrau. She could not live without him. I owed vengeance to her. She took me into her family when my parents died.’
Yes, of course, Ismail Khan … After his accession he had allowed him to remain at court at his own wife Mumtaz’s pleading. Clearly he had been too generous, even naïve to believe that the divisions of the civil war in which he had come to the throne could be quickly or easily healed. Increasingly aware of the pain in his right arm, he looked down. The gashed gold cloth of his tunic was soaked in blood. It was trickling down his hand and fingers on to the white marble to form a small crimson pool. He must have the wound attended to quickly. He raised his arm to stem the blood flow as he had done when injured in battle. ‘Have no doubt you will die, Ismail Khan, but first you will have a little time to fear death and to repent of your actions while I have the wound you caused your rightful emperor dressed. The manner of your execution will depend on what you tell me of your accomplices.’
‘I confess, Majesty.’ An hour later Ismail Khan was once more on his knees before Shah Jahan – this time in the parade ground outside the Agra fort.
‘What else can you do? You were caught in the act,’ retorted Shah Jahan. By an effort of will he had remained impassive while his
hakim
had used his needle to place ten stitches into the dagger slash in his forearm before smearing it with neem ointment and binding it tightly. The wound was still stinging but – as the continuing pure whiteness of the cotton bandages attested – no longer bleeding. It should soon heal. Unless … serrated weapons like Ismail Khan’s lent themselves to poison. ‘Did you poison your dagger blade?’
‘No, Majesty,’ Ismail Khan responded immediately, shock on his young face. ‘No, I would not do so. It would be as dishonourable as your action in sending henchmen to kill Khusrau, already blinded by his father … I wanted to strike cleanly, in person, as a man.’