Alex Rutherford - Raiders from the North

Samarkand

Main Characters

Baburs parents, siblings, grandmother and uncle

Ahmed, King of Samarkand, Baburs uncle

Esan Dawlat, Baburs maternal grandmother

Jahangir, Baburs half-brother

Khanzada, Baburs older sister

Kutlugh Nigar, Baburs mother

Umar-Shaikh, King of Ferghana, Baburs father

Baburs wives

Ayisha, daughter of the chief of the Mangligh clan

Maham, Baburs favourite wife and mother of Humayun

Gulrukh, mother of Kamran and Askari

Bibi Mubarak, daughter of the chief of the Yusufzai clan

Dildar, mother of Hindal

Baburs sons

Humayun

Kamran

Askari

Hindal

Baburs cousins

Azar Khan, nobleman of Ferghana

Mahmud, Prince of Kunduz

Mirza Khan, chieftain of Ferghana

Tambal, nobleman of Ferghana

Baburs inner circle

Baburi, a former market boy and Baburs closest friend

Baisanghar, originally an officer of Samarkand, subsequently Baburs loyal commander and, even later, father-in-law

Kasim, one of Baburs political advisers, often used by him as an ambassador

Wazir Khan, milk-brother to Baburs father and Baburs guide and chief mentor in his childhood and early years as king

Abdul-Malik, a physician

Ferghana

Baba Qashqa, comptroller of the royal household

Baqi Beg, court astrologer

Fatima, chief waiting woman

Qambar-Ali, vizier

Rehana, an old woman whose grandfather rode with Timur to sack Delhi

Roxanna, concubine of Baburs father and mother of Jahangir

Walid Butt, Esan Dawlats steward

Yadgar, Baburs favourite inhabitant of a Ferghana brothel

Yusuf, keeper of the treasury

Baburs tribal leaders

Ali-Dost, a chieftain from western Ferghana

Ali Gosht, Baburs master-of-horse and later chief quartermaster

Ali Mazid Beg, lord of Shahrukiyyah

Baba Yasaval, warrior from near Herat

Hussain Mazid, headman of Sayram and cousin of Ali Mazid Beg

Baburs chief enemy in Central Asia

Shaibani Khan, powerful leader of the Uzbek clans and blood enemy of Baburs people and all those descended from Timur

Persia

Shah Ismail of Persia

Mullah Husayn, Shiite mullah serving Shah Ismail

Turkey

Ali-Quli, master-gunner

Kabul

Bahlul Ayyub, grand vizier

Haydar Taqi, keeper of the Royal Seal

Muhammad-Muquim Arghun, chief of the Hazaras

Wali Gul, guardian of the Royal Treasuries

Hindustan

Buwa, mother of Sultan Ibrahim Lodi

Firoz Khan, Hindustani warlord

Gwalior royal family, owners of the Koh-i-Nur diamond, the Mountain of Light

Rana Sanga, Hindu ruler of the Rajput state of Mewar

Sultan Ibrahim Lodi, ruler of the great Delhi Sultanate and overlord of Hindustan

Roshanna, Buwas serving woman

Baburs ancestors

Genghis Khan

Timur, known in the West as Tamburlaine from a corruption of Timur-i-Lang, Timur the Lame

Mountain of Light

In a small dusty fortress in Central Asia in the summer of 1494, the baked-mud battlements, grey as elephants hide in daytime, were pinkening before Baburs eyes with the sunset. Far beneath, the Jaxartes river gleamed a dull red as it flowed westward across the darkening plains. Babur shifted his weight on the stone step and returned his attention to his father, the king, who was pacing the fortress walls, hands clasped against the turquoise fastenings of his robes. His face was working excitedly as he launched into the story his twelve-year-old son had heard so many times before. But it was worth the retelling, Babur reflected. He listened carefully, alert for the new embellishments that always crept in. His lips moved with his fathers when the king reached the climax the one part that never changed, each of its grandiose phrases sacrosanct.

And so it happened that our ancestor the great Timur Timur the Warrior, whose name meant Iron and whose horses sweated blood as he galloped through the world won a vast empire. Though he was so cruelly injured in his youth that one leg was longer than the other and he walked with a limp, he conquered from Delhi to the Mediterranean, from wealthy Persia to the wildernesses along the Volga. But was that enough for Timur? Of course not! Even when many years were upon him, he was still strong and robust in body, hard like a rock, his ambition boundless.

His final enterprise was ninety years ago against China. He rode out with the thunder of two hundred thousand horsemen in his ears and victory would have been his, had Allah not summoned him to rest with him in Paradise. But how did Timur, this greatest of warriors greater even than your other ancestor Genghis Khan do all this? I see the question in your eyes, my son, and you are right to ask it.

The king patted Baburs head approvingly, seeing that he held his complete attention. Then he resumed, voice rising and falling with poetic fervour.

Timur was clever and brave but, above all, he was a great leader of men. My grandfather told me that his eyes were like candles without brilliance. Once men looked into those slits of muted light they could not turn away. And as Timur gazed into their souls he spoke of glory that would echo through the centuries and stir the lifeless dust that would be all that was left of their bones on earth. He spoke of gleaming gold and shimmering gems. He spoke of fine-boned women whose black hair hung like curtains of silk such as they had seen in the slave markets of his capital of Samarkand. Above all he spoke of their birthright, their right to be the possessors of the earth. And as Timurs deep voice flowed over and around them, visions filled their minds of what was theirs for the taking until they would have followed him through the burning gates of hell.

Not that Timur was a barbarian, my son. The king shook his head vigorously so that the fringe he liked to leave hanging from his maroon silk turban swung from side to side. No. He was a cultured man. His great city of Samarkand was a place of grace and beauty, of scholarship and learning. But Timur knew that a conqueror must let nothing no one stand in his way. Ruthlessness ruled his soul until the job was done and the more who knew it the better. He closed his eyes, picturing the glory days of his magnificent ancestor. He had worked himself into such a lather of pride and excitement that beads of sweat were bursting out on his forehead. He took a yellow silk scarf and mopped it.

Exhilarated as usual by the images his father had conjured, Babur smiled up at him to show he shared the same joyous pride. But even as he watched, his fathers face changed. The fervent light in his dark eyes faded and his expression grew despondent, even brooding. Baburs smile faltered. His fathers story usually finished with this paean to Timur, but today the king continued, his tone bleak, the vibrancy gone.