Wazir Khan stooped beneath the low lintel and prostrated himself before them. ‘Forgive this intrusion at so late an hour, Majesties.’

‘What is it?’ Above her veil, Esan Dawlat’s shrewd eyes scanned his face.

‘It concerns His Majesty.’ Wazir Khan glanced for a second at Babur in the shadows. ‘It is not safe for him here. Even as we speak, men are plotting for their own gain to take the throne from him.’

‘You must speak more clearly. Who is plotting?’ demanded Esan Dawlat. Her colour had risen and rough red patches stood out on her high cheekbones.

‘ We trust you,’ Kutlugh Nigar said, more gently. ‘You were the king’s most loyal commander. More than that, your own mother suckled my husband as a baby, making you milk-brothers, bound by ties as deep as blood. In the days ahead I look to you to honour that bond. . to protect my son as his own father would have done. . Please, speak frankly. What have you heard?’

‘Men of a dark temperament, impatient and seditious, scheme against you. The vizier and the other members of the royal council plan to offer the throne to another — they think I caught only the end of their conversation but, concealed outside, I heard it all. They claim it is for the good of the country, that your son is too young to reign and that chaos will descend on Ferghana if they do not appoint a regent from outside until he comes of age. But they have all been bought long since by our neighbouring rulers. Each will promote his own paymaster. There will be civil strife, and all of their making. Because of their greed, rivals will battle for the throne, sowing the seeds of blood feud after blood feud. And whoever emerges the victor, your son will not live long. He will always be a threat — until he is dead.’