That had dealt with the enemy within but not the many beyond the Moghul frontiers, as this news about Delhi proved. The Moghuls’ position in Hindustan was indeed precarious. Vassals who had only recently sworn loyalty to his father Humayun were trying to break free while enemies beyond the empire were probing its borders. But of all these only one — Hemu — had emerged as a serious menace. He was an unlikely enemy, this reputedly ugly but silver-tongued little man — a lowborn nobody who seemed to have conjured an army out of nowhere to challenge Moghul authority. He hadn’t paid too much attention to him but now he wondered what kind of man this Hemu was and how he inspired his men. What lay behind his success?

Akbar was entering the heart of the tented city that was the main camp. Perched high in his howdah he saw ahead, at the very centre, his own tent — bright scarlet as befitted the command tent of an emperor — and beside it, almost as magnificent with its intricate awnings, Bairam Khan’s. His commander-in-chief was standing outside waiting for him, and from his posture Akbar could tell how impatient he was for him to arrive.

He had barely descended from his howdah before Bairam Khan spoke. ‘Majesty, you’ve heard the news — Hemu’s forces have taken Delhi. The war council is assembled in your tent and already debating what we must do. We must join them immediately.’ Following Bairam Khan inside, Akbar saw his other commanders and counsellors sitting cross-legged on the thick red and blue carpet around a low, gilded stool draped in green velvet — the emperor’s chair. As Akbar took his place they rose and made brief obeisance to him, but he noticed how, as they sat down again, their eyes quickly turned to the tall, lean man standing by his side.

‘Summon Tardi Beg so that he can tell the story he has already told me,’ Bairam Khan ordered.