‘Do not forget how I got this, how when I was young and your father had to abandon Samarkand to the Uzbeks I was seized by their chieftain Shaibani Khan and forced to submit to him. He hated all who, like us, have the blood of Timur. It gave him pleasure to humiliate and degrade a princess of our house. I give thanks that I never despaired all the time I was a captive in his haram. . never forgot who I was or that it was my duty to survive. Remember that when another woman attacked me and stole some of my beauty, I wore this scar as a badge of honour — to show that I was still alive and that one day I would be free. After ten long years that day came. I rejoined my brother and rejoiced to see him drink to my return from a vessel made from the skull of Shaibani Khan. You must have the same self-belief, the same strength of character, Humayun, as I had.’

‘Such courage as yours is hard to emulate, but I will not fail my father or our house.’

‘What is it, then? You are young, ambitious. . you were eager for the throne long before your father fell ill. Babur knew; he spoke to me of it.’

‘His death was so sudden when it came. I left so much unsaid. I didn’t feel ready to be emperor. . at least not so soon, nor in such a way.’

Humayun let his head drop. It was true. His father’s final moments still haunted him. Summoning the last of his strength, Babur had ordered his attendants to dress him in his royal robes, seat him on his throne and call his nobles to him. Before the entire court, in a weak voice but firm in his resolve, Babur had ordered Humayun to take Timur’s heavy gold ring, engraved with the head of a snarling tiger, from his finger, saying, ‘Wear it with pride, and never forget the duties it imposes on you. .’ But Babur had been just forty-seven, still in his prime and far too young to hand on his fledgling empire.