Raiders from the North: Empire of the Moghul by Alex Rutherford

asking he looked straight into the farmer’s face.
    ‘From my village, Majesty, across the Zerafshan river.’
    ‘And all of it was taken from you?’
    ‘Yes, Majesty.’
    ‘By force?’
    ‘Yes, Majesty. By these two men.’
    ‘And your wife. They took her by force?’
    The man hung his head.
    Babur turned to the commander. ‘I gave orders that there was to be no looting from the villagers, that we would pay our way.Timur’s heir does not come to ravage poor people and spill their blood upon on the earth.’
    The nomad glared at him. ‘We’ve been here many weeks. We’ve taken nothing. No booty worth a fly’s arse. My men are weary. They needed some sport. And all they’ve taken is a few paltry things from this maggot of a farmer.’
    ‘And raped his wife.’
    ‘They say she was not unwilling.’ The chief grinned, showing gaps in his broad, tombstone teeth.
    Anger surged through Babur. He would have liked to run these men through with his sword, here and now, like the animals they were, and kick their brainless heads on to the dung heap. ‘Arrest the two looters, Wazir Khan. They are guilty of plunder and rape. They know the penalty. I wish it to be carried out immediately in the presence of the other members of their tribe.’
    Wazir Khan raised his hand and guards stepped forward to seize the tribesmen who, instead of resisting, stood blinking stupidly as if what was happening was beyond their comprehension.
    ‘As for you.’ Babur turned to their chief who was smirking no longer. Babur noticed his fingers feeling for his dagger in the greasy swathe of brown woollen cloth wrapped round his waist, and tensed his body, ready in case the fool should lash out. ‘You swore an oath of allegiance to me that on this campaign you would be bound by my laws or suffer the consequences. If you cannot control your men in future you will suffer the same fate.’ Babur’s voice was laden with menace. ‘You will acknowledge publicly that this is justice – royal justice. I will have no blood feuds in my camp. Summon all your men here, now!’
    The chief’s eyes swung between Babur, Wazir Khan and the guards gripping the arms of the two now desperate-looking looters. Babur read murder in his gaze and in his heart but, with a muttered oath, the chief slowly lowered his hand from his dagger and bowed his shaved head in submission.
    Ten minutes later, the twenty other members of the small clan were gathered in a silent circle around the condemned men. At a nod from Babur the chief cleared his throat and addressed theprisoners: ‘You have broken laws that I had sworn to uphold. I, as your chief, give you up to suffer justice. Your bodies will be hewn to pieces and left for dogs and carrion. Let every man here understand that it is my will that this should happen. There will be no blood feud against the executioners.’
    Wazir Khan signalled a detachment of his guards to step forward. Swords drawn they advanced on the quivering prisoners and forced them to their knees. The men’s screams rose in the cold early morning air as the shining blades cut into them.
    Babur felt his gorge rise and breathed deeply to steady himself. This was the law. He had only done what any leader must to maintain discipline and respect. He did not allow himself to turn away until the screaming had stopped and all was quiet except for the cawing of birds of prey quick to spot a feast.
    ‘Take your possessions and this.’ Babur held out a purse of camel leather filled with silver coins to the dazed farmer who stared at it for a moment then grabbed it. Babur had already turned his back when he heard the man clear his throat and hesitantly begin to speak.
    ‘What is it?’ Babur felt wearied and disgusted – even by the farmer, so skinny and abject. Nothing that had happened had been his fault but had he been more of a man and stood up to the looters when they came to his village . . . Babur dismissed the thought as unworthy. The man was a