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Alex Rutherford's internationally bestselling series continues with the story of the third great Moghul emperor, Akbar, leader of a triumphant dynasty that contained the seeds of its own destruction.
Akbar, ruler of a sixth of the world's people, colossally rich and utterly ruthless, was a contemporary of Elizabeth I, but infinitely more powerful. He extended his empire over much of Asia, skillfully commanding tens of thousands of men, elephants, and innovative technology. And despite the unimaginable bloodshed that resulted from it, his rule was based on universal religious tolerance.
However, Akbar's home life was more complicated. He defied family, nobles, and mullahs to marry a beautiful Rajput princess, whose people he had conquered; but she hated Akbar and turned Salim, his eldest son, against him. What's more, as any Moghul prince could inherit his father's crown and become emperor, his sons were brought up to be intensely competitive and suspicious of each other: to see each other as rivals for the greatest prize of all. And, as Salim grew to manhood, the relationship between father and son became tainted by rebellion and competition to be the greatest Moghul of them all.
- Sales Rank: #1809023 in Books
- Published on: 2012-07-03
- Released on: 2012-07-03
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.55" h x 1.37" w x 6.49" l, 1.35 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 416 pages
Review
“This series has developed into a fascinating insight into the rise and fall of a great and glorious dynasty. Bloody battles, brutal killings and treachery – what more could you ask for?” ―Historical Novels Society
“Ruler of the World is a vivid portrayal of the rule of the Moghul Emperor Akbar… A fascinating look into a time and place that played an important part in history but is little known today.” ―British Weekly (UK)
“The novel gives a very detailed reflection of Akbar's life…beautifully described…incomparable.” ―Shivanibookreviews.blogspot.com
“The hand-to-hand combat pulsates with heroic vigor and plentiful gore, sure to entertain fans, and the climax paves the way for the next epic entry.” ―Publishers Weekly on A Kingdom Divided
“The whole life and times of the Moghul dynasty are brought to life in vivid imagery.” ―Historical Novel Review on A Kingdom Divided
“Beautifully captures the vast panorama of Hindustan in the early sixteenth century. . . One can almost hear the boom of cannon and screams of fallen soldiers.” ―Deccan Chronicle (India) on A Kingdom Divided
“A roaring landslide of an historical epic full of the red-hot heat of battle and the blackout of treachery, with a cast of characters to die for.” ―The Northern Echo (UK) on A Kingdom Divided
“This book has everything: a flawed yet heroic leader, love, jealousy and treachery. It is a perfect summer read -- fast-paced and completely absorbing.” ―City AM (UK) on A Kingdom Divided
“A totally absorbing narrative filled with authentic historical characters and sweeping action set in an age of horrifying but magnificent savagery. The writing is as compelling as the events described and kept me eagerly leaping from one page to the next.” ―Wilbur Smith on Raiders from the North
“A historical novel filled with authentic historical characters that give the readers a glimpse into the savagery and ruthless ambition of the Moghul rulers.” ―Deseret News on Raiders from the North
About the Author
ALEX RUTHERFORD is the pen name for Diana and Michael Preston, whose nonfiction has been awarded the Los Angeles Times Science and Technology Prize and been praised worldwide. They are also authors of Raiders from the North and A Kingdom Divided. They live in London.
Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Ruler of the World
Part IFrom Behind the VeilChapter 1Sudden DangerNorthwestern India, 1556�
�
Alow rumbling growl rose from the dense acacia bushes thirty yards away. Even without it Akbar would have known the tiger was there. Its musky scent hung in the air. The beaters had done their work well. While moonlight still silvered the hills in which Akbar's army was encamped, a hundred miles northeast of Delhi, they had started towards the small forest where a large male tiger had been sighted. The village headman who had brought word of it to the camp, saying he had heard that the young Moghul emperor was fond of hunting, claimed it was a maneater that in the last few days had killed an old man labouring in the fields and two small children as they went to fetch water.The headman had left the camp well rewarded by Akbar, who could hardly contain his excitement. Bairam Khan, his guardian and khan-i-khanan - commander-in-chief - had tried to dissuade him from the hunt, arguing that with the Moghuls' enemies on the move this was no time to be thinking of sport. But a tiger hunt was too good to miss, Akbar had insisted, and Bairam Khan, a faint smile lightening his lean scarred face, had finally agreed.The beaters had employed the age-old hunting practices of the Moghul clans brought from their homelands on the steppes of CentralAsia. Moving quietly and methodically through the darkness, eight hundred men had formed a qamargah, a huge circle about a mile across, around the forest. Then, striking brass gongs and beating small, cylindrical drums suspended on thongs round their necks, they had begun closing in, forming a tighter and tighter human barrier and driving all kinds of game - black buck, nilgai, and squealing wild pigs - into the centre. Eventually, as the light grew stronger, some of them had spotted tiger tracks and sent word to Akbar, following the beaters on elephant-back.The beast on which Akbar was sitting high in a jewelled canopied howdah also sensed that the tiger was close. It was swinging its great head from side to side and its trunk was coiling in alarm. Behind him Akbar could hear the elephants carrying his bodyguards and attendants also restlessly shifting their great feet. 'Mahout, quieten the beast. Hold it steady,' he whispered to the skinny, red-turbaned man balanced on the elephant's neck. The mahout at once tapped the animal behind its left ear with his iron ankas, the rod he used to control it. At the familiar signal, the well-drilled beast slowly relaxed to stand motionless again. Taking their cue from it, the other elephants also ceased their fidgeting and a profound silence fell.Excellent, thought Akbar. This was the moment when he felt most alive. The blood seemed to sing in his veins and he could feel his heart thump, not with fear but with exhilaration. Though not yet fourteen, he had already killed several tigers, but the battle of wits and of wills, the danger and unpredictability, always excited him. He knew that if the tiger suddenly broke cover, it would take him only an instant to pluck an arrow from the quiver on his back and fit it to his taut-stringed, double-curved bow - the weapon most hunters would use against such quarry. But Akbar was curious to see what a musket could do, especially against such a monster as this was reputed to be. He prided himself on his skill with a musket, and despite his mother's remonstrances had spent far more hours practising his marksmanship than at his studies. What did it really matter if he couldn't read when he could outshoot any soldier in his army?The tiger had stopped growling and Akbar sensed its amber eyes watching him. Slowly he rested the slender engraved-steel barrel of his matchlock musket on the side of the howdah. He had already loaded the metal ball, trickled gunpowder from his silver-mounted powder horn into the pan and checked the short, thin length of fuse. His qorchi, his squire, half crouching close beside him, was already holding the burning taper Akbar would need to ignite the fuse.Satisfied, Akbar aimed his musket at the densest part of the acacia bushes where he was certain the tiger was hiding, braced his shoulder to the ivory-inlaid wooden butt and squinted down the length of the long barrel. 'Hand me the taper,' he whispered to his qorchi, 'and signal to the beaters.' Clustered in a semicircle behind the elephants, the beaters at once broke into high-pitched yells and began striking their gongs and beating their drums. Moments later, with an answering roar, the tiger burst through the screen of acacias. Akbar saw a blur of long white teeth and gold and black fur leaping towards his elephant as he lit the fuse. There was a brilliant flash, then a deafening bang. The musket's recoil knocked Akbar backwards, almost somersaulting him out of the howdah, but not before he had seen the tiger drop to the ground, still ten yards away. As the smoke cleared, Akbar saw the animal lying motionless on its side, blood pouring from a jagged hole above its right eye.Akbar gave a yell of triumph. Without waiting for the mahout to bring his mount - which had reacted with admirable calmness to the charge of the tiger and the sharp crack of the musket - to its knees, he climbed, grinning broadly, over the side of the howdah and dropped lightly to the ground. He'd made a fine kill, a perfect kill. He'd proved to the doubters who insisted a musket was too slow for killing such prey that in the hands of a good marksman it was easily fast enough. Curious to inspect the dead beast, Akbar advanced closer. The tiger's pink tongue, lolling flaccidly from its mouth, was already attracting green-black flies. Then Akbar noticed something else protruding through the thick belly fur. Teats. The tiger he'd been hunting was supposed to have been male.The thought was swiftly followed by another that made the hairs on the back of his young neck lift. With trembling fingers Akbar yanked his bow from his shoulder and, reaching behind him, grabbed an arrow. He was still fitting it to the string when a second and massive tiger launched itself out of the acacias straight towards him. Somehow Akbar managed to fire his arrow, and then time seemed to stop for him. The clamour of warning shouts behind him faded and it was as if he and the tiger were alone. He watched his arrow very slowly part the air in its flight. The tiger too looked almost suspended in its leap, saliva-flecked lips drawn back, long canines prominent and ears flattened against its head, like the image etched on the golden ring that had once belonged to Akbar's great ancestor Timur and was now on his own shaking forefinger.Then, suddenly, time rushed forward again and the tiger was almost on him. Akbar jumped aside, closing his eyes as he did so and expecting at any moment to feel claws ripping into his flesh or smell hot, rancid breath as sharp teeth sought his throat. Instead he heard a skidding thud and opened his eyes to see the tiger crumpled up beside him, his arrow embedded in the crimsoning fur of its throat. For a moment Akbar stood in silence, knowing he had experienced something almost unknown to him - fear - and also that he had been very, very lucky.Still dazed, he caught the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats and turned to see a rider weaving through the low scrub and spindly trees towards them. It must be a messenger from the camp, no doubt sent by Bairam Khan to hurry him up. Five minutes ago he'd have been annoyed to have his sport interrupted but now he felt grateful for the distraction from thoughts of what might have happened. The crowd of beaters, guards and attendants parted to let the rider through. His tall bay horse was foamy with sweat and he himself so caked with dust that his tunic of bright Moghul green looked almost brown. Reining in before Akbar, he flung himself from the saddle, made the briefest of obeisances and said breathlessly, 'Majesty, Bairam Khan requests that you return to the camp immediately.''Why?''Delhi has fallen to an advance force of Hemu's rebels.'�
�
Four hours later, as the hunting party with Akbar at its head passed through the first of the picket lines thrown out around his camp, the sun was still high in the clear blue sky. Despite the tasselled brocade canopy shading him, Akbar's head ached. Sweat was sticking his tunic to his body, yet he barely noticed the discomfort as he pondered the disastrous news of the loss of his capital. Surely his rule was not destined to be over almost before it had begun.It was barely ten months since, on a makeshift brick throne hastily erected on a masonry platform in the centre of a Moghul encampment, he had been proclaimed Emperor of Hindustan. Still raw with grief at the sudden death of his father, the Emperor Humayun, he had stood awkwardly but proudly beneath a silken awning to receive the homage of Bairam Khan and his other commanders.His mother Hamida had only recently succeeded in convincing him just how desperate that time had been. How Bairam Khan, despite his Persian origins, had understood better than anyone that in the first hours and days after his father's death the danger to Akbar came from within - from ambitious commanders who, now the emperor was dead leaving only a boy as heir, might claim the throne for themselves. Most were men with no time for sentiment. Many were from the old Moghul clans who with Akbar's grandfather Babur had founded a new empire on the dry plains of Hindustan. The code of the steppes, had always been taktya, takhta, 'throne or coffin'. Any who felt strong enough could challenge for the crown and over the years many had done so and would do so again.Akbar's elephant stumbled, jerking him from his recollections, but only for a moment. St...
Most helpful customer reviews
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Great historical fiction
By zelda marie 33
Excellent historical fiction od one of the lesser-known ruling dynasties. (Well, lesser-known to those of us in the US and UK anyway) Well-done historically based series of the Moghul emperors. I have read all 5 and thoroughly enjoyed them.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
The (Abbreviated and Simplified) History of the Timurid Empire (aka The Moghul Empire)
By ShaukatK
Of interest to me as part of the Greater Indian Diaspora. An exciting read, but perhaps not entirely historically accurate. I highly recommend the entire series to those interested in the Moghul Empire; one the greatest and wealthiest in history.
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Another Epic series....
By CoastalGal
I am an absolute history reader but sometimes the history books can be dry and long winded. This keeps it feeling real and like your a bystander in the telling. I purchased the whole series and was not disappointed. The complex and simple ideologies of war and conquer.
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