Humayun ignored the man’s ingratiating smile. ‘Do you know anything about my infant son? Did you see him in Kabul?’
The man looked blank. ‘No, Majesty. I did not even know he was there. . ’
‘You are sure — you heard nothing of a royal child brought with his wet-nurse from Kandahar?’
‘No, Majesty, nothing.’
Humayun studied the Kafir chieftain for a few moments. The man had no allegiance to anyone or anything. All he cared about was who had the fattest purse. And he had been in Kamran’s service. Humayun’s instinct was to have him and his men ejected from the camp. But that would send out a bad message to other clans thinking of joining him. The struggle ahead would be long and hard and he would need every soldier he could get. His own father had made good use of the wild mountain tribes’ ferocious fighting skills, though he had kept a tight rein on them.
‘You and your men may join my army, but understand this. Any disobedience, any disloyalty will be punished by death. If you serve me well, once Kabul has fallen you will be generously rewarded. Do you accept?’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
Humayun turned to his guards. ‘Take this man to Zahid Beg so he can decide what use to make of him and his companions.’
As the setting sun cast purple shadows over the valley and dusk came tumbling down, Humayun once more felt the need for solitude, the need to escape if only for a little while from the burden of his responsibilities. Dismissing his guards and wrapping his cloak around him, he set off northwards through the lines of tents, intending to walk the perimeter of the encampment. Instead, when he reached the edge of the camp he continued beyond it, past the pickets, drawn by the outlines of the mountains beyond as they folded away into the greater darkness.
For a while, he followed a goat track as it climbed steeply upwards. Below him he could see the orange lights of a hundred camp fires as his men cooked their evening meal. In a few minutes he must return to eat with Hamida and Gulbadan in the haram tent, but there was something compelling about the absolute stillness out on the mountainside. Glancing up, Humayun looked at the stars. Low on the horizon was Canopus — that brightest, most auspicious of stars that his father had seen on his way to Kabul and that had given him such hope. Now he hoped it was shining for him too.
Chapter 17
Winter descended quickly in the mountains.Three weeks ago, the fluttering snowflakes had barely settled but now the wind was driving them almost horizontally down a narrow defile through the icy mountains to the northwest of Kabul as Humayun led his army onwards. With the worsening conditions compounding the difficulties of travelling over the many passes, Humayun had thought it wise to wait for his main baggage train to catch up. Though it had cost him some days, he had not dared risk being separated from his cannon and other heavy equipment for a long period by the winter weather.
Ice crystals stung Humayun’s face as he raised his head to scan the twisting track ahead. Even with eyes scrunched to slits against the blizzard’s frozen bite, he could see almost nothing, certainly not the tips of the jagged snow-covered peaks nor the summit of the pass of which the defile formed a part and which he guessed could be no more than three-quarters of a mile in front of them.
Ahmed Khan should soon return. He had sent him ahead with some of his men to confirm that the pass could be negotiated by an army such as his in weather as severe as this and also to identify a spot — probably on the downward slope — where they could camp protected from the wind.
Suddenly, despite the howling of the blizzard and the muffling effect of the red woollen cloth wound round the lower part of his face, Humayun thought he heard a cry from out of the snow ahead. Perhaps it was just a trick of the wind, or even a wolf, he thought, as he looked up again and pulled his face cloth down to hear better. As he did so, he heard another cry nearer and definitely human — ‘The enemy are ahead!’
Then he saw a shadowy rider appear through the whirling snow, galloping down the snowy track towards him, oblivious of the risks of the rocks and the ice. As the horseman drew closer, Humayun saw that it was Ahmed Khan, frantically kicking and urging his horse on while repeatedly yelling, ‘The enemy are ahead! The enemy are ahead!’ Two of his scouts were close behind him. Suddenly, one pitched forward over his horse’s head, two arrows protruding from his back as he rolled over and over in the white snow, staining it crimson with his blood. Moments later, the second scout’s chestnut horse stumbled and collapsed with several arrows in its rump. The rider slid from the saddle and stumbled on through the deep snow, only to fall himself within ten yards, transfixed by a black-feathered arrow.
Then Humayun saw emerging through the snow the dark shapes of unknown horsemen charging towards him, some crouching low over their horses’ necks, swords and lances extended in front of them, and others with bows in their hands. Humayun yelled to Bairam Khan through the wind, ‘Have the wagons drawn into the best defensive position you can — put those carrying the women right in the centre. Leave sufficient good men to guard them properly then follow me with the rest.’
Humayun kicked his horse forward to face the threat and as he did so shouted as loudly as he could to a company of mounted archers riding just behind him, ‘Fire!’ The men, who already had their double bows unslung and the strings tightened in case of just such an ambush, stood in their stirrups and loosed a volley of arrows through the driving snow towards Kamran’s men. Several horses staggered and fell, throwing their riders. One lost his domed helmet in his fall and hit his shaven head hard against a rock protruding through the snow, smashing his skull and spattering the ground with blood and brains.
However, the rest of Kamran’s cavalrymen came on, the downward slope of the defile giving added impetus to their charge as they crashed into Humayun’s front line of horsemen, who opened gaps in their ranks to receive them before trying to surround them. One of Kamran’s men, wearing a bulky sheepskin jacket and whirling a spiked flail around his head, made for Humayun. Senses heightened by the prospect of action, Humayun noticed as he pulled his own horse’s head round how the mane of his opponent’s mount was encrusted with icicles. The spiked balls at the end of the man’s flail swung harmlessly past Humayun as he thrust at his enemy, but his sword swipe did no more than make a deep slash in the man’s thick sheepskin jacket.
Both men turned and rode at each other again, their horses’ hot breath steaming in the frozen air. Again both struck at each other but again both missed. As Humayun’s opponent tugged hard on the reins to make a third attempt on Humayun, his horse slipped on ice. As the man struggled to stay in the saddle, Humayun turned his own mount sharply and was on him before he could regain sufficient control to swing his flail properly.
Humayun slashed with his sword and, although the man jerked his upper body out of the way, the sword cut deep into his attacker’s lower thigh just above the knee, severing sinew and biting into the bone. Instinctively the man dropped his flail and clutched at the wound. As he did so, Humayun struck him again, this time across his throat. Fine droplets of blood spurted into the cold air and the man fell.
All around Humayun his troops were struggling with their opponents, whom they seemed to outnumber. However, Humayun noticed that three of the enemy had surrounded Bairam Khan, who had become isolated from the rest of his men. Humayun kicked his horse towards them. Bairam Khan had lost his helmet and the blizzard was blowing his long black hair out behind him. He was defending himself as best as he could, wheeling his tall black horse expertly to confront each of his attackers in turn. Nevertheless he was being hard pressed and was already bleeding from a deep sword cut which extended from his left ear down his neck to the top of his breastplate.