‘Not necessarily. Kamran is malicious enough to be amused by keeping her and us waiting for a reply even if he has decided to release Akbar,’ answered Humayun.
‘Yes. If he is evil enough to rob a woman of her small child to further his ambitions, he is evil enough for anything.’
‘But they may be assembling Akbar’s things.’ Humayun offered a suggestion of comfort he could not believe in himself.
‘Look, the gate is opening again,’ gasped Hamida, shielding her eyes from the glare reflected off the snow by the sun which had just broken through the clouds.‘Perhaps the sunlight is a good omen.’
‘Perhaps,’ Humayun replied. Jauhar on his grey horse was the first to emerge through the gate followed a minute later by Gulbadan’s cart, which began to make its way slowly down the ramp.
‘The curtains are still closed. Perhaps Akbar is inside,’ said Hamida.
‘Maybe,’ Humayun replied. As he spoke the sun went behind the clouds again.
Ten minutes later, the small procession reached the women’s tent. Even before the wagon came to a full stop Gulbadan pulled back the curtains and prepared to descend. She had no need to speak. From her unsmiling face and grim expression both Humayun and Hamida knew that Akbar was not in the cart and, even worse, that Kamran’s answer had extinguished any hopes they had cherished of his early recovery. Hamida dropped to her knees in the cold, wet snow weeping uncontrollably. Humayun raised her gently and held her in his arms.
‘I know what you are feeling.’
‘No, you cannot,’ sobbed Hamida. ‘Only a mother can.’ Twisting herself away she ran into the snow-covered women’s tent. Humayun watched her go, then, shaking with anger and disappointment, he walked over to Gulbadan and led her into the tent. Once inside he dismissed all their attendants. ‘What did he say? he asked when they were alone.
‘Very little. Kamran kept me waiting for a long time. . When he did finally admit me he was alone, seated on our father Babur’s gilded throne — the throne of Kabul. He made no effort to rise to greet me. I passed him your letter and he scanned it briefly. Then, smiling to himself, he scribbled this.’ She handed Humayun a folded piece of paper. ‘He tossed it to me, saying simply, “Give him this and tell him to be off.” I persisted and begged him to release Akbar, if not for your sake then for mine and his mother’s. His only response was, “What kind of fool do you think I am? If you’ve nothing worthwhile to say, go.” I turned and left. I would not give him the satisfaction of humiliating myself further by begging more or by weeping.’
‘You did right,’ said Hamida, embracing Gulbadan who in turn succumbed to tears. ‘I will weep no more, and no more must you. Humayun, what does Kamran’s letter say? We must be sure it contains no new treachery.’
Humayun unfolded the note and read out the contents, written in the impatient spiky hand that Humayun remembered from their boyhood.
‘“You gave me your word to leave these lands for Persia but you have broken it and returned with a foreign army at your back to threaten me.You dare to offer me safe conduct out of a kingdom I have made my own — you, who failed to hold the lands our father won beyond the Khyber Pass, you, who have lost everything our father created. I sit on his throne now.You are the interloper here, not me. Get on your way back to Persia and exile.”’
Hamida broke the silence first. ‘He will not listen to soft women’s pleas or to your merciful and reasoned offer. Make him pay in blood for his callousness and cruelty.’
‘I will,’ replied Humayun and strode to the entrance of the tent. Pulling back one of the flaps he called to Jauhar who was warming his hands over a brazier of glowing coals. ‘Jauhar, we have our answer from my brother. It is war. Summon my council. We attack at dawn.’
The snow that had been falling through most of the previous day and night and had helped shield Humayun’s Persian gunners as they had manoeuvred their cannon into position was easing as they fired their first shots. From his command position sheltered behind another rocky outcrop about fifty yards behind the gunners, Humayun watched the teams of men — five per gun — in their leather jerkins, trousers and pointed steel helmets as they went to work, grunting with effort as they heaved linen bags filled with gunpowder and then the stone shot into the bronze barrels, ramming them down hard. Next they inserted the sharp metal spikes of their awls into the touch-holes to puncture the powder bags and carefully sprinkled a little extra loose powder around the holes. Finally, as the rest stood well back, one man from each team approached his gun. In his hands was a long forked staff to which was attached a taper of oil-soaked cord, the tip lit and smouldering orange-red, which he applied to the touch-hole before leaping back.
Though physically gruelling — Humayun could see sweat rising from them in the cold air like steam — the men made the process look smooth and quick, from the thuds as the powder and shot were loaded to the brilliant flash as the charge ignited. Humayun watched as they fired shot after shot. The first few fell several yards short and a little too far to the west, but Bairam Khan’s men quickly made the necessary adjustments to the angle of the barrels — by driving wedges under the cannon’s front wheels — and to the amount of powder they were using. Now the majority of shots were finding their mark, pounding the gates and the mud-brick walls from which a plume of red-brown dust was soon rising steadily.
Several of Kamran’s musketeers were firing at the artillerymen from the walls of the citadel, but to avoid hitting the rocks protecting the cannon they had to bend over the wall and show themselves fully. Although they had at first had some success in wounding a few of Humayun’s gunners, his own musketeers had now managed to get into advanced positions where they were, in turn, firing at any of Kamran’s men who exposed themselves over the battlements. They hit two of them who, dropping their weapons, toppled from the walls clawing at the air to smash themselves on the rocks below. The rest were now keeping under cover and any shots they fired were hasty, wild and wide.
Humayun saw Zahid Beg galloping up on a broad-chested white horse. ‘All seems quiet in the city, Majesty,’ he yelled above the booming of the guns. ‘Soldiers are watching our bombardment of the citadel from the walls but none has fired on our troops encircling the city or made any attempt to ride out to attack us in the rear. It is as you predicted — they’ve no stomach for a fight against such odds. But the city walls behind which they are hiding and in particular the citadel walls are strong. We will need time and persistence to conquer.’
‘Majesty, they’ve made a breach in the citadel wall.’ Zainab shook Humayun awake as he lay next to Hamida. ‘Bairam Khan is outside.’ As he struggled to consciousness, Humayun could not help feeling a sudden rush of joy. Now surely Kabul would be his and Akbar would be rescued. He dressed himself quickly and carelessly and stumbled outside into the night cold. ‘Where is the breach, Bairam Khan?’
‘To the right of the gate where you suggested that the wall was weakest.’
‘How big?’
‘Not large but big enough, I think, if we act now. I’ve given orders already to our musketeers and archers as well as to our artillerymen to keep up a heavy fire to dissuade the defenders from attempting to repair it. Dawn is in an hour and a half and I can have a force ready to attack then if you give the order.’
‘Do it.’
Low dark clouds obscured the winter sun and a bitter wind was blowing as the day dawned and Humayun, now dressed for battle, spoke to the assault force gathered around him at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the citadel.
‘I know the bravery and loyalty of each man here and am proud to go into battle with you. It is a bitter thing to have to fight against one’s own blood, but not content with usurping my throne my treacherous half-brother Kamran has betrayed every code of kinship and honour by stealing my son, an innocent child. In doing so he sullies the proud honour of the Moghuls. But together we can wipe clean the insult and punish the usurper. No more words — to battle!’