Soon those of Humayun’s soldiers who had survived the attack began making their way past his command position, some limping, others bleeding from bandaged wounds. As a litter was carried past by two men, Humayun heard the man on it scream in pain like an animal and saw that his right arm and shoulder had been burned by pitch poured on to the attackers from the battlements. As Humayun looked, his body kicked and twisted and suddenly he was still, free of his torment for ever. Almost the last to pass Humayun and Bairam Khan was Nadim Khwaja, the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from his thigh as he lay on a rough stretcher made of branches and jute cloth. But Nadim Khwaja said, ‘It’s nothing, Majesty, only a flesh wound. I’ll live to serve again.’
It was good he had such loyal supporters, but could he count on the rest of his troops to be ready to take more casualties? He had promised them rewards on victory but that would only mean something to them if they believed they would be victorious in the end. How could he take Kabul? How could he capture Kamran? For the first time he felt truly at a loss.
‘What should our next move be, Bairam Khan? I know I can trust you to tell the truth.’
‘A frontal attack was as I think we both know a mistake — a mistake born out of frustration. We must once more be patient and keep the siege tight. We can and should send our men out for more supplies but Kamran and his troops cannot.They have no hope of relief.Their morale will decay before ours if we hold our nerve.’
‘Wise advice. Give the necessary orders to reinforce the siege.’
As he approached one of the picket posts around the perimeter of the camp on a tour of inspection, Humayun heard angry voices. Probably another squabble about ownership of a sheep or a goat, he thought without much interest. As he drew nearer, he saw the cause of the shouting. A man with a stubbly shaved head was standing dagger in hand amidst six of Humayun’s soldiers, who had drawn their swords.
Humayun reined in his horse. ‘What’s going on?’
Recognising him, the soldiers at once touched their hands to their breasts. Humayun saw the man’s eyes flicker over his horse’s enamelled gold bridle and the jewelled clasps on his sheepskin coat, assessing who he might be.
‘I am the emperor. Who are you and why are you causing trouble here?’
The man looked startled but recovered himself.‘I am Javed, a Ghilzai. I didn’t start it.Your soldiers thought I was a spy. . ’
‘Are you?’
‘No. I came to your camp openly. I have information.’
‘About what?’
‘That depends on the price.’
At Javed’s insolent words, a soldier stepped forward and jabbing him in the small of his back with a spear butt pushed him to the ground. ‘On your knees before the emperor. Show some respect. . ’
Humayun let the man lie for a moment on the dank ground before saying, ‘Get up.’ Javed scrambled to his feet and for the first time looked a little nervous.
‘I repeat my question. What information do you have? I — not you — will decide whether it’s worth paying for. If you don’t tell me, my men will force it from you.’
Javed hesitated. Was he simple-minded, Humayun wondered? Only an idiot would ride into a military camp and then seek to bargain with an emperor. But Javed seemed to have made his decision. ‘There’s sickness in the town. Some two or three hundred have already died and more bodies are piling up in the bazaars. . ’
‘When did this start?’
‘A few days ago.’
‘How do you know?’
‘From my brother who is inside the town. He and I are horse and mule dealers. As we do every year, we came to Kabul to sell our animals to the merchants who need them to transport goods when the snows recede and the caravans begin. I was tending our beasts in the hills when the commander of the Kabul garrison ordered the gates to be closed against your advancing army. My brother — who was transacting business in one of the caravanserais — was trapped. Over the weeks since the siege began I of course heard nothing from him. But my hunting dog was with him. Three nights ago it returned to my encampment in the hills, a message tied to its collar. My brother must have found a way to lower the dog over the city walls, though not without injury — one of its sides was badly grazed and bleeding and it was lame in one paw. Nevertheless, it managed to find me.’
‘What else did the message say? Why did you think this would be of interest to me?
The cunning returned to Javed’s face. ‘My brother writes of panic and fear in the town. He says the citizens want the siege to end so they can escape the city and its pestilence. He believes the people may even rise up against the garrison and throw open the gates to you.’
‘Show me this message.’
Javed bent and reaching down inside his boot produced a much-folded piece of paper which he handed to Humayun. Humayun unwrapped it and scrutinised the dense lines of badly written Turki. They confirmed everything Javed had said. The last words read: The disease comes without warning, striking down even the young and healthy. First comes a high fever and vomiting, next uncontrollable diarrhoea, then delirium and death. Every day the stinking piles of bodies grow higher. We are in a trap from which there is no escape. We talk of killing the garrison while we still have strength and opening the gates but perhaps we will not have to. The soldiers are also dying. They too know that unless the siege is lifted or God shows us his mercy, many more will die. But God has turned his face away. What have we done to anger him? I hope this note reaches you, brother, because we may not meet again.
As Humayun took in the full import of those words, his pulse quickened.This could be the opportunity he was seeking — yet could he trust Javed? He might even be an agent of Kamran. Humayun kept his voice calm and cold. ‘You seem more interested in personal gain than in your brother’s well-being, but if this information is true you will be rewarded. If it is false I will have you killed.’ Humayun turned to his soldiers. ‘Keep him closely confined.’
As Javed was led away, Humayun kicked his horse on again and making for his command tent in the centre of the camp allowed himself a smile. If what the message said was indeed the truth, Kabul might soon be his, but only if he knew how to exploit the information to maximum effect.
‘Majesty, the citizens of Kabul have sent an envoy. Half an hour ago, the gates opened and a bullock cart carrying an old man came trundling out towards our lines. He is waving some sort of rag as a sign he wishes to speak to us.’
So it had taken only three days. Immediately after receiving Javed’s intelligence, Humayun had strengthened the ring of troops he had placed noose-like around the city. He had also withdrawn some of his cannon from the assault on the citadel and, placing them behind makeshift barricades for protection, had ordered his gunners to fire at the city walls to further demoralise the inhabitants and the garrison. Apart from a few half-hearted return salvos on the first day, the guns on the battlements had remained silent and there’d been few signs of defenders on the city walls.
‘Bring the envoy to me.’
As he waited outside his tent, Humayun felt the warm sun of an early spring morning on his face. It felt good. So did his growing conviction that victory was almost close enough to reach out and touch. He must not allow it to elude his grasp.
The envoy was indeed old — so ancient in fact that he couldn’t walk without the help of a tall, polished wood staff. Reaching Humayun, he attempted to bow low but couldn’t. ‘Forgive me, Majesty, it isn’t lack of respect that prevents me, only my old bones. . But I have escaped the sickness. That is why I was chosen as the city’s messenger.’
‘Fetch him a stool.’ Humayun waited as the old man lowered himself painfully down, then asked, ‘What is your message to me?’
‘Many in our city are dying. We do not know the cause — perhaps our water supply became tainted when the soldiers tried to poison the wells and springs outside — but it is especially the young who are suffering. Many mothers in Kabul have reason to mourn a loss. We are all weary of conflict — even the garrison on whose behalf I also speak. We wish for an end to the siege so that those who want can leave the city.’