another fine scar.
‘Your Majesty’s half-brother will have garrisoned it, of course,’ said Zahid Beg. ‘The soldiers defending it may fire at us from the walls so we must keep out of range and guard and entrench our camp well.’
‘But the city’s garrison would be foolish to consider sallying out to attack an army as large as this,’ added Bairam Khan.
Humayun now spoke. ‘Also, the citizens may not be behind them. The people of Kabul have grown rich on trade. They want peace and prosperity, not war. Although they may feel no especial loyalty to me, if they think I — not Kamran — will be the eventual victor, they might even rise against his troops to gain my favour as they once did for my father against his enemies. Take the necessary measures for the encirclement of the city. But as far as the citadel goes, where should we position our cannon so they are ready for immediate action if my half-brother rejects our surrender terms?’
Zahid Beg answered. ‘Take them up the road to the citadel to the most advanced position we can locate for them which will not expose our artillerymen to direct musket and arrow fire from the citadel walls as they go about their work.’
‘I agree.’ Humayun nodded. ‘That rocky outcrop where the road makes its final turn before the gates would make a suitable position, I think. Also, if our men establish themselves there, Kamran’s own gunners will find it difficult to depress their cannon far enough to fire on them. Our target should be the main gates themselves. Though metal-bound and protected by a heavy iron grille, they will not withstand a sustained bombardment. We should also aim at the outer walls directly to their right. As I recall, that stretch is older and not quite so thick as the rest.’
‘Our main problem will be whether the shot will carry with sufficient force from the position you suggest,’ said Zahid Beg.
‘What do you think, Rustum Beg?’ asked Humayun. ‘Can your gunners wreak sufficient destruction from that range?’
The elderly Persian looked at his second-in-command for an answer.‘There should be no problem, Majesty,’ said Bairam Khan, dark blue eyes thoughtful. ‘The only pity is that our cannon are small. If we’d been able to bring bigger guns from Kazvin, we could have reduced the walls more quickly. But at least we have plenty of powder and stone shot.’
‘Excellent. I know it will take time for the cannon to have their effect, but immediately we see that we have made a sufficient breach I want troops ready to charge in waves up the ramp under cover of our archers and musketeers to gain entrance to the citadel. Bairam Khan and Zahid Beg, I leave it to you to select the detachments to train to make the assault and the men to lead them. Most important, keep units of cavalry ready at all times to pursue any who try to flee the citadel. My half-brother must not be allowed to escape or try to spirit my son out of my reach.’
‘If Kamran had dismissed her appeal out of hand, she would be back by now, wouldn’t she?’ asked Hamida. Despite the bitter cold and occasional flurries of snow, she had been standing in front of the women’s tent staring towards the main gate of the citadel of Kabul ever since Gulbadan had climbed into a closed, curtained wagon pulled by two mules and, preceded by Jauhar with a flag of truce, made her way up the ramp to the citadel. After five minutes one of the gates had opened and she had disappeared inside.
‘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
