the citadel walls. Then Humayun heard the drums above the citadel gates boom and trumpets blare and saw the gates inch slowly open. Was Kamran about to surrender? No. Suddenly Humayun saw soldiers wielding long whips drive a dozen or so skinny oxen with bundles of burning straw tied on to their backs through the gates and down the ramp towards Humayun’s positions. Terrified, the animals charged onwards like living torches.‘Shoot them down before they burn the artillerymen’s tents or set alight their powder stores,’ yelled Humayun.
Soon eleven of the oxen lay on the ramp, arrows protruding from their corpses. Only one in its pain- maddened charge had reached Humayun’s position and it had been despatched before it could do any serious damage. However, three of Humayun’s archers had been badly wounded, shot down from the battlements of the citadel as they left cover to fire on the oxen.
This response convinced Humayun as could nothing else that Kamran had not fled as he had feared but was still within the citadel. It was so typical of him. When they were young, Kamran had always taken any defeat in play or in sport hard, as a child sticking his tongue out at Humayun and balling his fists and, when they were youths, crying ‘foul’ and promising all would be different at their next encounter. In those days, Humayun had laughingly ignored Kamran and his gestures and thus increased his half-brother’s rage. Now, though, he would test Kamran’s resolve and, even more important, that of his confederates. After some minutes’ thought, Humayun sat down to compose a letter to Kamran, then sent for Jauhar.
‘I wish you to ride to the citadel with this ultimatum for my brother. I will read it to you so you know what words you carry. They are few and they are blunt. “Our sister Gulbadan tried to appeal to your sense of family honour, of duty. You wouldn’t listen. Instead to your everlasting shame you threatened the life of a child — your own nephew. The town of Kabul has fallen to me and your position is without hope so I offer you this choice, out of concern not for you but for those who follow you. Surrender the citadel and I swear that I will spare your men. Your own fate, however, will be for me to decide and I can give you no promises. If you will not surrender, I will turn my full might against you. However long it takes, my men will pound your walls to dust and once inside kill every man in the citadel without quarter. You have until sunset to give me your answer. If it is no, I will have archers fire arrows containing this message within your walls under cover of night so that your followers can see how cheap you hold their lives.”’
In fact, Jauhar had barely been back from the citadel an hour and the sun was still a spear’s length above the horizon when, from where he was standing on the perimeter of the camp talking to Ahmed Khan, Humayun saw a rider slowly descend the steep ramp from the citadel and then set out across the plain towards them.As the man drew nearer, Humayun saw a flag of truce fluttering from the tip of his spear. The minutes seemed to pass impossibly slowly as Humayun waited but at last the rider was just a few yards away — a young man in chain mail, with a falcon’s plume in his helmet and a sombre expression. Reining in his horse, he dismounted and raised his arms from his sides to show he wasn’t armed.
‘Approach,’ Humayun said.
When he was some ten paces from Humayun, the young man fell to the ground in the full obeisance of the
A fierce joy surged through Humayun. At the same time came a thought. Before he did anything else he would ride to the gardens his father had laid out on the hills overlooking Kabul where Babur’s grave lay open to the sun, rain, wind and snow. There, kneeling by the simple marble slab, he would give thanks. Just as Babur had done, he would use Kabul as the stepping stone for his reconquest of Hindustan.
Trumpets sounded as beneath a brilliant blue sky Humayun rode at the head of a picked column of men representing all the clans who had joined in his conquest of Kabul, up past where his cannon had been stationed, past where he had looked up to see to his anguish Akbar exposed as a human shield on the battlements, through the high gate from which the fire-carrying oxen had charged and on into the sunlit courtyard of the citadel itself. As he dismounted from his black horse, an immense pride in what he had achieved since he left Persia washed over him. Most important, of course, he had recovered Akbar, but he had also reasserted his authority over Kamran and Askari and re-occupied the kingdom of Kabul.
Bairam Khan, Nadim Khwaja and others of his generals behind were exultant, waving at the crowds and rejoicing in their victory. But mingling with Humayun’s euphoria were more sombre thoughts. Kneeling at his father’s grave last night he had vowed never again to become a king without a kingdom. Before he could even think of retaking Hindustan, just as Babur had done he must make his rule over Kabul and all its lands unassailable. He must force every chief in the surrounding territories who ruled as his vassal to submit totally to his overlordship. Many of those chiefs had supported Kamran and several had friendships and alliances with him going back to the time when as a youth Kamran had remained in Kabul while Humayun had accompanied Babur on his conquest of Hindustan. They would require careful handling. A simple show of force might obtain their allegiance for a while but what would happen when he advanced on Hindustan? They might well rebel.
First, though, he must deal with the half-brother whom he’d last seen face to face two years ago when he’d woken in his tent in a blizzard to find his knife at his throat. ‘Where is Kamran?’ he demanded of Jauhar, who was as usual at his side.
‘I was told he is being held in the cells beneath the citadel.’
‘Have him brought before me here in the courtyard now.’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
A few minutes later, Humayun saw Kamran emerge through a low door which led up from the cells, blinking at his sudden exposure to sunlight. His legs were tightly shackled and he was followed by two armed guards. However, his hands were free and as he passed three grooms leading some of Humayun’s commanders’ horses back to the stables at the conclusion of the entry parade, he suddenly grabbed a long riding whip from one of them. Before the guards could react, he had placed it round his neck in the same way that the whip was placed round the neck of common criminals condemned to be flogged as they were led to the punishment frame.
Was Kamran suggesting he was submitting himself to whatever punishment he might impose, Humayun wondered? He motioned to his guards to leave the whip where it was and walked towards his half-brother. As he drew closer, he saw that Kamran looked unkempt and the bags beneath his eyes showed exhaustion, but his green eyes themselves looked straight into Humayun’s and betrayed not a hint of submission or repentance, merely arrogance and disdain. There was even a trace of a supercilious smile on his lips.
How can he jest with me? How can he not recognise his guilt for what he has done? How can he not show some signs of remorse for the many lives lost on his account, for all those wasted years when we could have been re-conquering Hindustan, thought Humayun.As he stared at his half-brother the image of Kamran pushing Hamida to the floor as he grabbed Akbar in the tent came unbidden into his mind, quickly followed by that of Akbar exposed on the walls of Kabul as the cannon roared. Suddenly emotion erupted like a volcano within him and he lost all control. He hit Kamran with his clenched fist hard in the mouth, breaking one of his teeth and splitting his lip, yelling ‘That is for Hamida’ as he did so. Next he brought up his knee with all the force he could muster into Kamran’s groin. ‘And that is for Akbar!’ he screamed, eyes bulging. Then he brought both his arms down on Kamran’s neck and Kamran fell to the floor where he lay doubled up, clutching his groin and spitting out bloody bits of tooth but uttering not a single word, not a single groan.
Shaking with fury, Humayun was drawing back his foot, ready to kick his defiant, devious brother hard in the stomach, when a cry of dismay from behind him broke into his rage. He twisted round to see frail old Kasim shuffling towards him as fast as he could propel himself on the two ivory-handled walking sticks that he had long relied on.
‘Majesty, this is not the way. If he must die, let him do so with dignity as befits a descendant of Timur. What would your father think?’
His words felt to Humayun like a bucket of cold water poured over him, cooling his temper. Kasim was right. He stepped back from his half-brother. ‘I forgot myself, Kamran. I lowered myself to your level. I will decide your fate later and not in the heat of my anger. Guards! Pick him up. Take him back to the cells, but do not ill-treat him.’
Humayun surveyed his audience chamber with satisfaction. Hangings of Moghul green shone in the light of hundreds of candles and wicks burning in
