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.
The first that Bairam Khan’s assailants knew of Humayun’s arrival was the sword stroke which knocked one of their number from his saddle and the second was the blow which almost severed the sword arm of another who was poised to thrust his weapon deep into Bairam Khan’s exposed side. The third man turned to flee but Bairam Khan cut at him as he went, leaving him trailing blood on the snow as he made good his escape. He was followed by all of Kamran’s men who were able to disengage themselves. The attack had ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The whole thing had lasted less than half an hour.
‘Pursue them,’ shouted Humayun to Zahid Beg. ‘Kill and capture as many as you can but take care – others may be waiting in further ambushes ahead.’ Dismounting, he ran over towards Bairam Khan, who was slumped in his saddle. He was just in time to catch the Persian as he fell sideways. Humayun lowered him to the ground and began to staunch his wound with his own red face cloth. ‘Thank you, Majesty. I owe you my life . . . I will repay you,’ mumbled Bairam Khan, grimacing with pain.
By the time Zahid Beg and his men rode back down the defile, the snow had stopped and the pale winter sun was disappearing behind the western peaks, throwing long shadows across the battlefield where Humayun was supervising the tending of Bairam Khan and the other wounded. Among the riders Humayun noticed a number of captives, bouncing uncomfortably on their saddles, hands tied behind their backs and their ankles roped beneath their horses’ bellies.
‘Zahid Beg, are any of the prisoners ready to talk? What do they say?’
‘That they were a raiding party – no more than fifteen hundred in number and mostly local tribesmen. Your half-brother had promised them large bounties if they achieved success – and in particular if they brought him your head.’
‘We must remain alert against further attack. Post more pickets. Kamran will now know we’re coming – and from what direction and when.’
For the first time since he had ridden out with his father on their conquest of Hindustan twenty-one years ago, Humayun gazed at the place of his birth. The walls and gates of the city of Kabul, just half a mile away, were mantled in snow. Above them he could just make out the tops of the high arched entrances of the caravanserais that accommodated the thousands of merchants who passed through with their trade goods of sugar, cloth, horses, spices and gems, bringing so much wealth to Kabul.
On a rocky ridge overlooking the town was the citadel. Though it held so many good memories, Humayun pushed them aside, assessing its thick mud-brick walls and squat towers with a dispassionate, appraising eye.This was no longer the boyhood home beneath whose walls he’d raced his pony and gone hawking but his enemy’s stronghold and his son’s prison. And the same dilemma faced him as at Kandahar. How could he overcome his enemy and rescue Akbar without putting his son in greater peril than he already was? Even though Humayun’s scouts had sometimes seen riders shadowing their column who could only be Kamran’s men and chased them off, Kamran had launched no further attacks. He must feel that Kabul was well stocked and prepared to withstand a siege.
Little though Kamran had shown himself susceptible to either, Humayun decided he would again try persuasion and reason.Tonight in their encampment sprawling across the frozen plain outside Kabul he would once again write a letter for his half-sister to carry. And once again, his offer would be simple. If Kamran would release Akbar and hand over Kabul, he and his men could depart with a promise of safe passage. At least his position was stronger than when Gulbadan had delivered his ultimatum to Askari at Kandahar, Humayun reflected. As he had drawn closer to Kabul, more and more tribesmen had joined him. Though his own forces did not yet match the Persians, they now numbered nearly eight thousand men.
Slapping his gauntleted hands against his sides for warmth, Humayun made his way to his scarlet command tent where his war council was awaiting him. ‘My sister is courageous. She will again be my envoy. But if Kamran rejects my proposal, we must be ready for an immediate attack on the citadel. Let him hear our cannon roar.’
‘What about the city itself, Majesty?’ asked Bairam Khan. He was making a good recovery from his wound, although he could still scarcely turn his neck which remained heavily bandaged.
He would doubtless have gained 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 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.’
Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War Page 29
