Brothers at War eotm-2
Page 29
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.’
‘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!’
Humayun charged forward at the head of his men with Bairam Khan at his side. Both were breathing hard as, sometimes skidding on patches of ice, they ran as best they could up the frozen ramp through the white cannon smoke towards the citadel’s gate. The sound of his own musket and cannon shot was partly deafening him but through a gap in the smoke Humayun saw there was indeed a jagged breach in the right-hand wall by the gate. His spirits soared. Then, to his surprise, he realised there was scarcely any return fire from the walls of the citadel.
Suddenly, as he watched, he saw through another gap in the billowing smoke some sort of activity on the battlements directly above the gateway. Was Kamran preparing to surrender? He could scarcely believe it. He shouted to his gunners and musketeers to cease fire, then moved forward again to get a better look. As the acrid smoke began to clear, he saw that Kamran’s soldiers were erecting what looked like a wooden stake on the battlements. Then more soldiers appeared, pushing in front of them a tall figure with long, flowing hair silhouetted against the grey dawn sky. Humayun ran closer until he could see that the figure was a woman and that she was holding something in her arms. Something that wriggled and writhed — a child.
The blood in Humayun’s veins ceased to flow. He watched like a man in a trance as the soldiers bound the woman to the stake, wrapping what looked like a length of rope or chain around her body but leaving her arms free to continue clutching her living burden. That burden, Humayun knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, was his son, held in the arms of his wet-nurse Maham Anga.
A great
cry tore from him. ‘No!’ By now, Zahid Beg and Bairam Khan were by his side, staring as he was at the sight of the woman and child exposed on the walls, living targets of flesh and blood.Wrenching his gaze away at last, Humayun put his head in his hands. Once again he’d underestimated his half-brother. This was what Kamran’s response had meant — continue your attack and you will be your son’s assassin.
‘Bairam Khan, call off the bombardment. I cannot risk my son. . Zahid Beg, post strong enough detachments to keep the city and the citadel under siege but recall the assault troops to the camp.’
As kettledrums and trumpets sounded and his forces began to pull back across the snow-covered plain to their tents, Humayun turned and without a further word to anyone — neither his commanders nor his bodyguard — made his slow way back. Though the sun was breaking through now, thin, pale shafts lightening the sky, his own world had never seemed so lost in shadow. How was he going to bring his campaign to a successful conclusion? What was he going to say to Hamida?
Chapter 18
A Visitor in the Night
‘Rustum Beg, I don’t understand.How can you speak of leaving?’
‘Majesty, my cousin Shah Tahmasp, the Lord of the World, gave me explicit orders before we left Kazvin that if your campaign faltered — if after six months it seemed to me unlikely that you would succeed — I must lead his troops home. I have been patient but now that time has come. It’s over six months since we rode from Persia. . two months since we ceased the bombardment and began this fruitless siege of Kabul. My men are suffering in the bitter cold and harsh conditions, and to what end? The town and the citadel are well provisioned — your brother’s soldiers taunt us from the walls, offering us food. . I am sorry, Majesty, but I have no choice. The shah can find better employment for his troops elsewhere. . ’ Rustum Beg raised his hands, palm up, as if he personally regretted a situation that was beyond his control. But during the past half-hour since he had asked for a private audience with Humayun, though courteous as ever, he had conceded nothing.