Empire of the Moghul: Brothers at War (45 page)

But Hindal was shaking his dark head. ‘I told you at our last meeting that we would never be reconciled and it was the truth. I’ve done what I promised and that’s an end of it. Your camp is no home to me. I’ve only lingered this long to make certain that I hadn’t been followed and brought Kamran down on you – and of course to have some time with my sister Gulbadan.’

‘Must it be like this?’

‘You still don’t understand me, do you? Like your mother you are greedy for what you want and do not like to be denied. She took me from my own mother with no concern for anyone’s happiness but her own. Now you want me to forget what’s passed between us – your unthinking arrogance and utter selfishness – and to play your loyal and loving brother again. I can’t do it. It would be a lie and I have too much self-respect.’

‘Hindal . . . ’

‘No, Humayun. You have your wife and your son. Soon perhaps you will have a throne again. Isn’t that enough to satisfy you? Tomorrow at first light I will ride from here in search of the remainder of my men, whom I ordered to leave Kabul before Kamran returned. Once I find them, we will go once more into the mountains. I don’t know when – or in what circumstances – you and I will meet again. Perhaps never . . . ’

Hindal paused. It seemed to Humayun that there was something more he wished to say but after a few moments his half-brother rose and without looking back made his way through the feasters and out through the tent flaps into the night.

‘M
ajesty, they’ve poisoned the wells.’ It was one of Ahmed Khan’s scouts, the coat of his chestnut mare steaming in the cold as he rode across the snowy ground up to where Humayun was standing on the crest of a ridge looking towards Kabul. Although the snow was not yet melting, there’d been no fresh falls. That was one reason why he and his men had made such swift progress as they retraced their steps westward. Another was a renewed energy and sense of purpose. He sensed it in his men and felt it deep within himself.

‘Tell me more,’ he said.

‘We found dead and dying wild animals around the streams and wells nearest the citadel walls. The gates of the city and the citadel are closed against us and the walls of both are thick with defenders. They shot down one of our men who ventured too close.’

‘Test some of the wells and springs further away. Feed the water to some of those flea-bitten pariah dogs that scavenge around the edges of our camp. Until we find good water we can drink snow melted over our fires.’

By eight o’clock that evening, Humayun’s camp again spilled over the plains below Kabul and hundreds of camp fires glowed in the darkness as his men prepared their evening meal. Kamran’s troops had not done their work thoroughly. Humayun’s men had found supplies of untainted water only a mile from the walls of Kabul. Standing outside his command tent Humayun could see pinpricks of light high on the battlements of the citadel.Was Kamran perhaps up there, watching and speculating, just as he was? And if so, what was going through his mind at the sight of Humayun’s army once more before the gates of Kabul? How would Kamran feel to have been deceived as he had so often deceived others? Having lost his hostage, how did he think he could overcome the avenging Humayun? Was he ruing his arrogant self-confidence in unthinkingly accepting Hindal as a suppliant ally, believing that his natural superiority meant it must be preordained to be so?

Humayun suddenly grimaced. Had he himself been so different from Kamran in expecting, as of right, Hindal’s unquestioning loyalty in the past? Perhaps not. He hoped that Kamran was sweating with worry and fear, but this was no time for playing out personal games of revenge. All that mattered was the quickest path to victory and that would not be easy.The citadel was strong and well supplied. Kamran and his men would defend it stoutly, knowing that they could expect little mercy.

In need of her calm comfort and pragmatic commonsense, he wished he had Hamida at his side. However, he knew he had been right to decide that, together with Akbar, Gulbadan and the other women, she should follow behind the main force, heavily protected by a well-armed escort, and then halt at a safe distance from Kabul. He would not risk his wife or his son again. But as soon as the city was his own once more, he could quickly call for her. At last, after so much hardship and heartache she would know the trappings of a queen and soon, he vowed to himself, the glories of being an empress.

A sudden violent explosion just behind him deafened Humayun and a blast of hot air threw him to the ground, hitting his head a glancing blow on a rock as he fell. His eyes and mouth were full of dirt and snow but he eventually managed to reopen his eyes. Slowly he realised that he was surrounded by shards of bronze while what looked like slivers of fresh meat were dotted over the snowy ground. A kite landed and started pecking at one with its curved beak. The silence in his head made the scene even more nightmarish and Humayun put his hands to his ears. As he did so, blood trickled down the fingers of his right hand from a wound to his right temple.

Suddenly there was a crackling in his ears – his hearing was returning . . . He could make out what sounded like frantic cheering from the defenders on the wall of the citadel, together with shouts of mockery. Still dazed and struggling to reassemble his scrambled thoughts, Humayun hauled himself to his feet and looked around. Slowly, he understood what had happened. One of his largest cannon had exploded. It was lying on its side with one of its gunners trapped by the legs beneath it, twisting and screaming in pain. The remains of at least two other men were scattered around, a severed leg here, an arm there, a bloody torso next to the cannon and only a yard from Humayun’s foot a singed and mutilated head, its little remaining hair blowing in the breeze. The barrel of the cannon must have cracked, Humayun realised. It had been in daily use since his men had renewed their siege of the city and the citadel three weeks ago. As before, he had made the citadel his main target and his troops had hauled their cannon back to their previous positions, protected by the rocky outcrop where the road to the citadel curved round.

‘Majesty, are you all right?’ Jauhar appeared, streaked with pale dust and looking more ghost than man.

‘Just a graze to my head.’ As he spoke, a wave of nausea passed over Humayun and Jauhar caught him as he staggered.

‘We will get you to the
hakim
, Majesty.’ Jauhar half carried him to where some horses were tethered. As he rode slowly back to the camp with Jauhar holding the reins of his horse as well as his own, the thoughts within Humayun’s pounding head were bleak. Even without this latest setback, the truth was that the siege was making little progress. Although the aim of his gunners, sweating in the freezing cold in their leather jerkins as they rammed powder and shot down the bronze barrels of their cannon and placed their glowing tapers to the touch-holes, was good and nearly every shot raised billowing clouds of dust and shards of mud and stone from their main target – the gatehouse and the repaired and reinforced walls around it – they had not yet succeeded in making a breach. Humayun had tried ordering two teams of gunners to fire to the left of the gate to test the strength of the walls there, but the difficult angle meant the only way to fire accurately at that stretch was to move the cannon out from behind the outcrop where an archer or musketeer up on the battlements could easily pick off his gunners. Several had been lost that way and men with their skills were difficult to replace. His supplies of powder too were limited.

He must be patient, Humayun thought, swaying a little in the saddle, just as he had forced himself to be while waiting for news of Hindal’s rescue of Akbar. But it was hard knowing Kamran was so close. Sometimes it was all Humayun could do not to gallop up the ramp to the citadel and challenge his brother to single combat. Not that Kamran would ever agree – all Humayun would get would be an arrow in the throat.

Behind him, the cannon began to boom once more.Turning his head painfully Humayun looked back at the citadel. Not for the first time, the fear that Kamran was no longer there seized him. Suppose there was a secret route from the citadel down through the rocks and away. He hadn’t known of any in his youth but it was always possible Kamran had located one and fled, leaving others to defend the fortress on his behalf.

He could wait no longer. He would talk to his commanders about storming the citadel. It would be costly in lives but with their overwhelming numbers the outcome would surely not be in doubt. Glancing down, he noticed that the ground beneath his horse’s hooves was spongy with moisture from the melting snow. Every day the patches of bare ground were growing bigger. At least the seasons were on his side . . .

‘Nadim Khwaja is wounded. He and his men are being shot down by the musketeers and archers on the battlements even before they can get their scaling ladders into position against the walls,’ shouted Bairam Khan to Humayun when the attack on the citadel had been under way for half an hour. ‘I’ll rush as many musketeers as I can to try to pick off the defenders as they expose themselves by firing at our men.’

‘Order the artillerymen to redouble their fire. The smoke from their cannon will at least give some cover,’ Humayun commanded. As he watched, some of the defenders fell back from the wall behind its deeply crenellated battlements, seemingly wounded. At least two others pitched head first over them to smash on the rocks below, but the defenders’ fire did not slacken and more and more of Humayun’s men were falling. ‘Sound the retreat, Bairam Khan,’ Humayun ordered. ‘We are making little progress and we cannot afford to lose so many good men.’

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.’