Early next morning, therefore, they all set off, Roy girding on dead Faithful's sword from the sledge that was wanted no more, and from that moment feeling himself indeed bodyguard to the Heir-to-Empire.

Once they had reached safety from starvation in the shepherds' huts, a great desire for rest came upon them all; and for three whole days they did nothing but eat, and sleep, and rejoice in the early spring sunshine, and the early spring flowers. For the late snap of extreme cold had pa.s.sed and every green thing was hurrying to be ahead of its neighbour. Bija made endless cowslip b.a.l.l.s out of the beautiful rose-pink primulas, while Roy and Mirak, following the shepherds' boys, came back with their hands full of young rhubarb shoots and green fern croziers, which they ate like asparagus. But this sort of thing could not last long, since they were close to the caravan route from Kandahar to Kabul; and sure enough, no sooner had the snow on the uplands melted than travellers began to pa.s.s through.

Thus news that the little party had escaped death soon filtered from mouth to mouth, till it reached the Captain of the Escort, and ere long Foster-father found himself and those in his care once more semi-prisoners on their way to cruel brother k.u.mran; all the more cruel, doubtless, because King Humayon had already begun the siege of Kandahar, believing his little son to be still within its walls.

Now k.u.mran was a far cleverer fellow than his brother Askurry; but there was in him a love of deceit for deceit's sake, which spoiled all his cleverness, for it made him uncertain what he would do in the end. This indeed is always the case with deceitful people. They know that what they say and do is _not_ straightforward and true, and so they are like sailors without a compa.s.s. They have no fixed pole by which to steer.

And, in addition, k.u.mran liked to be considered clever; so he was always outwardly very courteous, very polite, very charming; but what he was within none could say for long.

Thus Foster-father's heart sank within him, when in the distance, down the rocky ravine through which the Kabul River dashes, and along which the caravan road took its high-perched way, he saw the battlemented wall of the city, cresting the low hills on which the town was built. It was a fully fortified town through which the river ran, and at its extreme end, commanding the wider plain below, stood the citadel called the Bala Hissar or High Fort. To reach this the travellers had to cross the iron bridge and wend their way through the narrow bazaars.

Such wonderful bazaars as they were, too! Crowded with tiny dark arched shops, like caverns, full to the brim with Persian silk carpets, furs from the north, turquoises and all kinds of precious stones from out-of-the-way places with unp.r.o.nounceable names. And there were such a quant.i.ty of cats! Grey Persian cats and white ones, and tabbies and black cats who sat on the balconies and stared at Down as she lay on Horse-chestnut's broad, wavy back. For the Captain of the Escort had found out what an excellent creature the old pony was, and had brought it along with him.

The High Fort was a huge place with great gardens within its battlements and several separate palaces. Here, to Foster-father's unbounded delight, they found that Prince k.u.mran was himself away, having gone out with a small body of men to the Kandahar frontier, where King Humayon's arrival had aroused loyalty. But what was still more cheering was the news that he had left orders for the Heir-to-Empire and his sister to be handed over on arrival to the charge of Dearest-Lady! Foster-father could hardly believe his ears; for Dearest-Lady (as she was always called by all her family, by all her nephews and nieces, by all her grand nephews and nieces, and cousins, and every one who was lucky enough to belong to her) was simply--Well! what was she not? Wise, and gentle, and good, and clever--all this and more. She was the sort of Dearest-Lady who lived so long in the hearts of those who knew her, that, years after she was dead they would say, if there was any difficult point to be settled--"We wonder what Dearest-Lady would have said?"

She was old, of course, for she was Babar the Brave's elder sister; the sister to whom he had been devoted, who had always been to him also "his Dearest-One." Now, when you come to think of it, boys and girls, that is a nice sort of fame to have--to remain for--let me see how many hundred years?--nearly four--Dearest-Lady, or Dearest-Gentleman to all the world.

This Dearest-Lady was, of course, the Heir-to-Empire's grand-aunt, and the mere sound of her name was enough to calm Foster-father's fears.

Even Head-nurse, though she sniffed a little and said she had heard tell that the Khanzada Khanum was a trifle careless of ceremonials, was satisfied. There was no doubt that she was the Highest-Born-in-the-Land.

As for little Prince Akbar himself, he only opened his big, grave eyes widely when the tall white figure clasped him closely in its arms and kissed his hair softly.

"So like his grandfather," she murmured, "so like! so like!--the very hands, the very feet--so strong, so shapely." And both in turn felt the touch of the soft old lips. "And thou, too, small maiden," she continued kindly, "welcome to one who has never yet let it be said in her hearing that G.o.d made women weaker than man! Thou shalt learn here to be proud thou wast born a girl. And you also, Nurse! Bring cooling sherbets, slaves, while she tells me all that has happened."

Then she sat and listened while Head-nurse told the tale of what had happened, and her faded, gay, old face flashed and sparkled and grew grave by turns.

"But where is Tumbu?" she interrupted, "and where is Down? Bring them hither, slaves! Lo! I love all animals, as my dear brother did!"

And she laughed over their doings, and wept over Old Faithful's death, while Bija and Mirak sat cuddled up close beside her, listening also and enjoying the tale of their own adventures as if they had happened to other children!

"Surely," she said softly when Head-nurse ended, "my dearest brother--on whom be peace--must have protected them! Lo! Mirak! and Bija--for I shall call you naught else since they are sweet kindly names, better than fine sounding t.i.tles--this very afternoon ye shall come with me to the garden he loved, and where his earthly form lies at rest, and lay flowers on his grave for thanks. Since he loved flowers as he loved everything."

So that evening, about an hour before sunset time, they were all carried in litters to the Garden of the New Year, about a mile beyond the city.

It was a most peaceful, lovely spot, right up on the hillside with a splendid view from it of valley and mountain and river. A fresh bubbling spring ran through it, and beneath the Judas trees, whose leafless branches were flushed with pink blossoms, stretched great carpets of spring flowers.

"Pluck him yonder tulips, Mirak," said Dearest-Lady with a smile. "He loved to count their kinds and those--as he wrote--are 'yellow, double, and scented like a rose'!"

And the boy who was to grow to be a greater man even than his grandfather, though he could scarcely be a more lovable one, plucked a posy of the tulips and laid them on the plain marble slab which bore nothing but the words, "Heaven is the eternal home of the Emperor Babar." And when Bija, with many a little feminine ceremonial, had deposited her nosegay of sweet violets, and Head-nurse and Foster-mother had offered up their respects, they all went and sat down on a gra.s.sy spot, and Dearest-Lady, who was always full of youthful curiosities concerning all things, began to question Roy, who as a mere lad had been allowed to come with them, as to what he could remember of the time before he was picked up in the desert.

"Hold my hand, child, and think," she said at last, "mayhap it may come to thee then. The touch of kinship has power, and if I do not mistake me, there is that in thy blood that is in mine--royalty!"

So she clasped Roy's slim long-fingered hand and held it tight, and the boy's face changed, his eyes grew startled, he shivered slightly.

"Yea!" he said, "now I do remember. Mother was like you, and she told me I had the mark of Kingship strong enough, for all the rebels might say--" As he spoke, he drew down his loose garments, and there upon the clear olive of his breast, just above the heart, showed a small dark stain.

Dearest-Lady bent close to look at it. "What is't?" she asked.

"Mother said it was the sign of uttermost truth, and that we all had it," he replied, speaking dreamily.

"But who were we?" persisted Dearest-Lady, her kind eyes on the lad's.

Just at that moment, however, Tumbu, who had, of course, accompanied them, burst out with a series of shrill, short barks, and Roy was on his feet in a second, his hand on Old Faithful's sword, lest any newcomer might bring danger to his little master. But as it turned out Tumbu was only excited by a water-rat! All the same the interruption prevented Dearest-Lady's question from being answered, for the spell was broken.

"Yea! thou wilt be true to the very uttermost, of that I am sure," said Dearest-Lady, half pleased, half amused at the young Rajput's quick leap to arms, "and so long as I have charge of the Heir-to-Empire thou shalt be his esquire. So go call the litter-men, boy, it is time we returned.

I must remember I am gaoler as well as grand-aunt."

CHAPTER XVI

CRUEL BROTHER k.u.mRAN

If Dearest-Lady was in truth a gaoler, she was a very kind one, and her prison the pleasantest prison in the world. It would take too long to tell how happily the next four months pa.s.sed, not only for the two children, but for Roy and Foster-father, Head-nurse and Foster-mother.

Even misshapen Meroo, in the kitchen, felt the better for helping to cook the Khanzada Khanum's dinner. For that was one of Dearest-Lady's virtues, she always made people feel contented, and as if they were doing the right thing. So even Prince k.u.mran, when he returned to Kabul, though he frowned at the big, bold, frank-faced boy who claimed to be the Heir-to-an-Empire which his own fingers itched to have, did not feel inclined to interfere with his aunt. The truth being that, like the rest of the family, he loved and trusted her beyond measure; perhaps more than did any of his brothers, since she had brought him up as a child.

And she, in her turn, though she knew his faults, though she not only bewailed them, but resented them, at times most fiercely, could not forget that he had been her nursling, could not forget, above all, that he was her dear brother Babar's son.

Thus all went smoothly in the Bala Hissar, where young Prince Akbar, now close on three years old, looked and talked and acted like one of six. This same strength of his was always getting him into sc.r.a.pes with people who did not believe he was so young, or, knowing him to be so young, did not believe him to be so strong!

He played a similar trick to the one he had played on cousin Yakoob at Kandahar on his big cousin Ibrahim, Prince k.u.mran's son. It was about a fine kettledrum all ta.s.selled in royal fashion, with gold and silver, that Ibrahim's father had given him. Being a selfish boy, he would not allow Akbar to touch it; whereupon the Heir-to-Empire, after a brief tussle, carried off the kettledrum and beat it loudly through the palace!

k.u.mran hearing of this was very angry, for the beating of a kettledrum is a sign of Empire.

"Keep that young fighting c.o.c.k of thine in better order, madam," he said to his aunt, "or I shall have to find him a sterner gaoler."

Whereupon she flashed out and told him fairly that short of killing the child, and for that crime even _he_ was not prepared, there was no way of preventing the Heir-to-Empire from being what he was, a born king.

That was her way of quelling k.u.mran. By boldly setting aside the thought of murder as impossible, she hoped to make it so; but she was not sure, and after this she kept Mirak and Bija under control.

It was not much good, however, when just as autumn was coming on news arrived from Kandahar that Humayon had at last succeeded in taking the city, and, disappointed in not finding his son in the palace, was preparing to march on Kabul.

Then the worst side of Prince k.u.mran showed itself at once. Like all deceitful people, he was a coward at heart, and cowardice made him think of immediate revenge upon his victorious brother. Of what use would even two victories be to him if the Heir-to-Empire was beyond recall?

So k.u.mran's charming polished manner vanished in an instant, and one day, without any warning, little Mirak, playing in the garden, was kidnapped by two stalwart Abyssinian slaves and carried off, howling horribly and fighting with his fists, to the palace where k.u.mran's wife lived. Tumbu, who was with him at the time, made a gallant show of resistance, and actually bit one of the kidnapper's calves to the bone; but when he found himself confronted with a whole regiment of armed men who ran out to their a.s.sistance, he gave up the hopeless fight, and flew off to tell Roy what had happened. And Roy, missing his little master, fled to tell Dearest-Lady. Her face paled, but she did not hesitate.

"My litter! page!" she cried, and drawing her white veil closer round her, she went straight to the audience hall, where k.u.mran was receiving his n.o.bles; her great age, her great n.o.bility, giving her a right, even as a woman, to appear amongst them.

All eyes turned to her tall, upright, slim figure, every ear thrilled to the tones of her clear voice.

"By what right," she asked, "has k.u.mran, the nephew I have nurtured, stolen from my care the son of his elder brother, the Heir to that Empire which Babar the Brave gave, dying, into the hands of Humayon, his eldest son? I say there can be no right; and if it be wrong then will G.o.d's curse light on the man who undoes his father's work. Lo! he is worse than parricide, for he would kill that for which his father gave his life."

Now this appeal was a very strong one; for the story of how Babar the Brave gave up his own life to save that of his darling son, Humayon, is one of the most touching tales in Indian history, and none of Babar's immediate family could even think of it without strong emotion. So it was k.u.mran's turn to grow pale.

"August lady," he replied, evading her question, "this is a matter of policy with which women have naught to do. King Humayon hath taken Kandahar, he hath imprisoned and degraded his brother Askurry, and for this, I, k.u.mran, challenge him!"

"And wherefore?" asked Dearest-Lady boldly. "Did not Askurry deserve it?

Nay! did he not deserve death? Did he not steal the King-of-Empire? Did he not defy the king? Did he not send the Heir-to-Empire away, instead of returning him to his father's keeping? I tell you, nephew k.u.mran, that your father, Babar the Brave, Babar the Kindly, Babar the Generous, Babar the Just, whom all men loved for his mercy, would have given _death_ for such faults--and given it rightly. And will you, like a fool, court death also?" She looked round the a.s.sembly to see many a sullen, suspicious face, and understood that danger lay close at hand.

So her resolution was taken in a moment. "See you!" she went on, "nothing has been done yet to make forgiveness impossible. Well!

I--Khanzada Khanum,--old as I am, will go forth to meet King Humayon and plead thy cause. I will ask what boon you wish, and I promise it shall be yours. Humayon will give much in exchange for his son, and none have ever denied me anything. Shall it be so?" Then seeing hesitation she put in a crafty word: "There will be time afterwards for--anything----"