The news stirred the whole city of Kabul to its depths. It had but lately pa.s.sed into the hands of Humayon. There were not wanting many who preferred k.u.mran, and k.u.mran was in exile waiting an opportunity.

And that came with the suddenness of a summer storm. One night the gates of the town were closed by the Regent Shurruf Khan in Humayon's name; the next dawn saw the Iron Entry, after a brief scuffle, opened in the name of k.u.mran! There was a rush of armed men through the streets of the town, a murder or two of loyal men in high authority. And then?

Up at the Bala Hissar, Foster-father roused from his sleep, went in haste to the Regent, expecting to hear bugles, to find troops gatherings for defence; but the gates of the Fort were open!

Shurruf Khan was traitor! He had gone over to the enemy. Ere an hour was over k.u.mran, scowling, walked up and down the royal apartments, a King once more; but biting his lips and frowning over something that stood between him and perfect revenge!

Foster-father, good old fool, was back in his dungeon in the well, where this time he would rot. The women, as a change, were walled up in a tiny room, where, bread and water being thrust in to them, they might eat and live, or starve and die as they chose.

But the Heir-to-Empire? What of him? Ah! fool that he had been to make that promise to a crafty old woman who had died in order to spite him.

k.u.mran's anger rose fierce; he would have given anything to break his oath; but he could not. He was not strong enough; even his wickedness was not real.

But, short of death, the young heir should have no shelter. k.u.mran flung him into a miserable cell close to the Iron Gate and thought no more of him. And now, but for faithful Roy, Akbar would indeed have been in sorry plight. They had barely enough to eat, but Roy stinted himself, eating nothing but the hard half-burned crusts of the coa.r.s.e hearth-cakes and excusing himself from even touching the miserable mess of pease-porridge on the ground that he did not like it. So he grew thin and his brown deer-eyes had a startled look. Indeed, he hardly slept at all, but watched and dozed beside his little master all night long.

Yet he was always cheerful. Always ready with stories and songs. When he could not remember any new-old ones, he took to inventing tales of people who were always in dangers and difficulties, but who took no notice of them, who went on their way trusting in the Truth.

"For! see you!" he would finish gravely,

"He who has Truth Need fear no ruth."

So, ever and always his hero came out of his trials scathless.

And, by degrees, this faith in final good grew deep into both the boys'

hearts, and showed in their very faces.

"By my word!" said the Afghan sentry, whom chance one day sent to guard them. "Ye be a precious pair of Kings!"

He could admire them, though he did not seem in the least ashamed of having yet once more turned his coat; for he was again on k.u.mran's side.

How time pa.s.sed none of the prisoners cared to count. But one day the sudden roar of a great gun told them that the city was once more besieged. In truth, Humayon hearing, while still on his bed of sickness, the fatal news of Shurruf Khan's treachery, had strained every nerve, ill as he was, to come to the rescue of his little son. It was midwinter, the pa.s.ses were blocked with snow, he and his troops had to meet endless hardships; but at last they were before Kabul once more.

Camped on the Arkaban hill, opposite the Iron Gate, the artillery were brought into position, the first shot fired.

It would take too long to follow all the varied incidents of the siege.

But one thing was constant. Night after night recruits from inside the town managed to scale the walls and join King Humayon's forces. They were getting tired of k.u.mran, who, unable to satisfy his cruelty on the little Heir-to-Empire, vented it on all and sundry. And day by day as the number of the besieged dwindled, bit after bit of the town fell into the besiegers' hands, until at last only the Bala Hissar remained. But the Bala Hissar is a town in itself, and many a time has it withstood a siege successfully.

Now, however, it was near to the death. There could be no more talk or thought of escape. k.u.mran, ever half-hearted, tried it one night and failed, losing many followers in the attempt.

After that his face hardened. He went about dreaming of revenge--revenge on Humayon, even revenge on Dearest-Lady, who had tied his hands.

"_Till I return!_"

No! Dead folks can never return to the worldly. Even their memory comes seldom, save to the pure in heart.

And one night he hit on a plan. The fort was almost at its last gasp.

All day Sumbal Khan, Humayon's famous artillery general, had been pounding away at the Iron Gate with deadly aim. A few more well-sent shots would leave the bastion crumbling, and then----

Then would come the a.s.sault through the breach, and k.u.mran knew he could not face it. His force was too small.

So about midnight the door of Akbar's prison room was opened and k.u.mran with a few armed men stood within.

Roy, startled from a doze, was on his feet in a second.

"What want ye?" he challenged fiercely.

"Let the Hindoo fool alone," said k.u.mran to those who would have seized on the Rajput lad. "All we want is the child. Take him, slaves, and be quick about it."

Ere the words were out of his mouth a stalwart man bent to lift the sleeping Heir-to-Empire. Roy's sword flashed the same second, but, held back by sneering men, he was helpless.

"What want ye with him? I say, what want ye with him?" panted the poor lad as he struggled madly.

k.u.mran paused at the door to turn an icy cold look of cruelty upon him.

"What! Thou wouldst know? Then thou shalt have it, young idolater. It may cool thy hot blood. I will dress him in dust colour like the walls of Kabul and hang him over the battlement at dawn as a mark for my brother's artillery. Then we shall see the breach in my citadel made!

Then we shall see my revenge--but it will not be of my making! His father shall kill him."

So with a mirthless laugh he followed his men, who were bearing away the Heir-to-Empire, still but half awake.

Roy stood for one second like a stone, too horror stricken for full belief; but the echoing laugh convinced him; with a wild cry he rushed to the narrow window and shook fruitlessly at its iron bars like a wild animal when it is newly caged. But they were immovable.

Yet something must be done--something--something----

The thought of dawn was too dreadful. The beautiful, calm, peaceful April dawn, shadowy grey! Just light enough to see the outline of the Bala Hissar, just light enough to begin upon the breach once more; but too dark to see what was in the line of fire.

Yes! Something must be done, and done swiftly. Not four hours left before the eastern hills would begin to show dark against the coming of day.

CHAPTER XX

ESCAPED

Once more Roy felt helpless and hopeless before the great task which seemed to be laid upon him. He alone out of all the little Heir-to-Empire's guardians knew the dire danger he was in. Yet how could he, a poor, prisoned Rajput lad, save the young prince?

Still he had to be saved; he must be saved; and there was no time to be lost. At dawn the firing would recommence from the Arkaban hill; at dawn the helpless child would be in the half-breached bastion exposed to that fire!

Yes! He, Roy, must get out somehow. If he could only loosen one bar of the window so that he could squeeze through, then he might be able to let himself down by a rope twined out of his long waist-cloth and turban! Thus he might be able to get out of the fort! He might be able to gain the camp on the Arkaban hill before dawn! So he might be able to warn the guns not to fire on the bastion; might be able to tell them that the Heir-to-Empire hung there!

What a number of "might be ables"; but would he be able, even for the first task?

He took up his sword and began forthwith on the iron bar; but the mortar was hard, he could scarcely make a mark upon it. Still, it must be done.

In order to free his arms better for the work he took off all his clothes save his flimsy, sleeveless waistcoat and the loin-cloth that was girt about him, and buckled down steadily. But when more than an hour had pa.s.sed the bar seemed as firm as ever. As he crouched down on the window sill he could see through it to the flat roof of the neighboring palaces; for it was a bright moonlight night still, though the moon must be nigh to her setting. So the thought crossed his mind that if he could only squeeze through he might be able to reach one of those roofs; since, if he remembered aright, a wide cornice ran just below. He paused for a second in his labour to see if this was so, craning his head through the crossbars. Yes, the cornice was there!

Scarcely wide enough for a cat to walk, but if he got through in time he would risk it. He must risk it!

But would he get through in time? He set to work again feverishly until suddenly a familiar sound reached his ear from outside; the sound of a cat purring!

Could it be Down? She had not found them out in their new prison, but if she had happened to be on the roof when he looked out of the window she might have seen him or smelled him--yes! There was a white cat on the cornice, and the next moment Down was on the sill, arching her back and purring away contentedly.