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CHAPTER XI
A WINTER MARCH

It was only too true! The escort which was to see them on the road was already occupying the garden, the horses champing their bits and fretting because the long branches of the roses at which they snatched held nothing but thorns.

Prince Akbar, indeed, was too much interested in watching them and wondering if they were very hungry to take much heed of anything else, but Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum, who was a very practical little person, at once began to pack up her favourite doll.

"You had better choose out some toy, Mirak," said she, "or you will be wanting to play with mine, and I won't let you."

But Mirak was busy with the horses.

"I sha'n't want anything but my sword," he replied valiantly. "I'm a big boy now, and I'm going to play with real things." Then he turned to one of the troopers with a quaint air of authority. "Your horse is too thin. When I am King I shall see that my men give their horses enough to eat."

Foster-father, who overheard the child, paused in the hasty arrangements he was making to look at the little Heir-to-Empire and put up a prayer that the fates might let him be King; but the future looked black indeed. The road to Kâbul must still be blocked with snow, even if more did not fall by the way. A likely happening, with the bitter north wind and the dull lowering sky. And if the young child escaped the danger of extreme cold and extreme hardship, what might not be before him in Kâbul itself?

Better, it might have been, for those in charge of him, to have risked all, taken refuge with the old mountain chief, and died like brave men. There was but one comfort in the whole affair. Prince Askurry must know that Humâyon or his friends were close at hand, or he would not be in such a desperate hurry to send away the Heir-to-Empire.

And this, indeed, was the truth. The fear of a rescue was so real and immediate that Prince Askurry had had to make his decision in a minute. So there was scarcely any time for preparation, and by noon the party had started for the three hundred and odd miles of mountainous country that lay between them and Kâbul. Only the children's faces were cheerful; even Roy's showed grave and anxious.

They rode fast and far till dusk fell, when they had covered full twenty miles. For the last few, both the women, who were mounted behind troopers, had almost been dropping with fatigue, but the captain of the escort was under orders to go as far as possible that night, so he pushed on to reach a place called Robât. Here they were all unceremoniously bundled into one large room, and by the steady tramp through the night of a sentry outside, Foster-father judged they were complete prisoners. Luckily they were given plenty of fuel to replenish the fire that roared in the wide chimney, so the elders squatted round it and dozed, holding the children in their laps. They slept as soundly as if they had been in their beds, and so did Tumbu and Down, who had both insisted on being of the party; the latter having quite calmly taken her place on Horse-chestnut's broad wavy back on the wide cushion of felt which Foster-father used as a saddle-cloth. She had left her kitten behind her as it was now quite a big tom-cat, and able to take care of itself.

In a way, both Tumbu and Down had already been of service to their young master, for the troopers of the Escort had been amused by the golliwog's gambols, and had admired Down's dignity, so they were more inclined to treat the whole party in kindly fashion. Indeed, next morning, the Captain of the Escort, whose anxiety about a rescue had, perhaps, been lessened by the uneventful night, was much less strict in his orders, and took Prince Akbar on his own saddle and let him hold the reins.

"He is a brave, bold lad," he said to Foster-father; "were he to live, he would make a good King." Then he frowned, his mouth hardened and Foster-father, watching him, augured ill for the safety of the Heir-to-Empire. For the time, however, all went well, though Foster-father remarked that they kept off the direct track as much as possible; no doubt to avoid pursuit. And at Ghuznee, where they halted the second night, the Captain of the Escort sent nearly all his men into the city by one gate, taking with them, despite their protestations, Roy and Meroo and Old Faithful, while he himself, with but one or two troopers, Foster-father, Foster-mother, Head-nurse and the two children, entered by another and found lodging in the caravanserai as common travellers. Evidently, Foster-father surmised, it was thought best for some reason or another to conceal the fact that the Heir-to-Empire was being carried off to Kâbul; and something happened that evening to make him certain that this was the case. It was dark ere they arrived, so the other travellers in the serai took little heed of the small party, especially as there were women and children in it, and it is not polite in Eastern countries to take any notice of them. But while Head-nurse and Foster-mother were busy settling down the children's quilts in the little dark archway room, which was all the accommodation available, and Foster-father had gone to purchase them some milk for their supper, the little Prince and Princess, greatly excited at the novelty of their surroundings, wandered out into the dark square enclosure, where fires burned here and there in the open, lit by travellers who were cooking their evening meal. They stood by these watching what was going on with quick interest, answering questions that were put to them with frank smiles and laughter. Being dressed in heavy sheepskin outer coats to keep out the cold, no one guessed that they were other than they seemed, poor travellers' children, until at the end of a long row of picketed horses at the further end of the courtyard, Akbar saw Horse-chestnut, Foster-father's pony. Now Foster-father had only had time to tie the poor beast head and heel, so there the honest creature stood, looking very dejected, with emptiness before it, while the troopers' horses beside him were enjoying great bundles of green grass. The little fellow flushed up in a moment; he called loudly to a man who stood near:

"Ho! slave there! bring my pony grass—dost hear? and be quick!"

The man laughed. "Alâh!" he said; "whose son be you to give orders that fashion?"

"Whose son?" echoed the child passionately. "I am–"

But Bija clung to his arm. "H'st, Mirak!" she whispered. "Remember what Head-nurse said that we were not to tell–"

Akbar stood irresolute; he was wise beyond his years. "But Horse-chestnut must not be hungry. I won't have it!—he shall have grass," he said angrily; then, without another word he walked up to the next horse, took a great armful of the grass that lay in front of it and scattered it before his favourite.

"So there! slave!" he cried defiantly with a stamp of his foot.

The man looked at him curiously, said nothing, but went over to some others and began to whisper.

A minute afterwards, Foster-father returning, found the children the centre of a little crowd eager in enquiry whence they came, whither they were going, and, ere he could get them safely to their quarters, the attention of the Captain of the Escort had been arrested, he came out frowning and fuming.

"We march again in an hour," he said angrily to Foster-father. "On thy head be it if thou can'st not keep thy young fighting cock in order—'twill be all over the town by midnight!"

Foster-father did not often let his temper get the better of his prudence, but he could not resist saying mildly: "Kingship is like the musk-bag, friend, that was broken at the royal child's birth. It diffuses its perfume over the habitable world, and none can mistake it."

The Captain of the Escort shrugged his shoulders. "Then it shall smell in the wilderness, friend; for I run no risks of rescue this side the passes. So bid the women give the young crowing cockerel his supper and prepare to start again. There will be a moon in another hour and we can push on. Meanwhile I go to warn the other folk where to rejoin us."

It was a bitter cold night. The wind blew keenly from the snow before them, and by the time they reached a miserable village, high up on the slopes of the pass, every one save the two children was chilled to the bone; but they, well happed in all the coverings the fugitives could compass, were warm; Akbar, in Foster-father's arms, with Down, the cat, cuddled up beside him, and acting as a hot bottle! Once more there was plenty of fuel in the rude hut where they found shelter, and stiffened limbs and half-frosted fingers soon began to thaw. Tumbu, who had kept himself supple by, as usual, bounding about, was the only one of the party who did not doze off at once, now comparative comfort was reached.

But he was curiously restless. Over and over again he rose, went to the door and seemed to listen. Then he began to whine a little, then to scratch at the door as if he wanted to get out. Finally, finding no one paid any attention, he let loose one short, sharp bark, which awakened Head-nurse, who with an impatient look to see if her children had been disturbed, and an angry whisper, "Go, then! thou mean-born beast," rose softly, set open the door for a second, then closed it again, shivering with the chill blast that swept in. But Tumbu was out like a flash and disappeared in the darkness.

It must have been an hour afterward that every one's slumber was disturbed by the most insistent barking that ever was heard. Even Akbar, usually the soundest of sleepers, sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"The evil-dispositioned hound!" said Head-nurse in drowsy anger. "I deemed he had left us forever, and good riddance, too."

But little Prince Akbar, half awake, protested in defence of his dear dog.

"Tumbu only barks when he wants something, nurse; go and see what it is."

"A likely story!" cried Head-nurse.

"Well," interposed Foster-father philosophically, "some one must go if any one is to sleep."

Whereat he went to the door; but Tumbu on the doorstep refused to come in; he barked, bounced off, and returned the next minute to whine and bark again.

"He only wants something; go and see what it is," came Mirak's deep-toned voice. "I know he wants something."

"Lo! man alive!" grumbled Head-nurse; "shut the door whichever way it is. I perish with cold!"

Foster-father was a wise man, so to avoid further discussion he stepped out and shut the door behind him. Thus for a minute or two there was peace. Then Foster-father's voice rose urgently from outside.

"Open! I say open! Quick!"

Foster-mother flew to obey, and her husband staggered in, bearing some one in his arms. "God send the boy be not dead," he said as he laid down his burden.

It was Roy the Râjput!

"I found him quite close, frozen by the cold," he continued, as they set to work before the fire to rub the poor, stiff limbs and force a few drops of hot milk through the blue lips.

It was some time before a faint sigh, a quiver of the eyelids told that Roy was once more coming back to the world; but after that it was not long before he could sit up and tell them what had happened.

He had managed to evade the eyes of the troopers, and had arrived at the serai just after the startled party had left it; had followed on their traces until he had lost his way. In despair he had been stumbling along aimlessly when Tumbu had suddenly appeared. Following his lead, he had struggled on, gradually benumbed by cold, until at last his feet had failed him, and he remembered no more.

"Tumbu wanted Roy!" said little Prince Akbar gravely. "I told you he wanted something."

And Tumbu, hearing his name, roused his furry head from his furry paws and looked at his young master with his sharp, beady, black eyes, as who should say:

"Of course I did, because I knew you wanted him."

CHAPTER XII
SNOW AND ICE

The Captain of the Escort was not over pleased to find Roy when he came in the next morning, and said curtly that the boy, having found his way on foot, must make it on foot, and that none should wait for him. To this the Râjput lad made no demur. His long limbs on that hilly country were more than an equal even for Horse-chestnut's climbing powers, and the cold was so intense that it was a relief not to sit still on horseback. So he raced on ahead with Tumbu or held by Horse-chestnut's stirrup, and, as he ran, told stories to amuse the Heir-to-Empire; for neither of the nurses was in a fit state to do more than sit tight, tied by leathern belts to the troopers behind whom they rode.

About sunset time they arrived at a lonely shed at the beginning of the highest bit of the main road, which they were now obliged to take, as there was no other way over the mountains ahead of them. Here, at the end—as poor Head-nurse wailed—of the habitable world, the Captain of the Escort had expected to find the remainder of his men; but they were not there, and as his provisions were running short, he could not go on till they did arrive. So, in an ill humor, he ordered a halt, and the whole outwearied party hastily cooked themselves a meagre supper and lay down in hot haste for rest at last. And rest they had, for that night the snow, which had been threatening, began to fall, and by daylight a good nine inches lay on the ground. The children, who had never seen such thick snow before, were delighted; but Foster-father looked fearfully at the passes before them, while the Captain of the Escort fumed and fretted at the non-arrival of his men. Unless they came soon, he said, if more snow fell, the pass immediately in front of them might be closed for days. Not that there seemed much likelihood of further storm, for the sky was blue as blue, the air, though keen, pleasant. About noon, there being still no sign of the missing men with provisions, the captain became impatient, and told Foster-father curtly that he and his three troopers would ride back some fifteen miles to a village, where perchance the others were waiting, and that meanwhile the rest of them could wait till he returned; there were provisions enough for a day or two. Foster-father protested against being left alone in the snow with but a boy, two helpless women and two young children; but the Captain only laughed and rode off, taking with him Horse-chestnut, as a precaution, doubtless, against any attempt to escape with the Heir-to-Empire.

There was nothing to be done, Foster-father felt, save to wait with what patience he could; but his heart sank as, while Head-nurse and Foster-mother slept, outwearied by the past two days' fatigue, and the children under Roy's care played snowballs, he sat and watched the sky. At first there was only a cloud or two in the west; then a sudden wind sprang up and drove the fine, powdery snow in drifts. But still the sun shone, though it seemed to grow a little dimmer, a little paler; finally, about two hours after the others had left, Foster-father felt uncertain whether it was all drift that seemed to fill the air with a fine white film, or whether fresh snow was falling.

An hour later there was no doubt about it. Great flakes were circling down silently, the sun had vanished, all things had become grey. Head-nurse heaped up the fire, set a quilt before it for the children to play upon, and then opened out the wallets to see what she could find for supper. There was not much left, and she was about to knead up all the flour to bake hearth cakes when Foster-father crossed over to her and whispered:

"Half will do, sister; otherwise there may be none for to-morrow."

"None?" she echoed. "But they will be back–"

Foster-father pointed to the snow that, driven now by a rising wind, had drifted underneath the door. "Not through that, sister! We may have to stay here till the weather moderates, for none save friends will risk their lives, and these men love us not!"

But even as he spoke there was a bustling at the door, Tumbu flew forward, barking loudly, and in stumbled–

Old Faithful and Meroo the cook-boy!

They were heavily burdened, half-blinded by the snow, and they had a disquieting tale to tell. About twelve miles back, just as the snow began to fall, their party, which had been delayed on the main road by a flooded river, had come upon the Captain of the Escort and his three troopers. Then had ensued a hurried consultation, in which several of the men had flatly refused to go on in face of the coming storm. It was, they said, sheer madness. Better return to the nearest township and await better weather. As for the prisoners, they had food enough to keep life in them for a day or two, and after that they must take their chance. Whereupon Old Faithful and Meroo had offered to go on, carrying some of the provisions they had with them, and trusting to be able to follow the tracks left by the horses in the snow. This had been agreed upon, and—here they were!

"For," as Old Faithful went on, "see you, I am not afraid of snow, having been with Babar the brave (on whom be peace) when he marched from Herât to Kâbul and was nigh lost on the Great Zirrin pass."

Little Akbar, who was playing at cat's cradle with his sister, looked up eagerly. "Was Grand-dad ever in the snow? 'Cos if he was, he's quite sure to help us, for he ate all our sweeties, didn't he, Bija?"

The little girl shook her head and put her finger to her lip, in warning to him not to give away their secret; but Head-nurse was sharp.

"Ohé," said she, "so that was it! Listen, Foster-father! these babes set the platter for Firdoos Gita Makâni—on whom be peace! Is not that good omen for us all?"

"Mayhap!" said Foster-father, clearing his throat cautiously, "and my heart is comforted also by the presence of Faithful, who was with the great king in his battle with snow and ice."

The Heir-to-Empire dropped his cat's cradle and went over to the old trooper and stood before him with grave, questioning eyes.

"Is it so, slave? Were you with Grand-dad in the snow?"

"Most-Honourable! I was," replied the old man boastfully, "and I remember as if 'twas yesterday–"

"Tell us the tale, trooper," interrupted Head-nurse. "'Twill hearten us all up ere we sleep, since there is naught else to be done."

"That will I, mother," replied Old Faithful with alacrity, "and in the very words of my revered master as written in that book of books, his Memoirs, which doubtless the most Learned-of-the-Universe will read some day."

Mirak, who was back at his cat's cradle, looked up with grave superiority.

"Nay, slave! They shall read it to Akbar. He will be King."

"Hark to him!" ejaculated Foster-mother, delighted. "His words are all fortunate."

"We have need of more fortune by works, not words, woman," said Foster-father sternly. "So proceed, friend Faithful; the recitation of brave deeds can never come amiss."

Old Faithful settled himself by the fire and began. "First you must know that Firdoos Gita Makâni, or Babar the brave, had to get back to Kâbul, because wicked men were waiting to be punished. Now, it was winter time, and none dreamed of travelling over the passes at that season. But Firdoos Gita Makâni was not one to hold back when a thing had to be done. So we started, and this is what happened, in his own words:

"From the time we left Herât it snowed incessantly; the farther we advanced the deeper it became. After three days it reached above the stirrups. In places the horses' feet did not reach the ground; yet the snow continued to fall. One Bishâi was our guide. I do not know whether it was from old age, or from his heart failing him, but having once lost the road, he never could find it again; so, as it was not to be found with all our exertions, we were brought to a complete stand. Seeing no other remedy, we returned back to a place where there was abundance of firewood, and despatched sixty or seventy chosen men to retrace our footsteps and find on lower ground any people who might be wintering there, and bring back another guide. We halted thus for three or four days awaiting the return of our messengers; but when they did appear it was without any one to show the way. Placing my reliance on God alone, therefore, I went on. For about a week we continued beating down the snow so as to form a road, only advancing two or three miles a day. Accompanied by ten or fifteen of my personal followers, I worked myself with the others. Every step we took forward we sank up to the middle, but still we went on, trampling till we got firm foothold. And as the first person wearied of the exertion, he stood back and another took his place. So, after a time, we managed to lead on a riderless horse. It generally sank to the stirrups, and after floundering on a dozen paces was worn out. But the second did better. Thus in this way the twenty or so of us managed to prepare a sort of road for the rest, who with hanging heads (though many of them had seemed our best men) advanced along it without even dismounting! But this was no time for reproof or authority. Every man of spirit hastens to such work of himself, and the rest do not count. In this way after three or four days we reached a cave at the foot of the Zirrin Pass. That day the wind and storm were dreadful; the snow fell in quantities; we all expected to meet death together. The snow was so deep, the path so narrow, the days were at shortest. The first of the troops reached the cave while it was yet daylight; but some men had to wait for morning on horseback. The cave seemed to be too small for all, so I would not go in. I felt that for me to be warm and comfortable while my men were in snow and drift; for me to sleep at my ease while my followers were in trouble and distress, would be unfair. I felt that whatever their sufferings might be, I ought to share them. So I took a hoe and dug down into the snow as deep as my breast; this gave me some shelter from the wind, and I sat down in the hole. By bedtime prayers the snow had fallen so fast that four inches of it had settled on my head–'"

Here Old Faithful paused and shook his head gravely. "His Majesty," he went on, "writes in the margin, 'That night I caught a cold in my ear.' It is only wonder he did not catch his death."

"But what happened next?" asked Akbar impatiently. "Did poor Grand-dad sit in the snow all night?"

"No, Most-Honourable. He goes on to say, 'The cave was properly explored and found to be large enough to hold us all. So I ordered all to go in, and thus we escaped from the terrible cold, snow, and drift, into a wonderfully warm, safe, comfortable place. And next morning the snow and tempest ceased and we moved on, trampling down the snow as before; but ere we quite got through the pass, night fell. Though the wind had fallen, the cold was dreadful, and several lost fingers, toes, even hands and feet from frostbite, as we waited for dawn in the open. As early as we could we moved down the glen, descending, without road, over difficult and precipitous places, the extreme depth of the snow enabling us to pass over countless dangers. Thus our enemy became our friend.

"'It was evening prayer time ere we got from the mouth of the valley, bedtime prayers when we reached the village of Auleng. The people carried us to their warm houses, brought out fat sheep for us, a superfluity of hay and grain for our horses, with abundance of wood to kindle our fires. To pass from the cold and snow into such a village with its warm houses, to find plenty of good food as we did after days of hunger is an enjoyment that can only be understood by those who have suffered similar hardship, have endured such heavy distress.'"

Old Faithful paused and sighed. "That is so like Firdoos Gita Makâni," he said. "When danger was over he would sit down and write beautiful things about it; but when it was there he never seemed to think of anything but trampling it down."

"That is like all Kings," said Roy proudly, "and brave men are always Kings in danger."

But Foster-father was looking at the fire. "Abundance of fuel," he murmured, "that is what we have not."

"We shall not need it here, friend," replied the old trooper. "Meroo, remove that log; 'tis too hot as it is, and if the snow continues to drift as it was doing a while agone—" he moved to the door, which opened inward and set it wide. A great white wall reaching almost to the eaves showed filling up the doorway! "It is as I thought," he said; "we are prisoned here till the storm passes. Thank God we have provision enough for some days."

"And thanks to others also," put in Foster-father heartily; "but for thee and Meroo, old friend–"

"As Firdoos Gita Makâni used to say," remarked the old man with an air of great virtue, "'Gratitude comes when danger has gone,' so she must wait a bit yet."