The Adventures of Akbar

by Flora Annie Webster Steel

Thus the summer passed and in early autumn King Humâyon, who had now wasted nearly a whole year in amusement, found it necessary to quell rebellion in a neighbouring province.

So the governorship of Kâbul was made over to a trusted noble of the Court, one Shurruf Khân by name, who was made as it were Regent for little Prince Akbar, who was left with his attendants in regal state at the palace in the Bala Hissar, while Queen Humeeda went back to India, taking Bija with her, on a visit to her mother's relations.

Roy, whose story had become known in the Court, was now made equerry to the young prince, and very handsome he looked in his chain armour, with the noonday sun all rayed and shiny in gold on his breast, in token that he claimed to be a Sun-hero. As, indeed, seemed likely, since the Afghan sentry's old Suryâmer friend had a tale about a young Râjah who had been kidnapped and, it was supposed, left in the desert to die. But whether Roy was the young Râjah or not, who could tell? They might send the story to Suryâmer and see what befell. Meanwhile Roy was happy, and little Akbar and he became more and more like elder and younger brother. How much in after years the prince owed to the companionship of this friend of his childhood it is impossible to say. Perhaps it accounts for the marvellous way in which the Great Emperor Akbar ruled his Hindoo subjects.

Humâyon had expected to return in a month's time, but luck was against him. A King cannot waste a whole year in amusement and so let wicked men have time to hatch plots without suffering for it. And Humâyon did suffer. He had to march and counter-march with winter coming on apace, until he was struck down by sudden illness. At first the news caused no alarm, for he was known to be strong and healthy; but there came a day when folk began to whisper that the King was said to be lying unconscious, that death might come any moment.

The news stirred the whole city of Kâbul to its depths. It had but lately passed into the hands of Humâyon. There were not wanting many who preferred Kumran, and Kumran 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 Khân in Humâyon's name; the next dawn saw the Iron Entry, after a brief scuffle, opened in the name of Kumran! 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 Khân was traitor! He had gone over to the enemy. Ere an hour was over Kumran, 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. Kumran'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.