"News! News!" he cried breathlessly. "Cover your heads with dust, ye
people, while ye thank the Merciful One that Khanzada Khanum of the
House of Babar hath found freedom, that after a long and godly life she
hath found rest and peace. Bismillah--ul----"
The long Arabic sentence went rolling through the Hall, while Kumran
stood stunned by the suddenness of his aunt's death. And yet it might
have been expected; the journey was far too trying for one of her years.
And she had risked it--for what?
With a rush Kumran realised that his promise still held good, and for
the moment disappointment, anger, savage desire for revenge swept away
his regret. Yet even he could not fail to be touched by the letter his
brother Humayon had sent him by the hand of the messenger. Dearest-Lady
had, he said, pled his, Kumran's, cause well, and he, Humayon, was ready
to forgive for the sake of the dead woman who had loved them both, whom
they both loved, and who had died with a smile.
But such softer feelings did not, could not linger long in a mind that
had no fixed belief in anything. Before a day had passed the feeling
that he had been tricked onto an oath he dared not break came uppermost
again. Foster-father was ordered back to his damp dungeon, the little
Heir-to-Empire and Roy were taken from the Palace and given over to the
charge of a man noted for his hardness of heart. Only the women and
little Bija, being of no account, were turned out into the streets to
beg or starve as they chose.
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