I ride to the Sahib’s quarter. When I enter the Sahib is examining the two swords he has been given that morning. Under the light of the lantern the stones in the handle sparkle like stars. What craftsmanship! The Sahib tells me that one bears the name of Emperor Jahangir and the other of the Persian invader Nadir Shah. He is not very happy. ‘That’s all I got from Wilson Sahib Bahadur,’ he says. ‘Not even a shabash. I wish I had killed the old badshah and his puppy.’

‘Sahib, if you had given me the slightest hint, I would have severed their heads from their bodies.’

‘I know,’ I know,’ he replies impatiently. ‘I would have done it myself. But the white man’s word has to be honoured. Now it will be different. I have permission to get the king’s other sons and nephews. They are the badmashes who murdered the memsahibs and their little babalogs. Wilson Sahib says, “Do what you like but don’t let me be bothered with them.” Tell Subedar Man Singh to be ready with a hundred sowars at the same time tomorrow. This may be dangerous work. There’ll be plenty of rum when this is over.’

Next morning I had great trouble getting the men ready in time. Subedar Man Singh had to shout at them. But Hodson Sahib arrived with another gora, Macdowell Sahib, and the one-eyed Rajab Ali. We were in our saddles lined up in front of the mosque. The two sahibs rode in front with Rajab Ali and myself directly behind them. (I was on his blind side so we did not even have to exchange glances). Behind us were our two subedars and then the hundred Sikh sowars with the ends of their turbans fluttering in the morning breeze and their spears glittering in the light of the morning sun. Rajab Ali didn’t try his buk buk about the ancient buildings of Dilli on me.

We arrived at the northern gate of Humayun’s mausoleum. And as soon as we arrived, a crowd began to collect around us. Some came from Arab-ki-Sarai, next door, some from Nizamuddin. The roofs and walls of buildings were soon full of people. Many men were armed with carbines.

Once more Rajab Ali goes in. Once more we hear yells of ‘Allah-o-Akbar’. We can hear them coming nearer and nearer the gate. Slowly the gates open. A cart appears, drawn by two humped oxen, with three men sitting huddled on it and the one-eyed Rajab Ali standing by the wheel. Behind the cart a mob of sullen-faced, evil-looking men armed with carbines and swords. The sahibs mount their horses and ride up to the cart. Hodson Sahib commands: ‘Rajab Ali, identify the three prisoners.’

Rajab Ali puts his hand on one: ‘Mirza Mughal Bahadur.’

The man steps out of the cart and with trembling hands offers his sword. Macdowell Sahib takes his sword.