Land of Hope and Glory (20 page)

Jack coughed and found himself smiling despite everything.

William crouched down. Jack was sitting against a rock. He was still on the grass-covered slope, but the battle was over and the dust and smoke had cleared. He heard birds chirping in the distance and smelt wild flowers. Behind William, the rebels were busily packing their horses.

‘He’s awake, then.’ The man with the long hair and his arm in a sling appeared beside William and leered at Jack. His two front teeth were missing. ‘Shall I finish him off, then, sir?’

William shook his head. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

The long-haired man squinted at Jack for a moment, then looked back at William. He nodded slowly and walked off to join the others.

‘Don’t mind Harold,’ William said. ‘Just a keen young lad.’

Jack thought about the knife, but could no longer feel it stuck in his hose. He tried to sit up straight, but the pain was sharp in his side and he grimaced.

‘Easy there.’ William grinned. ‘Getting a bit old for this, aren’t you?’

Jack snorted. ‘Could say the same about you.’

William chuckled and rubbed his shaven head with his large hand. ‘Thought we’d lost you. You were out cold. If it wasn’t for Kanvar there, you’d be dead.’ He nodded towards the Indian man in the orange tunic, who stood aside from the others, gazing out at the green folds of the countryside.

Now Jack remembered – the man was a siddha and had attacked Sengar. Many questions formed in his head. ‘A Rajthanan? You have a Rajthanan helping you?’

‘He’s not a Rajthanan. He’s a Sikh.’

Jack had heard of the Sikhs, but had never met one. He’d been told they had their own country, separate from Rajthana, and had fought wars against the Rajthanans in the past. But he’d never fully believed that Indians would ever fight against each other.

‘The Sikhs are our allies now, since the crusade started,’ William said. ‘They’d like to see us give the Rajthanans a kicking. They’ve sent siddhas to help. Kanvar’s just joined us. Bit of extra firepower.’ William grinned. ‘Bet you lot didn’t see that coming.’

‘No.’ Jack couldn’t stop himself marvelling at William’s cunning and audacity. ‘You led us here, into the ambush. You knew we’d never guess you had a siddha.’

‘That’s right. I was sure you’d follow my trail. I see you haven’t lost any of your talents.’

Jack smiled ruefully. ‘Was that the plan all along? Since the first day.’

‘No, it wasn’t quite like that. Didn’t know what we were dealing with at first. Didn’t know
you
were with them for one thing. Thought we’d lost you at the Stour River, but I always have a backup plan – you know that. Gave us a bit of a shock when you showed up at the camp, but we put the plan into action straight away.’

Jack looked across the slope. There was no sign of the fight, except for two craters that had obliterated a section of the path. ‘What about the others? The French?’

‘All dead. No prisoners, you know how it is.’

‘The officers too?’

William nodded.

‘There was a young lieutenant—’

‘He fought bravely.’

Jack paused. ‘Good. He was a good officer. Would have made a good captain one day.’

William made the sign of the cross. ‘May he rest in peace, in that case.’

‘So . . . why keep
me
alive?’

William raised his eyebrows, then laughed. ‘Jack, I would never . . . Look, you must’ve had your reasons for helping them.’

William hadn’t changed. He was still as generous and loyal as he was tough. Jack felt a coil of sickness in his stomach when he thought how he’d hunted him. ‘Yes, there is a reason.’

William eyed him closely. ‘What?’

Should he tell William? Was there any point in lying now? ‘They’ve got my daughter, Elizabeth. They say she’s a rebel. She’s due to be executed.’

‘I see. And if you helped them, they would free her?’

Jack nodded. A blanket of shame settled over him.

William looked out over the hill, the sun bright across his craggy features. ‘You were in a tough spot. I understand.’

‘I don’t expect you to—’

William held up his hand. ‘There’s no need to talk about it any more.’

They both fell silent.

Jack could see that the rebels had almost finished their packing.

‘We’re off to London,’ William said. ‘The war’s changing. The Rajthanans have built up an army at Christchurch. They’re marching on London. It’ll be the decisive battle.’

Jack nodded, slowly absorbing this information. London – the stronghold of the rebel leader, Sir Gawain, and also of old King John III, who had somehow become caught up in the mutiny.

‘When we’re finished at London I’ll bring a force to Poole,’ William said. ‘We’ll get your daughter out.’

Jack’s voice caught in his throat. ‘They execute her in three and a half weeks.’

‘It’s three days’ ride to London. Less than a week’s forced march to Poole. We’ll do it.’

Was William serious? Was he mad? ‘You can’t win. The Rajthanans are too strong.’

William’s smile evaporated. ‘We can win. We can definitely win. The Rajthanans don’t have the will to fight in this country.’

Jack shook his head. ‘They’ll never give up the sattva.’

‘You remember Ragusa?’

Jack hesitated. ‘Of course.’

‘Didn’t look like we’d win there, did it? Outnumbered, outgunned. But we had spirit. It was us that won – the English.’

‘With Rajthanan guns.’

‘With our own blood. You were there. You saw it.’

‘It’s different. We had discipline. We had the Rajthanans running things.’

‘And we still have discipline. Look at these men.’ William motioned towards the rebels on the slope. ‘They will fight to the death, each and every one of them. And there’s thousands like them all over this country.’

‘It’s not enough. The Rajthanans have war avatars, better guns—’

William drew a dagger and glared at Jack. ‘I tell you, we’ll win.’

Jack stared back for several long seconds.

Then William’s expression melted. ‘Look what they’ve made us do. Two old friends. Fighting.’

Jack looked at the ground. ‘It’s not right.’

‘You could join us.’

A dark thought crossed Jack’s mind. If he joined the rebels he might get a chance to . . . to what? Kill William and take his body back to Poole?

William seemed to be considering this possibility as well. ‘No. They’ve got you by the balls. I can see that.’

Jack nodded and sighed. He couldn’t bring himself to deny it, and William would never trust him now anyway.

William called over to Kanvar. The Sikh moved suddenly, a statue come to life. He bounded across the slope like a mountain cat and squatted beside William. He was a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a thin face, black beard and wide, pale eyes.

‘Will he be all right now?’ William asked.

Kanvar leant forward, put his ear to Jack’s chest, listened for a few seconds, then sat back again. He felt along Jack’s side with his hand until Jack flinched from the pain, then he closed his eyes and hummed tunelessly for a few minutes. Jack noticed the scent of sattva building.

The Sikh was obviously a medical siddha. Jack had never been treated by one of those before. They were usually reserved for officers, if they were available at all, while the men were treated by ordinary doctors.

Kanvar jerked back slightly, opened his eyes and frowned. He stared at Jack’s chest, as though he could see right through the tunic, even the skin.

‘Sattva-fire?’ William asked. He knew about Jack’s accident – he’d been there when it happened.

‘Very severe.’ Kanvar met Jack’s eyes. His voice was soft, with a thick accent. ‘It is in your heart.’

‘I know,’ Jack said.

Kanvar shut his eyes again, hummed a little longer, then opened his eyes again and shook his head. ‘Strange.’

‘What?’ Jack asked.

‘I’m not sure . . . haven’t seen this . . . have to think.’ Kanvar muttered to himself in an Indian language, as if William and Jack had disappeared.

‘We haven’t got all day,’ William said.

Kanvar looked up in surprise, as if he’d been interrupted while meditating. ‘Oh. Yes.’ He leapt up, strode to his horse and returned with a small brown vial, which he handed to Jack. ‘This is jatamansi. Take one drop whenever you get an attack. You also have a broken rib. You need to be careful over the next week. You must let it heal.’

Jack took the bottle, examined it for a moment, then put it in his pocket. He was getting better medical advice these days than he’d ever had before.

Kanvar gave Jack a final stare with his pallid eyes, then left abruptly and walked across to his horse.

‘Strange one, that.’ William cocked his thumb at Kanvar. ‘Useful, though.’ He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to have to leave you here. I’m sorry about your daughter. If there’s anything I can do for her, I’ll do it. I promise.’

Jack saw Elizabeth in the cell for a moment and he swallowed hard. ‘William, why?’

‘Why what?’

‘The mutiny. You were a good soldier.’

William snorted. ‘A good soldier. Yes, I did as my masters told me. And where did it get me?’

‘You took the oath.’

‘You still believe in that?’

Jack recalled sitting cross-legged before the regimental standard, staring at the three red lions running in a circle, repeating his oath of loyalty to the army.

His heart beat faster. Jhala had betrayed him. He’d followed his commander without question all those years, but that seemed to have counted for nothing once the mutiny started.

He didn’t know what he believed in any more.

‘I know in your heart you’re with us.’ William dug his hand into the dry soil, raised it and let the grains run out between his fingers. ‘This is our land. The land of our ancestors. The Rajthanans have taken it from us and we have to get it back.’

Jack watched the dust spirit away on the wind. William’s goal was a dream that would never happen, but still, the slight tremble in his voice made Jack pause. William had always known how to inspire the men, encourage them when they were broken with tiredness and the task before them seemed hopeless. He was a good sergeant major.

The dust vanished and the breeze tugged at Jack’s hair. He thought of Elizabeth again and it felt as though the ground were slowly sliding out from under him. William was leaving for London, and with him went Elizabeth’s last chance.

‘Well, you take care of yourself,’ William said.

Jack couldn’t speak. He was failing Elizabeth. He tried to move, but the pain in his side was too severe.

‘You’ll probably want this.’ William took out Jack’s knife, spun it in his fingers and dropped it, tip first, into the soil, where it quivered, catching the light. He then handed over a few dry rations wrapped in a cloth. ‘You’re going to have to walk back to Poole.’ He motioned to the path running into the forest. ‘That’s the quick way back to the camp. Keep going straight. Ignore the turn-off. I’m sure you can find your way.’

William stood and turned to leave, then changed his mind. ‘I’ll look for you when all this is over. We’ll have an ale or two.’

Jack nodded. He couldn’t think of anything except Elizabeth. But as he watched William walk away, he realised it might be the last time he ever saw his friend. He wanted to call out something, but there was nothing to say.

The rebels filed past and William glanced down once, before leading his men away into the forest.

Harold looked down as well, shaking the hair out of his eyes and giving Jack a toothy sneer. ‘Traitor.’

Soon they were gone.

Jack shivered. When he sneezed, a shock of pain crossed his chest. He leant against the rock, the sun on his face and the wind hushing the grass. For a moment the fight that had just taken place, the mutiny, London all seemed like a strange dream. But the thought of Elizabeth brought him back to reality.

He retrieved the knife from where it stood like a tiny burial cross, then climbed, wincing, to his feet. He found he could walk – he didn’t feel as bad as he’d expected – but every time he turned his torso, even only slightly, his fractured rib lanced him.

He went up to the path and looked out across the endless, rolling green of England. The sky was deep blue with a range of white cloud far off to the north. The land of his ancestors. William had spoken well, as always, but it was just words. Empty words. William and the other rebel commanders were leading England towards a disaster. Thousands would die. Elizabeth would die.

He walked stiffly along the path in the direction William had taken. After a couple of minutes he stopped again. Bodies lay scattered a few feet down the slope. The French were on their backs, some with their mouths open and brows twisted, statues of pain, while others appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Lefevre looked calm, despite the jagged holes in his neck and chest.

Kansal and Sengar lay beside each other. Kansal had a dark-red wound in his stomach and his youthful face was pale. Sengar had no obvious injuries, and it was unnerving to see him lying there with his eyes open, as though he were still alive.

Jack tried to summon some satisfaction at seeing Sengar dead, but he felt nothing. What had Sengar said?
I’m not going to rot in this place
. It seemed, after all, that he would.

Jack crossed himself and walked on. He didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. Everything was pointless now that he’d lost his chance of saving Elizabeth.

He entered the cool forest and staggered downhill, tripping on tree roots. A stream bubbled beside the track and he stopped to drink. The water was icy, fresh and he drank for a long time. When he went to fill the water skin, he found he’d lost it at some point.

He stumbled on. After twenty minutes a path split off from the main track and headed east, the rebels’ trail turning down this new route.

He paused. He could either walk straight along the main track, going back to the camp, and from there begin the long hike to Poole, or . . .

Was there really a choice? How could he even think of following the rebels? They were on horseback and riding as fast as they could to London, through wild and largely uninhabited countryside. He would never catch up with them. And even if he did, what was he going to do? Fight all of them single-handed? Capture William?