Land of Hope and Glory (18 page)

Jack nodded. He’d learnt the traditional Rajthanan gesture from Jhala. Apparently, centuries ago, Mohammedan sultans had ruled northern India. The ancestors of the Rajthanans had been forced to hide from the sultans’ armies, sometimes having nothing to eat but grass. Rajthanans, when camping, remembered those dark times by placing grass under their pillows and their scimitars beside them, should they need to move again in a hurry.

Kansal namasted solemnly and took the grass.

Jack watched him walk back to the fire. He was a good lad. In another time Jack could have been his sergeant. But they weren’t living in another time, and there was no point in thinking about things like that.

He gazed at the flames. Four days had passed since Jhala had given him his mission. But that still left three and a half weeks to find William. If he could just keep going, just keep following the trail – that was all he needed to do.

8

C
aptain Sengar sat on his horse and studied the terrain through his spyglass. His moustache rose and fell gently. It was a clear day, with little hint of the previous rains. Thick forest, sizzling with insects, smothered the hills to either side.

Jack sneezed. He felt cold, despite the warm day, and his bones ached. But at least the ride that morning had been easy and the tracks had been simple to follow, without him even needing to use his power. A crack of pain crossed his chest from time to time, but it was less severe than the day before.

Sengar stopped and adjusted the glass, his gaze fixed on one point in the distance. He gave an oily smile, handed the glass to Kansal and pointed into the hills. ‘Smoke.’

Jack looked to where Sengar had indicated, and even without a glass he could make out two grey cords rising from the trees several miles away.

‘You sure it’s them?’ Kansal asked.

‘There’s no one else out here,’ Sengar said.

It was true – they’d been riding through wilderness without seeing a single other person. And the tracks had been sparse, mainly animals. But on the other hand it could be woodsmen, or bandits.

They trotted ahead into the speckled darkness beneath the trees. The trail led along a track overgrown with brambles, and the trees were close together and shaggy with vines. The sound of birds and insects was loud enough for them to hear over the tread of the horses and the jangle of their kit.

After an hour they came to a clearing on the summit of a low mound. The smoke was much nearer now, straight ahead and only two miles away.

‘Back into the trees,’ Sengar said, and they rode quickly across the open space.

They went more slowly now and everyone was alert, glancing into the depths of the forest. The intricate mesh of green shadow and tree trunks prevented them from seeing much further than ten feet. Jack, still at the head of the party, was mindful of the last time they’d encountered William and he cursed Sengar for not giving him a weapon. What was he supposed to do if they were attacked again? At least he still had the knife – he could feel the cold metal against his skin.

Something rustled in the greenery off to the left. He stopped his horse and peered into the lattice of branches. He heard the sound again – it was coming from around thirty feet away.

The cavalrymen drew their pistols and cocked the hammers.

‘Wait for my command.’ Sengar held up his hand and gazed into the gloom.

The rustle grew louder and began moving towards them, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Jack’s hand crept towards the knife. The cavalrymen pointed their pistols into the woods and squinted. Twigs cracked and leaves shuffled. Whatever was making the sound was large and running now. It was only a few feet away.

And then he saw the squat form of a boar tearing through the undergrowth. The creature burst out of the trees, shot across the path and disappeared into the woods on the other side, giving a squeal as it went.

Several of the cavalrymen chuckled.

‘Your dinner,
Ros Porc
,’ Lefevre called up to Jack.

‘Silence!’ Sengar looked at Jack. ‘Carry on, Casey.’

They continued along the path and after fifteen minutes the trees thinned and opened into a glade, where a stream slithered across stones. On the far side of the clearing, the smoke rose in two grey lines that evaporated in the fierce blue of the sky. Jack sniffed and smelt the faint trace of the burning wood.

Sengar turned to his men. ‘We’ll scout ahead. Lieutenant Kansal, take three men to the left. Fire twice if you’re spotted. Casey, Lefevre, you come with me. The rest of you, wait here. If you hear shots, ride straight at them – where that smoke’s rising from.’

Sengar led Jack, Lefevre and another cavalryman into the forest, skirting the glade and crossing the stream where it wriggled back into the trees. The ground sloped upward and the undergrowth thickened.

They dismounted, tethered the horses and then Sengar took them uphill. They crept, bent double. Jack’s old training came back to him and he trod silently. The lumbering cavalrymen were noisy by comparison and he became concerned the enemy would hear them. He searched the woods for any subtle movement, any twinge of a branch or quiver of a leaf, that could indicate there was someone watching. But he saw nothing.

The climb was steep. Soon he was panting, his chest sodden with pain. He stopped, leant against a tree and tried to get his breath back. The others continued up the slope and he had to scramble to catch up with them.

He came out of the trees and on to a ledge of exposed rock at the top of the hill. Sengar and the cavalrymen were already lying down and peering over the edge.

Below was a cliff face at the base of which, half concealed by trees, stood two men. Both had scimitars at their sides, and two muskets leant against a stump nearby. The men appeared relaxed and were talking idly to each other.

Sengar raised the glass for a better view, then whispered, ‘It’s them. I recognise the one with the short hair from the ambush.’

Jack stared. He couldn’t make out the men’s faces, but he could see that one man’s hair was closely cropped, while the other’s was long and hung over his eyes. The long-haired man had his arm in what appeared to be a sling.

The short-haired man looked up the hill, to the right, and began gesturing excitedly to his comrade. The long-haired man stood up straight and grasped his musket with his good arm.

Sengar frowned and glanced behind him. ‘Damn it.’

Jack turned and looked up too. Trees covered the entire slope and near the top, amongst the dark green, a sharp light blinked on and off. He recognised it straight away – a heliograph.

They’d been seen.

The two men below ran off into the woods. Sengar drew his pistol and fired twice into the air, the sound ringing in Jack’s ears.

‘Back to the horses,’ Sengar said and charged down the slope, with Lefevre loping after him.

Jack followed as quickly as he could, sliding and skidding and grasping at branches to stop himself from falling. His breath caught in his throat. By the time he got to the horses the others had already mounted and Sengar was glowering at him.

Jack jumped on to his mare and they rode off towards the smoke, which was still visible between the trees. The main bulk of their party would already be ahead of them and Jack listened for the sounds of a fight, but heard nothing.

They broke into the open ground and charged across the stream, the wet stones crashing like smashed glass. Back amongst the trees, they slowed as they wound their way along the path.

Minutes later they burst into a clearing containing around ten army tents and a larger marquee. A fire, which had burnt down to the embers, stood in the centre. A smaller fire with a black pot hanging over it lay near the perimeter. The French had dismounted and were searching the tents.

Kansal rode over. ‘There’s no one. Must have just got away. Left most of their kit behind.’

‘Casey, which way?’ Sengar shouted.

Jack rode around the edge of the clearing, dodging the guy ropes of the tents. He tried to stay calm as he searched for tracks, but his chest felt crushed. Everywhere he saw the signs of a hasty departure – the sandy soil had been kicked around by men and horses in a hurry. On the far side of the camp he found the point where the horses had been picketed. The animals’ hoof prints and dung were thick. A fresh trail led around the edge of the glade and then struck off down a path.

He took a deep breath, his heart quickening, and called to the others.

They charged down the path in single file, Jack at their head and Sengar immediately behind. The track appeared to be little used and branches scratched at them as they raced past. It was hot and close beneath the canopy.

Jack glanced repeatedly at the ground to check that the trail was still there; the markings were fresh and easy to make out. He couldn’t hear the rebels – or see them through the dense forest – but they would be no more than ten minutes ahead. It seemed impossible now for William to escape. It was over.

But after fifteen minutes, the path widened and then forked, one route going west and the other east. Jack drew his horse to an abrupt halt and glanced at the ground. The main group of rebels had gone east.

But a single horse had gone west.

‘Which way?’ Sengar shouted. ‘Hurry up, damn you.’

‘Wait a moment.’ Jack jumped from his saddle and inspected the ground. The single horse had undoubtedly carried a rider, but who? Was it William? He couldn’t tell from the tracks. The markings of the horseshoes were all different, but he didn’t know which animal belonged to his friend.

Cunning. William still had a few surprises left.

Jack would have to use his power – there was no other way – and even with that it was going to be difficult.

He sat on the ground and crossed his legs.

‘We’re wasting time, Casey,’ Sengar said.

But Jack ignored him, closed his eyes and began to meditate.

Sengar paced up and down on his horse and muttered curses to Kansal in Rajthani.

Jack focused all his attention on the yantra. He hadn’t used his power for a day and he felt stronger than the last time he’d meditated. All the same, he found he was in only a medium stream and he struggled to enter the trance.

The yantra flickered and bounced in the pool of his mind. He saw Elizabeth as a child again and although he tried to shake off the memory, it kept returning . . .

She was sitting next to him on the riverbank near their cottage. The autumn sky was swollen with cloud and the river was sluggish and grey. In the distance, a hawk dipped and hovered above the fields.

He was telling her, yet again, the story of the quest for the Holy Grail, but then he noticed a tear well in her eye. It wasn’t hard to know what she was thinking.

‘You missing her?’ he asked.

Elizabeth nodded, her bottom lip jutting out. Katelin’s death had been hard on her – she was only seven.

Jack drew her to him, hugged her, felt her small head press into his side. ‘You had enough of the story?’

‘No,’ she said with a ring of determination.

‘All right. I’ll carry on, then.’

She’d always been fascinated by the old stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. He’d been telling them to her for years, just as parents had been telling their children in England and Wales for centuries. But the search for the Holy Grail was the part that enthralled her the most.

Once again he told her how the country had been in the clutches of black magic, how King Arthur’s knights set out in search of the Grail in order to free the land, how only three knights – Bors, Perceval and Galahad – were sufficiently pure in heart to find the Grail castle, how Galahad – the purest of the three – touched the Grail and so released the land from enchantment, how Galahad was later taken up to heaven, and how Bors alone returned to Camelot to tell the tale to King Arthur.

‘I’ll find the Grail one day,’ Elizabeth said.

‘Will you, now? So long as you don’t run off again.’

‘No, but I will find it.’

Jack glanced at her and the steel in her gaze surprised him for a moment . . .

Then the memory dissolved and Jack found himself in the trance, almost without realising it at first. He was surprised at how easily it had come. When he opened his eyes, the forest crystallised into sharp focus and the bright, fresh tracks wove before him like luminous smoke.

He concentrated on the trail of the single rider first, staring at the shining threads until blue spots floated before his eyes. He saw the long strands left by the horse mingling with the pearl-necklace bundles of the rider. Were they the markings left by William? To be sure he would need to know William’s exact size and weight and the actions he was performing as he swept past. But Jack had only seen William briefly at the train line and his friend had obviously changed in the past nine years. Despite staring at the trail for more than a minute he couldn’t tell for certain whether it was William’s.

He had only one option left – imagining himself into his quarry’s mind. Every tracker needed this skill, but it could be amplified by the trance, although it was still prone to error.