Land of Hope and Glory (47 page)

Finally, he held the yantra still and it blasted him with light. A cool, liquid sensation enveloped him. He was in.

He opened his eyes and everything looked sharp and clear. He could see every leaf on the trees about him, every drop of rain as it hurtled down, each soldier charging up the slope.

He thought about William, recalling his friend’s size and shape and the way he moved. Then he stood, raised the glass and began his search. The pale stone and the four turrets of the White Tower leapt before him. Smoke puffed from the windows and dust danced on the walls as they were struck by musket fire.

To the left of the keep lay open ground, across which attackers streamed as they searched for an entrance to the building. To the right stood a wall studded with a pair of bastion towers. Ladders had been raised against the wall and the rebels fought the enemy along the battlements.

He surveyed the first bastion and made out the rebels on the roof firing at their assailants on the wall below. He then followed the wall, where further men fought with knife-muskets and fists, and reached the second bastion. A small group of rebels on the roof shot and hurled rocks down at attackers hidden on the other side of the perimeter wall.

Jack paused and concentrated on the group of rebels. There was a tall man with a shaven head amongst them. Jack watched closely. The man fired down with a musket, reloaded, peered over the battlements, then fired again. Could it be . . . ?

Distantly, Jack was aware that his wound was flaring again. His new healing power had given him only a temporary reprieve and the sattva-fire in his chest would burn brighter the longer he stayed in the trance. His breathing was thin and once again the pain crackled down his left arm. He couldn’t hold on for much longer.

He concentrated harder on the tall man in the tower, the figure becoming brighter and clearer, as though viewed through an increasingly powerful glass. The man turned for a moment and Jack made out the face.

It was William.

Jack threw himself out of the trance and the force of the pain knocked him back against the tree. His head hit the trunk and he slid down as darkness roiled at the bottom of his vision. He swallowed down air, fought to stay conscious. As the darkness solidified, he scrabbled with his mind to recall the healing yantra. He saw one part of it, then another, then finally the whole design.

He held the yantra still and immediately his breathing eased. He lay on the ground for a moment, panting. This healing power was going to be useful.

As soon as he was strong enough, he climbed back to his feet, leant against the tree and squinted up at the bastion tower through the glass. Despite no longer being in the trance, he could still see William, although not with the same degree of clarity.

He picked up the musket. The weapon was wet from the rain – the wood and steel shiny – but that wasn’t a problem for a percussion firearm. The old flintlocks had needed protecting from moisture – in the rain you had to keep the lock covered with a piece of leather, or hold the weapon under your armpit – but these new firearms were much less vulnerable.

He hung the musket across his shoulder and took a deep breath. This was it. He was going to get close to William and then do what he had to do.

He looked up at the bastion tower again. Somehow, he had to get in there, but he also had to avoid the fighting. The perimeter wall, which bounded the lawns and the keep, ran nearby to the right, and a set of stairs led up to the battlements. If he could get up there, then he could follow the wall to the tower.

He glanced around. There was no one else in this corner of the grounds and no one between him and the steps. He left the trees and ran up the slope, keeping close to the wall. His chest still hurt and he couldn’t go much faster than a jog. The spyglass slapped against his chest and the musket bounced on his shoulder.

Breathing heavily, he reached the steps and looked around. No one seemed to have noticed him, but he would be more exposed once he was up on the walkway.

He charged up and crouched beside the battlements. On the far side of the wall was a cobbled street, followed by a further wall, towers, and beyond these the grey expanse of the Thames. About a hundred attackers had made it into the street and were firing up at William and his men in the tower.

Jack ran along the wall, staying hunched. He would be clearly visible to William and the rebels if they looked in his direction. He noticed a small entrance where the tower met the perimeter wall, and he raced towards this, hoping to get inside before he was spotted.

On the far side of the tower, the attackers on the wall had overpowered the rebels and were now trying to batter down a door. Seeing this, William and the others rushed over to that side of the roof and fired down at their assailants. Their muskets clattered and burst and smoke welled around the top of the tower. But the attackers soon had the door open and flooded into the building.

William and his men disappeared from the roof, presumably rushing downstairs to meet the enemy.

Jack reached the archway, breath fiery, dark spots dancing before him, the ground far below reeling and spinning. Should he use the healing power again? No – there was no time.

He paused for a second to clear his head, then peered through the arch. Just inside was a small, empty room. At one end was a stairway, leading down, and at the other end an archway giving access to a dark corridor. He heard the sound of a fight in the depths of the corridor – shouts, cries, chimes of steel.

He slipped the musket from his shoulder, released the knife catch and held the weapon before him as he crept down the corridor. The noise of the fight grew louder. A couple of shots rang out. Footsteps. And then he heard William’s voice shouting something he couldn’t make out.

He ran to the end of the hall, pressed himself against the wall and looked around the corner. Before him was a long chamber with a high-vaulted ceiling. Pale light spilt in through the windows along one wall and a ghostly lace of rain fell outside. William stood in the centre of the room. About him lay several bodies, both rebels and attackers. A soldier, who appeared to be a Frenchman with his thick beard and shaved head, knelt in front of William, clutching a ripening wound in his belly.

William held a knife that was stained with blood.

The Frenchman tried to stand, but couldn’t. He looked up at William and spat. William wiped the spittle from his cheek, then grabbed the Frenchman by the hair and slit his neck as quickly and expertly as a butcher. A line of blood shot out and splattered on the stone floor. The Frenchman gripped his neck and fell to the ground, where he squirmed and moaned.

William now rushed to one of the windows and looked out.

Jack heard the blasts and cries of the battle outside. He raised the musket. His heart battered in his chest and the darkness collected like frost at the rims of his eyes and he was sure he was going to pass out at any moment. But he couldn’t let himself pass out, because this was it now. He had a clear shot. He had to do it. Elizabeth was relying on him to pull that trigger.

Only he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot his friend in the back.

He took a step into the chamber, still with the musket raised.

William spun round and his head jerked back as though he’d been slapped in the face. His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on the knife for a moment, but then his features warmed into a smile. ‘Jack. This is a surprise.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What? Are you going to shoot me?’

‘I have to get you back to Poole . . . my daughter.’

‘Yes. I remember. Don’t be crazy. Put the musket down. We’ll fight these bastards, then we’ll ride on Poole.’

Jack couldn’t help a bitter smile. How did William do it? How did he stay optimistic despite everything? ‘It’s finished. You can’t win now.’

‘Who says so?’

‘You know it as well as I do.’

William shook his head. ‘We can still win. The men will fight to the death to defend their King. We just need to push these bastards back from the Tower and then they’ll lose heart.’ He looked down for a second, then looked up again and fixed his gaze on Jack. ‘And if we don’t win, we’ll die honourably. Our deaths will be a message to our children and grandchildren to continue the fight, until one day we’re free.’

Jack swallowed. William always spoke well. ‘If you give yourself up, I can take you back alive.’ It was worth a try.

William laughed. ‘No.’

‘I don’t want to shoot you.’

‘Then don’t.’ William took a few paces forward. The knife was still in his hand and the blade had a dull sheen in the light from the windows. ‘It’s not too late. You can still join us.’

Jack shook his head and rested his finger on the trigger.

‘You’re really still with the Rajthanans?’ William asked. ‘You’ve seen what they’ve done to this city.’

‘No. I’m not with them.’

‘Then join us.’

Jack remembered the burnt farms in Hampshire, Charles dead, the old man being beaten on the road back from the market. Elizabeth would want him to fight for England. ‘I can’t.’

‘Thought I knew you, Jack.’ There was a slight tremor in William’s voice. ‘Go on, then. Shoot me.’

Jack clenched his jaw. He blinked. He hated the Rajthanans for what they were making him do. Even now they had power over him. Why should he do what they told him to?

But then he thought of Elizabeth. He was going to do it . . .

William snorted. ‘Thought not.’ His features softened, the anger draining away. In the grey light, with the falling rain behind him, he appeared lost for a moment.

Jack noticed how old his friend looked, his face criss-crossed by lines and furrows.

‘I’m going down there.’ William gestured to a set of stairs at the far end of the hall. ‘I’m going to keep on fighting. You follow me if you want to.’ He turned and began to walk away.

‘No.’ Jack’s voice was thick. He took a few paces to the side, still with his musket trained on William, until he was blocking the path to the stairs. He kicked away a musket lying nearby.

‘Out of the way, Jack.’

‘I can’t let you go.’ And yet he couldn’t bring himself to shoot his friend – not just like that, after all the years they’d spent together, after William had saved his life at Ragusa. Not really understanding why, he tossed the musket aside and it clattered to the floor. He took out the knife. If he was going to fight William, then at least he would do it fairly.

William’s forehead creased. ‘There’s no need for this, old friend.’

‘I’m taking you with me to Poole. One way or another.’

William tilted his head back. His eyes were two dark caves as he slowly nodded. ‘Very well. As you wish.’

William bent his knees and stood poised as if to begin a wrestling match. Jack did the same and they began to circle each other. The sound of the battle still rattled and pounded outside, but it seemed far away, as though the two of them were enclosed in a bubble. Jack recalled the sound of the men cheering in the wrestling tent, back when he was in the regiment. He and William had spent endless hours in that tent. He’d even fought William a few times – although his friend had always won easily. William was a strong man and the years didn’t seem to have weakened him at all. Jack felt only too aware of the ache in his chest, the shallowness of his breath. He couldn’t hope to win in a fight with William. Why was he doing this? Why not just pick up the musket?

They’d been prowling around each other for almost half a minute when William broke the spell and lunged with his knife-free hand, trying to grasp Jack’s arm. Jack danced aside and avoided the attack – at least his injury hadn’t slowed his reflexes.

‘Come on,’ William said. ‘If you want to fight, then fight. Otherwise let me get on with killing Rajthanans.’

Jack didn’t reply. If William was trying to distract and unnerve him, it wasn’t going to work.

William lashed out again, but this time, as Jack tried to dodge to the side, his friend lunged in the opposite direction with the knife. Jack had to lean sideways to avoid the blade, and in so doing ran into William’s arm. The blow hit him in the chest and he staggered back – not injured, just startled.

William flicked his arm around, the blade flashing straight towards Jack’s head. Jack ducked, but he needn’t have. William stopped himself from following through, the knife hovering inches from where Jack’s face would have been.

Jack slipped under William’s arm and was back upright in a second. A film of sweat covered his face and neck.

‘You never were a great wrestler,’ William said. ‘Step aside. I don’t want to hurt you.’

Jack struggled to get his breath back. ‘Can’t do that.’

‘You don’t look too well. Sure you want to carry on?’

Jack scowled. He was letting William get to him – wrestling was about the mind as well as the body.

He tensed his leg muscles, then sprang forward, jabbing with the knife. It was a desperate move, and he doubted it would work, but he needed to stop William talking.

William, as Jack had expected, stepped back in plenty of time and the knife prodded the air well short. But William kicked up, a move Jack hadn’t anticipated. William’s boot struck Jack hard in the arm and he almost let go of the knife.

As Jack staggered back, William leapt forward and swung his fist. The blow landed square on Jack’s nose. There was a flash and a ringing sound and Jack felt pain spread like hot liquid across his face. He gasped and fell on to his backside.

William towered over him, massaging his knuckles. He’d hit Jack with his knife hand – he could have used the blade if he’d wanted to, and then that would have been the end.

William smiled gently. ‘Give up, Jack. There’s no point in this.’

But an image of Elizabeth in the cell flickered in Jack’s mind and his nerves screamed and screamed. He jumped up and flailed wildly at William with his knife.

William was surprised and fell back awkwardly. Jack gave a guttural cry. His mind was empty. He swung the knife in a loose arc. But William saw the blow coming in plenty of time, moved to the side and grabbed Jack’s arm as it swished past. William yanked at the arm so that Jack was flung forward and dashed to the ground. The breath was punched out of Jack’s lungs and blackness threatened him. William grasped the arm tightly and wrenched it up behind Jack’s back. Now Jack was lying face down on the floor with his knife hand in a painful grip.