And how would she fare once he was gone? He needn’t worry. She was old enough to look after herself now. And she had Godwin, who was better than nothing.
He gazed along the track and saw that Kanvar had almost vanished into the distance.
He would die, but Elizabeth and his grandchild would live on.
4
Jack squinted down the road. It twisted off along Clun Valley, between hills that rolled away to either side. In the distance he made out a column of people on foot, wispy dust rising behind them.
‘Can you see them?’ Elizabeth asked. She knew her father had uncannily good eyesight.
Jack nodded. ‘About a thousand of them.’
A gust of wind tugged at the edges of Elizabeth’s bonnet. ‘So many.’
Jack stayed silent. A thousand was indeed a lot of people to have walked all the way from Wiltshire, but it was only a small fraction of the tens of thousands said to have fled from the army.
He glanced about him. Along the road, at various points, people from the surrounding villages had assembled to provide what support they could to the approaching refugees. A large contingent from nearby Newcastle stood on a slope on the opposite side of the track. Amongst them was Henry, his hands on his belt and his black cloak flicking in the breeze. Henry cast his eyes down at Jack and his mouth twisted with disgust for a moment before he looked away again.
Beside Jack stood Elizabeth, Godwin, Mark and six others from Folly Brook. They’d brought a mule cart bearing all the parsnips, turnips and carrots they could spare. This wouldn’t go far, but it would at least give a few hundred people a decent meal. There wasn’t much more Folly Brook could offer.
The refugees began arriving in small groups. Their clothes were dishevelled: hose torn, sleeves ripped, dresses and tunics stained, and bonnets grey with dust and sweat. Their faces were sallow and gaunt, and many had weeping sores or blisters on their exposed skin. A few bore sacks of possessions and one man even pulled a small cart behind him, but most appeared to have nothing more than the clothes they were wearing.
The villagers handed out food as the refugees passed.
A group of five women stumbled over to Jack. Elizabeth and the others offered vegetables, which the women wrapped up in pieces of filthy cloth.
‘God’s grace to you all,’ one of the women said in a wavering voice, her hand shaking as she accepted the food.
The women limped away up the road, their feet bare and bloody, save for one who wore a pair of boots so broken they flapped open with each step.
Jack felt Elizabeth grip his arm.
‘We should take them back to Folly Brook,’ Elizabeth said.
‘And what about the rest of them?’ Jack motioned to the column of people further down the road.
‘We should help some of them at least.’
‘Your father’s right.’ Godwin put his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘We can’t help them all.’
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and shot her husband a withering look. He coughed, lowered his arm and suddenly became interested in his boots.
The refugees streamed on, a thin haze of dust drifting around them and the wind dragging at their tattered clothing. The groups became larger and clusters of as many as thirty people staggered past. Parents carried their children on their backs and a few old people, who’d somehow survived, limped past using branches as walking sticks.
Jack stared into the distance and could only just make out the end of the train. He and the others from Folly Brook had already given away half their vegetables, and there were more than five hundred refugees still to come.
Then he thought he recognised someone in the crowd. Someone he’d known three years ago.
No, it couldn’t be. He was imagining things.
And yet . . . he found himself hunting through the throng once more, just to be sure. His gaze settled on a young man striding up the road with an elderly woman and five girls. The women were Mohammedans – Jack could tell immediately by their head-scarves and loose black dresses. But it was the young man who interested him most. Jack made out the lad’s white skullcap, locks of ginger hair and thin beard. He knew that face. There was no mistaking it.
Saleem.
Jack whispered a prayer under his breath. The boy had lived. Thank God.
Jack had met him on his way to London three years ago. They’d travelled together and eventually reached the city, all the while Jack pretending to be a crusader, when really, at that point, he was hunting William. He’d locked Saleem in a cellar when the Rajthanans attacked London. He’d done it to save the boy, but Saleem wouldn’t see it that way. No doubt Saleem would view him as a traitor. And Saleem wouldn’t be far wrong about that.
Jack stepped back and turned his face away from the road. What to do? He wanted to greet the lad, but what would Saleem’s reaction be? Would he call Jack a traitor in front of everyone? Jack couldn’t risk that. It didn’t matter if he were publicly shamed – in many ways he deserved it. What mattered was Elizabeth. He didn’t want life made difficult for her after he was gone.
‘Back in a moment.’ He set off down a short slope towards the woods nearby.
‘Where’re you going?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Just have to sort something out,’ he said, without turning.
He strode into the trees, walked a few yards and then paused, leaning against an elm.
He shook his head slowly. Look at him, skulking around in the forest like a coward. Saleem was just a young man. Jack should be prepared to face him. But he had no choice.
‘Father?’ Elizabeth came walking down the slope.
He set off along a track that snaked through the trees. After he’d gone a hundred yards or so, he stopped and looked back. There was no sign of Elizabeth. She must have given up and returned to the cart. He would wait here for a few more minutes and then head back himself. Saleem was bound to have gone past by that point.
He gazed up at the branches criss-crossing above him and smelt the mouldering leaves underfoot. There was no nagging pain in his chest, no shortness of breath. He felt better than ever. It was hard to believe he’d be dead in two months.
After around five minutes, he turned and went to head back up the track.
He stopped dead still and felt a tremor of nerves.
Saleem was standing on the path directly in front of him.
The boy had changed over the past three years – he was thinner, taller and his face had become more angular. But his wide eyes and wispy beard were the same. He clenched and unclenched his hands, while his bottom lip quivered as if he were holding back tears.
‘Saleem.’ Jack took a step forward.
Saleem pointed a finger at Jack, his hand shaking slightly. ‘I thought it was you. Don’t come near me.’
Jack opened his hands to show he wasn’t carrying a weapon. ‘Calm down, my friend.’
Saleem’s jaw shivered more rapidly. ‘I trusted you. You tricked me.’
‘I didn’t trick you. I just wanted to save you.’
‘We should’ve both been fighting.’
‘And then we’d both be dead. Look, the Rajthanans were already in the city. There was nothing you or I could have done to stop them. Sometimes it’s best to retreat and fight another day.’
‘You could’ve run away if you wanted. But you should have let me make my choice.’ Saleem beat his fist against his chest.
‘You were young. I did what I thought was right.’
‘You were a coward.’
Jack looked at the ground. He wasn’t a coward, he was worse than that. He’d betrayed the crusade and betrayed his friend. He’d never told anyone the truth, not even Elizabeth. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps he should tell everyone now, confess his sins before he died.
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s not as simple as you think.’
‘Seems simple to me.’
Jack glanced into the woods. If he didn’t confess now he never would. ‘You remember Wil
liam Merton, the rebel leader?’
‘Of course.’
Should he continue? What about Elizabeth?
He paused for what seemed a long time. Finally, he said, ‘William used to be my friend, back when I was in the army. I went to London to kill him.’
‘What?’ Saleem blinked. ‘Why?’
Jack sighed. ‘My daughter, Elizabeth. The Rajthanans had captured her. My old commander, Jhala, said he’d execute her if I didn’t give him William. He sent me to bring back William, dead or alive.’
‘And you agreed to that?’
Jack stared into Saleem’s eyes. ‘What would you have done?’
Saleem gritted his teeth. ‘You killed him, then.’
‘No. The Rajthanans did. But I let them do it.’
‘You stood by while William Merton was murdered.’
‘I had no choice. They would have killed my daughter.’
‘What would the people around here think if they knew that?’
‘Probably burn me at the stake.’
‘Perhaps I should tell them.’
‘Can’t say I don’t deserve it. But I hope you won’t. Truth is, I’m ill. I’ll be dead in a few months. But my daughter has to live here with these people. I don’t want her to suffer because of me.’
Saleem paused and his eyes flickered. ‘Is all this true?’
‘Every word.’
Saleem’s eyes went glassy again. His whole body slackened, as if all his strength had drained away. He looked down at the leaf litter. ‘You were a traitor all the time.’
‘Suppose so. But I support the crusade now. I’m a true Englishman.’
Saleem jabbed the toe of his boot into the soft ground and studied the mark it left.
‘We all have to make hard choices sometimes,’ Jack said.
Saleem nodded, and when he looked up Jack saw a grey tear running down one of his cheeks. ‘I did something wrong too.’ Saleem’s voice came out high-pitched and he struggled to continue.
Jack raised his hand. ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to—’
‘No.’ Another tear coursed down Saleem’s cheek. ‘I want to tell someone. There was a battle in Wiltshire. The Rajthanans were marching in. I should have stayed to fight but I ran away. My village was nearby and I had to warn my mother and sisters.’
‘You ran away to save your family?’
‘Yes.’ Saleem sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘But I was relieved too. I wanted to live. I was a coward.’
Jack walked over to the lad. ‘You had a hard choice to make and you made it. Those women on the road are your family?’
Saleem nodded, his eyes bloodshot.
Jack placed his hand on Saleem’s shoulder. ‘Then you saved them.’
Saleem put his hands over his face and sobbed, his shoulders shuddering. ‘I saw my friend die. There were creatures. I thought they’d kill me too but I just got away . . . And then we were walking for so long. Days and days. There were soldiers and bandits and we had to hide sometimes and we had no food.’
Jack’s throat tightened. Suddenly he saw Saleem for what he really was – a poor, lost lad. Jack didn’t know why he’d been so anxious about seeing the boy again.
He gripped Saleem’s shoulder more firmly. ‘It’s all right. You did well. You made it here with your family.’
Saleem nodded and managed to hold back the tears. ‘But what now? We’ve got no food. Where will we go?’
‘Don’t worry about that. You’ll get help here.’
‘Mother’s weak. She can’t take much more.’
Jack patted Saleem’s arm. He quickly made up his mind about something. ‘I have an idea. Come with me.’
A bonfire crackled and tossed sparks into the night. A large iron cauldron stood in the flames, the lid clattering as the pottage inside puffed like an avatar.
Jack warmed his hands as he crouched nearby on the grass. About half of Folly Brook had congregated in a circle about the flames. Elizabeth and Godwin sat with Jack, while Mark and another lad from the House of Sorcery huddled nearby. About a hundred yards away, the white-walled huts of the village shivered in the firelight.
‘They’re coming.’ Elizabeth pointed at Jack’s hut.
Seven shadows appeared from Jack’s doorway and bustled across the grass. As they came closer, the light filled in their features, and Jack could see Saleem, in his white tunic, herding his mother and sisters. The women stayed close to each other as they walked and shot nervous looks at the villagers. They’d refused to come out at first, but Saleem had clearly convinced them in the end.
Jack stood and waved his arm. ‘Over here.’
Saleem led the way across to Jack, but the women sat down in a tight group a few yards away, half concealed by the darkness. They held hands and kept their eyes down, whispering to each other.
Saleem shrugged at Jack. ‘They aren’t used to eating with men.’
‘It’s all right,’ Jack said. ‘At least you come and have a seat with us.’
It hadn’t been as simple as he’d thought to show hospitality to Saleem and his family. He’d forgotten how difficult Mohammedans could be. But he kept any irritation to himself. Saleem was a good lad and Jack would do anything he could to help him.
Saleem sat cross-legged between Jack and Elizabeth. ‘I can’t thank you all enough.’
‘How’s your mother?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘A little better. It’s a light fever. At least she can rest now.’
‘You let us know if she gets worse,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Mary can take a look at her.’
Tom the blacksmith, who was serving as cook tonight, lifted the lid of the pot with a cloth, stirred the contents, sniffed the rising steam and then turned to Jack and nodded.
‘Right.’ Jack stood and clapped his hands. ‘Everyone listen.’
The villagers quietened and looked up at their reeve.
Jack smoothed the rumples in his white surcoat, the material gleaming in the firelight. ‘I won’t bore you with a long speech. But I’m sure you’ll all join me in welcoming our guests from Wiltshire.’ He gestured to Saleem. ‘I have here Saleem and his family. We also have Guy and Faith staying with Mary.’ He pointed across the fire to two further refugees. ‘And Tom has taken in Roland.’ He motioned to an old man in ragged clothes. ‘They’ve come a long way and faced many hardships. I’m sure everyone will do their best to help them while they’re here. God’s will in England.’
‘God’s will in England,’ murmured the small gathering.
Jack sat down and the villagers began talking amongst themselves again. Tom spooned pottage into bowls and handed them around. It was simple fare – barley, peas and beans – but it was the best Folly Brook had to offer.
Saleem gulped down the steaming food and emptied his bowl in less than a minute. Jack grinned and waved over Tom, who refilled the bowl.
Godwin finished his food and shifted on his haunches so that he was facing Saleem. ‘So, you fought the Rajthanans.’
Saleem lowered his spoon and looked up. ‘Yes.’
‘What was it like?’ Godwin asked.
‘Leave him, Godwin,’ Jack said. ‘He’ll talk about it when he wants to.’
‘It’s all right.’ Saleem placed his bowl on the ground. ‘I don’t mind. I can tell you what it was like. Terrifying. The Rajthanans are led by Mahasiddha Vadula. Suppose you’ve heard of him.’
‘We have,’ Godwin said. ‘An evil man, they say.’
‘Yes.’ Saleem picked at the grass. ‘It seems that way. We heard lots of stories in Wiltshire before the army came. They say things are bad in the Rajthanan lands. Vadula’s men are cruel and the people are treated like slaves.’
Jack had heard this before – similar stories had made their way to Shropshire over the past few years. After Vadula had taken London, and imprisoned King John in the Tower, he’d been appointed Raja of All England and had immediately carried out brutal reprisals. Suspected crusaders were hanged, villages
were torched and whole communities were forcibly moved to work in other parts of Europe. The oppression continued to the present day, with all English people living in fear of Vadula’s soldiers.
‘We planned for a long time in Wiltshire,’ Saleem said. ‘We always thought Vadula would come one day. But there were so many soldiers. And Vadula had black magic . . .’ Saleem paused. The fire spluttered and popped. ‘We couldn’t hold them. I managed to get back to my village, but most of my friends didn’t make it.’
Everyone sat in silence for a moment.
Wind buffeted the fire and sent smoke and sparks trailing into the dark. Elizabeth shivered and drew her knees closer to her chest.
‘Enough,’ Jack said. ‘Let’s stop this talk. This is supposed to be a celebration.’
‘Aye,’ Mark said. ‘We’ve got food and friends. What more could we want?’
The villagers began talking again, but more quietly than before. The night seemed colder now and the dark was like a heavy weight, pressing in on them from all around.
‘Constable Ward told me to tell you particularly, Master Casey.’ The young squire stood in the open ground near the House of Sorcery, his thin hair pushed around by the wind. He glanced at the building, as if a demon could leap out of it at any moment.
‘Go on.’ Jack folded his arms across his chest. What could Henry want with him now?
The squire swallowed. ‘It’s the Rajthanans, sir. Vadula’s planning to march on Shropshire.’
Jack paused for a moment. The light seemed to dim slightly. He’d known this day would eventually come but it was still a blow. ‘Henry’s sure about this?’
‘Seems so, sir. The Council got word the other day.’
‘How long before they get here?’
‘Four months. The army’s still gathering in Worcestershire. They’re waiting for reinforcements from Europe.’
Jack nodded. If the Rajthanans were waiting for reinforcements it could certainly be four months before they marched.
It wasn’t hard to understand why Henry had sent this message. Normally, there would be no reason for him to advise the reeve of a small village. Clearly, he was trying to pressure Jack into joining the expedition to Scotland. Perhaps he was testing Jack too, trying to see whether Jack really was as loyal to the cause as he claimed to be.
The Place of Dead Kings Page 7
