Knightfall - Book 1 of The Chronicle of Benjamin Knight

by Robert Jackson-Lawrence

  Morning rapidly became lunchtime and then mid-afternoon, but they were no further southward than they had been the day before. Peter was again at Catrina’s side, keeping his promise, and he could see that she too was worried. She wouldn’t admit to it; in fact she would barely acknowledge him at all, but he could see it in her eyes, a fleeting glimpse of her own mortality.

  Peter had already assumed that the soldiers knew who they were, perhaps even where they were, and they were coming for them. That was what the announcement was to be, a celebration of their capture and later the execution.

  Later, he failed to feel solace in the fact that he was only partly right.

  As the afternoon dragged into evening, they had the impression of huge fires constructed at the head of the convoy, great funeral pyres saluting the sky. Each was lit around nightfall, drawing the hordes of people towards them like moths to a flame. This was to be the announcement, the event to which the whole day had been built, and they would be dammed if they weren’t going to get a good seat.

  Unable to resist the tide, Peter and the others were carried along with them, dragged forward to the front of the convoy. Though they were a hundred metres away, they could still feel the heat from the roaring blaze.

  They had a better view now. From where they were amongst the crowd, they could see two fires, each taller that the Road Trains and reaching gracefully into the sky. Between the two, a gantry had been erected, and upon that was placed the chair, or perhaps it should have been called a throne.

  Though it had taken all day to organise, Alexander was pleased with the construction. To be accepted as leader, he had to be a showman, after all. When the pages of history were written, he would be remembered not by his words, but by his deeds, and now he wanted to give them something to write about.

  When the intensity of apprehension in the crowd was sufficient to meet the intensity of the fires, Alexander made his grand entrance. With bold strides, he trod the length of the gantry and back again before taking his seat, greeting the crowd with waves and mock bows as they cheered his arrival. Peter and Catrina were half crushed in the surge as those at the back strained to get closer, fearful of missing a single word or gesture. With a movement of his hand, Alexander bade the crowd to be still and silent, and Peter and Catrina were allowed to breathe again.

  “People of Island City,” he began, rising from his chair, “the road has been long and hard upon us all. We all knew that it would not be easy, but I never would have believed that some of those amongst you would have purposefully tried to hinder us in our great mission. And yet, each night as I lie sleeping, I hear of destruction, of shootings. I hear of men that would serve under me being beaten, injured, and killed, and I cannot help but feel responsible. I say to you, my people, that it ends, now, this night!”

  There was a cheer as Alexander threw his arms aloft. Though he had so far told them little that they didn’t already know, the combination of lights and gestures had whipped the crowd into a frenzy.

  As the cheers died down, Alexander bade the crippled body of Tom to be brought before him. He was still breathing, but he no longer had the strength or inclination to bear his own weight.

  As the crowd watched in muffled silence, a second chair was placed upon the gantry and the broken body of the prisoner was strapped to it. The bonds were tight about his arms and legs, but pain barely had any meaning for him anymore. As the crowd continued to watch, it was Alexander himself who tied the final strap around the boy’s mouth, securing his head tightly to the back of the chair so that all the crowd would have chance to see his face.

  “This,” Alexander continued, his words intermixed with a combination of flamboyant gestures, “is one of those people. He has willingly admitted to me that he was responsible for the murder of two brave soldiers under my command, and for this, he knows the penalty.”

  There was another surge as those in the crowd scrambled to get a piece of the traitor, eager to spill his blood and cast him into the fire. Catrina stood transfixed at the sight of the battered and beaten Tom. He was no longer recognisable as the man that she had travelled with just a few weeks before.

  “Now, people,” Alexander continued, “I hear your cries for revenge, but guilty as he is, he has not acted alone. He wept only this morning as he knelt before me, begging for forgiveness for his crimes, for mercy in his punishment, and both of these I have seen fit to grant him.”

  There was uproar from the crowd, apparently denied their pound of flesh, but Alexander had not finished.

  “Wait,” Alexander ordered. “As he knelt before me, he admitted to me that he was not behind these atrocities. He does not wish to harm his own people; he was merely influenced by the actions of others. In return for the mercy that we, his people, can offer him, he has willingly given me the names of those that ordered him, forced him to do what he did. It is these people that must be brought to justice, these people that have orchestrated this reign of terror upon us, and I say that it is these people that must pay the price.”

  Catrina had barely heard a word of what Alexander had said. She had the sensation of Peter on her left, pulling forcibly on her arm, but in her mind, she was slipping away.

  He would have been six next summer, her Daniel. Six years old. They grew up so fast, her babies. It felt like only yesterday when she had held him in her arms for the first time. No, not yesterday.

  Yesterday was a bad day.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Who was that man with her Daniel, so far away from her, from a mother’s loving embrace?

  “My officers have already been given the names and descriptions of all those that are responsible for the recent attacks against our people, and it is only a matter of time before they are apprehended and brought to justice,” Alexander informed the crowd.

  They grow up so fast, already a man.

  “I have reason to believe that they are out there now,” Alexander continued, “amongst you, claiming to be your friends and allies whilst all the time they are looking for the opportunity to kill you in your sleep or stab you in the back.”

  Why were they keeping him from her?

  “If these people will reveal themselves now to my officers, they will also be shown mercy if they repent of their crimes.”

  He would have been six next summer.

  “If you know, or suspect you know, who these people are, make them known now to my officers and your actions will be rewarded.”

  Would have been.

  “I promised you, my people,” Alexander said at last, “that this would end this night, a promise I will keep, but I must also say to you this. Whether it is this wretch or those he calls his master, this night justice will be served!”

  Would have been. Those three words tore through her heart like a knife, a wound that could never be healed. She had been struck the greatest blow that she would ever receive, the loss of a child, her children. Yet here was her Daniel and she could still save him, a man, six next summer. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

  Peter held tightly to her arm, but he barely had the strength to hold her back as she attempted to fight her way through the crowds towards her son. He couldn’t help but notice the strange looks that those around were giving her, and waited with baited breath for the first shouts for the guards.

  Impossibly, he caught Conrad’s gaze across the crowd, eyes locking for a mere fraction of a second and then passing. They saw the same terror and revelation in each other’s eyes. They both knew that Tom was already dead, whether they revealed themselves or not, and if they stepped forward or were brought forward, they too would share his fate. They could only assume that what Alexander had said had been correct, that Tom had been broken and that the noose was closing rapidly around them, beginning to draw them in. Seeing the state that he was in, what else could he have done?

  “My patience is short,” Alexander continued, removing a pistol from within the confines of his coat. He carefully checked that it was loaded and dr
ew back the hammer in full sight of the crowd before levelling it against the boy’s cranium.

  The crowd was in a minor state of panic as hordes of soldiers strode through it, responding to the calls and cries of civilians willing to cast their friends and families in front of Alexander for the possibility of reward. Every petty rivalry and neighbourly dispute was brought to mind as people saw the eyes of traitors and murderers all around them.

  It didn’t matter how many there were, or how long it took. Each name or face brought to their attention would be questioned, interrogated, or executed entirely on Alexander’s whim. He had been forthright in his conviction that there would be no more attacks, and he would stand by it. History was judging him on his actions, after all. If he were seen to be weak now, they would never follow him later, when they were most needed. Fear would only take them so far.

  As the guards fought to maintain order within the crowd, the first cries went up from Peter’s right, drawing their attention. In the commotion, he had not realised that his grip on Catrina’s arm was slipping and others were attempting to pull her away from him and claim their reward as they turned her over to the guards. It took the last of his strength to pull her to his side, slipping his arm tightly about her waist where she continued to struggle as he fought his way backwards through the crowd.

  “Mine, civilian,” he screamed as what seemed like a hundred arms reached to try and remove her from his grasp. His worn and tattered uniform was barely recognisable beneath the weeks of mud and rain that covered him, but the pistol in his right hand demanded more respect. “And I shall take the reward.” He was only a reflex away from pulling the trigger.

  There was a roar from behind the gantry as nearly a hundred soldiers fired their weapons in unison into the air. Thankfully for Peter, it was sufficient to draw the attention of the crowd.

  Alexander spoke with determination, fully aware that the eyes of history were upon him. “I speak now to offer this young man a last chance at life,” he said. “He has willingly admitted to following the misguided orders of others and he is prepared to answer for his crimes, but he asked for mercy and I was prepared to offer it to him. If those that have led him so far from the path are as great as they claim, they too would throw themselves upon my mercy and spare this young man they have abused so cruelly.”

  There was a moment’s silence, a theatrical pause as Alexander scanned the crowd, waiting for the true villains to make themselves known. Friends could betray friends, family betray family, but someone who truly knew the wretch before him could not let him die without the faintest of reactions, and he was in the best position to see it.

  “However,” Alexander continued, “if they are the cowards that I suspect them to be, I will see that they are hunted down like skeets, and I promise my people this. My justice will be harsh that day.

  “I offer you the count of five until sentence is passed.”

  “One,” he shouted, beginning the count.

  For the moment, the crowd was fixated by the events in the stage, giving Peter the opportunity to edge away from those around him. Catrina was still fighting against him, trying in vain to get closer to the doomed man, but Peter was still the stronger.

  “Two.”

  All around him, soldiers and guards were escorting terrified faces towards the front of the crowd where they would soon find Alexander’s justice to be even harsher than he had warned. So far, Peter had not seen any of his companions amongst them, but it could only be a matter of time. The soldiers had their names and descriptions, after all.

  “Three.”

  Peter again found Conrad’s gaze across the crowd, more troubled and terrified than before. This time they held each other’s eyes for longer, pleading with each other to do something, to do anything to take them all away from that place.

  “Four.”

  Peter had never truly been a part of the group, having never travelled with the Road Trains, but even he could see that they were more than friends, more than a community, an extended family travelling the roads as one. Hence, it was strange that later, he alone could understand the why of Conrad’s actions.

  Conrad had only managed to mouth the words “it was me” before civilian and then soldier alike descended on him, driving him to the ground with a series of blows and kicks. Alexander took a moment to look up from his objective, to see the bloodied body of Conrad held aloft on many arms, and he offered the crowd a smile.

  “No mercy,” Alexander whispered to himself before announcing, “Five.”

  The noise of the shot was so loud that few believed that it had come all the way from the gantry. The crowd was stunned initially, but before long, the first cheer was heard, then another and another until every man and woman was screaming and shouting as one.

  Peter closed his hand tightly around Catrina’s mouth as she herself began to scream, but not with the pleasure of those around her. He felt sick as he joined in and cheered along with the crowd, wishing that they would turn their gaze away from him and back to the gantry and allow him to make his escape. It seemed like an eternity, but Catrina eventually went limp in his arms, the screams becoming sobs and eventually silence as he dragged and then carried her away.

  The force of the impact had knocked the chair onto its side, taking the boy’s lifeless body along with it, the bindings so tight that it was unable to fall limp where it lay. They watched now as Alexander returned to his chair while before him three guards gathered up the body and cast it casually into the nearest fire.

  Alexander had done all that he had set out to do. He had not only executed his prisoner, which was fun enough in itself, but he now had a sufficient collection of suspects that odds dictated should contain at least some of the other saboteurs that had been disturbing his sleep. Also, and perhaps most of all, he had now stirred up enough fear and paranoia amongst the general populace that they would follow him into fire if, no when, he gave the order.

  X

  Slight as she was, he could carry her no further. That night, it was impossible to leave the crowds to the relative safety of the woodland beside the road, and instead Peter had to join in with the festivities surrounding the fires. Everyone was keeping a cautious watch on everyone else and any unusual activities were being reported to the ever increasing numbers of soldiers.

  He had seen nothing of Simon or Donald since he had escaped from the frenzy at the gantry. He was unsure if they had been able to escape the witch-hunt that the day had become. If they were still free, he had no way to contact them now, not with everyone on the alert and having their descriptions.

  The sensation that he had felt earlier, of running out of time, had grown steadily with each step, weighing on his shoulders more than Catrina ever could. His mind was screaming for him to run, hide, and escape, but with the woman in his arms, it had already been impossible to avoid drawing attention to himself.

  The fire was warm and partly inviting as he laid Catrina beside it, the light casting shadows across her limp body that aged her far beyond her years. Peter brushed the hair from her face, shocked to discover that she looked more drawn now than she had when he had first seen her, that day beneath the Regent’s palace when his life was turned upside down.

  He sat beside her, casually declining the offers of food and drink that came his way, smiling when revellers recounted stories of those they had handed over to the guards, traitors all of them.

  Sometime after midnight, Peter fell asleep, troubled dreams denying him any real rest. When the first rays of morning woke him, Catrina was already gone.

  Chapter 8

  I

  It had been two days since the public execution. Peter hadn't really slept since. His rational mind was yelling at him to run, get away, the soldiers would be on him any minute, but he couldn't forget the promise that he had made to Matthew as they had left the farmhouse just two weeks before.

  Two weeks, that was all it had been. Two weeks to betray his countrymen. Two weeks to pick sid
es and help a group of relative strangers fight and kill people that he had known all of his life. Two weeks to kill soldiers like him, men just following orders, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two weeks to go back on everything that he had said in that damned farmhouse, everything except the promise.

  He hadn't seen her, of course. He thought that he had, more than once, but there were just so many people, packed together in poorly organised regiments. Sometimes it was someone similar, dark haired, the same height and build. Other times, it was just a sense at the edge of his vision, but there was no one like her when he looked more closely.

  There seemed to be more soldiers now, blended in with the regiments, driving the people harder. They ignored him, though, passed him by without a second glance.

  If only they would come for him. At least then it would be over, a release from the walking nightmare that his days had become. A chance to try and set it right, a chance to stop looking over his shoulder and accept his fate.

  He almost didn't notice when Donald started walking by his side.

  “Pete, Pete?” Donald said. “It's me, Donald. How are you doing?”

  Slowly, he came to his senses. “Don, it's you,” Peter replied. “I don't know what happened. She's gone. I tried to find her, but she's gone. I don't know where.”

  “Catrina?” Donald asked. “Last I saw, she was with you.”

  “I know, but she gave me the slip,” Peter informed him. “I tried, but there are just so many people. I'm sorry Don, I'm so sorry.”

  Donald cast a wary glance around, but no one seemed to be paying them much notice. “It's not your fault,” he said soothingly. “She hasn't been right since, you know, after.”