The Queen at War

by K. A. S. Quinn

  ‘The Highlanders, they’ve done it,’ Katie exulted. ‘They’ve fought off the Russians.’

  The Little Angel put a cautionary hand on her arm. ‘This is just the beginning,’ she said. ‘This is not the time to celebrate.’ Katie looked into her field glasses. The Russians were reforming, to attack again. But this time the Highlanders were not alone, as a flank of cavalry moved down the hills to join them. Frantically Katie scanned the ranks, dreading to see the face she knew.

  ‘Lord Raglan has called in the Heavy Brigade,’ Russell assured her. ‘Your fine lad is encamped on the Highlanders’ flank; his commander, Lord Lucan, is reluctant to fight. Young Jack, much against his will, just might be safe from harm.’

  With a fierce battle cry, the Heavy Brigade charged. They smashed through the Russian cavalry, each side raising their swords in hand-to-hand combat. It was the Russians who lost their nerve and, turning, galloped back down the valley, pursued by the Heavy Brigade. From the hillsides, British infantry reinforcements were arriving. It was not likely that the Russian cavalry would attack again.

  ‘Balaclava has been saved,’ William Howard Russell cried. All around them, the spectators were cheering.

  ‘It’s over!’ Katie exulted. Jack was safe.

  William Howard Russell continued to scan the valley beneath them. He turned his gaze up the hills, to the defence positions the Russians had taken earlier. ‘I believe it’s far from over,’ he said. ‘I can see the Russians. When they first stormed the hills they captured British guns, and now they are removing them, rolling the cannons back into their own territory.’

  Katie was busy helping Mary Seacole check the mule packs. There were certain to be wounded down in the valley. ‘But we’ve won,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it better to leave well alone? They just have a couple of our guns, two or three cannons.’

  ‘Just a couple of guns,’ Russell said. ‘Lord Raglan won’t see it that way. Legend has it the Duke of Wellington never lost a gun in battle. And you must know how Raglan, nay, the entire country, feels about the Duke of Wellington. Raglan will never permit his guns to be paraded by the Russians as trophies through Sebastopol.’

  This all sounded very silly to Katie. ‘So what’s he going to do?’ she asked.

  William Howard Russell searched the hilltops for the British leader. ‘He is certain to order the recapture of his guns.’

  Katie’s heart sank. She lifted her field glasses and turned her eyes to the heights where Lord Raglan was positioned, commanding the battle. He was far away, on the other side of the valley, and at first was simply a blur, a tiny dot of man and horse. She adjusted the field glasses. It was hard to see – dark clouds flitted across the flat blue sky; the light and shadow affected her view. Her eye was caught by a young man, really almost a child, riding up to Raglan and offering him something. Unusually for a soldier, the young man had long, fair hair that stood out against the dark that surrounded him – white curls waving down his shoulders. It was Felix, exactly where he ought not to be, at the heart of the British command.

  ‘What the – !’ Katie exclaimed. The Little Angel moved closer and peered over her shoulder, as if she could see without the aid of glasses. She put her arm around Katie, and then, as Katie watched, everything became much clearer. Felix was talking to Lord Raglan, and Lord Raglan was writing something down, almost as if he were taking dictation. As the letters sprang from his pen, Katie could read them. She might have been holding the paper inches from her face. It was the closeness of the Little Angel and the strange power that words had over her. The message leapt out:

  To Lord Lucan: Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front – follow the enemy and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. Troop Horse Artillery may accompany. French cavalry is on your left. Immediate.

  In her excitement she said the words aloud. ‘I too see clearly,’ the Little Angel whispered, ‘I can see the plan now.’

  William Howard Russell looked at them both. ‘You girls must have had a touch too much of the sun. Either that, or this is a hoax. You could not possibly see a message from this distance! It’s hard enough to get a good view – the sky is so unsettled. Lord Raglan would have to be mad to give such an order.’

  Mary Seacole put her arm out to Russell, trying to silence him. ‘Hush now,’ she said. ‘Don’t ask, just watch and listen. You will know more than any man alive about this battle if you do.’

  Katie continued to stare at Lord Raglan’s piece of paper. As she did, the words opened up a vista – she could see everything, close up and far away at the same time. She was like her own camera.

  ‘Tell us Katie,’ Mary Seacole said. ‘Tell us everything.’

  ‘Lord Raglan is passing the message to another man.’ she said. It’s that thin, elegant man I saw at the British Hotel. What’s his name, Newland, Nolan?’

  ‘Captain Nolan,’ Russell answered. ‘One of the fastest men on horse, but hardly a reliable messenger.’

  ‘Nolan’s down the hill now, with the other men on horseback, right below us,’ Katie continued. ‘Did you say that’s the Light Brigade? He’s talking to someone with a lot of gold braid on his uniform; they’re directly under a large black cloud. It must be their leader.’

  ‘That will be Lord Lucan,’ Russell answered, ‘and it won’t be a pleasant conversation.’

  Lucan was arguing vigorously. His arm swept to the right, towards the British guns in the hills.

  William Howard Russell looked worried. ‘If Raglan’s message was as unclear as you say, then Lucan will have no idea what to do,’ he said. ‘Prevent the enemy carrying away the guns – are you certain that was Raglan’s message? Well, which guns? There are the ones the Russians captured; there are also guns at the top of the valley, and yet more on the lower slopes of the heights.’

  Katie continued to stare at the two men, deep in dispute. Captain Nolan was not making the situation any easier. Katie could read insubordination in his every gesture. He was waving vaguely – not in the direction of the captured guns, but towards the far end of the valley, towards an area heavily fortified by Russian guns, cavalry and infantry. ‘I think he’s going for the other guns, the ones further away,’ she said.

  ‘Then God help us,’ William Howard Russell replied. ‘Captain Nolan is sending our men into the arms of death.’

  A soldier must obey, even a soldier as adverse to danger as Lord Lucan. He reeled his horse around, and took the order further down the line.

  ‘The argument is still going on,’ Katie said. ‘But now it’s Lord Lucan and another guy in a very decorated uniform.’

  ‘It will be Lucan and Cardigan,’ Russell said. ‘And here lies more folly. The two are brothers-in-law, but detest each other. They will never be able to resolve this.’

  Lucan leaned forward over his horse, to get as close to Cardigan as he could. He nodded and gestured, at one point poking Cardigan with his finger. ‘Lucan is furious; he insists Cardigan obeys the order,’ Katie told them.

  Lord Cardigan returned to his men. Katie could see the Light Cavalry taking up formation. She searched her mind for Jack’s regiment. ‘Are the 17th Lancers down there?’ she asked.

  Russell looked at her with pity. ‘They are my dear. The 17th Lancers are the first in the line. They are being led by Cardigan himself.’

  ‘But he’ll be OK?’ She wanted assurance, but none was forthcoming.

  ‘If they actually do charge, I reckon it’s a good mile to the Russian position,’ William Howard Russell calculated. ‘It would take the Light Brigade seven minutes to cover the distance – seven minutes surrounded by the enemy, with artillery and musket fire to the right of them, to the left of them and directly in front of them – all from an elevated height. If Jack can get through that, he’ll be all right.’

  It was ten minutes past eleven. The Light Brigade – all 661, man and horse – moved down the valley slope.

  ‘I scarcely believe the evidence of my senses!’ William Howar
d Russell exclaimed. ‘The charge is on. The Light Brigade will have to ride all the way through the valley, between row after row of Russian cannon, and riflemen. Surely that handful of men is not going to charge an army in position?’ The plateau was almost silent, the spectators frozen in horror.

  The cavalry advanced in two lines, quickening their pace as they closed towards the enemy. Suddenly Katie could see Jack astride Embarr: his heels up in his stirrups, blue eyes ablaze, shouting. Next to him was Nolan, waving his sword and urging them on. The Light Brigade broke into a gallop as the first shells exploded. Faster and faster they went, as cannonballs tore the earth on every side and musket fire pierced from on high. The might of the Russians belched forth, a flood of smoke and flame. Then Katie could see only chaos and carnage – the men on the ground, dead or dying, horses flying, wounded or riderless across the plain.

  Above them the skies flashed and swirled. At first Katie thought it was the firepower of the battle. But as she stared upwards, she could make out forms, shapes that mirrored the conflict below. What was happening in the heavens above? Then she knew. Her terrible dreams were coming true. This was not one battle, but two. Yes, the Russians were fighting the British. And yes, it had to do with Sultans and holy places, with trade and Empire. But it was also about Lucia and Belzen, the Verus and the Malum. High up towards the sun was a battle for the entire future of this world, being fought by those from another. It was a battle over nothing less than the possibility of eternal peace or the damnation of endless war. The time had come.

  Lucia swept through the skies, her brightness piercing the black clouds. She sailed through the winds and opened her arms wide, using her light as a weapon. And then dark enfolded Lucia; she was wrapped, almost suffocated in the cloak of Lord Belzen. The elements around them took sides, scorching sun followed by brutal gales. Hail pelted the crowds below. The spectators, the war tourists, scrambled for cover. They had no idea what was happening. Next to Katie, the Little Angel trembled. Was this the war to end the world?

  Even the raging heavens above could not halt the Light Brigade. With a sweep of flashing steel circling their heads, and with a cheer which was many a noble fellow’s death cry, they rushed onwards. Soon they were amongst the guns, sabres flashing, cutting down the Russians gunners where they stood. Then turning, the Light Brigade reformed. They were going back over the same ground, littered with their dead and dying, and with the Russian weapons above still blazing. Katie wrenched her eyes from the storm above to the valley below. She was looking frantically for Jack. Mary Seacole seemed to be saying some kind of prayer or chant as she fingered the amulet hung around her neck.

  ‘This is lunacy,’ William Howard Russell repeated over and over. ‘Lunacy. They can’t sustain –’

  He was cut off by an unearthly shriek. It was the Little Angel. She stood, pale as death, wringing her hands. ‘They cannot face the cannon fire again. It will be a massacre. Oh the lives, the poor young lives! It was Nolan, I know it. He is but the messenger. I know who brings the message. I know who lies behind Nolan. I will end this!’

  Before Katie could stop her, the Little Angel was over the ridge and down the hill, heading into the battle itself. How she travelled such a distance at such speed, Katie did not know, but the Little Angel was within reach of the back lines. This was dangerous enough. Coming towards the Little Angel Katie could see a very young soldier, mounted on a midnight black horse. He still wore the long fair curls of childhood. It was Felix.

  Katie looked at Mary Seacole, and could see understanding dawning in her eyes. ‘God preserve me,’ Mary Seacole breathed, ‘The Little Angel, she is the child who brings peace.’ It was as if a curtain had been lifted. The Little Angel, Katie and Felix: the child who brings peace, the child who brings war and peace, and the child who brings the war to end the world. The Chosen, the Tempus. Was it as Lucia had predicted? Were they to fight each other now? From where Katie stood it looked as if Felix, sword in hand, was about to strike down the Little Angel, condemning the world to everlasting war.

  Katie had long wondered what her purpose was. What should she do? For a long moment she panicked, toyed with the idea of doing nothing, staying put, seeing how things played out. She was not British or Russian. She wasn’t part of the Verus, or the Malum. Neither of these wars was really hers. Didn’t she have the right to protect herself? Someone else was sure to sort things out. But then she felt sickened by her own thoughts. It was up to her. The Little Angel must not die in this battle. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirts and, holding tight to the walking stick, she plunged down the hill.

  William Howard Russell reached out to stop her, but Mary Seacole stayed his arm. ‘She is the Chosen,’ Mary Seacole said, clutching the amulet around her neck, rubbing her finger along its opening. ‘Florence told me this might happen. She must go.’

  As Katie raced towards the battle, the smoke was almost blinding. She struggled across the ground, knee-deep in the wounded and dying, looking up at the clashing armies. Horses and men were falling from every side. Dragging her way through the dirt and dust and blood, she caught up with the Little Angel. From every direction she was vulnerable, rifle fire, cannonballs, steel sabres and the thrashing hooves of terrified horses. But somehow none of this was as dangerous as Felix. Katie tried to drag the Little Angel out of the melee, ‘You must save yourself,’ she shouted into her ear.

  ‘I will save them all,’ the Little Angel cried back – and Katie realized she was heading purposefully towards the mouths of the Russian cannons.

  Then Felix reared above them, a ghastly sight. His eyes were dead, trance-like. He was not a child or an adult – he was a being possessed by evil. As Katie stared up, Felix’s curls became whiter and the light around him was unnaturally bright. But then it deepened to a dark purple-grey, like a diseased wound. There was terrible power, beyond Felix, in the skies above them. The longer she looked at Felix, the more he led her to a dark and strange place, a place she did not wish to be. Beyond him, above the horses, the men, the bullets and the cannonballs, the strange flashing white of the Verus grappled with the blackness of the Malum. ‘Peace will be cut down,’ she thought, ‘the world will end. This world and many worlds.’

  She tore her gaze from Felix and, grabbing the Little Angel’s arm, began to drag her away. The death of the Little Angel would bring victory to the Malum. She had to stop Felix. Could she break his trance, or at least catch his attention? Was there any way to free him from this possession? If only he had human feelings. Was there anything she could say or do that would catch the attention of the real Felix, the child within? He was too far gone for human happiness or love. Was there anything left? Could she, perhaps, make him angry?

  Katie remembered the day in the Palace gardens. He’d been furious when accused of playing with toy boats. His anger had been a very human emotion, so typical of a growing boy. He didn’t want to be a child, playing with babyish things. It had hurt him. That is where he was vulnerable. Katie was still clutching the walking stick. She lifted it high and waved it at Felix.

  ‘Baby!’ she screamed. ‘Felix, you are a baby – and a coward! Fighting a girl instead of the Russians. Wah! Wah! Felix is a baby!’

  His dead gaze had fixed on the Little Angel, but now he turned so sharply that his horse reared into the hideous sky, bubbling with purple and black. ‘You!’ he raged. ‘You are the weak one, to make your choice, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with that girl! I am no baby. I am a man, a warrior! Just watch how I can strike you down!’ He raised his sabre, and with a swoop, plunged towards Katie. For a split second Katie stared, the blade flashing down.

  ‘He will cut me in two,’ she thought. ‘But he must not kill the Little Angel.’ Was it worth living in a world without peace? She’d fought so hard, perhaps this was the time for surrender and oblivion. Had she done enough, in sacrificing herself to save the Little Angel?

  The tip of Felix’s sword sliced down, heading straight for Katie’s heart. But then
it froze, just at the top of her bodice. It wavered, struggling to reach Katie, to tear through her. Then it stopped, juddered, and shattered into a million pieces. Katie just had time to see Felix’s face against the great flashing light of the sky, contorted and covered in messy tears. He was indeed crying, like a baby. What magic had shielded her in that final moment?

  She could see almost nothing. The Light Brigade had turned and galloped back up the valley. They could not stop to avoid two girls, half-swooning, directly in their path. She saw the Little Angel go down, knocked unconscious by a vicious kick from a retreating horse. And then she was hit herself, and was sprawling backwards, into darkness. Again her mind changed, and her final conscious thoughts were of rebellion. ‘I will NOT,’ the words sang within her, ‘I WILL NOT GIVE UP.’

  When she finally came to, the world was a different place altogether. The great light of Lucia was gone from the sky, as was the poisonous black of Lord Belzen. Cannon smoke drifted across the floor of the valley, but there was not a cloud in the sky. The battle was over. But who had won? Katie turned her head to find Mary Seacole at her side, the great ornamental amulet pressed against Katie’s heart.

  ‘You were bowled over by a charging horse,’ she explained in her low sing-song voice. ‘My, but that animal knocked the wind out of you. You’ll be fine, though, child, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘But the Little Angel!’ Katie cried. ‘Has she been killed? Will the world really . . . ’

  ‘It was touch and go,’ Mary Seacole said. ‘She’s been hurt badly – trampled underfoot. Mr Russell has taken her – carried her all the way to the field hospital. If she mends, we’ll take her on to the Scutari hospital. There’s no one Florence can’t patch up.’