Jack felt a ripple of nerves.
‘Calm down, Captain Sengar.’ Jhala raised his hand and patted, as if dampening an invisible flame. He leant forward, studied the mat before him, then looked up at Jack. His skin appeared too heavy for his face to support. His eyes were large and watery. ‘Jack, there’s a bit more to it than we’ve told you so far.’
Jack sat back a little. What would the other servants be thinking? He could imagine them gossiping furiously about why their head guard was talking to army officers for such a long time.
‘William Merton,’ Jhala continued. ‘I’m sure you remember him.’
Of course Jack remembered him – he’d been Jack’s best friend in the army, probably the best friend Jack had ever had. No one who met William could forget him. He was a giant man, with a giant laugh and a big heart. Larger than life.
‘Quite a soldier, wasn’t he?’ Jhala said. ‘Quite a man.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember the time he wrestled me?’
Jack smiled – he remembered it well. They had all been mad about Malla wrestling at the time and William had been one of the best. Jack himself had tried wrestling his friend a few times and had been quickly beaten.
The Indian officers were also obsessed with Malla, but they almost never wrestled with their men – it wasn’t the done thing. Jhala, however, broke all the rules and happily took part in his men’s contests. And he always won as he was something of a Malla guru.
At any rate, Willam had been going around bragging that he would be European Champion if the competition were opened up to natives. Jhala, hearing about this, put down a challenge and there was a mighty fight between them a few days later. Jack could still remember the bellowing of the men as they sat watching in the training tent.
The thing was, after many bruising rounds, William pinned Jhala for the count. There was a shocked silence. No one knew how to react to a native beating an officer. But Jhala stood, raised William’s arm, and pronounced him the winner. He did it so quickly and graciously that it seemed the most natural thing in the world and everyone cheered and stamped their feet. Jhala actually grew in stature, despite being beaten.
‘Brave man, wrestling an officer like that,’ Jhala said. ‘That’s what makes it all the harder.’ He looked down, lost for words for a moment, then looked up at the bright sky, squinting a little. ‘You see, Merton’s mutinied. He’s gone over.’
Jack sat up straighter. He hadn’t seen William since leaving the army. They’d written a few letters but had lost touch. What could have driven his friend to become a rebel? What madness?
‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Jhala said.
‘It is.’
‘After all that time. He’d made it to sergeant major too.’
‘I can’t understand it.’ Sergeant major was the highest rank a European could reach.
‘He wasn’t with our regiment any more. He’d gone to the 8th a few years back. One of those reshuffles, you know how it is. I’d like to think that if he was still serving with me . . . well, who knows? Who knows anything any more?’
They all went silent. Jack felt uncomfortably hot in the gazebo. The smell of jasmine was suffocating.
‘Anyway, you may have heard of the “Ghost”,’ Jhala said. ‘That’s what they’re calling Merton now. He’s leading a group of bandits up in North Dorsetshire.’
‘I’ve heard about it. But I didn’t know . . .’
‘No, not many people know his real identity. The locals are superstitious. They call him all sorts of names. The thing is, he’s causing us quite a bit of difficulty. By all accounts he only has a small band of followers – mostly mutineers – but they’ve proved a menace, hitting the sattva links, train lines, that sort of thing. We’ve sent in troops, tried hunting him down with trackers and dogs, but he’s always managed to slip away. You remember what he’s like – his power.’
Jack nodded. William was a native siddha too, another of Jhala’s protégés. His power enabled him to conceal his tracks, making him almost impossible to follow.
‘Well, we’ve tried everything,’ Jhala said. ‘And we still can’t get him. That is, of course, where you come in.’
‘I see . . . I’m shocked about what’s happened with Merton. But still, I can’t hunt down an old friend. You understand, he saved my life.’
Jhala gazed out at the gardens. ‘Yes. Mine too, if you remember. But that’s not the point. We all know that in the army you obey orders, no matter what. It’s what you sign up to. To mutiny is the greatest dishonour.’
‘Yes. You’re right. It’s just . . . sir, as I said before I can’t go back into the army. Perhaps there’s another tracker . . .’
‘I’m afraid not – not with your skill. You’re the best in England, without a doubt.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Sengar snapped at Jhala. ‘We’re wasting time, sir.’
‘Captain Sengar,’ Jhala said without turning, ‘you will hold your tongue.’
Sengar glared back for a second and then looked away. ‘Sorry, sir.’
Jhala stared at Jack. He appeared tired, as if the whole mutiny had been his fault. ‘There is one further . . . factor in all this.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Your daughter, Elizabeth Casey.’
‘Elizabeth?’ Jack sat forward.
‘Yes, I’m sorry to tell you she’s gone over to the rebels as well. She’s been helping them – spying, giving them supplies—’
‘No, sir. Elizabeth would never do that.’
‘I’m afraid it’s true. She was caught red-handed. There’s no doubt.’
Jack’s hand trembled. His heart raced. Elizabeth? A rebel? ‘Where is she?’
‘We’re holding her in the barracks. We’ve got a few of them.’
‘Can I see her?’
‘Of course. We’ll take you there . . . in a few minutes. First, you need to understand your situation. Jack, I really had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but Elizabeth is due to be hanged.’
Jack felt dizzy. The sound of the bees, the smell of the jasmine, the heat all swirled around him.
‘It must be a dreadful shock, I know,’ Jhala said. ‘But I can make sure Elizabeth is spared – just so long as you help us. Do you understand?’
What was happening? Was Jhala using Elizabeth as a pawn in some game? ‘I understand, sir. Can I see my daughter now?’
They arrived at the barracks in a two-horse, four-wheeled carriage covered in intricate gold designs. Jhala stared out at the plains, resting his chin on one hand, while Sengar sucked on his teeth, which made his moustache curl and uncurl like a cat stretching.
Jack sat in silence, feeling lost in a maze. He glanced at Jhala, but his old commander cleared his throat and looked away. Jack had always thought of Jhala as someone he could trust, but now he didn’t know what to think.
An icy breeze crossed his skin. Elizabeth was due to be executed.
A stone wall surrounded the main complex of the barracks. Outside the wall to the north stretched the usual vast shanty town of wooden shacks, tents and dusty marquees that housed the European troops, along with the numerous camp followers who worked as bearers, servants, orderlies and cooks.
The carriage drew up at the main gate, which was open but guarded. To the side stood a row of flagstaffs, one of which flew the standard of Jack’s old regiment – the 2nd (Maharaja’s Own) Native English Infantry. Jack looked up at the blue flag with the three red lions chasing each other in a circle. He’d meditated in front of that flag so many times. He’d believed in it.
Inside the walls lay a series of long wattle-and-daub buildings with thatched roofs. The buildings were solid but typically plain and functional. Jack had often wondered why the Rajthanans didn’t build grander structures for their armies, given how much they seemed to love pomp and ceremony. Rajthanan soldiers in turquoise tunics and turbans strode about or stood guard.
Jack, Jhala and Sengar climbed out of the carriage and walked across the flattened, dus
ty ground until they came to a stone building with a single arched entrance. They went up the steps and into a small foyer. It was dim inside, lit only by a few lanterns. Three guards slouched against the walls but snapped to attention when Colonel Jhala appeared.
Jhala spoke to one of the guards, then turned to Jack. ‘You can see your daughter for a few minutes.’
The guard unlocked an iron door, which groaned open, and led Jack down a gloomy corridor. To either side stood cells with bars that stretched from floor to ceiling. Men and women – all European – sat hunched on mats. Dirt streaked their faces and their clothes were tattered, as if they’d been living in the wilderness for weeks. As perhaps they had. They watched as Jack and the guard went past, some listless, some puzzled, some defiant. Most of them were silent, but a few whispered amongst themselves.
The guard stopped near the end of the corridor and pointed through the bars. Jack looked into the cell. He couldn’t see clearly at first as the only light came from a tiny window high up in the wall. Then he saw her.
She recognised him at the same time, gasped, ran up to the bars and grabbed hold of his arms. She looked thin, much thinner than when he’d last seen her, and her long dark hair was matted and greasy. She wore a torn and dirty dress and her hands were discoloured with ground-in filth. She looked like a vagrant.
‘Father . . .’ She kneaded his arms and cried dirty tears.
‘Elizabeth. What . . . what happened?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you—’
‘Why?’ He put his hand through the bars and brushed the hair away from her face.
‘I know you won’t understand, Father. We have to be free.’
‘We are free.’
‘Not in the way we could be.’ She started sobbing, looking at the ground, her shoulders shuddering.
Jack realised he was crying as well. It felt as though his life up until this moment had been mere theatre and now all the props and costumes had been put away. ‘Elizabeth, you stay strong. I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.’
She looked up, her face red, her expression flickering between disbelief and hope. ‘How?’
‘I’ll get you out.’
‘Time,’ the guard said.
Jack clung to his daughter’s hands.
The guard put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘Come on.’
Jack stroked the side of Elizabeth’s face and then let himself
be led away. He looked back only once at the small, forlorn figure in the cell. She was just a child. How could they hang a child?
Two guards took Jack past the parade ground and over to a bungalow with a veranda across the front. A storm of thoughts whirled in Jack’s head and something cold shifted in his stomach. Even now he found it hard to believe Elizabeth was a rebel. But she hadn’t denied it.
He paused at the bottom of the steps. How could he convince Jhala to free Elizabeth?
He shut his eyes for a moment, breathed deeply and walked up to a sparse office. Jhala sat behind a desk and Sengar sat nearby in a wicker chair.
‘Have a seat.’ Jhala gestured to a chair.
Jack sat down stiffly. Jhala was his friend – surely he would help. A hundred memories from his army days tumbled through his head. He and Jhala had fought alongside each other many times. There had been a bond between them. That wasn’t something that could easily be broken.
Jhala gave a deep sigh. ‘I didn’t want this, Jack. You need to understand that. It’s the mutiny – it’s changed everything.’
‘Sir.’ Jack’s voice cracked. ‘Elizabeth made a mistake, but she’s sorry. She won’t do anything like that again. I give you my word.’
Jhala held up his hand. ‘I understand you’re worried about her.’
‘She’s just fifteen, sir.’
‘I will free her, but first you need to help me.’
Jack paused. He wanted to beg or shout or plead for Elizabeth, but he held himself back. ‘You want me to track Merton.’
‘Yes. I was hoping you would do it of your own accord. Merton’s dishonoured the regiment, all of us.’
Jack looked down. That was true. But how could Jhala expect him to hunt down his friend?
Jhala shifted in his seat. ‘I know this isn’t easy. But think of your daughter.’
Jack pictured Elizabeth in the cell and a flame of anger leapt in his chest. ‘How did you know she was my daughter?’ he said softly.
‘When she arrived here she was screaming about her father who used to be in the army. When I saw her surname I talked to her and realised.’
‘Look, you have to do your duty,’ Sengar said.
Jack glared at Sengar. ‘Doesn’t look as though I have much choice.’
Jhala sighed again, opened the top drawer of his desk, took out an envelope and held it up. ‘This is a pardon for your daughter, signed by the Raja of Poole. It was difficult to get, I can tell you. I had to call in quite a few favours. Now, I know you can find Merton. All I need is for you to lead us to him, and then,’ waving the envelope, ‘your daughter will be free. I give you my word.’
Jack looked at the yellow envelope. How could he agree to this? ‘I’ll try.’
Jhala and Sengar exchanged glances.
‘You’ll have to do better than trying,’ Sengar said. ‘The pardon states that your daughter will only be freed if you give us Merton. If we don’t catch Merton and bring him back here, dead or alive, the pardon is forfeit. Do you understand?’
Jack nodded slowly.
‘I’ll be travelling with you, with a squadron of cavalry. You will have four weeks to find Merton, otherwise . . .’ Sengar looked over at Jhala.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Jhala cleared his throat. ‘We couldn’t give you an indefinite amount of time. Four weeks should be plenty. But after that, the pardon expires and your daughter goes to the gallows. I’m very sorry.’
Jack shoved a spare tunic into a satchel and battered it to the bottom with his fist. He whirled round. What else did he need to pack? He couldn’t think straight.
Someone knocked at the door of his hut.
Christ. What now? He felt like hitting something.
He threw the door open and it smacked against the wall. Sarah squeaked and jumped back.
Jack glared at her, as though she were an enemy soldier, then managed to calm down. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Sorry.’
It was dark outside, the only light coming from a few of the other servants’ huts. Crickets chirped in the distance.
Sarah stepped forward again and stood on tiptoes, looking past him and seeing the half-packed satchel on his sleeping mat. ‘So it’s true. You’re leaving.’
‘Bloody hell. News travels fast around here.’
‘Where you going?’
‘It’s not important.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not going to follow you.’
‘I’m helping the army with something.’
‘What?’
He thought quickly. ‘Training new scouts.’
‘Is this to do with the mutiny?’
‘Something like that.’
She moved closer. ‘You’ll come back, won’t you?’
‘I’ll try to.’
‘And then maybe—’
‘You’re better off without me. Really.’
Her eyes glistened. ‘I’m worried, Jack. What’s going on with this mutiny? What’s going to happen?’
At that moment he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. But he knew that wasn’t a good idea. ‘Nothing’s going to happen. It’s all going to be over soon.’
A tear crawled down her cheek and she wiped it away with her sleeve.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.
‘You take care, then,’ she said quickly and slipped away into the darkness before he could reply.
He closed the door and now his whole body was leaden. He didn’t feel like hitting anything any more, just slee
ping.
He reached under his tunic and drew out Katelin’s Celtic cross necklace. Katelin had always worn this – apparently it was an heirloom from the Welsh side of her family. On her deathbed she’d pressed it into his palm with fierce, desperate strength. He’d been wearing it ever since.
He gazed at the ringed cross. Katelin’s faith had been simple and strong, but for a long time he’d been confused when it came to religion. He believed in God, Christ and the Madonna – of course they were all true – but Jhala had told him they were incarnations or forms of the great powers of the spirit realm. Sometimes when Jhala spoke about these powers, they seemed more like forces than beings. Sometimes Jack wondered whether Jhala and the siddhas believed in gods of any sort at all.
‘Katelin,’ he said. ‘Wherever you are, I’m letting you know I’m going to get our little girl back.’
He then kissed the cross and put it back under his tunic.
3
When Jack thought of Elizabeth in the cell, smudged tears on her face, hair matted, clothing torn, behind the bars and stone walls and guards . . . when he thought of her, his stomach knotted and his throat felt as though it were in the grip of an invisible hand.
He grasped some water from the stream and splashed it on his face. His eyes burnt with tiredness. He’d hardly slept during the night; whenever he’d closed his eyes he’d seen Elizabeth. Even now that it was morning, he knew that if he shut his eyelids she would be there.
He drank some water, but his throat stayed dry.
Jhala.
He’d trusted his old guru, followed him, believed in him. But now Jhala was using Elizabeth as a weapon.
Was Jhala being forced into it? Commanded?
‘No, that didn’t make sense. Only Jhala himself could have come up with the plan to hunt William. Only he knew enough about Jack to think of it. No one was pressuring him.
When had Jhala hatched the plan? Was it when Elizabeth was first brought to the barracks? Or was it even before then? Had Jhala been wondering how to coerce Jack when Elizabeth had fallen right into his lap?
Land of Hope and Glory Page 5
